Chapter Thirty Six.
“To vistle for ze Vind.”
Four days passed in the quiet, uneventful way familiar on board a small vessel, with the prisoners sinking into that state of apathy known as accepting the inevitable. They were weary of condoling with one another, and telling themselves that sooner or later their chance for escape would come. They bore their position good-temperedly enough, chatted with the sailors, took a turn or two at steering under the guidance of the man at the helm, and received a nod of approbation from the captain when he saw what they were doing.
“Aha, yais,” he said, showing his teeth. “You vill be my first and second officer before long, and zen ve sall all be ze grand contrabandiste.”
“Oh, shall we?” said Vince, as soon as they were alone. “We shall see about that.”
The captain had been amiable enough to them, and had the boys only felt that those they loved were well and possessing the knowledge that they were safe, the life would have been pleasant enough; but the trouble at home hung like a black cloud over them, and whenever they met each other’s eyes they could read the care they expressed, and the feeling of misery deepened for awhile.
They went to bed as usual that fourth night, but towards morning Vince somehow felt uneasy; and at last, being troubled by thirst, he determined to go up on deck and get a pannikin of water from the cask lashed by the mainmast.
He half expected to find the door fastened, but it yielded to a touch; and, after listening at the cabin for a few moments to try and find whether the captain was asleep, he crept up on deck in the cool grey of the coming morning, and, looking back, saw the man at the helm, and forward two more at the look-out.
He had not many steps to go, and there was the pannikin standing ready, and the cover of the cask had only to be moved for him to dip out a tinful of the cool, fresh water, which tasted delicious; and, being refreshed by the draught, he was about to descend, when the beauty of the sea took his attention. The moon was sinking in the west and the dawn was brightening in the east, so that the waves were lit up in a peculiar way. On the side of the moon they glistened as though formed of liquid copper, while on the side facing the east they were of a lovely, pearly, silvery, ever-changing grey. So beautiful were the tints and lights and shades that Vince remained watching the surface of the sea for some minutes, and then the chill wind suggested that he should go down; when, making a sweep round, he felt as if his breath had been taken away, for there, away to the south, and looming up of huge height and size in the morning mist, was unmistakably the Crag, and they were once more close to home.
Here, then, was the answer to the question they had asked one another—Where are we sailing to now?
Yes: there was the Crag, with its familiar outline; and his heart beat fast as he felt that if Mike’s father were on the look-out with his glass he would be able to see the lugger’s sails.
“No, he must be in bed and asleep,” thought Vince. “But I’ll fetch Mike up to see. Why, old Jacques must be taking us home. No; he is going to fetch another load!”
“Yais, zat is ze Crag,” said a voice behind him, and there stood the captain with a glass under his arm. “Now you vill go down and stop vis ze ozaire boy till I tell you to come up. But zis time you can stay in ze cabin. Mind,” he said impressively, “you vill stay. You comprenez?”
“Oh yes,” said Vince; “but you will let us go as soon as you’ve got the cargo all on board.”
“Aha, you sink so?”
“Yes.”
“But you are not so stupede as to sink I can take all avay at von trip. Non, mon ami, it vill take four or five time more. Now go down, and tell ze ozaire to obey, and not make feel zat I can shoot.”
“May I bring him up to see the Crag?” said Vince.
“No,” replied the captain abruptly. “He sleep. Let him rest. Better you sleep too.”
Vince glanced in at the cabin, to find that the deadlights were up and the place very dimly lit by the tiny skylight. Then, closing the door as he entered the cupboard-like place in which they passed their nights, he found Mike still sleeping; and fearing that he would get into trouble if he tried to watch their approach, he lay down too, and was awakened apparently in a few minutes by Mike shaking him.
“I say, it’s awfully late, and we’ve anchored again.”
“Dressed?” said Vince in wonder.
“Yes, and I was going on deck, but the skipper pushed me back and banged down the hatch. I say, I haven’t the least idea where we are.”
“I have,” said Vince.
“Well, where?”
“Back at the cavern.”
“Nonsense.”
“You’ll see.”
Mike did see, and before long, for half an hour later the captain came down in the cabin, breakfast was eaten, and then the boys were allowed to go on deck, to find themselves in their old berth, with the rocks towering up and shutting them in, while the lugger was safely moored head and stern to the wall-like rock.
Vince involuntarily looked round for the rugged face of old Joe Daygo, and one of the men noticed it.
“Looking for the pilot, youngster?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, he came and run us in while you two were asleep, and you don’t look as if your eyes were unbuttoned yet.”
“It’s of no use, Cinder,” said Mike, as they turned away: “Jacques don’t want us to see how it’s all done; but only wait till we get away, and we’ll find out somehow.”
That was a busy day for every one but the boys; who, quite feeling their helplessness about escaping, quietly settled down to think of their strange position: as the crow flew not above a mile from home, but powerless to make their presence known.
The captain never left the deck, and the boats were going to and fro constantly; but they took nothing ashore, and it was evident that the smuggler meant to clear out the cavern, whose stores were far greater than the boys could have believed. The boats came back loaded down almost to the gunwale; but they were managed with wonderful dexterity, and as soon as they were made fast alongside, the men sprang aboard and their cargoes were rapidly transferred to the hold, which seemed to swallow up an enormous quantity of the contraband goods. So well shaped were the packages and so deftly packed below that they fitted into their places like great bricks in a building, so that by night the lugger was well laden, and it seemed evident that they would sail again when the tide suited.
It was just after dark; all the boats were hanging from the davits, and the tired men busy over a meal the cook had prepared, while the captain was walking thoughtfully up and down the deck, his dark eyes watchful over everything, and the boys, as they leaned over the bulwarks, talking softly together about how well the various little currents were made to work for the smugglers, knew that every motion they made was watched.
“It’s of no use, Ladle,” Vince said cheerily. “This isn’t the place to try and get away. We’ve tried it, and we know. If it was, I’d say, jump in and swim for it!”
“Pst! a boat,” whispered Mike.
Vince turned sharply round, to see that a small boat had suddenly glided out of the darkness, to be borne by the current up against the lugger’s side; and the next minute Daygo climbed in, painter in hand, the captain going up to him at once, and then returning to where the boys were standing together.
Dark as it was, they could see a mocking smile upon the man’s face, but before he could speak Vince forestalled him.
“All right,” he said: “you want us to go below and stay till the lugger is worked out.”
“Yais, zat is it,” said the captain. “Some day you sall help me, visout ze pilot, eh? Go below, and stop youselfs. Shut ze cabin door. You vill find somesings to eat.”
The boys went down without a word, and they had proof that the captain followed them, for a sharp click told that a bolt outside had been shot.
“Eat!” said Vince scornfully; “he thinks that boys are always wanting to eat!”
“Never mind, Cinder,” said Mike, sitting down before the table, upon which some fresh provisions stood. “Let him think what he likes; let you and me eat while we have a chance; we may be escaping, and not get an opportunity for hours and hours.”
Vince saw the force of the argument, and followed his companion’s example, both listening the while and hearing the men hurry on deck.
Soon after they felt the lugger begin to move, and they sat eating and comparing notes as they recalled what they had heard the last time. But they could only build up imaginary ideas about the currents, channels and rocks which the vessel had to thread.
“I give it up,” said Vince; “we can’t understand it all without eyes.”
Just then the captain came down and seated himself to make a hearty supper, and by the time he had done it was evident that they were out to sea once more, for the vessel swayed softly from side to side, but there was little motion otherwise.
“You vill not be sea-seek to-night, mes amis,” said the captain; “zere is hardly no vind at all. You must go on deck soon and vistle for it to come.”
But he did not let them go up till he had himself been there for some time, and when they ascended eagerly, it was to see that the sky was brilliantly studded with stars, a very faint wind blowing from the west, and the Crag looming out of the darkness about a mile away, but Joe Daygo’s boat had disappeared.
The lugger was gliding along very gently, on a north-easterly course, with all sail set; and the boys came to the conclusion that the last manoeuvre was to be repeated, but unless the wind sprang up the trip promised to be long and tedious.
But one never knows what is going to happen at sea.
They had been sailing for about a couple of hours, with the captain walking up and down with a long spy-glass under his arm; and from time to time he stopped to rest it on the rail and carefully sweep the offing, as if in search of something, but apparently always in vain, till all at once he closed the glass with a snap, and walking forward, gave a sharp order, whereupon two of the men hurried below, to return directly with a couple of lanthorns, which were rigged on to a chopstick kind of arrangement, which held them level and apart as they were attached to the halliards and sent gliding up to the mast-head.
“Signal,” whispered Vince; “but we can’t be near the shore.”
They searched the soft, transparent darkness for some time, gazing in the direction in which they had seen the captain use his glass, but it was all in vain; till Vince suddenly started, and pressed his companion’s arm. Then pointed to where, about a mile away, two dull stars close together seemed to be rising slowly out of the sea to a little distance above the horizon, to stand nearly stationary for a while, and then slowly sink down and disappear.
“Another smuggler,” whispered Vince; and then turned to look up at the mast-head of their own vessel, but their signal had been lowered.
“Depend upon it,” whispered Mike, “that boat will come up close, like the other did, and they’ll make fast together and begin to shift cargo.”
“Think so?” said Vince thoughtfully, as it began to dawn upon his mind that possibly Captain Jacques with his fast lugger ran across Channel to various smuggling ports, and brought cargoes over to deposit in the cavern ready for the contraband goods to be fetched by other vessels and landed here and there upon the English coast. He did not know then that he had made a very shrewd guess, and hit the truth of how the captain had for years gone on enriching himself and others by his ingenious way of avoiding the revenue cutters, whose commanders had always looked upon the Crag as a dangerous place, that every one would avoid, but who would have given chase directly had they seen Jacques’ long low swift vessel approaching any part of the English coast to land a cargo.
Vince did not ripen his thoughts then—that happened afterwards, for he was interrupted by a hand laid upon his shoulder, Mike feeling another upon his.
“You sink you vill keep ze middle vatch?” said the captain: “ma foi, no! Go down and sleep, and grow to big man.”
He gave them a gentle push in the direction of the hatch.
“Bon soir,” he said mockingly, and the boys went down.
“You’ll hear the bolts shot directly,” said Vince grimly, as he seated himself on the edge of the bunk.
Click—clack! came instantaneously, and then they heard an ascending step.
“Don’t mean us to see much of what is going on,” said Mike.
“Oh, it isn’t that,” replied Vince. “He fancies we should do something while they’re busy—get a boat down, slip on board the other lugger or whatever it is.”
“He needn’t fancy that,” said Mike. “Frying-pan’s bad enough; I’m not going to jump into the fire and try that!”
“Nor I either. Well, shall we turn in?”
“May as well: I don’t want to stop up and listen to a gang of smugglers loading and unloading their stupid cargo.”
“Nor I, Ladle. I say, what a shame it is of old Jacques to be living now, instead of a hundred years ago! Poor old chap, you won’t get any plunder after all!”
“I don’t see that it’s right to be trying to make fun of our trouble,” said Mike bitterly; “there’s the poor old Crag only a few miles away, and we’re shut up here!”
“Don’t take any notice,” said Vince: “I say all sorts of things I don’t mean. No chance of getting away to-night, is there?”
“No—not even to drown ourselves by trying to swim away,” said Mike, with a sigh; and they hardly spoke again.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The King’s Cutter speaks out.
“Ladle!”
“Hullo!”
“Wake up!”
“What’s the good? We can’t go on deck. May as well lie here and rest.”
“Nonsense! Get up, or I’ll pull you out by one leg!”
“You touch me, and I’ll send you flying against the bulkhead.”
“Go it!” cried Vince, who was standing on the rough floor, in his trousers; and, quick as thought, he seized Mike’s leg and pulled him half out. “Now kick, and I’ll let you down bang.”
“Oh! I say, Cinder, let go! Don’t, there’s a good fellow.”
“Then will you get up?”
“Yes: all right. Does it rain?”
“No—lovely morning; you can see it is through that bit of skylight.”
Mike slipped out and began to dress.
“Wonder what they’ve been doing in the night?”
“Don’t know—don’t care,” said Vince, yawning. “Oh, how horrid it is to be boxed up here like a rabbit! Can hardly breathe, and perhaps he won’t let us out for hours. Here, Jacques, come and unfasten this door,” he said in a low, angry growl; and, seizing the handle, he was about to give the door a rough shake, when to the surprise of both it flew open.
“Hurrah!” cried Vince; and they were not long finishing dressing and hurrying on deck, to find that, whatever might have been done, the hatches were in their places, while a good-sized schooner was lying close by with her sails flapping, as were those of the lugger; for the sea was very smooth, save where the currents showed, and during the night they had been carried by one of these well back towards the island, whose north-east point lay about a couple of miles on their port bow.
“That’s an English schooner, for certain,” said Vince. “What is she?”
“The Shark” read Mike from her stern. “Looks as if she could sail better than the Belle-Marie.”
“Not she,” said Vince, with the tone of authority; “these long three-masted luggers can race through the water.”
“Aha! mes enfans—my good shildren,” said the captain, in his irritating way of giving bad interpretations of his French which annoyed the boys, “I vant you vairy bad. You go and vistle for ze vind, eh? We shall go soon upon ze rock.”
“Wind’s coming soon,” said Vince; “it’s on the other side of the island now. Look: you can see the ripple off the point. Looks dark. We don’t get it because the Crag shelters us.”
“Good boy! I see you sall make a grand sailor some day, and be my first lieutenant; I give you command of a schooner like ze Shark.”
He waved his hand towards the vessel, and then looked eagerly in the direction of the rippled water, which indicated the coming wind.
“Is that boat yours?” said Vince.
“Yais! vy you ask? Ah–h–h–ah—ze wind—vill he nevaire com?”
At that moment the schooner hoisted a small flag very rapidly, and, simple as the action was, it completely changed the aspect of affairs. Orders were given sharply; and, to the boys’ wonder, they were startled by seeing the men begin rapidly to cast loose the four small long guns, while others were busy fetching up powder and shot from below, passing down the little hatchway which had led to the boys’ first place of confinement.
The captain walked sharply here and there, giving his instructions, and in an incredibly short space of time every stitch of sail possible was crowded upon the lugger, while a similar course was pursued by the captain of the schooner.
A thrill of excitement ran through the boys as they saw an arm chest hoisted up from the cabin, placed amidships, and the lid thrown open; but nothing was taken out, and after watching their opportunity, so that the captain should not observe their action, the boys walked by where the chest had been placed, and saw that it was divided longitudinally, and on one side, neatly arranged, were brass-bound pistols, on the other, cutlasses.
They had hardly seen this, when a glance forward showed them the captain superintending the loading of the two bow guns, and as soon as this was done he began to walk aft, while the boys discreetly walked forward along the other side, so as to be out of the fierce-looking fellow’s way.
“I say, Ladle,” whispered Vince, “this is like what we have often read of. How do you feel? There’s going to be a fight. Look! they’re loading the guns aft.”
“Oh, I feel all right yet,—just a little shivery like. But what makes you say there’s going to be a fight?”
“Didn’t you see the schooner hoist a flag?”
“Of course I did, but I thought she was a friend. Why are they going to fight? Oh, I know: it’s only a sham fight, for practice.”
“I don’t believe it is sham; the skipper looked too serious. I saw him showing his teeth, and the men all look in earnest. They’ve been doing something old Jacques don’t like, and he’s going to bring them to their senses. Here, I say, you’re not getting those ready for breakfast?”
They were opposite the galley as Vince spoke, and he had suddenly caught sight of the cook, who was hurrying on his fire, and heating about half a dozen rods of iron between the bars of the stove.
“Oh yes, I am,” said the man, with a grin—“for somebody’s breakfast. I say, youngsters, I’d go down below if I was you; it may mean warm work if the wind don’t come soon.”
“What has the wind to do with it?” said Vince.
“To do with it! Everything, my lad. If the wind comes, we shall run, of course. We don’t want to fight.”
“But why are we going to fight the schooner?”
“The schooner!” said the man, staring. “Nonsense! She belongs to Jarks, and trades to the south coast. Didn’t you see her signal?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that means one of King Billy’s cutters is in sight from there, and she’ll be nearing before long.”
“But what are those rods for?” said Mike eagerly.
“Don’t be such a blockhead, Ladle!” cried Vince excitedly. “Why did we make the poker red-hot when we wanted to fire the old ship gun on your lawn?”
“Look—look!” cried Mike.
There was no need, for Vince had seen the white flying jib of a cutter coming into sight round the end of the Crag, with plenty of wind urging her on, while, by the time she was clear, a faint puff of light air made the schooner’s sails shiver, but only for a few moments, then it was calm again, while the cutter, now quite clear of the point, was careening over and gliding rapidly along, with a pleasant breeze astern.
Just then the captain came forward, looking black as thunder, taking no notice of the boys, but giving a few sharp orders to the men to stand by ready to take advantage of the first puff of wind.
“We’re not going below, are we?” whispered Mike.
“No; I want to see what’s done,” said Vince.
“Then you like fighting before breakfast better than I do,” said the cook. “Look, there goes her colours, and she’ll send a shot across the Shark’s bows directly. We shall get it next.”
He had hardly spoken before there was a white puff of smoke from the cutter, and before the report came echoing from the towering rocks of the Crag the boys saw the water splash up twice from somewhere near the schooner’s bows, while within half a minute another shot was fired across the lugger’s course, as she glided slowly along with the swift current, which was drawing them nearer the Crag.
“Bad job for us as old Daygo arn’t here,” said the cook.
“Why?” asked Vince.
The man laughed.
“Why, if he were aboard and the wind came up, he’d run the Marie in among the rocks.”
“And into the pool?” said Vince eagerly.
“Not likely, my lad. No, he’d manoeuvre her right in, and lead the revenoos after us, till the cutter was stuck on one of the fang rocks, and leave her there, perhaps for good. Bound to say the skipper wishes Master Daygo was here.”
Vince looked round, and thought of the fierce currents and sunken rocks, which a sailing boat might pass over in safety, but which would be fatal to a vessel of the cutter’s size.
Just then the cook laughed, and the boys looked at him inquiringly.
“They think we are lying to on account o’ their guns,” said the man; “but only wait till we ketch the wind.”
“Do you think they know these vessels are—”
“Smugglers?” said the cook, for Vince had not finished the sentence. “Ay, they know fast enough, and they think they’re in luck, and have dropped upon a strong dose of prize money; but they don’t know old Jarks.”
“Will he fight?” said Mike excitedly. “Is these pokers getting red-hot?” said the man, grinning. “Ay, he’ll fight. He’s a Frenchy, but he’s got the fighting stuff in him. ’Course he’ll run. He don’t want to fight, but if that cutter makes him, he will. My! I wish the wind would come.”
But though the cutter came merrily along, hardly a puff reached the smugglers, and the cutter was now not more than a mile away.
“Look! look!” cried Mike suddenly. “There’s old Joe Daygo coming.”
“So it is,” said Vince. “No mistaking the cut of that sail;” and he gazed excitedly at the little boat, which was coming rapidly on from the other end of the island.
“Ay, that’s he sure enough,” said the cook. “He’s seen the cutter and come to give us warning, but we can see her ourselves now.”
Still no wind, and the captain stamped up and down the deck, enraged beyond measure to see two vessels in totally opposite directions sailing merrily on, while the towering crag diverted the breeze and left him and his companion in a complete calm.
Nearer and nearer came the cutter, and the boys’ hearts beat hard with excitement as they saw the flash of arms beneath the white sails, and began to feel that before long they would be on board, and that meant freedom.
Mike said something of the kind, but Vince made an allusion to the old proverb about not counting chickens until they were hatched.
“Get out!” cried Mike: “you always make the worst of things. I say, look how beautifully she comes along.”
“Yes, and she’ll be on one of they rocks if she don’t mind,” said the cook. “I say, my lads, there’ll be no breakfast till all this business is over, but if you step in here I’ll give you both some coffee and biscuit.”
“Oh, who could eat and drink now?” said Vince. “I can’t.”
“I can,” said the man; “and as my pokers are all hot, I mean to have a snack.”
The boys’ great dread was that they would be sent below, and consequently they kept out of the captain’s way, and saw all that was going on, till the cutter was within a few hundred yards; and then, all at once, the wind failed her, and she lay as motionless as the two smugglers. The same fate had befallen Daygo in his boat, he being a mile away; but they saw that he had put out his oars, and was rowing.
“Going to board us,” said the cook, with a sigh. “Now the fun’s going to begin.”
For two boats dropped from the cutter’s sides, and the boys saw an officer in uniform in each, with a couple of red-coated marines, whose pieces glistened in the morning sunshine, as did the arms of the sailors.
But they saw something else as well. At a word from the captain, a dozen of the men went on hands and knees to the arm chest, each sailor in turn taking a cutlass, pistols, and cartridge pouch, and crawling back under the shelter of the bulwarks to load.
Vince drew a deep sigh, and his face was flushed, while Mike looked of a sallow white.
“Then there’ll be a fight?” said the latter.
“Ay, there’ll be a fight,” said the cook. “We’re in for it now; but unless it’s done with the big guns they won’t take the Marie.”
“Why?” said Vince. “Jacques daren’t resist the King’s men.”
The cook chuckled. “You wait and see,” he said. “Look at him.”
The boys did look, and saw Jacques standing by the steersman, with a drawn sword in one hand and pistols in his belt, hardly seeming to notice the boats, which had separated, one making for the schooner and the other for the Belle-Marie.
“Pilot sees mischief,” said the cook. “He’s going back. So would I if I could. I say, young ’uns, you’d better go below, hadn’t you?”
“No,” said Vince sharply. “You won’t, will you, Ladle?”
“No: I want to see,” replied Mike; and they stood and watched the rapidly approaching boat, with the smartly uniformed officer in the stern sheets, and the sailors making the water sparkle as they sent the trim craft rapidly nearer.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the cook softly; and the boys were about to turn and ask him what he meant, when a movement on the part of the captain caught their attention, while a wave of his hand made his men spring to their feet.
The cutter’s boat was still fifty yards away, when a sudden puff of wind struck the lugger, her heavy canvas filled out, and she began instantly to yield to the pressure, gliding softly through the water, and putting fifty yards more between her and the boat.
Then the wind dropped again, and the officer in the boat stood up and shouted to Jacques to lower sail, while his men pulled with all their might, getting nearer and nearer.
“Do you hear?” yelled the officer: “let go everything, you scoundrel!” But Jacques gave no order, and when the boat was within twenty yards he was about to make a sign to his men to seize their arms, when the breeze struck the lugger, and away she went, showing her magnificent sailing qualities, for in a few minutes the boat was far behind, when there was a put from the cutter’s side, but not to send a ball across their bows, for before the report reached the boys’ ears a peculiar sound came overhead, and there was a hole through the mainsail.
“Now we’re in for it,” said the cook; and another report rang out, but this shot was at the schooner, which was gliding rapidly away, taking a different course from that of the lugger, but paying no heed to the gun.
Both boats gave up now, for the wind had caught the cutter once more, and she was gliding up to them. There was a short delay as she got both her boats on board, but she was paying attentions to lugger and schooner all the time, sending steadily shot after shot at each, till the schooner tacked out to get round the southern point of the island; and then, as the cutter crowded on all sail, her bow guns were both trimmed to bear upon the lugger, and shot after shot came whistling overhead.
It was nervous work at first, but after the first few shots the excitement took away all sense of fear, and the two boys watched the effect of the balls, as now and then one tore through the rigging.
The schooner was going at a tremendous rate, and her escape seemed certain; so the lieutenant in command of the cutter devoted all his attention to the lugger, which sailed rapidly on, first overtaking Joe Daygo’s boat, which lay half a mile away, and rapidly leaving the cutter behind.
Twice over the Frenchman had the after guns turned ready for a shot at his pursuer; but the lugger was going so swiftly that there was no need to use them to try and cripple the cutter’s sails, and so make the offence deadly by firing upon His Majesty’s ship. Hence the hot irons remained in the fire ready for an emergency, one which was not long in coming, but which proved too great, even for so reckless a man as Jacques.
For, as they sailed steadily along, gliding rapidly by the island, and edging off so that they would soon be leaving it behind, the commander of the cutter, enraged at the apparently certain escape of the expected prize, and disappointed by the trifling damage done by the firing upon the lugger’s rigging, suddenly changed his tactics, and a shot struck the starboard bulwark, splintering it for a dozen feet along, and sending the pieces flying.
This roused the captain’s wrath, and, giving a sharp order, he went to one of the guns, pointing it himself, while one of the men ran up to the galley where the boys were standing.
“Now, cookie,” he cried—“reg’lar hot ’un!” and he whisked a white-hot bar from the stove. “Here, youngsters, skipper says you’re to go below.”
He ran aft with the bar, scintillating faintly in the sunlight, and handed it to the captain, who bent down once more to take aim, when—crash!—a shot struck the stern between wind and water, after ricocheting along the surface. The next instant they saw a brilliant flash, heard a roar as of thunder; and as a dense cloud of smoke arose there was a great gap in the deck on the starboard side close to the cabin-hatch, and the boys grasped the fact instantly that the lugger’s little powder magazine had been blown up, while, as they stared aghast at the mischief, and the men making for the boats, the mizen-mast with its heavy sail slowly dropped over the side and lay upon the water, with the effect that it acted like a rudder, and drew the unfortunate vessel round, head to wind.
The disorder among the crew only lasted a few minutes; their discipline was to the front again, Jacques giving his orders and the men obeying promptly.
“She is not going down, my lads,” he cried; “ze fire all come upvard. You need not take to ze boats, for ze cutter vould follow and take you. Zere: ze game is up. Ve could fight, but vat good? You see La Belle-Marie can do no more. Vat you say? Shall ve fight?”
“If you like, skipper,” said the mate quietly; “but if we do the cutter will only stand off a bit and sink us. We couldn’t get away.”
“Non” said Jacques: “luck is against us zis time. I sank you, my brave lads, and I like you too vell to go lose your life for nossing. Ve must strike.”
The men gave him a faint cheer, and crowded round to hold out their hands.
“But we will fight if you like, skipper,” cried one who made himself spokesman.
“I know, my lad,” said Jacques. “Good boys all. Ve nevaire had a coward on board ze Belle-Marie.”
Meanwhile the cutter was coming up fast, and a few minutes after two boats boarded them full of sailors and marines, when the first thing done was to send a boat-load of prisoners, which included the captain, Vince and Mike, on board the cutter.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
What the Boys thought.
As the boat glided alongside, the master’s mate in command ordered the prisoners to go up; but Vince was already half-way over the side, followed by Mike, the lieutenant in command ordering them sternly forward.
“Quick, Mr Johnson!” he cried to the mate, “then back for the rest as smartly as you can. Tell Mr Hudson to make any leakage sound. Carpenter, there: go back with this boat.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“There’s no fear of her sinking, sir,” said Vince.
“What? How dare—!”
“It’s all right, sir,” cried Vince. “I know. We were prisoners on board the smuggler.”
“You were what?”
“It is right, sare,” said Jacques quietly. “I took ze boys avay and kept them as prisonaire.”
“Absurd!” said the lieutenant haughtily. “Now then: away with that boat. Smart there, my lads!”
The boat was rowed rapidly back to fetch the rest of the prisoners, and the lieutenant came forward to where his first batch was ranged, to inspect them previous to sending them below.
“You’re not going to send us down with them, are you?” said Mike indignantly.
“What?” roared the lieutenant in a rage: “why, you insolent, ruffianly young thief of a smuggler!”
“No, he isn’t,” cried Vince fiercely; “he’s as much a gentleman as you are.”
“Indeed!” said the lieutenant sarcastically: “perhaps he’s a nobleman, sir?”
“I don’t mean that,” said Vince sharply; “but he’s Sir Francis Ladelle’s son.”
“What, of the Crag?”
“Yes. We found out the smugglers’ cave by accident, and they came and caught us, and have kept us ever since.”
“Phew!” whistled the officer, quite changing his manner. “Then pray who are you?”
“I’m Doctor Burnet’s son.”
“Oh, then of course that alters the case, my lad; but you see you were caught amongst the jackdaws, so you must not wonder that I wanted to wring your neck too.”
“Oh, it’s all right if you believe me,” said Vince; “only, after being prisoners so long, it seemed precious hard to be treated as prisoners when we expected to be free to get home.”
“Then this scoundrel took you both, and has brutally ill-used you ever since?”
Vince looked round sharply, found the captain’s piercing eyes fixed on his, and hesitated.
“Oh no,” he said; “he caught us, and wouldn’t let us go for fear we should tell where his stores of smuggled goods are, but he has behaved very well to us ever since.”
“Like a gentleman,” put in Mike.
“Indeed! Well, then we mustn’t be so hard on him. So then, young gentlemen, you two know where the smugglers’ depôt is?”
Vince nodded.
“And you could show us the way?”
Vince nodded again.
“Well, then, you’ll have the pleasure of being our guide there as soon as we’ve taken that confounded schooner.”
“No, I shall not,” said Vince, looking hard at Jacques. “I don’t feel as if it would be fair.”
“But you’ll have to, my lad, in the King’s name.”
“Yais, you can promise to show zem every sing, mon ami” said Jacques, smiling. “My smuggling days are ovaire, and I have been expecting zis every day zese ten years.”
“Very well, then,” said Vince: “I’ll promise to show you by land. I can’t by sea, for it’s a regular puzzle.”
“By land, then. Where is it?”
“Over yonder, on our island.”
“What, at the Crag?” cried the lieutenant.
“Yes.”
The officer gave vent to a long, low whistle.
“Thank you, my lad,” he said; “this is good news indeed! We have been baffled for years, stopped by this hiding-place which no one knew of. Then, when I have taken the schooner I’ll land you with a party, and you shall show us the place.”
“No,” said Vince; “I want to be paid for doing it.”
“Indeed!” said the officer, curling his lip: “how much?”
“Oh, I don’t mean money. Our fathers and mothers think we’re dead, and you must land us to go home at once.”
“Impossible, my boy,” said the lieutenant, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way. “Quite right; but English men—and boys—have to think first of their duty to the King. I must chase that schooner first, and— Ahoy, there! look sharp with that boat.—Look: directly I have taken her I’ll land you.”
“No, sir; land us now,” cried Mike. “You have only to make that little sailing boat come alongside and order him to take us.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Vince. “He comes from our island.”
“What, that fishing boat yonder?” said the lieutenant.
“Well, that is in my way. Yes, I’ll do that. Now then, alongside there! Tumble up, you fellows! Marines, take charge, and see them into the hold.”
“Au revoir, mes enfans,” said Jacques—“au revoir, if zey do not hang me. Good boys, bose of you, but von vord. Old Daygo he is a rascaille, an old scamp; but he serve me vairy true, and it vas I tempt him vis monnaie to keep my secrete after he show me ze cavern. You vill not tell of him. He is so old, if you send him to ze prisone he soon die.”
“Oh, very well; we won’t tell tales of him—eh, Mike?”
“I should like to knock his old head off; but you’ve been so civil to us, Captain Jacques, we will not.”
The captain smiled and nodded, and then followed his crew into the hold, where they were shut up with a couple of marines on guard.
By this time the cutter was in full sail, in chase of the schooner, which had reached out for a long distance, to get clear of the long reefs of dangerous rocks, running far away from the northern shore of the island. She was evidently, in fact, obliged, as she had taken that course, to tack at last, and then run straight almost back again; but it would lead her along by the north coast and probably mean escape.
“Schooner captain doesn’t know his way through the Narrows, then,” said Vince thoughtfully, as they stood watching the now distant schooner.
“I suppose not. Why, he could easily have got round and saved all that.”
“I say,” cried Vince, “never mind about old Jacques: smugglers are blackguards, and ought to be caught.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, then, let’s tell the cutter captain how to get through the narrows and cut the schooner off.”
“I couldn’t. I should send him on the rocks. Could you?”
“Oh, I could,” said Vince. “Here he comes. You’ll hail the boat as soon as you’re near enough, sir?”
“Eh?—the boat to set you ashore? I’d almost forgotten. Well, I suppose I must. Mr Johnson! Bah, I forgot: he’s prize-master aboard the lugger. By the way, you think there’s no fear of that craft sinking, my lad?”
“I feel sure, sir. The powder all exploded upward.”
“Good. Here, Mr Roberts, hoist a flag for a pilot: that may bring yon fellow.”
The little flag was hoisted; old Joe took no heed, however, but went on in his boat, and the lieutenant grew impatient.
“Do you think that man understands the signal?”
“I’m sure of it, sir, for he’s the best pilot we have, and knows every rock.”
“Then it’s obstinacy. By George, I’ll sink the scoundrel if he doesn’t heave to;” and, giving the order, a shot was sent skipping along just in front of old Daygo’s boat, when the sail was lowered directly, hoisted again, and the boat’s head turned to run towards the cutter.
“Understands that, my lads,” said the lieutenant; “but you must jump down quickly—I am losing a deal of time.”
“Never mind, sir,” said Vince; “I’ve been sailing all about here ever since I was quite a little fellow, and I know the rocks too. The schooner must tack round in half an hour’s time, and then run east.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Well, sir, you can run from here right across, and save miles.”
The officer looked at him keenly.
“The passage is called the Narrows, and it’s all deep water. You see the big gull rock away yonder—the one with the white top?”
“Well!”
“Make straight for that, and go within half a cable’s length. Then tack, keep the south point right over the windmill for your bearings, and sail due east too. Then you can cut the smuggler off.”
“Hah! yes; it’s down on the chart, but I did not dare to try it. Thank you, my lad; that is grand. Ah! here’s the boat.”
The boys shrank back, so that old Daygo should not see them, while the lieutenant stepped up to the side and bullied the old man, who protested humbly that he did not understand the signal.
“Well, quick! Here are two passengers to take ashore. Now, my lads—sharp!”
Vince and Mike shook hands with the officer, while a sailor at the gangway held on to the painter of Daygo’s boat, which was gliding pretty fast through the water, the course of the cutter not having been quite stopped; then the lads jumped lightly in, the painter was thrown after them, there was a slight touch of the helm, and the cutter heeled over and dashed away, leaving Vince and Mike looking the old man full in the face, while he stared back with his jaw dropped down almost to his chest.
“Then you arn’t dead, young gen’lemen?”
“No, we’re not dead,” said Vince sharply. “Now then, hoist that sail and run us home.”
The boys sat there watching the cutter, the lugger and the schooner all sailing rapidly away. Then suddenly it occurred to both the lads that the old man was very slow over the business of hoisting that sail; that he was then the greatest enemy they had, and that it would be very awkward for them if he were to suddenly take it into his head to do them some mischief.
“He’s a big, strong man,” thought Vince; “he knows that we can ruin him if we like to speak, and— I wonder what Ladle is thinking about?”
“Ladle” was thinking the same.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Daygo meets his Match.
It seemed to take a long time to hoist that sail, but at last it was well up, the yard creaking against the mast; and standing on their dignity now, and keeping the old man at a distance, the boys made no offer to take the sheet or steer, but let Daygo pass them as they sat amidships, one on each side, and he seated himself, hauled in the sheet, and thrust an oar over the stern to steer.
There was a nice breeze now, they were only about a mile from the shore, and as the boat danced merrily through the little waves a feeling of joy and exultation, to which the boys had long been strangers, filled their breasts. They took long, hungry looks at the shore, and then at the cutter racing along towards the great gull rock, at the schooner careening over as she ran on under all the canvas she could bear; and then back at the lugger, which by comparison seemed to limp along, with a scrub of a spar hoisted as a jury mast, far astern, in place of the fallen mizen, so as to steady her steering.
Then they looked at each other again, those two, as they sat face to face, neither speaking, and carefully avoiding even a glance at Daygo, feeling as they did the awkwardness of their position, and averse to meeting the old scoundrel’s eye.
Not that they would have met it, for Daygo was as full of discomfort as they, and with his eyes screwed up face one maze of wrinkles, he stared through between them as if looking at the prow, but really at the big patch of canvas in his sail.
For, as Daygo put it to himself, he was on the awkwardest bit of lee shore that he had ever sailed by in his life.
He had, as was surmised by the cook, caught sight of the Revenue cutter sailing by the north side of the Crag, and hurried down to his boat to warn Jacques or his companion; but, upon finding himself too late, he was making for home again, thinking that, as Jacques was taken and his lugger a prize to the cutter—which looked determined to follow up the schooner, probably to take her too—there would be no owner for the contraband goods still left in the cavern, unless that owner proved to be himself. There were two others, he mused—two who knew of the place and its treasure; but Captain Jacques was, according to the old fisherman’s theory, not the kind of man to stick at trifles when such great interests were at stake; and he felt quite satisfied that the two boys would never be seen at Cormorant Crag again. Some accident would happen to them—what accident was no business of his, he argued. They had got themselves into a terrible mess through their poking and prying about, and they must put up with the consequences. They might have fallen off the cliff when getting sea-birds’ eggs, or they might have been carried away by one of the currents when bathing, or they might have been capsized and drowned while they stole his boat—he called it “stole”—in any one of which cases, he said to himself, they’d never have come back to the Crag again, and it wouldn’t have been any business of his, so he wasn’t going to worry his brains. Old Jarks had grabbed ’em, and when he grabbed anything he didn’t let it go again.
Joe Daygo was a slow thinker, and all this took him a long time to hammer out; and he had just settled it comfortably, on his way home, when he caught sight of the pilot flag flying, and paid no heed.
“Don’t ketch me showing ’em the way through the Narrers to ketch the Shark!” he growled; and he kept on his way till the imperative mood present tense was tried, and then he made for the side of the cutter, to receive what was to him a regular knock-down blow, or, as he put it, a wind taking him on a very dangerous lee shore.
So the old fisherman did not look at his passengers, but began thinking hard again. He couldn’t take those two home, he said to himself, for, if he did, at their first words he’d be seized by some one or every one, for they all hated him for being so well off, and monopolising so much of the lobster catching, especially Jemmy Carnach. Then Sir Francis Ladelle and the Doctor would come; he’d be locked up, sent by the smack over to England, and be tried, and all his savings perhaps be seized. Just, too, when he had a chance of doubling them by taking the contents of the cave.
He had arrived at this point with great difficulty when the strange silence on board the boat, which had so far only been broken by the lapping of the water and the creaking of the yard, was broken by Vince, who cried excitedly, as he stood up in the boat:
“Look, look, Mike! Nearly everybody’s yonder on the cliff. They’ve heard the firing and the explosion, and they’re watching the cutter chase the schooner.”
Mike rose too, and with beating hearts the two boys stood trying to make out who was on the look-out; but the distance was too great to distinguish faces. Still they stood, steadying each other by clapping hands on shoulders, quite unconscious of the fact that the old man was now gazing at them with a very peculiar expression of countenance, that foreboded anything but good.
All at once, they both lurched and nearly fell, for Daygo’s mind was made up, and he thrust his oar deep down, changing the boat’s course suddenly, and making the sail flap.
“Here, what are you doing?” cried Vince, forced by this to speak to the old man at last.
“Think I want to run my boat into that curran’ an’ get on the rocks? Sit down, will you, and keep outer the way of the sheet.”
For answer the boys went forward, quite out of his way, and the boat rushed on again for some ten minutes before they spoke again, though they had been looking about with gathering uneasiness, for they were growing suspicious, but ashamed to speak because the idea seemed to be absurd.
At last Vince said—
“He’s making a precious long tack, Mike, and I don’t know of any big current here.”
Mike was silent, and they saw now that without doubt they were sailing right away from the island, and were in the full race of the tide. Still they felt that the old man must know best how to make for his tiny port, and they sat in silence for fully twenty minutes, waiting for him to make another tack and run back.
But soon the suspicions both felt had grown into a certainty, and Mike said in a whisper, as calmly as he could,—
“Cinder, he has got the conger bat out of the locker. What does he mean?”
“He means that he won’t take us ashore,” said Vince huskily: “he’s going to sail right away with us for fear we should tell about him, and the conger bat’s to frighten us and keep us quiet.”
There was a strange look of agony in Mike Ladelle’s eyes, as he gazed in his companion’s, to read there a horror quite as deep. Then neither of them spoke, but sat there listening to the lapping of the water, which spread to right and left in two lines of foam as the little boat sped on.
It was Vince who broke the silence at last, after drawing a deep breath.
“Ladle, old chap,” he said, in a low voice, “they’re at home yonder, and it means perhaps never seeing them again. What shall we do?”
Mike tried to speak, but his voice was too husky to be heard for a few moments.
“I’ll do what you do,” he said at last.
“You’ll stand by me, whatever comes?”
“Yes.”
Vince glanced sidewise, to find that they were pretty well hidden by the sail; so he thrust out his hand, which was gripped fast, and the two boys sat there with throbbing hearts, trying to nerve themselves for anything that might happen now.
Then, without a word, Vince rose, and, steadying himself by the mast, he stepped over the thwart in which it was stepped, and then on to the next, close to where the old man sat steering right astern, and holding the sheet of the well-filled sail as well.
“This is not the way to the Crag,” said Vince, with his voice trembling slightly; and the old man grunted.
“Where are you making for?” said Vince, firmly now.
“Didn’t I tell yer I didn’t want to get run on the rocks?” roared the old man, unnecessarily loudly, after a glance back at the shore, where all was growing distant and dim.
“Yes, you told me so; but it isn’t true,” said Vince, in a voice he did not know for his own.
“What?” roared Daygo fiercely.
“You heard what I said. Run her up in the wind at once, and go back.”
“You go and sit down,” growled the old man savagely.
“You change her course,” said Vince firmly.
“You go and sit down while you’re safe,” growled the old man, with his face twitching.
“You had orders from the commander of the cutter to take us ashore. Change the boat’s course directly.”
“Will you go and sit down, both of you?” cried the old man again, more fiercely, but his voice was lower and deeper.
“No,” said Mike; “and if you won’t steer for the Crag, I will.”
“This here’s my boat, and I’ll steer how I like, and nobody else shan’t touch her.”
“Your orders from the King’s officer were to take us home. Will you do it?”
“No!” roared the old man. “Go and sit down, ’fore I do you a mischief.”
Vince did not even look behind to see if he was going to be supported, for he felt full of that desperate courage which comes to an Anglo-Saxon-descended lad in an emergency like that. He saw the savagely murderous look in the old man’s eyes, and that he had quickly seized the conger bat with one hand, after passing the sheet into that which held the oar.
With one spring Vince was upon him, seizing the heavy wooden club, which he strove to tear from his grasp, just as the old man too sprang up, and Mike snatched the sheet from his hand with a jerk which sent the oar, loose now in the old man’s grasp, gliding overboard.
Mike made a dash to save it, but was flung down into the bottom of the boat as the old man thrust a foot forward and seized Vince in his tremendous grip.
The boy struggled bravely, but his fresh young muscles were as nothing to the gnarled, time-hardened flesh and sinew of the old savage, who lifted him by main force, after a short struggle which made the boat rock as if it would go over, and Vince realised what was to follow.
“Mike! do something,” he cried in his agony to the boy, who was struggling up, half stunned, from where he lay between the thwarts; and in his desperation Mike did do something, for, as Daygo put out all his strength, tore Vince’s clinging hands from his jersey, and hurled him right out from the boat, Mike seized the old man fiercely by one leg.
It was not much to do, but it did much, for it threw Daygo off his balance in the rocking boat; and Vince had hardly plunged down into the clear water before his enemy followed, with a tremendous splash, thrusting the boat away, and going head first deeply down.
Vince was the first to rise, shake his head, and begin to swim for the boat. But Daygo rose too directly and looked round, and then he, too, swam for the boat, whose uncurbed sail flapped wildly about; while Mike picked up the other oar to try and steer back to help his companion.
He changed the position of the boat, and that was all. It did this, though,—it gave Vince the chance of making for the side opposite to that for which Daygo aimed, and he swam with all his might to be there first.
But Vince had the greater distance to go, and Mike saw that, unless he helped, Daygo would be too much for them yet.
Quick as thought, he drew in the oar which he had thrust over the stern, turned it in his grasp as he stood up in the rocking boat, and, as the old man came up and stretched out his hands to grasp the gunwale, Mike drove the hand-hold of the oar, lance-fashion, down into his chest.
“I’ve killed him,” groaned the boy, as his enemy fell back and went under again. Then he nearly followed him, for the boat was jerked from the other side, and he turned to find Vince had seized the gunwale and was climbing in.
A sharp drag helped him, and Vince’s first act was to seize the conger bat, which lay beneath the after-thwart.
He was only just in time, for, as he turned, Daygo had risen, and swam up again to seize the gunwale with one great gnarled hand.
Crash came down the heavy club, the hand relaxed, and Daygo went down again.
“Vince! Vince! you’ve killed him,” cried Mike, in horror. “No, no—don’t: don’t do that!” he shrieked, as Vince thrust his right-hand into his dripping pocket and tore out his big sharp long-bladed knife.
“You take the bat,” cried Vince; and, as the boy obeyed trembling, he shouted, so that the old man could hear as he swam after them, “hit him over the hands again if he touches the boat.”
It did not seem likely that he would overtake them by swimming, for the wind acted upon the flapping sail and drove them slowly along.
Taking advantage of this, Vince went forward and cut off the long rope from the ring-bolt in the stem, and returned with it to where, wild-eyed and scared, Mike knelt with the conger bat upraised, ready to strike if the old man came near.
“Now,” said Vince firmly, “you hold that conger club with both hands, Mike, and if he does anything, or tries to do anything, bring it down on his head with all your might. Do you hear?”
“Yes,” said Mike faintly.
“Now, then, you come and take hold of the gunwale with both hands, and let me tie your wrists,” cried Vince. “Look out, Mike!”
The old man swam up and put his hands together.
“You arn’t going to murder me?” he groaned.
“You wait and see— Ah!” yelled Vince, for the treacherous old ruffian had seized him by the chest and was dragging him out of the boat.
But Mike was ready: the bat came down with tremendous force, and the old man loosened his grasp and sank, remaining beneath the surface so long that the boys gazed at each other aghast.
“Quick! there he is,” cried Mike; and Vince seized the oar and sculled to where the old man had come slowly up, feebly moving his hands, and apparently insensible.
“We must haul him in, Mike,” said Vince. “He’s not likely to hurt us now.”
“If he is,” said Mike, “we must do it all the same;” and, leaning over, they each got a good grip, and, heaving together, somehow rolled Daygo into the bottom of the boat, where they dragged his head beneath the centre thwart, and then firmly bound him hand and foot, using some strong fishing line as well as the painter and the rope belonging to the little grapnel.