Chapter VI: Part 6

"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."

*CHAPTER XVI*

*A RUN AT SANDY COVE*

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.

"SIR" (he wrote),--

"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.

"Yours truly,
"JACK HARDY."

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."

*CHAPTER XVII*

*DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND*

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."

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:

NELSON A SUIVRE VILLENEUVE 9 NAVIRE 2 FREGATE SORTENT DE P MERCREDI BINSEY COVE LUNDI.

"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:

NELSON MOURANT A PALERMO NAVIRE BRISE PLAGE FOWEY CONVOI PETITE CHALOUPE BINSEY COVE LUNDI.

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.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*THE BATTLE OF BINSEY COVE*

"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?

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--_voila!_ 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.

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 melee--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."

*CHAPTER XIX*

*SOME APPOINTMENTS*

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.