Chapter II: Part 2

Jack felt a trifle bored. It was much beneath his dignity as a midshipman of his Majesty King George to be fighting fisher lads in the open fish-market of Luscombe, but it would have been still more beneath his dignity to refuse the challenge and have the pack of fisher lads at his heels. He was relieved to find that the Square was quite deserted save for the group about him. A few seconds earlier he had had an impression that there were a number of fisher folk about. The people had, in fact, hastily retired into their cottages when they saw what was afoot. They had no objection to the lad's trouncing a king's officer, but when that officer happened to be a relative of Squire Bastable at the Grange it was perhaps just as well not to countenance the fight openly. For they had no doubt that Jan Lamiger would win. He stood half a head higher than the midshipman, and was probably three stone heavier. And, moreover, he had some little reputation in the neighborhood as a boxer and wrestler. Had he not thrown all comers at Wickham Fair? And knocked Tom Buggins, the light-weight, clean out of time at Casterbridge only last month?

It was a somewhat rough battle-ground; the cobbles of the Square would make a hard fall; but neither of the combatants had chosen the spot, nor did it occur to them to seek a more convenient place for their encounter.

Those were the days in which skill in the use of the fists was a real title to consideration among all classes, high and low. And fortunately for Jack, it was an art cultivated with great perseverance by the young gentlemen of H.M.S. _Ariadne_. A new midshipman had to fight his way into the right to call anything his own. So frequent were the battles on board, that the art had reached a very high degree of perfection. Even the muscular heroes of the prize-ring might have envied the quickness of eye, the wariness, the nimbleness of movement, the skill in feint, of these young warriors.

The group had become by this time enlarged by the addition of several other boys, big and small, eager to see the fight and the imminent discomfiture of the king's officer. They drew away to give the principals fighting room. The two at once got to work. In the first half-minute Jack found that he had no novice to deal with, and that in sheer physical strength he was hopelessly outmatched. But the big lumbering fisher had nothing like the quickness of wit or the science of the slighter midshipman. Hitherto he had won his bouts by staying power added to a certain rudimentary knowledge of fisticuffs that might pass for skill among the yokels at a country fair. But in all his previous battles he had never met an opponent who forced the pace like this one. Where was he? He seemed to be on all sides at once. Jan dealt what he firmly believed was a staggering right-hander, only to hit air and to feel a smart tap on the left side of his chin. He flung out his left hand, and before he knew what was happening, he felt a similar tap on the right side. This kept things even, but it spoilt Jan's temper. He forgot his science in his irritation, and lurched forward to give full effect to his weight and height. The result was disastrous. Where did that whack in the left eye come from? He had hardly realized that he could not see quite so well as usual, when something very hard and knobby came into his right eye, and while the stars were still dancing before him a neat left-hander from Jack sent him reeling back on to the cobblestones, where he sat up and peered about him dazedly.

It was clear that the battle was over in a single round. There was no fight left in Jan. The crowd was silent now. Several were assisting Jan to rise, and Jack quickly rolled down his sleeves, put on his hat and coat, and walked away, leaving the Square by the alley through which he had entered it. Perfect stillness reigned in the village; but Jack was conscious that the windows and doorways were now filled with faces watching the scene. He smiled as he left the village behind him.

*CHAPTER IV*

*CONGLETON'S HOLLOW*

Jack was beginning to enjoy himself. There is something bracing in antagonism: the knowledge that he was regarded as an enemy by the people of Luscombe, so far from daunting him, whetted his appetite for duty. He made up his mind to say nothing to Mr. Bastable of what had occurred.

When he got back to the Grange he found the household bubbling with an excitement of its own. Mr. Bastable had brought back with him two new suits of yeomanry uniform, and Tony, the coachman, and Andrew, the groom, had just fitted them on and were displaying their finery to the admiring eyes of Molly, the cook, and Betty, the housemaid. The men grinned sheepishly as Jack passed them.

"Bean't they fine, Measter Jack?" said Molly, giggling.

"Splendid! You won't be afraid of Boney now."

"Sakes alive, no, sir! But I be mortal afeard o' William's blunderbuss. It do look a terrible deathly instrument, to be sure; and what would happen to us if it went off by accident goodness only knows."

William was the gardener, who, though too old and bent to make an efficient yeoman, had been armed, like Overcombe, the butler, with a blunderbuss, Mr. Bastable having thought it worth while to give the men of his household weapons of defense.

"You never know," he said to Jack; "Boney may land or he may not; if he lands, the more men we have to fight him, the better; and a blunderbuss behind a wall may do some damage. I'm going to exercise 'em every day."

"And what about Monsieur de Fronsac, cousin? Will you arm him, too?"

"Well, I didn't intend to. I thought I could hardly expect him to fight against his own countrymen. But he is so bitter against the Monster that he declares he won't remain neutral. While his countrymen lick the feet of the Monster, he says, he disowns 'em. He's got a pistol, and uncommon handy he is with it, too. There he is," he added, as a loud report was heard; "he's practising behind the coach-house. Let us go and see what he can do."

De Fronsac smiled when he saw them.

"You see, Messieurs, I exercise myself," he said. As he spoke he stooped and lifted a horn button from the ground. Walking up to the wall he placed the button edgewise against a brick; turned, stepped a dozen paces, swung round, and almost without seeming to take aim, fired. The button was shattered into small fragments.

Jack could not but envy the Frenchman's skill.

"You must have had plenty of practice, Monsieur," he said.

"Yes, truly. Ve of the noblesse know to use de pistol, assuredly."

Next day there was to be a yeomanry parade at Wickham Ferrers. Arthur begged off his lessons for the day, wishing to go with Jack to see the training. There were no horses for them to ride or drive, Mr. Bastable's three being required to mount himself and his men, so they had to walk. It was only six miles; they started early, and were on the field before the troops arrived. They got a good deal of amusement out of the scene. Many of the yeomen were raw recruits who found the management of horses and arms at the same time somewhat beyond them. Falls were frequent, and the officers got very red in the face with the exertion of commanding and countermanding. When the parade was over, the two boys had early dinner with Mr. Bastable and the other officers at the _Wickham Arms_, and started to walk back in the cool of the evening.

They came by a path that led past the tower once inhabited by the melancholy Congleton. Jack looked up at it, wondering what sort of place that lonely room at the top was. But Arthur said that the only doorway was strongly barricaded, and Jack was not inclined to waste time in breaking in. Another half-mile brought them to the middle of the Hollow. Jack had not mentioned the incident of two nights before; it would seem too much like prying into De Fronsac's affairs; but he was thinking of it when a shot rang out from the depths of the copse, followed by a cry. Arthur paused in the act of capturing a belated butterfly.

"What's that, Jack?"

"A cry for help! Come on!"

He vaulted the wall; after a moment's hesitation Arthur scrambled over; and they dashed toward the thickest part of the wood, Jack a few yards ahead. Heedless of scratches and tears they pushed through the tangle in the direction of the sounds, and, Jack suddenly finding himself blocked by a thick clump of brambles, Arthur came panting up to him.

"Over there, Jack, I think!" he said. "I heard some one moving."

He pointed to the left. They listened; there was no sound but the ripple of a tiny stream.

"Let's go on!" said Jack in a whisper, pointing ahead. "'Twas there the sound first came from."

He disentangled himself from the bush, not without damage to hands and clothes, and skirting the obstacle, the two pushed still deeper into the wood, dim in spite of the glow of the westering sun. In a few moments they saw through the trees a more brightly-lit patch of ground, and came to an open glade, covered with fern and tall grass run to seed. At the far side stood the ruins of a large timber summer-house, built of logs something like those of the pioneers in America of which Jack had read. It was somewhat dilapidated. But what took his attention immediately was the figure of a man sitting on one of the fallen logs, apparently stanching with a red handkerchief a wound in the head.

As the two boys made their appearance at the edge of the glade the man started and tried to rise; but he staggered back with a groan, and continuing clumsily to stanch his wound, eyed them sullenly with uneasy suspicion as they approached.

Jack went up to him impulsively.

"We heard a shot and a cry. Did you call out?" he asked. "You are hurt. Can we do anything?"

The man was an undersized, mean-featured, ill-conditioned looking fellow. He had a low beetling brow, and his cheeks were black with the unshorn growth of several weeks. He was evidently badly hurt, and, villainous though he looked, Jack was eager to aid him.

"It is nothing," said the man, in a low and surly tone, with a slight foreign accent. "I am getting better, if only the bleeding would stop!"

Jack could see the handkerchief was drenched with blood.

"You were shot! Who fired?" he asked.

"Ah, who? I want to know. It was all at once. I did not see."

"And how did it happen, then?"

"Why, I walk along, looking straight in front, when behind me a shot is fired. I feel the pain. I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see, the bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least. A little lower, and without doubt I am a dead man."

"And you did not see who fired?"

"No, how can I? I turn round; but the villain hears you as you come, and he escapes. That way I hear him go."

He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur.

"It was some robber, without doubt," he added.

Jack looked uneasily around. Where was the man? Perhaps still in the copse ready to repeat his shot. But with another glance at the victim Jack felt that there was something strange in his story. Who would rob an ill-clad, dirty-looking fellow like this? He did not appear worth the pains. And what had brought him to the Hollow? He was certainly a foreigner; the copse was off the highway; what was he doing there?

From beneath his black shaggy brows the man was keenly watching. Apparently he saw by Jack's expression that doubts were crossing his mind. Still dabbing his head he began to speak again.

"I am unlucky. I am of Spitalfields, a silk weaver. At Wickham Ferrers I have at the inn fine silks. I visit the nobility and gentry; they give me orders. I am on my way to the house of Mr. Bastable--the squire, people call him. He is rich; his lady will buy my silks."

"But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable's."

"Is it not? They told me there was a short cut through the wood. Ah! the villains! It is a trap. They had me here to shoot me. Yes, that is it."

"And your samples?"

The man started.

"Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking round. "They steal them. But I have others at Wickham Ferrers, at the inn. I go for them at once."

He rose as he spoke. Erect, he stood a head shorter than Jack.

"I beg you keep close to me till we are out of the wood. Ah! I feel sick, I am not able to walk so far. I am shaken; I can not wait on a lady this evening. Can you tell me a lodging in the village?"

"Do you know of one, Arthur?"

"There's old Mother Philpot; she could put him up."

"I thank you. Philpot: I will remember the name."

The boys walked with him until they reached the edge of the plantation. Then Arthur pointed out the path that led down to the village; the man refused their offer of further assistance, and when he had gone from sight they struck off at an angle toward the Grange.

Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and talked about it all the way home. Jack was puzzled. It seemed so unlikely that a peddler carrying silks should go so far out of his way, and that he should be set upon and robbed of a bundle of samples when the more valuable bulk of his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers.

At dinner he mentioned the occurrence. Mr. Bastable was as much annoyed as concerned.

"This won't do," he said. "We're a peaceable and law-abiding folk here."

"The smugglers, cousin?"

"Oh! the smugglers!" Mr. Bastable's face again wore that strange quizzical smile that Jack had noticed whenever smuggling was mentioned. "That's another matter. I say we're a law-abiding folk. There hasn't been a robbery, an assault, or anything of that kind, for years. So near the Grange, too. As a justice of the peace, I must see that fellow and get a description of the assailant; we'll raise the hue and cry and have him fast by the heels, I warrant him. I'll send Tony to Mother Philpot at once."

"He said he didn't see the man who fired the shot."

"Nonsense. How could any one take his samples without being seen?"

"Permit me," said De Fronsac, smiling. "From vat Monsieur Jack says, de poor man is a compatriot. He is a weaver of Spitalfields, but he talk viz a foreign accent. De French families in Spitalfields have been dere so many generations dat dey are now English; dey vould have no accent, and dis poor man must be, as I myself, a victim of de troubles in France of dis day--perhaps he is a victim of dat Monstair. Vill it not be convenient dat I go to see him at his lodgment, and speak to him in his own language, and learn all dat he has to tell?"

"'Tis very good of you, Monsieur; but I don't want to spoil your dinner, and this must be done at once, or the villain will get away."

"De dinner, it is noding!" said De Fronsac with a smile, not perceiving the little grimace that for an instant showed itself on Kate's lips, or the glance exchanged between her and her mother. "I vill go at once. I do anyzing to serve a friend like you, Monsieur," he said, with a low bow as he rose.

After De Fronsac's departure the family discussed the incident at length, Mr. Bastable becoming more and more indignant as he thought of the outrage committed in that quiet spot and so near his own doors. But Jack felt very uneasy. He could not help connecting the event with the voices he had heard in the copse two nights before. The speakers had seemed to be in altercation; one of them had been De Fronsac. And De Fronsac had offered to go and question the injured man. Jack wondered whether he had better tell his cousin what was passing through his mind, but he did not like to make him uneasy or suspicious if, after all, there was no cause for it. So he decided to say nothing--at least, until De Fronsac had reported the result of his interview.

The family were in the drawing-room when the tutor returned.

"I have accomplish' my mission," he said. "I am hot; I valk fast. De man is indeed, I regret to say, a compatriot. He is in England from a young man; vid his parents he arrive fourteen years ago, ven de troubles began. I dink he is honest man. He see only very little bit of de man vat shoot him, but it seem he vas short, and zick, and vid red hair. Dat is vun zing he know: de man had de hair red."

"Red-haired men are as common as blackberries in these parts," said Mr. Bastable. "That won't help us much. Why didn't the fellow use his eyes to better purpose? I warrant, if a man shot me I'd know a little more about him. However, I'll send Tony to Wickham Ferrers, and we'll have some men out scouring the country. Unluckily 'tis getting dark."

Mr. Bastable went to bed later than usual that night, in case the man should be caught and brought before him as a justice of the peace for committal. But the searchers had made no discovery, and the squire at last retired, going round the house with more than usual care to see that doors and windows were carefully bolted.

Next morning they were seated at breakfast when Tony knocked at the door and came in with a face full of news.

"Please, sir, there's bin housebreaking now. Mother Philpot's house were broke into last night, and the Mounseer carried off."

"What! what!" shouted Mr. Bastable with a very red face, holding upright the knife and fork with which he was carving a fine piece of pickled pork.

"'Tis true, sir. Mother Philpot were just gwine up along to roost, when there come a knock at the door. She opened, poor soul, and three men with faces black as sut pushed past. One caught her by the arm and told her to be mum and no harm would come o't; t'others went into Mounseer's chimmer and pulled un out as soon as they'd got his coat and things on, and took un away. He was all a-shaking, sir. Mother Philpot says, says she: 'A were a-trembling like an apsen, and so were I!'"

"This is monstrous!" cried Mr. Bastable, pushing back his chair.

"Alas! my compatriot is in danger yet still," said De Fronsac, carefully folding his napkin.

"And the silks! I had set my heart on a plum-colored dress, Humfrey," said Mrs. Bastable.

"Silks! Fiddlesticks! 'tis an outrage; 'tis contempt of court! 'tis--'tis--hang it! I don't know what it isn't. Tony, get my horse saddled. I'll ride over to Wickham myself, and get the colonel to scour the country with dragoons, or we'll send to Budmouth for those fellows of the German Legion, and see what they're good for. We can't allow this sort of thing in Luscombe, and by George! we won't."

The angry squire strode away, leaving his breakfast unfinished.

"Your poor father will be so hungry, and so bad-tempered all day," said Mrs. Bastable, whom nothing seemed to ruffle. "Jack, will you carve the pork? You have not finished, Monsieur de Fronsac?"

"Absolutely, Madame," said the Frenchman with a bow and a smile. "Dere is yet an hour before ve study; I vill valk to de village and back. De fresh air it is salubrious; and de fishermen interess me. My estates vere in Brittany; and in my days of youth I pass much time among fishermen. Ven I come back, ve vill study de properties of angles, Monsieur Arthur."

And with a smile Monsieur de Fronsac left the room.

*CHAPTER V*

*A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION*

"I know!" said Arthur that evening, coming up to Jack, who was practising skittles in an alley behind the house. He looked up slyly in Jack's face.

"You do, do you? And what do you know?"

"About you."

"Well, I suppose you do. I'm Jack Hardy, son of Major James Hardy, late of the East India Company's service, and--"

"Didn't he touch you at all?"

"Who? Father? Yes, he used to lay it on pretty thick when I was a young un like you."

"Jan Lamiger, I mean."

"Oh, that's it, is it? And what do you know about Jan Lamiger, may I ask?"

"Tony told me. He says Jan Lamiger has got two black eyes and a green nose. Oh! don't I wish I'd seen it! Just don't I!"

"Well, my young cockchafer, you hold your tongue about it. I don't want it all over the country that a king's officer has been sparring with a lout like Jan Lamiger."

"All right. You needn't be stuck up about it. Did he go squash?"

"Your language is not very choice, Master Bastable. Hullo! There's Gudgeon's chimney on fire again."

"It's always on fire."

"What do you mean?"

"So it is--in the winter."

"Well, I s'pose he doesn't have fires in the summer, but it isn't winter yet."

"I don't care. I've seen the chimney smoking away like that often enough; sometimes twice a week."

"That's rather curious, isn't it? Doesn't he ever have 'em swept?"

"I don't know. I asked Bill Gudgeon about it once, and he said they can't afford sea-coal, and burn up all their muck like that."

"Just the sort of answer I should expect from him. Well, there's your tutor coming to teach you a, b, ab, b, a, b, bab. Cut away!"

"I say!"

"Well, what is it now?"

"I hate Frenchmen."

"A very wise and proper thing for an English boy."

"And I hate lessons."

"Very wrong. You'll grow up a dunce and disgrace to the name of Bastable. Cut!"

"Bother!"

He made a wry mouth and went slowly away. Jack smiled.

"He'll do!" he said to himself. "But I wonder why Gudgeon's chimneys seem so uncommonly foul. I think I must pay Bill's father a visit some day."

He mentioned the matter of the chimney to Mr. Bastable when that gentleman returned later in the day, after starting the chase for the rogues who had dared to disturb the peace of law-abiding Luscombe. Mr. Bastable laughed.

"Yes, Gudgeon has an uncommon quantity of muck on his farm," he said, "but some good stuff, too--some uncommonly good stuff."

Jack did not regard this as a very satisfactory explanation.

That night he was roused from a very heavy sleep by a touch on his arm.

"Who's that?" he cried, springing up at once.

"Only me," said Arthur in a whisper. "I say, Jack, I heard some one moving about below. It seemed to be in De Fronsac's room."

"Well, he's stumping about doing some more poetry perhaps. Go to bed."

"But I believe he's gone out."

"'Tis rather a close night. Perhaps he wanted air."

"I believe he knows something about that fellow who was shot. I watched his face."

"Oho!"

Jack was surprised to find that the boy's suspicions jumped so nearly with his own.

"Look here, who've you told that to?"

"Only you."

"That's all right. I'm going out."

"So am I," was the quiet rejoinder.

"I don't think so. I'm not going to make a row opening doors. I'm going out at the window."

"If you do, I will, too."

"All right. Go and pull on some things and be back here in fifty-nine seconds. Sharp!"

The boy hurried away.

De Fronsac's room was just below, on the ground floor. It had once been a parlor, but little used, and when the tutor begged to have it for his bedroom, Mrs. Bastable made no objection. It had French windows opening on to the lawn, and De Fronsac said it would be so convenient for him, for he could go out before the household was astir, and compose poems on the Dawn, or satiric odes to the Monstair.

Arthur was back as soon as Jack had pulled on his coat, breeches, and boots.

"Ever climb down a rain-pipe?"

"No."

"Well, you've got to now. I'll go first, to be ready to pick up the pieces. Hist! What's that?"

Jack had spoken in a whisper. Now through the open window he heard a sound as of a latch falling. Going to the window he peered cautiously out from behind the curtain. For a few moments he saw nothing. It was a dark night, but the moon was rising, and he thought he detected a dark figure moving along in the shadow of the wall. The figure went furtively on until the wall ended and a fence began; then Jack lost sight of it.

"You were right, Arthur," whispered Jack. "Don't look like making up poetry, either. Come along."

Looking out to make sure that the figure was no longer in sight, he slipped over the window-sill, slid down the rain-pipe with a sailor's ease, and in a few seconds stood on the lawn. Arthur hesitated for a moment at the sill, then, plucking up his courage, he let himself over and grasped the pipe. For a few feet he managed well enough; then he lost his head and his grip together, and came down with a rush, to be caught by Jack, who staggered under his weight.

"Well tried, youngster. No damage done?"

"No," replied Arthur, not thinking it necessary to tell that he had two or three grazes on his wrists and legs, and that he had knocked his nose against one of the joints of the pipe.

The two boys hurried down the garden, passed through a gap in the fence made by removing two of the palings, and set off in the reverse direction, toward the front of the house. Jack chose this course almost by instinct; somehow he felt sure that De Fronsac was making toward the cliff. Between this and the house ran the highroad. On reaching the road, Jack looked up and down: it ran straight for at least a third of a mile in each direction. No figure was in sight; yet Jack was sure that unless De Fronsac had actually run he could not have already got so far as a third of a mile ahead; and the road lay so white in the moonlight that no person could move along it without being plainly seen.

"No good going on unless we can see him," said Jack.

"Perhaps he has gone by the beach," suggested Arthur.

"Right. The tide's full, but there's always room to walk at the foot of the cliffs. We'll chance it."

They ran across the road, vaulted the low wall on the other side, and doubled over the two fields separating them from the edge of the cliffs. As they approached the steep zigzag leading down to the shore they went more carefully. They did not immediately begin the descent, but made their way to a jutting portion of the cliff whence they could get a good view of the shore on either hand.

"We can't see him if he's down there," said Arthur, still in a whisper.

"No, the shadow's too black," replied Jack. "And we can't hear him, either. Wish it was sand! The rollers make such a noise on that shingle, and the tide's too high for any one to walk on the sands."

But he had hardly finished speaking when, looking to the left, he saw a black shade on the shingle, at a point where a mass of rocks at the foot of the cliff interrupted the direct path. It moved a few yards, and again disappeared. That was enough for Jack.

"There he is!" he whispered. "Take care, youngster; we don't want any broken necks."

Quickly lowering himself over the steep side of the cliff until his feet touched the zigzag path, he began to race down as quickly as the need for quietness permitted, Arthur following somewhat less rapidly. At the foot he waited for his cousin, then both set off toward the village, the direction in which they had seen the shadow move.

He almost wished now that he had refused to let Arthur come with him, for while the sound of one person running on the loose shingle might pass unheard, it was not so likely that two could run with the same security. But he did not care to send the boy back now, so they went on together, more slowly than he would have done alone.

De Fronsac must have walked rapidly, for it was not until they had nearly reached the village that they caught another glimpse of him. Then, however, the gap in the cliff brought him well into view, and the boys had no difficulty in following. He kept straight on across the deserted harbor and on to the footpath at the other side running up the cliff,--a short cut for pedestrians leading to the highroad a little short of Gudgeon's farm. Not far up, however, the path forked, a narrow track leading down again to the beach, which it reached about two hundred yards farther east.

Jack had to wait until De Fronsac had disappeared before he followed him across the open space around the harbor, for if he had chanced to turn he must have caught sight of any one behind. Thus, when the boys reached the fork of the path, they were uncertain whether to continue up the cliff, or to turn down to the right.

"Listen!" said Jack.

Holding their breath they waited. Was that a faint sound from above?

"Let us chance it," said Jack, and up they went, following the steep winding path until it brought them once more to the highroad. They glanced up and down; there was nothing to be seen, only Gudgeon's farm about a stone's throw to the right, and the bare white road winding down-hill past it and up-hill to the left. They were again at fault; presumably De Fronsac, to avoid the very loose shingle near the village, had chosen the cliff path, only to turn to the right and continue his road by the beach.

"If that's it," said Jack, "we can easily make sure. Remain here by the wall so that you can't be seen. I'll go on."

He ran on tiptoe along the road past Gudgeon's house standing black and silent, crossed the little bridge over the chine, and, vaulting the wall, hastened to the edge of the cliff. He should now at least be level with the Frenchman if he was still walking along the beach eastward, for on the road Jack had run much faster than was possible on the shingle.

Here again, however, the cliff cast a black shadow. He could see nothing; nor, listening intently, could he detect any sound from below, save the slow wash of the high tide. But in a few moments his practised ear caught another sound. Surely that was the faint thud of oars working in row-locks out at sea. Yes: a quarter of a mile eastward he saw a boat cross the white path of the moonbeam across the water and creep shoreward. And beyond, straining his eyes, he thought he saw in the shimmering moonlight the shape of a larger vessel, motionless.

"Whew!" he whistled softly, "that's the Frenchman's little game!"

He was convinced that there must be some connection between the approach of the boat and De Fronsac's suspicious movements. What was it? He thought of Arthur, remaining by himself in Gudgeon's field.

"Better fetch the youngster," he said to himself.

He raced back to the spot and told Arthur what he had seen.

"You had better come with me. Who knows what this will lead to?"

They returned together and hurried along the cliffs, keeping well away from the edge to avoid being seen.

"She's making for Laxted Cove," said Arthur when he saw the boat.

"How far away?"

"About half a mile. We'll have to fetch round it and approach from the other side if we're to see what's going on."

"Come on, youngster; hold your wind."

They pounded along at a steady pace over the rough bent. The surface was very irregular, and more than once the boys tripped and almost fell headlong as some sudden irregularity of the ground betrayed their steps. In spite of all their haste, by the time they had reached a point beyond the cove whence they could look down in security, the boat had already been beached, and men were landing.

The boys lay flat on their faces, peering over the edge of the cliff that fell here almost perpendicular to the beach. The men below were speaking in low tones; Jack caught a few words of French, he thought. They were apparently impatient to be off. He could not distinguish their faces, nor even their dress, for having come up the beach from the water-line they were now in the shadow of the cliffs.

Suddenly there was a low hail; immediately afterward the sound of footsteps. From the darkness of the undercliff there stepped three men carrying a heavy bundle. They staggered somewhat noisily across the shingle toward the waiting boat. Behind them two other figures came out of the blackness and stood just below the boys, as if watching the proceedings.

The three men met those who had landed from the boat. Jack saw the bundle transferred from the one party to the other, and with a start he recognized that it was the form of a man, well trussed up. It was carried to the boat and stowed with scant ceremony in the bows. Then the boat was pushed off, the men wading until she was fairly afloat. They sprang on board, gave a low farewell to the men on the beach, and seizing the oars pulled rapidly out to sea.

The men who had borne the prisoner watched the receding boat until it was lost to sight, then trudged off toward the village. The other two had already disappeared. Jack wished he could have seen who they were, but the man nearest him had been all the time in shadow, and the others had been too far away to be recognized.

"I say, Jack," said Arthur, "what shall you do?"

"That's just what I'm wondering. If I'd only got a few men here I'd go down to the village and demand an explanation of this strange business, in the king's name. But if I went alone I'd make a fool of myself."

"I'd go with you."

"Then there'd be two fools instead of one. They could knock us on the head and send us to join that bundle on the boat. I wonder who he is. Surely they haven't decoyed De Fronsac here and carried him off to the Monster!"

"He wouldn't like that, would he?"

"Well, we can't do anything at present. We'd better get back."

"Shall you tell father?"

"Don't know. I'll tell you that to-morrow morning."

They went back over the cliffs. They had just crossed the chine when a big figure suddenly loomed up to the left, appearing from the zigzag path leading down to the shore. There was no time to avoid a meeting; indeed, so suddenly had the man appeared from round a bend in the path that unless he and the boys had started back simultaneously there must have been a collision. The moonlight shone full in the face of the big man, and Jack recognized him even as Arthur whispered:

"I say! old Gudgeon!"

Gudgeon recognized the boys at the same moment.

"Oh, Mr. Hardy, sir!" he said, "you put me in quite a flutter. And you, too, Master Bastable; well to be sure! As if I had not had enough flutters for one night! Did you hear a boat, sir?"

"Saw it, too."

"There now! I was kept up late attending to some lambs" ("Pretty old mutton!" thought Jack.), "and I thought I heard people moving, and I came out, and I was sure I saw a boat putting out to sea. It gave me quite a start. Perhaps it was some of those smugglers--a rough lot. But gracious me! 'tis very late for two young gentlemen to be out; your good mother would be in a terrible flutter, Master Bastable, if she knew."

"I say, are you going to tell her?"

"I have to consider my duty, Master Bastable. As to Mr. Hardy, of course he's a king's officer, and can keep any hours the king likes to let him. But a boy like you, Master Bastable! Really, Mr. Hardy, sir, I'm surprised at you. But I keep myself to myself, I do, and don't meddle with no man's business as don't concern me. So this time, Master Bastable, I won't think it my duty to tell your lady mother what I seed this night."

"I'm going to tell her myself, and what--"

"Avast there!" interrupted Jack, "you ought to be very much obliged to Mr. Gudgeon, you young donkey, for not rounding on you. Good night, Mr. Gudgeon."

And he hauled Arthur away.

"You young idiot!" said Jack, when they were out of earshot. "You were going to say you would tell your mother all you had seen. We mustn't on any account let them know what we have found out. That would put them on their guard at once. Better say nothing at all just yet."

"All right. But why?"

"Because there's something going on which I don't understand. De Fronsac may be in it; Gudgeon certainly is; and if they think we know too much it will spoil things. Not a word to any one, mind."

"I say, how am I going to get back into your room? I got down the rain-pipe, but I couldn't climb up it."

"Don't worry yourself, we'll find a way."

On reaching the house they saw that De Fronsac's windows were shut. Jack quickly swarmed up the pipe and entered his room. In about a minute down came the end of a knotted sheet. Arthur caught it, and in a few minutes was standing beside Jack.

The family were seated at the breakfast-table next morning when De Fronsac came in.

"Pardon, Madame," he said, "I am late. Last night I see a fine moon; it drew me out towards de so beautiful sea over dere"--he pointed in a direction exactly contrary to that taken by the figure followed by the boys--"and I compose a little poem on de Minotaur--who is, of course, dat Monstair Bonaparte."

"That's strange, Monsieur," said Jack, at whom Arthur had been staring very hard while the Frenchman spoke. "I could not sleep last night, and went out for a stroll, and I could have sworn I saw you coming just the opposite way."

"Ah! I see you also. I see you drough my curtains--ven you climb up de pipe. To mariners dat is, of course, as easy as the staircase; but as for me, I shudder."

"Gave you the flutters, eh, Monsieur?"

"Myself I vould say de tr-r-rembling. De poem I compose, Madame, it begin--

"'_Is dere a creature vizout shame?_
_Napoleon--so is he name._
_Is dere a creature vizout heart?_
_Ah! yes!--de Monstair Bonaparte._'"

"Yes, but Monsieur," persisted Jack, "I saw some one uncommonly like you going the other way, towards Laxted Cove."

"Ah, Monsieur Jack, ve have a proverb, 'In the dark all cats are gray.' Dat you see some vun, it is certain; but me--no, Monsieur Jack, how can it? I vas composing my poem--over dere."

*CHAPTER VI*

*SIGNALS*

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

"Look here, youngster," he said, "keep your eye on De Fronsac. If he tries to pump out of you what we saw last night, tell him we saw a boat putting 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 think we suspect him. And it will be as well to take a note of the days when he 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 to the harbor, and was rowed to the _Fury_, which lay at her moorings, just inside the bar. A stout old mariner was leaning over the side, smoking a big pipe. One of his eyes was considerably larger than the other; a big 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, seeing as 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 came aboard."

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

"Where's Mr. Blake?"

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

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

"Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir; that's my brother, and a much better 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 her course. 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 a weather-beaten sea-dog of forty-five, who had long since given up whatever dreams of promotion he might at one time have entertained.

"You're back, then, Mr. Hardy," he said. "You see me a martyr to rheumatism: 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 are careering up and down the Channel, dodging our cruisers and swooping down on our merchantmen. We've got to cruise at large, keeping one eye on the French, and t'other on the smugglers. They're expected to be pretty active just now, when every one's mad with excitement about these flat-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 sooner sling our hammocks on a frigate or a line-of-battle ship. But we've our duty 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 little place, almost hidden away in a recess between the cliffs. It doesn't seem to have been troubled much by the preventive men."

"The last riding-officer was a slack-twisted fellow, it appears, no good for his job. The new man--I've seen him once or twice here--is energetic enough, but not too quick-witted, I should say, and a little inclined 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 waits for 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 nothing but our speed to trust to if we happen to fall in with the enemy in force."

All feelings of disappointment vanished from Jack's mind immediately as he stepped on deck. The _Fury_ was in all respects a model cutter. Jack had admired the beauty of her lines as she lay in harbor, sitting the water like a sea-bird, with every promise of speed in the graceful hull, the long tapering mast and the huge boom extending considerably beyond the 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 in flight. A stately Indiaman that had left port some time before was working 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 he steadily overhauled the huge vessel. Before nightfall the Indiaman was nearly hull down, and Jack was satisfied that the _Fury_ had the heels of most craft he was likely to meet on the coast.

Two small brass guns, one forward and one aft, comprised her whole armament. Jack could not help contrasting this with the forty huge guns of the _Ariadne_. The crew consisted of some five and twenty seamen and marines. Most of them had seen much service, and one and all wished they were with Nelson chasing the French instead of being engaged in what they considered the humdrum task of watching the coast. Jack privately thought it might turn out to be not so very humdrum after all. He soon made himself acquainted with the crew, and was rather attracted by a merry-eyed salt named Joe Turley, a handy man who seemed to live to poke fun at Babbage the bo'sun. Among the men that worthy was variously known as Cabbage, Artichoke, Brussels sprouts, Sparrow-grass, and Turnip-tops; he was rarely called by his own name, except to the officers, 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 and down the Channel between Weymouth and Portsmouth, putting in occasionally to communicate with the riding-officer and to take in provisions, but finding nothing of any importance to do. The smugglers seemed to be quiet; the only vessels sighted were British merchantmen passing up or down Channel under convoy, or fishing-smacks out from the English ports. The men grumbled at the lack of chances of obtaining prize money, and Jack was impatient of the inactivity to which he was condemned. It was all very well to keep the _Fury_ spick and span, her deck as white as the sails, her brass rails polished to a dazzling brilliance; but he would have liked work a little less domestic--work for the two brass guns that Joe Turley caressed as though they were living creatures.

"Won't you venture over to the French side, sir?" Jack asked Lieutenant Blake 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 as plain 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 a suspicious looking brig passing down Channel, but found that she was a harmless Portuguese sailing in ballast.

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

It had been arranged that half the crew should have a night ashore at Wynport--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 brother Sol, who always says, 'Cheer ho! my hearty,' and slaps your back in a way that warms the very cockles of your heart. I remember--but what's that 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 out again.

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

"No, it ain't the point," said Babbage. "The point's a good deal east of 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 that light, Babbage?"

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

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

"Like as not, sir. They've been too quiet of late: a sure sign of something 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 to determine exactly in the darkness. Run her in a little toward shore, so that we can take a look at things."

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

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

"Nothing, sir."

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

Carrying out these orders, Jack found that a mile farther in he lost sight of the light. He thought it worth while to run out again and see if it had disappeared altogether, but on returning to nearly the same spot at which the cutter had been hove to, he saw that the light was burning as brightly as ever. All at once it went out. Jack waited for some time to see if it reappeared, but the shore remaining in perfect blackness he saw no good in delaying further, and weathering the Point, with its spine of jagged rocks running out to sea, ran straight for Wynport.

They had not gone far when Babbage declared he saw a sail on the weather beam. Jack instantly put down the helm, but after cruising about for some time and finding nothing he concluded that the bo'sun had been mistaken.

"Another facer for old Onions!" whispered Turley.