Chapter VII The Best-Laid Schemes
There was a good deal of grumbling among the men as they trudged back to Wynport. No man likes to be made a fool of, and a Jack Tar as little as any.
“This is what comes of doing landlubbers’ work instead of fighting the French on sea,” growled Turley.
A heavy rainstorm that came on did not improve their tempers, and when, just as they marched into Wynport, they were overtaken by Mr. Goodman, riding at a smart pace from a cross-road, they began to mutter uncomplimentary remarks about the zealous officer.
“Any luck, Mr. Hardy?” he cried, as he passed.
“None,” replied Jack shortly.
“Sorry for that. Perhaps your search was not thorough enough: your men aren’t used to it.”
“Confound his impudence!” growled Turley, as the officer rode on. “One of us is worth three of his landsharks, anyway.”
When Jack arrived at the Dolphin Mr. Goodman was just leaving.
“Oh, Hardy!” cried Lieutenant Blake, as he entered, “Mr. Goodman tells me you’ve found nothing.”
“Not a ghost of a thing, sir. Gumley’s as honest as a judge, in my opinion. Some one has played a scurvy trick on him and us.”
“Well, look at this.”
He handed Jack a dirty, crumpled piece of paper, on which he read:
“Mr. Goodman, sir, a runn will be made at binsey cove tonite.—From a frend.”
“Another trick for certain, sir,” said Jack.
“Very likely. Goodman says ’tis a sure sign the run will be made somewhere else, if made at all, and in the opposite direction. He wants the cutter to cruise off Totley Point to-night after dark. His idea is that if we stand away in the afternoon as if for Luscombe, we shall lead the smugglers off the scent; then if we return after nightfall we shall take ’em unawares. He’ll have a strong force in hiding at Totley Point; that’s where he thinks the run will actually be made, right under his nose. It would be like the villains. Only a year ago, just after he came into this district, he got a similar letter, and the cargo was run miles away.”
“Well, sir, if he’s been caught that way once, the smugglers will hardly expect him to fall into the trap a second time.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I don’t fancy our friend Goodman has much of a headpiece. If he is the simpleton I imagine he is, he will think that the smugglers will take your view and expect him to be this time at Binsey Cove. Therefore, he’ll go to Totley. The question is, where will the run be made?”
“Perhaps the light we saw last night may have something to do with it. Don’t you think, sir, it would be a good plan if I took a boat’s crew and watched the shore off Luscombe, leaving you with the rest of the men in the Fury to assist Mr. Goodman in case of need?”
“Not a bad idea, Hardy. We’ll drop a boat some distance out at sea at dusk; you can pull in with muffled oars if you come across anything suspicious.”
“The first thing, sir, will be to find out about the light we saw.”
“Right. Find Babbage and get the crew together. We’ll be off at once.”
When the Fury reached the position from which the light had been observed it was at once seen that, unless Jack had been wrong in his bearings, the signal had not been made from the village.
“It was more in the direction of Congleton’s Hollow, sir,” said Jack. “We can’t see the Hollow itself, but there’s the Folly to the left; you can just see it over the trees: a tower where an old hermit lived alone with his broken heart. That would make an excellent signal station.”
“You know it, eh?”
“Yes, sir. But it didn’t look as if it was ever used now. The only doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster—an inquisitive little chap—has tried more than once, and always failed.”
“Humph! Is it worth trying again?”
“I’d be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn’t do it in daylight. I might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at night unless some one happened to be there at the time.”
“Well, we can’t risk discovery. We don’t want to scare the signalers away.”
“Wouldn’t it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and get to the Folly about daybreak? I’d have the place to myself then.”
“Right. We’ll bide our time. Meanwhile, there’s this anonymous letter to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we’re going to run over to Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off the scent.”
The Fury kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the Fury set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of preventive men on the watch.
It was more than an hour and a half’s steady rowing to the shore, and Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him, for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any landmarks as soon as they came in view.
It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to the beach, near the path that Jack had followed.
“You’re sure, Turley?” asked Jack in a whisper.
“Sartin sure, sir.”
“He’ve got cat’s eyes, sir,” murmured Babbage.
“We need them to-night,” said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness. “Easy all, men.”
He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry a vessel in.
“We’re about half a mile off, I think, Turley?”
“Just so, sir,” replied Turley.
Jack was about to give the order to pull in a little closer when the man just in front of him, who was facing seaward like the other rowers, raised one hand from his oar, and pointing to the right said in a whisper:
“Sail on the larboard quarter, sir.”
Glancing backward in the direction indicated, Jack could just distinguish in the distance a black shape gliding slowly up. He felt his heart jumping; the vessel had come so suddenly, so stealthily out of the blackness. Could his boat be seen from its deck? It was so low on the water that he hoped it might pass undetected. The men were crouching over their oars; there was dead silence in the boat, the crew scarcely daring to breathe. The dark shape came steadily on; it passed, and faded again into the darkness. Allowing time for it to get nearly in shore, Jack ordered the men to give way, and the boat again quickly moved landward. He knew he was risking discovery, but hoped that the attention of the watchers on shore would be directed on the larger vessel, and altogether overlook the smaller.
The coast hereabouts was rocky, and the approach to the shore had to be made with care. Jack heard low voices ahead; he guessed that the people on shore were giving directions to those on the vessel.
“Channel’s narrow, sir,” whispered Turley, “but there’s a good depth of water at all states of the tide; ’tis nigh high tide now, and that there craft’ll be able to run almost on to the beach and save a good deal of fetching and carrying.”
“How far are we out now?”
“About a couple of cables’ length, to my thinking, sir.”
“Easy all, men. Cutlasses ready!”
Jack had already decided that it would be useless to attempt to land at any point on either side and creep on the smugglers, for there would certainly be watchers along the cliff. The attack, if made at all, must be made direct from the sea. He feared that, when the men gave way for a final dash in, the boat might strike a rock; but he could still see dimly the chase ahead, and the tide being high, as Turley had said, he resolved to take his chance of running aground. The boat had followed quickly in the wake of the larger vessel; with a little luck a straight dash might be quite successful, for where the smugglers’ craft drew feet, his own scarcely drew inches, and he was so much excited at the prospect of his first encounter with the smugglers, that he was prepared to run no little risk.
Suddenly there was the sound of a sail being run down, of tackle creaking, of low voices. The smugglers worked quickly, he knew; the vessel would scarcely have anchored or otherwise made fast before they began to carry their cargo ashore. The moment was come. He caught his breath for an instant; then, gripping the tiller ropes firmly, he said:
“Now, men, lay out—send her along!”
The sounds of the muffled oars were smothered in the noise from the lugger and the men tramping on shore. So intent were the smugglers on their work that they were unaware of what was upon them. The boat dashed straight for the lugger, which had swung round so that her bow was first met. There was a shock; then a loud shout; and as Jack’s men swarmed over on to the lugger’s deck, they came face to face with a small knot of men at the foremast, who had evidently hurriedly collected to dispute the passage with the boarders.
Now shout answered shout. Barrels were dropped by the carriers and fell with sharp thuds on the deck or with loud splashes into the water. Cutlass clashed on cutlass. At the first alarm the men on shore came dashing back to rejoin their comrades, springing across the long double plank that formed the gangway, to a bold ledge of rock serving as a kind of natural quay.
“Surrender, in the king’s name!” shouted Jack, rushing forward.
He was answered by a vigorous French oath. Next moment the foremost of the smugglers, singling out the young officer coming at the head of his men, aimed a shrewd blow at him with a cutlass. It was so dark that Jack could barely see the movement, but he just managed to swerve out of the way; then, shortening his arm he lunged, and felt with no little satisfaction that the weapon had got home.
At this moment he was almost carried off his feet by the vehemence of his own men, who in a compact body were sweeping all before them. In the rush and tumble Jack felt a heavy blow on his head and staggered, saving his fall by clutching at a halyard and leaning half-stunned against the mast.
To the din of shouting and blows was now added the shrill screech of the bo’sun’s whistle. Having cleared the deck aft of the mainmast, Babbage and his men were making a dash for the gangway, upon which the smugglers were crowding back toward the lugger. But Babbage’s zeal had outrun his discretion. Before he knew it his party was beset on all sides. French and English cries were mingled in one furious babel. No firearms were used; the sound of shots would carry far in the still night air, and might bring support to the king’s men from a distance. But cutlasses and hangers were plied with vigor; the crew of the lugger, reinforced by the men from shore, outnumbered Jack’s party by four to one, and these had much ado to defend themselves in their turn from the sturdy assaults of their opponents.
With an effort Jack pulled himself together and pressed forward to lend a hand. His men were being remorselessly driven back. Doggedly they fought, yielding only inch by inch; but it was clear that they were outmatched, and at length, by sheer weight of numbers, they were forced over the bulwarks into the sea. Turley, who had all his wits about him, contrived to cut the painter holding the boat to the lugger’s side; and, hardly aware how he came there, Jack found himself hanging to the side of the boat, unable to do more than cling on for dear life. Two or three men managed to scramble into the boat; they rowed it ashore. When it beached, Jack and the men ran up across the shingle toward the cliffs. In a few minutes they were joined by others of their party, all dripping wet, and furious with rage at their defeat.
“’Tis all through old Turnip-tops,” growled Turley. “The idea of his losing his head that way!”
“Anybody seen him?” asked Jack, whose teeth were chattering; he had not yet recovered from the blow on his head.
“Never a man, sir. But there’s the lugger making sail. We’ve lost the cargo and got nothing for our pains but broken heads and such like.”
Jack saw the dim shape of the lugger disappearing seaward. In five minutes every trace of the smugglers had vanished, except a broken keg or two on the shingle, from which gusts of the odor of spirits reached the men gathered in a knot above. By and by Babbage turned up, declaring that if it hadn’t been for Turley the attack would have been a great success. Before long the party was complete, none having been killed, though several had had a narrow escape from drowning. They had been saved by the planks of the gangway, which the smugglers, in their haste to escape, had allowed to fall into the water.
Jack wondered why the smugglers had fled when it would have been an easy matter for them to overwhelm the king’s men.
“Why, they were afeard, sir,” said Babbage. “The noise was enough to bring all Dorset upon ’em, and how did they know but that the riding-officer was nigh, ready to come down on ’em? And so he ought to ha’ bin.”
“Well, they’ve let us off easily,” said Jack. “We’d better get our boat afloat and hunt for the Fury.”
“Ay, sir, and won’t Mr. Blake be in a fury when he hears the tale! All we’ve got is cuts, bruises, and a ducking!”