THE SURPRISE
There lay moored in the basin in the harbor of Dover two fast-sailing
luggers that, despite the fact that they had been in the water
but two years, had already earned great reputations for speed and
seaworthiness, and to their merchant owners they had proved sources of
pride and profit.
Mr. Robert Boltwood and his brother had been approached upon more than
one occasion by persons desirous of purchasing either one of their two
crack coasters. They were not surprised, therefore, when they received
an offer made through a shipping firm, whose principal partners were
Dutchmen, for one of the vessels named the Roebuck, but they were
surprised when their terms were accepted, for they had placed what
they considered almost a prohibitive price upon the Roebuck, which if
anything was the faster of the two.
It was natural, perhaps, for them to wish to know for what purpose the
Roebuck had been bought. All they could ascertain, however, was that a
gentleman named Allan, claiming to come from London, and one Mr. Van
der Beck, a Hollander, had bought her in partnership, and that she was
to sail out of Dunkirk in the Channel trade.
Now it happened that in Dunkirk there were several indefatigable spies
of the British Government, and in some way it had leaked out that a
privateering expedition was on foot. There were so many idle American
seamen in the port that it would have been a wonder if some such rumor
had not been floated, and the story that started really need have had
no connection with Conyngham’s cherished project. Suffice it, however,
that this came to the ears of Messrs. Boltwood’s representative, who
accordingly informed his firm, and this news reached them but a short
time after they had completed the sale of the Roebuck. The terms of the
sale had not included the delivery of the vessel across the Channel,
but Mr. Allan and the fictitious Mr. Van der Beck had mistakenly
supposed that there would be no difficulty in securing a crew, or at
least enough men to sail her to her port of destination. To their
surprise, however, they found that this was not the case. Sailors were
hard to find, and it soon became evident, also, that the old owners,
repenting of their bargain, were working against them. This and the
fact that their suspicions had also been aroused, made the secret
commissioners wary of appearing to be in a great hurry. So while the
Roebuck remained at anchor they informed their friends in Dunkirk of
the situation, and Conyngham resolved upon a bold plan. It was nothing
more nor less than to sail with some eight or ten men in a large open
yawl and bring out the Roebuck at night from her anchorage. It was
agreed that Mr. Van der Beck (whom everybody will recognize as the
elder Ross), who had lived in Holland and spoke the language like a
born Dutchman, and Allen, should move themselves and their belongings
on board the Roebuck, whose crew consisted of two French sailors,
almost so decrepit from age as to be no longer on the active list. On a
given night this short-handed crew were to slip their anchor and make
out toward the harbor mouth where Conyngham and his crew of eight men
would be taken on board, when they would sail at once for Dunkirk.
Those were the days when smuggling between the Continent and
England was considered almost a legitimate venture, and despite the
watchfulness of the English coast-guard vessels, from many small ports
and coves smuggler pilots ran their contraband cargoes in and out. It
was not difficult for Conyngham to secure the services of a French
smuggler pilot, and in fact some of the men of the crew, Americans
though they were, had been employed, at times, in the same risky
business.
A big open yawl was procured without difficulty, and on a misty night
she slipped out of Dunkirk harbor heading with a favoring easterly wind
for the English coast. For a short time this held true and steady, but
fortune after a few hours turned against them. Before daybreak the
wind had increased to half a gale, and in the choppy sea the yawl had
a bad time of it. It was only by good seamanship and constant bailing
that she was kept afloat. The afternoon of the next day they found
themselves about three leagues from the English coast, and the wind
abating they laid their course for the white cliffs of Dover.
All apparently was going well, and they had passed several vessels
without exciting suspicion, for the smallness of their craft was a
great point in their favor, and she might have been taken for a coaster
or fisherman hailing from any of the small villages that sent out their
little fleets during the trawling season.
Late in the afternoon, while they were creeping southward along the
coast, a king’s cutter suddenly appeared around a little headland not
two miles away. The French pilot who was at the helm was undoubtedly
responsible for what followed, for the sudden appearance of the cutter
must have caused him to lose his head. Without a word of warning he
threw the yawl up into the wind and headed her off shore, plainly in an
endeavor to give the cutter a wider berth. The suspicious action had
been seen by the Englishman, who at once altered his own course and
turned off in pursuit.
Captain Conyngham at the time that the coast-guard was sighted had been
resting asleep under a tarpaulin between the thwarts. The exclamations
of the men on seeing the cutter’s tactics aroused him, and as soon as
he had looked to leeward he saw that it was only a matter of time when
the cutter would overhaul his little craft.
They were still so close into shore that they could see the white surf
leaping and boiling against the rocks and at the base of the cliff. At
one point he could make out a little break in the steep side, with some
foliage near the top, and down at the bottom a short stretch of sandy
beach.
A rocky ledge formed a barrier to the entrance of the little cove, and
over it the water jumped and tossed angrily. Here and there, farther
inshore, leaped sudden spurts of foam as the waves thundered on the
sharp points of the hidden rocks. Yet one thing he noticed clearly even
at the distance he was from shore--the water ran smoothly and evenly up
to the narrow stretch of white beach, showing that within a few feet of
shore it deepened again. His mind was made up in an instant.
[Illustration: The yawl was in the midst of the smother.]
The cutter was outpointing the yawl, and though at first to leeward was
working up to the windward position. Conyngham gave a few quick orders
as he grasped the tiller. The yawl swung about, and with loosened
sheets caught the wind abaft the beam and tore away shoreward. The
cutter came about also, taking a longer time at it, and, flying down
just outside the edge of the breakers, made a bold attempt to head the
yawl and turn her back before she could cross her bows.
It came to be a question of minutes, and there was an added danger now,
for the cutter opened up with a small bow gun, firing as quickly as she
could load and aim. But, owing to the small size of the target and the
uneven rise and fall of the chop, her marksmanship was bad, and though
the balls whistled overhead and plashed all round, not one struck the
intended mark.
The Frenchman, who was now in a state of terror, began to call upon the
saints. To Conyngham’s inquiry whether he knew of a safe entrance to
the little cove at which they were heading he vouchsafed no reply. But
as they drew near the line of breakers his wails increased.
“We shall all be drowned!” he cried over and over. “Better a prison
than the bottom of the sea.”
But Conyngham, with one eye ahead and the other on the approaching
cutter, held his course. In another moment he had crossed the
Englishman’s bows, and as the latter fired a parting shot the yawl was
in the midst of the smother of tumbling waters.
How she got through it without being wrecked was more than any one
of the crew could ever tell. Time and again they held their breath,
expecting to be crushed upon the black points that now and then showed
themselves on either hand. But with the skill of an Indian guiding his
canoe down the rapids, Conyngham steered the little boat, and in half
an hour she had safely passed the barrier reef and the worst part of
the sailing, and soon was in the comparatively smooth water near the
little beach.
Now there could be noticed a few roughly built huts of stone before
which there were some nets drying on the ground, and some frightened
fishermen came down to the water’s edge. One of them hailed in half
French and half English, to which Conyngham replied.
The man informed them that they had better not land, as they had been
seen by the Government lookout on the top of the cliff, and that in all
probability the guards would soon be down and they would all be made
prisoners.
Evidently, like the cutter, the fellow had taken them for smugglers,
but he gave the information that farther down the coast there was a
small cove inaccessible and invisible from above, where they might be
able to get ashore.
Shortening sail, Conyngham headed the yawl southward. Out to sea the
cutter was holding the same course, watching like a cat at a rat-hole.
It looked as if escape was impossible, for a long promontory ran out to
south not four leagues away, and with a shifted wind it would be only
by miracle that they could keep from going ashore.
But the darkness, that Conyngham was waiting for, came at last, ushered
in by a blinding fall of rain, and in it he once more managed to make
an offing and by good luck and good seamanship weathered the point,
and with the cutter somewhere back in the darkness, he made out once
more into the open channel. At daybreak he was off Dover and could see
the flag flying on the walls of the castle, and a mass of shipping
about the entrance. He made boldly in and dropped his little anchor
amid a fleet of small craft. The harbor at this time was not one of the
best in the world, for the shingle bar would keep shifting, and the
breakwaters, except the old basin piers, were not then built. But lying
well out Captain Conyngham detected a vessel that, from the description
he had received from Mr. Allan, he was sure could be none other than
the Roebuck.
His sailing in so boldly had not attracted the least notice, and as
he had bidden most of the crew to keep themselves out of sight under
the tarpaulins, the number of men he had with him had not attracted
attention either.
Just at dusk he got up his anchor and came farther up into the harbor.
As he passed by the Roebuck his heart was beating with excitement, for
she looked to be the very vessel for his purpose. He was within hailing
distance when a figure came on deck. He could scarce refrain from
shouting from sheer joy, for he recognized the stocky figure of his
friend Allan. Another minute and he had called his name.
Working the yawl alongside he soon stepped on deck. It was considered
too risky to transfer the men while there was yet light enough for them
to be perceived, and, uncomfortable as it may have been for them, they
remained in their cramped position in the smaller boat until almost
midnight. In the early morning hours the Roebuck slipped her cable and
slid out like a ghost through the channel fog. The yawl was being towed
behind, but as it impeded the lugger’s sailing the small boat was
stove in, laden with some of the spare ballast from the Roebuck, and
sunk.
Without adventure or molestation they reached Dunkirk under the British
flag. As they dropped anchor well up the harbor, Mr. Allan turned to
the young captain with a smile.
“Well, sir,” he said, “this part of the proceeding is over and we are
ready to go on with the rest of it. By the way, shall we keep the
name?” He pointed to the stern of the jolly-boat where the word Roebuck
stood out in red letters.
“No,” returned Conyngham, “that will all be changed. She has been
renamed what we hope she’ll be.”
“And that is?” queried Mr. Allan.
“The Surprise,” was Conyngham’s answer.