Part 4

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.