Part 10

Jack took his leave, very well pleased with the result of the interview. He returned to the _Glorieuse_, waited until a lieutenant was sent by the admiral to take charge of her, and then, with twenty-five men, including Babbage and Turley, and stores hastily provided from the brig, he sailed out of the harbor in the _Fury_. The admiral, he suspected, would be somewhat amazed when he learned of the sudden departure; but, having permission, Jack had resolved on his way back to set off at once on his quest. The sooner the _Fury_ was out of sight the better; and by sailing in the darkness she would be most likely to escape observation.

The wind was not very favorable. A fresh breeze was blowing from the southwest, and it was a somewhat tedious beat down Channel to the point, abreast of Luscombe, where he had seen the signal light from Congleton's Folly. Had the signalers sufficiently regained confidence, he wondered, to resume their midnight work?

"What do you think of it, Babbage?" he asked of the bo'sun, who was at the tiller.

"Well, sir, I think of a saying of brother Sol's: 'When the cat's away, the mice do play.' There be several cats in the case, sir. One, the _Fury_--a good name for cat or cutter; two, Mr. Blake; three, you yourself, sir; four, me and Turley, for, having made up our little difference, we two make one; I've got the claws, he've got the caterwaul. All these cats being away, those there mice will have a rare randy. Why, that there tower was as empty as a blown egg-shell when we drove in the door, and climbed to the top; and the smugglers will be a-hugging theirselves that all's clear, and thinking they can go on with their work without any danger of a visit from the preventives. Lor' bless you, I were a mouse myself once."

"I agree with you. 'Tis six months since I disappeared, and they'll have had all that time to recover from any fright we may have given them. I wish the wind would change. I want to get opposite the tower before morning."

"But you can't expect them to do the signaling every night, sir. No smugglers ever I knew or heard of could be so spry as that would mean. Belike we shan't see the light for a matter of days--nights, that is--or weeks. Like as not they'll have their regular times and seasons, same as the herrings."

"That's just why I'm so anxious to get there to-night. 'Tis Wednesday; 'twas on a Wednesday I first saw the light; for all we know Wednesday is their regular day."

"There may be summat in that."

"And as we don't want to be discovered I'll have the tackle blocks oiled, and tell the men to keep quiet."

"Specially Turley, sir; but there, I take that back, sir, or he'll be a-calling of me Spring Onions again."

That night was so dark that Jack had some doubts whether he could hit the exact spot from which the light was visible. But he ventured to creep in toward the shore sufficiently near to descry the landmarks, and having at length assured himself on that point, he ran out again, and cruised about, keeping a keen lookout for the light.

Two hours passed. It was near midnight, and he had almost given up hope of success when, to the southwest, he saw a gleam. At the moment the _Fury_ was running up the Channel before the wind. The light evidently came from a vessel. But it had disappeared--no; there it was again; three times the same light was shown and extinguished.

"A signal, Babbage," said Jack. "Hope we shan't be seen."

"Better hold on our course, sir, then beat out. We've to get that there craft atween us and the shore."

Jack acted on the bo'sun's suggestion. In a few minutes the same signal was seen, this time full on the weather beam.

"They haven't answered her yet, sir," said Babbage, "and she won't sail in much closer, 'cos if she do, she won't see the light from the Folly, if so be 'tis that she's looking for."

"No. But I'm afraid she'll see us. She certainly will if we venture too close. Yet if we make too wide a sweep round her she may do whatever mischief she's about before we can make up on her. How far is she out, Babbage?"

"About five mile, I should say, sir."

"Well, I'm going to risk it. We'll run out beyond her, and hit the straight line between her and the Folly; we'll see then if any signaling is going on."

As soon as he thought he had made sufficient offing, Jack brought the _Fury_ closer to the wind and crept toward the line he had mentioned. He no longer expected to see any signal from the vessel; the lantern would be turned away from him. But he looked anxiously toward the shore. Minute after minute passed, and yet he saw nothing. He began to fear that either he had lost his bearings and crossed the line while signaling had been going on between the tower and the vessel, or that there was no one at the Folly, after all, and both he and the commander of the other ship were to be disappointed.

Suddenly a light flashed out from shore, and remained gleaming brightly and steadily. So strong was it that Jack felt not a little anxiety lest it should show up the _Fury_ to the vessel now between her and the land. But a moment's reflection reassured him. At this distance the light could have no illuminating power; and if he could not see the strange craft, it was not very likely that she could see him.

He was wondering what his next move had better be when the light disappeared. But only for a moment. Then it shone out again. Again it disappeared, and then for several seconds it alternately came and went, with regular intervals of very brief duration between the flashes. At last there was a longer interval; then the regular flashes began again.

"Heave to, Babbage!" cried Jack.

Springing down to the cabin, he returned in a few moments with a slip of paper, a pencil, and a shaded lantern. By the light of the last, Jack made a note. It would not have conveyed much or anything to an onlooker. It began-- 17 -- 3 -- 18 -- 2 ---- 1 -- 17 -- 17 -- 3 -- 20 -- 2 ---- 16 ---- 11 ---- 15 -- 1 -- 20 -- 3 -- 17 -- 2 ... and this succession of numbers and dashes grew until it completely filled the paper. After he had written for nearly half an hour the light disappeared altogether; he waited ten minutes on the chance of the flashes being resumed; then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and ordered the men to crowd on all sail.

In a few seconds the _Fury_ was running before the wind in the direction Jack thought the strange vessel might have taken. There was just a chance that he might overhaul and capture her, for he guessed that she was little if anything larger than the cutter, and in all likelihood the same lugger which had escaped Lieutenant Blake months before. But though he cruised about for a couple of hours he failed to find her.

"We'll give it up," he said at length to Babbage. "Now I want a little time to work out a puzzle. We mustn't be seen from Luscombe or the neighborhood, so we'll beat down Channel and make for Falmouth. That's far enough away to be out of reach of the Luscombe men or their spies; and I'll eat my boots if I haven't a pretty piece of news to report to Admiral Horniman to-morrow."

*CHAPTER XIV*

*A DISCOVERY*

About nine o'clock the next morning the _Fury_ ran into Falmouth Harbor. Sending a boat's crew ashore to get fresh provisions, Jack closeted himself in the cabin, and, leaning his head on his hands, pored over the paper on which he had made the strange jottings the night before.

The numbers represented the flashes which had followed at intervals of a second; the short dashes represented intervals of five seconds, the long dashes intervals of twenty seconds. What was the explanation? It was clear that the signalers had a code; the flashes in some way spelt out words, and Jack guessed from the long time the message had taken that the words were spelt in full. How was he to set about finding out what they were? He had never in his life read a cipher, and for some minutes he was at a loss how to begin.

At last it struck him that the highest number he had written was 20. There were twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and some of the letters, such as Q, X, Z, were very seldom used. It was not unlikely that in a comparatively short message they would not be used at all. Each letter might be represented by a number. He wrote down the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, placing a number under each, from 1 to 26. Then he substituted the letters for the numbers on the paper, thus:

QCRB----AQQCTB----P----K----OATCQB

This was nonsense; the fact that most of the letters were consonants, and the one that most frequently occurred, Q, showed that he was on the wrong tack. He must try again. He was sure the long dashes represented the intervals between the words; what did the numbers stand for?

"I wonder what letter is most often used?" he thought. He wrote down the first thing that occurred to him, the first line of the song, _Heart of Oak_--

"Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer."

"'Tis E!" he said to himself. "It occurs in four words out of ten. Now there are three words in the stuff that have 3 and 2 in them; depend upon it either 3 or 2 stands for E. Which is it? Why, E is the second vowel, and I is the third. Every word has one or two vowels in it, and two of these words have I in them. Perhaps the five vowels are numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Let's try that."

Recopying the alphabet, he found that on this system the message read--

PIQE----APPISE----N----H----MASIPE

"It looks a little more pronounceable, but hanged if I can make any sense of it. There's a French look about it. Why, what a dolt I am! If it's Fronsac who's signaling from the Folly, of course the message will be in French. Not that that helps matters!" he thought dolefully. "The French alphabet's the same as the English till you get to W, and W is number 23, which doesn't come in. Confound the thing!"

It was not until he had pondered and puzzled for more than an hour that Jack got any fresh light. Then it occurred to him that some of the less-used of the letters might have been dropped. After some thought, he left out K, Q, and all the letters after V, and renumbered those that were left. The first result of this change gave him a thrill. He spelt out the word "RISE."

"Now I'm on the scent!" he said to himself.

Next came the word "ARRIVE," then two initials--P, H, after them the word "NAVIRE."

"I can't make any sense of it at present. Let's go on."

At length the complete message was deciphered. It ran as follows--

RISE ARRIVE P H NAVIRE SOUS CONVOI E FREGATE PARTENT VENDREDI POUR JAMAIQUE SANDI COVE SAMEDI.

This was certainly clearer; it was decidedly French for the most part; but what did "RISE," "P," "H" and "E" mean? In a few minutes Jack jumped to the meaning of H and E; they were to be taken as numbers, not as letters; eleven merchant ships under convoy of two frigates were leaving on Friday for Jamaica. What about "RISE?" He remembered by and by that he had not begun to write until the signaling had been in progress for some time. "RISE" was probably the end of a word. What French word ended so? He put other letters in turn before the perplexing syllable: _brise, crise, grise, prise_. PRISE! Captured! He saw it at last. The signaler was informing the men of the lugger that a captured ship had arrived; P stood for Portsmouth; and Jack had no doubt that the ship meant was the _Glorieuse_.

All that was left of the message were the last three words: "SANDI COVE SAMEDI." These suggested that Sandy Cove was to be the scene of a cargo run on Saturday; but Jack had never heard of Sandy Cove. For the moment he gave no more thought to it; the first part of the message was of much greater importance than any smuggling business.

The mystery was becoming clear at last. No wonder the French showed a disconcerting knowledge of the movement of English ships! De Fronsac was a spy! So far from detesting the Monstair, he was actually in the Monstair's pay. His business was to supply the Monstair with information. And his cunning had found a means to avoid the perils that otherwise might have beset his task. He had made friends of the Luscombe smugglers, ostensibly cast in his lot with them, so that he might have opportunities of signaling information to the French. Jack saw through the scheme in a flash.

It was Wednesday. Obviously there was no time to be lost if the ships to sail on Friday were to be saved. The lugger would convey the message to one of the western ports of France, and the enemy's cruisers would come out in sufficiently large force to cut off the merchantmen and convoy. They could indeed afford to wait a few days, for even if the wind proved favorable for the sailing of the English vessels, they would make such slow progress that a French fleet in pursuit could overhaul them speedily, and, knowing their destination, would probably have little difficulty in finding them. Admiral Horniman must be at once informed of the discovery.

The men having by this time returned from their errand on shore, Jack at once hoisted sail and ran back to Portsmouth, keeping well out in the Channel off Luscombe to avoid recognition. The admiral spent five minutes in blowing off a considerable amount of warm language when he heard the story.

"The merchantmen shall sail if the wind favors," he said, when he had recovered. "But I'll increase their escort, and the French shall get an unpleasant surprise, I promise 'em, if they act on the information they've got. And that Frenchman at Luscombe, I'll string him up to the yard-arm. I'll stop his signaling. I'll give orders for the tower to be occupied, and every one found there put in irons and clapped under hatches."

"I don't think you'll find any one there, sir," Jack ventured to suggest. "Fronsac's hand in glove with the smugglers, that's the meaning of 'Sandy Cove Saturday.' If any of our men are seen making a move in Luscombe direction the news will be signaled along the coast. They'd all clear out. Couldn't we play their own game, sir?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I don't exactly see all the way, sir; but what occurred to me was that we might do a little signaling and catch 'em in their own net."

"A capital notion! By gad, we'll do it! We'll have to let 'em make their run on Saturday?"

"Yes, sir, and arrange to signal from the tower next Wednesday."

"Very well. I leave it to you. You seem to have got some brains. Come to me if you want any assistance."

Before he returned to the _Fury_ Jack scribbled a note to his mother announcing his safe return, and begging her on no account to let the news travel to Bastable Grange. It was better that for the present his cousins should be ignorant of his whereabouts.

On reaching the cutter he started on a run up the coast. He wished to keep away from Luscombe until Saturday. Though he had no intention of interfering with the smugglers' run on that day, he was anxious to witness it. For one thing, it would prove whether he had read the intercepted message aright; moreover, he particularly desired to find out who was engaged in the business. Knowing what a close watch was kept by the smugglers, he recognized that it would not be easy to learn what he wished; but his successes in France had tended to dim the memory of certain less fortunate incidents at Luscombe.

He now took Babbage and Turley into his confidence. When he mentioned Sandy Cove he met with an unexpected check.

"There ain't no such place, sir--leastways, not on this coast," said Turley.

"Are you sure?" Jack insisted.

"Sartin, sir."

"That's strange. I don't think I read the word wrongly. I could be sure it was Sandi, the way a Frenchman would spell it. We'll have to go back to Portsmouth and get a chart of the coast; we may find something that looks like it."

But when he got a chart from the admiral he searched it in vain. There was no such name as Sandy Cove. He was convinced that he had not mistaken the signal; all that could be done now was to inquire in the neighborhood of Luscombe whether any of the inlets was locally known by that name. But with the exception of the Bastables he knew of no one whom he could trust, and he had a strong reason for avoiding the squire's house; nothing must be done that might put De Fronsac on his guard.

Then a thought of Gumley came to him--Joe Gumley, the one-legged sailor. He was Luscombe born; though he kept himself to himself, he would probably know the whereabouts of Sandy Cove. And he might safely be asked the question, for, never a friend to the smugglers, he had a distinct grudge against them since that day when his garden was ransacked, and he was the least likely of men to give them any information.

"Yes, I'll ask Gumley," thought Jack. "It can't do any harm."

It was afternoon when he steered the _Fury_ into a sheltered cove some six miles west of Luscombe. He had chosen the spot because the coast there was rugged, and the shore uninhabited, and the cutter might lie safe from wind and wave, and from observation by too inquisitive people.

"Now, Babbage," said Jack as he stepped ashore, "I leave you in charge. Keep quiet, and be on your guard."

"Ay, ay, sir. And what if you don't come back, sir, like as 'twas six months ago t'other side of Luscombe?"

"Run back to Portsmouth and report to the admiral. But I'll be back, never fear."

He had exchanged his midshipman's hat for a wide-brimmed beaver, and wore a long cloak which made him look more like a magistrate's clerk than a sailor. Thus disguised, he walked over the beach, climbed the cliff, and struck into a path which would lead by a roundabout way into the Luscombe road. It was very unlikely that he would meet any of the Luscombe people in this direction; but Babbage's question reminded him of the unlucky end of a similar errand in the previous autumn, and he smiled somewhat grimly as he remembered his resolve to get even with his captors.

A white mist lay over the land, striking very cold against his face. But it favored his chances of escaping notice if any one should meet him, and he was indeed glad of the obscurity when, in the driver of a gig that passed him, he thought he recognized the bulky form of Mr. Gudgeon. Save for this solitary traveler, the road was quite deserted, and he arrived without adventure at Gumley's cottage.

He looked over the fence. No one was to be seen. Though it was already almost dark, owing to the mist, no light appeared in the cottage window.

"Ahoy O!" he called, without raising his voice, making a trumpet of his hands so that the sound would carry. There was no answer.

He rapped on the fence, calling "Ahoy O!" again. Still there was no reply.

"Here goes!" he said to himself. Stripping off his cloak he folded it and laid it on the nails, then clambered over and hastened to the door.

"I say, Gumley, let me in," he said, rapping.

"Who be 'ee? This bean't no inn."

"It's me, Gumley--Jack Hardy, you know."

"Tell that to the marines. Mr. Hardy's far away. Get along with 'ee."

"Don't be a jackass, Gumley. Open the door. Comely will know me if you don't."

"'Ware dog, then, and if his teeth jine in your legs 'tis your own doing, whoever ye be!"

There was a rattling of the bolts. The door was opened. The bulldog rushed out, and with a growl of pleasure began to rub his nose against Jack's trousers.

"There you are, you see," he said, stepping into the cottage, to find Gumley standing on guard with a blunderbuss.

"Well, sir, this is a rare surprise. I seemed to know your voice, but thought for sure it must be your ghost. Never did I expect to see you no more in this world, sir, and right glad I be."

"So am I, Gumley. But fasten up again, and light your lamp. I want to talk to you."

"But how did ye escape, sir?" asked Gumley, as he shot the bolt and led the way to his kitchen.

"'Tis too long a story to tell you now. Another time. But why, man, what's the matter with you? You look very down in the mouth."

"Ay, and so I feels, sir. What with worry and the rheumatics I feel I be not long for this world. I've bin twisted up with it all winter, sir. Since I sold they artichokes to Squire Bastable I've bin as useless as an old hulk. In course, some folks might think me lucky having only one leg to get the rheumatics in; but chok' it all, sir, the pain's just as bad in the wooden leg as 'tis in t'other; ay, and worse, 'cos I can doctor my natural leg, whereas not all the surgeons of King Jarge hisself could do this old stump any good."

"'Tis hard lines, indeed. But what's been worrying you?"

"Sit ye down, sir, and I'll tell 'ee about it."

*CHAPTER XV*

*TAR AND FEATHERS*

"Fust and foremost, sir," said Gumley, having lit his pipe, "my poor old moke is dead. Ah! he served me well for many a year, and carried tons and tons o' garden stuff into Wynport. But now he's gone, and if so be I can do any digging and planting this spring I'll have no one to carry my vegetables to market."

"'Twas old age, I suppose. He looked on his last legs when I saw him first on the Luscombe road six months ago."

"No, sir, 'twarn't old age. If he had been left alone he'd have lived to be as old as Methusalum. No, 'twarn't old age, nor overwork neither."

"What was it, then?"

Gumley hesitated. He looked at the locked door and the shuttered window, got up and went to the back door, bending his head forward as if listening. Then he returned to his chair, and, between two puffs, said, under his breath--

"'Twere p'ison, sir."

"Poison!"

"Ay, sir. Jerry--so I called him, sir--were sound as a ship's bell one night, sir; next morning he were dead as mutton."

"But how do you know 'twas poison?"

"'Cos that very same day Comely was took bad and well-nigh went to glory, too. Where Comely goes, Gumley follers; my rheumatiz were very bad that day."

"'Tis plain you've got enemies, Gumley. I'm sorry for you. Comely looks all right now, at any rate. We'll see what we can do to get you a new donkey. But I mustn't waste time. I'll tell you what I've come for. Do you know where Sandy Cove is?"

Gumley gave a start, and looked round the room again with that uneasy glance which had attracted Jack's attention before.

"Axing your pardon, sir, would ye say why and wherefore you want to know that?"

"I don't think I can--at all events, not yet. But I'll tell you one thing. I'm on the king's business, and that will be enough for an old king's man, eh, Gumley?"

"True, sir, God save the king! All the same, I'd rather ye axed your question of some one else."

"There is no one else. Come, Gumley, out with it. What is the mystery?"

Gumley still hesitated. He scratched his poll, rubbed the dog's head, stirred an imaginary fire with his wooden leg, and once more glanced uneasily at the window.

"This won't do," said Jack. "Joe Gumley, I call upon you, in the king's name, to answer this question at once. Where is Sandy Cove?"

"If you puts it like that, sir, as a king's man--leastways, I was afore I got this plaguy leg--I'm bound to make a clean breast of it. Sandy Cove is the name what the smugglers give to that there little chine just below Mr. Gudgeon's farm."

"Ah! And how came you to know that?"

"Well, sir, if truth must be told, in the king's name, I were a smuggler myself once, afore I became a king's man."

"I see! And the smugglers are down on you, are they, because you won't join 'em again?"

"How can I, sir? Once a king's man, always a king's man--to say nothing of the wooden leg. I served his Majesty for many a year, sir, and I bean't a-going to turn agen him. Not but what 'tis main hard, for smuggling's an uncommon fine trade--if so be I can make bold to speak free afore a king's officer."