Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon

by Herbert Strang

  *CHAPTER VI*

  *SIGNALS*

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

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

  "All right.--I say!"

  "Well?"

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

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

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

  "_Fury_ ahoy!"

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

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

  "Where's Mr. Blake?"

  "Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up with rheumatics. You'rein command, sir, _pro tem_, as brother Sol used to say."

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

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

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

  "Ay, ay, sir."

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

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

  "Yes, sir."

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

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

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

  "Yes, sir. Do you know Luscombe?"

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

  "A good deal of smuggling goes on there, I am told. 'Tis a quiet littleplace, almost hidden away in a recess between the cliffs. It doesn'tseem to have been troubled much by the preventive men."

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

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

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

  "Very well, Turley. Go on deck, Mr. Hardy, and take a run down Channel.Let me know what you think of the _Fury's_ sailing powers; we've nothingbut our speed to trust to if we happen to fall in with the enemy inforce."

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

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

  A fortnight passed away, and Jack, as well as every member of the crew,was growing very tired of the uneventful life. Every day was alike,save for the weather, and that varied little. The cutter cruised up anddown the Channel between Weymouth and Portsmouth, putting inoccasionally to communicate with the riding-officer and to take inprovisions, but finding nothing of any importance to do. The smugglersseemed to be quiet; the only vessels sighted were British merchantmenpassing up or down Channel under convoy, or fishing-smacks out from theEnglish ports. The men grumbled at the lack of chances of obtainingprize money, and Jack was impatient of the inactivity to which he wascondemned. It was all very well to keep the _Fury_ spick and span, herdeck as white as the sails, her brass rails polished to a dazzlingbrilliance; but he would have liked work a little less domestic--workfor the two brass guns that Joe Turley caressed as though they wereliving creatures.

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

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

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

  One evening the _Fury_ was making toward Wynport. She had overhauled asuspicious looking brig passing down Channel, but found that she was aharmless Portuguese sailing in ballast.

  "I know she was a Portuguese," said Joe Turley to his messmates on theforward deck. "But old Turnip-tops, of course he must take his Bibleoath she was a Spaniard, and so we've wasted three or four hours, on thevery night, too, when we're due at the _Goat and Compasses_."

  It had been arranged that half the crew should have a night ashore atWynpor
t--the first since the _Fury_ had spread her sails.

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

  The bo'sun came forward and joined the group.

  "Well, messmates," he said, "we'll be late at the _Goat and Compasses_,and I'm sorry for that, but whenever I'm sorry I think of my brotherSol, who always says, 'Cheer ho! my hearty,' and slaps your back in away that warms the very cockles of your heart. I remember--but what'sthat light?"

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

  "There, to larboard."

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

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

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

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

  "More like at Totley."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Nothing, sir."

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

  Carrying out these orders, Jack found that a mile farther in he lostsight of the light. He thought it worth while to run out again and seeif it had disappeared altogether, but on returning to nearly the samespot at which the cutter had been hove to, he saw that the light wasburning as brightly as ever. All at once it went out. Jack waited forsome time to see if it reappeared, but the shore remaining in perfectblackness he saw no good in delaying further, and weathering the Point,with its spine of jagged rocks running out to sea, ran straight forWynport.

  They had not gone far when Babbage declared he saw a sail on the weatherbeam. Jack instantly put down the helm, but after cruising about forsome time and finding nothing he concluded that the bo'sun had beenmistaken.

  "Another facer for old Onions!" whispered Turley.

  At Wynport Mr. Blake put up at the _Dolphin_, leaving Jack on board.Early in the morning Jack met Mr. Goodman, the riding-officer, on hisway to the inn. He had been informed, Goodman said, that the smugglershad made a run in the night, and that their cargo had been concealedsomewhere about the premises of Gumley, the one-legged mariner on thehill. This news surprised Jack. It had never occurred to him thatGumley could have anything to do with the smugglers. But when hethought of Gumley's seclusion, his mysterious ways, the defenses of hiscottage, and his bulldog, he began to wonder whether dust had beenthrown in his eyes, and the apparently law-abiding gardener was afterall engaged in the illicit trade. He told Lieutenant Blake what he knewof Gumley.

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

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

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

  "Very well, sir," said Jack, and he went off immediately to collect themen. Within half an hour he set out with a dozen of them, well armedwith pikes and cutlasses. They marched through the fields and over thecliffs to Luscombe, avoiding the highroad. Arriving at Gumley'scottage, Jack rapped smartly on the gate and was answered as before by afurious barking from the dog. Gumley was some time in making hisappearance, and Jack, becoming impatient, pulled off his coat, andhoisted himself on to the fence. Seeing who it was, Comely ceased tobark and wagged his tail in friendly recognition. Jack could not helpfeeling a little mean as he stooped and patted the dog's head, stillmore when Gumley appeared from the direction of the cottage, with hisboard in one hand and a fork in the other.

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

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

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

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

  "Me! And you believe it, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Gumley took his pipe from his lips.

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

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

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

  Jack had felt more and more uncomfortable as the search proceeded. Whena square yard of the plot had been cleared of its tall green stalks hesuddenly shouted:

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

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

  He took off his glazed hat as he spoke.

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