Chapter V: Part 5

"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.

"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."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*OFF LUSCOMBE*

During the latter part of the voyage Jack had devoted a good deal of thought to his future course of action. To report to the admiral would be his first duty; when that was done he wished to wipe off a personal score. He had been shipped off to France by the smugglers of Luscombe; they had unquestionably been assisted by Monsieur de Fronsac; and, remembering the name Goujon mentioned by the Frenchman, he felt pretty sure that the boat in which he had been conveyed from the shore belonged to the sufferer from the flutters, Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon. It was not in human nature that he should let slip his chance of having his tit for tat.

And apart from his personal feelings, there were other reasons for this determination. To put down smuggling was part of his duty as a king's officer; it was no less his duty to suspect a Frenchman whom he found in league with them. There was something mysterious in their connection with De Fronsac, and something very unpleasant in the idea of De Fronsac's sailing under false colors in the house of Squire Bastable. It seemed to Jack that he would only be fulfilling a public duty, as well as getting even with private enemies, if he probed the mystery and laid the offenders by the heels.

But to do this it was very necessary that his return to England should be kept secret. The Luscombe smugglers would, no doubt, have friends spying for them in neighboring ports, and if he were seen they would be on their guard, and De Fronsac would have time to get away. He was glad, therefore, that it was dark when the _Glorieuse_ came to her anchorage. It increased his chances of escaping notice in preparing to take the smugglers by surprise.

Smartening himself up as well as he could, and removing as far as possible the traces of his wound, he went ashore and made his way to Admiral Horniman's lodgings in the Hard. He was admitted at once on explaining his errand, and found himself in the presence of a big man with rugged, weather-beaten face, fierce white eyebrows, and a wooden arm. The admiral was alone, examining a chart with the aid of a tumbler of toddy and a long pipe.

"Mr. Midshipman Hardy, sir," said the servant.

"Come in and shut that door," roared the admiral in a quarter-deck bellow. "Dash my buttons! Do you want me to catch my death of cold! Now what's this?"

"Come to report a prize, sir."

The admiral looked Jack up and down.

"You have come to report a prize, have you, sir? And what's your superior officer about when he sends a youngster like you?"

"He's in a French prison, sir. I--"

"The deuce he is! How do you come to be in charge of a prize, eh? What's your vessel?"

"The _Glorieuse_, sir!"

"Don't trifle, sir! I didn't ask you for French crack-jaw. Your own vessel, sir?"

"The _Fury_, sir," Jack responded.

"What! Are there two Furies? The only _Fury_ I know was the cutter that that fool Blake allowed to be captured. Didn't they tell me she was carried into Boulogne?"

"Yes, sir, but we retook her."

"By George! I'm glad of it; a smart cutter, the fastest on the station. And you took a craft called the _Glorieuse_ too, did you? What's your vessel, and who's your captain, and why isn't he here?"

"If you please, sir--"

"Answer my question, sir--a plain question and a plain answer."

"My vessel's the _Fury_, sir," replied Jack, "and it was the _Fury_ captured the _Glorieuse_, a thirty-gun brig."

"What! that cockle-shell take a thirty-gun brig?"

"Yes, sir, we took her by surprise, and--"

"And who retook the _Fury_?"

"Some threescore English seamen, sir; I was in command, and--"

"You in command! Bless my soul, what are you talking about? What's your name, sir?"

"Jack Hardy, sir."

"Why, why, didn't Lieutenant Blake report you as missing? Haven't I got his report--somewhere, hang me if I know where. Where's Lieutenant Blake? Why didn't he come and report all this himself?"

"I'm sorry to say he's a prisoner in France, sir. He was taken inland, and--"

"Am I standing on my head or on my feet?" cried the peppery admiral. "What's all this beating about the bush? Explain yourself, sir!"

"Why don't you give me a chance?" thought Jack; but Admiral Horniman's impetuous manner was well known on the Portsmouth station; no finer sailor ever served his Majesty; and those who knew him knew what a sterling character underlay his rough exterior. He raised his glass now and emptied it at a draft; and Jack took advantage of the action to begin his story, using as few words as possible, and hurrying on when he saw the admiral preparing to interrupt. Somewhat to his surprise, he reached the end without misadventure.

"Bless my soul! And you mean to tell me, Mr. Hardy, that you captured the _Glorieuse_ yourself?"

"No, sir; I was bowled over; but the men fought splendidly, and Ben Babbage--"

"Turnip-tops! I know him! Brother Sol on the brain! but a good seaman. Well, Mr. Hardy, you'll write all that down--plain, mind you, so that I can read it, no finicking spidery scrawl for me, egad! Now run off and get a sawbones to look at that wound of yours, and take a few days' leave ashore. The sooner you're fit for duty the better. We'll take charge of your prize."

"Thank you, sir. But about the leave--if you don't mind, I'd rather not take it at present."

"What in thunder do you want to be at then?"

"You know what happened at Luscombe, sir--at Congleton's Folly?"

"Yes--no; hang me! I remember Blake reported something. He broke into a tower, or something of that sort, and found nothing--wasn't that it?--everything gone, lock, stock, and barrel."

"Yes, sir. I want to find out what is going on in Luscombe now. I can't do it if the smugglers learn that I've come back. Of course they're bound to know that the _Fury_ has been retaken and the _Glorieuse_ brought in a prize; but if my name's kept out of it they won't be on their guard; and if you would allow me a few days' absence, I'd--"

"So you shall, by the Lord Harry!" cried the admiral, without waiting to hear what. "And I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll keep the _Glorieuse_ and the _Fury_ in quarantine. Not a man from either of 'em shall come ashore till you've reported to me. They'd blab if they did. And there's blabbing enough. Egad! Several of our merchantmen have been scooped up lately, and I'll keel-haul the villain who betrays 'em to the French if I catch him. But what about your wound, eh? Won't that be troublesome?"

"'Tis just a flesh wound, sir," replied Jack; "I shall be all right in a couple of days. There's just one thing; may I have the _Fury_ if I find I can use her?"

"Certainly, certainly, when you like; in fact, Blake being absent, you'll be in command till my lords make another appointment."

Jack took his leave, very well pleased with the result of the interview. He returned to the _Glorieuse_, waited until a lieutenant was sent by the admiral to take charge of her, and then, with twenty-five men, including Babbage and Turley, and stores hastily provided from the brig, he sailed out of the harbor in the _Fury_. The admiral, he suspected, would be somewhat amazed when he learned of the sudden departure; but, having permission, Jack had resolved on his way back to set off at once on his quest. The sooner the _Fury_ was out of sight the better; and by sailing in the darkness she would be most likely to escape observation.

The wind was not very favorable. A fresh breeze was blowing from the southwest, and it was a somewhat tedious beat down Channel to the point, abreast of Luscombe, where he had seen the signal light from Congleton's Folly. Had the signalers sufficiently regained confidence, he wondered, to resume their midnight work?

"What do you think of it, Babbage?" he asked of the bo'sun, who was at the tiller.

"Well, sir, I think of a saying of brother Sol's: 'When the cat's away, the mice do play.' There be several cats in the case, sir. One, the _Fury_--a good name for cat or cutter; two, Mr. Blake; three, you yourself, sir; four, me and Turley, for, having made up our little difference, we two make one; I've got the claws, he've got the caterwaul. All these cats being away, those there mice will have a rare randy. Why, that there tower was as empty as a blown egg-shell when we drove in the door, and climbed to the top; and the smugglers will be a-hugging theirselves that all's clear, and thinking they can go on with their work without any danger of a visit from the preventives. Lor' bless you, I were a mouse myself once."

"I agree with you. 'Tis six months since I disappeared, and they'll have had all that time to recover from any fright we may have given them. I wish the wind would change. I want to get opposite the tower before morning."

"But you can't expect them to do the signaling every night, sir. No smugglers ever I knew or heard of could be so spry as that would mean. Belike we shan't see the light for a matter of days--nights, that is--or weeks. Like as not they'll have their regular times and seasons, same as the herrings."

"That's just why I'm so anxious to get there to-night. 'Tis Wednesday; 'twas on a Wednesday I first saw the light; for all we know Wednesday is their regular day."

"There may be summat in that."

"And as we don't want to be discovered I'll have the tackle blocks oiled, and tell the men to keep quiet."

"Specially Turley, sir; but there, I take that back, sir, or he'll be a-calling of me Spring Onions again."

That night was so dark that Jack had some doubts whether he could hit the exact spot from which the light was visible. But he ventured to creep in toward the shore sufficiently near to descry the landmarks, and having at length assured himself on that point, he ran out again, and cruised about, keeping a keen lookout for the light.

Two hours passed. It was near midnight, and he had almost given up hope of success when, to the southwest, he saw a gleam. At the moment the _Fury_ was running up the Channel before the wind. The light evidently came from a vessel. But it had disappeared--no; there it was again; three times the same light was shown and extinguished.

"A signal, Babbage," said Jack. "Hope we shan't be seen."

"Better hold on our course, sir, then beat out. We've to get that there craft atween us and the shore."

Jack acted on the bo'sun's suggestion. In a few minutes the same signal was seen, this time full on the weather beam.

"They haven't answered her yet, sir," said Babbage, "and she won't sail in much closer, 'cos if she do, she won't see the light from the Folly, if so be 'tis that she's looking for."

"No. But I'm afraid she'll see us. She certainly will if we venture too close. Yet if we make too wide a sweep round her she may do whatever mischief she's about before we can make up on her. How far is she out, Babbage?"

"About five mile, I should say, sir."

"Well, I'm going to risk it. We'll run out beyond her, and hit the straight line between her and the Folly; we'll see then if any signaling is going on."

As soon as he thought he had made sufficient offing, Jack brought the _Fury_ closer to the wind and crept toward the line he had mentioned. He no longer expected to see any signal from the vessel; the lantern would be turned away from him. But he looked anxiously toward the shore. Minute after minute passed, and yet he saw nothing. He began to fear that either he had lost his bearings and crossed the line while signaling had been going on between the tower and the vessel, or that there was no one at the Folly, after all, and both he and the commander of the other ship were to be disappointed.

Suddenly a light flashed out from shore, and remained gleaming brightly and steadily. So strong was it that Jack felt not a little anxiety lest it should show up the _Fury_ to the vessel now between her and the land. But a moment's reflection reassured him. At this distance the light could have no illuminating power; and if he could not see the strange craft, it was not very likely that she could see him.

He was wondering what his next move had better be when the light disappeared. But only for a moment. Then it shone out again. Again it disappeared, and then for several seconds it alternately came and went, with regular intervals of very brief duration between the flashes. At last there was a longer interval; then the regular flashes began again.

"Heave to, Babbage!" cried Jack.

Springing down to the cabin, he returned in a few moments with a slip of paper, a pencil, and a shaded lantern. By the light of the last, Jack made a note. It would not have conveyed much or anything to an onlooker. It began-- 17 -- 3 -- 18 -- 2 ---- 1 -- 17 -- 17 -- 3 -- 20 -- 2 ---- 16 ---- 11 ---- 15 -- 1 -- 20 -- 3 -- 17 -- 2 ... and this succession of numbers and dashes grew until it completely filled the paper. After he had written for nearly half an hour the light disappeared altogether; he waited ten minutes on the chance of the flashes being resumed; then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and ordered the men to crowd on all sail.

In a few seconds the _Fury_ was running before the wind in the direction Jack thought the strange vessel might have taken. There was just a chance that he might overhaul and capture her, for he guessed that she was little if anything larger than the cutter, and in all likelihood the same lugger which had escaped Lieutenant Blake months before. But though he cruised about for a couple of hours he failed to find her.

"We'll give it up," he said at length to Babbage. "Now I want a little time to work out a puzzle. We mustn't be seen from Luscombe or the neighborhood, so we'll beat down Channel and make for Falmouth. That's far enough away to be out of reach of the Luscombe men or their spies; and I'll eat my boots if I haven't a pretty piece of news to report to Admiral Horniman to-morrow."

*CHAPTER XIV*

*A DISCOVERY*

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:

QCRB----AQQCTB----P----K----OATCQB

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--

PIQE----APPISE----N----H----MASIPE

"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--

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

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."

*CHAPTER XV*

*TAR AND FEATHERS*

"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."