The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  PRIVATE EARS.

  The schooner was run safely into port, but just before she cleared theharbour mouth, down came a tremendous squall of wind as if from roundthe corner of some impossible solid cloud behind which an ambush of thestorm had been lying in wait for the brave little vessel.

  Down it came all at once, just when least expected, and in a few secondsas it struck the little vessel, rushing, in spite of the small amount ofcanvas spread, rapidly for the shelter, every one on deck snatched atthe nearest object to which he could cling. The schooner bravelyresisted for a while, careening over and then rising again, and thendown she went with her masts almost flat upon the foam, and then lyingover more and more as Rodd clung hard with one hand and involuntarilystretched out the other to his uncle as if to say good-bye. For he feltcertain as the water came surging over the leeward rail that the nextminute their voyage would be ended, and the _Maid of Salcombe_ be goingdown.

  It was one horror of breathlessness in the shrieking wind, while thestorm-driven spray cut and lashed and flogged at the crew.

  "It's all over," gasped the boy, in his excitement, though somehow eventhen there was no feeling of fear.

  Another minute as she still dashed on, plunging through the waves, thevessel began to right again, the masts rising more and more towards theperpendicular, and the water that seemed to have been scooped up in thehollows of the well-reefed sails came streaming back in showers upon thedeck.

  Another minute and Rodd began to get his breath again, panting hard andfeeling as if some great hand had been grasping him by the throat andhad at last released its hold, while as the schooner now skimmed on,every furlong taking her more into shelter, the squall had passed overthem and went sweeping along far away over the town ahead, and the boyfelt a strong grip upon his arm.

  Rodd turned sharply, to face Cross the sailor, who held on to him withhis left while he used his right hand to clear his eyes from the spray.

  "All right," he said, with his lips close to the boy's ear, so as tomake himself heard, while Rodd winced, for as the man leaned towards himhe poured something less than a pint of salt water from off histightly-tied-on oilskin sou'-wester right into his eyes.

  Rodd nodded without attempting to speak, and the sailor laughed.

  There was something so genial and content in the man's looks, that itsent a thrill of satisfaction through the boy's breast, telling as itdid that they were out of danger, while, as they rapidly glided on, theshrieking of the wind through the rigging grew less and less and themotion of the schooner more and more steady as the harbour was gained.

  "Say, my lad," said Cross, "I thought we was going to make our firstdive after specimens, and the _Saucy Sally_ seemed to be holding herbreath as she stuck her nose down into it and then jibbed and threwherself over sideways as if she knowed there wasn't depth enough ofwater for the job."

  "Hah!" gasped Rodd hoarsely, for he had been taking in spray as well aswind, and he had now nearly recovered the power of breathing easily andwell. "Why, Joe, I thought we were sinking."

  "Nay, my lad; not us! The _Sally_ was too well battened down, andcouldn't have sunk; but I was getting a bit anxious when it looked as ifwe was going to miss the harbour mouth and go floating in ashore lyingdown as if we had all gone to sleep."

  "Yes, it was horrible," said Rodd, with a sigh of relief. "But whatwould have happened if we had missed the mouth and gone ashore?"

  "Why, what does happen, my lad, when a ship does that? Bumps, and asale arterwards of new-wrecked timber on the beach. But here we are allright, and instead of being ashamed of ourselves we can look themounseers full in the face and tell 'em that if they can manage a betterbit of seamanship than the skipper, they had better go and show us how."

  Joe Cross said no more, for Captain Chubb was roaring orders through aspeaking trumpet, the last bit of canvas was lowered down, and beforelong the schooner was safely moored in the outer harbour as far away asshe could safely get from the vessels that had taken refuge before them,some of them grinding together and damaging their paint and wood, inspite of their busy crews hard at work with fenders and striving to getinto safer quarters, notwithstanding the efforts of the heavy gustswhich came bearing down from time to time.

  The nearest vessel was a handsome-looking brig which they had passed asthey glided in, noting that she was moored head to wind to a heavy buoy.As they passed her to run nearer into shelter Rodd had noticed the nameupon her stern, the _Jeanne d'Arc_, which suggested immediately thepatriotic Maid of Orleans.

  He had forgotten it the next moment, the name being merged with thethought that while the schooner had had so narrow an escape of endingher voyage, the brig had been lying snugly moored to the buoy. But nowas they glided on it became evident that the brig had broken adrift, forall at once, as she lay rolling and jerking at her mooring cable, thedistance between her bows and the huge ringed cask seemed to have growngreater, and from where Rodd stood he could see the glisteningtarpaulins of her crew as they hurried forward in a cluster, and CaptainChubb bellowed an order from where he stood astern, to his men.

  "Aren't coming aboard of us, are they?" thought Rodd, as, heard abovethe wind during a comparative lull, Captain Chubb was roaring out freshorders to his crew; for he had fully grasped the danger, and the menwere ready to slip their cable moorings and glide farther in under barepoles.

  But fortunately this fresh disaster did not come to pass, for as thebrig bore down upon them there was a rush and splash from her bows, ananchor went down, checking her progress a little, then a little more, asshe still came on nearer as if to come crash into the schooner's bows,and Captain Chubb raised his speaking trumpet to his lips to bid his menlet go, prior to ordering them to stand by ready to lower their ownanchor in turn when at a safe distance, when the brig's progressreceived a sudden check, her anchor held, and she was brought up shortnot many yards away.

  "Smart," said Captain Chubb, "for a mounseer;" and he looked at Rodd ashe spoke, before tucking his speaking trumpet under his arm and thengiving himself a shake like a huge yellow Newfoundland dog to get rid ofthe superabundant moisture. "Well, squire," he continued, as he cameclose up, "what should you do next?"

  Rodd looked at him as if puzzled by the question. Then putting hishands to his mouth he shouted back--

  "I should get farther into the harbour, in case that brig broke awayagain."

  "Of course you would," said the captain, with a grim smile. "Now, don'tyou pretend again that you aren't a sailor, because that was spoken likea good first mate. But we will wait for a lull before we let go, for Idon't want to lose no tackle. But the gale aren't over yet."

  "But we are safe, captain?" said the boy.

  "Yes," grunted the captain. "Better off than them yonder," and hepointed to a good-sized vessel which had been running for the harbour,but in vain, for she had been carried on too far and was swept away, totake the shore a mile distant.

  The lull foretold by Captain Chubb enabled him to slip from his mooringsand get the schooner into a sheltered position which he deemedsufficiently snug and far enough away from the brig, whose captain didnot manifest any intention of coming farther in.

  As they were parting company Rodd was standing right forward close toCross, who stood spelling out the name of the brig they were leavingbehind.

  "_Jenny de Arc_" he grunted to Rodd. "That's a rum name for a smartbrig like that. Wonder what she is. I never see'd Jenny spelt likethat afore. That's the French way of doing it, I suppose."

  Rodd took upon himself to explain whose name the brig bore, and thesailor gave vent to a musical growl.

  "Shouldn't have knowed it," he said; "but as I was a-saying, I wonderwhat she is. Looks to me like what they calls a private ear."

  "Why, that's a man-of-war, isn't it, Joe?"

  "Well, a kind of a sort of one, you know, sir. One of them as goes offin war times to hark in private for any bit of news about well-ladenmerchantmen, and then goes
off to capture them."

  "But what makes you think that, Joe?" asked Rodd. "Why, look at herrig, sir. See what a heap of sail she could carry. I don't hold with abrig for fast-sailing, but look at the length of them two masts, and seehow she's pierced for guns. She has shut up shop snug enough on accountof the storm, but I'll wager she could run out some bulldogs--I mean,French poodles--as could bark if she liked. Then there's a big long gunamidships."

  "I didn't see it," said Rodd. "Maybe not, my lad, but I did."

  "Well, but a merchantman might carry guns to defend herself, Joe."

  "Ay, she might, sir; but she wouldn't, unless she was going on a joblike ours and wanted to scare off savages; and that aren't likely, for Ishould say we are the only vessel afloat as is going on such a fishingexpedition as ours. And then look at her crew."

  "What about her crew?" said Rodd. "It seemed to be a very good one sofar as I could see."

  "A deal too good, sir. Who ever saw a merchantman with such a crew asthat? Didn't you see how smart they were in obeying orders and gettingdown that anchor?"

  "Why, no smarter than our crew," said Rodd rather indignantly.

  "Smarter than our crew, Mr Rodd, sir! I should think not!" cried thesailor. "Why, they are French! Still it was very tidy for them. Ishould like to know, though, what they are. I do believe I'm right, andthat she is a private ear. Not been watching us, has she? Seems ratherqueer."

  "Why should she be watching us?"

  "Why should a private ear be watching any smart schooner, except to makea prize of her?"

  "Oh, but that's in time of war," cried Rodd. "Ay, sir, but your privateears aren't very particular about that. This is near enough to war timestill, and if I was our skipper I should keep a good sharp eye on thatcraft. But he knows pretty well what he's about. His head is screwedon the right way. But I say, Mr Rodd, how should you like a bit of thereal thing, same as we used to have when I was in a King's ship?"

  "What, a naval action?"

  "Oh, you may call it that, sir, if you like. I mean a bit of realFrench and English, and see which is best man."

  "Oh, nonsense! That's all over now, Joe."

  "I don't know so much about that, sir."

  "But we are in a friendly port, Joe, and no French ship would dareattack one of ours."

  "No, sir, I know they daren't do it," said the man stubbornly; "but ifthey could catch us asleep they might have a try. But there, don't yoube uncomfortable. There's too much of the weasel about our skipper, andhe'll be too wide awake to let any Frenchman catch him asleep."

  "Ah, you are thinking a lot of nonsense, Joe," said Rodd. "The war isall at an end, and Napoleon Bonaparte shut up in prison at Saint Helena.There'll be no more fighting now."

  "Well, sir, I suppose you are right," said the man, with something likea sigh; "but you see, like some of my mates, I have seen a bit ofsarvice in a King's ship, and we have got our guns on board, and we havejust now been lying alongside--I should say bow and stern--of aFrenchman so as we could slew round and rake her; and it sets a manthinking. But there, I suppose you are right, and there will be nofighting for us this voyage."

  "Of course there won't be. We are friends now with France."

  "Yes, sir, and the French pretends to be friends with us; but all thesame if I was the skipper I should double my night watch and be well onthe look-out for squalls.--Ay, ay, sir!"

  Joe Cross answered a hail from the skipper, and was directly after busyat work helping his mates to make all snug aloft, for the wind had sunknow into a pleasant soft gale which seemed to suggest fine weather; butCaptain Chubb shook his head and frowned very severely as he looked outto windward.

  "Nay, my lad," he said, "we have made our start and got as far as here,but it don't seem to me like getting away just yet, for there's a lot ofweather hanging about somewhere, and as we are in no hurry and are snugin port, I am not going to run the risk of losing any of my tackle whilethe wind is shifting about like this. If I was you I should go in for ageneral dry up, and maybe you and your uncle, if the rain holds off,would like to go and have a look round the town."

  The skipper moved away, and Rodd went to the side to have another lookat the French brig, and then, not satisfied, he went below to fetch thesmall spy-glass, finding his uncle busy re-arranging some of hisapparatus in the laboratory, and as he did not seem to be required, theboy took the small telescope from where it hung and made his way backagain on deck, where he focussed the glass and began to scan the brig,scrutinising her rig and everything that he could command, from trucksto deck, making out the long gun covered by a great tarpaulin, and thenbringing the glass to bear upon such of the crew as came within hisscope.

  And as he watched the well-built, smartly-rigged vessel with suchknowledge as he had acquired during his life at the great English port,he made out, though fairly distant now, that there seemed to besomething in Joe Cross's remarks, so that when he closed his glass to godown below, he began to dwell on the possibility of the smart brig beingindeed a privateer, and this set him thinking of how horrible it wouldbe if she did turn inimical and make an attempt at what would have beenquite an act of piracy if she had followed the _Maid of Salcombe_ out tosea and seized her as a prize.

  "Why, it would break uncle's heart, after all his preparations for theexpedition," mused the boy; "and besides it would be so treacherous.But Captain Chubb would not give up, I am sure. I never thought of itbefore, but he must have thought a good deal more about an accident suchas this happening when he was taking such pains to drill and train themen. What did he say--that as we were going along a coast where thepeople were very savage and spent most of their time in war andfighting, we ought to be prepared for danger, in case we were attacked.Was he thinking of the French as well as the savages when he said this?Perhaps so. If one of his men thought so, why shouldn't he? Well, Iwill ask him first time I get him alone. Hullo! What are they doingthere? Somebody going ashore from the brig."

  Rodd could see with the naked eye the lowering down of a ship's boatover the brig's side, and that made him quickly focus his glass again,and while he was busy scanning the boat as it kissed the water and theoars fell over the side, Joe Cross came up behind him and made himstart.

  "Well, sir," he said, "what do you make of her now?"

  "Nothing, Joe," said the boy, "only that it seems a very nice brig."

  "Very, sir, and well-manned. Look at that."

  "What?" asked the boy.

  "That there boat they've lowered down, and how she's manned. She's nomerchantman. Look at the way they are rowing. Why, they're likemen-of-war's men, every one. I don't like the looks of she, and if theold skipper don't get overhauling her with them there eyes of his I'm aDutchman; and that's what I ain't."

  "Ah, you make mountains of molehills, Joe," said Rodd.

  "Maybe, sir; maybe. But I suppose it's all a matter of eddication andtraining to keep watch. There, you see, it's always have your eyesopen, night or day. For a man as goes to sea on board a man-of-war,meaning a King's ship, has to see enemies wherever they are and whereverthey aren't, for even if there bean't none, a chap has to feel thatthere might be, and if he's let anything slip without seeing on it, why,woe betide him! There y'are, sir! Look at that there boat. You havehung about Plymouth town and seen things enough there to know as thatthere aren't a merchant brig."

  "Well, she doesn't look like a merchant's shore boat, certainly," saidRodd, with his eyes still glued to the end of the telescope.

  "Right, sir," cried Joe Cross. "Well, then, sir, as she aren't amerchant brig's boat, and the brig herself aren't a man-of-war, perhapsyou will tell me what she is? You can't, sir?"

  "No, Joe."

  "No more can I, sir; but if we keeps our eyes open I dare say we shallsee."