Chapter XIII Off Luscombe
During the latter part of the voyage Jack had devoted a good deal of thought to his future course of action. To report to the admiral would be his first duty; when that was done he wished to wipe off a personal score. He had been shipped off to France by the smugglers of Luscombe; they had unquestionably been assisted by Monsieur de Fronsac; and, remembering the name Goujon mentioned by the Frenchman, he felt pretty sure that the boat in which he had been conveyed from the shore belonged to the sufferer from the flutters, Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon. It was not in human nature that he should let slip his chance of having his tit for tat.
And apart from his personal feelings, there were other reasons for this determination. To put down smuggling was part of his duty as a king’s officer; it was no less his duty to suspect a Frenchman whom he found in league with them. There was something mysterious in their connection with De Fronsac, and something very unpleasant in the idea of De Fronsac’s sailing under false colors in the house of Squire Bastable. It seemed to Jack that he would only be fulfilling a public duty, as well as getting even with private enemies, if he probed the mystery and laid the offenders by the heels.
But to do this it was very necessary that his return to England should be kept secret. The Luscombe smugglers would, no doubt, have friends spying for them in neighboring ports, and if he were seen they would be on their guard, and De Fronsac would have time to get away. He was glad, therefore, that it was dark when the Glorieuse came to her anchorage. It increased his chances of escaping notice in preparing to take the smugglers by surprise.
Smartening himself up as well as he could, and removing as far as possible the traces of his wound, he went ashore and made his way to Admiral Horniman’s lodgings in the Hard. He was admitted at once on explaining his errand, and found himself in the presence of a big man with rugged, weather-beaten face, fierce white eyebrows, and a wooden arm. The admiral was alone, examining a chart with the aid of a tumbler of toddy and a long pipe.
“Mr. Midshipman Hardy, sir,” said the servant.
“Come in and shut that door,” roared the admiral in a quarter-deck bellow. “Dash my buttons! Do you want me to catch my death of cold! Now what’s this?”
“Come to report a prize, sir.”
The admiral looked Jack up and down.
“You have come to report a prize, have you, sir? And what’s your superior officer about when he sends a youngster like you?”
“He’s in a French prison, sir. I—”
“The deuce he is! How do you come to be in charge of a prize, eh? What’s your vessel?”
“The Glorieuse, sir!”
“Don’t trifle, sir! I didn’t ask you for French crack-jaw. Your own vessel, sir?”
“The Fury, sir,” Jack responded.
“What! Are there two Furies? The only Fury I know was the cutter that that fool Blake allowed to be captured. Didn’t they tell me she was carried into Boulogne?”
“Yes, sir, but we retook her.”
“By George! I’m glad of it; a smart cutter, the fastest on the station. And you took a craft called the Glorieuse too, did you? What’s your vessel, and who’s your captain, and why isn’t he here?”
“If you please, sir—”
“Answer my question, sir—a plain question and a plain answer.”
“My vessel’s the Fury, sir,” replied Jack, “and it was the Fury captured the Glorieuse, a thirty-gun brig.”
“What! that cockle-shell take a thirty-gun brig?”
“Yes, sir, we took her by surprise, and—”
“And who retook the Fury?”
“Some threescore English seamen, sir; I was in command, and—”
“You in command! Bless my soul, what are you talking about? What’s your name, sir?”
“Jack Hardy, sir.”
“Why, why, didn’t Lieutenant Blake report you as missing? Haven’t I got his report—somewhere, hang me if I know where. Where’s Lieutenant Blake? Why didn’t he come and report all this himself?”
“I’m sorry to say he’s a prisoner in France, sir. He was taken inland, and—”
“Am I standing on my head or on my feet?” cried the peppery admiral. “What’s all this beating about the bush? Explain yourself, sir!”
“Why don’t you give me a chance?” thought Jack; but Admiral Horniman’s impetuous manner was well known on the Portsmouth station; no finer sailor ever served his Majesty; and those who knew him knew what a sterling character underlay his rough exterior. He raised his glass now and emptied it at a draft; and Jack took advantage of the action to begin his story, using as few words as possible, and hurrying on when he saw the admiral preparing to interrupt. Somewhat to his surprise, he reached the end without misadventure.
“Bless my soul! And you mean to tell me, Mr. Hardy, that you captured the Glorieuse yourself?”
“No, sir; I was bowled over; but the men fought splendidly, and Ben Babbage—”
“Turnip-tops! I know him! Brother Sol on the brain! but a good seaman. Well, Mr. Hardy, you’ll write all that down—plain, mind you, so that I can read it, no finicking spidery scrawl for me, egad! Now run off and get a sawbones to look at that wound of yours, and take a few days’ leave ashore. The sooner you’re fit for duty the better. We’ll take charge of your prize.”
“Thank you, sir. But about the leave—if you don’t mind, I’d rather not take it at present.”
“What in thunder do you want to be at then?”
“You know what happened at Luscombe, sir—at Congleton’s Folly?”
“Yes—no; hang me! I remember Blake reported something. He broke into a tower, or something of that sort, and found nothing—wasn’t that it?—everything gone, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“Yes, sir. I want to find out what is going on in Luscombe now. I can’t do it if the smugglers learn that I’ve come back. Of course they’re bound to know that the Fury has been retaken and the Glorieuse brought in a prize; but if my name’s kept out of it they won’t be on their guard; and if you would allow me a few days’ absence, I’d—”
“So you shall, by the Lord Harry!” cried the admiral, without waiting to hear what. “And I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll keep the Glorieuse and the Fury in quarantine. Not a man from either of ’em shall come ashore till you’ve reported to me. They’d blab if they did. And there’s blabbing enough. Egad! Several of our merchantmen have been scooped up lately, and I’ll keel-haul the villain who betrays ’em to the French if I catch him. But what about your wound, eh? Won’t that be troublesome?”
“’Tis just a flesh wound, sir,” replied Jack; “I shall be all right in a couple of days. There’s just one thing; may I have the Fury if I find I can use her?”
“Certainly, certainly, when you like; in fact, Blake being absent, you’ll be in command till my lords make another appointment.”
Jack took his leave, very well pleased with the result of the interview. He returned to the Glorieuse, waited until a lieutenant was sent by the admiral to take charge of her, and then, with twenty-five men, including Babbage and Turley, and stores hastily provided from the brig, he sailed out of the harbor in the Fury. The admiral, he suspected, would be somewhat amazed when he learned of the sudden departure; but, having permission, Jack had resolved on his way back to set off at once on his quest. The sooner the Fury was out of sight the better; and by sailing in the darkness she would be most likely to escape observation.
The wind was not very favorable. A fresh breeze was blowing from the southwest, and it was a somewhat tedious beat down Channel to the point, abreast of Luscombe, where he had seen the signal light from Congleton’s Folly. Had the signalers sufficiently regained confidence, he wondered, to resume their midnight work?
“What do you think of it, Babbage?” he asked of the bo’sun, who was at the tiller.
“Well, sir, I think of a saying of brother Sol’s: ‘When the cat’s away, the mice do play.’ There be several cats in the case, sir. One, the Fury—a good name for cat or cutter; two, Mr. Blake; three, you yourself, sir; four, me and Turley, for, having made up our little difference, we two make one; I’ve got the claws, he’ve got the caterwaul. All these cats being away, those there mice will have a rare randy. Why, that there tower was as empty as a blown egg-shell when we drove in the door, and climbed to the top; and the smugglers will be a-hugging theirselves that all’s clear, and thinking they can go on with their work without any danger of a visit from the preventives. Lor’ bless you, I were a mouse myself once.”
“I agree with you. ’Tis six months since I disappeared, and they’ll have had all that time to recover from any fright we may have given them. I wish the wind would change. I want to get opposite the tower before morning.”
“But you can’t expect them to do the signaling every night, sir. No smugglers ever I knew or heard of could be so spry as that would mean. Belike we shan’t see the light for a matter of days—nights, that is—or weeks. Like as not they’ll have their regular times and seasons, same as the herrings.”
“That’s just why I’m so anxious to get there to-night. ’Tis Wednesday; ’twas on a Wednesday I first saw the light; for all we know Wednesday is their regular day.”
“There may be summat in that.”
“And as we don’t want to be discovered I’ll have the tackle blocks oiled, and tell the men to keep quiet.”
“Specially Turley, sir; but there, I take that back, sir, or he’ll be a-calling of me Spring Onions again.”
That night was so dark that Jack had some doubts whether he could hit the exact spot from which the light was visible. But he ventured to creep in toward the shore sufficiently near to descry the landmarks, and having at length assured himself on that point, he ran out again, and cruised about, keeping a keen lookout for the light.
Two hours passed. It was near midnight, and he had almost given up hope of success when, to the southwest, he saw a gleam. At the moment the Fury was running up the Channel before the wind. The light evidently came from a vessel. But it had disappeared—no; there it was again; three times the same light was shown and extinguished.
“A signal, Babbage,” said Jack. “Hope we shan’t be seen.”
“Better hold on our course, sir, then beat out. We’ve to get that there craft atween us and the shore.”
Jack acted on the bo’sun’s suggestion. In a few minutes the same signal was seen, this time full on the weather beam.
“They haven’t answered her yet, sir,” said Babbage, “and she won’t sail in much closer, ’cos if she do, she won’t see the light from the Folly, if so be ’tis that she’s looking for.”
“No. But I’m afraid she’ll see us. She certainly will if we venture too close. Yet if we make too wide a sweep round her she may do whatever mischief she’s about before we can make up on her. How far is she out, Babbage?”
“About five mile, I should say, sir.”
“Well, I’m going to risk it. We’ll run out beyond her, and hit the straight line between her and the Folly; we’ll see then if any signaling is going on.”
As soon as he thought he had made sufficient offing, Jack brought the Fury closer to the wind and crept toward the line he had mentioned. He no longer expected to see any signal from the vessel; the lantern would be turned away from him. But he looked anxiously toward the shore. Minute after minute passed, and yet he saw nothing. He began to fear that either he had lost his bearings and crossed the line while signaling had been going on between the tower and the vessel, or that there was no one at the Folly, after all, and both he and the commander of the other ship were to be disappointed.
Suddenly a light flashed out from shore, and remained gleaming brightly and steadily. So strong was it that Jack felt not a little anxiety lest it should show up the Fury to the vessel now between her and the land. But a moment’s reflection reassured him. At this distance the light could have no illuminating power; and if he could not see the strange craft, it was not very likely that she could see him.
He was wondering what his next move had better be when the light disappeared. But only for a moment. Then it shone out again. Again it disappeared, and then for several seconds it alternately came and went, with regular intervals of very brief duration between the flashes. At last there was a longer interval; then the regular flashes began again.
“Heave to, Babbage!” cried Jack.
Springing down to the cabin, he returned in a few moments with a slip of paper, a pencil, and a shaded lantern. By the light of the last, Jack made a note. It would not have conveyed much or anything to an onlooker. It began— 17 — 3 — 18 — 2 —— 1 — 17 — 17 — 3 — 20 — 2 —— 16 —— 11 —— 15 — 1 — 20 — 3 — 17 — 2... and this succession of numbers and dashes grew until it completely filled the paper. After he had written for nearly half an hour the light disappeared altogether; he waited ten minutes on the chance of the flashes being resumed; then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and ordered the men to crowd on all sail.
In a few seconds the Fury was running before the wind in the direction Jack thought the strange vessel might have taken. There was just a chance that he might overhaul and capture her, for he guessed that she was little if anything larger than the cutter, and in all likelihood the same lugger which had escaped Lieutenant Blake months before. But though he cruised about for a couple of hours he failed to find her.
“We’ll give it up,” he said at length to Babbage. “Now I want a little time to work out a puzzle. We mustn’t be seen from Luscombe or the neighborhood, so we’ll beat down Channel and make for Falmouth. That’s far enough away to be out of reach of the Luscombe men or their spies; and I’ll eat my boots if I haven’t a pretty piece of news to report to Admiral Horniman to-morrow.”