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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 43334
   :PG.Title: Jack Hardy
   :PG.Released: 2013-07-27
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Strang
   :MARCREL.ill: William Rainey
   :DC.Title: Jack Hardy
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1907
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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JACK HARDY
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      Cover

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   .. _`"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack`:

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      :alt: "Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack.  *Page* 121

      "Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack.  *Page* `121`_

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      JACK HARDY

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      *A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon*

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      *By*

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      HERBERT STRANG

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      *Author of*
      Fighting on the Congo
      In Clive's Command
      On the Trail of the Arabs, etc.

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      WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
      WILLIAM RAINEY, R. I.

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      INDIANAPOLIS
      THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
      PUBLISHERS

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      COPYRIGHT 1906, 1907
      THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

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      PRESS OF
      BRAUNWORTH & CO.
      BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
      BROOKLYN, N. Y.

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAPTER

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I  `The Road to Luscombe`_
II  `Monsieur De Fronsac`_
III  `A Fight in Luscombe Market`_
IV  `Congleton's Hollow`_
V  `A Midnight Excursion`_
VI  `Signals`_
VII  `The Best-Laid Schemes`_
VIII  `Congleton's Folly`_
IX  `Close Quarters`_
X  `A Prisoner of France`_
XI  `A Break for Freedom`_
XII  `The Capture of the *Glorieuse*`_
XIII  `Off Luscombe`_
XIV  `A Discovery`_
XV  `Tar and Feathers`_
XVI  `A Run at Sandy Cove`_
XVII  `Diamond Cut Diamond`_
XVIII  `The Battle of Binsey Cove`_
XIX  `Some Appointments`_

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   LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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`"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack`_ . . . Frontispiece

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`"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack`_

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`Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over`_

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`"If you make a movement, I shall fire"`_

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.. _`THE ROAD TO LUSCOMBE`:

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   JACK HARDY

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   CHAPTER I

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   THE ROAD TO LUSCOMBE

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The first time Jack Hardy met Mr. Nathaniel
Gudgeon was also the occasion of his first visit
to Luscombe.

It happened in this way.

"Good-by, my boy," said his father, as Jack
clambered on to the roof of the coach at the
*White Hart*, Southwark, "and be sure you don't
forget your Cousin Bastable, or your mother
will never forgive you."

"All right, father.  I'll take a look at him if I
get a chance.  I say, coachman, you'll let me have
a drive?"

The coachman could not turn his head, because
the collar of his coat was stiff and his neck
brawny; but he screwed his left eye into the
corner, winked, and gave a hoarse chuckle.

"I've seed Jack Tars on donkeys, and orficers
on hosses," said he.  "Lor' bless you, I knows 'em."

Which was the beginning of an argument that
lasted all the way to Guildford.

Jack was on his way to Wynport to join H.M.S. *Fury*.
Ten miles beyond Wynport lay the
little village of Luscombe, and two miles beyond
Luscombe was Bastable Grange, where his
mother's cousin, Humfrey Bastable, lived.  Jack
had never seen Mr. Bastable; a hundred years
ago relatives separated by a hundred miles of
turnpike road saw very little of one another.
But Mrs. Hardy had been very fond of her
Cousin Humfrey when they were boy and girl
together, and now that her son was going within
easy walking distance of Bastable Grange, she
insisted that Jack should go over and pay his
respects.

Jack had just been transferred to the *Fury*
from the frigate *Ariadne*, much to his disgust.
In the *Ariadne* he had hoped to have an
opportunity of joining Admiral Nelson's fleet and
fighting the French; the *Fury* was engaged in
the humdrum and much less heroic work, as
Jack regarded it, of hunting smugglers.  But
Jack was of a cheerful disposition, and by the
time he arrived at Wynport he had forgotten his
disappointment, for the coachman had let him
take the ribbons for five good miles of the road,
and he had nearly upset the coach in a ditch,
nearly massacred a flock of geese, and nearly
taken off the wheel of a carrier's cart, which was
excitement enough for one day.

When he arrived at Wynport he found that it
would be three or four days before the *Fury* was
ready for sea.  To Jack's eyes she appeared
anything but furious, shored up high and dry in the
yard, with huge balks of timber supporting her
hull.  "Wretched cockle-shell!" he said to
himself, as he looked at her.  But, having several
days to spare, he thought he might as well spend
the time in looking up his Cousin Bastable.
Lieutenant Blake, commanding the *Fury*,
good-naturedly gave Mr. Midshipman Hardy leave
to visit his mother's relatives, so Jack slung his
valise on to a carrier's cart that would jog to
Bastable in the course of the day, and started to
trudge over the cliffs.  He had been told that he
might save a matter of an hour by taking the
shorter road by Wickham Ferrers; but it was a
bright September day, exceptionally hot for the
time of year, and there was more chance of a
breeze by the cliffs.  Besides, Jack preferred
when he could to keep within sight of the sea.

He had no company for the first part of the
journey, and that was a trial to a lad of Jack's
sociable disposition.  As became a midshipman
of his Majesty's navy, he was ready to talk freely
with peer or peasant.  The few people he saw
were going in the opposite direction, and though
in pleasant country fashion they "passed the time
of day," there was no occasion for stopping to
chat.  But, about five miles out of Wynport, he
saw just ahead of him, on the winding white
road, a man with a wooden leg, stumping along
beside a donkey-cart.  The man had a broad back
and looked a sturdy fellow.  The day being hot
he had stripped off his coat, which dangled from
a nail in the tail-board of the cart; and he
carried in his left hand a glazed hat.

Jack was almost abreast of the cart when the
man heard his footsteps, turned, and seeming to
recognize him, pulled his forelock and said:

"Morning, sir, morning."

"Good morning.  Uncommon hot, isn't it?
You seem to know me?"

"Not to say know, sir.  I've seed ye, that's all.
I've been to Wynport; I goes there twice a week
with my old moke here, and a cargo of fruit or
vegetables, times and seasons according.  And
when I goes to Wynport, in course I looks up
old messmates."

"You've been a sailor, then?"

"Nigh thirty year, sir!  Joe Gumley my name:
ranked A.B. when I got my leg shot off in a'
action with a French privateer six year ago.  In
course I were discharged then.  I were a fisherman
till they pressed me for the navy, so when I
were no more use to his Majesty, sir, I come
back to my native place, which be Luscombe,
sir, and what with fishing and gardening and
such like I manage to make both ends meet, as
they say.  I've got a tidy bit of cottage at a low
rent from Squire Bastable—"

"Oh! he's my cousin."

"Now, if you'd said uncle, sir—"

"Well, he's my mother's cousin; my second
cousin, I suppose."

"Not having any myself, I don't know second
from first.  Howsomever, as I were saying, I've
give up the fishing now; but I keep to the
gardening—not an easy job with this stump of mine,
'cos when I'm digging the misbehaving thing
will sink in, and it takes a terrible time to be
always heaving it out.  Like as if you was to have
to drop anchor and heave it again every knot
you made.  But I've got over that there little
contrariness by taking a square bit of board
with me now.  When I'm going to dig, down
goes the board, I sticks my stump on that, and so
we gets on as merry as you please, 'cos when I
want to shift, all I've got to do is to kick the
board along a few inches, and there we are."

"Well, but how came you to know me?"

"Only seed you, sir.  I was over at Wynport,
as I were saying, and only this morning I comed
across my old messmate, Ben Babbage, what was
pressed along o' me.  He's now bo'sun of the
*Fury*, and we was having a smoke and a chat
about old times when you come down the yard
along o' the lieutenant, and Ben says to me:
'Joe,' says he, 'that's Mr. Hardy, the new
midshipman.'  That's how I knowed your name, but
I didn't know as how you was cousin to squire,
though to be sure, now I look at you, sir, you do
seem to have something of his figurehead about you."

"Talking of figureheads, that's a queer-looking
thing yonder."

He pointed to a tower that just showed above
the trees in the distance.  In shape it was not
unlike a mushroom, the top and part of the stalk
being visible.

"That?" said Gumley.  "Queer, indeed.  That
be Congleton's Folly."

"And who was Congleton?"

"A man, sir, leastways a madman.  Where he
hailed from no one knowed, but years and years
ago, when I was a' infant in arms, Congleton
suddenlike come to Luscombe.  He was a man
about fifty then, and 'twas said that having
waited to that age to fall in love, he got it very
bad with a widder, who wouldn't have him.
Love seems to be like measles, better had young.
Well, Congleton took it so to heart that he made
up his mind to live forlorn and lonely ever more.
So he built a kind o' summer-house in the
Hollow yonder; and when he tired o' that he set a
small army o' laborers building the Folly, for
so it got to be called; and there he lived for a
dozen years in one room at the top all by
himself, seeing nobody, having his food sent up
twice a week by a pulley.  And then he died.
Congleton's Folly 'twas called then, and so it be
called to this day: a sort of wilderness all round
it, and a fearsome place on a dark night."

The old tar talked on, Jack doing the listening,
until they came to a spot where, just after
the road crossed a deep chine cutting through
the cliff to the sea, there stood a large
farm-building by the roadside.

"Is that one of my cousin's farms?" asked Jack.

"No, sir, that be Mr. Gudgeon's freehold."

Jack glanced at it idly.  It was an old roving
building of stone, with gables and mullioned
windows, many barns and outhouses hemming it
in.  Across the road was the farmyard, with a
large pond skirting the roadway; and beyond it
a level triangular stretch of pasture and
cornland extending to the edge of the cliff, which
here jutted out prominently into the sea.

Just before they reached the farm-house, Jack
noticed a dense cloud of smoke pouring from
one of the chimneys.

"The kitchen chimney's afire, I suppose," he said.

"Ay, ay, sir.  Mr. Gudgeon do have a bad lot
o' chimbleys.  And there's a many in Luscombe,
too.  Plenty of jobs hereabouts for a good sweep!
And there's Mr. Gudgeon himself—Nathaniel's
his chrisom name."

A very big burly man, curiously short in the
legs, made his appearance in the doorway, and
walking backwards across the road, watched the
black column of smoke drifting slowly eastward
on the light breeze.

So closely was his attention fixed that he did
not at once notice the pedestrians or the
donkey-cart, and not until he had backed almost across
the road did he suddenly catch sight of Joe
Gumley.  Then he started slightly, and his
attention being now divided between the old sailor
and the chimney on fire, he failed to observe a
deep rut left by a passing wagon, that had
evidently been driven into the pond to allow the
horses to drink.

The result of the oversight was unfortunate.
One of the short legs disappeared into the rut;
there was a wild flourish of arms; and then the
big unwieldy body toppled backward into the pond.

Jack could not forbear smiling.  Gumley gave
a quiet chuckle, and to Jack's surprise stumped
on, not offering to help the farmer out.  But the
lad sprang forward impulsively, splashed into
the water, and held out his hands to the miserable
dripping object still floundering there, unable
to gain a foothold on the clayey mud of the
bottom.

"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack
encouragingly.  "Haul on, sir.  Yo heave
ho! and up we come!"

.. _`"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack`:

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   :alt: "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack

   "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack

"Thank'ee, sir," said Mr. Gudgeon, spluttering.
He had evidently swallowed more of the
muddied water than he cared for.  "But
how—ugh!—how do you—ugh!—know my name, sir?"

"Why, that old sailor man told me—Gumley,
you know: we hitched on some miles up the
road there."

"Yes, yes, of course: yes, yes.  I'm all of a
flutter, sir; my heart goes pit-a-pat.  Ugh!  That
water is rank, and—and I—I feel quite upset.
It was Gumley; of course it was: and he told you
my name.  Yes, to be sure.  And you, sir, I might
guess, are a king's officer, sir?"

"Oh, yes!  My ship's the *Fury*"

"Why, to be sure!  Come in, sir.  You must
dry your boots.  Take them off, sir.  I will take
off my wet things and be with you in a few
moments.  Sit you down, sir."

Mr. Gudgeon had led Jack into a large
stone-flagged room, with a low ceiling of whitewashed
rafters.  He disappeared, and Jack, left to
himself, took off his boots and stockings and sat on
the broad, high ledge of the window.  In one
corner he noticed a long leather-bound telescope,
and taking it up he looked out to sea.  A few fishing
boats dotted the shining surface, their brown
sails just appearing above the edge of the cliff.
In the offing a large lugger lay, apparently hove
to.  He was still peering through the glass when
the farmer returned, carrying a tray with bottles
and glasses.  A servant came after him, and took
away the wet boots and stockings.

"Now, sir," he said.  "You have your choice.
Here is brandy, and sloe gin, and cider—"

"Thanks, Mr. Gudgeon, a glass of cider for
me; 'tis a cool drink for a hot day."

"To be sure," rejoined Mr. Gudgeon;
"though for myself I find brandy the best cure
for the flutters.  You were taking a peep
through my spy-glass, sir?"

"Yes: a good glass."

"Not bad, sir, not bad.  And a clear day.  But
not much to see, sir, to-day."

"No.  There's a lugger in the offing; and
French by the cut of her."

"Surely not, sir," cried Mr. Gudgeon, taking
up the glass.  "Dear, dear!  I'm all in a flutter
again, sir.  A French lugger, sir!  'Tis surely too
near our coast to be safe."

"Yes, and I hope the *Pandora* will catch her;
she's sailing this afternoon."

"To be sure, sir.  The impudence of these
Frenchmen!  But I don't think she's French,
after all; there's a lugger much like her down
in Luscombe yonder.  And you're an officer of
the *Fury*?  I've seen the *Fury* more than once,
sir.  She cruised about a good deal last winter on
the lookout for smugglers.  But she's laid up at
Wynport now, I'm told."

"Yes, or I shouldn't be here."

"Ah!  I wondered, now, what brought you to
this quiet little place.  Maybe you have friends
in the neighborhood, sir?"

"I'm going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable.  I
dare say you know him?"

"Know the squire!  To be sure: a customer of
mine.  Ah! as I was saying, there's a good deal
of smuggling on this part of the coast: so the
common talk is, sir.  Luscombe yonder is
suspected, so 'tis said.  Mr. Goodman, the new
riding-officer, has his eye on the village.  But up
here on the cliff I don't hear much of what goes
on.  I keep myself to myself, sir—lead a quiet
life; anything out of the way puts me in a
flutter at once.  And when will the *Fury* be ready
for sea?"

"In four or five days."

"To be sure!  And you are Mr. Bastable's
cousin!  Well, now, to be sure!  'Tis early days
for the smugglers, sir: they don't begin, so I've
heard, much before October; their work needs
dark nights; but I hope you'll put 'em down, sir,
I do.  They're getting the neighborhood a bad name."

"Well, Mr. Gudgeon, we'll do our best to polish
it up for you.  Now, d'you think those things
of mine are dry?  I am getting hungry, and my
cousin, I hope, keeps a good table."

"To be sure, sir; a fine man, Mr. Bastable.
Though I'm only a poor working farmer, and
keep myself to myself, I hope I may count
Mr. Bastable a friend.  You will give him my
respects, Mr.—?"

"Jack Hardy: that's my name.  Thanks for the
cider, Mr. Gudgeon: mighty good stuff.  Good-by.
I hope you'll be none the worse for your sousing."

"Thank you, sir.  I hope not.  I shall take no
harm unless I get a return of the flutters."

He went with Jack to the door.

"That is your way, sir," he said, pointing to a
path that ran irregularly across the fields to the
right.  "The coast winds a good deal here; you
would not think it, but the path will bring you
near to the sea.  Bastable Grange is on the cliff,
sir, the other side of Luscombe, a fine airy
position, though too near the coast if the French
should land, *I* say."

Jack set off at a good pace, vaulted the many
stiles that crossed the field path, and in less than
half an hour found himself approaching a fine
old red-brick house nestling among trees at the
edge of the cliff.  He paused for a few moments
before lifting the latch of the gate to take a look
round.  There, in a hollow between the two
cliffs, lay the village of Luscombe, its few
cottages straggling from the beach up the slope.
Two or three fishing smacks lay alongside the
short stone jetty: others rocked gently in the
little bay.  A turn of the path hid them from sight
for a minute or two; when next they came into
view Jack was surprised to see one of the smacks
making under full sail out to sea.

"Smart work that!" he thought.  "There was
no sign of her putting off a few minutes ago.
The Luscombe fishers would make good king's
men, by the look of it; they'll have a visit from
the press-gang one of these days."

He watched until the smack rounded the
point; then he turned, opened the gate, walked
up the gravel path, and pulled the bell at the
door of Bastable Grange.





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.. _`MONSIEUR DE FRONSAC`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   MONSIEUR DE FRONSAC

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Jack was shown into a little snuggery, where
he found a red-faced, blue-eyed gentleman
sitting deep in a comfortable arm-chair, his legs
perched on a smaller chair.  His black hair was
tied in a short queue; he had curly side
whiskers: and he wore the full uniform of the
Dorsetshire yeomanry—a tight red coat with a high
stock, white buckskin breeches, and big Hessian
boots that came to the knee.

"A young gentleman to see you, sir," said the
servant.

"How d'ye do, Cousin Humfrey?" said Jack,
advancing with a smile and outstretched hand.

"Who in the world are you?" said Mr. Bastable,
clutching the arms of his chair, his eyelids
squeezed together oddly.

"Oh!  I'm Jack Hardy.  Mother said I was to
be sure and call.  My traps are coming after."

"They are, are they?  You're a pretty cool
young spark, aren't you?  I must take it, I
suppose, that you're my Cousin Millicent's boy, eh?"

"Of course, Cousin Humfrey.  She said you'd
be glad to put me up for a day or two, if I
reminded you what friends you and she were, I
don't know how many years ago."

"She did, eh?  Well, you'd better give an
account of yourself.  How old are you, and what
are you doing in these parts?  I don't suppose
you came all the way from London to remind
me of your mother."

"I'm sixteen, sir, and just appointed to the
*Fury*—you know, the revenue cutter now repairing
at Wynport.  I've got a few days' leave, so
I've just walked over."

"So I should suppose.  Your boots look as if
you'd walked through half a dozen horseponds
on the way."

"Only one, cousin," replied Jack, laughing.
"That was in helping a friend of yours, who
tumbled over through walking backwards
looking at a chimney on fire: Mr. Gudgeon, the
farmer."

"A friend of mine, eh?  Well, not exactly,"
said Mr. Bastable dryly.  "So his chimney was
afire."

"Yes, though I must say he took it pretty
coolly; didn't seem to remember it when he got
back into the house."

"Oh!  You went into the house, then?"

"Yes, he gave me some cider, and drank some
brandy himself for the flutters.  He's not quite
the shape for the flutters, cousin, is he?  Looks
pretty solid."

"And he made himself agreeable, eh?  You
told him who you were, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes!  And he as good as said he was glad
the *Fury* was getting ready for sea.  Luscombe's
getting a bad name for smuggling, it appears,
and 'tis time some of us came along.  Don't you
think so, cousin?"

"Quite time, quite time!" replied Mr. Bastable.
Jack fancied he caught a twinkle in his
half-closed eyes.  "Father and mother quite well,
eh?  And how long have you been a king's officer?"

"A couple of years, cousin.  Of course I had
to serve two years as a volunteer first; then two
years ago I was put on the books of the *Ariadne*,
second-rate frigate, Captain Bagot.  Why on
earth they transferred me to the *Fury* I can't
tell—just as the *Ariadne* was going out to join
Admiral Nelson's fleet, too.  I call it disgusting."

"No doubt they thought you'd be more useful
to the revenue.  Well, your traps are coming
after you, you said?  Get off those boots and
I'll introduce you to your cousins.  I suppose
they're your cousins, if I'm one.  Ah! here's the
first!"—as the door burst open, and a girl ran
in.  She wore a white muslin dress with a pink
sash, and a chip hat was swinging on her arm.
Seeing a stranger she stopped, and her cheeks
flushed.

"Come, Kate," said her father, "this is your
cousin, Mr. Midshipman Hardy, come to pay
us a visit."

Kate Bastable made the formal little courtesy
of those days, to which Jack returned his best bow.

"I came to tell you dinner is nearly ready,
father," said the girl.

"Goodness alive, and I haven't got out of my
regimentals yet!  Run and send your mother
here, Kate; she must say which room your cousin
is to have.  We dine earlier than you fine London
folks, my lad.  You're a good trencherman, I'll
be bound."

"I'm pretty sharp set after my walk, cousin,
and we fellows can usually do our duty with
knife and fork."

"As well as in other matters, eh?—catching
smugglers, for instance.  Well, come along;
we'll find my wife and see what she can do for
you in the way of slippers."

Jack was perfectly satisfied with his dinner,
and with his new-found relatives.  Mrs. Bastable
and he became good friends at first sight.  She
was a pleasant, fresh-colored woman of forty,
quiet in manner and speech, but with a shrewdly
humorous eye.  Kate was fifteen.  She said little,
but took stock of her new cousin as he chattered
at the dinner-table.  The last member of the
family was Arthur, a boy of twelve, who, Jack found
afterward, was not nearly so shy as he looked.
An only son, he had not been sent to school, but
was tutored at home.  The tutor formed the sixth
at table, a slight man of about thirty, with a very
swarthy skin and intensely black eyes, good
features, and a glittering smile.  He was introduced
to Jack as Monsieur de Fronsac, a Frenchman
of a noble house.  He had emigrated a few years
before, and settled in England as a teacher of
languages and mathematics.  Monsieur de
Fronsac bowed and smiled when the introduction was
made, and said that he was charmed and
delighted to meet an officer of the king's so
excellent navy.

Jack found that he was expected to do most of
the talking.  His cousins plied him with
questions about the latest news in London.  What
was happening in India?  Had Spain declared
war?  What did the people in London think of
the chances of a French invasion?  Jack was
equal to the demands made upon him.

"Oh, as to India," he said, "a day or two
before I left we got advice that that Mahratta
fellow, Holkar, had invaded our territories and
General Wellesley was after him.  He'll soon
settle his hash.  And Admiral Keith is going to
have a shot at those flat-bottomed boats that
Boney has got at Boulogne.  They'll never cross
the Channel, not they.  Praams they call 'em:
miserable tools; a storm would knock 'em to
pieces; they can't hug the wind; and the
eight-pounder they've got mounted aft is a fixture,
so that if we laid a small boat alongside, the gun
would be useless, and they'd only have musketry
to resist with.  And the poor wretches on board
get so seasick if there's the least swell that they
lie about groaning in the hold, too weak to lift a
musket.  One of 'em was captured last year by
a gun-brig of ours; she'd got a little leeward of
Boulogne and couldn't get back, and our brig
had her by the heels as she was steering large for
Calais.  Our fellows don't believe old Boney
intends to send 'em across at all, but only wants
to frighten us.  By George!  I wish he would,
though.  We'd make ducks and drakes of his
praams, there's not a doubt about that."

"But they might row over in a calm," suggested
Mr. Bastable; "then our cruisers would
be helpless."

"Why, if they did, cousin, there'd be a chance
for you.  I'd like to see the yeomanry cavalry
dashing at 'em as they landed, sabers out, cut and
thrust, ding-dong, over you go.  Oh, it won't be
so easy as Master Boney imagines.  Don't you
think he's off his chump, cousin?—Beg pardon,
Cousin Sylvia, I mean cracked; that is,
mad—why, 'tis said he's had a medal struck to
commemorate his invasion; his own precious head
on one side and a figure of Hercules strangling
the sea monster on the other.  The sea monster's
us, you know, Monsieur.  And he's got the words
'Struck at London, 1804,' on the thing—isn't
that cool cheek?  Better have waited till he got
to London—don't you think so, cousin?"

Thus he chattered on, amusing his relatives
with his frank boyish confidence, and especially
pleasing Monsieur de Fronsac, as it appeared,
for the French tutor was constantly showing his
teeth as he smiled.

"It is good to hear," he said once.  "I like
it.  I do not lov dis Napoleon; truly he is a
monstair."

"Makes a breakfast of babies, don't he?" said Jack.

"That's rubbish, of course," said Mr. Bastable.
"But he's a monster all the same, as Monsieur
says; and I warrant if he does manage to
escape you blue-coated gentlemen of the navy
he'll find us redcoats ready to meet him."

Monsieur de Fronsac retired immediately
after dinner.

"Gone to scribble poetry," said Mr. Bastable
with a smile, when the door was shut.  "He's a
decent fellow, and knows a heap of mathematics.
I fancy he must have been crossed in love, for
he's always writing poetry about the moon or the
trees or the sea—so Arthur says, for he never
shows his stuff to me.  Now, we're early birds
here, Jack.  We'll play a rubber with the ladies,
if you please, and then to bed."

At breakfast next morning Mr. Bastable was
in particularly good humor.  He had been out
early, so he said; there was nothing like a ride
before breakfast for freshening one up and
improving one's appetite.

"By the way, Jack," he added, "when I was
out I heard that the smugglers made a capital
run last night—the first of the season."

"The villains!" cried Jack; "under my very
nose!"

"Taking advantage of the *Fury's* being laid
up for repairs, you see.  But no doubt you'll put
a stop to it when once you get to work—eh,
Jack?"

Jack fancied there was something quizzical
about his cousin's smile as he said this, and
wondered whether the squire was "smoking" him.
But he answered cheerfully:

"We'll see, cousin.  I don't know what sort of
man Lieutenant Blake is: only saw him for the
first time yesterday; but if he's anything of a
goer we'll give the smugglers a warm time, I promise them."

"And how will you set about it, cousin?"

"Don't know, for my life!" said Jack with a
laugh.  "But there are forty ways of catching
flies, and about the same number of tying knots;
and we'll find out a way, you may be sure.  By
the by, cousin, can you tell me how to get to the
cottage of an old tar named Joe Gumley?  I had
a chat with him yesterday as I came here, and
I'd like to look him up."

"Yes, I can tell you.  He's a tenant of mine.
But he won't see you."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say.  He won't see you.  He lives
by himself and never admits a visitor.  He's most
unpopular with the village folk, and has to
tramp to Wynport to sell his garden stuff."

"Why don't they like him?"

"Ah, well!  The truth is he's an oddity, a very
queer fellow."

This explanation by no means satisfied Jack,
and he made up his mind to visit Gumley as he
had intended.  The sailor's cottage stood some
distance farther along the cliff.  After breakfast
he set off alone toward it.  Within ten minutes
he came to a stout wooden fence tipped with
nails, and so high that he could only just see over
it.  Then the view of the cottage itself was
hidden by a mass of bushes and trees, the foliage of
which, though tinged with autumn brown, was
still thick.  There was a gate in the fence, but
no latch and no bell.

"An 'I'm-the-king-of-the-Castle' look about
this," thought Jack.  He lifted his cane and dealt
the gate several smart raps.  Immediately he
heard a dog rushing down the garden, barking
angrily.  Standing on tiptoe he peered over, and
saw an immense bulldog, thick-set, broad-chested,
with an enormous and most ugly head, showing
his teeth viciously.  The moment the dog
caught sight of Jack he redoubled his barking
and dashed forward against the fence, as if
furious to get at him.

"Good dog, good dog!" said Jack soothingly.
"What's the matter with you, you son of a
ten-pounder?  I say, Gumley—ahoy! ahoy!  Gumley!"

He raised his voice to a singsong, and sent the
call rolling toward the cottage, rather enjoying
the din made by himself and the dog, with a
hundred echoes from every dell and hollow in
the cliff.  In a minute or two he saw the sailor
stumping round the bushes, his head bare, his
shirt open at the neck, a spade in one hand, and
in the other a little square board.

"Oh, 'tis you, Mr. Hardy, sir.  I was digging
turnips at the back.  Lor', sir, all Luscombe will
know you've bin here, with this terrible row and
all."

"I don't care if they do, and it was your dog
that made the row."

"A good dog, sir.  Living alone by myself,
you see, I need a watch-dog.  Come in, sir, come
in."

He had removed a padlock, drawn two bolts
and loosed two bars on the inner side, and
thrown the gate open.  Jack stepped into the
garden, keeping an eye on the bulldog, which had
ceased to bark as soon as Gumley appeared, but
walked slowly round and round the visitor, sniffing
at his legs as if choosing the best place for a
bite.

"There's no cause for alarm, sir—leastways
not while I'm on deck.  I'd best introduce you
proper like, then you'll be safe any time, fair
weather or foul.  This here's Comely; and this
is Mr. Hardy of the *Fury*: twiggy-voo, as the
mounseers say?  Now pat him, sir."

Jack felt a little uneasy, but knowing that it is
best to put a bold face on it, whether with dogs
or men, he stooped and patted the massive head.
With an expression that seemed to him more
sinister than ever, the dog stuck out a red tongue
and licked his hand.

"Now all's snug and shipshape, sir.  Comely's
your friend for life."

"Queer name that."

"True, sir.  It was like this.  I had a notion of
calling him Handsome, 'cos handsome is as
handsome does, and he does most uncommon
handsome.  But thinking it over between
watches, as you may say, it seemed like poking
fun at the poor beast that couldn't hit back, and
I cast about for a name that would mean the
same but not quite so strong.  I tacked about for
a time without catching a fair breeze, sir.  Then
all at once I remembered a word in my Bible:
'black but comely.'  Comely's a good name,
thinks I, and his muzzle's black, and my name's
Gumley, so Comely it shall be: and Comely it is,
sir.  We're a pair, I can tell you, Comely and
Gumley."

"A capital match," said Jack laughing.  "But
I say, why do you barricade yourself in like
that?"  Gumley had replaced padlock, bolts and
bars.  "Any one would think you were making
ready to stand a siege."

"Well, sir, I won't say 'tis to be ready for
Boney's landing, and I won't say 'tisn't."

He was now stumping up the path toward the
cottage, and said no more.  Jack saw that he did
not mean to enlighten him, and changed the
subject.

"I say, Gumley, why didn't you help Mr. Gudgeon
out yesterday?  You went on and left
me to do it."

"Ay, ay, sir.  The truth is, Mr. Gudgeon and
me bean't, so to say, on speaking terms."

Jack felt that there was something puzzling
about all this.  Gumley was not popular with the
villagers, Mr. Bastable had said; the old sailor
had confessed to a feud or at least a coolness
between himself and his neighbor on the opposite
cliff.  There was an honest look about his
weather-beaten face; he did not seem to Jack
morose or ill-tempered.  What was at the bottom
of this strange attitude of antagonism, shown by
the man's somewhat elaborate defenses?  Well,
after all, it did not matter to Jack; his leave
would be up in a few days, and then his duty
would take him to sea.

He sat for some time in Gumley's trim little
parlor, where everything bespoke the handy
Jack Tar, chatting about sea life in general and
the *Ariadne* in particular.  Then the talk came
round to Jack's new vessel, the *Fury*, and
brought up the question of smuggling.

"Mr. Gudgeon said that a good deal goes on
about here," said Jack, "and by George! my
cousin, Mr. Bastable, told me that the villains
ran a cargo ashore only last night.  I suppose he
met the riding-officer as he went for his morning
canter.  Did you hear anything of it?"

"Not a word, sir.  I keep myself to myself."

"Yes, Mr. Gudgeon said much the same thing,
I remember.  But I suppose you hear talk in the
village sometimes?"

"Never bin into the village since I gave up
fishing, sir.  I get all my victuals from Wynport,
and often don't set eyes on the village folk
from week-end to week-end, except at Church at
Wickham Ferrers on Sunday."

"Why you're quite a hermit—almost as bad
as Congleton."

"True, sir, but I've never bin crossed in love,
'cos I never seed a maid I fancied afore I lost my
leg, and there's ne'er a maid would take a fancy
to a poor chap with a stump like this.  And I'm
afeard of going like Congleton, sir."

"Yes, but, Gumley, never mind about that.
Tell me straight out, man; are the people in
Luscombe below there smugglers or not—the
whole crew of 'em, I mean?"

"Well, since you put it plain, sir, I wouldn't
be surprised if some of 'em think a sight more of
French brandy than of Jamaica rum."

"That's no answer, you old rascal.  Well, I'm
going down to the village to have a look round.
I saw some neat little smacks at the jetty
yesterday, and one of 'em put out pretty smartly, too:
was uncommonly well handled."

"Well, sir, you be a fine, mettlesome young
gentleman; but if so be as I might advise you,
I'd say keep your weather-eye open.  If so be
they are a smuggling lot below—well, they won't
be exactly main pleased to see a king's officer."

"Bless you, they won't know me.  I'm not in
uniform, you see.  Nobody knows who I am but
my cousins and you and Mr. Gudgeon."

"True, sir; and me and Mr. Gudgeon keeps
ourselves to ourselves, to be sure."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A FIGHT IN LUSCOMBE MARKET`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   A FIGHT IN LUSCOMBE MARKET

.. vspace:: 2

Jack was accompanied to the gate in quite a
friendly way by Comely.  He smiled as he heard
the click of the lock and bolts behind him, and
thought a good deal about Joe Gumley as he
made his way down the steep cliff path to the
fishing village below.  It was quite a small
village: a few cottages clustered about a cobbled
square, with others climbing the cliff, each with
its little bit of garden.

The harbor was protected by a natural breakwater
of rock running out to sea, and forming an
excellent defense against the southwest gales.
A few brawny fishermen were lounging about in
jerseys and sou'westers, hands in pockets, pipe in
mouth.  Jack tried to enter into conversation
with them, but found them strangely taciturn.
They looked hard at him before answering his
questions, used few words, and gave him very
little information.  Mr. Bastable laughed when,
meeting Jack at luncheon, he learned how he
had spent the morning.

"They're not a talkative set," he said, "and
were probably somewhat overcome by the presence
of a king's officer."

"But how did they know I'm a king's officer,
cousin?  We fellows don't go blabbing about: I
didn't tell 'em, and only Gumley and old
Gudgeon know, besides you and my cousins."

"Perhaps it was Kate that told them.  Ladies
are great gossips, they say."

"I'm sure Kate doesn't go gossiping with
fishermen; do you, Kate?"

"Indeed, no," said Kate, "'tis a shame to say
so, father."

"I didn't say so, now did I, Jack?  I said
'perhaps.'  You don't suppose I went and boasted
of having a king's officer as my guest, Mr. Midshipman
Hardy; and Mr. Gudgeon and Gumley
keep themselves to themselves, as they told
you, my boy."

"Well, I can't make it out, and it doesn't matter."

"Probably they won't know you again in your
uniform, Jack."

"Do you wear a dirk, cousin, and a belt with
pistols in it?" asked Arthur eagerly.

"You may be sure he does," said Mr. Bastable;
"looks a regular bucaneer, I've no doubt.
You'll give old Gudgeon the flutters if he sees
you in all your war-paint, Jack."

"Oh, come now, cousin!" protested Jack.
"Our fellows don't look half so fierce as you
yeomen.  Boney will be terrified if he catches sight
of your big hats and red coats."

"De uniform of de yeomen is ver' fine," said
Monsieur de Fronsac, smiling.  "It is quite
beautiful.  Dat is vat I say to Monsieur Arthur;
dat de Monstair Bonaparte vill tr-r-emble ven
he see de brave English yeomen."

Jack was interested in Monsieur de Fronsac.
He had never met a Frenchman before, and he
studied him as he might have studied a strange
animal.  After lunch he spent some time with the
tutor, and learned something of his history.  It
appeared that on leaving France, a few years
before, he had gone to live on his estates in
Martinique, hoping there to escape the dangers to
which, as a royalist, he would be exposed at
home.  But on the advent of Napoleon Bonaparte
to power his property had been confiscated
by the Bonapartist governor.  He himself had
been proscribed; he fled to Jamaica, thence to
London.  It was hard for poor *émigrés* to pick
up a living.  Happening to hear that a school in
Wynport required a teacher of mathematics he
had come down from London, only to find that
the place had been filled.  But luckily Mr. Bastable
was at the time in search of a tutor for his
son.  De Fronsac heard of it from the master of
Wynport school: he applied and was accepted.

"But I hope vun day to get back my estates,
ven dat Monstair, dat impertinent from Corsica,
lose his life, or ven he shall be reject from de
throne he goes so impudent to seize."

Jack became a little tired of Monsieur de
Fronsac's references to the Monstair.  He never
spoke of Bonaparte without tacking on the
epithet.  Of course, he had good reason for hating
the First Consul if he had lost all his property
and been compelled to teach for a living; but it
was not the English way to call names—and
always the same name.  Jack set it down as one
of the peculiarities of Frenchmen.

That evening, after dinner, the conversation
once more came back to the subject which was
then discussed more often than any other among
the good people of the south coast—the expected
landing of the French.  Mr. Bastable was
inclined to think that with so long a coast-line
open to him, and so many possible landing-places,
Bonaparte would only have to choose his
time carefully to be able, with any kind of
luck, to make his descent.  But Jack scoffed
at the idea.

"What about Nelson, and Collingwood, and
Keith, cousin?  They'd smash him before he got
half-way across."

"But Nelson is away in the Mediterranean,
isn't he?  He can't be everywhere at once, Jack."

"And every one can't be a Nelson, but we can
do our best."

"I wonder where Boney would think of landing.
Somewhere west, not Pevensey like the
Conqueror: too near London.  The Conqueror
sailed from Boulogne, didn't he?"

"Don't think so, cousin: Boulogne isn't in
Normandy."

"Still, I'm pretty sure it was Boulogne.  Monsieur
will know.  We'll ask him."

"I'll go and find him; hope I shan't interrupt
his flow of poetry."

Jack hurried off, and learned that the tutor
had gone out some little time before.

"He said he were gwine fur a promenade,"
said the servant whom Jack asked.

"Which way did he go?"

"Down along by Congleton's Hollow, sir."

"Well, I'll go after him.  Tell your master
I'll be back soon."

A footpath over the fields led to Congleton's
Hollow, about a mile and a half from the
Grange.  Jack had visited the spot in the
afternoon with his cousin Arthur.  They had climbed
over the half-ruined wall, and wandered about
in the dense plantation.  Under the trees it was
quite dim, even in daylight; and where there
were no large trees the ground was thickly
covered with a tangle of bushes and ferns.
Blackberries and nuts grew in abundance, and the boys
had gathered them by handfuls, regardless of
scratches, or rents in their clothes.  Rabbits
scurried across the path from patches of tall
brake; squirrels blinked out of the foliage.  The
place had a wild beauty of its own—the
romantic charm of a spot seldom visited by men.

Delightful as it had been in the afternoon
sunlight, it seemed to Jack more delightful still in
the dusk of this beautiful September evening.
The moon was just rising, throwing pale shafts
of light through the trees, deepening the
shadows.  An owl hooted from the top of the Folly;
as Jack picked his way through the brake he
heard the whisk of scared rabbits.  By the time
he reached a part of the ruined wall whence he
could look over a stretch of open country he had
almost forgotten his errand.  He sat on the wall,
dangling his legs.  There, across the fields to his
right, the moonbeams shone on the weathercock
on Gudgeon's roof.  Luscombe was out of sight
in the dip of the cliffs, but he fancied he could
hear the grinding of the surf on the shingle.

Suddenly he started.  The light southeast
breeze blowing toward him brought the sound
of low voices a little way ahead.  Was it
Monsieur de Fronsac speaking?  Jack thought he
recognized the low smooth tones.  Should he go
on?  That would be to risk overhearing the
speakers.  He hesitated; he heard another voice,
deeper, rougher; then both voices together, as
if in altercation.

"This won't do!" thought Jack.  "I'd better
clear out."  So he sprang lightly down from his
perch and began to retrace his steps, walking
slowly as he had come, and looking back every
now and again to see whether the tutor was
following.  At last, just as he reached the first of
half a dozen stiles between himself and the
Grange, he saw Monsieur de Fronsac's figure
come into the moonlight from the shade of the
trees half a mile behind.  He was alone.  Jack
sat on the stile and waited.

The Frenchman walked with downcast eyes
and for a few moments did not perceive him.
Catching sight of him at length, he seemed to be
startled, for he halted and made a strange
upward movement of the right hand.  But his
pause was only momentary.  He came on again,
and as soon as he was near enough to see clearly
who was sitting on the stile, he showed his teeth
in a brilliant smile, and called softly:

"Hi!  Monsieur Jack, I see you."

"Well, I'm pretty solid, Monsieur," returned
Jack with a smile.  "The place looks lonely
enough for a ghost, don't it?  I'd come to meet
you; got a question to ask."

"Ah! truly de place is romanesque.  It demand
poesy.  Often do I come here, in evenings ven
de moon is bright, to compose poesy.  It please
me, it console me in my miseries.  I come dis
minute from composing a poem about de moon.
Vill I declaim it?  Is Monsieur interested?"

"Oh, fire away!" said Jack.  He thought he
might as well humor this singular Frenchman.
"Stop a bit, is it in French or English?  If it's
in French it'll be clean over my head."

"No, it is in English.  I compose alvays in
English since dat Monstair have maltreat me.  I
recite it: listen:

   |  "'*De moon, she shine in de sky*
   |    *O lovely!  O sharming!*
   |  *Ven I look, vat can I?  I sigh.*
   |    *Vat fine zing for farming!*'

"I explain dat: Your so difficult language have
not good rhymes: and dere needs one for 'sharming.'  I
recollect myself to have seen de farmers
making hay by de moonlight.  Dat also vas
sharming sight, so I put him in my verse."

"First-rate," said Jack.  "Go on; I like that bit."

"I have no more complete at present.  It take
so much to seek your English rhymes.  Now in
my language—"

And Monsieur de Fronsac began a long
course on French poetry, keeping up a steady
flow of talk which lasted till they reached the
Grange.  Not till they were entering the
drawing-room together did Jack remember the
question he had gone to ask.

"Well, Jack, I'm right, eh?" called Mr. Bastable.

"'Pon my life, cousin, I forgot to ask.  Monsieur
has been entertaining me with poetry and
things, and drove the question clean out of my
head.  Where did William the Conqueror sail
from, Monsieur?"

"I do not know, I regret to say."

Mr. Bastable laughed.

"Well, we're none the wiser.  Come, Jack,
take a hand at cards.  We've been waiting this
half-hour."

When Jack was alone in his bedroom, and
thought of his meeting with De Fronsac, he felt
vaguely uneasy.  Why had the tutor been so
anxious to explain his walk?  Why had he talked
on and on so glibly about such a dull subject as
French poetry, with the evident desire to prevent
Jack from talking?  Why had he made no
reference to his companion in the Hollow?  His
friends, his private business, were, of course, no
concern of Jack's; but the position of De
Fronsac in the Bastable household scarcely seemed
consistent with stealthy meetings in retired spots,
and Jack, without knowing why, did not like it.
But he slept none the less soundly, and had
almost forgotten it by the morning.

The third day of his visit Jack had pretty
much to himself.  The ladies drove early into
Wynport to see a dressmaker, and would not
return till late; Arthur was engaged with his
tutor; and Mr. Bastable had to go to the county
town on yeomanry business.  Jack spent part of
the day in roaming about the cliffs, and in the
afternoon went down to the shore, to bathe and
watch the fishing-boats go out.  Dinner had been
put back an hour, so that he delayed his return
to the Grange somewhat later than usual.

As he made his way up the hill, turning off
through a narrow lane to the left, he tripped
over a cord that had suddenly been drawn tight
in front of him.  There had been rain during the
morning, and the place had been carefully chosen
by the practical jokers, who betrayed their
presence by a subdued chuckle from an alley-way
on Jack's right as he fell head forward into a
pool of mud.

Jack had served an apprenticeship in the art
of practical joking in the *Ariadne*.  Not for
nothing had he been for two years a "youngster" in
a midshipman's mess.  He knew that the best
way to discourage the gentle sport in others was
to take summary vengeance on the joker—if he
could get at him.  He picked himself up in a
trice, dashed into the alley-way—so narrow that
there was scarcely room for more than one to
pass at a time—and saw before him the back of
a hulking form disappearing into the dusk, and
hiding, as Jack judged from the clumping of
heavy boots, a number of his fellow conspirators
in front.

The fugitive was tall, but his clumsy body
seemed too heavy for his short legs, and he
moved slowly.  Jack was upon him just as he
emerged from the narrow alley into the open
square of the village.  Catching sight, with the
readiness of one accustomed to use his eyes, of a
convenient muck-heap—there were always
convenient muck-heaps in town or country a
hundred years ago, when sanitary inspection was
still undreamed of—Jack neatly tripped the
burly figure into its soft and odorous embrace.
There was a great yell from the other fugitives,
who stopped their flight when they found that
they were not in immediate danger; and as they
closed in toward the spluttering victim, now
slowly raising himself, Jack saw that they were
some of the boys and youths of the village, whose
eyes he had often noticed upon him as he passed
through.  And there was something strangely
familiar in the attitude of the hobbledehoy
struggling clumsily to his feet.  He was not a fisher
lad; where had Jack seen him before?  The cries
of the crowd enlightened him.

"Fight un, Bill Gudgeon!"

"Heave un into midden, Billy."

"Black his eyes!"

"Give un a nobbier!"

But Bill Gudgeon, like his father, was
inclined to keep himself to himself.

"Not if I knows it," he said slowly, as he
sheered off.  "Maister and me be quits now."

"Chok' it all!" cried one of his companions,
a sturdily built, black-browed, bullet-headed
fisher youth of some eighteen years.  "If so be
you woan't fight, Billy Gudgeon, I will, so there
then.  Be you afeard, maister?"

"No, I don't think I'm afraid of you," said
Jack, "but I don't see what we've got to fight
about.  As your friend yonder said, we're quits.
And I'm in a hurry.  Good night."

"Boo! boo!" yelled the rest, encouraged by
this seeming display of the white feather.  "Rare
plucked un to fight Boney!  Afeard of Jan
Lamiger!  Boo! boo!"

Jan Lamiger slouched forward as Jack was
turning away, and as an earnest of battle
cleverly flicked off his hat.  Jack was round in
an instant.

"Very well, Jan, or whatever your name is,
if you're set on fighting, I suppose I must oblige
you."

He took off his coat, folded it, and placed it
carefully on a stone pillar hard by: then he
picked up his hat, set it on top, and rolled up his
shirt-sleeves.  The young fisherman meanwhile
divested himself of his jersey, and listened with
a smug smile to the encouraging hints and
practical instructions of his mates.

Jack felt a trifle bored.  It was much beneath
his dignity as a midshipman of his Majesty King
George to be fighting fisher lads in the open
fish-market of Luscombe, but it would have been
still more beneath his dignity to refuse the
challenge and have the pack of fisher lads at his
heels.  He was relieved to find that the Square
was quite deserted save for the group about him.
A few seconds earlier he had had an impression
that there were a number of fisher folk about.
The people had, in fact, hastily retired into their
cottages when they saw what was afoot.  They
had no objection to the lad's trouncing a king's
officer, but when that officer happened to be a
relative of Squire Bastable at the Grange it was
perhaps just as well not to countenance the fight
openly.  For they had no doubt that Jan Lamiger
would win.  He stood half a head higher than
the midshipman, and was probably three stone
heavier.  And, moreover, he had some little
reputation in the neighborhood as a boxer and
wrestler.  Had he not thrown all comers at
Wickham Fair?  And knocked Tom Buggins,
the light-weight, clean out of time at
Casterbridge only last month?

It was a somewhat rough battle-ground; the
cobbles of the Square would make a hard fall;
but neither of the combatants had chosen the
spot, nor did it occur to them to seek a more
convenient place for their encounter.

Those were the days in which skill in the use
of the fists was a real title to consideration among
all classes, high and low.  And fortunately for
Jack, it was an art cultivated with great
perseverance by the young gentlemen of
H.M.S. *Ariadne*.  A new midshipman had to fight his
way into the right to call anything his own.  So
frequent were the battles on board, that the art
had reached a very high degree of perfection.
Even the muscular heroes of the prize-ring
might have envied the quickness of eye, the
wariness, the nimbleness of movement, the skill
in feint, of these young warriors.

The group had become by this time enlarged
by the addition of several other boys, big and
small, eager to see the fight and the imminent
discomfiture of the king's officer.  They drew
away to give the principals fighting room.  The
two at once got to work.  In the first half-minute
Jack found that he had no novice to deal with,
and that in sheer physical strength he was
hopelessly outmatched.  But the big lumbering fisher
had nothing like the quickness of wit or the
science of the slighter midshipman.  Hitherto he
had won his bouts by staying power added to a
certain rudimentary knowledge of fisticuffs that
might pass for skill among the yokels at a
country fair.  But in all his previous battles he had
never met an opponent who forced the pace like
this one.  Where was he?  He seemed to be on all
sides at once.  Jan dealt what he firmly believed
was a staggering right-hander, only to hit air
and to feel a smart tap on the left side of his chin.
He flung out his left hand, and before he knew
what was happening, he felt a similar tap on the
right side.  This kept things even, but it spoilt
Jan's temper.  He forgot his science in his
irritation, and lurched forward to give full effect
to his weight and height.  The result was
disastrous.  Where did that whack in the left eye
come from?  He had hardly realized that he
could not see quite so well as usual, when
something very hard and knobby came into his right
eye, and while the stars were still dancing before
him a neat left-hander from Jack sent him reeling
back on to the cobblestones, where he sat up
and peered about him dazedly.

It was clear that the battle was over in a single
round.  There was no fight left in Jan.  The
crowd was silent now.  Several were assisting
Jan to rise, and Jack quickly rolled down his
sleeves, put on his hat and coat, and walked
away, leaving the Square by the alley through
which he had entered it.  Perfect stillness
reigned in the village; but Jack was conscious
that the windows and doorways were now filled
with faces watching the scene.  He smiled as he
left the village behind him.





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.. _`CONGLETON'S HOLLOW`:

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   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   CONGLETON'S HOLLOW

.. vspace:: 2

Jack was beginning to enjoy himself.  There
is something bracing in antagonism: the
knowledge that he was regarded as an enemy by the
people of Luscombe, so far from daunting him,
whetted his appetite for duty.  He made up his
mind to say nothing to Mr. Bastable of what had
occurred.

When he got back to the Grange he found the
household bubbling with an excitement of its
own.  Mr. Bastable had brought back with him
two new suits of yeomanry uniform, and Tony,
the coachman, and Andrew, the groom, had just
fitted them on and were displaying their finery
to the admiring eyes of Molly, the cook, and
Betty, the housemaid.  The men grinned
sheepishly as Jack passed them.

"Bean't they fine, Measter Jack?" said Molly,
giggling.

"Splendid!  You won't be afraid of Boney now."

"Sakes alive, no, sir!  But I be mortal afeard
o' William's blunderbuss.  It do look a terrible
deathly instrument, to be sure; and what would
happen to us if it went off by accident goodness
only knows."

William was the gardener, who, though too
old and bent to make an efficient yeoman, had
been armed, like Overcombe, the butler, with a
blunderbuss, Mr. Bastable having thought it
worth while to give the men of his household
weapons of defense.

"You never know," he said to Jack; "Boney
may land or he may not; if he lands, the more
men we have to fight him, the better; and a
blunderbuss behind a wall may do some damage.
I'm going to exercise 'em every day."

"And what about Monsieur de Fronsac,
cousin?  Will you arm him, too?"

"Well, I didn't intend to.  I thought I could
hardly expect him to fight against his own
countrymen.  But he is so bitter against the
Monster that he declares he won't remain
neutral.  While his countrymen lick the feet of the
Monster, he says, he disowns 'em.  He's got a
pistol, and uncommon handy he is with it, too.
There he is," he added, as a loud report was
heard; "he's practising behind the coach-house.
Let us go and see what he can do."

De Fronsac smiled when he saw them.

"You see, Messieurs, I exercise myself," he
said.  As he spoke he stooped and lifted a horn
button from the ground.  Walking up to the wall
he placed the button edgewise against a brick;
turned, stepped a dozen paces, swung round, and
almost without seeming to take aim, fired.  The
button was shattered into small fragments.

Jack could not but envy the Frenchman's skill.

"You must have had plenty of practice, Monsieur,"
he said.

"Yes, truly.  Ve of the noblesse know to use
de pistol, assuredly."

Next day there was to be a yeomanry parade
at Wickham Ferrers.  Arthur begged off his
lessons for the day, wishing to go with Jack to see
the training.  There were no horses for them to
ride or drive, Mr. Bastable's three being
required to mount himself and his men, so they had
to walk.  It was only six miles; they started
early, and were on the field before the troops
arrived.  They got a good deal of amusement out
of the scene.  Many of the yeomen were raw
recruits who found the management of horses
and arms at the same time somewhat beyond
them.  Falls were frequent, and the officers got
very red in the face with the exertion of
commanding and countermanding.  When the
parade was over, the two boys had early dinner
with Mr. Bastable and the other officers at the
*Wickham Arms*, and started to walk back in the
cool of the evening.

They came by a path that led past the tower
once inhabited by the melancholy Congleton.
Jack looked up at it, wondering what sort of
place that lonely room at the top was.  But
Arthur said that the only doorway was strongly
barricaded, and Jack was not inclined to waste
time in breaking in.  Another half-mile brought
them to the middle of the Hollow.  Jack had not
mentioned the incident of two nights before; it
would seem too much like prying into De
Fronsac's affairs; but he was thinking of it when a
shot rang out from the depths of the copse,
followed by a cry.  Arthur paused in the act of
capturing a belated butterfly.

"What's that, Jack?"

"A cry for help!  Come on!"

He vaulted the wall; after a moment's hesitation
Arthur scrambled over; and they dashed
toward the thickest part of the wood, Jack a few
yards ahead.  Heedless of scratches and tears
they pushed through the tangle in the direction
of the sounds, and, Jack suddenly finding
himself blocked by a thick clump of brambles,
Arthur came panting up to him.

"Over there, Jack, I think!" he said.  "I heard
some one moving."

He pointed to the left.  They listened; there
was no sound but the ripple of a tiny stream.

"Let's go on!" said Jack in a whisper, pointing
ahead.  "'Twas there the sound first came from."

He disentangled himself from the bush, not
without damage to hands and clothes, and skirting
the obstacle, the two pushed still deeper into
the wood, dim in spite of the glow of the westering
sun.  In a few moments they saw through the
trees a more brightly-lit patch of ground, and
came to an open glade, covered with fern and
tall grass run to seed.  At the far side stood the
ruins of a large timber summer-house, built of
logs something like those of the pioneers in
America of which Jack had read.  It was
somewhat dilapidated.  But what took his attention
immediately was the figure of a man sitting on
one of the fallen logs, apparently stanching with
a red handkerchief a wound in the head.

As the two boys made their appearance at the
edge of the glade the man started and tried to
rise; but he staggered back with a groan, and
continuing clumsily to stanch his wound, eyed
them sullenly with uneasy suspicion as they approached.

Jack went up to him impulsively.

"We heard a shot and a cry.  Did you call
out?" he asked.  "You are hurt.  Can we do anything?"

The man was an undersized, mean-featured,
ill-conditioned looking fellow.  He had a low
beetling brow, and his cheeks were black with
the unshorn growth of several weeks.  He was
evidently badly hurt, and, villainous though he
looked, Jack was eager to aid him.

"It is nothing," said the man, in a low and
surly tone, with a slight foreign accent.  "I am
getting better, if only the bleeding would stop!"

Jack could see the handkerchief was drenched
with blood.

"You were shot!  Who fired?" he asked.

"Ah, who?  I want to know.  It was all at once.
I did not see."

"And how did it happen, then?"

"Why, I walk along, looking straight in front,
when behind me a shot is fired.  I feel the pain.
I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see, the
bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least.
A little lower, and without doubt I am a dead man."

"And you did not see who fired?"

"No, how can I?  I turn round; but the villain
hears you as you come, and he escapes.  That way
I hear him go."

He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur.

"It was some robber, without doubt," he added.

Jack looked uneasily around.  Where was the
man?  Perhaps still in the copse ready to repeat
his shot.  But with another glance at the victim
Jack felt that there was something strange in his
story.  Who would rob an ill-clad, dirty-looking
fellow like this?  He did not appear worth the
pains.  And what had brought him to the
Hollow?  He was certainly a foreigner; the copse
was off the highway; what was he doing there?

From beneath his black shaggy brows the man
was keenly watching.  Apparently he saw by
Jack's expression that doubts were crossing his
mind.  Still dabbing his head he began to speak again.

"I am unlucky.  I am of Spitalfields, a silk
weaver.  At Wickham Ferrers I have at the inn
fine silks.  I visit the nobility and gentry; they
give me orders.  I am on my way to the house of
Mr. Bastable—the squire, people call him.  He
is rich; his lady will buy my silks."

"But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable's."

"Is it not?  They told me there was a short cut
through the wood.  Ah! the villains!  It is a trap.
They had me here to shoot me.  Yes, that is it."

"And your samples?"

The man started.

"Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking
round.  "They steal them.  But I have others at
Wickham Ferrers, at the inn.  I go for them at
once."

He rose as he spoke.  Erect, he stood a head
shorter than Jack.

"I beg you keep close to me till we are out
of the wood.  Ah!  I feel sick, I am not able to
walk so far.  I am shaken; I can not wait on a
lady this evening.  Can you tell me a lodging in
the village?"

"Do you know of one, Arthur?"

"There's old Mother Philpot; she could put
him up."

"I thank you.  Philpot: I will remember the
name."

The boys walked with him until they reached
the edge of the plantation.  Then Arthur pointed
out the path that led down to the village; the
man refused their offer of further assistance, and
when he had gone from sight they struck off at
an angle toward the Grange.

Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and
talked about it all the way home.  Jack was
puzzled.  It seemed so unlikely that a peddler
carrying silks should go so far out of his way, and
that he should be set upon and robbed of a
bundle of samples when the more valuable bulk of
his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers.

At dinner he mentioned the occurrence.  Mr. Bastable
was as much annoyed as concerned.

"This won't do," he said.  "We're a peaceable
and law-abiding folk here."

"The smugglers, cousin?"

"Oh! the smugglers!"  Mr. Bastable's face
again wore that strange quizzical smile that Jack
had noticed whenever smuggling was mentioned.
"That's another matter.  I say we're a law-abiding
folk.  There hasn't been a robbery, an assault,
or anything of that kind, for years.  So near the
Grange, too.  As a justice of the peace, I must
see that fellow and get a description of the
assailant; we'll raise the hue and cry and have him
fast by the heels, I warrant him.  I'll send Tony
to Mother Philpot at once."

"He said he didn't see the man who fired the
shot."

"Nonsense.  How could any one take his samples
without being seen?"

"Permit me," said De Fronsac, smiling.
"From vat Monsieur Jack says, de poor man is a
compatriot.  He is a weaver of Spitalfields, but
he talk viz a foreign accent.  De French families
in Spitalfields have been dere so many generations
dat dey are now English; dey vould have
no accent, and dis poor man must be, as I myself,
a victim of de troubles in France of dis day—perhaps
he is a victim of dat Monstair.  Vill it
not be convenient dat I go to see him at his lodgment,
and speak to him in his own language, and
learn all dat he has to tell?"

"'Tis very good of you, Monsieur; but I don't
want to spoil your dinner, and this must be done
at once, or the villain will get away."

"De dinner, it is noding!" said De Fronsac
with a smile, not perceiving the little grimace
that for an instant showed itself on Kate's lips,
or the glance exchanged between her and her
mother.  "I vill go at once.  I do anyzing to serve
a friend like you, Monsieur," he said, with a low
bow as he rose.

After De Fronsac's departure the family
discussed the incident at length, Mr. Bastable
becoming more and more indignant as he thought
of the outrage committed in that quiet spot and
so near his own doors.  But Jack felt very
uneasy.  He could not help connecting the event
with the voices he had heard in the copse two
nights before.  The speakers had seemed to be in
altercation; one of them had been De Fronsac.
And De Fronsac had offered to go and question
the injured man.  Jack wondered whether he had
better tell his cousin what was passing through
his mind, but he did not like to make him uneasy
or suspicious if, after all, there was no cause for
it.  So he decided to say nothing—at least, until
De Fronsac had reported the result of his interview.

The family were in the drawing-room when
the tutor returned.

"I have accomplish' my mission," he said.  "I
am hot; I valk fast.  De man is indeed, I regret
to say, a compatriot.  He is in England from a
young man; vid his parents he arrive fourteen
years ago, ven de troubles began.  I dink he is
honest man.  He see only very little bit of de
man vat shoot him, but it seem he vas short, and
zick, and vid red hair.  Dat is vun zing he know:
de man had de hair red."

"Red-haired men are as common as blackberries
in these parts," said Mr. Bastable.  "That
won't help us much.  Why didn't the fellow use
his eyes to better purpose?  I warrant, if a man
shot me I'd know a little more about him.
However, I'll send Tony to Wickham Ferrers, and
we'll have some men out scouring the country.
Unluckily 'tis getting dark."

Mr. Bastable went to bed later than usual that
night, in case the man should be caught and
brought before him as a justice of the peace for
committal.  But the searchers had made no
discovery, and the squire at last retired, going
round the house with more than usual care to
see that doors and windows were carefully
bolted.

Next morning they were seated at breakfast
when Tony knocked at the door and came in
with a face full of news.

"Please, sir, there's bin housebreaking now.
Mother Philpot's house were broke into last
night, and the Mounseer carried off."

"What! what!" shouted Mr. Bastable with a
very red face, holding upright the knife and fork
with which he was carving a fine piece of
pickled pork.

"'Tis true, sir.  Mother Philpot were just
gwine up along to roost, when there come a
knock at the door.  She opened, poor soul, and
three men with faces black as sut pushed past.
One caught her by the arm and told her to be
mum and no harm would come o't; t'others went
into Mounseer's chimmer and pulled un out as
soon as they'd got his coat and things on, and
took un away.  He was all a-shaking, sir.
Mother Philpot says, says she: 'A were a-trembling
like an apsen, and so were I!'"

"This is monstrous!" cried Mr. Bastable,
pushing back his chair.

"Alas! my compatriot is in danger yet still,"
said De Fronsac, carefully folding his napkin.

"And the silks!  I had set my heart on a
plum-colored dress, Humfrey," said Mrs. Bastable.

"Silks!  Fiddlesticks! 'tis an outrage; 'tis
contempt of court!  'tis—'tis—hang it!  I don't know
what it isn't.  Tony, get my horse saddled.  I'll
ride over to Wickham myself, and get the colonel
to scour the country with dragoons, or we'll
send to Budmouth for those fellows of the German
Legion, and see what they're good for.  We
can't allow this sort of thing in Luscombe, and
by George! we won't."

The angry squire strode away, leaving his
breakfast unfinished.

"Your poor father will be so hungry, and so
bad-tempered all day," said Mrs. Bastable,
whom nothing seemed to ruffle.  "Jack, will you
carve the pork?  You have not finished,
Monsieur de Fronsac?"

"Absolutely, Madame," said the Frenchman
with a bow and a smile.  "Dere is yet an hour
before ve study; I vill valk to de village and
back.  De fresh air it is salubrious; and de
fishermen interess me.  My estates vere in Brittany;
and in my days of youth I pass much time among
fishermen.  Ven I come back, ve vill study de
properties of angles, Monsieur Arthur."

And with a smile Monsieur de Fronsac left
the room.





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.. _`A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION`:

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   CHAPTER V


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   A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION

.. vspace:: 2

"I know!" said Arthur that evening, coming
up to Jack, who was practising skittles in an
alley behind the house.  He looked up slyly in
Jack's face.

"You do, do you?  And what do you know?"

"About you."

"Well, I suppose you do.  I'm Jack Hardy,
son of Major James Hardy, late of the East
India Company's service, and—"

"Didn't he touch you at all?"

"Who?  Father?  Yes, he used to lay it on
pretty thick when I was a young un like you."

"Jan Lamiger, I mean."

"Oh, that's it, is it?  And what do you know
about Jan Lamiger, may I ask?"

"Tony told me.  He says Jan Lamiger has got
two black eyes and a green nose.  Oh! don't I
wish I'd seen it!  Just don't I!"

"Well, my young cockchafer, you hold your
tongue about it.  I don't want it all over the
country that a king's officer has been sparring
with a lout like Jan Lamiger."

"All right.  You needn't be stuck up about it.
Did he go squash?"

"Your language is not very choice, Master
Bastable.  Hullo!  There's Gudgeon's chimney
on fire again."

"It's always on fire."

"What do you mean?"

"So it is—in the winter."

"Well, I s'pose he doesn't have fires in the
summer, but it isn't winter yet."

"I don't care.  I've seen the chimney smoking
away like that often enough; sometimes twice a
week."

"That's rather curious, isn't it?  Doesn't he
ever have 'em swept?"

"I don't know.  I asked Bill Gudgeon about it
once, and he said they can't afford sea-coal, and
burn up all their muck like that."

"Just the sort of answer I should expect from
him.  Well, there's your tutor coming to teach
you a, b, ab, b, a, b, bab.  Cut away!"

"I say!"

"Well, what is it now?"

"I hate Frenchmen."

"A very wise and proper thing for an English boy."

"And I hate lessons."

"Very wrong.  You'll grow up a dunce and
disgrace to the name of Bastable.  Cut!"

"Bother!"

He made a wry mouth and went slowly away.
Jack smiled.

"He'll do!" he said to himself.  "But I wonder
why Gudgeon's chimneys seem so uncommonly
foul.  I think I must pay Bill's father a visit
some day."

He mentioned the matter of the chimney to
Mr. Bastable when that gentleman returned
later in the day, after starting the chase for the
rogues who had dared to disturb the peace of
law-abiding Luscombe.  Mr. Bastable laughed.

"Yes, Gudgeon has an uncommon quantity of
muck on his farm," he said, "but some good stuff,
too—some uncommonly good stuff."

Jack did not regard this as a very satisfactory
explanation.

That night he was roused from a very heavy
sleep by a touch on his arm.

"Who's that?" he cried, springing up at once.

"Only me," said Arthur in a whisper.  "I say,
Jack, I heard some one moving about below.  It
seemed to be in De Fronsac's room."

"Well, he's stumping about doing some more
poetry perhaps.  Go to bed."

"But I believe he's gone out."

"'Tis rather a close night.  Perhaps he wanted air."

"I believe he knows something about that
fellow who was shot.  I watched his face."

"Oho!"

Jack was surprised to find that the boy's
suspicions jumped so nearly with his own.

"Look here, who've you told that to?"

"Only you."

"That's all right.  I'm going out."

"So am I," was the quiet rejoinder.

"I don't think so.  I'm not going to make a
row opening doors.  I'm going out at the window."

"If you do, I will, too."

"All right.  Go and pull on some things and
be back here in fifty-nine seconds.  Sharp!"

The boy hurried away.

De Fronsac's room was just below, on the
ground floor.  It had once been a parlor, but
little used, and when the tutor begged to have it
for his bedroom, Mrs. Bastable made no
objection.  It had French windows opening on to the
lawn, and De Fronsac said it would be so
convenient for him, for he could go out before the
household was astir, and compose poems on the
Dawn, or satiric odes to the Monstair.

Arthur was back as soon as Jack had pulled on
his coat, breeches, and boots.

"Ever climb down a rain-pipe?"

"No."

"Well, you've got to now.  I'll go first, to be
ready to pick up the pieces.  Hist!  What's that?"

Jack had spoken in a whisper.  Now through
the open window he heard a sound as of a latch
falling.  Going to the window he peered
cautiously out from behind the curtain.  For a few
moments he saw nothing.  It was a dark night,
but the moon was rising, and he thought he
detected a dark figure moving along in the shadow
of the wall.  The figure went furtively on until
the wall ended and a fence began; then Jack lost
sight of it.

"You were right, Arthur," whispered Jack.
"Don't look like making up poetry, either.  Come
along."

Looking out to make sure that the figure was
no longer in sight, he slipped over the window-sill,
slid down the rain-pipe with a sailor's ease,
and in a few seconds stood on the lawn.  Arthur
hesitated for a moment at the sill, then, plucking
up his courage, he let himself over and grasped
the pipe.  For a few feet he managed well
enough; then he lost his head and his grip
together, and came down with a rush, to be caught
by Jack, who staggered under his weight.

"Well tried, youngster.  No damage done?"

"No," replied Arthur, not thinking it necessary
to tell that he had two or three grazes on his
wrists and legs, and that he had knocked his nose
against one of the joints of the pipe.

The two boys hurried down the garden,
passed through a gap in the fence made by
removing two of the palings, and set off in the
reverse direction, toward the front of the house.
Jack chose this course almost by instinct;
somehow he felt sure that De Fronsac was making
toward the cliff.  Between this and the house ran
the highroad.  On reaching the road, Jack looked
up and down: it ran straight for at least a third
of a mile in each direction.  No figure was in
sight; yet Jack was sure that unless De Fronsac
had actually run he could not have already got
so far as a third of a mile ahead; and the road
lay so white in the moonlight that no person
could move along it without being plainly seen.

"No good going on unless we can see him,"
said Jack.

"Perhaps he has gone by the beach," suggested
Arthur.

"Right.  The tide's full, but there's always
room to walk at the foot of the cliffs.  We'll
chance it."

They ran across the road, vaulted the low wall
on the other side, and doubled over the two fields
separating them from the edge of the cliffs.  As
they approached the steep zigzag leading down
to the shore they went more carefully.  They did
not immediately begin the descent, but made
their way to a jutting portion of the cliff whence
they could get a good view of the shore on either
hand.

"We can't see him if he's down there," said
Arthur, still in a whisper.

"No, the shadow's too black," replied Jack.
"And we can't hear him, either.  Wish it was
sand!  The rollers make such a noise on that
shingle, and the tide's too high for any one to
walk on the sands."

But he had hardly finished speaking when,
looking to the left, he saw a black shade on the
shingle, at a point where a mass of rocks at the
foot of the cliff interrupted the direct path.  It
moved a few yards, and again disappeared.  That
was enough for Jack.

"There he is!" he whispered.  "Take care,
youngster; we don't want any broken necks."

Quickly lowering himself over the steep side
of the cliff until his feet touched the zigzag path,
he began to race down as quickly as the need for
quietness permitted, Arthur following somewhat
less rapidly.  At the foot he waited for his cousin,
then both set off toward the village, the direction
in which they had seen the shadow move.

He almost wished now that he had refused to
let Arthur come with him, for while the sound
of one person running on the loose shingle might
pass unheard, it was not so likely that two could
run with the same security.  But he did not care
to send the boy back now, so they went on
together, more slowly than he would have done
alone.

De Fronsac must have walked rapidly, for it
was not until they had nearly reached the village
that they caught another glimpse of him.  Then,
however, the gap in the cliff brought him well
into view, and the boys had no difficulty in
following.  He kept straight on across the deserted
harbor and on to the footpath at the other side
running up the cliff,—a short cut for pedestrians
leading to the highroad a little short of
Gudgeon's farm.  Not far up, however, the path
forked, a narrow track leading down again to
the beach, which it reached about two hundred
yards farther east.

Jack had to wait until De Fronsac had
disappeared before he followed him across the open
space around the harbor, for if he had chanced
to turn he must have caught sight of any one
behind.  Thus, when the boys reached the fork of
the path, they were uncertain whether to
continue up the cliff, or to turn down to the right.

"Listen!" said Jack.

Holding their breath they waited.  Was that
a faint sound from above?

"Let us chance it," said Jack, and up they
went, following the steep winding path until it
brought them once more to the highroad.  They
glanced up and down; there was nothing to be
seen, only Gudgeon's farm about a stone's throw
to the right, and the bare white road winding
down-hill past it and up-hill to the left.  They
were again at fault; presumably De Fronsac, to
avoid the very loose shingle near the village, had
chosen the cliff path, only to turn to the right
and continue his road by the beach.

"If that's it," said Jack, "we can easily make
sure.  Remain here by the wall so that you can't
be seen.  I'll go on."

He ran on tiptoe along the road past Gudgeon's
house standing black and silent, crossed
the little bridge over the chine, and, vaulting the
wall, hastened to the edge of the cliff.  He
should now at least be level with the Frenchman
if he was still walking along the beach eastward,
for on the road Jack had run much faster than
was possible on the shingle.

Here again, however, the cliff cast a black
shadow.  He could see nothing; nor, listening
intently, could he detect any sound from below,
save the slow wash of the high tide.  But in a few
moments his practised ear caught another sound.
Surely that was the faint thud of oars working in
row-locks out at sea.  Yes: a quarter of a mile
eastward he saw a boat cross the white path of
the moonbeam across the water and creep
shoreward.  And beyond, straining his eyes, he
thought he saw in the shimmering moonlight the
shape of a larger vessel, motionless.

"Whew!" he whistled softly, "that's the
Frenchman's little game!"

He was convinced that there must be some
connection between the approach of the boat and
De Fronsac's suspicious movements.  What was
it?  He thought of Arthur, remaining by
himself in Gudgeon's field.

"Better fetch the youngster," he said to himself.

He raced back to the spot and told Arthur
what he had seen.

"You had better come with me.  Who knows
what this will lead to?"

They returned together and hurried along the
cliffs, keeping well away from the edge to avoid
being seen.

"She's making for Laxted Cove," said Arthur
when he saw the boat.

"How far away?"

"About half a mile.  We'll have to fetch round
it and approach from the other side if we're to
see what's going on."

"Come on, youngster; hold your wind."

They pounded along at a steady pace over the
rough bent.  The surface was very irregular, and
more than once the boys tripped and almost fell
headlong as some sudden irregularity of the
ground betrayed their steps.  In spite of all their
haste, by the time they had reached a point
beyond the cove whence they could look down in
security, the boat had already been beached, and
men were landing.

The boys lay flat on their faces, peering over
the edge of the cliff that fell here almost
perpendicular to the beach.  The men below were
speaking in low tones; Jack caught a few words
of French, he thought.  They were apparently
impatient to be off.  He could not distinguish
their faces, nor even their dress, for having come
up the beach from the water-line they were now
in the shadow of the cliffs.

Suddenly there was a low hail; immediately
afterward the sound of footsteps.  From the
darkness of the undercliff there stepped three
men carrying a heavy bundle.  They staggered
somewhat noisily across the shingle toward the
waiting boat.  Behind them two other figures
came out of the blackness and stood just below
the boys, as if watching the proceedings.

The three men met those who had landed from
the boat.  Jack saw the bundle transferred from
the one party to the other, and with a start he
recognized that it was the form of a man, well
trussed up.  It was carried to the boat and stowed
with scant ceremony in the bows.  Then the boat
was pushed off, the men wading until she was
fairly afloat.  They sprang on board, gave a low
farewell to the men on the beach, and seizing the
oars pulled rapidly out to sea.

The men who had borne the prisoner watched
the receding boat until it was lost to sight, then
trudged off toward the village.  The other two
had already disappeared.  Jack wished he could
have seen who they were, but the man nearest
him had been all the time in shadow, and the
others had been too far away to be recognized.

"I say, Jack," said Arthur, "what shall you do?"

"That's just what I'm wondering.  If I'd only
got a few men here I'd go down to the village
and demand an explanation of this strange business,
in the king's name.  But if I went alone I'd
make a fool of myself."

"I'd go with you."

"Then there'd be two fools instead of one.
They could knock us on the head and send us to
join that bundle on the boat.  I wonder who he
is.  Surely they haven't decoyed De Fronsac here
and carried him off to the Monster!"

"He wouldn't like that, would he?"

"Well, we can't do anything at present.  We'd
better get back."

"Shall you tell father?"

"Don't know.  I'll tell you that to-morrow
morning."

They went back over the cliffs.  They had just
crossed the chine when a big figure suddenly
loomed up to the left, appearing from the zigzag
path leading down to the shore.  There was no
time to avoid a meeting; indeed, so suddenly
had the man appeared from round a bend in the
path that unless he and the boys had started back
simultaneously there must have been a collision.
The moonlight shone full in the face of the big
man, and Jack recognized him even as Arthur
whispered:

"I say! old Gudgeon!"

Gudgeon recognized the boys at the same moment.

"Oh, Mr. Hardy, sir!" he said, "you put me
in quite a flutter.  And you, too, Master Bastable;
well to be sure!  As if I had not had enough
flutters for one night!  Did you hear a boat, sir?"

"Saw it, too."

"There now!  I was kept up late attending to
some lambs" ("Pretty old mutton!" thought
Jack.), "and I thought I heard people moving,
and I came out, and I was sure I saw a boat
putting out to sea.  It gave me quite a start.
Perhaps it was some of those smugglers—a
rough lot.  But gracious me! 'tis very late for
two young gentlemen to be out; your good
mother would be in a terrible flutter, Master
Bastable, if she knew."

"I say, are you going to tell her?"

"I have to consider my duty, Master Bastable.
As to Mr. Hardy, of course he's a king's officer,
and can keep any hours the king likes to let him.
But a boy like you, Master Bastable!  Really,
Mr. Hardy, sir, I'm surprised at you.  But I
keep myself to myself, I do, and don't meddle
with no man's business as don't concern me.  So
this time, Master Bastable, I won't think it my
duty to tell your lady mother what I seed this
night."

"I'm going to tell her myself, and what—"

"Avast there!" interrupted Jack, "you ought
to be very much obliged to Mr. Gudgeon, you
young donkey, for not rounding on you.  Good
night, Mr. Gudgeon."

And he hauled Arthur away.

"You young idiot!" said Jack, when they were
out of earshot.  "You were going to say you
would tell your mother all you had seen.  We
mustn't on any account let them know what we
have found out.  That would put them on their
guard at once.  Better say nothing at all just
yet."

"All right.  But why?"

"Because there's something going on which I
don't understand.  De Fronsac may be in it;
Gudgeon certainly is; and if they think we know
too much it will spoil things.  Not a word to any
one, mind."

"I say, how am I going to get back into your
room?  I got down the rain-pipe, but I couldn't
climb up it."

"Don't worry yourself, we'll find a way."

On reaching the house they saw that De Fronsac's
windows were shut.  Jack quickly swarmed
up the pipe and entered his room.  In about a
minute down came the end of a knotted sheet.
Arthur caught it, and in a few minutes was
standing beside Jack.

The family were seated at the breakfast-table
next morning when De Fronsac came in.

"Pardon, Madame," he said, "I am late.  Last
night I see a fine moon; it drew me out towards
de so beautiful sea over dere"—he pointed in a
direction exactly contrary to that taken by the
figure followed by the boys—"and I compose a
little poem on de Minotaur—who is, of course,
dat Monstair Bonaparte."

"That's strange, Monsieur," said Jack, at
whom Arthur had been staring very hard while
the Frenchman spoke.  "I could not sleep last
night, and went out for a stroll, and I could have
sworn I saw you coming just the opposite way."

"Ah!  I see you also.  I see you drough my
curtains—ven you climb up de pipe.  To mariners
dat is, of course, as easy as the staircase; but
as for me, I shudder."

"Gave you the flutters, eh, Monsieur?"

"Myself I vould say de tr-r-rembling.  De
poem I compose, Madame, it begin—

   |  "'*Is dere a creature vizout shame?*
   |  *Napoleon—so is he name.*
   |  *Is dere a creature vizout heart?*
   |  *Ah! yes!—de Monstair Bonaparte.*'"

..

"Yes, but Monsieur," persisted Jack, "I saw
some one uncommonly like you going the other
way, towards Laxted Cove."

"Ah, Monsieur Jack, ve have a proverb, 'In
the dark all cats are gray.'  Dat you see some
vun, it is certain; but me—no, Monsieur Jack,
how can it?  I vas composing my poem—over
dere."





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.. _`SIGNALS`:

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   CHAPTER VI


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   SIGNALS

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In the course of the morning Jack received
from a carrier a note summoning him to rejoin
his ship at once.  His cousins were sorry to bid
him good-by, and, though he was eager enough
to return to his duty, he was so much interested
in the strange things that had happened since his
arrival at Bastable Grange that he would have
liked very well to remain a few days longer and
try to unravel the mystery by which he seemed
to be surrounded.  Before leaving he took
Arthur aside for a moment.

"Look here, youngster," he said, "keep your
eye on De Fronsac.  If he tries to pump out of
you what we saw last night, tell him we saw a
boat putting out to sea and wondered whether
the smugglers were at work.  Don't say a word
about the man we saw put on board.  Don't let
him think we suspect him.  And it will be as well
to take a note of the days when he reels off poetry."

"All right.—I say!"

"Well?"

"His poetry is fearful rubbish, isn't it?"

"Never made any myself, but I fancy I could
do as well as he.  Good-by.  Remember what I
said."

Jack returned to Wynport in a carrier's cart.
He went down at once to the harbor, and was
rowed to the *Fury*, which lay at her moorings,
just inside the bar.  A stout old mariner was
leaning over the side, smoking a big pipe.  One of
his eyes was considerably larger than the other;
a big and very bulbous nose seemed to occupy
the greater part of his face; and a long black
curl hung in a graceful curve over his right
brow.  Guessing instinctively that this could be
none other than Ben Babbage, Gumley's friend,
and bo'sun of the cutter, Jack hailed him.

"*Fury* ahoy!"

"Ay, ay, sir.  Morning, sir, morning, leastways
good arternoon, seeing as how we've just took
in our cargo of dinner.  Glad to see you, sir.
Mr. Blake he said we was to get under way the
very minute you came aboard."

Jack swung himself up, flung a coin to the
boatman, and turned to the old sailor.

"Where's Mr. Blake?"

"Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up
with rheumatics.  You're in command, sir, *pro
tem*, as brother Sol used to say."

"Very well; heave the anchor, and run up the
mainsail.  You're the bo'sun, eh?"

"Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir;
that's my brother, and a much better chap nor
me, though, so far.  Ben Babbage my name, sir."

"Well, Babbage, clear the harbor.  I'll go and
see Mr. Blake and get her course.  You can call
me when you've fairly crossed the bar."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Jack went below and found the lieutenant
groaning in his bunk.  He was a weather-beaten
sea-dog of forty-five, who had long since given
up whatever dreams of promotion he might at
one time have entertained.

"You're back, then, Mr. Hardy," he said.
"You see me a martyr to rheumatism: my old
enemy serves me like this every time I go to sea.
Babbage gave you my message?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll tell you what our orders are.
French privateers are careering up and down
the Channel, dodging our cruisers and swooping
down on our merchantmen.  We've got to cruise
at large, keeping one eye on the French, and
t'other on the smugglers.  They're expected to
be pretty active just now, when every one's mad
with excitement about these flat-bottomed boats
that Boney is going to invade us with.  The *Fury*
has got to act as a sort of watch-dog."

"Not much fun about that, sir," said Jack.

"No, sir, no fun, and no glory.  Both you and
I, I take it, would sooner sling our hammocks on
a frigate or a line-of-battle ship.  But we've our
duty to do, sir, and we can't do more than our
duty, wherever we are.  Did you find your
relatives well?"

"Yes, sir.  Do you know Luscombe?"

"No, I've never done this shore-crawling before."

"A good deal of smuggling goes on there, I
am told.  'Tis a quiet little place, almost hidden
away in a recess between the cliffs.  It doesn't
seem to have been troubled much by the preventive men."

"The last riding-officer was a slack-twisted
fellow, it appears, no good for his job.  The new
man—I've seen him once or twice here—is
energetic enough, but not too quick-witted, I should
say, and a little inclined to be bumptious."

At this point a sailor put his head in at the
little cabin.

"If you please, sir, Mr. Babbage says we're
off Minton Point, and waits for orders."

"Very well, Turley.  Go on deck, Mr. Hardy,
and take a run down Channel.  Let me know
what you think of the *Fury's* sailing powers;
we've nothing but our speed to trust to if we
happen to fall in with the enemy in force."

All feelings of disappointment vanished from
Jack's mind immediately as he stepped on deck.
The *Fury* was in all respects a model cutter.
Jack had admired the beauty of her lines as she
lay in harbor, sitting the water like a sea-bird,
with every promise of speed in the graceful hull,
the long tapering mast and the huge boom
extending considerably beyond the stern.  Now
heeling slightly to a stiff sou'-sou'-westerly
breeze, with her great spread of canvas she
seemed to Jack like a sea-bird in flight.  A stately
Indiaman that had left port some time before
was working to windward a mile ahead.  In
order to test the capacity of the *Fury* Jack brought
her a few points nearer the wind, and found that
he steadily overhauled the huge vessel.  Before
nightfall the Indiaman was nearly hull down,
and Jack was satisfied that the *Fury* had the
heels of most craft he was likely to meet on the
coast.

Two small brass guns, one forward and one
aft, comprised her whole armament.  Jack could
not help contrasting this with the forty huge
guns of the *Ariadne*.  The crew consisted of some
five and twenty seamen and marines.  Most of
them had seen much service, and one and all
wished they were with Nelson chasing the
French instead of being engaged in what they
considered the humdrum task of watching the
coast.  Jack privately thought it might turn out
to be not so very humdrum after all.  He soon
made himself acquainted with the crew, and was
rather attracted by a merry-eyed salt named Joe
Turley, a handy man who seemed to live to poke
fun at Babbage the bo'sun.  Among the men that
worthy was variously known as Cabbage,
Artichoke, Brussels sprouts, Sparrow-grass, and
Turnip-tops; he was rarely called by his own
name, except to the officers, when he was always
alluded to most respectfully as Mr. Babbage.

A fortnight passed away, and Jack, as well as
every member of the crew, was growing very
tired of the uneventful life.  Every day was
alike, save for the weather, and that varied little.
The cutter cruised up and down the Channel
between Weymouth and Portsmouth, putting in
occasionally to communicate with the riding-officer
and to take in provisions, but finding
nothing of any importance to do.  The smugglers
seemed to be quiet; the only vessels sighted
were British merchantmen passing up or down
Channel under convoy, or fishing-smacks out
from the English ports.  The men grumbled at
the lack of chances of obtaining prize money,
and Jack was impatient of the inactivity to
which he was condemned.  It was all very well
to keep the *Fury* spick and span, her deck as
white as the sails, her brass rails polished to a
dazzling brilliance; but he would have liked
work a little less domestic—work for the two
brass guns that Joe Turley caressed as though
they were living creatures.

"Won't you venture over to the French side,
sir?" Jack asked Lieutenant Blake one day.  "We
aren't doing any good hugging our own shore."

"No, I won't.  I can't blockade a French port
with a cutter of two guns.  If we run too close
to the French shore we might easily be snapped
up, and for nothing at all.  Besides, orders are
orders.  I've got mine as plain as a pikestaff, and
I can't go beyond 'em."

Jack was disappointed, but clearly there was
nothing to be said.

One evening the *Fury* was making toward
Wynport.  She had overhauled a suspicious
looking brig passing down Channel, but found that
she was a harmless Portuguese sailing in ballast.

"I know she was a Portuguese," said Joe Turley
to his messmates on the forward deck.  "But
old Turnip-tops, of course he must take his
Bible oath she was a Spaniard, and so we've
wasted three or four hours, on the very night,
too, when we're due at the *Goat and Compasses*."

It had been arranged that half the crew
should have a night ashore at Wynport—the
first since the *Fury* had spread her sails.

"True, old Sparrow-grass is a nuisance,
though he's got a good heart.  Here he comes."

The bo'sun came forward and joined the group.

"Well, messmates," he said, "we'll be late at
the *Goat and Compasses*, and I'm sorry for that,
but whenever I'm sorry I think of my brother
Sol, who always says, 'Cheer ho! my hearty,' and
slaps your back in a way that warms the very
cockles of your heart.  I remember—but what's
that light?"

"What light, Mr. Babbage?" said one of the men.

"There, to larboard."

He pointed toward the shore.  A strong light
was shining intermittently, remaining steady for
a few seconds, then disappearing, then flashing
out again.

"'Tis a signal, sure enough," cried Turley;
"but what for?  That's the point."

"No, it ain't the point," said Babbage.  "The
point's a good deal east of that light, and it's
Bantock Point."

"Well, I meant point in a manner of speaking.
The light's at Luscombe; any one can see that."

"More like at Totley."

"I say Luscombe, Mr. Babbage," was the
stubborn rejoinder.

"Totley, I say, and what I say I stick to, as
brother Sol says."

"Ahoy, there!" called Jack from amidships.
"What do you make of that light, Babbage?"

"Some one showing a signal from Totley, sir,
two miles t'other side of Luscombe."

"No, it can't be at Totley.  That's round a
bend of the shore.  It's at or near Luscombe
itself.  A smugglers' signal, eh?"

"Like as not, sir.  They've been too quiet of
late: a sure sign of something brewing, like a
calm after a storm, as brother Sol might say."

"I'm pretty sure it's at Luscombe.  But 'twill
be rather hard to determine exactly in the
darkness.  Run her in a little toward shore, so that
we can take a look at things."

A few minutes later the dim outlines of two
prominent cliffs to the northeast and west-north-west
respectively could be seen.  Jack saw that he
could determine the general direction of the
light by those two well-known landmarks.
Accordingly he ordered the cutter to be hove to;
he then took its position with reference to the
two cliffs, and the angle of the light.  When this
was done he went below and reported to Lieutenant
Blake, who was enjoying a nap in his tiny cabin.

"You did very well, Hardy.  We'll return
to-morrow and test your observations.  There's no
confounded lugger or anything of that sort in
sight, eh?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, I'll leave things to you.  Run closer
in shore, and keep a bright lookout.  If there's
nothing in sight, head her for Wynport, but keep
a good offing off Bantock Point."

Carrying out these orders, Jack found that a
mile farther in he lost sight of the light.  He
thought it worth while to run out again and see
if it had disappeared altogether, but on
returning to nearly the same spot at which the cutter
had been hove to, he saw that the light was
burning as brightly as ever.  All at once it went out.
Jack waited for some time to see if it reappeared,
but the shore remaining in perfect blackness he
saw no good in delaying further, and weathering
the Point, with its spine of jagged rocks
running out to sea, ran straight for Wynport.

They had not gone far when Babbage declared
he saw a sail on the weather beam.  Jack
instantly put down the helm, but after cruising
about for some time and finding nothing he
concluded that the bo'sun had been mistaken.

"Another facer for old Onions!" whispered
Turley.

At Wynport Mr. Blake put up at the *Dolphin*,
leaving Jack on board.  Early in the morning
Jack met Mr. Goodman, the riding-officer, on
his way to the inn.  He had been informed,
Goodman said, that the smugglers had made a
run in the night, and that their cargo had been
concealed somewhere about the premises of
Gumley, the one-legged mariner on the hill.
This news surprised Jack.  It had never
occurred to him that Gumley could have anything
to do with the smugglers.  But when he thought
of Gumley's seclusion, his mysterious ways, the
defenses of his cottage, and his bulldog, he
began to wonder whether dust had been thrown in
his eyes, and the apparently law-abiding
gardener was after all engaged in the illicit trade.
He told Lieutenant Blake what he knew of
Gumley.

"Depend upon it, that's your man," cried that
officer.  "You'd better search his place,
Mr. Goodman."

"Unluckily, sir, most of my men are off
rummaging in another direction and won't be back
till to-morrow."

"Well, I'll lend you some of my crew.  And
as you know the place, Mr. Hardy, I'll send you
in charge."

"Very well, sir," said Jack, and he went off
immediately to collect the men.  Within half an
hour he set out with a dozen of them, well
armed with pikes and cutlasses.  They marched
through the fields and over the cliffs to
Luscombe, avoiding the highroad.  Arriving at
Gumley's cottage, Jack rapped smartly on the
gate and was answered as before by a furious
barking from the dog.  Gumley was some time
in making his appearance, and Jack, becoming
impatient, pulled off his coat, and hoisted
himself on to the fence.  Seeing who it was, Comely
ceased to bark and wagged his tail in friendly
recognition.  Jack could not help feeling a little
mean as he stooped and patted the dog's head,
still more when Gumley appeared from the direction
of the cottage, with his board in one hand
and a fork in the other.

"Morning, sir," he said, with a smile.  "I was
looking for another visit from you."

"I'm afraid you won't think me very welcome
this time, Gumley," said Jack gravely.  "'Tis an
unpleasant job, but I've got to search your
place."

"My place, sir?  And what do you expect to find?"

"'Tis reported that the smugglers ran a cargo
ashore last night, and that you've got it, or part
of it."

"Me!  And you believe it, sir?"

"I don't know anything about it.  My orders
are to search, and I must do it.  A dozen men are
outside: you'd better open the gate and let them in."

"Very good, sir.  But I must lock Comely up
first, sir, else he'll leave the marks of his teeth
somewhere.  You're a friend of his; I introduced
you proper myself, but I'll not introduce him to
any preventive men that ought to know better
than to come a-nosing round my little place.
Who said as how 'twas here the smugglers
brought their cargo, sir?"

"I don't know.  Mr. Goodman heard it from
some one."

"One of those villains down in the village, I'll
be bound.  Well, I might have expected it,
sooner nor this.  I tell you straight out, sir, never
a shilling's worth of smuggled goods have
passed my gate.  I'm a king's man, leastwise was
till I got my stump, and arter that I wouldn't
demean myself by going a-smuggling.  Howsomever,
orders is orders, and search you must.
I'll just tie up the dog, sir, and then open the
gate, for Gumley bean't the man to shut his
doors upon the king's orders."

Gumley's quiet manner made an impression
on Jack, and he was half inclined to leave his
errand unfulfilled.  If the man had protested
and blustered Jack would have been at once
convinced that he was guilty, but his readiness to
submit to the search was hardly that of a guilty
man.  Then it occurred to him that Gumley
might be trying to throw dust in his eyes again.
At all events, he could not return to Mr. Blake
and confess that he had not carried out orders;
so when the dog was secured and the men
admitted he directed them to begin the search.

It was but the work of a few minutes to
ransack the little cottage.  Cupboards were opened,
the stone flags of the floor tested, the loft
between the rafters and the roof explored, but
nothing was found.  Gumley watched the operations
in silence, puffing at a big pipe in which he
was smoking cabbage leaves.

"We'll have to search the garden now, sir,"
said one of the men.

Gumley took his pipe from his lips.

"The garden!" he said.  "Well, mind my
artichokes.  They bean't ripe, not till the first
frost, and it won't do 'em no good to disturb 'em."

He knew that in expeditions of this kind every
inch of ground would probably be explored.
Smugglers had been known to have cunningly
devised hiding-places beneath the soil, under the
roots of apple trees, or pear trees, or raspberry
bushes.  He watched with a grim smile as the
men spread out over the garden, falling on all
fours to smell out any traces of brandy or
tobacco.  He said nothing when they dug over a
plot of ground from which he had recently taken
the last of his late potatoes.  But when they
approached a flourishing bed of artichokes he
heaved a great sigh, and said:

"There goes two-pun-ten in Wynport market,
and all in the king's name."

Jack had felt more and more uncomfortable as
the search proceeded.  When a square yard of
the plot had been cleared of its tall green stalks
he suddenly shouted:

"Give over, men.  This is all a blind.  There
are no smuggled goods here.  Gumley was a
king's man like yourselves.  I don't believe he
has anything hidden; we'll sheer off and report
to Mr. Blake that we can't find anything.  Some
one must have a spite against you, Gumley."

"I could have told you that, sir, but I keeps
myself to myself, and 'twas not for me to stand
up against the king's orders.  Messmates all, I'm
sorry you've had your blood warmed for nothing.
Bless you, I don't bear you no ill-will;
orders is orders, and God save the king!"

He took off his glazed hat as he spoke.

"Well, Gumley I'm sorry we disturbed you.
Look here, take those artichokes up to the
Grange when they're ripe and ask my cousin, the
squire, to give you fifty shillings for them.  Say
I said so.  Now, men, we'll get back.  We owe
the smugglers one for this, and we'll pay it back,
all in good time."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES

.. vspace:: 2

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:

.. vspace:: 2

"*Mr. Goodman, sir, a runn will be made at
binsey cove tonite.—From a frend.*"

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

.. _`121`:

"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!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CONGLETON'S FOLLY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   CONGLETON'S FOLLY

.. vspace:: 2

It was several hours before the boat fell in
with the *Fury*.  Jack and the men were heartily
glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light.
They scrambled on board, and while the men
had to stand a good deal of rough chaff from
their messmates, Jack's account of his failure
was received by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.

"Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with
the smooth," was all that officer said.  "I suppose
you don't feel in very good trim for that little
expedition you proposed?"

"Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything.  I must
change my things and have the best supper the
cook can give me; then you can put me on shore
when you please.  I've got a bone to pick with
those rascals."

Consequently, about half an hour before
dawn, Jack was landed at a spot about two miles
east of Congleton's Folly.  Lieutenant Blake
arranged that the boat should be in waiting for
him three or four hours later some two miles
farther east, at a little cove which was fairly well
sheltered from observation.

"Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's
parting words.

Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the
Hollow just as dawn was breaking.  It was a misty
morning; the shrubs and grass were thickly
besprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had
taken the precaution to wear a greatcoat of
frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the
nipping air.

He came to the Folly, and took a more careful
look at it than he had done when he visited the
spot with Arthur.  It was a brick tower, about
sixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse,
but four-sided, not rounded.  The base was about
twenty feet square; the tower tapered to within a
few feet of the top, where it broadened out so
that it looked not unlike a mushroom on a
particularly long stalk.

On the side facing the sea was the doorway
giving access, as Arthur had told him, to a spiral
staircase leading to the single chamber above.
This overhanging part was supported by stout
oaken beams resting on the brickwork of the central
tower.  On the inland side, in the floor of this
room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it
was through this that the late Congleton had
been accustomed to hoist his provisions.  The
summit of the room was crowned by a parapet,
crenelated like the walls of a fort.

The door, as Jack had already seen, was
strongly barricaded.  On the inner face of the
tower, less exposed than the others to the sea
winds, ivy had grown more than half-way up,
and from this a number of sparrows flew
rustling out when Jack appeared.

He walked round and round examining the
tower from every point of view.  What a strange
man Congleton must have been to choose this
lonely spot in which to pass so many years of a
solitary existence!  Jack closely inspected the
doorway.  The wood was worm-eaten, the heads
of the iron nails thick with rust, and the
barricading had been so thoroughly done that it
would take a long time to free the entrance.  It
was quite clear that no one had gone either in or
out for many years.  Yet, if the tower had indeed
been used for signaling, as he suspected, there
must be a way in.  Where was it?

He might have thought he was mistaken but
for the marks of many feet around the base of
the turret.  The grass had recently been
trampled down, especially on the inland side.  Could
there be another entrance, concealed by the ivy?
He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and more
birds came twittering out; but there was no sign
of a second door.  Somewhat perplexed, Jack
raised his eyes and scanned the brickwork above,
which the ivy had not yet reached.  There was
the wooden trap-door, let in the floor of the
turret chamber, and a foot or two of rusty chain
hanging down.

"That must have been part of old Congleton's
machinery for hoisting his stores," thought Jack.
"I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."

It was quite clear that it opened inward, for
there was no sign of a bolt outside.  When the
room was last used a bolt inside might have
been slipped.  If not, the trap-door could be
opened from below.  But how could it be
reached?  Only by a ladder, apparently.  Was
there a ladder hidden somewhere among the
trees?  He saw no other means of gaining the
summit, for while the ivy was strong enough to
bear his weight for a good many feet up, the
brickwork above was smooth, in spite of the
weathering it had undergone, and offered no
grip for hands or feet.

"I must look for that ladder," he thought.
But after spending at least half an hour in
searching the surrounding thicket he almost
gave up the problem in despair.  There was no
sign of a ladder, and he had searched so
carefully that one of the requisite length could not
have escaped his eyes, however well hidden.
What could he do?  He did not like the idea of
being beaten; especially as he had already failed
once in his contest with the smugglers.  Just then
there seemed nothing for it but to go back to the
boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men
from the cutter to break open the doorway.  But
before doing that he would have one more look.

He returned to the tower.  The mist was clearing
somewhat.  Once more he scanned each face
of the tower in turn.  And now he noticed, on the
inland side, what had escaped him before.  On
the brickwork between the ivy and the chamber
there were a number of small apertures dotted
about, forming a kind of pattern—a spiral.  The
holes could not have come by accident, for they
appeared to be at equal distances apart.  He
counted ten on the bare portion of the brickwork,
and, looking intently, believed he caught
sight of one more where the screen of ivy
thinned off.

His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened.
What was the meaning of these holes?  Were
there more, concealed beneath the ivy?  He
pulled the strands of the plant aside, and with
eye and hand examined the wall.  There were no
more holes, but what was this?  He grasped an
iron staple firmly imbedded in the brickwork;
and three feet above, surely that was another!

"Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got
you at last?"

Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted
himself up, pulled aside the ivy above his head,
and found, as by this time he expected, still
another staple.  Without more ado he began to
climb, nimbly, eagerly, until he had to stop, for
he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and
there were no more staples!  What was to be
done now?

True, there were no more staples, but three
feet above the last was the lowest of the holes
that had attracted his attention.  He was able to
examine it.  A circular hole, seemingly drilled
with some care; he put his finger in, but could
not touch the end of it.  And it appeared to be
bored at a downward angle with the face of the
wall.  He felt that he must find out how long it
was, though for the moment he did not see what
good the information would be to him.
Descending quickly, he found a long twig, and
climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole.
About a foot of the twig went into the wall.

"The hole is made to receive a movable step,
or I'm a Dutchman," he said to himself.  "It's
long enough, and it's bored downward to
prevent the step from slipping out.  A mighty
clever notion!  The holes must have cost a deal
of work, for the fellow who bored them must
have been pretty awkwardly placed.  I wonder
if they were made by old Congleton, or after his
time.  Now what I want to know is, where are
those steps?"

Once more he descended.  The steps, wherever
they were, were probably made of iron, and
there must be about a dozen of them.  Where
were they?  Were they carried backwards and
forwards between the tower and the house of the
person who used them?  That seemed hardly
likely.  It was much more probable that they
were hidden somewhere near at hand.

Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets.
He might easily have overlooked small objects
when searching for the ladder.  But after what
seemed a long time he still found no trace of
them.  Determined not to give up his quest, he
was wondering how best he could make steps
for himself when he caught sight of the
summer-house, about two hundred yards away,
where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.

"That's the place to rummage!" he thought.

He hastened to the summer-house.  There
were two rooms.  Part of the roof had fallen in
over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks
of muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided
to search there first.  The room was bare; he
turned over the debris on the floor; nothing
rewarded his efforts.  But there was the chimney,
a wide square recess in the wall; he would try
that.

He almost shouted for joy when, far back in
the opening, he came upon the object of his
quest—a pile of rusty iron implements that
seemed exactly suited for the purpose.  They
were stout rods about a foot long, with a loop at
the end that might serve either as a hand-grip
or a step.  And the loop was at just such an angle
with the rod as would correspond with the
apertures in the walls.

There were a dozen in all.  Gathering them,
no light weight, into his arms, he returned to
the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up
by the staples and tried one in the first hole.  It
fitted exactly.  He fixed the second, then
descended for the others.  Being a sailor he knew
how to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time;
he slung the rest of the fittings over his shoulder
with his handkerchief, and carried them up
with him once for all.

By their aid he mounted to the top of the
tower, and found himself just below the trap-door.
But it was not quite within reach.  There
was the hanging chain, however, coming
through a hole in the floor; would that stand a
tug?  He made the attempt, intending to hoist
himself up with one hand, and push with the
other against the trap-door.  But he found that
when he exerted a little force the chain moved;
it seemed hardly safe to trust to it.  He was about
to let it go when he noticed that the trap-door
seemed to have risen slightly.  Again he pulled
at the chain, using more force.  It gave to his tug,
and as it descended he saw the trap-door open
slowly upward.  The chain at length stuck; the
door was wide open, and a rough rope-ladder
was hanging some ten feet below the hole.

Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the
chain the trap-door tended to fall back.  It was
a simple matter to prevent this, for, just at his
hand, there was a staple to which the chain could
be hooked; it was evidently intended for that
purpose.  To swing himself on to the ladder was
the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he
had climbed through the open trap and stood in
the turret.

"A fine old musty smell, that's what first
struck me," he said afterward.  "The dust of
ages; cobwebs galore.  Only one window, looking
seaward, and that shut fast.  'Twas stifling
to a fellow used to the fresh air.  There was a
ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; a
four-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at
least, they had been crimson; the dust was so
thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the color
was till I'd rubbed a bit of it off.  That was
where the old eccentric breathed his last, I
suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away.
In the middle of the room was a deal table and
a chair with a broken back; not another stick of
furniture.

"But in the corner near the window I saw
something that told a tale—a pile of kegs, almost
reaching to the low roof.  'Empty or full?'
thought I.  I lifted one; it was full.  I knew they
weren't old Congleton's property, or they'd
have disappeared with the rest of his furniture.
How did I know he had any?  Why, because I
noticed nails on the wall, where pictures had
hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls—cleaner
than the rest, that is—where a bureau or
something of the sort had stood.  Besides, no man
who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings
that once were splendid would have been likely
to be satisfied with a deal table and a common
rickety chair.  They were the kind of things
you'd expect in a plowman's or a fisherman's
kitchen.

"At any rate, I saw that somebody had used
the room since Congleton departed this life, for
there were some crumbs on the table, and a
chipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like
the kegs.  Ghosts don't eat bread and cheese and
drink spirits!  And there was a coil of rope
under the table, and by the window a cheap sort of
curtain that just fitted.  I held it up to see; right
in the middle of it was a round hole.  And when
I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress
had a big dent in it, and no dust on it.  Somebody
had had a nap there since old Congleton died.

"Of course I saw all this in a very few
seconds.  Then I went on the prowl.  I pulled out
the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak!  I
thought the old thing would fall to pieces.
Behind it was a cupboard, and in the cupboard a
large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder of
cardboard about eighteen inches long.  'What's
that for?' I thought.  It didn't strike me at the
moment, but I took the things out and put them
on the table.  The lamp leaked a little; I found
I'd got some spots of oil on my breeches.

"When I put them on the table I noticed
something I'd missed before.  In the middle was
a sort of pattern in red chalk—a circle with a tail
to it; and at the edge of the table two parallel
strokes.  They'd been done some time, for the
marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil
stains.  Those stains puzzled me for a bit.  I
could have understood wine stains better.  But
at last I tumbled to it.  That was the place where
the lamp was put for the signaling.  I set it down
on the circular mark; it just fitted.  But I could
not make out at first what the two straight strokes
at the edge were for.  Then I caught sight of the
roll of cardboard and another idea struck me.
I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; it fitted
like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so
that the handle was over the tail of the circle I
found that the cylinder just reached to the two
marks.

"But that only puzzled me more than ever,
for the lantern and cylinder were now pointing
straight at old Congleton's bed.  Would you
believe it?—I didn't at first think of turning the
table round!  Of course it wasn't a fixture, and
when I did think of it I saw through the whole
scheme.  Turned round, the lantern pointed
through the window.  The cylinder was a clever
notion.  It would prevent the light from the
bull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be
seen a good distance out at sea, it wouldn't
attract notice in the neighborhood, except that a
faint glow might be seen from below.  But the
Folly wasn't in sight from the village, and
there'd be precious few of the ordinary country
folk who'd care to be near the spot after dark.
They'd be in mortal fear of seeing old
Congleton's ghost.

"I was still a little puzzled.  What need was
there to mark the place of the lantern so
exactly.  Anywhere near the window the light
would be seen clearly enough out at sea.  But
now that I had moved the table I noticed four
red marks on the floor.  'Here's another
discovery,' I thought; 'there's a mark for each leg of
the table.'  I slewed it around again, so that the
legs stood on the marks.  Then it flashed on me;
if the table was always in the same place, and the
lantern always exactly on the marks, the light
would always hit the same point out at sea.  'A
very pretty scheme!' says I to myself.  'Good
master smugglers have all their wits about 'em.'

"It was clear as daylight now that the Folly
was a signal-station, and sometimes, as the kegs
showed, a storehouse as well.  Of course they
used old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the
kegs.  That coil of rope, now!  I pulled it over,
and there, just underneath, was a pulley—an
iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and
resting at each end on a wooden block; little
grooves had been chiseled out to keep the bar
steady.  And when I came to look at 'em I saw,
as I might have expected, that they'd been oiled
not long before.

"By this time I'd found out all I wished to
know.  The only thing left to be discovered was,
who used the Folly?  I made up my mind to get
Lieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to
the place one night when we saw the light, and
catch the men in the act.  But before I went
away I thought I'd go down the staircase and
see if there was anything there.  I couldn't find
a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into the
room; there was no other.  I had another look
at the cupboard, and found after some trouble
that half the back of it was movable—it was a
sliding panel.  I pulled it aside; it moved quite
easily; and I stepped through—carefully, I can
tell you, for it was pitch dark.

"I got on to the staircase, and went down
gingerly, a step at a time.  It was wooden, and
the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as I
moved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort
of hand-rail, afraid of pitching head first to the
bottom.  It smelled very close, and I took some
time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and
as it was a winding staircase they scarcely gave
foothold except at the wall end.  At last I got to
the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of light
coming through chinks in the doorway.

"I had only just got there when I fancied I
heard a rustling outside.  'Mercy me!' I thought;
'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one is
coming for the kegs.'  I scrambled up the
staircase a good deal quicker than I picked my way
down, and crawled through the hole in the
cupboard.  Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for
I saw a man sitting on the rickety chair.  It was
Monsieur de Fronsac."





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.. _`CLOSE QUARTERS`:

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   CHAPTER IX


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   CLOSE QUARTERS

.. vspace:: 2

"Ah, Monsieur Jack!" said De Fronsac, with
his agreeable smile; "I see you!"  Jack laughed.
It was only the Frenchman after all!  His fear
that it might be a smuggler was groundless.

"Yes; I'm too black for a ghost; 'tis a
confoundedly dirty place, Monsieur.  But how do
you come here?"

"It is ver' simple, ver' simple indeed.  I came
out in de early morning, to promenade myself,
and to compose a new sonnet on de Monstair.
Behold!  Vat do I see?  De trap-door of dis
tower is open; and, vat is dis?—assuredly I see
steps mounting up to de very sommit.  I am
romantic, as you know, Monsieur; I love de
bizarre.  Can I venture myself?  Dat old
Congleton—vat a strange, an eccentric!  I vould like
to see de place vere he lived so solitaire.  I
climb; I have a little fear; but I make de
ascension; I arrive.  Ho!  Dis, den, is de place.  Vat a
magnificent spot for to compose poesy!  How
beautiful de spectacle over de blue, blue sea!
Magnificent!  Glorious!  Old Congleton had a
genius, hein?  But you, Monsieur Jack, how
came you here?"

"The same way as you, Monsieur."

"Ah! remarkable!  You do not compose poesy
in de early morning!  You, I t'ink—and your
good cousin t'inks—you sail on de blue, blue sea.
De steps, too; surely dey are new.  Never have I
observed dem before.  It is remarkable!  Old
Congleton—did he ascend de tower in dat
manner?  Or perhaps de steps are your vork; you
invent dem, Monsieur Jack?"

"No," said Jack shortly.  He had never liked
De Fronsac's smile.

"Den of whom?  Who invent dem?  Dey
demand much care and skill; yes, and industry.
And for vat good to spend so much time?  It
vould be easier to valk up de stairs—if de door
is open, of course dat is understood.  But truly
it is more romantic—it has more of de fun, as
you English say, to mount on de outside, on little
steps, from hand to foot, vun may say.  Yes, and
if in my youth I had not lived much among de
sailors of my little village, assuredly I should
not have had de courage to make an attempt so
perilous.  Ve sailors, indeed, have de firm leg,
de fixed eye."

De Fronsac's eye was certainly fixed—on
Jack, who had an uncomfortable feeling that the
Frenchman was not only trying to find out from
his manner what he had discovered, but was
talking to gain time.  He was resolving to cut
the interview short, when De Fronsac, turning
round suddenly, appeared to catch sight for the
first time of the kegs.

"Ah!  Voila!  Ve have it!  Dose barrels
Monsieur Jack—you see dem?  Dey are put dere
vizout doubt by dese smogglairs.  Ah! de
rascals!  Certainly ve must tell your good cousin,
Monsieur Bastable.  He vill know de means to
take.  He vill come, and take an inventaire.
Certainly dat is vat ve must do.  You come viz me;
ve both tell him; ve go at vunce."

"Very well," said Jack.  "We'll go down.
Will you go first?"

"I t'ink better you."

"But I opened the trap-door.  You won't know
how to shut it.  You go first and I'll see that it is
properly closed."

"Ver' vell.  It is a good idea."

De Fronsac accordingly stepped on to the
rope-ladder, and descended with a rapidity that
seemed to show he had indeed had no little
experience amongst seamen.  Jack followed, closed
the trap-door, and, as he went down, threw the
iron steps one by one to the ground, where the
Frenchman stood awaiting him.

"Now vat shall ve do viz dem?" asked De
Fronsac, when Jack stood beside him.  "It vas
you dat discovered dem, Monsieur Jack.  It is
to you to decide vat ve do.  It is right.  You vill
get great honor viz Monsieur Bastable, and de
Lor' Lieutenant, I t'ink you call de great man of
de county."

Jack did not wish to return the steps to their
original hiding-place.  It would be better, he
thought, to hide them among the bushes.
Accordingly with De Fronsac's assistance he
carried them into the thicket, and concealed them
under a heap of dead leaves.

"Now ve go to de Grange?" said the Frenchman.

"Yes.  We shall be rather early; Mr. Bastable
will not be up yet."

He intended to keep De Fronsac in sight until
he had an opportunity of sending a messenger
to the boat for a number of men to remove the
kegs.  He did not feel sure that the Frenchman's
visit to the tower was so accidental as he
declared; and a bird in the hand was worth two in
the bush.

They made their way through the undergrowth.
With the frost the trees had now lost
nearly all their leaves, which thickly covered the
grass.  Jack led the way, the Frenchman following
a yard or two behind, maintaining a running
fire of small talk, to which Jack replied with an
occasional monosyllable.  On the edge of the
Hollow they entered a dense copse; there was a
sudden rustle, and half a dozen rough-clad men
with blackened faces sprang from behind the
trees.  Jack's hand flew to his breast-pocket
where he kept his pistol, but before he could
draw it, De Fronsac caught his arm, crying:

"Save me, Monsieur Jack, save me!"

In spite of his apparent alarm, his grasp was
so firm that Jack was quite unable to draw his
weapon.

"Let me go!" he cried angrily, trying to shake
himself free.  But De Fronsac clung to him still
more desperately, repeating his cry "Save
me!"  In another moment the men were upon him.
Then at last the Frenchman let go his hold, and
Jack found himself in the grip of two stalwart
fishers.  He struggled violently, but in vain, and
in a few seconds more he was lying on the
ground securely gagged and bound.

Then his eyes were bandaged, he was blindfolded,
lifted, and carried rapidly for some distance.
When he was set down and the bandage
removed from his eyes, he saw that he was in an
underground chamber, dimly lit through a
barred grating in the roof.  He tried to speak,
but his words were choked by the gag.

"Now you listen to me," said one of the men,
whose voice he thought he recognized.  "'Taint
no good shouting or struggling.  We've got ye
firm, Mr. Hardy, king's officer though ye be.
So long as you give us no trouble you'll take no
harm.  I'm gwine to ease that there gag; but if
you shout, I'll clap it on again and keep it there.
That's plain.  Not that it be any good shouting,
for there's never a soul hereabout but the men
who'll guard ye."

Jack was not so foolish as to spend his strength
and his breath uselessly.  He saw that he was
helpless, and mentally vowed to be even with De
Fronsac at the first opportunity.  Suspicious
before, he now felt certain that the Frenchman had
deliberately trapped him, though he was
amazed to find that the poetical tutor was a
smuggler.

He remained throughout the day in the
under-ground room, guarded all the time by one
man, who sat by the grating and refused to be
drawn into any talk.  He was given some bread
and cheese, and spirits and water to drink; and he
spent the long hours in wondering what was to
become of him, and in relishing beforehand the
punishment he meant to administer to De Fronsac
some day.  To think of escape was vain; the
men had evidently brought him down by a
ladder, which they had drawn up when they left,
closing and bolting the trap-door.

Who were they? Jack wondered.  What was
their real connection with De Fronsac?  What
would they do with him?  What would Babbage
and the men at the boat do when he did not
return?  What steps would Lieutenant Blake take
when he found, as he must soon do, that his
midshipman was missing?  There was no doubt
that the smugglers would promptly remove the
kegs and the signaling apparatus from the Folly,
and they would have plenty of time to get clear
away before the boat's crew became suspicious.

Late in the afternoon, as Jack guessed by the
dimness of the light through the grating, he
heard voices above.  A heavy object was dropped
on the floor; the trap-door was lifted, a ladder
let down, and three men descended into the room.

"You be coming along of us," said the man
who had before addressed him.

"Look here, whoever you are—" Jack began;
but he said no more, for the gag was roughly
thrust into his mouth, he was once more
blindfolded, and taken up the ladder.  Then he was
lifted from the floor and lowered into what he
judged to be a large empty water-butt.

"Double up your knees, Mr. Hardy," said the
man.  "You be going a little journey."

There was no help for it.  Jack feeling, as he
afterward said, like a trussed turkey, sat
crouching in the butt.  The top was hammered on.
Then the butt was lifted, carried a few steps, and
hoisted on to a cart, which rumbled away.  Jack
was more angry than alarmed; the men
evidently intended him no harm, or they would
have knocked him on the head before this; but a
water-butt, even though holes have been bored
in its sides to let in air, is not the most
comfortable of vehicles, and Jack was beginning to feel
cramped and bruised and half-stifled when the
cart stopped.  The butt was lowered, not too
gently; Jack was pretty well shaken up.  But his
former experience was pleasant compared with
his sensations when the butt was rolled round
and round on its lower edge, as he had seen
draymen rolling barrels of beer.  His head fairly
swam by the time the teetotum movement ceased.

Then he heard voices again, and the creaking
of tackle.

"I'm at the shore," he thought.  "Surely
they're not going to set me afloat!"  The idea of
going adrift in a water-butt made him feel
seasick, till he remembered that it was impossible;
the butt would fill with water, and if they wished
to drown him they would not have taken so much
trouble.

"Why, 'Zekiel," he heard a man say, "was
your tub leaking?"

"A trifle, but we've bunged it up; 'tis all
shipshape and seaworthy now."

"'Tis mortal heavy, blamed if 'tisn't."

"Course it is; 'tis well-nigh full."

Two or three low chuckles followed this
sentence.  Then the butt was rolled up what seemed
to be a gradual incline, and dropped a foot or
two with a bump that set Jack's bones clashing.

"I'm on a boat," he thought, "this is a voyage
of adventure.  Wish to goodness I could knock
the top off this cage of mine and get a little air."

As if in answer to his wish, a few minutes
later, when he felt by the motion that the boat
was putting out to sea, the lid was knocked off,
the gag removed, and he drew a long breath of
relief.

"I say, you men," he said, in a husky voice
that sounded like that of a stranger, "undo my
eyes and hands, and let me out."

There was no answer.  He remained in his
cramped and uncomfortable quarters for some
hours, his repeated requests to be taken out
passing unheeded.  He began to feel very
low-spirited.  His body ached all over; his hands
were still bound; and the butt was so narrow that
he could hardly shift his position by an inch.
His chief feeling was no longer rage against De
Fronsac, but an intense longing to stretch
himself.  And then, strange as it appeared to him, he
began to feel sleepy.

He was wakened from a half-doze by a loud
hail, answered by a fainter one from a distance.
A few seconds later he was released from the
butt, and lowered, still bound, over the side of
the vessel into a smaller boat.  The boat did not
go far; after a few strokes of the oars Jack felt
a slight bump; he was unceremoniously hoisted
again; and when at last his eyes and hands were
unbound, and he had recovered the use of his
sight, he found himself on board a lugger, whose
crew had the swarthy faces and red caps of
French fishermen.  Greetings were exchanged
between the men of the two vessels; then the
French lugger made sail and stood out into
mid-channel.

Jack was too much relieved at having
recovered his freedom to mind where he was
going.  For a time he had not even the curiosity to
ask; it was quite enough to breathe freely, and
use his eyes and stretch his limbs.  But night was
drawing on, and when a meager supper was
brought to him he asked in French for what
port the vessel was making.

"No port, Monsieur," replied the man with a grin.

"Well, what place, then?"

"Where the captain commands, Monsieur."

"And where does the captain command?
Speak out, man."

"Only the captain knows, Monsieur."

Jack gave it up.  The man's answers were perfectly
polite, but it was evident he had received
orders to tell nothing.  Jack was taken below and
made fairly comfortable.  When morning
dawned and he was allowed to go on deck there
was no land in sight.  But about midday a
coast-line came into view, and in the evening,
after beating about for hours, a strong land wind
keeping the lugger off shore, the skipper
managed to run into a little cove beneath high cliffs.
It was a wild part of the Norman coast; there
were no dwellings where the lugger ran ashore;
and Jack had to tramp for several miles among
the Frenchmen, over a rough road, before they
arrived at a little fishing hamlet.  Here he had
to share a pallet bed in the auberge with one of
the fishermen, two others occupying a similar
bed at the other side of the room.

Jack and his bedfellow both found it difficult
to sleep, and the Frenchman proved more
loquacious than any of the others.  He could
speak no English save a few words, and his
French was so broad a dialect that Jack, who
knew little French at the best, was often at a loss
to understand him.  But he understood enough
to learn that he had been kept in an underground
chamber near the Hollow until the time came
when a boat might put off, ostensibly for night
fishing, really to convey the prisoner to the
French lugger, the whereabouts of which would
be known to the Luscombe smugglers.  He had
been carried on board the boat from the cart
openly at Luscombe quay.

"Whose boat was it?"

"It was to a man—Monsieur might know
him—who calls himself Goujon."

"No, I don't know anybody of that name.
Who is he?"

"He is Goujon; that is all."

"Is he a fisherman?  What is he like?"

"I have never seen him, Monsieur.  For myself,
I have never put foot to land in England.
But the captain knows him; ah, yes! the captain
knows Goujon."

And Jack at last went to sleep, wondering who
Goujon could be.





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.. _`A PRISONER OF FRANCE`:

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   CHAPTER X


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   A PRISONER OF FRANCE

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning Jack was awakened early and
told that he must march.

"Very happy," he said, "but where to?"

He had recovered his spirits.  No misfortunes,
no bufferings, can long depress a healthy boy of
sixteen.  Consequently when he learned that he
was to tramp to Boulogne, more than fifty miles
away, he received the information with a smile.
His chief thought was: "Perhaps I shall see that
Monstair, Boney himself!"  The prospect of a
fifty-mile walk in keen, bright weather did not
daunt him.

He was accompanied by the skipper of the
lugger and several of the men.  Now that they
were on French soil they had lost their
reluctance to talk, and before many miles had been
covered Jack was chatting as freely as his
command of the language permitted, and laughing
at the misunderstandings that occurred on both
sides.  He learned one fact that made him feel
sorry.  A few days before, Admiral Keith had
exploded some vessels among a hundred and
fifty of the French praams at their anchorage
outside the pier at Boulogne.  But this attempt to
destroy the flotilla had not succeeded, the vessels
having been separated by distances too wide for
the explosion to have the destructive effect
intended.  The French smugglers were much
elated at Admiral Keith's failure, and amused
Jack by their confident assertion that before long
Bonaparte, or the Emperor Napoleon, as he was
beginning to be called, would make himself
King of England.

Boulogne was reached at the end of the second
day's march.  Jack was taken to a commissary of
the forces.  He did not learn till some time
afterward what story the skipper told.  It was to the
effect that his lugger, while making for
Boulogne from St. Malo, had been becalmed off
Barfleur, within sight of an English frigate
which lay about two miles astern.  A boat had
been sent from the frigate to capture the lugger.
Attempting to board, the English crew had
been driven back with severe loss, and this
young officer, who had been foremost of the
boarding party, had been left in the Frenchmen's
hands.

Whether the commissary believed the story
Jack never knew.  Certainly it was acted upon.
He was handed over to the keeper of the town
prison, and lodged in the cells below the old
belfry tower.  Next day, however, he was
removed and conveyed under a guard a few miles
westward toward Etaples.  As he left the belfry
with other prisoners amid an escort of
gendarmes, he saw riding up the hill towards
Wimereux a group of horsemen, led by a stout little
soldier in brilliant uniform.  The gendarmes
saluted; the little man gave a curt and careless
acknowledgment, and cantered on.  It was
Bonaparte himself, riding to review the army he was
collecting for the invasion of England.  Jack
recognized him by his likeness to the caricatures
he had seen at home.

"'Tis something to have seen the wonderful
Boney!" he thought.

Not far from Etaples he was placed with a
number of other prisoners, all English seamen,
in an old château about a mile from the sea.  It
had evidently been at one time a pleasant
country-house, but from its partly dilapidated
condition Jack inferred that it had suffered during
the revolutionary riots thirteen or fourteen years
before.  It was now used as an overflow prison,
the regular prisons of the town being filled.  The
English prisoners in France always
outnumbered the French prisoners in England,
owing to the greater enterprise of English
seamen, which often led them to attempt impossible
feats and threw them into the power of the enemy.

The prisoners were kept on the top floor of the
château, several rooms having been knocked into
one.  The windows were barred; there were two
stories beneath; outside, the walled park all
round the house was regularly patrolled by
sentries; and there was a guard constantly at the
gate.  The wall bordering the grounds was about
nine feet high and spiked at the top.  These facts
were at once noted by Jack, for the instant he
was shut up he began to think of escape; but the
outlook was not promising.

If he wished to escape at the first, his longing
was intensified after a few days of prison
regime.  There were about seventy prisoners
altogether, and twenty jailers.  The treatment
was not far short of brutal.  The prisoners had
to sleep on coarse pallets of straw, the stalks cut
so short that they were like beds of spikes.  The
food consisted of nothing but brown bread and
more or less dirty water.  One and a half sous a
day were allowed by the government to each
prisoner for the purchase of extra food—a
miserably insufficient sum; yet, poor as it was, it
more often found its way into the pockets of the
jailers than into those of the prisoners.  The
rooms were never properly cleaned, and the
jailers thought nothing of bullying and assaulting
brutally any man who had the audacity to grumble.

Jack had the good luck to be spared some of
the worst hardships.  He was allowed the use of
a small room off the larger one—a kind of
antechamber, the partition of which was only half
demolished where the separate rooms had been
knocked into one for the reception of the prisoners.
A door opened directly on the staircase; it
was kept closed, and it had a grating through
which the sentry on duty could watch what was
going on.

The warders, drafted from two companies of
infantry in the neighboring town, were relieved
daily.  This was a precaution taken, no doubt, to
prevent them from getting tired of their job and
relaxing in their watchfulness.  At all hours of
the night the steady tramp of the sentries round
the house could be heard by wakeful prisoners
above.  And many were wakeful, for their poor
fare was ill calculated to encourage sleep, and as
the days passed they shivered with the cold.  It
did not occur to the officer in command, a
rough-tongued captain who had apparently
risen from the ranks, to provide a fire; and when
one of the prisoners ventured to ask for one, he
got a snubbing.

Jack was the only officer among the captives.
He learned afterward that officers were often
liberated on parole, but this was entirely in the
discretion of the district commandant, and Jack
was unlucky in coming into the hands of a bully.
He tried to keep cheerful, but it was hard in
such depressing surroundings.  The only pleasant
part of the day was the short interval allowed
for exercise in the park.  A space was roped off
within which the prisoners might run or walk;
it was a considerable distance from the wall, and
sentries with loaded muskets stood on guard.
There was thus no chance of making a dash for
liberty; but the opportunity of stretching their
legs in the open for twenty minutes was a boon
to men accustomed to the freedom of life on
the sea.

Thus four months passed.  Every day was like
another.  A little news came to the prisoners at
times through the jailers—how further attempts
to destroy the flotilla of praams at Boulogne had
been defeated; how the English had attacked in
vain Fort Rouge at Calais Harbor; how
Napoleon had been at last crowned emperor by the
pope in the church of Notre Dame.  But the
news which Jack eagerly awaited, of a great
victory won by Admiral Nelson at sea, never came.

One day in February, when snow was falling,
a new batch of prisoners was brought in, to the
disgust of the others, for the room was already
overcrowded.  But Jack was pleased and vexed
at once to see that the new arrivals were no other
than Babbage, Turley, and a dozen more from
the *Fury*.

"Well!  I never did see!" ejaculated the bo'sun,
when Jack hailed him.  "Bless my eyes, sir, but
I thought as you was gone to glory—leastways
to Davy Jones, and so did we all.  How did you
go for to come to this here dirty old hulk of a
French prison, sir?"

Jack told the whole story.

"What happened to you and the boat?" he asked.

"Why, sir, we waited for you three hours or
more, as we was bid, and when you didn't come
back, I said as how we ought to go up along and
find you."

"No, you didn't!" interrupted Turley; "that
was me.  You said our orders was to wait for
Mr. Hardy three hours, and the three hours being
up, 'twas our dooty to go back and tell
Mr. Blake.  There, then, old Sparrow-grass!"

Evidently Turley supposed that on French
ground the claims of discipline might be
ignored.  But he was mistaken.

"What do you mean by Sparrow-grass?"
demanded Jack as sternly as he could.

"Well, sir, I know that his rightful name is
Ben Babbage, but among ourselves, sir, when we
thinks of it, we calls him Turnip—"

"That'll do, Turley.  You'll call Mr. Babbage
by his right name, here and anywhere else;
remember that.  Go on, Babbage."

"Well, sir, as I was saying, I said as how we
ought to go up along and find you.  So go we
did; but though we spent a couple of hours
a-prowling round that there tower, and about the
village, and went up to the Grange and all,
never a word did we hear of you.  So we had to
give it up, and we went back and reported you
missing to Mr. Blake.  He put in at Luscombe
himself, and raised a deal of dust, sir, but 'twas
no good.  So he reported you to the admiral at
Portsmouth as missing, and we got another
officer in your place, a slack-twisted young—beg
pardon, sir, I was a-going to do what Turley
done, sir, call names; but I won't—leastways, not
in your hearing, sir."

"And how did you become prisoners, too?"

"Why, sir, a Mounseer's sloop set on us t'other
day when we was running before a stiff gale.
The poor little *Fury's* topmast was carried away
and the mainmast sprung.  The sloop hugged
us till the wind dropped; then she came up
alongside and boarded.  She had three times our
number, and they must have bred different
Frenchmen in the days when one Englishman
was equal to three; we did our best, as you may
believe; she lost half her men, but the other half
was still double what was left of us, so we had
to haul down our colors, in a manner of
speaking.  Mr. Blake and the new midshipman have
been marched off, I did hear, to a place called
Verdun; here's the rest of us, what was left, and
if you'll look out of the window, you'll see the
poor little *Fury* lying off the quay there.  I
s'pose they'll patch her up and call her by a new
name, and that's enough to make any Englishman's
blood boil, it is."

Jack was angry as Babbage at the success of
the sloop in capturing the cutter.  But he felt
somewhat cheered at the sight of the faces of his
messmates; and their presence, strangely enough,
set him again thinking of escape.  Babbage was
a seasoned and knowing old salt, and Jack
resolved to have a long and private talk with him
at the first opportunity.

But though in the course of a week they had
many such talks—in the park while exercising,
in the little antechamber at dead of night—they
almost despaired of hitting upon any likely plan
of regaining their liberty.  There was no chance
of silencing the sentries at the head of the
staircase; any attempt to break open the door would
at once be heard outside, and the whole force of
warders, all soldiers, would be on the alert.  The
bars across the windows might indeed be
loosened or forcibly wrenched out, and the
bedclothes—if the material of which they were
made was not too poor—might be torn up and
knotted to form a rope; but a small light was
kept burning in the room all night, and any
work at the windows would certainly be seen by
the sentries at the door and by the men patrolling
outside.

"Ah now! if only brother Sol was here!"
sighed Babbage one evening, when Jack and he
had been talking over every plan that suggested
itself, possible and impossible.

"What could he do?" asked Jack.

"'Twas a saying of his, sir, 'Nary a way in but
a way out,' though I said to him, 'What about a
mouse-trap?'  Ah, brother Sol 'ud see the way
out of this here trap if any man could."

"Well, I wish this brother Sol of yours would
get himself captured and come here.  Where is he?"

"I don't know, sir; I haven't seed him for four
and twenty year.  But well I mind the last thing
he said to me when he went away.  'Ben,' says
he, 'God bless you!'  I never forgot them feeling
words, sir."

"I suppose not.  As he isn't here we must do
without him.  We *must* get out somehow,
Babbage.  I, for one, am not going to rot in France
for half a dozen years.  Is there anything we
haven't thought of?"

Babbage pursed his lips and pondered.

"We've thought of everything from window
to ground," he said presently.  "The only thing
we haven't thought of is the roof, and we want to
go down, not up—leastways, not yet."

"I don't know.  What about the chimney?"

"No good, sir.  Haven't I seed the sergeant
of the guard poke his nose up every day to see
if the bars are safe?  They're just fixed so that
no nat'ral man's head could pass between.  Must
ha' bin done a purpose."

"Does the sergeant examine them carefully?"

"No, sir; he just stoops down, and cocks his
head around, and gives a squint up, and many's
the time I'd ha' liked to take advantage of the
sitivation to kick him, only I thought I'd better
not.  'Kicks is poor tricks,' too, as brother Sol
used to say."

"Well, I'll come into your room to-night, and
have a look at them.  Luckily the chimney is on
the same side as the door; the sentry won't see
me.  We might be able to loosen those bars and
clear the chimney."

"And what then, sir?"

"I'd climb the roof and take a look round.
Can't say more at present."

"Very good, sir."

In the small hours Jack crept quietly into the
larger room and got into the chimney unobserved.
The bars were just above his head, and
he very soon decided that with a sufficiently hard
implement he could loosen the mortar about
their ends.  That was the doubtful matter.  The
knives supplied to a few of the prisoners who
were given meat for their dinner were removed
by the jailers after the meal, and all weapons had
of course been taken from the men before they
were brought into the room.  But next morning
Jack managed to force a long rusty nail out of
one of the planks of the floor of his room; it
seemed to him stout and strong enough for his
purpose.

It was necessary to take the rest of the prisoners
into his confidence.  He got Babbage to tell
them what he had in view, and as they were all
Englishmen, with just as keen a longing for
liberty as himself, there was no fear of their
betraying him.  As soon as the jailers had
distributed the morning rations he slipped into the
chimney.  Half a dozen of the men, gathered as
if casually near the fireplace, screened him from
any one who might suddenly enter the room.  He
began to scrape away the mortar at one end of
each of the bars, working as quickly as he could.
Turley swept up with his hand the flakes of
mortar that fell to the floor.  By the evening Jack
had worked so well that one bar was loosened
sufficiently to be bent down when the time came.
Then he got some of the men to tear off scraps
of their woolen shirts, and with these he filled
up the holes, so that even if the bar was tested by
the sergeant there was a good chance that it
would hold well enough to prevent discovery.

The scraping occupied him for two more days—one
bar a day.  By the time he had finished he
found that the nail which had served him so well
was worn to within half an inch of the head.

He determined to make an expedition up the
chimney on that third evening, if circumstances
proved favorable.  After the evening meal of
bread and water he got Ben to use his strength in
bending down the bars.  Then he crawled
through and began to ascend.  It was a tight fit.
The chimney was narrow; but Jack, never stout,
had grown thin on the prison fare, and he
wormed his way up by the aid of projecting
bricks left for the chimney-sweep; those were
the days of chimney climbing.  The flue was not
very dirty; evidently no fires had been lighted
below for a long time.

He reached the top without mishap.  There
was no chimney-pot.  Looking cautiously out,
showing as little of his head as possible, he saw
the sea rippling far below in the distance,
shining ruddy in the glow of the setting sun.  A
strong easterly breeze was blowing.  To the right
lay the harbor and town.  To the left were two
sloops and three or four praams; alongside the
nearest sloop a coasting brig; then two fishing
smacks.  A cable's length from these lay the
*Fury*, now apparently refitted with new
main- and topmasts, and eastward of her, a little
farther out, a lugger and another smack.  Jack
guessed that, besides the *Fury*, only the sloops
and the praams were likely to be armed with
cannon, though the lugger might carry a small gun.

The immediate surroundings of the château
were out of sight, except to his left, being
screened by the parapet of the flat roof some feet
away from the chimney.  Except at one point,
where the roof of an outbuilding rose nearly to
the same elevation as the part where he was
perched, there was a sheer drop of fifteen feet
from the top of the chimney-stack.

It was a sloping roof, and Jack made up his
mind to crawl down it until he came to a chimney
of the outbuilding, from which a thin spiral of
smoke was rising.  But he waited until the dusk
had deepened before he thought it safe to emerge.
Then he crept carefully down till he reached
the smoking chimney.  The roof there was not
quite as high as the other; the drop was about
five feet; and he guessed from the position that
below the chimney were the servants' quarters.
Two other chimneys beyond were smoking;
these, he thought, must belong to the rooms
occupied by the guard.  The other chimneys, from
which no smoke was rising, could only be
reached by dropping some twelve feet and
climbing an equal distance; and to do that would
involve the risk of being seen or heard.

Jack placed his hand on the side of the
chimney from which a thin smoke was coming.  There
was so little heat in the bricks that he guessed the
fire below had been allowed to die down.  His
guess was confirmed when he put his hand in the
air over the mouth of the chimney: it was
scarcely warm.  He resolved to climb down and
find out whither the chimney led.  Thin as it
was, the smoke in the narrow space was rather
suffocating, and he felt a certain dread lest he
should cough and betray his presence.  There
seemed no end to the chimney, as step by step
he let himself down, moving with extreme
caution to avoid making any sound that could be
heard below.  As he approached the bottom he
was relieved to find that the heat did not
perceptibly increase.  The fire must be almost dead.
He was dislodging soot from the walls; would it
be seen by the persons in the room?  Perhaps if
they saw it they would think it due to the strong
wind.  Perhaps there was nobody in the room.
He heard no voices, no sound of movement,
though he saw there was a light.  The chimney
was a good deal wider at the point he had
reached, and he wondered if it led to the kitchen.

Waiting a little to make sure that the room
was unoccupied, he at length ventured to slip
down to the grate and peep into the room.  It
was empty of people.  A large table stood in the
middle; kitchen utensils hung from pegs on the
walls; the door was ajar, and he now heard
voices, proceeding evidently from an adjoining
room.

On the hearth was a long iron poker.  "That
may prove useful," he thought; and leaping
lightly down he seized it.  A large chopper hung
to a nail at the side of the chimney.  This also
he secured.  Then creeping to the door, he
peeped round from the level of the floor.  Three
men were seated at a table enjoying their supper.
This was apparently the cook's room.  The men
were very much at their ease.  A large fire of
logs threw a glow upon their faces; a bottle of
wine had been emptied; the smell of fried onions
teased Jack's appetite.  He listened to the men's
conversation.

"*Monsieur le capitaine* will bring two guests
to supper," said one.

"*Peste!*" growled a second, the fattest of all,
by whom, as Jack now saw, a cook's white cap
lay, "he will keep us up late.  *Monsieur le
capitaine* is so particular.  A supper fit for Bonaparte
is not good enough for him.  The kitchen fire
will have to be made up.  Go and see to it, Jules."

The man addressed scraped his plate and
drank his wine before lazily rising to do the
cook's bidding.  Jack flew back with the speed of
a hare, and before the man had pushed back his
chair the adventurer was several feet up the
chimney, grasping his precious spoil, the poker
and the chopper.





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.. _`A BREAK FOR FREEDOM`:

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   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium bold

   A BREAK FOR FREEDOM

.. vspace:: 2

"By Jove!" thought Jack with a chuckle as he
scrambled out of the chimney, "won't there be a
rumpus when the cook misses his poker!
Luckily, he'll never think it has gone aloft!"

It was a very sooty object that descended,
after pausing to make sure that all was safe, into
the prisoners' room.  Jack was immediately
surrounded by a group of the *Fury's* men, so eager
to hear what had happened that they raised their
voices and provoked an angry reprimand from
the sentry at the door.

"Silence, you donkeys!" whispered Jack.

"Avast your jabber!" said Babbage, scowling
upon Turley.  "Me and Mr. Hardy have got to
lay the course for this little venture."

After this the men behaved more discreetly,
and left Jack alone with Babbage.

"Now, Babbage," said Jack, when he had
finished his story, "we're going to escape, and I'll
tell you how."

"Not up the chimbley, sir?  I'd squeeze myself
as small as I could, but I'm afeard I should
stick fast and spoil the whole boiling."

"No, no; you're too fat for the chimney.
You'll be left in charge till you hear a hubbub
below; then you're to break open the door and
make a dash for it at the head of the men."

"Why, I'll obey orders, sir; Ben Babbage
always obeys orders; but, begging your pardon, it
beats me how I'm to break the door open with
a poker and a chopper—"

"Babbage, if you make any more difficulties
you'll never see your brother Sol, for here you'll
stay.  You shall have other tools by and by.  You
understand, nothing is to be done until you hear
the signal; it will be loud enough, I promise
you.  I shall wait until the captain's guests have
gone.  That will probably be late; so there'll
be plenty of time for us to make a rope.  No,
don't speak.  I haven't done yet.  We'll tear up
the coverlets—they're precious thin, but we
haven't any better—and twist up a rope long
enough to reach from the top of the chimney to
the bottom: about fifty feet, I should think.
Then I'll take it with me and four or five of the
men, Turley for one—

"Begging your pardon, sir—

"What?"

"Begging your pardon, sir,—not Turley, but me."

"Oh, very well!  You're too fat for the
chimney at present, as you owned yourself, but we
could get something off you with the chopper."

Babbage grinned sheepishly, and made no further
suggestions.

Several hours later, Jack, at the window, heard
loud voices and laughter in the courtyard below.
The captain's guests were evidently departing.
Allowing an hour to pass, sufficient, he thought,
for the captain and the servants to have settled
into their beauty sleep, he signed to his four
selected men, and led the way up the chimney,
Turley carrying the rope.  They clambered
across the roof and came to the kitchen chimney.

"Now, Turley," said Jack, "pay out the rope
as I go down.  By George! 'tis a good deal
hotter than when I was here before."

He got down into the chimney, leaving the
four men on the roof.  It was indeed very hot;
the kitchen fire, made up for cooking the supper,
had evidently not yet died down.  Fortunately
there was little smoke; even without it the air
was so stifling that Jack was surprised that he
reached the bottom safely.  He jumped when
his feet touched the grate; they were protected
only by his stockings.

There was no light in the room, but the glow
of the dying fire was strong enough to show him
that it was empty.  He tiptoed to the three doors.
The back door was locked and bolted; the door
of the cook's room was closed but not locked, and
he heard snores from within; the third door,
leading to the rest of the house, he supposed, was
ajar, and a dim light came through the opening.

A little more light was necessary.  Not without
a tremor, Jack ventured to put on the embers
one or two small chips of wood that were drying
at the side of the grate.  They kindled, and lit
the room with a dancing flame, which Jack
fervently hoped would not attract the attention of
the sentry outside.  He had already seen that the
shutters of the window were closed; he trusted
there was no chink to betray him.

The first thing was to get arms of some kind
for his men.  A poker and a chopper he had
already purloined, much to the mystification of
the cook, no doubt.  Ah! there was a rolling-pin
hanging by a loop from a nail in the wall.
Down it came; in a trice he tied it to the thin
rope.  Giving this a gentle tug, he saw the
rolling-pin disappear up the chimney.

Then he looked round quickly for more weapons.
Yes; there was a cleaver, a gridiron, a frying-pan.

"I must have them," he said to himself.  By the
time he had taken them down from their nails,
the rope was hanging once more within reach.
One by one they followed the rolling-pin.
Another hunt on tiptoe round the room yielded a
brass candlestick, a braizing-pan, several
dish-covers which he rejected as being too clumsy to
wield, a big soup-ladle, and a couple of long
carving-knives.  There were saucepans in plenty,
but too big for his purpose.  He had to be content
with the ten articles he had obtained—rude
weapons, indeed, but likely to be formidable in
the hands of determined and desperate men.
As the utensils of metal passed up the chimney they
clicked more than once on the wall, and Jack's
heart beat faster as he wondered if the sounds
would be heard.  But no doubt there were mice
and rats behind these old walls; blessed rats and
mice!

After waiting a little to make sure that the
cook and his assistants had not been disturbed,
he prepared to go farther afield.  Creeping to
the door that stood ajar, he pushed it a little.
It moved with a creak which must surely, Jack
thought, be heard all over the house.  He waited
breathlessly; there was no sound.  But he could
not risk a continuous creaking.  Taking his
courage in both hands he pushed the door quickly,
stopping it with a jerk.  It made never a sound.
Jack saw by the light of a small lamp that it
opened into a narrow passage, with a door at the
end.  He crept along the wall.  The farther door
was not closed.  He peeped in.

"The *salle à manger*!" he thought.  There was
the table at which the captain had entertained
his guests.

To the left there was another passage at right
angles to the first.  A narrow staircase led, he
supposed, to the servants' rooms.  A few steps
along the passage brought him to the entrance
hall, from which sprang the main staircase.  He
looked up.  He was at the bottom of a deep well,
extending, it appeared, to the top of the mansion.
He shrank back into the shade of the huge post
at the foot of the stairs; for if the sentries
outside the prisoners' room chanced to hear a
movement below and looked over, they would
certainly see him.

Then he cast back, and came to the back
staircase.  The steps were of stone; he might ascend
without the danger of creaking; and he must
see whither these stairs led.  He went up the
steps in pitch darkness, and found himself on a
landing.  Groping along the wall, he knew that
he was in a stone-flagged corridor.  Ah! at the
end there was a streak of light.  Tiptoeing along,
he came to a door partly open.  Dared he peep
round it?  He paused for a few seconds.

"Hang it!" he said to himself, "I wish my
heart wouldn't thump so!"  He listened: how
these Frenchmen snored!  Were they all asleep?
He took a step forward; then felt a sudden
unreasoning fear, and stole back for several yards.
In a few seconds he had collected himself and
returned to the door.

Now he ventured to put his head into the
room.  A dozen men—he would have said a score
at the first moment—were asleep on rough
settles against the wall.  They had their clothes on,
as if in bivouac, ready for action at a moment's
notice.  A smoky lamp hung from a bracket on
the wall.  In the corner of the fireplace, where
there was a faint glow, were stacked the men's
muskets.  The key of the room was on the inside.

Having taken all this in at a glance, Jack
carefully withdrew, returned along the passage and
down the stairs, and arrived once more at the
kitchen.  Two sharp tugs at the rope brought
Turley to his side; at short intervals the other
three appeared.

"All safe!" whispered Jack.  "You've taken
the things to Babbage, Turley?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"That's well.  Now, Turley, that's the cook's
room.  You'll stay and watch the door.  If any
one tries to break out, you'll know what to do.
You other men come with me."

He led them quietly along the passage and up
the staircase.  At the landing he halted.

"The guards are in that room at the end of
the corridor," he whispered.  "I'm going in to
try and get their muskets.  If I'm discovered,
you three make a rush and get hold of the
muskets.  Never mind about me.  You understand."

"Ay, ay, sir."

He crept stealthily into the room.  The men's
cartridge-belts lay in a heap on the table.
Taking care to make no noise, Jack lifted two or
three, one at a time, and handed them to his men.
Then he approached the pile of arms.  With the
gentlest of movements he released two of the
muskets, one with each hand, on opposite sides
of the pile.  Would the balance be disturbed?
No, all was safe.  He passed the weapons out of
the room, and turned to remove a third and a
fourth.  But who had make that click?  It was
one of the men outside.  Jack looked anxiously
at the sleeping forms.  Had any of them been
awakened?

One of the Frenchmen turned, sat up, rubbed
his eyes—and saw the English prisoner!

"*Au voleur! au prisonnier! aux armes!
Eveillez-vous, mes camarades!*"

He was so sleepy that he scarcely knew what
he was saying; but his shout roused his
companions.  As they turned, too heavy with sleep
to have all their wits about them, Jack's three
men sprang in, and in a twinkling seized the
remaining muskets and rushed back into the
passage.  The first Frenchman was now on his feet.
Jack with a straight right-hander sent him
spinning over; then he dashed to the door, slipped the
key out of one side of the lock and into the other,
and just as two of the other men were lurching
toward him, skipped outside, slammed the door,
and turned the key.

.. _`Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over`:

.. figure:: images/img-138.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over

   Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over

"Now, men, after me!" he cried.

He raced along the corridor, conscious of a
tremendous uproar in the guard-room—cries,
oaths, violent thumps and kicks on the door.  Up
the stairs!  There were the sentries at the top,
startled out of their wits.  What was happening?
Hubbub below, hubbub in the prisoners' room!
The prisoners were actually battering at the
door!  And with heavy implements: where had
they got them?  Crash!  There was a panel half
driven out.  The amazed soldiers raised their
muskets; they could at least fire into the room.
But at this moment they caught sight of Jack
and the sailors springing up the back staircase.
Another crash on the door!  *O ciel*!  They waited
for no more, but with a yell turned their backs
and leaped down the main staircase, taking three
stairs at a time.

"Ahoy there, Babbage; stand clear!" shouted Jack.

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the bo'sun from within.

Putting to the lock the musket he carried,
Jack fired.  The lock was burst; with a touch the
door gave way; and a second later the prisoners
began to pour out.

"Steady, men!" cried Jack.  "No crowding, or
we'll get jammed and be clapped under hatches
again.  Armed men in front."

They followed Jack down the same staircase
by which he had come.  As they passed the locked
door of the guard-room they heard the imprisoned
men making a furious assault upon it.  But
it was a piece of good oak; they had no firearms
to blow away the lock; and Jack knew that they
might hammer it for an hour without making
much impression.

Down they go!  Here they are at the kitchen.
And there is Turley, a saucepan in one hand, a
huge dish-cover in the other, holding at bay the
fat cook and his two assistants, who are vainly
attempting, with ferocious cries, to get within
his guard.  When they see Jack enter the room,
and behind him a swarm of seamen, they wheel
round and scurry like hares into the farther
apartment, the fat cook going last, squealing.

"No danger there!" said Jack.  "There's no
time to lose, men.  Now for the back door."

He ran to it, drew back the bolts, and throwing
it wide dashed out into the open.  There was
a blinding flash close by; the shot missed; and
with Turley and others hard on his heels Jack
dashed straight in the direction from which the
shot had come.  But the sentry who had fired
was already scampering away.  A companion
had joined him; together they made for the
wicket of the front gate; dashed through, and
tried to close it.  But Turley was just in time to
slip his saucepan in and hold the gate open.  The
sentries waited no longer.  They raced as fast as
their legs would carry them toward the town.

To overtake them was impossible.  In a few
minutes the two companies of infantry would be
on the track of the escaped prisoners.  Was there
time to reach the harbor before they came up?
Had the shots already roused the officers of the
vessels at anchor and caused them to despatch
men ashore?  Jack could not wait even to
wonder.  On he went, calling to his men to close up,
straight along the road leading to the town.  But
to pass through the streets to the harbor would
be fatal.  Within half a mile of the town he
halted.

"You, Mudge, and you, Folkard, cut off a
quarter of a mile to port and fire your muskets.
Then run as hard as you can in our wake.  Quick,
men!"

He hoped that the firing in that direction
would mislead the enemy and give the fugitives
the few minutes' grace they needed for the next
move of his plan.  When the two men had gone
off to the left, he led the party rapidly to the
right, hoping to strike the harbor at its eastern
extremity.

As the fugitives, keeping perfect silence,
stumbled in the darkness over fields and across ditches
toward the harbor, they heard loud shouts to
their left, followed by the roll of a drum.
Clearly the alarm had been raised, the soldiers
were turning out.  All now depended on whether
the direction of the escape was discovered within
the next few minutes.  If not, Jack thought that
he might reach the harbor with his band in time
to seize some boats before they were intercepted.
He listened eagerly for shots behind; they
seemed long in coming, and the outskirts of the
village loomed up in the darkness ahead before
the expected reports at last struck his ear.
Fervently he hoped that the sound would draw the
soldiers off in that direction.

He wished he could go faster, but many of the
men were weak from the effects of imprisonment
and meager fare, and he had to accommodate his
pace to the slowest.

Making a fairly wide circuit, Jack steered for
the extremity of the harbor, where only a few
fishermen's cottages intervened between him and
the waterside.  Some fishers who had turned out
of their dwellings on hearing the alarm scurried
down the rutty road with loud shouts.  The noise
was bound to bring the soldiers to the spot within
a few minutes.  Jack's heart was pumping at
a great rate, but he did not lose his coolness or
his nerve.  He must do something to check the
soldiers, that was plain.  Sending twenty men
to search the shore for boats, he posted the nine
armed with muskets under cover of the cottages
with orders to delay the soldiers at all costs.  The
rest of his men, some armed with the spoil of the
kitchen, others with bricks and stones snatched
up on the way, he placed behind the nine to support them.

A minute or two—horribly long they seemed
to Jack—of anxious waiting; then the two men
who had fired the shots in the rear came panting
up, and from the direction of the harbor a
messenger brought the good news that six large boats
had been found.  Almost at the same moment the
clump-clump of heavy boots and sabots on the
road was distinctly heard, ever growing louder.
If the runners proved to be soldiers it would be
impossible to escape without a fight.  Jack would
rather have been allowed to embark in peace,
but if there must be a fight—

"Well," he whispered to Babbage, "we'll
show them what English Jack Tars are made of."

He at once sent the unarmed men down to the
water under guidance of the messenger, bidding
them get into the boats; then with the rest he
prepared to fight a rear-guard action.

The Frenchmen came on helter-skelter.  Not
one of them imagined that they had any enemy
more formidable than unarmed weaklings to
deal with.  Jack waited until they were within
twenty yards; even in the dim starlight they
could be seen distinctly enough.  Then in a voice
that rang clearly he gave the word "Fire!"  The
eleven rifles flashed; there were cries from the
advancing Frenchmen; some of them, at any
rate, must have been hit at this point-blank
range.  The head of the column was in confusion;
men turned this way and that; they were
apparently without leadership.

While they halted and wavered another word
of command was heard above their cries and the
sound of shuffling feet: "Charge!"  The sailors
responded with a cheer; some thirty strong, they
dashed forward as one man; and in a few seconds
the enemy were in full flight, struck by one of
those sudden panics to which even the best troops
are liable in night operations.

Jack also had his moment of alarm.  Knowing
the thoughtless impetuosity of the British sailor,
he feared lest, with the enemy on the run, his
men should forget everything else in the excitement
of pursuit.  But he had them soon in hand again.

"Now to the boats!" he said, "and as quickly
as you can."

He had no difficulty in finding them.  One of
the sloops had already opened fire upon them;
and the sound of oars in that direction showed
that a boat, perhaps more than one, had been
lowered, no doubt to pull in to the assistance of
the soldiers.  It was too dark for the fire of the
sloop to be effective; Jack heard one or two shots
strike the harbor wall.

Here were the boats, a few yards from the beach.

"Tumble in, men," said Jack.

In a few seconds all were aboard.  Already
Jack in the foremost boat was steering for a black
shape almost exactly ahead, which he believed
to be the *Fury*.  Scarcely was his craft well under
way before he heard oars in that direction; the
cutter also, it appeared, was sending a boat.

"So much the better!" thought Jack.  "There'll
be fewer men on deck to repel boarders."

In less than a minute he saw the cutter's boat
ahead; it was turning, as if to regain the
vessel—he wondered why.

"Give way, men!" he cried, and from the boat
behind came Babbage's voice urging his crew:
"Pull, shipmates; pull, my hearties; Mr. Hardy
ain't a-goin' to do it all by his lone self!"  And
Jack heard Turley, somewhere in his own boat,
mutter: "Bust yourself, old Artichokes, but
we'll be there first!"

It was a race between them.  The other boats
were some distance astern, for two, being
without oars, were being towed by the remaining
two.  In the two foremost boats the men were
straining every nerve.  They knew that their
lives depended on success, and scarcely needed
the encouraging words of Jack and the old
bo'sun.  They gained on the Frenchman; the
three boats dashed almost together under the
cutter's counter; then there was a tussle.  Rising in
the boats the crews shouted and cheered and
belabored their opponents, Jack's men plying
rolling-pins, gridirons, soup-ladles, frying-pans,
shovels, candlesticks, with a hearty vigor that
made them more formidable weapons than the
Frenchmen's cutlasses.  In half a minute the
Frenchmen, outnumbered and outfought, were
hurled neck and crop out of their boats, and the
English sailors were swarming up the side of the
cutter.  In the short fight the cutter's crew had
been unable to help their comrades; it was such
a rough and tumble that they would as likely
have hit a friend as a foe.  But they gathered for
a desperate resistance when the Englishmen
poured on to the deck.  Jack and his party
boarded aft; Babbage's men forward; but
neither made easy progress, for the Frenchmen
fought like tigers, rallying twice after
momentary set-backs, and taking advantage of their
superior numbers to press forward in the
attempts to drive the boarders into the sea.  The
mêlée was at its fiercest when the arrival of the
other boats turned the scale.  Cheering British
tars beset the gallant Frenchmen on all sides;
man after man of the defenders fell, and in two
minutes from the time when the last boat's crew
boarded, the cutter was once more in English
hands.

"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, when
the enemy surrendered and cried for quarter.
He himself rushed aft and cut the cable; and
while Turley and some others were collecting
the Frenchmen's weapons and escorting their
prisoners below, a score of willing hands had
run up the mainsail, jib and foresail.  Grazing
the side of the fishing smack to leeward as she
gathered way, the *Fury* moved out to sea.  As
she emerged from the shelter of the brig a round
shot from one of the sloops struck her full
amidships, and the other sloop was seen making sail
in pursuit.

"Any damage done?" sang out Jack.

"Not a farden's worth, sir," replied Turley.
"Well above water-line."

"Here's another!  Look out!" shouted Babbage.

But the second shot whizzed harmlessly by;
then the sloops and other vessels faded from
sight; and the buoyant little cutter began to
courtesy to the waves of the Channel, showing
white-crested in the gloom.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE CAPTURE OF THE *GLORIEUSE*`:

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   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE CAPTURE OF THE *GLORIEUSE*

.. vspace:: 2

For some time Jack was too busy in navigating
the vessel, too anxiously looking out for
pursuers, to take stock of the situation on board the
*Fury*.  But as soon as he felt that he was fairly
safe, he went round the cutter to inquire.  One of
his men and five Frenchmen had been killed in
the boarding operations.  These were at once
committed to the deep, for with a crew of nearly
seventy, and twenty prisoners, there was already
too little room on board.  Many had been
wounded on both sides; and Jack found that his
men had the more serious, though not the most
numerous, wounds; for while they had been
pinked and slashed with cutlasses, the
Frenchmen had received only bad bruises from the
unusual weapons wielded by their opponents.
Several of the men who had served in the sick bay
on English warships had already done their best—it
was but little in those days of ignorance and
unskilful surgery—to attend to the wounded.

The French crew had apparently consisted of
about forty men; arms for that number were
discovered.  Among the prisoners were the captain
and lieutenant, whom Jack at once sought out
and invited to share the cabin with himself.
They were very crestfallen at their defeat; but
when Jack, mustering his best French (which
was not very good), made his best bow (which
was charming), and said—"*Je vous restore,
Messieurs, vos épées, pour vous—vous—vous*—(Hang
it!  What's the French for 'show'?)—*pour
vous displayer mon admiration de votre
brave—*.  (Can't think of the French for 'fight.')—*votre
courage dans la bataille*"—when Jack
came to the end of this halting speech and smiled
very unaffectedly, the Frenchmen returned his
smile and his bow, and the captain, as he received
his sword, said fervently:

"*Monsieur, je vous rends grâce de votre noble
conduite, qui est digne, assurément, d'un honnête
homme.*"

Jack bowed and smiled again, wondering
what he had done that was specially "honest."  Like
many another Jack since then, he was too
apt to jump to conclusions.

He had never navigated the Channel, but he
set the course of the cutter by the compass,
intending to run as straight as he could for
Wynport.  Toward daybreak the wind shifted to the
southeast and then to the southwest, and to Jack's
disappointment dropped to a light breeze
scarcely strong enough to disperse the thin fog
that lay over the sea.  There seemed little hope
of a quick passage to the English coast.  Jack
was speculating on his chances of getting clear
of the French shore when he was startled by the cry:

"Sail on the weather-bow, sir."

Diving into the cabin, he snatched up a
spyglass and eagerly scanned the approaching
vessel, which was coming up Channel, bringing a
strong breeze with her.  She was showing no
colors, but there was something about her cut
that made him feel a little uncomfortable.
Turning to Babbage, who stood by, he handed him
the spy-glass, saying:

"French?"

"French she be, sir, leastways furrin, and a
spanking brig."

Jack looked a little blue.

It was difficult to estimate distances in the
haze, but the stranger could scarcely be more
than a mile away.  Every now and again a gust of
wind lifted the fog, and if Jack attempted to put
about the movement would almost certainly be
seen.  Even if he could outsail the approaching
vessel before the wind, which was at least
doubtful, her bow-chasers would badly cripple him
before he could run out of range.

"What chance have we of escaping, if she is
French?" he said to Babbage, who was standing
by his side.

"Not a brass farden's worth, sir.  She carries
thirty guns at the least; and if there is a man
aboard that can shoot, she can hull us easy as
winking without changing her course."

"That's bad, then."

"And worse to foller, sir, as brother Sol used
to say."

Jack mentally anathematized brother Sol, who
must have been a very Job's comforter.  The
outlook was black enough.  Visions of a French
prison again rose before him—if indeed prison
should be his lot, for the French, if they captured
him, might deal summarily with him in revenge
for the men they had lost.

Babbage sat down on the deck and began to
sharpen his cutlass.

"A nice little bit of arm-work coming, sir,"
he said cheerfully.  "In course we'll fight 'em?"

Jack shook his head.

"That's the last thing I should think of
doing—at present."

"Well, sir, she's coming on at a spanking rate,
and if we're going to run, the sooner the
better—meaning no offense, sir."

"We must either keep her closer to the wind,
and hope to pass without notice, or put the helm
up and run for it.  We'd have a bare chance of
outsailing her then."

"Yes, sir, and she'd give us her broadside fust
and foller it up with her stern-chasers.  She'd
blow us out of the water, as sure as eggs is eggs,
when they bean't pickles."

Jack stood for a few moments, gloomily pondering
this desperate case.  All at once his face
brightened.

"I say, Babbage, we'll fight her."

"And God save the king, sir," replied the
veteran, lifting his hat, and then vigorously
whetting his blade.

The course which had suggested itself to Jack
was one that he would scarcely have imagined
in cold blood; but in the present crisis it seemed
to him preferable to either of the two he had
before mentioned.  He had seventy men on
board, thirty more than the cutter would have
carried in the ordinary way.  Most of them were
well armed; and, well as British seamen always
fought, they could be trusted in the present
circumstances to outdo themselves, for defeat meant
utter destruction.  Could he lull the Frenchmen's
suspicions for a few minutes?  If he could!—well,
the chance of success was small, but the
smallest was better than none at all.

"Yes, by George!  I'll do it!" he said to himself.

And he lost no time.  He was astonished at
the quickness with which his mind worked in
forming his plan.  Orders came to his lips in
short, sharp sentences, and, thanks to the
readiness of old Babbage and the fine discipline of
the seamen, they were carried out as promptly
as given.

A score of men went below, and in a few
seconds returned to the deck, looking like
Frenchmen.  They had stripped the outer garments
from the prisoners.  Their weapons were
completely concealed.  Five men with loaded
muskets stood guard over the real Frenchmen, four
held themselves ready to board, with boat
anchors as grapnels.  The rest of the men, equipped
with all the available armament, concealed
themselves below, out of sight from the
approaching vessel, but ready for action at a
moment's notice.

These preparations were still being made
when the French flag was run up on the brig.
In response Jack hoisted the French colors found
on board, and, bringing the cutter a point or two
closer into the wind, made as if to hail the larger
vessel.  When only half a cable's length separated
them he shouted:

"Ho!  Hola!"

There was an answering shout from the brig.
So far, at any rate, no suspicion had been
aroused.  Jack felt himself thrill with excitement
and suspense; everything depended on the result
of the next move.  Turley was at the helm, his
lips set, his eyes never leaving the midshipman's
face.  Two or three seconds after the hail Jack
gave the word; Turley put the helm hard up,
and the cutter, paying off from the wind, ran
alongside the brig to the manifest amazement
of the Frenchmen, the captain swearing with
anger at what he supposed was rashness or
utter stupidity on the part of the cutter's commander.

Barely two yards now separated the vessels,
the side of the brig seeming to tower over the
cutter.  At a sign from Jack the men with the
grapnels leaped up, and cast them in at the open
ports of the brig.  The ropes attached to them
were instantly secured to stanchions on the
cutter's deck, and with a slight movement of the
tiller Turley brought the two hulls together.

Even before they touched, twenty men from
the *Fury's* deck were clambering up the main
chains of the brig, and forty more were
swarming from below in support.  By this time the
French captain had realized that the commander
of the cutter was neither stupid nor rash, but a
dare-devil of an Englishman.  Those were
Englishmen's cries that he heard, mingling with the
uproar made by his own men.  Everything was
in confusion.  Only the marines were armed.
What French captain would have dreamed of
meeting a little English cutter so near his own
coast?  What audacity, what unjustifiable
impertinence, for so small a vessel to engage a
thirty-two gun brig, with a complement of
probably two hundred men!  It was ridiculous,
thought the captain, even as he gathered his men
for the fight.

He was taken by surprise, but what then?
Snatching up any weapons that came handy, the
Frenchmen came pouring out of the hatchways
and from all quarters of the deck, and, forming
a little knot, endeavored to stem the rush of the
boarders.  They fought, as Frenchmen always
fight, gallantly and with fierce courage; but a
boarding party of English seamen is not easily
checked.

Jack at the head of a dozen men had already
driven a group of the enemy from the fore deck
into the foc's'le when, glancing aft, he saw that
Babbage and a small band were in desperate
straits.  Sword in one hand, pistol in the other,
the French captain was pressing them hard at the
head of twenty well-armed marines and three of
his officers.  The remainder of Jack's party had
scattered in pursuit of the enemy on the lower
deck; and a hand-to-hand fight was raging near
the armory, from which the watch below were
hastily equipping themselves.  It was impossible
for Jack to collect his men; yet if Babbage and
his gallant band were overcome all would be
over.

"You four, watch the foc's'le!" he shouted.
"Come on, you others!  Babbage ahoy!"

With a shout he dashed aft, a dozen men
bellowing as they sprang after him.  Flash went a
pistol; the clashing of cutlasses mingled with the
various cries of the men; and Jack, cleaving his
way through the press toward the old bo'sun's
side, found himself face to face with the French
captain.  He had but just time to parry a shrewd
thrust of the Frenchman's sword when a blow
from a French sailor's pike, which must have
killed him outright had it not been partly
diverted by Babbage, fell obliquely upon his head
with such force that he stumbled, staggered, and
dropped senseless to the deck.  His last conscious
moment was filled with the din of fighting and
the roar of his men.

.. vspace:: 2

"Mr. Babbage!"

"Wot?"

"I axe your pardon, true."

"Wot for?"

"For calling of you Artichokes, Sparrow-grass,
Turnip-tops, and Cabbage.  Wi' young
Mr. Hardy a-lying here with all his senses
knocked out of him, I couldn't abear to think as
how I hurt your feelings, Mr. Babbage.  I axe
your pardon."

"Granted, Turley, granted, and more to
foller," said Babbage, holding out a horny hand,
which Turley grasped in one equally hard.  Each
man looked at the other, so long that they did
not perceive that Jack's eyes were open, and that
he was smiling.

"Oh, you solemn old donkeys!" he exclaimed.
"You know you've been friends at heart all
along."

They looked sheepish, like boys detected in
something unboyish.

"Ah, sir," said Babbage, "brother Sol used to
say 'tis not actions wot matter, 'tis feelings."

"Brother Sol was wrong, then.  I shouldn't be
feeling so dizzy but for the action of some
Frenchman who got a cut at me.  What's
happened, Babbage?"

"The ship's ourn, sir, and we're making for
Portsmouth."

"Hurray!  Tell me about it!"

"Well, sir, arter you was down we got our
monkeys up.  'Twas all over in half a minute.
Turley and Mudge and a dozen more went at
'em 'longside o' me; we drove 'em back; Mudge
tumbled the captain over, and the rest hauled
down their colors and cried for quarter.  Then
me and some more jumped down the gangway
and cleared the lower deck, where some mounseers
was scrambling round the arm-chest.  Bless
you! it didn't last long.  They did their best, to
be sure, but we did better; and the end of it was
they all flung down their pikes and cutlasses and
gave in.  Then we brought you down here into
the captain's cabin; I put the ship about, and
cast off the *Fury* with ten men in her; she's
following in our wake now, sir."

"Capital!  And what of the prisoners?"

"Tied up, sir.  There's a hundred and forty,
sir, all told, and being such a terrible lot more
than us I couldn't leave 'em loose.  They're
sitting on the lower deck, side by side, twenty of
them slung on to one rope, and for every twenty
there's a man with a musket.  They don't
understand plain English, sir, but they understand a
loaded musket, and every man of 'em knows that
if he tries any tricks 'tis good-by."

"Well, I'm only sorry I was bowled over.
You've done splendidly.  How long have I been
here?"

"Somewheres about half an hour, sir.  We
couldn't do much for you, not having no surgeon
aboard; but we tied up your head as well as we
could."

"Oh, I'm all right.  Just a little dizzy.  Help
me on deck; the fresh air will do me good."

He had lost a good deal of blood, and could
scarcely have reached the deck unassisted.  The
Englishmen gave a cheer when they saw their
young officer—a somewhat muffled cheer, for
their mouths were full of the food prepared for
the Frenchmen's breakfast.  It was so long since
they had had a square meal that they were
making the most of their opportunity, and the
prisoners sat glum and hungry, watching the
disappearance of the soup intended for themselves.

"Find the cook and cast him loose," said Jack.
"He can get something ready for them.  Let 'em
eat, forty at a time.  Where's the captain?"

"Getting over his temper for'ard, sir."

Jack found the captain, and learned from him
that the vessel, named the *Glorieuse*, had been
cruising off Ushant, and three days before had
captured an English merchantman, which she
had sent to Brest with a prize crew.  The *Glorieuse*
was bound for Boulogne, and the *Fury* had
been taken for a French despatch-boat bringing
orders.

By midday the *Glorieuse* came within sight of
Selsey Bill, and beating up against a westerly
breeze made a slow passage to Spithead.  It was
almost dark before she ran into Portsmouth
Harbor.  Her signals had already informed the port
officers that she was a prize, and she had hardly
hove-to when a boat came alongside to make inquiries.

"I'll have to go and see the admiral and report,"
said Jack to Babbage.  "Probably I shall
not be back to-night.  We'll see about the
prisoners in the morning."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OFF LUSCOMBE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   OFF LUSCOMBE

.. vspace:: 2

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."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A DISCOVERY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A DISCOVERY

.. vspace:: 2

About nine o'clock the next morning the *Fury*
ran into Falmouth Harbor.  Sending a boat's
crew ashore to get fresh provisions, Jack closeted
himself in the cabin, and, leaning his head on
his hands, pored over the paper on which he had
made the strange jottings the night before.

The numbers represented the flashes which
had followed at intervals of a second; the short
dashes represented intervals of five seconds, the
long dashes intervals of twenty seconds.  What
was the explanation?  It was clear that the
signalers had a code; the flashes in some way spelt
out words, and Jack guessed from the long time
the message had taken that the words were spelt
in full.  How was he to set about finding out
what they were?  He had never in his life read
a cipher, and for some minutes he was at a loss
how to begin.

At last it struck him that the highest number
he had written was 20.  There were twenty-six
letters in the alphabet, and some of the letters,
such as Q, X, Z, were very seldom used.  It was
not unlikely that in a comparatively short
message they would not be used at all.  Each letter
might be represented by a number.  He wrote
down the twenty-six letters of the alphabet,
placing a number under each, from 1 to 26.  Then
he substituted the letters for the numbers on the
paper, thus:

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center

   QCRB——AQQCTB——P——K——OATCQB

.. vspace:: 2

This was nonsense; the fact that most of the
letters were consonants, and the one that most
frequently occurred, Q, showed that he was on
the wrong tack.  He must try again.  He was
sure the long dashes represented the intervals
between the words; what did the numbers stand for?

"I wonder what letter is most often used?" he
thought.  He wrote down the first thing that
occurred to him, the first line of the song, *Heart
of Oak*—

   |  "Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer."

..

"'Tis E!" he said to himself.  "It occurs in
four words out of ten.  Now there are three
words in the stuff that have 3 and 2 in them;
depend upon it either 3 or 2 stands for E.  Which
is it?  Why, E is the second vowel, and I is the
third.  Every word has one or two vowels in it,
and two of these words have I in them.  Perhaps
the five vowels are numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.  Let's
try that."

Recopying the alphabet, he found that on this
system the message read—

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center

   PIQE——APPISE——N——H——MASIPE

.. vspace:: 2

"It looks a little more pronounceable, but
hanged if I can make any sense of it.  There's a
French look about it.  Why, what a dolt I am!
If it's Fronsac who's signaling from the Folly,
of course the message will be in French.  Not
that that helps matters!" he thought dolefully.
"The French alphabet's the same as the English
till you get to W, and W is number 23, which
doesn't come in.  Confound the thing!"

It was not until he had pondered and puzzled
for more than an hour that Jack got any fresh
light.  Then it occurred to him that some of the
less-used of the letters might have been dropped.
After some thought, he left out K, Q, and all the
letters after V, and renumbered those that were
left.  The first result of this change gave him a
thrill.  He spelt out the word "RISE."

"Now I'm on the scent!" he said to himself.

Next came the word "ARRIVE," then two
initials—P, H, after them the word "NAVIRE."

"I can't make any sense of it at present.  Let's
go on."

At length the complete message was
deciphered.  It ran as follows—

.. vspace:: 2

RISE ARRIVE P H NAVIRE SOUS CONVOI E
FREGATE PARTENT VENDREDI POUR
JAMAIQUE SANDI COVE SAMEDI.

.. vspace:: 2

This was certainly clearer; it was decidedly
French for the most part; but what did "RISE,"
"P," "H" and "E" mean?  In a few minutes
Jack jumped to the meaning of H and E; they
were to be taken as numbers, not as letters;
eleven merchant ships under convoy of two
frigates were leaving on Friday for Jamaica.
What about "RISE?"  He remembered by and
by that he had not begun to write until the
signaling had been in progress for some time.
"RISE" was probably the end of a word.  What
French word ended so?  He put other letters in
turn before the perplexing syllable: *brise, crise,
grise, prise*.  PRISE!  Captured!  He saw it at
last.  The signaler was informing the men of
the lugger that a captured ship had arrived; P
stood for Portsmouth; and Jack had no doubt
that the ship meant was the *Glorieuse*.

All that was left of the message were the last
three words: "SANDI COVE SAMEDI."  These
suggested that Sandy Cove was to be the scene
of a cargo run on Saturday; but Jack had never
heard of Sandy Cove.  For the moment he gave
no more thought to it; the first part of the
message was of much greater importance than any
smuggling business.

The mystery was becoming clear at last.  No
wonder the French showed a disconcerting
knowledge of the movement of English ships!
De Fronsac was a spy!  So far from detesting the
Monstair, he was actually in the Monstair's pay.
His business was to supply the Monstair with
information.  And his cunning had found a means
to avoid the perils that otherwise might have
beset his task.  He had made friends of the
Luscombe smugglers, ostensibly cast in his lot with
them, so that he might have opportunities of
signaling information to the French.  Jack saw
through the scheme in a flash.

It was Wednesday.  Obviously there was no
time to be lost if the ships to sail on Friday were
to be saved.  The lugger would convey the
message to one of the western ports of France, and
the enemy's cruisers would come out in
sufficiently large force to cut off the merchantmen
and convoy.  They could indeed afford to wait
a few days, for even if the wind proved favorable
for the sailing of the English vessels, they
would make such slow progress that a French
fleet in pursuit could overhaul them speedily,
and, knowing their destination, would probably
have little difficulty in finding them.  Admiral
Horniman must be at once informed of the discovery.

The men having by this time returned from
their errand on shore, Jack at once hoisted sail
and ran back to Portsmouth, keeping well out in
the Channel off Luscombe to avoid recognition.
The admiral spent five minutes in blowing off a
considerable amount of warm language when he
heard the story.

"The merchantmen shall sail if the wind
favors," he said, when he had recovered.  "But
I'll increase their escort, and the French shall
get an unpleasant surprise, I promise 'em, if
they act on the information they've got.  And
that Frenchman at Luscombe, I'll string him up
to the yard-arm.  I'll stop his signaling.  I'll give
orders for the tower to be occupied, and every
one found there put in irons and clapped under
hatches."

"I don't think you'll find any one there, sir,"
Jack ventured to suggest.  "Fronsac's hand in
glove with the smugglers, that's the meaning of
'Sandy Cove Saturday.'  If any of our men are
seen making a move in Luscombe direction the
news will be signaled along the coast.  They'd all
clear out.  Couldn't we play their own game, sir?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I don't exactly see all the way, sir; but what
occurred to me was that we might do a little
signaling and catch 'em in their own net."

"A capital notion!  By gad, we'll do it!  We'll
have to let 'em make their run on Saturday?"

"Yes, sir, and arrange to signal from the tower
next Wednesday."

"Very well.  I leave it to you.  You seem to
have got some brains.  Come to me if you want
any assistance."

Before he returned to the *Fury* Jack scribbled
a note to his mother announcing his safe return,
and begging her on no account to let the news
travel to Bastable Grange.  It was better that
for the present his cousins should be ignorant of
his whereabouts.

On reaching the cutter he started on a run up
the coast.  He wished to keep away from
Luscombe until Saturday.  Though he had no
intention of interfering with the smugglers' run
on that day, he was anxious to witness it.  For one
thing, it would prove whether he had read the
intercepted message aright; moreover, he
particularly desired to find out who was engaged
in the business.  Knowing what a close watch
was kept by the smugglers, he recognized that it
would not be easy to learn what he wished; but
his successes in France had tended to dim the
memory of certain less fortunate incidents at Luscombe.

He now took Babbage and Turley into his
confidence.  When he mentioned Sandy Cove he
met with an unexpected check.

"There ain't no such place, sir—leastways, not
on this coast," said Turley.

"Are you sure?" Jack insisted.

"Sartin, sir."

"That's strange.  I don't think I read the word
wrongly.  I could be sure it was Sandi, the way
a Frenchman would spell it.  We'll have to go
back to Portsmouth and get a chart of the coast;
we may find something that looks like it."

But when he got a chart from the admiral he
searched it in vain.  There was no such name as
Sandy Cove.  He was convinced that he had not
mistaken the signal; all that could be done now
was to inquire in the neighborhood of Luscombe
whether any of the inlets was locally known by
that name.  But with the exception of the
Bastables he knew of no one whom he could trust, and
he had a strong reason for avoiding the squire's
house; nothing must be done that might put De
Fronsac on his guard.

Then a thought of Gumley came to him—Joe
Gumley, the one-legged sailor.  He was
Luscombe born; though he kept himself to himself,
he would probably know the whereabouts of
Sandy Cove.  And he might safely be asked the
question, for, never a friend to the smugglers,
he had a distinct grudge against them since that
day when his garden was ransacked, and he was
the least likely of men to give them any information.

"Yes, I'll ask Gumley," thought Jack.  "It
can't do any harm."

It was afternoon when he steered the *Fury*
into a sheltered cove some six miles west of
Luscombe.  He had chosen the spot because the coast
there was rugged, and the shore uninhabited,
and the cutter might lie safe from wind and
wave, and from observation by too inquisitive
people.

"Now, Babbage," said Jack as he stepped
ashore, "I leave you in charge.  Keep quiet, and
be on your guard."

"Ay, ay, sir.  And what if you don't come
back, sir, like as 'twas six months ago t'other side
of Luscombe?"

"Run back to Portsmouth and report to the
admiral.  But I'll be back, never fear."

He had exchanged his midshipman's hat for a
wide-brimmed beaver, and wore a long cloak
which made him look more like a magistrate's
clerk than a sailor.  Thus disguised, he walked
over the beach, climbed the cliff, and struck into
a path which would lead by a roundabout way
into the Luscombe road.  It was very unlikely
that he would meet any of the Luscombe people
in this direction; but Babbage's question
reminded him of the unlucky end of a similar
errand in the previous autumn, and he smiled
somewhat grimly as he remembered his resolve
to get even with his captors.

A white mist lay over the land, striking very
cold against his face.  But it favored his chances
of escaping notice if any one should meet him,
and he was indeed glad of the obscurity when,
in the driver of a gig that passed him, he thought
he recognized the bulky form of Mr. Gudgeon.
Save for this solitary traveler, the road was quite
deserted, and he arrived without adventure at
Gumley's cottage.

He looked over the fence.  No one was to be
seen.  Though it was already almost dark, owing
to the mist, no light appeared in the cottage window.

"Ahoy O!" he called, without raising his
voice, making a trumpet of his hands so that the
sound would carry.  There was no answer.

He rapped on the fence, calling "Ahoy O!"
again.  Still there was no reply.

"Here goes!" he said to himself.  Stripping
off his cloak he folded it and laid it on the nails,
then clambered over and hastened to the door.

"I say, Gumley, let me in," he said, rapping.

"Who be 'ee?  This bean't no inn."

"It's me, Gumley—Jack Hardy, you know."

"Tell that to the marines.  Mr. Hardy's far
away.  Get along with 'ee."

"Don't be a jackass, Gumley.  Open the door.
Comely will know me if you don't."

"'Ware dog, then, and if his teeth jine in your
legs 'tis your own doing, whoever ye be!"

There was a rattling of the bolts.  The door
was opened.  The bulldog rushed out, and with
a growl of pleasure began to rub his nose against
Jack's trousers.

"There you are, you see," he said, stepping
into the cottage, to find Gumley standing on
guard with a blunderbuss.

"Well, sir, this is a rare surprise.  I seemed to
know your voice, but thought for sure it must be
your ghost.  Never did I expect to see you no
more in this world, sir, and right glad I be."

"So am I, Gumley.  But fasten up again, and
light your lamp.  I want to talk to you."

"But how did ye escape, sir?" asked Gumley,
as he shot the bolt and led the way to his kitchen.

"'Tis too long a story to tell you now.
Another time.  But why, man, what's the matter
with you?  You look very down in the mouth."

"Ay, and so I feels, sir.  What with worry
and the rheumatics I feel I be not long for this
world.  I've bin twisted up with it all winter,
sir.  Since I sold they artichokes to Squire
Bastable I've bin as useless as an old hulk.  In course,
some folks might think me lucky having only
one leg to get the rheumatics in; but chok' it all,
sir, the pain's just as bad in the wooden leg as 'tis
in t'other; ay, and worse, 'cos I can doctor my
natural leg, whereas not all the surgeons of King
Jarge hisself could do this old stump any good."

"'Tis hard lines, indeed.  But what's been
worrying you?"

"Sit ye down, sir, and I'll tell 'ee about it."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TAR AND FEATHERS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   TAR AND FEATHERS

.. vspace:: 2

"Fust and foremost, sir," said Gumley, having
lit his pipe, "my poor old moke is dead.  Ah! he
served me well for many a year, and carried tons
and tons o' garden stuff into Wynport.  But now
he's gone, and if so be I can do any digging and
planting this spring I'll have no one to carry my
vegetables to market."

"'Twas old age, I suppose.  He looked on his
last legs when I saw him first on the Luscombe
road six months ago."

"No, sir, 'twarn't old age.  If he had been left
alone he'd have lived to be as old as Methusalum.
No, 'twarn't old age, nor overwork neither."

"What was it, then?"

Gumley hesitated.  He looked at the locked
door and the shuttered window, got up and went
to the back door, bending his head forward as if
listening.  Then he returned to his chair, and,
between two puffs, said, under his breath—

"'Twere p'ison, sir."

"Poison!"

"Ay, sir.  Jerry—so I called him, sir—were
sound as a ship's bell one night, sir; next
morning he were dead as mutton."

"But how do you know 'twas poison?"

"'Cos that very same day Comely was took
bad and well-nigh went to glory, too.  Where
Comely goes, Gumley follers; my rheumatiz
were very bad that day."

"'Tis plain you've got enemies, Gumley.  I'm
sorry for you.  Comely looks all right now, at
any rate.  We'll see what we can do to get you a
new donkey.  But I mustn't waste time.  I'll tell
you what I've come for.  Do you know where
Sandy Cove is?"

Gumley gave a start, and looked round the
room again with that uneasy glance which had
attracted Jack's attention before.

"Axing your pardon, sir, would ye say why
and wherefore you want to know that?"

"I don't think I can—at all events, not yet.
But I'll tell you one thing.  I'm on the king's
business, and that will be enough for an old
king's man, eh, Gumley?"

"True, sir, God save the king!  All the same,
I'd rather ye axed your question of some one else."

"There is no one else.  Come, Gumley, out
with it.  What is the mystery?"

Gumley still hesitated.  He scratched his poll,
rubbed the dog's head, stirred an imaginary fire
with his wooden leg, and once more glanced
uneasily at the window.

"This won't do," said Jack.  "Joe Gumley, I
call upon you, in the king's name, to answer this
question at once.  Where is Sandy Cove?"

"If you puts it like that, sir, as a king's
man—leastways, I was afore I got this plaguy
leg—I'm bound to make a clean breast of it.  Sandy
Cove is the name what the smugglers give to that
there little chine just below Mr. Gudgeon's farm."

"Ah!  And how came you to know that?"

"Well, sir, if truth must be told, in the king's
name, I were a smuggler myself once, afore I
became a king's man."

"I see!  And the smugglers are down on you,
are they, because you won't join 'em again?"

"How can I, sir?  Once a king's man, always
a king's man—to say nothing of the wooden leg.
I served his Majesty for many a year, sir, and I
bean't a-going to turn agen him.  Not but what
'tis main hard, for smuggling's an uncommon
fine trade—if so be I can make bold to speak free
afore a king's officer."

"I won't peach," said Jack, laughing.  "Speak
freely?  Of course you can.  And you'd better
tell me all about it now.  You look as uneasy as
if you were sitting on pins."

"So I be, sir, and that's the truth.  No longer
ago than last Wednesday, Mr. Goodman he
chanced to come upon a string of carts carrying
smuggled goods from Luscombe to Wickham
Ferrers.  He nabbed the whole lot, sir, horses
and all.  And my old mates got the notion into
their noddles that 'twas me as blabbed—me, sir,
what knowed no more about it than that there
innocent dog.  But they believe it; and there
'tis.  They swore they'd make me smart for it,
and I dursn't stir out o' my door for fear I get a
good crack on the nob or something just as
awk'ard."

"I don't understand why they're so down on
you.  You keep yourself to yourself, as you told
me.  Why should they think 'twas you split on
them?"

"I make it out this way, sir.  I'm a' old smuggler,
and know all the secrets o' the trade.  I'm
a' old king's man, too.  They don't square.  I
won't jine my old mates, and they, being a bit
wooden-headed, thinks I'm agen 'em.  I bean't
agen 'em, only I bean't for 'em.  I can't go agen
the king, nor I can't go back on my old mates;
but bless your soul, *they* don't see what I mean
when I says I keep myself to myself."

"Well, you can't run with the hare and hunt
with the hounds.  But what's that?"

He sprang up from his chair and went toward
the shuttered window.  Comely went to the door,
growling.  From without, muffled by the
distance, came the tramp of heavy feet along the
road, mingled with the hum of voices.

"'Tis come, sir," sighed Gumley, leaning back
in his chair resignedly.  "Here they be at last.
I knowed this would be the end of it.  They said
they'd tar and feather me, and they be come to
do it."

"Two can play at that game, Gumley.  I'd
sooner not be recognized now, but I'll not leave
you to deal with 'em single-handed."

"I take it very kind o' you, sir, but there's no
call for you to be mixed up in it.  If they mean
to get in, in they'll get, sure enough; and ye'll
only land yourself in a nasty rumpus, and do no
good.  Thank ye kindly.  I'll let ye out by the
back door afore they come, and me and Comely'll
do what we can, for chok' it all, it bean't in
human nature to be tarred and feathered
without a bit of a scrimmage."

"No, no.  If you're going to make a fight of
it, I'll lend a hand.  We're well armed.  You've
your blunderbuss and a cutlass; I've two pistols
and a dirk; and our good friend Comely here
has excellent teeth, I'll be bound."

At this moment a loud shout was heard from
the road, followed by an insistent knocking on
the gate.  Gumley stumped up the rickety stairs
to the floor above, threw open the windows
looking on the garden, and shouted:

"Who be you, and what do 'ee want?"

"We want you, Joe Gumley," came the hoarse
answer, "and we're gwine to have 'ee, too."

"I bean't deaf, Tom Berry, so ye needn't bust
your fog-horn.  What do 'ee want wi' me?"

"We'll show 'ee.  You bin peaching, you dirty
mean sneaker.  Come down along, and we'll give
'ee a fair trial afore the men as used to be your
mates."

"No, thank 'ee, Tom.  Whoever says I bin
peaching says a lie, and as for trial, why, I bean't
a fool, I bean't.  If I wants trying I'll go afore a
justice o' the peace like Squire Bastable, or a
judge and jury at the 'sizes, and not afore Tom
Berry or Bill Widdicombe or any other
mumble-chopped chaw-bacon.  See then, I don't want
to use hard words to old ship-mates o' mine,
but—"

Jack heard no more, for Gumley's words were
drowned by a volley of shouts and curses from
the men below.  He let down the window with a
bang.

"They be coming over, sir," he called to Jack.
"'Tis all hands to repel boarders.  They're
mounting on balks of wood to 'scape the nails.
Now they're over.  And they be split into two
parties, half a dozen each; and one's coming
straight for the front door; t'other's gone round
to the back.  I be coming, sir, I be coming."

By the time he reached Jack's side the men
had begun to batter simultaneously at both the
doors with the balks of wood which, knowing
Gumley, they had brought with them, evidently
anticipating resistance.  The men at the front
door were protected by a narrow porch; those
at the back were fully exposed; and Jack saw
that unless something were done at once to check
them they would soon be able to break a way in,
for the doors were not very substantial pieces of
timber, and could not long stand the heavy
battering to which they were now being subjected.

He stood with Gumley and the dog at the
front door.

"What's your blunderbuss loaded with, Gumley?"
he said.

"Small shot, sir."

"Then I tell you what we'll do.  I'll fling the
door open; you fire at their legs; then we'll all
three charge 'em.  We've only half a dozen to
deal with; the men at the back will stop work
when they hear the row.  They'll come rushing
round.  Be ready to get back and haul the dog
off.  I'll keep my pistols in reserve; the less
firing the better; we don't want all Luscombe here.
Lend me a muffler, quick!"

He pulled the brim of his hat down over his
face, turned up the collar of his cloak, and
wrapped the muffler Gumley gave him closely
round his chin.  All the time the men were
hammering at the door, and Comely was moving
restlessly about, uttering deep growls.

"Standby, Gumley!"

Jack quickly slipped the bolts, threw the door
open, and dodged back.  There was a blinding
flash, a roar, and yells of pain and rage from the
smugglers, who, crouching in the porch around
their battering-ram, received the crammed
charge of the blunderbuss about their legs.
They dropped the timber, and gave back a little.
Before they had recovered from their surprise,
the bulldog, snarling with fury, was among
them, and behind him came Jack and Gumley,
who laid about them doughtily with cutlass and
dirk—using, however, the flat, for neither
wished to do any serious hurt unless they were
hard-pressed.

Amazement was now turned to confusion and
fright.  The intruders had no thought but to
hobble out of the way of these furious combatants.
But as they pushed one another toward the
garden they were met by their comrades from the
rear, whom the shout and the cries had
interrupted, as Jack expected.  Their arrival only
doubled the confusion.  Amid the babel of shouts
they could hear nothing of what had happened.
Some of the men were still yelling under the
blows of the dirk and cutlass; and when one
howled "Ho!  Hi!  Help!  The dog's got me!"
they were seized with uncontrollable panic; and
with one consent bolted down the garden and
scrambled over the fence, with no small damage
to their nether garments from the nails, never
pausing until they perceived that no pursuit was
attempted.

One man, however, was left on the field.  In
the entrance to the porch lay a big fellow
groaning.  Comely held him fast by the leg.  Gumley
hastened to him and tried to release him from
the dog's teeth, but, finding that impossible, he
dragged dog and man bodily into the cottage,
slammed the door, and bolted it.  Jack was
already inside.

"Let go, Comely, old boy," said his master,
stooping to release the man, who, half dead with
fright, lay groaning where Gumley had dropped
him.  "Why, what are ye bellowing like a
sea-serpent for?" he added.  "His teeth never went
further than your leggings!  Who be ye for a
chicken-hearted—why, dash my buttons, 'tis Bill
Gudgeon!  Oh, Billy, what a' example to set your
good feyther!  Oh, my goodness, won't he be took
bad with the flutters when he hears this!  Ahoy,
Mr.——!  Avast there, Joe Gumley, blowed if
you wasn't just a-going to put your foot in it.
Billy, my son, you come along o' me."

He hauled the trembling youth into the
kitchen, and pushed him into a chair, where he sat
immovable, in mortal terror of the bulldog,
which stood by, fixing him with his thirsty eyes.

Meanwhile Jack had gone to the upper
window to see what had become of the enemy.  They
were out of sight, but when he opened the
window he guessed by their voices that they were in
conference just beyond the fence.

"Ay, and more'n Gumley!"

In the still air of the frosty March evening the
hoarse whisper came clearly to Jack's ears:

"In course; there was his dog."

"I knows that.  But I seed another man, all
in black, with his hat over his eyes and his face
all swaddled up: Goodman hisself, maybe."

"Well, I be gwine home along.  I've got a
score o' pellets somewhere about my legs, and
they'll p'ison my blood less I pick 'em out soon."

"Ay true, and we'll go lame for a month or
more.  Chok' it all!  Who'd ha' thowt old Joe
would ha' bin so fierce!"

As they were moving away, a gig rattled up
and stopped.

"'Tis Mr. Gudgeon, so 'tis," Jack heard a
rough voice say.

"Not so loud!" was the hasty answer.  "What
luck, lads?"

"None at all, and be hanged to it.  We've not
got nowt but a trouncing, Mr. Gudgeon."

"Lower, speak lower, man.  What happened?"

"Blunderbuss and cutlass and dog's teeth;
that's what happened, Mr. Gudgeon, as your boy
Bill could tell 'ee.  Why, where be the lad?"

"Been and creeped home along, by the look
o't," said another man.  "He bean't here.  There's
blood for 'ee!  There's spirit!  What a
bold-hearted first-born you have got, to be sure,
Mr. Gudgeon!"

"Hush, man!  Here, come along.  I can take
four or five of 'ee in the gig, and you can tell me
the whole story as we go."

The gig rattled away; the men for whom there
was not room shambled after; and Jack smiled
as he returned to the kitchen.

"There, Comely, watch him!" Gumley was
saying.  "I be gwine to look around the garden,
sir, to make sure none on 'em be left."

Jack made no reply, but stood at the door
while Gumley stumped round the inclosure.  He
came back by and by grinning.

"They be all gone, sir, all but this."  He held
up a pail out of which the handle of a brush was
sticking, and a bundle of feathers.  "'Twas by
the back door, sir."

"Ah!  I've a notion.  Shut the door and come
along, Gumley."

Keeping his feathers well covered, and deepening
his voice to the lowest pitch possible, Jack
addressed the prisoner, who sat in shivering
stillness, his eyes fixed on the vigilant dog.

"Now, Bill Gudgeon, you shall choose.  Spend
the night with the dog, and go before Squire
Bastable to-morrow; or use this brush you came
to use—on yourself.  'Twould be a pity to waste
such excellent tar."

"And the feathers be uncommon soft," added Gumley.

The victim lifted his eyes for one moment, but
said never a word.

"Come, come, make up your mind.  The dog—or
the tar brush."

Still the lad hesitated.  Fright seemed to have
tied his tongue.

"Very well, the dog, then.  If he goes for you
in the night you'd better sing out."

"Watch him, Comely!"

The dog acknowledged the order with a growl
of satisfaction, and Jack and Gumley moved
toward the door.

"Stop, measter!  Stop, Joe Gumley!" cried the
unhappy youth, finding his voice at last.  "Not
the dog!  For gracious goodness' sake, not the dog."

"Off with your coat then," said Jack, finding
some difficulty in keeping his voice at the proper
profundity.

"Ay, or your good feyther'll have the flutters
worse'n ever," said Gumley.  "Such a good coat,
too good to spoil."

Bill Gudgeon removed his coat, always eying
the dog, which stood watching with intelligent
appreciation.  Then Gumley handed him the
brush.

"A little on the nose to begin with," said Jack.

Forthwith Bill's nose was black.

"Now the cheeks; no—a little more, if you
please—yes, that's right.  Now a dab across the
forehead: don't spare the tar, there's plenty more
in the pail—yes, that's capital!  Now a few
feathers, Gumley."

The trembling lad stuck the feathers, as they
were handed to him, on the glistening tar.  He
groaned once, but Comely's echoing growl
silenced him and made him hurry.

"Now I think he'll do," said Jack at last.

"Beautiful, sir!  Whoever seed a better job
this side of the line?"

"Listen, Bill Gudgeon!  You'll tell your
father that if Mr. Gumley is molested again, you
and your mates will be hauled up before Squire
Bastable and sent to cool your heels in the
lock-up.  You can go!"

Bill took his coat, rose from the chair, and
sidled to the door, his eyes never leaving the dog.
He was gone!

Jack sat down and laughed quietly.

"I think he's had enough, Gumley.  Now I
must go.  I'll see you again soon."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A RUN AT SANDY COVE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   A RUN AT SANDY COVE

.. vspace:: 2

It took Jack much longer in the darkness to
return to the *Fury* than it had taken to reach the
cottage, and he found that Babbage was
becoming uneasy.

"All safe, men?" he said.

"Ay, ay, sir.  And you, sir?"

"Right as a trivet.  Heave the anchor, boys;
I want to be fifty miles away by the morning."

He required a little time for thinking out a
plan for turning to account his discovery of the
signaler's code, and meanwhile it was desirable
to keep out of the smugglers' reach.  Before
dawn he dropped anchor at a little fishing
village fifty miles west of Luscombe.  It was a
remote and secluded spot, and there was little
chance of the *Fury's* presence coming to the ears
of the Luscombe folk for some days.

"I'm going ashore again, Babbage.  Lie
quietly here.  I may be away a couple of days."

Still disguised, he went into the village, hired
a gig, and drove thirty miles in the Luscombe
direction to the village of Middleton, about ten
miles from the sea.  He put up at the *Pig and
Whistle*, scribbled a note to the riding-officer
and despatched it by a horseman to Wynport.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent

"SIR" (he wrote),—

.. vspace:: 1

"Be good enough to meet me here this
evening.  Ask at the inn for Mr. Loveday.  The
matter is urgent, and the business the king's.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

"Yours truly,
   "JACK HARDY."

.. vspace:: 2

At six o'clock Mr. Goodman appeared.

"I am here, Mr. Hardy, but 'tis most inconvenient.
I take it rather hard that a man of my age—"

"Exactly, Mr. Goodman.  I'm not so old as
you, and I should have come to you if I hadn't
good reasons for keeping clear of the coast folk.
I've information that the smugglers intend to
make a run to-morrow."

"Is that all?  Why, I often get such information,
and nine times out of ten it is false.  Besides,
what's the good of knowing that a run is
to be made if you don't know where?"

"I do know where."

"Oh, in that case leave it to me.  I'll bag the
whole gang.  There's a score of rascals at
Luscombe I'd like to hang—ay, and will, too.  If
your news is correct, 'twill be pretty soon, I
promise you."

"Just so, Mr. Goodman.  But meanwhile I've
come to arrange that the run may be made
without interference."

"What!  Do I hear ye aright?  A king's officer
name such a thing to me!  'Pon my soul and
body, Mr. Hardy, I'm surprised at you.  'Twill
be my duty—a painful duty, Mr. Hardy—to
report the matter.  Never in the whole seventeen
years of my service have—"

"Quite so, Mr. Goodman," Jack interrupted.
"But Admiral Horniman thinks that in this case
the king's service requires this little departure
from the ordinary course.  And 'twill only make
the capture of your rascals more certain in the
end.  We have to meet them with their own
weapons—match ruse with ruse; and that's why,
with the admiral's approval, I want you and
your land-guard to help me."

Jack smiled so pleasantly and spoke with such
an air of deference that the riding-officer, taking
what he said as a compliment to his own astuteness,
thawed.

"A capital idea, Mr. Hardy!  Exactly; play
their own game.  The admiral was always a man
of sense.  But what do you propose?"

Then followed a long conversation, in which
Jack explained as much of his plan as he thought
would suffice.  Mr. Goodman was captivated
with the notion, and left by and by in high
good-humor with Jack, himself, and everybody.

Jack did not know the time of the intended
run.  It would certainly not be before dark, so
when he left the inn on the following afternoon
he timed his departure so as to arrive near
Luscombe just after darkness had fallen.  The
distance was nearly twenty miles across country.
He drove some ten miles directly toward
Luscombe, then struck inland for another seven
miles, alighted at a cottage recommended by the
riding-officer, and left the gig in charge of the
owner, a trusty man, saying that he would meet
him at the same place at daybreak next morning.

From the cottage to Luscombe the distance
was about five miles.  He knew the lay of the
land, and, following unfrequented paths, came
to the edge of Congleton's Hollow in about an
hour and a half.  Skirting this cautiously, he
made his way along the edge of the stream that
had formed the chine he now knew as Sandy Cove.

It was a good mile to the sea.  Every now and
then he stopped and listened, to make sure that
he was not being followed; hereabouts he had
come unexpectedly upon Gudgeon and De
Fronsac.  As he came near Gudgeon's farm he went
with redoubled caution.  He heard a sand-piper
whistling; a few gulls screeched above his head;
save for these there was silence.

He remembered having noticed, in the course
of his rambles with Arthur, a large evergreen
bush growing on a shelf of rock some distance
above the bed of the stream.  That seemed to
him the very place at which to post himself, for
while he could get from it a good view of what
was happening on the shore only a few yards
below, it was so thick, and so situated in relation
to its surroundings, that he would run little
danger there of being observed.

With some difficulty he clambered up to the
bush.  Looking round to make sure that he was
not espied, he forced his way into it, and waited.
The time passed slowly.  It was a black March
evening, with a nipping wind, and in spite of his
cloak Jack felt bitterly cold.  Hour after hour
drawled away, and there had been no sound.
He wondered whether the run had been abandoned.
Or had he, after all, made a mistake?

At last, when, feeling numbed and depressed,
he had almost resolved to leave the spot, he heard
voices from just above—on the zigzag path from
Gudgeon's farm to the sea.

"Send round the word; she'll be in in ten
minutes.  There's no preventives on the prowl, or
we'd have heard afore now from Totley Point
or Laxted Cove.  Aha!  Goodman and his joes
have never yet got past Peter Bunce and Jan
Derriman.  Bill, a' believe I've got some o' they
pellets in my calf yet."

"More fool 'ee for meddling wi' old Joe."

One of the men hurried down the path, while
the other returned to the top of the cliff.
Listening intently, Jack heard the man's footsteps
sounding ever more faintly as they receded in the
direction of the village.

He was right, then!  This was Sandy Cove,
and here the run was to be made.  He felt
impatient for the work to begin.  The sky was very
dark, there was no moon—smugglers avoided
moonlit nights—but the air was so clear that he
hoped to see well enough for his purpose.

Ah! there were dark figures moving quietly
about the beach below.  The men had taken off
their boots, it appeared, and there—yes!  It was
the black shape of a vessel slowly approaching
the shore.  The sails were run down with scarce
a sound; the lugger hove to within a few yards
of the cove; then, on a gangway invisible to
Jack, the smugglers went to and fro, those
coming shoreward bent under heavy burdens.

Jack watched eagerly.  The carriers brought
their loads up the chine, and disappeared along
the same path that he himself had followed a
few hours before.  It seemed but a few minutes;
then he heard a voice say "That's the last;" the
lugger stood out to sea, and Sandy Cove was as
quiet as though nothing had happened.

Slipping out of his hiding-place, Jack very
cautiously followed the last man, who carried no
load and seemed to be in some authority over
the rest.  Jack could never venture near enough
to see his features, nor even to get a complete
view of his form.  He tracked him to Congleton's
Hollow, and there was compelled to pause and
dodge some of the carriers who, having finished
their work, were making their way homeward
across the fields.  Waiting a little while until all
seemed safe, he crept across the Hollow to the
summer-house where he had found the iron steps.
It was from this that the carriers had come.
Clearly the smuggled goods had been deposited
there.  He searched as thoroughly as he could in
the darkness, but could find no trace of them.

"'Tis a job for daylight," he said to himself.
"Now for my tramp back."

He was dead tired when he reached the
cottage where he had left his gig.  The cottager
awoke at his knock, put the horse in, and drove
him at once to Middleton, where he slept heavily
for three or four hours before Mr. Goodman
arrived in the morning.

"Well, Mr. Hardy, I hope you spotted the
rascals as we arranged."

"I saw the run," replied Jack, with an inward
chuckle at the riding-officer's "we," "and a
precious cold night it was.  They've hidden the stuff
somewhere in old Congleton's summer-house."

"Have they indeed?  I'll seize it at once."

"No, no, Mr. Goodman, don't be in a hurry.
You might send a few of your men to Luscombe,
telling them nothing, of course.  If they're seen
about there for a day or two it will prevent the
smugglers from removing their stuff until it is
too late.  And if you don't mind, send a
messenger to Waddon for me, and tell Babbage to
remain where he is till further orders."

"I will, Mr. Hardy.  By George!  I hope
Admiral Horniman will be pleased with the way
we are carrying out his plans."

Jack smiled as the riding-officer took his
leave,—Mr. Goodman knew only half the plan;
Admiral Horniman none of it.

The most important part of Jack's task was
still before him.  He had determined to be in
the turret room of Congleton's Folly on
Wednesday evening; how was he to get there?  The
removable steps were no doubt being used by the
signaler; but it was not likely that they were still
hidden in the same place.  De Fronsac, of course,
would believe Jack to be safe in a French prison;
but the last hiding-place having been so easily
discovered, he would certainly choose a new one.
Yet, if the tower was to be entered, steps of some
kind must be had.

Jack spent a quiet Sunday, and early on
Monday morning drove a few miles inland to another
village, where he entered the smithy and asked
the smith if he could make him quickly a dozen
iron loops with a tail to them.

"Well, maybe I might," said the smith, "if
you showed me the pattern."

"Here you are," replied Jack, drawing a
rough sketch of the article he wanted with a
piece of charcoal on the side of the forge.

"And what might that be for, measter?" the
smith inquired.  "A cur'ous looking objeck."

"Yes, isn't it?  'Tis for a game I'm going to
play—quite a new thing in these parts."

"Well, to be sure!  And how thick do 'ee want 'em?"

Jack could only guess the dimensions.  He
tried to recall the size of the holes in the wall of
the *Folly*, and gave the smith a thickness which
he hoped would turn out within the mark.  The
steps were easily made when the man had
grasped the idea.  Getting them wrapped up,
Jack drove back to Middleton, and thence to
Waddon, where Babbage and the crew of the
*Fury* were unfeignedly glad to see him once
more.

"'Tis long waiting when you don't know,
sir," said Babbage.  "As brother Sol used to say:
'Wait not, want not,' and true it is, though so
plain."

During the rest of Monday and all Tuesday
the *Fury* cruised down Channel, merely to kill
time.  The men wondered why their young
commander did not sail out to sea and do some
scouting work, if nothing else, but Jack did not wish
to run any risks; besides, he was busily occupied
in drawing up a message in the cipher used by
the signaler at the Folly.

On Wednesday morning the *Fury* put in once
more at Waddon, and Jack left again.  These
mysterious absences were somewhat trying to
Babbage's equanimity.

"But there," he said, talking the matter over
with Turley, "to gentlemen of eddication, I
s'pose, our heads—yourn an' mine, Turley—be
only like so many turnips."

"Mr. Babbage?"  Turley's tone was one of
surprise and remonstrance.

"Wot?"

"Not Turnips."

"Why not?"

"Why, sir, 'cos they have Tops."

"Not when they're mashed, Turley, wi' butter,
or dripping for cheapness."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

.. vspace:: 2

Unconscious of the bo'sun's melancholy
reflections, Jack was hurrying toward the village.
There he again hired the gig, and drove once
more over the same road, leaving Middleton so
as to reach the neighborhood of Luscombe about
dusk.  With him he took the iron steps.

He made his way with great caution to Gumley's
cottage.  This time he did not hail the old
sailor from the roadway, but got over the fence
and tapped at the window.  When he was admitted,
he announced without preliminary the
object of his visit.

"I want you to come and lend a hand, Gumley."

"Might I axe how and wherefore, sir?"

"I'll tell you that as we go along."

"'Tis not to go back on old messmates, sir?"

"Your old messmates have gone back on you.
But 'tis not that, and, anyway, I call upon you,
Joe Gumley, in the king's name—"

"Oh, if you put it like that, sir, I don't axe no
questions.  The king's name is enough for me."

"I know it.  Come along, and bring Comely
with you."

The three set out, Gumley curiously eying
Jack's bundle.

"We're bound for Congleton's Hollow, Gumley."

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Any news since I saw you last?"

"Nary much, sir.  Young Bill Gudgeon
haven't bin seen since.  And the preventives have
bin paying surprise visits down in the village."

"That's well.  The smugglers won't have dared
to remove their cargo."

"Ah!  I knowed as how they'd made another run."

"How did you know that?  You keep yourself
to yourself, you know."

"True, sir.  But old Gudgeon's chimbleys do
be uncommon foul, to be sure."

"What's that to do with it?"

"Why, sir, I were thinking that's the only
thing I've seed to-day.  But he'll soon be leaving
off fires.  Be you gwine to the Hollow by the
lane, sir?"

"Yes.  'Tis a little longer way round, but I
don't want to meet anybody."

"True, sir.  Comely will give us good notice
if any one is about."

They came at length to the Hollow.  Jack led
the way through the trees to within a hundred
yards of the tower, and searched the neighborhood
thoroughly to make sure that no one was
on the watch.

"Now, Gumley, I'm going up to the room at
the top.  Not through the door, but up the
outside with the help of these steps."  He opened
his bundle.  "See, they fit into holes in the wall.
Are you sailor enough still to come up after me
and bring down the steps when I've got to the
top?"

"Try me, sir.  True, I've only one leg, but
that's sound; and my arms—look at 'em, sir."

"That's all right.  When you've got the steps,
hide in the bushes with Comely until you hear
me whistle.  Then you'll come and take charge
of a man I think you'll find here."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Jack mounted, Gumley after him.  The latter
removed the steps and disappeared into the
thicket, while Jack closed the trap-door, and sat
on the rickety chair, waiting.

Hours passed.  It was very cold.  Jack knew
that De Fronsac would not leave the Grange
until the family were asleep; he could only wait,
wrapped up in his cloak, walking about quietly
at intervals to keep himself awake.

At last he heard a slight click outside.
Instantly he concealed himself in the hole behind
the bedstead, leading to the staircase.  To insure
the full success of his plan it was necessary that
the signaler should make his preparations undisturbed.

He heard some one enter the room by the
trap-door, and immediately afterward saw a gleam of
light.  Peeping out, he recognized with a thrill
that the intruder was De Fronsac, as he had
expected, and that he was alone.  He had lit the
lamp, the glass of which was turned away from
the window; the long roll of cardboard and a
pistol lay beside it.  Then he went to the window
and looked out to sea.  He was evidently waiting
for a signal from the lugger.

"*Peste!*" he muttered, slapping his shoulders.
"*Comme il fait froid!  Il est en retard.  Quand
viendra-t-il?*"

Pistol in hand, Jack stepped quietly out of his
hiding-place.  De Fronsac started, swung round,
and stared with amazement, for there, in the
light of the lamp, stood the boy he had kidnapped,
and a pistol was pointed full at his head.

"Yes, Monsieur de Fronsac, it is I.  Stay where
you are; if you make a movement I shall fire."

.. _`"If you make a movement, I shall fire"`:

.. figure:: images/img-203.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "If you make a movement, I shall fire"

   "If you make a movement, I shall fire"

The statement was so cool and matter-of-fact
that it appeared to carry conviction, for De
Fronsac arrested his first instinctive movement
toward his own pistol.  Still covering him with
his weapon, Jack advanced to the table, turned
the lamp so that the light fell on the Frenchman,
and lifted the pistol.  De Fronsac said not a
word.  There was no smile upon his face now,
but his eyes gleamed, and Jack knew that he was
watching for the slightest opening.  De Fronsac
felt the rope for a spy tightening relentlessly
round his neck.

He glanced toward the lamp, within a few
feet of him.

"No, Monsieur De Fronsac," said Jack,
guessing his wish to knock it over: "it really is
not possible.  You would not live to reach the
table.  You will now go through the trap-door
and descend the steps, as quickly and quietly as
you can."

The man hesitated; Jack saw his fingers work
nervously.

"I shall count three, Monsieur.  At the word
*three* I fire.  One—"

De Fronsac moved sidewise toward the trap-door.
At the opening he again paused, and
appeared to be about to speak.  But Jack gave him
no opportunity.

"Again, Monsieur: one—two—"

De Fronsac pulled up the trap, and slowly
lowered himself on to the topmost step.

"Remember, Monsieur," said Jack, before his
head disappeared, "if you make the least
unnecessary sound I shall send a bullet after you."

The gleaming eyes disappeared.  Step by step
the Frenchman descended.  When he was a third
of the way down Jack whistled gently.  By the
time De Fronsac reached the ground Gumley
and Comely were one on each side of him.

"Evening, sir," said Gumley.  "Orders are that
you come along wi' me—and the dog.  Watch
him, Comely."

A deep growl caused De Fronsac to start.

"Harmless as a lamb, sir, while you goes
steady.  Bean't 'ee, Comely?"

The answer was another growl.  They moved
away, the dog keeping a few inches behind De
Fronsac's heels, Gumley with a naked cutlass
walking at his right hand.

Even before they were out of sight Jack had
returned to the table.  There he had noticed a
sheet of paper.  It was covered with figures—no
doubt the message that De Fronsac was preparing
to send.

"Wonder if there's time to make it out!"
thought Jack.  He looked out to sea; there was
no signal light.  With the aid of his key he
scribbled below the figures the corresponding letters,
and read:

.. vspace:: 1

NELSON A SUIVRE VILLENEUVE 9
NAVIRE 2 FREGATE SORTENT DE P
MERCREDI BINSEY COVE LUNDI.

.. vspace:: 2

"A clever villain!" thought Jack.  "Who
would ever have imagined that a French spy
would be mixed up with English smugglers!
And I wonder how he gets his information about
Nelson's doings, and the sailings of English
convoys?  Well, his friends will have rather a
different message to-night."

He took from his pocket a piece of paper, and
made some alterations in the figures he had
written in the cabin of the *Fury*.

"If they like news of Nelson, they shall have
some, invented on the spot!"

Every now and then while writing he glanced
out to sea to make sure that he did not miss the
expected signal.  It was nearly an hour after he
had completed his message that he caught the
three successive flashes.  Then he fixed the
cardboard, pointed it through the round hole in the
curtain, and signaled:

.. vspace:: 1

NELSON MOURANT A PALERMO NAVIRE
BRISE PLAGE FOWEY CONVOI
PETITE CHALOUPE BINSEY COVE LUNDI.

.. vspace:: 2

The message completed, he extinguished the
light and descended, removing the steps as he
went.  The other set had apparently been taken
by Gumley.  Wrapping up the original dozen he
started for his long walk back.

He had not gone many paces when he heard
hurried footsteps behind.  Turning round with
a start, his hand on his pistol, he was amazed to
hear his name called.

"Jack!"

The next instant a slight figure sprang toward him.

"Oh, Jack!  I'm jolly glad, I am!  I thought
it was you, but couldn't be sure till you came
down.  Oh, I *am* glad!"

"Well, don't make a to-do, youngster.  And
what brings you out at this time of night?"

"Why, didn't you tell me months ago to keep
an eye on Fronsac?  Well, I've done it.  I've
followed him several nights—not often, 'cos mostly
I'm sleepy; but I've never caught him.  He
always disappeared, and I never knew where he
went till to-night.  And I shouldn't have known
now if I hadn't seen him climb down the Folly
and go off with old Gumley.  Oh, it was fine!
My eye! wasn't he scared at the dog!  But what's
it all mean, Jack?  I say, you'll come along home,
won't you?  They'll all be so jolly glad to see
you."

"Not to-night, Arthur.  I hope I shall come
to see you all in a day or two.  But not a soul
in the village must know yet that I'm back, and
the maids couldn't keep it in.  Tell your father
I'm here; and tell him that De Fronsac is a
dangerous spy.  We've got him safe now, but they
mustn't suspect in the village.  If any questions
are asked you can say that he has gone away for
a few days, and will be back on Monday night."

"Oh, I say, will they hang him?"

"Of course.  Now cut and run; you'll catch
your death of cold, and the squire will want to
hang me."

"Not he.  He likes you.  So does—"

"Cut!" said Jack, putting an end to Arthur's
confidences.  The boy disappeared; Jack resumed
his walk, and arrived dead tired at the inn
at Middleton.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BATTLE OF BINSEY COVE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE BATTLE OF BINSEY COVE

.. vspace:: 2

"Ah!  Patience is a monument, as brother Sol
used to say.  Tombstone I'd call it, 'cos this here
waiting about in the cold'll be the death o' me."

"True, Mr. Babbage.  It bean't Christian, let
alone decent, to keep us poor fellers waiting
here."

"Avast your jabber, Mudge.  It bean't for the
likes of you to grumble when 'tis a matter o'
dooty, and love your neighbor as yourself.  'Tis
a wonderful fine night, coldish, nat'ral for the
time o' year.  Mr. Hardy didn't make the
weather, lads."

Ben Babbage, with a boat's crew from the
*Fury*, lay off Totley Point, about a mile and a
half west of Luscombe.  It was about ten at
night.  They had been for two hours resting on
their oars.  A steady breeze blew from the
west-sou'west, and a slight swell rocked the boat
gently.  Save for an occasional pull to keep her
head to the wind the men had nothing to do
except wait and watch; and Babbage, however he
might grumble himself, was the last to permit
grumbling in others.

But it was certainly a tax on their patience to
wait hour after hour for a lugger which was slow
to appear.  Everybody was tired of inaction, and
hoping for a signal of recall, when a shape
loomed out of the blackness, passed on the
starboard side of the boat, about two cable lengths
away, and disappeared shoreward.

Babbage lifted a dark lantern from the bottom
of the boat; Turley and Mudge stretched a sheet
of tarpaulin between him and the shore.  Then
Babbage, facing out to sea, and keeping the
lantern at such an elevation that its light should not
fall on the water, rapidly opened and closed the
shutter, sending one flash to windward.

"Things is a-going to happen, mates," he said,
as he replaced the lantern.  "The owdacious
moment is at hand, as brother Sol used to say."

Again they waited, but now with keen expectation.
In ten minutes, which seemed hours, a
dark shape appeared in the offing.  Babbage
making a bell of his hands, sent a low whistle
across the water; an order was given on the
approaching vessel; the steersman put up the helm,
and in a few seconds the other was alongside.

"All well, Babbage?" said Jack, in a low tone.

"Ay, ay, sir."

A rope was thrown from the cutter and made
fast in the bows of the boat.  Another brief
command; the steersman put the helm down, and
the cutter, with the boat in tow, followed in the
wake of the lugger.  At nightfall she had crept
in to within two miles of the shore, and sending
out the long-boat as a scout, had hove to, lest her
mast should betray her.

In ten minutes the cliffs were dimly visible,
and Jack recognized the jagged gap at the top
that served as a landmark in steering for the
cove.  The cutter headed straight for the gap.
There was a shout from far up the cliff; the
*Fury* had been sighted by the lookout.  His call
was answered by cries from the beach.  On the
cutter all the men lay ready with musketoon,
pistol, and cutlass, except the few who had been
told off to run down the sail when the word was
given, and make the cutter fast to the lugger
when she came alongside.

Jack's heart beat more quickly than usual; he
felt excited, and anxious, too, for he knew that
the whole crew of the lugger, probably quite as
strong as his own, would be ready to repel
boarders.  If they were joined by the Luscombe men
who were receiving the smuggled goods he
would be greatly outnumbered.  Everything
depended on the handling of the men, and knowing
how desperately smugglers fought when brought
to bay, Jack felt the seriousness of the position.
What would the issue be?

.. vspace:: 2

While the boat's crew had been waiting in the
cold, strange things had been happening at
Gumley's cottage.

Gumley's method of guarding De Fronsac was
to make a temporary kennel for the dog outside
the window of the front room in which the
prisoner was lodged, and a shakedown for himself
by the door.  He felt that he could not properly
intrude upon De Fronsac, who was a person of
quality.  But he looked in at intervals to see that
he was safe, on these occasions calling Comely
into the room, to guard against any attempted
surprise.

De Fronsac had recovered the use of his
tongue after he reached the cottage.

"I protest, I say it is a scandal, an infamy, to
shut me up as if I vere a t'ief.  Vat right have
you?  Tell me dat—you—you—"

"Gumley, my name, sir.  I've got my orders—in
the king's name."

"Vell, I vill complain to de squire; I vill make
to punish you—you—Gomley!"

"Orders is orders, sir.  I can't say no more."

Gumley himself was somewhat anxious about
his charge, for, not expecting such a drain on his
larder, he had only his usual provisions for the
week, and did not feel at liberty to leave the
cottage and procure more.  Thursday passed,
Friday, Saturday, and still he had heard nothing
from Jack.  When Sunday came, there was only
a half loaf of bread and a rind of cheese left, and
these had to be shared among the two men and the dog.

On the second day De Fronsac began to
beguile the tedium of confinement by writing
poetry.  When Gumley looked in at him on one of
his periodical visits the Frenchman said:

"You have not a bad heart.  You obey orders
of—of—of a monstair.  Vell, I read you vat I
have now written about anoder Monstair—de
great villain Monstair vat call himself Emperor
of de French!  Listen!  You vill like it.

   |  "'*De sky vas blue, de sea vas green,*
   |  *All beautiful for to be seen.*
   |  *Vy den am I not gay and glad?*
   |  *Alas! de Monstair make me sad.*'

"Dat is good beginning, hein?"

"Reyther on the miserable side, don't 'ee think,
sir?  For myself, I like a rum-tum-tiddlum
rollicum-rorum sort o' thing."

"Ver' vell, I write you someting of dat kind."

Gumley heard nothing more of this generous
offer until Monday evening.  Then, when he
went into De Fronsac's room to explain with
apologies that he had no more food, the
Frenchman said:

"No matter not at all.  Vizout doubt some vun
vill come to-morrow.  Be so good as give me a
candle.  I vish to write de poesy I speak of."

Gumley saw no reason for not humoring so
harmless a hobby, and brought the lighted
candle.  But a couple of hours later he was awakened
from his sleep at the locked door by a smell of
burning.  He soon satisfied himself that it came
from the prisoner's room, and opened the door.

"Ha!  I see you!" said De Fronsac.  "I am
almost burnt alive.  I am writing my poesy
ven—*voilà!* de candle overfalls and burns a hole in de
table-carpet.  See it!  I put out de fire, easy; but
it make much smoke.  I fear it vake you; pardon,
my good Gomley."

"Granted, sir, ready.  If I was you I'd go to
sleep now and do your writing stuff in the morning."

"So I vill," was the response.  "Pardon!  I vill
not vake you again."

Gumley returned to his shakedown and was
soon fast asleep.

Nearly two hours later he was wakened by a
growl from the dog outside.  He got up, opened
the outer door, and found Comely trying to get
up to the shuttered window of De Fronsac's room.

"Don't like his poetry any more than me, don't
'ee?  Come in.  We'll tell him 'tis time he was
abed."

He closed the door when the dog had entered,
and together they went into the prisoner's room.
There was still a good deal of smoke in it—but
no Frenchman.

"Ahoy!" cried Gumley.

But the dog made a dash back to the front
door, and, when Gumley followed and opened it,
rushed growling down the garden, where he was
brought up by the high fence.  Seizing his
cutlass, Gumley stumped as fast as he could to the
gate.

"Chok' it all!" he muttered.  "This is what
comes o' losing a leg in the king's name."

It took some little time to draw the bolts and
unlock the gate, and when the old sailor got out
into the road the fugitive was out of sight.  But
Gumley thought he heard a man running down
the cliff path to the village.  Without hesitation
he started in pursuit, whistling Comely to his
side.  Never had that wooden leg moved so fast;
but with all his exertion his pace did not exceed
that of a quick walk.  He was half-way down the
path when he heard shots in the distance.
Hurrying still more, he came to the village just
in time to see a group of men rushing out at the
other end, and caught the words "Sandy Cove!"

"Fire and brimstone!" he muttered.  "This is
a desperate go, Comely.  Come on, my lad."

And he stumped on gamely through the
deserted street.

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile there had been brisk doings at
Sandy Cove.  When Jack judged that he was
only a couple of cable-lengths from the lugger,
he cast off the long-boat with Babbage and his
men.  They, resting on their oars, allowed it to
drift slowly in while the cutter disappeared into
the darkness.

A few moments later Jack gave the word.  The
sail was run down.  A round shot from the
lugger whistled across the *Fury's* bows.  Another
few seconds; then, amid furious shouts, the
cutter came against the larboard quarter of the
lugger with a bump that caused the men on both
craft to stagger.  The *Fury's* bowsprit fouled the
lugger's shrouds and hooked fast.  Instantly half
a dozen grapnels were out, and the two vessels
were closely interlocked.

There was a deafening discharge of small
arms from the deck of the lugger, but as most of
the *Fury's* men were lying down awaiting the
order to board, and the volley was fired at
random in almost total darkness, hardly any
damage was done.  But the master of the lugger was
clearly a man of action, for the echo of the shots
had scarcely come back from the cliffs when he
gave a loud order in French, and the smugglers
swarmed over the bulwarks, intending to jump
on to the deck of the cutter a foot or two below.

"Fire!"

The word rang out sharp and clear above the
shouts of the Frenchmen.  Their dark forms
stood out clearly against the starlight; they were
only a few feet from the muzzles of the Englishmen's
muskets; and when at Jack's command the
volley flashed, the front line of the smugglers
disappeared as if struck by a thunderbolt.

With a loud cheer the English sailors, dropping
their muskets, seized cutlass and pistol and
dashed through the smoke, each man eager to be
first on the enemy's deck.  They needed no
encouragement; most of them had a score to pay
off for their defeat at the same spot in the
previous autumn.  While the Frenchmen were still
half stunned by the scorching fire and the loss of
so many of their comrades, Jack's men gained a
footing on the deck.

But now the French skipper's voice could be
heard rallying his crew, and the boarders were
met by a serried mass armed with pistols and
boarding pikes.  And among the Frenchmen
there was now a sprinkling of Englishmen, for
the smugglers on shore had rushed over the
gangway to their comrades thus hotly beset.  Now a
furious hand-to-hand fight raged about the
lugger's stern.  Great was the clamor as steel clashed
on steel, pistols barked, hoarse voices roared
encouragement or defiance, wounded men groaned.
Again and again Jack and his men were flung
back by sheer weight of numbers against the
lugger's bulwarks; again and again they rallied
and forced the enemy across the deck.  No room
here for fine weapon-play; men cut and thrust at
random, met, grappled, flung away cutlass and
pike to set to with nature's own weapons.  Many
a Frenchman fell under the sledge-hammer
blows of British sailors' fists.

Jack had no clear recollection afterward of
the details of the fight.  At one moment he found
himself leading a rush of his own men, pressing
the enemy back foot by foot until only a last
desperate effort seemed wanting to drive them
overboard.  Then would come a check; a hoarse
shout from the skipper, whom Jack by and by
distinguished in the mêlée—a huge fellow of
reckless courage; the tide turned, the smugglers
rallied gamely, and Jack and his men, stubbornly
as they fought, were borne back and back,
losing inch by inch the ground they had so
hardly gained.

It was at one of these desperate moments that
Jack heard at last the sound for which, throughout
the struggle, he had been anxiously waiting.
From the forefront of the lugger came a sudden
rousing British cheer.  There was a rush of feet
in the rear of the smugglers, and in a second, as
it seemed to Jack, the deck in front of him was
clear.  Ben Babbage had arrived.  Carrying out
orders given him previously, he had brought the
long-boat unseen to the starboard side of the
lugger, and, before the Frenchmen were aware of
his presence, he was on deck, with Turley,
Mudge, Folkard, and half a dozen other trusty
shipmates.

Beset now in both front and rear, the Frenchmen
lost heart.  Suddenly they made a rush for
the gangway connecting the lugger with the
land, and swarmed helter-skelter across, not a
few stumbling over the edge and falling souse
into the water.

"Huzzay! huzzay!" shouted the panting
Englishmen, as they saw the enemy in flight.

But they were answered by a loud and
confident cheer from the beach, and in the
momentary silence that ensued they heard the rapid
tramp of a large body of men hurrying over the
shingle.  Immediately afterward they saw the
fugitives halt, and rush back, largely reinforced,
to the gangway, led by the indomitable captain.
On they came, tumbling into the water three or
four of the Englishmen who had started in
pursuit and were making for the shore.

The gangway, consisting of four stout planks
laid side by side, was wide, and gave foothold for
a throng at once.  Jack and Babbage collected
their men at the lugger's bulwarks to meet this
new attack.  And the former, amazed at this
sudden turning of the tables, was still more amazed
to see beside the French skipper the slighter
form of Monsieur de Fronsac.  Even at the
moment of recognition De Fronsac's pistol flashed;
the bullet glanced off Jack's cutlass within an
inch of his body, and embedded itself in the
mast behind him.

The two forces came together with a shock.
Babbage dropped his cutlass and flung his
powerful arms around the skipper.  They
swayed for a moment, then fell together with a
tremendous splash into the water.  De Fronsac
had dropped his pistol, and made for Jack with
a cutlass.  Jack parried his furious cut, and
before he could recover replied with a rapid and
dexterous thrust that found the Frenchman's
forearm.  With wonderful quickness De Fronsac
shifted his weapon from the right to the left
hand, and, shouting encouragement to the men
beside and behind him, pressed forward indomitably.

At the same moment there was a rush of feet
from the bows of the lugger.  Her bowsprit came
within easy reach of the rocky ledge, and a
number of the smugglers had sprung on to it,
scrambled along, and flung themselves on the flank of
the defenders.  Turley and others at Jack's right
turned to meet this new danger; but the enemy
had gained a firm foothold on the foredeck, and
the fight once more became general.

Jack, fighting grimly with Mudge and
Folkard at the head of the gangway, felt with a
dreadful sinking at the heart that the tide of
battle was turning overwhelmingly against him.  It
seemed only too likely that he must either take
to the cutter and escape, or remain to be killed
or captured.  But at this moment there was a
sudden uproar at the far end of the gangway; the
cries he heard were unmistakably cries of
dismay.  The throng of men pressing from the shore
to the lugger wavered; their rear was being
attacked; the preventives must be upon them!  So
sudden and unexpected was the onslaught that
they lost their heads; their confidence changed
to panic, and as one man they made off, springing
into the shallow water to right and left, and
scurrying away into the darkness.

"Have at 'em, Comely!  Have at 'em, my lad!"

The words rang clear above all the din; and
ever and anon came a short yelping bark—the
unmistakable war-cry of a bulldog.  Jack felt a
wonderful lightness of heart as the sounds came
to him out of the dark.  Then the press in front
of him melted as by magic, and through the gap
so quickly made stumped Gumley, wielding his
cutlass like a flail, and shouting with the
regularity of a minute-gun:

"Have at 'em, Comely!  Have at 'em, my lad!"

Two men remained on the gangway, refusing
to be intimidated by the tumult in their rear;
nay more, adjuring the fugitives to stand fast.
One was Monsieur de Fronsac, the other Kit
Lamiger, the chief Luscombe smuggler, father
of the lad whom Jack had fought.

The uproar, the flight, the appearance of
Gumley and the dog, all happened in such rapid
succession and amid such a clamor that to Jack
the events seemed to take place in one crowded
moment.  As the last of the panic-stricken
smugglers jumped sidewise from the gangway on to
the rocks, De Fronsac, hearing Gumley's voice
behind him, took a rapid step forward in a last
desperate endeavor to dispose of Jack.  But the
middy marked his purpose.  There was no time
for deliberation.  The Frenchman, wielding his
cutlass as well with his left hand as with his
right, made a fierce cut at Jack.  The next
moment he threw up his arms without a sound and
fell backward across the gangway into the space
between the lugger and the rocks.  Jack's blade
had pierced him through.

Meanwhile Kit Lamiger had found himself
seized below in the vise-like grip of Comely's
jaws.  Struggling to free himself, he fell into the
arms of Gumley, who, with a cry of "In the
king's name, shipmate!" swung him round,
threw him on to the shingle, and bade the
bulldog watch him.

The fight was over.

"Ahoy, Gumley!  Come aboard!" shouted Jack.

Gumley stumped across the gangway, and this
was drawn on to the lugger's deck.  Jack intended
to work the vessels out for a little distance
until there was no chance of being attacked
except by boats, for he knew that he was still
outnumbered.  But just as he was preparing to cast
off there came a loud hail from the beach, and
immediately afterward Mr. Goodman rushed up
at the head of a force of preventive men.

"Just in time, Mr. Hardy!" panted he.

"A little late, Mr. Goodman," replied Jack.
"I expected you some time ago.  The fight is over."

"Dash my buttons!" cried the mortified officer.
"'Tis my confounded ill-luck.  I should have
been here, but I got another note a few hours ago
that I had to attend to."

"Anonymous, Mr. Goodman?"

"Yes, anonymous as usual, hang it all!  I came
up when I heard the firing.  I see you've got the
lugger, sir.  Our scheme worked out to the letter."

"To the anonymous note, eh, Mr. Goodman?
Well, we've good news for the admiral to-morrow.
And as you've a good number of your men
here, I'll go ashore and step up to the Grange.
I want to see my cousin.  Turley, where's Babbage?"

"Never seed him, sir, since he went overboard
with the French skipper."

"Well, I must leave you in charge, then.  The
poor fellow's drowned, I fear."

"No, sir," shouted a voice from the beach.

"Who's that?"

"Me, sir, Babbage as was."

"All sound?"

"And fury, as brother Sol used to say.  Me
and the French skipper fell overboard together,
me on top.  He drownded hisself, sir, 'cos he
wouldn't let go.  When I come up, some o' they
fellers bowled me over like a ninepin, and my
senses was fair knocked out o' me.  Next thing
I knowed I heard you a-saying I were drownded,
sir.  Not so, nor never even seasick."

"Well, I'm glad you're safe.  Come aboard.
We'll see what damage is done here, and then
I'll go ashore, and we'll get a doctor from
Wickham Ferrers to attend to the poor fellows who
are wounded."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`SOME APPOINTMENTS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   SOME APPOINTMENTS

.. vspace:: 2

Jack had but just reached the road above the
cliff when he was somewhat startled to hear the
regular clickety-click of a large number of
horses trotting toward him.  And surely, amid
the clatter of their hoofs, there was the clash of
steel!

He stood at the edge of the road, waiting.  In
a few moments, round the corner from the
direction of Wickham, came two horsemen at a rapid
trot, and behind them a troop, whose polished
accoutrements gleamed in the light of the rising
moon.

They rode on rapidly, and Jack had just
recognized the uniform of the Dorsetshire
yeomanry when the officer at their head caught
sight of him, shouted "Halt!" and reined up his
horse on its haunches.

"Where are they, my lad?" he asked in a tone
of subdued excitement.

"Who, Cousin Humfrey?"

"Eh!  Who are you?  Why, bless me, 'tis Jack!
Where are the ruffians?"

"Who, cousin?"

"Why, the French!  Have they got a footing?"

"Most of 'em a wetting, cousin.  But we've
beat the whole crew and got the lugger."

"The lugger!  Hang the lugger!  What about
the praams?"

"The praams!"  Jack was puzzled; then a
light dawned on him and he began to laugh.

"Come, come, 'tis no joke.  Are they beaten back?"

"Oh, cousin, no joke!  Did you really think it
was Boney?  Oh, I can't help it; excuse me,
cousin."

It came out that Mr. Bastable had been
awakened by one of his men, who declared that he
heard cannons firing most horribly, and was sure
'twas Boney had come over at last.  The squire
got up, sent a rider post-haste to Wickham
Ferrers for his troop of yeomen, and hurried into
his uniform, which he kept always at hand by
his bedside.

"And here we are, my lad, in an hour from
the first alarm.  There's quick work for you.
But I'm glad 'tis no worse than a brush with
smugglers.  'Twas a false alarm, my lads," he
added, turning to his men.  "Boney has thought
better of it.  Didn't care to tackle us Dorset men.
You can get back and sleep sound.  Now Jack,
you'll come with me to the Grange.  Arthur told
me he'd seen you—the young rascal, stealing out
at dead of night!  But a good plucked 'un too,
eh, Jack?"

"A chip of the old block, cousin.  Just the sort
of fellow we middies like."

"And that villain De Fronsac, now!  What of him?"

"He's dead, cousin," said Jack gravely.

"Ha!  He's got his deserts.  The villain,
playing his double game for eighteen months in my
house!  And his humbug about the Monster, too.
It makes me red in the face when I think of it.
But you must tell me all about it when we get
home."

They found the Grange almost in a state of
siege.  The windows were close-shuttered, the
doors were double locked, and when Mr. Bastable
rapped, the voice of old William, the
gardener, was heard, threatening in accents of
unmistakable terror that he'd b-blow out the
b-b-brains of any Frenchman with his b-b-blunderbuss.
When admittance was obtained, shrieks
were heard from the top of the house.

"The maids in hysterics!" growled the squire.
"Here, Molly and Betty," he shouted, "don't be
a couple of geese.  'Tis not Boney—'tis Master
Jack!"

A door above flew open; Kate and Arthur
came bounding down the stairs, with Mrs. Bastable
a pace or two behind them.

"Lawk a mussy!  Only to think o't, now!"
giggled Molly above.  "Measter Jack!  Well, I
never did!"

Kate impulsively threw her arms round Jack's
neck and kissed him heartily.  A middy is not
easily taken by surprise, but Jack was only just
in time to return the kiss before Mrs. Bastable
came and encircled him.

"My dear boy, this is delightful."

"So it is, cousin—if it wasn't so smothery!"

"Mothery!" shouted the squire in high good
humor.  "Now, you'll come along to my den and
tell me all about everything that's happened
since you were kidnapped by those villains,
confound them!"

"But my dear Humfrey, Jack looks dead-beat."

"We'll cure that by any by.  The fire isn't out;
we'll make it up; and I'm sure you women won't
sleep a wink till you've heard the story."

"Hurray!" shouted Arthur, capering.

So they trooped into the snuggery, and there
Jack, fortified with a glass of hot cordial brought
by Molly, related his adventures from the time
when he was carried to France against his will.

"There are two things I can't make out," he
said in conclusion.  "One is, how Gudgeon is
mixed up in this.  'Twas his boat, I'm sure, that
carried me in the tub to the lugger; and he drove
to Gumley's the other night to hear what had
been done.  Where does he come in, cousin?"

Mr. Bastable laughed a little awkwardly.

"Go to bed, Arthur," he said.

"I know, father," said the boy, grinning.

"You do, do you, you young rascal!  Well,
Jack, I'll tell you.  Gudgeon is a sly old dog.
He's the smuggler hereabouts—but behind the
scenes.  His smoking chimney was the signal by
day, as Fronsac's, it seems, was by night.  But he's
not a traitor; he knew nothing of Fronsac's
double scheme, I warrant.  He's a smuggler simply.
Why, Jack, he has supplied me with smuggled
brandy for years; so he does the parson at
Wickham.  The stuff you're drinking was smuggled;
the lace your cousin Sylvia is wearing came from
Valenciennes, and paid no duty.  I'm afraid I
must give it up now, my boy.  There's not a
squire on the seaboard but thinks it no harm; but
with a cousin a gallant king's officer—yes, I must
give it up."  He sighed.  "And I think I'd better
go and see Gudgeon in the morning."

"He'll be transported, as sure as a gun," said Jack.

"Well, I don't think we'll go that length.  You
can't prove anything against him, you see.  He's
too sly for that—and—well, it might be
awkward for more than one of us."

"All right, cousin," said Jack, laughing.  "But
there's another thing.  That fellow who was
wounded in the Hollow!  De Fronsac shot him,
I'm sure; I never told you that Arthur and I
saw him bundled into a lugger that night we
followed De Fronsac from the house."

"That's a mystery.  I can't explain it.  And it
doesn't matter much, now that De Fronsac is
gone.  By George, Jack!  I fancy you've killed
smuggling at Luscombe—for some time, at any
rate.  Now to bed.  We'll have another talk in
the morning."

Jack was up early, in spite of the lateness of
the hour when he went to bed.  He was at
breakfast alone with Mr. Bastable when Mr. Goodman
was announced.

"Good morning, sir.  Good morning,
Mr. Hardy.  I've come to you as a justice of the peace,
Mr. Bastable.  You've heard of our little exploit
last night?"

"You were in at the death, I believe.  Well, sir?"

"Well, sir, we went to the Hollow this morning
to seize the goods we understood were hidden
there.  In the summer-house we found a man,
sir; I have him outside now.  He tried to run
away; but we collared him, and as he wouldn't
give an account of himself I've brought him
along.  Perhaps you'll commit him as a rogue
and vagabond."

"Bring him in, Mr. Goodman."

The riding-officer returned with a heavy,
undersized, beetle-browed fellow, in very tattered
garb.

"Why, 'tis the very man!" cried Jack.  "This
is the man De Fronsac shot."

"De Fronsac!" growled the man, with gleaming
eyes.  "Where is he?"

"No longer in this world, my man," said
Mr. Bastable.  "Now, who are you?  Give a good
account of yourself, or I shall have to commit
you."

The man showed no hesitation now.  He
explained that he had been employed in London
by a French family through whom De Fronsac
obtained much of the information he signaled to
France.  Having discovered this fact, he had
come down to Luscombe to levy blackmail on the
spy; the consequences were as Jack had related.
He had returned to England—there were means
of coming and going between the two countries
even in that time of war—to wreak vengeance
on De Fronsac, and was lying in wait at the
summer-house when the preventives appeared on the
scene.

"There's your mystery unraveled," said
Mr. Bastable, turning to Jack.  Then to the
Frenchman he said: "We'll send you off to London,
my man; 'tis for folk there to deal with you."

After breakfast, Jack walked over to Gumley's
cottage.  He wanted to know how De Fronsac
had escaped, and was prepared to read Gumley
a lecture for his lax guardianship.  But he found
the old sailor so desperately upset at the trick
played upon him, that he had not the heart to
add to his chagrin.

"Only to think of it, sir!" said Gumley,
thumping the table.  "Poetry!  All my eye and Betty
Martin!  Why, when he got that there candle, he
stood upon this here table"—another thump—"and
burned away the ends o' the matchboards
up aloft where they was nailed to the beams.
No wonder I smelled smoke!  And he showed
me a hole in the tablecloth!  Then he pried up
the boards, got up into the attic, out by the
trap-door on to the roof, and when Comely and me
was a-nosing round here in the smoke, chok' it
all!  Mounseer was down the rain-pipe and
under full sail for the road.  Never have I bin so
done afore, sir, and in the king's name, too."

"Never mind, Joe.  You came after him like
a Briton, and if you and Comely hadn't arrived
on the scene when you did, I'm afraid there
would have been a different story to tell the
admiral to-day.  I'm going to Portsmouth this
afternoon.  And I'll take care the admiral knows
about your pluck and your stanchness as a king's
man under persecution."

"Thank 'ee kindly, sir.  And you won't forget
to say a word for Comely, sir?"

"Not I.  Comely and Gumley—a fine pair of
warriors.  Good-by."

When Jack got back to the Grange, he found
that the squire had paid his promised visit to
Mr. Gudgeon.  Mr. Bastable laughed as he
related the interview.

"He had the flutters very badly, Jack.  I put
it to him as delicately as I could.  Said that
recent events had given the neighborhood a bad
name, especially as it had been found that some
one had been selling information to the French.
Suspicion might easily fall on the wrong person,
I said; and I wound up by suggesting that when
next winter comes he should see that his
chimneys are swept regularly.  The old rascal!  'Oh
dear me!' says he, 'to think that a quiet
law-abiding village like Luscombe should have
harbored a French spy!  It puts me in a terrible
flutter, Cognac is the best cure I know, sir;
maybe you'll do me the honor to take a sip with
me?' and the rascal gave me a glass, Jack;
contraband—capital stuff!"

"He'll be careful in future, I reckon, cousin.
I must run over to Portsmouth after lunch and
report to Admiral Horniman.  I suppose I'd
better keep Gudgeon's name out?"

"Certainly, my lad.  You've snuffed out smuggling
here—for the present; it is bound to begin
again some day; but you may depend upon it
that for a long time to come we're all king's men
here, Gudgeon included."

It was a fortnight before Jack returned to the
Grange.  Then he came in a high state of excitement.

"Admiral Horniman is a jolly old brick!" he
cried, after greeting his cousins.  "What do you
think he's done?"

"Resigned in your favor, Jack?"

"Pretty nearly!" returned Jack with a laugh.
"No, he's written up a thumping report to the
lords of the Admiralty, and got 'em to 'do a thing
that's as rare as—as—"

"As Jack Hardys.  Well!"

"Why, to let me off three years' service as a
mid, and also the examination for lieutenant.
Look here! here's my commission!"  He flourished
a paper, and cried for three cheers for
Admiral Horniman.  "And that's not all.  I've got
no end of prize-money for capturing the French
brig, and retaking the *Fury*, and collaring the
smugglers' stuff.  My share alone comes to over
a thousand pounds.  And they've taken two
French privateers and sunk another off Fowey.
The signals worked splendidly; they were
trying to cut out a disabled ship that wasn't there!
The admiral's going to put in a claim to
prize-money for me.  He is a brick!"

"Oh, I say!" cried Arthur.  "Don't I wish I
was you!"

"I'm glad for dad's sake.  He hasn't been over
well off since he had to retire from the East
India Company's service, owing to that wretched
illness of his, and I'm afraid he had to pinch a
bit for me.  But now that's all changed.  I shan't
cost him another penny piece."

"Bravo!  Arthur, you young dog, remember
that, and hand over a thousand pounds to me
when I'm bound for the poorhouse.  Well, Jack,
I congratulate you, my boy."

"But that's not all, cousin.  I've kept the best
for the last.  Open your eyes!  I'm appointed to
the *Victory*, and sail to join Nelson in a week!
Won't we pepper the French!  Won't we win a
glorious victory!  Oh! cousin, isn't it the finest
thing in the world to serve your king and country!"

"If you please, sir," said the butler, putting
his head in at the door, "Joe Gumley is outside,
asking for Mr. Hardy."

"Show him in," cried Mr. Bastable.

"Arternoon, sir," said Gumley, stumping in
with the bulldog at his heels.  He held his glazed
hat clumsily, and looked not quite at ease.  "I be
come over for two things, Squire; number one,
to say thank'ee to Mr. Hardy; number two, to
axe a question."

"Never mind about number one, Gumley,"
said Jack.  "Heave away at number two."

"Begging your pardon, sir, one always comes
afore two, and ye can't alter nature.  I take it
kindly, sir, and I thank 'ee from the bottom of
my heart, for your goodness to a' old mariner
what has only one leg sound and rheumatiz in
both.  Here I've got, sir, a paper, and as near
as I can make it out—'tis terrible writing for a
admiral, to be sure—Admiral Horniman says he
has great pleasure in app'inting Joseph Gumley
watchman at the dockyard, ten shillings a week,
cottage and rum free.  I know who done that:
Admiral Horniman would never ha' heard o'
Joe Gumley but for Mr. Hardy.  God bless 'ee,
sir, for remembering of a poor wooden-legged
old sailor what had to take to growing artichokes
and other landlubbers' thingummies in the
king's name."

"The admiral couldn't have found a better
man," said Mr. Bastable, to cover Jack's
confusion.  "But what's number two?"

"Number two is this, sir.  Do this here
app'intment take in Comely?  'Cos if it don't with all
respecks to Mr. Hardy and the admiral, I sticks
to artichokes.  Comely and Gumley—they sign
on together."

"And nobody wants to split you, Gumley,"
said Jack.  "Go and see the admiral, and take
Comely with you—only hold him in, because the
admiral's rather peppery, and Comely might
made a mistake.  He will know that with
Comely and Gumley to watch it, the dockyard
will be as safe as the rock of Gibraltar."

"Ay, ay, sir.  Then we takes on that there
app'intment.  Comely and me—in the king's name."

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   THE END

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