THE CHANNEL CRUISE
The people of Dunkirk must have been very stupid indeed if they could
not have perceived that there was something mysterious about the
strange little vessel that lay moored to one of the wharves. Although
there was some attempt at carrying out the disguise of her being a
peaceful trader, there were many circumstances arising that would mark
her otherwise. But, to tell the truth, the people of Dunkirk were not
only suspicious. In their minds they were quite settled as to the aims
and ambitions of the jaunty little lugger, and sailors ashore are wont
sometimes to let their tongues get away with their discretion.
The English spies and agents of course were well informed, and letters
were written even to the papers in London describing the doings
at Dunkirk, and the preparations that were being made to outfit a
“piratical expedition,” as it was called, against the king’s commerce
in his own home water.
Objection was continually made by the English representatives against
the outfitting of a belligerent vessel in a friendly port, but nothing
was done by the French authorities, and very soon the Surprise--or the
Roebuck, as she was then called--was ready for sea with the exception
of her armament, her given destination being Norway and Sweden.
Conyngham and his crew had kept away during the lading of the vessel,
and most of the work had been done by Frenchmen, in order to prevent
the whole thing from being too glaringly open. But one evening, just
about dusk, Conyngham strolled down the edge of the wharf and stood
watching some long boxes that were being slung on board and lowered
over the side. A very short red-haired man came up to him and spoke to
him in French.
“Good evening, monsieur,” he said. “A pretty little vessel this, eh?”
Conyngham turned at once and looked the speaker over. He knew him to
be an Englishman who was supposed to be a Government spy. The man’s
audacity in daring to approach him at that moment was rather startling,
but Conyngham’s reply must have been more so.
“She is good to look at,” he returned in French, “and they tell me she
is sailing to-morrow night. But let us go down to her,” he said, taking
the smaller man’s arm, “and ask some questions of those on board. We
may learn something.”
Half reluctantly, the Englishman accompanied him. In a few steps they
were at the gangway. The tackle that had just deposited its load on
deck swung outboard from the yard-arm that was being used as a crane,
and passed close to where Conyngham and the spy were standing. With a
swiftness that was surprising, Conyngham caught the rope in one hand
and gave it a twist about the body of his companion beneath the arms.
“Hoist away,” he shouted, holding the struggling Englishman. And before
he knew it the latter was swinging in the air, afraid to struggle for
fear of being dropped, but shouting and cursing in hearty John Bull
fashion.
Conyngham rushed up the gangway and met a tall, dark-featured man, who
saluted him as he stepped on board. Just then the Englishman’s feet
touched the deck also.
“Here, Monsieur Villois, have this man brought to the cabin,” said
Conyngham, and the half-frightened spy was ushered in by two grinning
French sailors.
“Now, sir,” said Conyngham, “you shall learn all about it. Sit down.”
He motioned the spy to a seat and then, looking at him fixedly,
continued:
“For the last three weeks you have dogged my footsteps; you have tried
to overhear everything that I have spoken, and you have eavesdropped at
windows and doors when I was in company with other gentlemen. You have
a companion here who claims to be a very learned person, and always
goes about with a book under his arm, wearing big spectacles. Last
evening you met on a bench at the end of the park that leads to the
street of the windmill, and you said--” Here to the Englishman’s horror
and surprise Conyngham detailed a long conversation that had taken
place--word for word he had it. At last he was interrupted.
“But you could not have heard this; there was no one nigh us,” said the
Englishman, and then he added quickly, “I see it all. That villain has
betrayed me. What do you intend to do with me?”
“I intend,” said Conyngham quietly, “to tell you all you want to
know, and to set you on shore at the proper moment. The first and
most interesting point, I suppose,” he continued, “would be, What is
the destination of this vessel and when does she sail? That is easy.
She sails to-night--in fact, in about two hours. Her destination is
nowhere in particular. At present she is the property of a French firm
of merchants, and is a peaceable, unarmed lugger. In about six hours,
if the wind holds fair, she will be purchased by the United Colonies
of America. She will be signed and receipted for outside of the
jurisdiction of the French Government. Her name also will be changed,
as well as her character.”
“You will be pirates?” gasped the spy.
“Not in the least,” was Conyngham’s return. “If that question should
ever arise, it could be settled with little trouble. Now,” he
concluded, “you know as much as you would like to, I am sure.”
“And are you going to set me on shore?” asked the Englishman
incredulously.
“Not yet, my friend,” was Conyngham’s reply. “I still have use for you.”
Just at this moment the cabin door opened and the tall man who had
stood at the gangway entered. The darkness of his complexion and the
straightness of his black hair betrayed the fact that he was of Spanish
or some southern extraction. But the English that he spoke was pure and
without accent, as it had been proved, also, was his French.
“Well, captain,” he said, “the last box has been put on board. The rest
that are standing about are all empty. We are ready to get under way.”
“Has the other vessel sailed?” asked Conyngham, adding, with a wave of
his hand, “you can speak frankly before this gentleman.”
“She has, sir; she slipped out four hours ago, and will join us three
leagues off the coast to-morrow at daylight.”
“Are all the crew on board of her?”
“Yes, sir, and the armament. I am afraid we shall have some difficulty
with the six-pounder.”
“Never cross a bridge till you come to it, Mr. Freeman,” returned
Conyngham, “and now one more question. Is the agent of Mr. Hortalez on
board?”
“Yes, sir; he is waiting on deck.”
“Tell him I will join him in half a minute. If you should ask my advice
as a mere passenger who has had some experience, I should say that we
might slip our moorings quietly and get under way; the tide, I should
judge, would carry us well down the harbor. But I merely advise it, you
understand, as you are the captain of the ship. And by the way, Mr.
Bulger,” he added, turning to the spy, “you will kindly wait here for
my return; there is a gentleman at the door who will object to your
leaving, so if you will allow me to suggest, it will be better for you
to remain here quietly.”
He arose as he spoke and left the cabin. “Mr. Bulger” remained seated,
with consternation written on every line of his face. In a few minutes,
though there had been no sound from the deck, he could tell from the
swaying of the vessel that they were under way. For fully half an hour
the Roebuck drifted quietly with the tide, and then the mainsail was
hoisted and she keeled over to the damp easterly breeze that carried
her out beyond the mouth of the harbor. For some time she sailed,
holding a course to the northwestward, then she hove to and as day
broke she was seen to be about three leagues off the French coast; and
not two miles away, hove to also, was a clumsy little brig with her
brown sails laid back against the mast. A red flag suddenly appeared,
waving over the brig’s side. This was answered by the wave of a white
one over the Roebuck’s taffrail, and then one on the port tack and
the other on the starboard; swiftly the two vessels approached until
within hailing distance. The decks of the little brig were crowded with
sailormen, and amidships were long boxes, carefully wrapped and ready
for slinging, and a few long bales wound in sail-cloth. By careful
maneuvering they were brought together broadside to broadside, well
tendered and lashed. No sooner had this been accomplished under the
direction of the dark man, at whose side stood Conyngham, than the
latter turned, and speaking to a slightly built but richly dressed
young Frenchman, who was evidently a little upset by the motion of the
sea, he requested him to step into the cabin, where he was introduced
to the imprisoned Englishman as Mr. Beauchier, the representative of
the owners of the Roebuck.
“And now, Mr. Bulger,” remarked Conyngham, after the introduction,
“comes the favor that I am going to ask of you. I shall request you to
witness the sale and transfer of this vessel from its present ownership
to that of the United Colonies of America. The price has been arranged
between Mr. Beauchier and myself, and only our signatures are needed to
the document, with that of a witness to the same. This is the bill of
sale and transfer of the lugger Roebuck, as you can see. Mr. Beauchier
will sign here, I here, and you will witness and put your name on this
line.”
Half trembling, the Englishman scrawled his signature beside those of
the others.
“And now, Mr. Beauchier,” went on Conyngham, “is it true that I
understand that you own also the vessel which is alongside of us?”
“Yes, and her contents,” was the reply.
“Have you got any ballast for sale--old iron or such like?”
“We have, sir, and also some passengers who are anxious to leave the
ship, because they are afraid of the leak which the captain reports she
has sprung.”
“Poor people! Poor people!” repeated Conyngham. “I will take them on
board for nothing.”
The transfer of the long heavy bundles proved an easy task, as the
“passengers” were all of the male sex and insisted upon turning to and
helping. In two hours it was all accomplished; the lashings were cut
off and the two vessels drifted apart.
It had been agreed that the little Englishman should be put ashore at
some obscure French port, the brig being bound now for L’Orient. But as
Mr. Bulger stood watching the lugger square away to the north he ground
his teeth in impotent despair.
“Pirates, just the same,” he muttered. “Pirates, every one of them.”
At that moment there broke from the masthead of the lugger, not the
Jolly Roger, but a big flag with thirteen alternate stripes of red
and white. Across it diagonally stretched the writhing coils of a
rattlesnake, and on the fourth white bar appeared the printed words,
“Don’t tread on me.”