BUFTON IS IMPLACABLE.
The _Nederland_, the Dutch schooner--she was a two-topsail one--would
have been out of the river some day or so ago--and would have slipped
down past Woolwich and Tilbury and the Nore on one of these dark,
moonless nights, and with no more lights showing than necessary, had
it not been for three facts. One was that her master was not at all
sure that the infernal captain of the _Mignonne_ might not see fit at
any moment to slip after her and make an inspection of what she
contained, if he observed the slightest sign of her departing in a
more or less mysterious manner--although the aforesaid person did not
think Barry would dare to board her while she lay in the river, and
was consequently under the protection of the colours she flew. Another
reason was that "Mr. Lewis," who was a great help to the worthy
master, had requested him not to hurry his departure more than was
necessary, as the former considered he might be able to provide the
latter with further suitable merchandise; while, also, there was still
a third and more powerful reason behind the other two. This was that
François Thurot, of Boulogne, who had been a licensed corsair, but was
now a naval officer of the French King, was reported to be cruising
outside in the Channel, and would be as likely as not to seize on any
ship coming out of the Thames, no matter what flag she flew. For it
was Thurot's system to attack anything he observed leaving English
waters, on the plea that he mistrusted all vessels found in them (or
quitting them) sailing under false colours, and if he discovered he
was wrong, it was easy to allow them to proceed on their voyage. Nor;
as a matter of fact, did he often find himself wrong, he being well
served by his spies, especially by a despatch-boat he owned called the
_Faucon_, and another called the _Homard_, nor would he have done so
in this case.
For, in absolute fact (as any one, no matter whether it were Sir
Geoffrey Barry or François Thurot, would soon have known, had they
gone on board the schooner), though she might be called the
_Nederland_ at the present moment and might be sailing under the Dutch
flag, she was nothing of the kind, but was instead the _Amarynth_ of
Plymouth, in Massachusetts, her captain being an Englishman, that is
to say, a colonist.
None had, however, up to now, attempted to molest the ship in the
Thames, since all connected with the navy were otherwise busily
employed in preparing to resist the threatened attack of Conflans; and
the master was now only waiting to hear from "Mr. Lewis" to depart.
That is, to depart if he should also get the information that the
dreaded Thurot was anywhere else than where he was at present reported
to be. But, whether he got it or not, he would have to go ere long.
For his "merchandise" was an eating and drinking cargo, and,
consequently, an expensive one.
He stood on his poop on this present morning, after having seen the
_Mignonne_ glide down the river under a pretty full spread of canvas,
and after having respectfully dipped his ensign; but now it was two
hours later than that occurrence, and he was watching a shore-boat
sailing out under a lugsail, and undoubtedly making for his ship. A
shore-boat which he did not put himself to the trouble of hailing, or
causing to be hailed, since he recognised its occupant and passenger
as "Mr. Lewis."
"Good-morning, sir," he said, with due down East emphasis, as now the
boat came alongside his schooner. "Good-morning, sir. I thought I
should see you again before I up'd."
"Ay," said Granger, "I thought so too. I felt sure you wouldn't have
up'd and gone away without seeing me. Don't you require my services
any more?"
"Oh! well--why, yes. There's more room in the hold yet, you know. All
the same, sir, I've got a cargo, and I may as well be getting along
with it. Come into the saloon." Whereon he led the way to a cabin
under the poop which he kept for his own private use. While, as he
went, he asked, "Where is that Thurot?"
"You're safe enough from him," replied Granger, "if all accounts be
true. They say he is at Gottenburg victualling. And there are too many
of our ships of war about. The _Mignonne_ went out, too, this
morning."
"I saw her. I'll go out also--afore she comes back. A week I suppose,
eh?"
"Indeed, it may not be so much. Barry, her captain, bade me have some
more men ready for him by Sunday night, and this is Tuesday. That's
not a week."
"I'll shift," said the master of the so-called _Nederland_; "I'll
shift afore he comes back. I don't want him taking any of my children
away from me. They're valyble."
"Do you want any more?" asked Granger, looking at the master over the
glass which he now held in his hand, the Puritan colonist having
produced liquid refreshment from a locker, "Could you avail yourself
of two--or even one--more?"
"The trouble is a-making of 'em com-_fort_-able till I get 'em to sea.
Then it is of no account. But if they aren't com-_fort_-able till
we're away they might suspect. However, p'r'aps I could make shift
with one or two. Dos't know any, friend Lewis?"
"I might do so. Perhaps, as you say, one or two. Yet," he said, after
thinking a moment, "it could not be till Monday night."
"Till Monday night! Why! sir, that will never do. By then the captain
will be back. And I am mortal afeard of him. If he boarded me," he
said, sinking his voice to a husky whisper, "he'd find seventy on 'em
below! Seventy thirties is over two thousand. Two thousand guineas'
worth of stuff, male and female. A mort o' money."
"He will not board you. I know a way to prevent him. I will tell him
that I can provide all he wants further and--and--well, the flag
protects you. England will never quarrel with the Dutch; at this
time--even now--the Government hopes they will join her against
France."
"They eat a fearful deal," the Puritan said, with an eye cast down
to the lower decks, "_now_. Later they won't eat so much. I must
away--unless--unless I could be certain of getting something."
"You shall get something. I promise you. Only your men must fetch it.
Send your quarter-boat ashore on Saturday night and, if there is
nothing for her then, do so again on Sunday night; and I guarantee you
something. Only, by Monday morning, by midnight of Sunday, you must be
off and away."
"What will it be," the skipper asked, "a he or a she?"
"It might be either. But--this is good stuff that I shall send you.
Listen. That which will come will not do so willingly; there is a
family feud in this matter, such as has often been gratified before in
similar ways. If it is a man, he may show fight, protest it is all a
mistake, cry for help and make a disturbance; if it is a woman, she
will weep and scream. Your ruf--your men must be prepared for a
scuffle, as well as to silence all."
"Trust me," the skipper replied, with a loathsome wink. "If a female,
we know how to stop all cries. If a man--ha!--so long as we don't kill
him all is well. He will have the sea voyage to recover in. That's
good for broken crowns to heal in."
"So, so. Now listen. The man you get--or both, if I can send two, but
at least one--must be sold so that he finds no chance of ever
returning to England. His family hate him; he is--well! no matter.
What can you do?"
"I can go bail he never gets back. Only--only--thus! he will not be
worth much to me. How can I pay you for what is no good, or very
little?"
"The family pays me. I shall not want the 'usual' from you.
And--if--when next you revisit us you can tell me that his relations
are never likely to be troubled with him again, why--then--there will
be something for you."
The New Englander thrust out a brawny freckled and sunburnt hand, and
seized that of Granger, then he said--
"So be it. The family of this--this--'tis I suppose some flyblow--may
be at ease. And--as you may send more than one--I will be very sure to
treat all alike. I shall put into Charleston for the sale of some
goods I have, and your men, or man, or woman shall be sold to a buyer
from the French possessions. He will not let him, or them, ever return
to England. All, or one. Is that it?"
"Ay, all or one," Granger said; "do that, and there will be no
confusion." Though to himself he added, "There can be no confusion.
There is no 'all.'"
"And the place?" the skipper said; "the place is--where? The same as
before! In the Marshes, eh?"
"In the Marshes; that is it. Plaistow Level is best, this side of the
creek. 'Tis bare and desolate even by day; at night not even a
solitary gunner seeking for snipe is about. And--and--along the road
that follows the river bank the stuff will come. Be ready with your
boat and men on the night I warn you of. Thus you shall snare your
bird."
"You will warn me, and it will most like be Sunday?"
"It will most like be Sunday. The hour you shall know. As well as how
to distinguish your prize. And then you will away to Charleston. Be
ready to sail at once with the cattle who are for the French
colonies."
"Fear me not. I will be ready. Ere Monday morning comes we shall be
out of the river."
They shook hands on this, the skipper filling the glasses once more,
and so they parted, Granger dropping into the boat and being rowed
ashore after having again promised to warn his confederate of the
certain hour and day when his new victim might be expected.
"And," he repeated in a whisper, so that none of the crew who stood
near should hear, "remember, this is a prize. You pay nothing for it;
and if, when you return, you can give me good news for the family, you
will have--well, I dare to say--fifty--a hundred guineas. Is't
enough?"
"It is enough, I shall not fail."
In less than an hour Granger was once more back in his office
attending to his master's business, checking accounts brought in to
him by dealers and ships' furnishers; paying money and receiving it.
But, ever and again, his eyes glanced at the clock which hung above
the fireplace, while he muttered to himself, "He should be awake by
now."
Bufton had been accommodated with a bed that night by his "friend,"
there being a spare room in the house, and now, since it was eleven
o'clock, the latter went up to arouse him. He found him, however,
leaving the apartment at that moment, and, after some banter as to the
late hours he kept, Granger escorted him to the parlour, where he took
his own meals and sat when not occupied in his office.
"Well!" he said, when some breakfast had been put before his guest,
"Well! I have been about your business to-day--your great revenge;
and--and all is arranged. Only I have one fear--that you will repent;
that your heart will turn to kindness."
"Will it, think you?" said Bufton, with a cruel sneer. "Will it! Never
fear. Yet tell me, what is it that is to be done?"
"They are to be inveigled, those two helpless women--they are very
helpless, remember!--in some way to Plaistow Level. How that is to be
done, you--we--must think over; then, once there, they will be seized
upon by a boat's crew from the _Nederland_ and carried on board. Being
in the ship--well! you know the rest."
"But when? When, man? That cannot be done in a moment. We must have
time wherein to inveigle them. When is it to be?"
"I have thought of that. Of how to give you time. Only, it must be
done before the husband returns, and that is on Wednesday." (Surely
Granger's memory was failing him!) "On Wednesday--to-morrow week. What
say you, therefore, to Sunday night? By then, some scheme can be
contrived to lure those two helpless women to their doom."
"Contrived! Contrived! Faith! my mind is not quite so quick as it was.
Contrived! But how?"
"It may be done, perhaps. Yet, Bufton, think of what you condemn them
to. Think, I say. To what is slavery, though not called by that
name--to misery, despair. And both are young and both are fair. If
they fall into the hands of unscrupulous planters, or of the French
colonists in the South, then--then!--well! one is your wife, Bufton,
while the other is an innocent gentlewoman, though your enemy's wife.
Think on it."
If Lewis Granger was, indeed, trying to arouse some sentiment of
humanity in Bufton's heart, he had taken the very worst way to do it;
while, if he was but working on one of the worst sides of the man's
nature--if, indeed, he was laying a spark to a train of fire already
prepared--he had taken the surest way. For, now, with his most evil
look upon his face, and with a glance that was revolting to Granger,
he said--
"What in the devil's name care I what befalls them? Anne Pottle was
merciless to me; let her die in the colonies, or go to the first
Southern planter's arms that open to her. Either way it quits me of
her. While for that other--that white-faced wife of the insolent
sailor--well! he will have missed his heiress as much as I have done.
And," he continued, chuckling, "if both of us lose our wives, maybe we
can find others."
"You are implacable."
"I am implacable. Curse them all, have they not ruined me between
them!"
"With Anne I could, perhaps, understand your desire; but with the
other--she has not wronged you. And--you have a sword--there is
another revenge open to you."
"Help me, or don't help me," Bufton cried, rapping his fist upon the
table; "but curse your infernal preaching! Only, if you refuse, never
now shall you have one farthing of that money at my mother's death.
Never; never."
"I will help you once again. But this is for the last time. I have
helped you too often, have ruined myself for you once. It is for the
last time."
"Ay! for the last time. I swear it."
"So," said Granger inwardly to himself, "do I. For the last time."
After which they put their heads together as to how Ariadne and Anne
were to be entrapped to Plaistow Marshes, and to the spot where the
boat would be waiting to convey them to the schooner, and afterwards
to slavery, or disgrace, or death.