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

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  THE SUSPICIOUS CRAFT.

  "Oh, I say, Uncle Paul, isn't it horrible?" cried Rodd the next morning.

  Breakfast was just over, and Captain Chubb had gone on deck, while thewind was howling furiously as if in a rage to find its playthings, sometwo or three hundred vessels of different tonnage, safely moored in theshelter of the harbour, and out of its power to toss here and there andpitch so many helpless ruins to be beaten to pieces upon the shore.

  Down it kept coming right in amongst them, making them check at theirmooring cables and chains, but in vain, for their crews had been toobusy, and the only satisfaction that the tempest could obtain, was tohearken to the miserable dreary groans that were here and there emittedas some of the least fortunate and worst secured ground against eachother.

  "Isn't it horrible, uncle?" shouted Rodd, for the rain just then wasmingled with good-sized hailstones, and was rattling down upon the deckand skylight in a way that half-drowned the lad's voice.

  "Miserable weather, Pickle; but never mind. We must settle down to agood morning's work in the laboratory."

  "Oh no, not yet, uncle; we don't seem to have started. It will only bea makeshift."

  "But we might put things a little more straight, boy."

  "Oh no, uncle; they are too straight now, and I want to go on deck."

  "Bah! It isn't fit. Wait till the weather holds up."

  "Oh, I shall dress up accordingly, uncle. But I say, where does all therain come from? It must be falling in millions of tons everywhere."

  "Ah, you might as well ask me where the wind comes from. Study up somebook on meteorology."

  "Oh yes, I will, uncle; but not yet."

  "Very well; be off."

  Rodd hurried out of the cabin, and five minutes later came back rattlingand crackling, to present himself before his uncle, who thrust up hisspectacles upon his forehead and stared.

  "There," cried Rodd; "don't think I shall get wet. I wish I'd had itthe other night. It's splendid, uncle, and so stiff that if I like tostoop down a little and spread my arms, I can almost rest in it. I say,don't I look like a dried haddock?"

  "Humph! Well, yes, you do look about the same colour," grumbled thedoctor, for the boy was buttoned up in a glistening oilskin coat of abuff yellow tint; the turned-up collar just revealed the tips of hisears, and he was crowned by a sou'-wester securely tied beneath hischin.

  "I say, this will do, won't it?"

  "Yes, you look a beauty!" grunted the doctor; "but there, be off; I wantto write a letter or two."

  Rodd went crackling up the cabin stairs, clump, clump, clump, for he waswearing a heavy pair of fisherman's boots that had been made waterproofby many applications of oil--a pair specially prepared for fishingpurposes and future wading amongst the wonders of coral reef and strand.

  The deck was almost deserted, the only two personages of the schooner'screw being the captain and Joe Cross, both costumed so as to matchexactly with the boy, who now joined them, to begin streaming with waterto the same extent as they.

  They both looked at him in turn, Cross grinning and just showing a glintof his white teeth where the collar of his oilskin joined, while hiscompanion scowled, or seemed to, and emitted a low grumbling sound thatmight have meant welcome or the finding of fault, which of the two Rodddid not grasp, for the skipper turned his back and rolled slowly away asif he were bobbing like a vessel through the flood which covered thedeck and was streaming away from the scuppers.

  As the skipper went right forward and stood by the bowsprit, lookingstraight ahead through the haze formed by the streaming rain, Rodd wasthrown back upon Joe Cross, with whom, almost from the day when the manhad joined, he had begun to grow intimate; and as he went close up tohim, the sailor gave his head a toss to distribute some of the rain thatwas splashing down upon his sou'-wester, and grinning visibly now, hecried--

  "Why, Mr Rodd, sir, you've forgot your umbrella."

  "Get out!" cried Rodd good-humouredly. "But I say, Joe, how long isthis rain going to last?"

  "Looks as if it means to go on for months, sir, but may leave offto-night. I say, though, that's a splendid fit, sir. You do look fine!Are you comfortable in there?"

  Rodd did not answer, for he was trying to pierce the streaming haze andmake out whether the brig was visible.

  For a few moments he could not make it out, but there it was, lookingfaint and strange, about a hundred yards away.

  "That's the brig, isn't it, yonder?" he said at last.

  "Yes, sir, that's she, and they seem to have got her fast now; but shewouldn't hurt us if she broke from her moorings, for the wind's veered apoint or two, and it would take her clear away."

  Rodd remained silent as he stood thinking, he did not know why, unlessit was that the vessel with the tall, dimly-seen tapering spars bore aFrench name, and somehow--again he could not tell why, only that itseemed to him very ridiculous--the shadowy vessel associated itself withthe two French officers he had encountered in the darkness of theprevious night, when he heard one of them after brushing against himmurmur the word "Pardon!" And he found himself thinking that if thevessel had been swept up against the schooner when her anchor wasdragging, it would have been no use for her crew to cry "Pardon!" asthat would not have cured the damage.

  "Well, sir, what do you make of her?" cried the sailor, putting an endto the lad's musings.

  "Can't see much," said Rodd, "for the rain, but she seems beautifullyrigged."

  "Yes, sir, and she can sail well too--for a brig--but I should set herdown as being too heavily sparred, and likely to be top-heavy. If shewas going along full sail, and was caught in such a squall as we hadyesterday, and laid flat like the schooner, I don't believe she'd liftagain. Anyhow, I shouldn't like to be aboard."

  "No, it wouldn't be pleasant," said Rodd; "but I say, I can't seeanything of that long gun you talked about."

  "No wonder, sir. You want that there long water-glass, as you calledit--that there one you showed me as you was unpacking it. Don't youremember? Like a big pipe with panes of glass in it as you said youcould stick down into the sea and make out what was on the bottom. Youwant that now."

  The man passed his hand along the brow edge of his sou'-wester to sweepaway the drops, and then took a long look at the deck of the brig.

  "No, sir; can't make it out now; but I see it plainly enough thismorning, covered with a lashed down tarpaulin as if to hide it, and Iknew at once. I can almost tell a big gun by the smell--I mean feel itlike, if it's there."

  "But do you still think she's a privateer?"

  "Well, I don't say she is, sir, for that's a thing you can't tell forsartain unless you see a ship's papers; but she is something of thatkind, I should say, and--Ay, ay, sir!--There's the skipper hailed me,sir. I say, Mr Rodd, sir, do mind you don't get wet!"

  This was as the man rolled away sailor fashion, and emitting a cracklingwhishing sound as he made for the vessel's bows, where he received someorder from his captain which sent him to the covered-in hatchway of theforecastle, where he slowly disappeared into a kind of haze, half water,half smoke, for several of the water-bound crew had given up the chewingof their tobacco to indulge in pipes.

  But Rodd was in a talkative humour, and made his way to the skipper,saluting him with--

  "I say, Captain Chubb, how do you manage to do it?"

  "Do what, my lad?"

  "Why, say for certain what the weather's going to be."

  There was a low chuckling sound such as might have been emitted by agood-humoured porpoise which had just ended one of its underwatercurves, and thrust its head above the surface to take a good deep breathbefore it turned itself over and dived down again.

  "Second natur', youngster, and that's use. Takes a long time to learn,and when you have larnt your lesson perfect as you think, you find thatyou don't know it a bit."

  "But you did know it," said Rodd. "You said that the storm would comeon again, when it was beautifu
l and fine yesterday evening; and here itis."

  "Well, yes, my lad, if you goes on for years trying to hit something youmust get a lucky shot sometimes."

  "Oh yes, but there's something more than that," said Rodd. "When I havebeen amongst the fishermen in Plymouth, and over in Saltash, I havewondered to find how exact they were about the weather, and how wheneverthey wouldn't take us out fishing they were always right. They seemedto know that bad weather was coming on."

  "Oh, of course," said the skipper. "Why, my lad, if you got your livingby going out in your boat, don't you think the first thing you would tryto learn would be to make it your living?"

  "Why, of course," cried Rodd.

  "Ah, you don't mean the same as I do. I mean, make it your living andnot your dying."

  "Oh, I see."

  "You wouldn't want," continued the skipper, "to go out at times thatmight mean having them as you left at home standing on the shore lookingout to sea for a boat as would never come back."

  "No," said the boy, with something like a sigh. "I know what you mean.Ah, it has been very horrible sometimes, and all those littlechurchyards at the different villages about the coast with that regular`Drowned at sea' over and over and over again."

  "Right, my lad. Things go wrong sometimes; but that's what makessailors and fishermen get to learn what the moon says and the sun andthe clouds, and the bit of haze that gathers sometimes off the coastmeans. Why, if you'd looked out yesterday afternoon when the wind wentdown and the glint of sunshine come out, there was a nasty dirty look inthe sky. You wait a bit and keep your eyes open, and put that and thattogether, and as you grow up you'll find that it isn't so hard as you'dthink to say what the weather is going to be to-morrow. You'll often bewrong, same as I am."

  "Ah! then I shall begin at once," cried Rodd eagerly, as he lookedsharply round. "Well, it can't go on pelting down like this with hailcoming now and then in showers. Showers come and go."

  "Right!" said the skipper, clapping him on the shoulder.

  "Oh!" cried Rodd sharply.

  "Hullo! Why, you don't mean to say that hurt?"

  "Hurt! No," cried Rodd, shaking his head violently. "You shot a lot ofcold water right up into my ear."

  "Oh, that will soon dry up. Well, what do you say the weather's goingto be?"

  "The storm soon over, and a fine day to-morrow."

  "Done?" asked the skipper.

  "Oh yes; but mind, that's only a try."

  "Then it's my turn now, youngster, so here goes. I say we shall haveworse weather to-morrow than we have got to-day."

  "Oh, it can't be!" cried Rodd.

  "Well," cried the skipper, chuckling, "we shall see who's right."

  "Oh, but I don't want for us to have to stop here in this French port."

  "More don't I, my lad, so we think the same there. You going to stop ondeck?"

  "Yes, till dinner-time," cried Rodd, and just then the haze of rain outseaward opened a little, revealing the brig with its tall spars and webof rigging.

  This somehow set the boy thinking about the escape from accident whenthey came into port, and then of the encounter ashore, and he begantalking.

  "It's no use to go down below. It's so stuffy, and I want to chat. Isay, captain, what do you think of that brig?"

  "Very smartly built craft indeed, my lad--one as I should like to sailif I could do as I liked."

  "Do as you liked?" asked Rodd.

  "Yes; alter her rig--make a schooner of her. But as she is she's aspretty a vessel as I ever see--for a brig. Frenchmen don't often turnout a boat like that."

  "What should you think she is?" asked Rodd. "A merchantman?"

  "No, my lad; I should say she was something of a dispatch boat, thoughshe aren't a man-of-war. I don't quite make her out. She's got a verysmart crew, and I saw two of her officers go aboard in some sort ofuniform, though it was too dark to quite make it out."

  "But if she's a man-of-war she would carry guns, wouldn't she?" askedRodd.

  "Well, I don't think she's a man-of-war, my lad," replied the skipper;"but she do carry guns, and one of them's a big swivel I just sawamidships. But men-of-war, merchantmen, and coasters, we're all alikein a storm, and glad to get into shelter."

  "Yes, it is a fine-looking brig. Is she likely to be a privateer?"

  "Eh? What do you know about privateers?"

  "Oh, not much," said Rodd. "But going about at Plymouth and talking tothe sailors, of course I used to hear something about them."

  "Well, yes, of course," said the skipper thoughtfully, as he too sweptthe drops from the front of his sou'-wester, and tried to pierce thefalling rain. "She might be a French privateer out of work, as you maysay, for their game's at an end now that the war's over. Yes, a verysmart craft."

  "But do you think she's here for any particular purpose?"

  "Yes, my lad; a very particular purpose."

  "Ah!" cried the boy rather excitedly. "What?"

  "To take care of herself and keep in harbour till the weather turnsright. Why? What were you thinking?"

  "I was wondering why she came in so close after us, and then anchoredwhere she is."

  "Oh, I can tell you that," said the skipper, chuckling. "It was becauseshe couldn't help herself."

  "Then you don't think she was watching us?"

  "No-o! What should she want to watch us for?"

  "Why, to take us as a prize, seeing what a beautiful little schooner itis."

  "Bah! She'd better not try," said the skipper grimly. "Why, what stuffhave you got in your head, boy? We are not at war with France."

  "No-o," said Rodd thoughtfully; "but her captain might have taken afancy to the _Maid of Salcombe_, and I've read that privateers are notvery particular when they get a chance. And the war's only just over."

  "No. But then, you see, my lad, even if you were right, that brigwouldn't have a chance."

  "Why, suppose she waited till we had sailed, and followed till shethought it was a good opportunity, and then her captain led his menaboard and took her?"

  "Oh, I see," said the skipper dryly. "Well, my lad, as I say, shewouldn't have a chance. First, because she couldn't catch us, for giveme sea room I could sail right round her."

  "Ah, but suppose it was a calm, and she sent her boats full of men onboard to take us?"

  "Well, what then?"

  "What then? Why, wouldn't that be very awkward?" asked Rodd.

  "Very, for them," said the skipper grimly. "What would my boys beabout?"

  "Why, they'd be taken prisoners."

  "I should just like to see her try," said the skipper. "If the boats'crews of that brig were to get a lodgment aboard my craft, how long doyou think it would take our lads to clear them off?"

  "Oh, I am sure our crew would be very brave, but I should say thatbrig's got twice as many men as we have."

  "What of that?" said the skipper contemptuously.

  "Well, then," said Rodd argumentatively, "she's got her guns, and mightsink us."

  "And we've got our guns, and might sink her," growled the skipper."Look here, my lad; why did I give my lads gun drill and cutlass andpike drill, while you and the doctor were taking in your tackle and bagsof tricks?"

  "Why, to defend the schooner against any savages who might attack uswhen we are off the West Coast or among the islands."

  "Right, my lad. Well, as Pat would say, by the same token couldn't theyjust as well fight a pack of Frenchies as a tribe of niggers? Bah!You're all wrong. It's quite like enough that yon brig may have beenfitted out for a privateer, though I rather think she wouldn't be fastenough. But that game's all over, and we are all going to be at peacenow we have put Bony away like a wild beast in a cage and he can't doanybody any hurt. There, you needn't fidget yourself about that. Allthe same, I don't quite understand why a craft that isn't a man-of-war,but carries a long gun amidships and has officers in uniform aboard,should be taking refuge in this port. I dunno. She looks too sma
rt andclean, but it might mean that she's going to the West Coast,blackbirding."

  "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Rodd. "Why, that's what you thought about us,Captain Chubb."

  "So I did; so I did, my lad," said the skipper good-humouredly. "Yousee, I am like other men--think I am very wise, but I do stupid thingssometimes. Well, I'll be safe this time, and say I don't know what sheis, and I don't much care. But I am pretty sure that she aren't afterus, and I dare say, if the truth's known, she don't think we are afterher. There, squint out yonder to windward. That don't look like fineweather, does it?"

  "No; worse than ever!" cried Rodd.

  "That's so, my lad, and you may take this for certain; we shan't sailto-day, and you won't see another vessel put out to sea. Take my wordfor it."

  "That I will, Captain Chubb!" cried the boy earnestly, and the skippernodded his head so quickly that the water flew off in a shower.

  But, as some wag once said, the wisest way is to wait till aftersomething has happened before you begin to prophesy about it.

  Captain Chubb had probably never heard about the wisdom of thisproceeding in foretelling events, for it so happened that in spite ofthe storm increasing in violence for many hours, his words proved to beentirely wrong.