With the aid of imagination's magic boots we skip now from the Towers to
the village, and see what was happening there.
The _Isaac and Jacob_ lay alongside the jetty, in charge of half-a-dozen
Frenchmen who lolled lazily about the deck. Nathan Pendry, who had
steered the vessel into harbour, reclined, the picture of scowling
discontent, against the bulwarks. Below, in the dark, reeking hold,
trussed like fowls, lay Isaac Tonkin, Simon Mail, and two more of the
most respected smugglers of Polkerran.
It appeared from Tonkin's story, told many a time in after years to the
breathless company in the parlour of the Three Jolly Mariners, that on
arriving in Roscoff to purchase his Christmas cargo, he had been sought
out by Jean Delarousse, whose customer he had formerly been. The
Frenchman did not complain of Tonkin's desertion, nor did he seek a
renewal of their trade relations; his sole object was to persuade the
Cornishman, by means of a heavy bribe, to deliver John Trevanion into
his hands. Tonkin had his grievance against Trevanion. He felt sore at
having had to play second fiddle to the younger man in recent smuggling
transactions. But being an honest fellow, and loyal in grain, he
rejected Delarousse's offer with indignant scorn, and refused to believe
what he understood of the tale poured into his ears in broken English,
of a long course of deceit and fraud by which, as Delarousse alleged,
Trevanion had enriched himself at his partner's expense. The Frenchman
had appeared to take his refusal in good part, and Tonkin, having
freighted his lugger, put to sea on his return voyage, intending to run
his cargo at the creek in the small hours of Friday morning as arranged.
The _Aimable Vertu_, Delarousse's privateering craft, lay in Roscoff
harbour. Tonkin was only a mile or two at sea, when he noticed that the
privateer was coming up astern. This circumstance at first gave him no
concern; Delarousse was doubtless setting forth on one of his forays.
But soon he began to suspect, from the course held by the larger vessel,
that he was being chased, or at least dogged. The _Isaac and Jacob_ was
a very swift vessel, and, laden though she was, her master hoped to be
able to maintain his lead until nightfall, and then to escape under
cover of the darkness. But he was not long in discovering that his
lugger was no match in speed for the privateer. The short dusk of the
December evening was closing down upon the sea when the _Aimable Vertu_
came within range. The lugger's armament consisted of one small
carronade; the Frenchman had a broadside, which at a single discharge
would have shattered the lesser craft to splinters. When, therefore,
Tonkin was hailed and bidden to heave-to, he chose the sensible, indeed
the only practicable, course, and obeyed. Delarousse and a boarding
party took possession of the lugger; in spite of vigorous protests,
Tonkin and his crew were bound and laid by the board, and, room having
been made for them in the hold by the removal of several tubs, they were
carried below. The two vessels then in company continued on their
course for the English coast.
Favoured by the light mist that hung over the Channel during the night,
the privateer escaped discovery by any English cruisers or
revenue-cutters that might have been in the neighbourhood. When,
however, she approached the rugged Cornish coast, the mist became a
danger, and Delarousse had Tonkin fetched from below, and ordered him to
pilot the vessels into Polkerran harbour. This the humiliated mariner
flatly refused to do, persisting in his refusal in spite of the
entreaties, curses, and menaces of his captor. He was carried back by
ungentle hands to his noisome lair, and Pendry, a man of less backbone,
proved to be more amenable to the Frenchman's commands. Under his
skilful pilotage, the lugger safely made the harbour, the privateer
standing some distance out at sea, to watch events.
Now Tonkin, as has already been said, was a man of enormous strength,
and as the pages of this history have shown, of great courage and
resolution also. Nor was he lacking in prudence or common-sense;
witness his ready surrender of the lugger when refusal would have meant
his being blown out of the water. The same common-sense restrained him
from struggling against impossible odds, both when he was trussed up,
and afterwards when the vessel was manned by fifty or sixty well-armed
Frenchmen. But so soon as he felt the lugger lightly graze the jetty,
and knew by the rush of hurrying feet on deck that the great majority of
his captors had gone ashore, he began to strain at his bonds. The
Frenchmen had done their work of trussing capably enough, and, in the
case of ninety-nine men out of a hundred, no doubt there would have been
no danger of its being undone. But Tonkin's muscles were hard as iron;
he had the strength of a horse. After a few minutes' straining, the
rope about his wrists gave way; to release his legs was then easy.
Delarousse having gone through his pockets before trussing him, he was
without a knife, and had to loosen with his hands the ropes wherewith
his comrades were tied. As soon as the first man was liberated, he set
to work on the bonds of another, and within a few minutes after Tonkin
had released himself, all the men were free.
Until the lugger reached the harbour, a number of the Frenchmen had
clustered on the companion, and at its foot. When the time came for
them to dash ashore, they scrambled in hot haste through the hatchway on
to the deck, not thinking to batten down the hatch. As soon, therefore,
as Tonkin was free, he rapidly planned how to escape from the hold with
his men, when they had recovered the full use of their partially numbed
limbs. He first felt about in the darkness for articles that would
serve as effective weapons, and discovered a marlinspike, the hammer he
used for driving spigots into the tubs, and several balks of timber that
were employed for preventing the tubs from rolling. Each man armed
himself. Long experience of smuggling had taught them to move quickly
without noise, and, led by Tonkin, whose agility seemed in no wise
lessened by his bulk, they swarmed swiftly through the hatchway.
The men left in charge of the vessel were leaning over the bulwarks,
smoking, and envying their comrades at the inn, who, finding that the
villagers showed no disposition to interfere with them, had seized the
opportunity to refresh themselves at the expense of the innkeeper.
Before the idle spectators on the deck could turn and form up to meet
the rush, Tonkin and his men were upon them. A few swift, sharp strokes
of the fishers' nondescript weapons, and the Frenchmen were lying
senseless on the deck.
Without the loss of a moment the Cornishmen leapt the bulwarks and
scampered along the jetty. They were half-way to the inn before the
careless sentinels in the parlour heard their footsteps and ran out to
see what was happening. Forming in front of the door, they brought
their muskets to the shoulder and delivered a scattered volley; but
surprise, haste, and strong liquor combined to spoil their aim, and none
of the fishers was hit except Simon Mail, who dropped his spike with a
yell and sat down on the cobbles, _hors de combat_. The Frenchmen had
no time either to reload or to retreat. The fishers, burly men all,
charged straight at them and struck four to the ground, the other two
taking to their heels and starting to run up the hill towards their
leader. But as if by magic the neighbourhood of the inn was suddenly
alive with figures. The fishermen and miners, who had remained hitherto
cowering in their cottages, rushed out the moment they could do so
safely. The fugitives were caught and held; a fierce crowd surrounded
the others; and in a few minutes all six, bruised and battered, lay in a
row against the inn wall.
Meanwhile Tonkin had dashed into the inn, pulled up the trap-door
leading to the cellar, and descended into the depths. Doubledick, whom
the sound of shots had caused to shake like a jelly, heard the heavy
clump of the fisher's boots, and shrank behind a large tun in a corner
of the cellar. Unaware of his presence, Tonkin hastened to the opposite
corner, where, in a cunningly contrived recess, lay a store of firearms
and ammunition, kept there for use against the King's officers when
required. It was now to be turned to a more legitimate purpose. Tonkin
seized as many muskets as he could carry, and hurried with them up the
ladder, sending down for more those of his men who were not occupied
with the Frenchmen. By the time these latter were secured, arms had
been served out to the fishers who had escaped from the lugger, and to
the most likely of the others. Then a compact body of thirty well-armed
men followed Tonkin up the hill.
In order to trace clearly the course of events in that crowded hour of
Polkerran's history, it becomes necessary to glance at what had happened
at the Dower House.
John Trevanion had become so accustomed to the smuggling operations, and
it was so much a part of his policy to keep himself in the background in
these matters, that it did not occur to him to rise early in order to
learn what luck had attended the run which he had expected to take place
at the creek, during the night or in the small hours of that morning.
Having a perfectly easy conscience, and the comfortable expectation that
he would be richer by two hundred pounds when he awoke, he slept as
placidly as a child, and did not become aware that anything unusual was
occurring until a repeated rapping at the door by Susan Berry, startled
out of her wits, at length penetrated his slumbering intelligence.
"All right," he called drowsily. "What's the time?"
"I don't know, sir," cried poor Susan through the door. "Please, sir,
there be a passel o' men firing shots at the Towers."
"Nonsense!" said Trevanion.
"'Tis gospel truth, sir. There be hundreds o' men shoutin' and
hollerin', and Cook be fainted dead away in kitchen."
"Fling cold water on her, Susan. There's nothing to be afraid of.
They're shooting rabbits, I've no doubt."
Trevanion's thought was that the smugglers had been checkmated at the
creek, and then, in their fury, had attacked the Towers, believing that
their discomfiture was due to an alliance between the Squire and the
revenue officers. His chagrin at the loss of his expected profits was
not so profound as his delight in the thought that the enmity he had so
carefully fostered was bearing such rich fruit. Far be it from him to
interfere. But being now effectually awakened, he bade Susan to return
to the kitchen, dressed quickly, and went to an upper window whence he
could see something of what was going on. The Towers was, however, too
far away, and the air too misty, for him to observe the operations so
closely as he would have liked, and, curiosity and malicious pleasure
overcoming his prudence, he determined to set forth and watch from a
more convenient standpoint the mischief which he hoped was afoot. But
wishing not to attract attention, he forbade his household to leave the
premises, issued by the back door, and slunk round the inside of one of
his high fences.
He had advanced about half-way to the Towers when he was startled to
hear shots behind him, from the direction of the village. The sound
brought him to a sudden halt, and a sickening misgiving seized him. Had
the firing begun in the village, there is little doubt that he would
have at once suspected the attack of which he had long been secretly in
dread. But the fact that the Towers was being assaulted, so soon after
the run was to have taken place, had thrown him off his guard. Now, in
a flash, he remembered what Doubledick had said about his interview with
Delarousse, and the misleading information given to the Frenchman. At
the time, and since, he had been somewhat sceptical of the innkeeper's
veracity, but he began to think that his statement had, after all, been
true. At any rate, it was the Towers that was in danger; the Dower
House was at present safe; and after a brief pause of hesitation, he
turned about and hurried back in the direction of his own house.
But he had scarcely taken half-a-dozen steps when, from behind a bush
close by, there rose a red-capped figure, and Trevanion looked straight
at the muzzle of a firelock. He stopped, and before he could collect
his wits, two other figures joined the first. "C'est lui!" cried one of
the Frenchmen. They were three of the sentries whom Delarousse had
placed around the village, and were hastening to rejoin their leader in
advance of the band now dashing up the hill. Trevanion was so much
taken aback as to be incapable of resistance. All that he did when the
men roughly seized him was to protest that a mistake had been made.
"Ah! ah!" said one of his captors. "On ne s'en trompe pas; pas de
tout." The other two each took one of Trevanion's arms, and marched him
at a great pace through a gate in the fence towards the Towers, the
third man bringing up the rear. What happened when Trevanion and
Delarousse came face to face has already been related.
Maidy Susan, when Trevanion had left the house, showed herself strangely
callous to the sad plight of Cook. Convinced that the Corsican Ogre had
at last effected his long-threatened landing, she wondered in her simple
soul why her master had not ordered the alarm bell to be rung, and the
men servants to seize their arms and sally forth to defend their
country. She peeped in at the kitchen, saw that Cook had recovered
sufficiently to fan herself and scream, and then ran upstairs to watch
what was going on. Only a minute or two afterwards, Trevanion broke
from his captors and fled, the yelling Frenchmen in full cry behind.
"'Tis he! 'Tis Boney!" cried Susan.
She clutched at the casement frame for support, then suddenly flew
downstairs like a young deer. It was she who held the door open, she
who was forced back by the onrush of the infuriated Frenchmen. She
crouched behind the door until the last of them, Delarousse himself,
passed, then sped to the top of the house and began frantically to pull
the bell-rope. Meanwhile the men whom Trevanion had been at such pains
to drill had fled towards the village, and fallen into the hands of
Delarousse's sentries.
Trevanion darted along the passage and up the stairs like a fox seeking
cover from the hounds. He flung himself into his room, slammed and
bolted the door, caught up a pistol, and stood, panting from haste and
terror, in the middle of the floor. He heard the loud and rapid tramp
of his pursuers drawing near.
"Keep out, or I'll shoot you!" he cried.
The Frenchmen laughed him to scorn. He was one; they were many. They
set their shoulders to the door; the timbers cracked, gave way; a bullet
whizzed harmlessly over their heads; and bursting into the room, they
seized their victim and dragged him out and down the stairs again.
Delarousse met them at the foot. Gasping for breath, he ordered some of
his men to bind Trevanion's arms behind his back and take him down to
the lugger, others to set fire to the house.
"Ah! scelerat!" he bellowed. "Tu es a moi!"
Scarcely had the words left his lips when one of his band, who had been
wounded by a shot from the Towers, hurried in with the news that a party
of men were in pursuit of them. Confiding Trevanion to the charge of
four of his most trusty followers, Delarousse collected the rest, and
led them to the front of the house, which the newcomers were said to be
approaching. At the end of the drive, where it branched from the road,
was Tonkin with his company of fishermen and miners.
Tonkin had led his men up the hill with more haste than discretion.
When they reached the top they were blown, and for some minutes had to
moderate their pace. They could not see from the road what was
happening behind the fences, and had come midway between the Dower House
and the Towers, at the same time as Trevanion arrived abreast of them in
the opposite direction. But the spectators on the tower had seen them.
The moment Trevanion entered his door, the Squire, with Dick, Sam, and
Penwarden, hurried down the stairs.
"Hang it, Dick, they're Frenchmen!" cried the Squire, his fighting blood
roused. "We must clear the rascals out."
On reaching the ground he dispatched Sam to tell Tonkin that the
Frenchmen were now going in the other direction, and hurried on with the
others, intending to join the fishers at the Dower House. He arrived in
time to see Tonkin's men fire a volley at the Frenchmen at the windows.
Little damage was done; Delarousse did not return the fire. He had
achieved the object of his raid, and had no desire to enter into useless
hostilities. Having taken stock of the enemy, he withdrew his men into
the house, which was already filling with pungent smoke.
Tonkin halted his men for a moment in order to recover breath. It
looked as if he would have to take the house by storm, a difficult task
in the face of odds. But he was a man of bulldog courage, if no
tactician. Smarting with the indignity he had suffered, and without
stopping to think that Delarousse might have no designs except against
Trevanion, he ordered his men to reload, and prepared to lead them to
the attack.
Delarousse, however, had taken advantage of the momentary lull to
withdraw his men through a long window in the wall of the house facing
the village. The result was that when Tonkin, after so much delay as was
necessary for his men to regain their breath and prime their muskets,
led them at the charge up to the house and broke through the door, he
found the house deserted, and the enemy in full retreat down the hill.
He rushed after them, eager to overtake them before they reached the
village. Some of his men had noticed that the house was on fire, but in
their excitement none stayed to extinguish the flames, nor even to warn
or assist the person who was still ringing the bell.
By this time the Squire, with Dick and Penwarden, skirting the grounds
of the house, had joined Tonkin's party, and was hurrying with them down
the hill. The Frenchmen had more than a hundred yards start, and on the
descent proved to be as fleet of foot as their pursuers. On reaching
the first of the houses, Delarousse was met by the rest of his cordon,
who, now that the matter had come to a fight, saw that they could employ
themselves more usefully than in keeping guard. Now the Frenchmen
turned at bay, and checked the pursuit with a scattered volley.
"Empty your muskets, then charge the ruffians!" shouted the Squire,
taking command as of right.
The Cornishmen responded with a cheer. A shower of slugs flew through
the air, but the Frenchmen having scattered, and many of them being
protected by the angles of houses on the winding road, only one or two
were hit. There was no time for either party to reload. The pursuers
dashed forward, wielding cutlasses, and their muskets as clubs. The
pursued stood to meet the charge; there were a few moments of
hand-to-hand conflict; Tonkin's burly figure was conspicuous in the
thickest of the fray, wielding his musket like a flail; but the numbers
of the Frenchmen prevailed, and the Squire recalled the men, to re-form
them and charge again. From this point there was a straggling fight
down the hill to the neighbourhood of the inn. The Squire, with Dick,
Penwarden, and Tonkin close about him, led a series of rushes against
the retreating enemy, whose numbers were always sufficient to give them
check.
On coming to the inn, which was within a short distance of the jetty,
Delarousse saw with alarm that his escape had been cut off. This was
not due to any prevision on Tonkin's part. He had been too eager to
follow up the Frenchmen to consider ultimate contingencies. But his
defect as a tactician was supplied by a man whom no one had hitherto
suspected of any capacity in that direction, and who enjoyed henceforth,
to the day of his death, a very exalted reputation in Polkerran on the
strength of this one achievement.
Pennycomequick, the cobbler, perceiving that the Frenchmen on the lugger
were apparently stunned, hastily got together a little party of men and
boys, boarded the vessel, clapped the Frenchmen under hatches, and then
punted out some distance from the jetty, towing the boats that had lain
drawn up on the little beach. No one as yet knew that the Frenchmen had
not sailed all the way from Roscoff in the lugger; the _Aimable Vertu_
in the offing was concealed by the mist that still shrouded the sea.
Finding himself thus cut off from communication with his vessel,
Delarousse, who had released the men trussed up by Tonkin, with ready
resource flung himself into the inn, and ordered his company to reload
and occupy the windows. The Squire, now as keen as when he had been a
young lieutenant, saw instantly that, the superiority in force being
with the Frenchmen, the possession of the inn gave them an additional
advantage which would render an attack hazardous to the last degree. He
called a halt, to consider the next move.
At this moment the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard from round the
corner leading to the hill, and Mr. Carlyon rode down.
"What's all this, Trevanion?" he cried.
"A pack of rascally Frenchmen have raided the place, Vicar," answered
the Squire, "and are now holding the inn."
"Bless my life! What impudent scoundrels!"
He dismounted, nimbly for a man of his years.
"Give me a gun," he cried. "Here, you--I forget your name--get on my
horse and ride to Truro as fast as you can and bring all the able-bodied
men and any old soldiers you can find there. You, Benjamin Pound, go
round to Doubledick's stables, take a horse, ride to Portharvan, and ask
Sir Bevil from me to call out the yeomanry."
"Please, yer reverence, I can't ride a hoss," said the young fisher
addressed.
"Can't ride! You must, or find someone who can. Off with you, or you
shan't come to my dinner to-morrow. Bless my soul! Raiding on the day
before Christmas! Can't we turn 'em out, Trevanion?"
"Impossible, Vicar, unless we're prepared to lose half our men. And
then we'd fail. One man behind a wall is equal to four outside."
"What did Doubledick mean by letting the villains into the inn? How did
they come here? I don't see any vessel."
Tonkin was explaining the circumstances when, down the stairs beside the
inn wall, came Doubledick, pale, dishevelled, and covered with dust.
Becoming alarmed for his safety when the inn was invaded by the
Frenchmen, he had made his way out by a secret passage leading up the
slope into a house abutting on the stairway. He came up to the group
silently and unobserved, and listened to Tonkin's explanations and the
further account given by the Squire of the attack on the Towers and the
subsequent pursuit and capture of John Trevanion. Then he pressed
forward to the Vicar's side.
"Ah! yer reverence," he said with unction, "'tis a judgment, 'tis
indeed. It do cut me to the heart to say so, but Maister John be the
wicked cause of this affliction."
"What do you mean, Doubledick?" asked the Vicar, with a sidelong glance
at the Squire.
"Do 'ee mind, sir, that night a while ago when the sojers wer ridin'
about country arter a runaway prisoner? Well, I own 'a was for a little
small time in my inn; I'd never seed un afore, and didn' know he wer a
runaway till 'twas too late to gie un up." (Doubledick, it will be
observed, was not over-scrupulous as to his facts.) "While he was here,
Maister John came down from Dower House and seed un, and they hollered
at each other in the French lingo till my ears wer drummin'. Ah! 'twas
then I first had my mispicions o' Maister John."
"Cut your story short, man," said Mr. Carlyon impatiently.
"Well, then, yer reverence, when I went over to France, the Frenchy
telled me as how Maister John, Robinson by name, wer his partner for ten
year, and robbed him right and left. Ah! he was a clever rogue, too,
keepin' in the background so as our Polkerran men shouldn' see un when
they wented over to--to sell fish. And Delarousse swore to me, 'a did,
that he'd take vengeance on him, and now he be come to do it, sure
enough. If I may make so bold, I'd say let the Frenchy take Maister
John and leave us in peace. I don't want to see my inn riddled wi'
shots and crumbled about my ears."
"Iss, and so say I," cried Tonkin. "Delarousse telled me the self-same
story, but I didn' believe un; no, I couldn' believe as Maister John
were sech a 'nation rogue. I must believe it, now Doubledick hev telled
us all. Let un go, sir, and be-jowned to un."
Fierce cries of approval broke from the crowd, but the Squire held up
his hand for silence.
"Let me have a word, neighbours," he said. "We're Cornishmen, every man
of us, and good subjects of King George. We can't allow a French
raiding party to arrest a man on English soil, whatever his character
may be. 'Tis flat treason; what do you say, Vicar?"
"I agree with you. As a magistrate, neighbours, I say we must do our
duty."
"I won't go agen Squire and pa'son," cried Tonkin. "I stand up for King
Jarge."
"King Jarge for ever!" shouted the crowd.
"Well, then," said the Vicar, "we'll hold our ground here until the
yeomanry come up, and then we'll storm the inn. God save the King!"
At this moment Dick pushed his way through the crowd.
"The privateer is under weigh, sir," he cried, "and standing in for the
harbour."
All eyes were turned towards the sea. The _Aimable Vertu_, which had
been lying off the headland, almost concealed by the mist, was steering
for the fairway, evidently with the intention of coming to the
assistance of the landing-party.
"Where's Mr. Mildmay?" cried the Squire. "'Tis for him to capture that
rascally privateer."
Doubledick looked conscious; Tonkin and his fishers exchanged glances,
and thought of the cargo in the hold of the _Isaac and Jacob_.
"We can do it, sir," cried Dick suddenly. "She must pass beneath that
big rock at the head of the Beal. It doesn't stand steady, and a good
push would hurl it over into the fairway. Let the vessel come in, and
then block up the channel; she'd be caught then."
"A capital notion," said the Vicar. "Off with you, Dick; take two or
three men with you. Have a care not to throw yourself over too."
Dick hurried off with a few of the younger men. When they arrived at the
landward end of the Beal, the privateer was slowly threading her course
through the fairway towards the jetty, a man in the chains sounding
busily. She crept in, and had come within a hundred yards of the jetty
when Dick and his companions reached the boulder. They heard the rattle
of her anchor; she swung broadside to the village, and the spectators on
shore saw a formidable row of guns grinning from her portholes. Dick
and his companions set their shoulders to the rock.
The door of the inn meanwhile had opened, and Delarousse appeared,
holding aloft a musket, to which a white cloth was attached as a flag of
truce.
"I vill speak viz you," he said, pointing to the Squire, whom he
recognised.
"Shall I parley with the rascal?" asked the Squire of Mr. Carlyon.
"Yes. We wish to avoid bloodshed, but it must be unconditional
surrender, Trevanion."
The Squire stepped towards the inn, meeting Delarousse half-way.
"You speak French, monsieur?" said the latter courteously.
"Not a word, sir," replied the Squire.
"Ah! C'est dommage! I speak English, bad, monsieur. I make a
meestake: I demand pardon. I not know ze house vas to you; pardon ze
meestake, monsieur."
"We'll say no more about that, sir," said the Squire. "I am willing to
believe you had no wish to attack me. But this is an act of war, sir.
You must at once set your prisoner free, and surrender, every one of
you."
"Ah, no, monsieur," returned the Frenchman with a smile. "I haf to say
your demand is ridicule. I make vun sign: bah! ze shot from my vessel
zey strike ze village all to pieces. Voyez! Ze boats come now for me.
You stop me? No."
The Squire turned and looked in the direction of Delarousse's
outstretched hand. Two boats had been lowered from the deck of the
privateer, and, filled with men armed to the teeth, were now pulling for
the jetty. It was clear that under the vessel's broadside no attempt to
check this fresh invasion could be successful.
"You see?" continued the Frenchman, who had watched the expression on
the Squire's face. "I not quarrel viz ze people here; mon Dieu, no!
Zey are my friends; viz zem I haf excellent affairs, zey profit us both.
Ze man zat injure me, I haf him. Vat avantage of resistance? None. Zen
I depart: all is finish vizout--vizout combat sanguinaire."
"Your proposal----" began the Squire, but at this moment a dull splash
was heard from the direction of the Beal. Dick and his assistants had
displaced the rock, which rolled over the edge, bounded on to the ledge
whence Dick had made his dive, and then plunged almost into the middle
of the fairway. Even at that distance a few feet of it could be seen
projecting above the surface.
"Sacre nom d'un chien!" cried Delarousse, startled out of his
equanimity. "Vat is zis?"
"Some of my men have blocked up the fairway with a large rock," replied
the Squire. "It is now impossible for your vessel to clear the
harbour."
"But zis is perfidy, monsieur!" cried the furious Frenchman. "Ve speak
as parlementaires; zere is arrest of hostilities; ma foi! zis is ze
perfidy of English."
"Not at all, sir. The men had already gone to do their work; I could
not stop them. You see your position, sir. I advise you to consult
with your men and surrender at discretion."
They parted. Delarousse, livid with anger, returned to the inn; the
Squire rejoined his party.
"We have the rascals," said Mr. Carlyon gleefully.
"I axe yer pardon, sir," said Tonkin, "but don't 'ee think we'd better
let the Frenchies go in peace arter all? They guns 'ud knock the
village to dust, and there's the women and childer to think of."
"Ah! that's true," said the Vicar, and taking Mr. Trevanion aside, he
began to discuss the matter with him. While they were still earnestly
talking, there was a shout. They broke apart, and turning, saw that
Delarousse had solved the problem in his own way.
The inn fronted the jetty, but on its southward side a narrow lane ran
between the blind walls of the pilchard fishers' salting-houses. The
further end of this was nearer by a few yards to the sea. Rendered
desperate, the Frenchman saw in the conversation between the two
gentlemen an opportunity for making a dash. He ordered four of his men
to throw open a low window giving on the lane, and to rush John
Trevanion as quickly as possible down to the jetty, while he maintained
his position with the rest at the front windows. Then, as soon as he
was informed that the four men had arrived at the end of the lane, he
gave the word for all to follow. Before the besiegers were aware of
this sudden movement, the Frenchmen had gained a start of more than
fifty yards.
"After them, my men!" cried the Squire, when he saw them rushing from
behind the wall of the salting-house towards the jetty.
The whole party poured in pursuit. But by the time they reached the
shoreward end of the jetty, John Trevanion had been lowered into the
first of the privateer's boats. The second had towed back a number of
the craft which Pennycomequick had removed from the shore, the lugger
itself, however, with the cobbler and his helpers aboard, still lying in
the harbour on the inner side of the reef. Into these boats Delarousse
and his men leapt, and pulled off swiftly to the privateer. They had no
sooner left the jetty than a puff of smoke issued from one of the
vessel's portholes; there was a roar, and a round shot crashed into the
planking, smashing several yards of it, and sending up splinters almost
into the eyes of the Squire.
"'Tis no good, Trevanion," cried the Vicar. "We shall all be slaughtered
if we line up and fire at them. They've got your cousin, and we can't
help it."
"But they can't get out of the fairway, and there's no water on the
reef," said the Squire. "If only Mildmay were here!"
He was soon to see that he had not reckoned with the seamanship of Jean
Delarousse. The first of the boats pulled at full speed towards the
fairway, receiving from the deck of the privateer a sounding-line as she
passed. From the second boat Delarousse climbed to the deck of his
vessel. The pilot crew, having sounded and measured the width of the
channel between the fairway and the cliff, signed to their captain that
he might proceed. It seemed to Dick impossible that the vessel should
win through, and he watched with unstinted admiration the Frenchman's
skilful seamanship. Delarousse ordered the anchor to be tripped, and
the vessel moved slowly towards the fairway, close-hauled on the
starboard tack. When she reached the rock, she seemed to graze the
cliff as she passed into the narrow channel; but with Delarousse himself
at the helm she passed safely through. Then, there being a fair wind on
her starboard quarter, Delarousse hauled up his courses, mainsail and
foresail, and threw his foreyard aback. The check on the ship's way
gave him time to take aboard the boat, which had been moored to the
rock, the rest of his crew having already clambered up the side from the
other boats. These were then cast adrift; the foreyard filled, and the
_Aimable Vertu_ stood out to sea.