Part 9

It was a race between them. The other boats were some distance astern, for two, being without oars, were being towed by the remaining two. In the two foremost boats the men were straining every nerve. They knew that their lives depended on success, and scarcely needed the encouraging words of Jack and the old bo'sun. They gained on the Frenchman; the three boats dashed almost together under the cutter's counter; then there was a tussle. Rising in the boats the crews shouted and cheered and belabored their opponents, Jack's men plying rolling-pins, gridirons, soup-ladles, frying-pans, shovels, candlesticks, with a hearty vigor that made them more formidable weapons than the Frenchmen's cutlasses. In half a minute the Frenchmen, outnumbered and outfought, were hurled neck and crop out of their boats, and the English sailors were swarming up the side of the cutter. In the short fight the cutter's crew had been unable to help their comrades; it was such a rough and tumble that they would as likely have hit a friend as a foe. But they gathered for a desperate resistance when the Englishmen poured on to the deck. Jack and his party boarded aft; Babbage's men forward; but neither made easy progress, for the Frenchmen fought like tigers, rallying twice after momentary set-backs, and taking advantage of their superior numbers to press forward in the attempts to drive the boarders into the sea. The melee was at its fiercest when the arrival of the other boats turned the scale. Cheering British tars beset the gallant Frenchmen on all sides; man after man of the defenders fell, and in two minutes from the time when the last boat's crew boarded, the cutter was once more in English hands.

"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, when the enemy surrendered and cried for quarter. He himself rushed aft and cut the cable; and while Turley and some others were collecting the Frenchmen's weapons and escorting their prisoners below, a score of willing hands had run up the mainsail, jib and foresail. Grazing the side of the fishing smack to leeward as she gathered way, the _Fury_ moved out to sea. As she emerged from the shelter of the brig a round shot from one of the sloops struck her full amidships, and the other sloop was seen making sail in pursuit.

"Any damage done?" sang out Jack.

"Not a farden's worth, sir," replied Turley. "Well above water-line."

"Here's another! Look out!" shouted Babbage.

But the second shot whizzed harmlessly by; then the sloops and other vessels faded from sight; and the buoyant little cutter began to courtesy to the waves of the Channel, showing white-crested in the gloom.

*CHAPTER XII*

*THE CAPTURE OF THE *_*GLORIEUSE*_

For some time Jack was too busy in navigating the vessel, too anxiously looking out for pursuers, to take stock of the situation on board the _Fury_. But as soon as he felt that he was fairly safe, he went round the cutter to inquire. One of his men and five Frenchmen had been killed in the boarding operations. These were at once committed to the deep, for with a crew of nearly seventy, and twenty prisoners, there was already too little room on board. Many had been wounded on both sides; and Jack found that his men had the more serious, though not the most numerous, wounds; for while they had been pinked and slashed with cutlasses, the Frenchmen had received only bad bruises from the unusual weapons wielded by their opponents. Several of the men who had served in the sick bay on English warships had already done their best--it was but little in those days of ignorance and unskilful surgery--to attend to the wounded.

The French crew had apparently consisted of about forty men; arms for that number were discovered. Among the prisoners were the captain and lieutenant, whom Jack at once sought out and invited to share the cabin with himself. They were very crestfallen at their defeat; but when Jack, mustering his best French (which was not very good), made his best bow (which was charming), and said--"_Je vous restore, Messieurs, vos epees, pour vous--vous--vous_--(Hang it! What's the French for 'show'?)--_pour vous displayer mon admiration de votre brave--_. (Can't think of the French for 'fight.')--_votre courage dans la bataille_"--when Jack came to the end of this halting speech and smiled very unaffectedly, the Frenchmen returned his smile and his bow, and the captain, as he received his sword, said fervently:

"_Monsieur, je vous rends grace de votre noble conduite, qui est digne, assurement, d'un honnete homme._"

Jack bowed and smiled again, wondering what he had done that was specially "honest." Like many another Jack since then, he was too apt to jump to conclusions.

He had never navigated the Channel, but he set the course of the cutter by the compass, intending to run as straight as he could for Wynport. Toward daybreak the wind shifted to the southeast and then to the southwest, and to Jack's disappointment dropped to a light breeze scarcely strong enough to disperse the thin fog that lay over the sea. There seemed little hope of a quick passage to the English coast. Jack was speculating on his chances of getting clear of the French shore when he was startled by the cry:

"Sail on the weather-bow, sir."

Diving into the cabin, he snatched up a spyglass and eagerly scanned the approaching vessel, which was coming up Channel, bringing a strong breeze with her. She was showing no colors, but there was something about her cut that made him feel a little uncomfortable. Turning to Babbage, who stood by, he handed him the spy-glass, saying:

"French?"

"French she be, sir, leastways furrin, and a spanking brig."

Jack looked a little blue.

It was difficult to estimate distances in the haze, but the stranger could scarcely be more than a mile away. Every now and again a gust of wind lifted the fog, and if Jack attempted to put about the movement would almost certainly be seen. Even if he could outsail the approaching vessel before the wind, which was at least doubtful, her bow-chasers would badly cripple him before he could run out of range.

"What chance have we of escaping, if she is French?" he said to Babbage, who was standing by his side.

"Not a brass farden's worth, sir. She carries thirty guns at the least; and if there is a man aboard that can shoot, she can hull us easy as winking without changing her course."

"That's bad, then."

"And worse to foller, sir, as brother Sol used to say."

Jack mentally anathematized brother Sol, who must have been a very Job's comforter. The outlook was black enough. Visions of a French prison again rose before him--if indeed prison should be his lot, for the French, if they captured him, might deal summarily with him in revenge for the men they had lost.

Babbage sat down on the deck and began to sharpen his cutlass.

"A nice little bit of arm-work coming, sir," he said cheerfully. "In course we'll fight 'em?"

Jack shook his head.

"That's the last thing I should think of doing--at present."

"Well, sir, she's coming on at a spanking rate, and if we're going to run, the sooner the better--meaning no offense, sir."

"We must either keep her closer to the wind, and hope to pass without notice, or put the helm up and run for it. We'd have a bare chance of outsailing her then."

"Yes, sir, and she'd give us her broadside fust and foller it up with her stern-chasers. She'd blow us out of the water, as sure as eggs is eggs, when they bean't pickles."

Jack stood for a few moments, gloomily pondering this desperate case. All at once his face brightened.

"I say, Babbage, we'll fight her."

"And God save the king, sir," replied the veteran, lifting his hat, and then vigorously whetting his blade.

The course which had suggested itself to Jack was one that he would scarcely have imagined in cold blood; but in the present crisis it seemed to him preferable to either of the two he had before mentioned. He had seventy men on board, thirty more than the cutter would have carried in the ordinary way. Most of them were well armed; and, well as British seamen always fought, they could be trusted in the present circumstances to outdo themselves, for defeat meant utter destruction. Could he lull the Frenchmen's suspicions for a few minutes? If he could!--well, the chance of success was small, but the smallest was better than none at all.

"Yes, by George! I'll do it!" he said to himself.

And he lost no time. He was astonished at the quickness with which his mind worked in forming his plan. Orders came to his lips in short, sharp sentences, and, thanks to the readiness of old Babbage and the fine discipline of the seamen, they were carried out as promptly as given.

A score of men went below, and in a few seconds returned to the deck, looking like Frenchmen. They had stripped the outer garments from the prisoners. Their weapons were completely concealed. Five men with loaded muskets stood guard over the real Frenchmen, four held themselves ready to board, with boat anchors as grapnels. The rest of the men, equipped with all the available armament, concealed themselves below, out of sight from the approaching vessel, but ready for action at a moment's notice.

These preparations were still being made when the French flag was run up on the brig. In response Jack hoisted the French colors found on board, and, bringing the cutter a point or two closer into the wind, made as if to hail the larger vessel. When only half a cable's length separated them he shouted:

"Ho! Hola!"

There was an answering shout from the brig. So far, at any rate, no suspicion had been aroused. Jack felt himself thrill with excitement and suspense; everything depended on the result of the next move. Turley was at the helm, his lips set, his eyes never leaving the midshipman's face. Two or three seconds after the hail Jack gave the word; Turley put the helm hard up, and the cutter, paying off from the wind, ran alongside the brig to the manifest amazement of the Frenchmen, the captain swearing with anger at what he supposed was rashness or utter stupidity on the part of the cutter's commander.

Barely two yards now separated the vessels, the side of the brig seeming to tower over the cutter. At a sign from Jack the men with the grapnels leaped up, and cast them in at the open ports of the brig. The ropes attached to them were instantly secured to stanchions on the cutter's deck, and with a slight movement of the tiller Turley brought the two hulls together.

Even before they touched, twenty men from the _Fury's_ deck were clambering up the main chains of the brig, and forty more were swarming from below in support. By this time the French captain had realized that the commander of the cutter was neither stupid nor rash, but a dare-devil of an Englishman. Those were Englishmen's cries that he heard, mingling with the uproar made by his own men. Everything was in confusion. Only the marines were armed. What French captain would have dreamed of meeting a little English cutter so near his own coast? What audacity, what unjustifiable impertinence, for so small a vessel to engage a thirty-two gun brig, with a complement of probably two hundred men! It was ridiculous, thought the captain, even as he gathered his men for the fight.

He was taken by surprise, but what then? Snatching up any weapons that came handy, the Frenchmen came pouring out of the hatchways and from all quarters of the deck, and, forming a little knot, endeavored to stem the rush of the boarders. They fought, as Frenchmen always fight, gallantly and with fierce courage; but a boarding party of English seamen is not easily checked.

Jack at the head of a dozen men had already driven a group of the enemy from the fore deck into the foc's'le when, glancing aft, he saw that Babbage and a small band were in desperate straits. Sword in one hand, pistol in the other, the French captain was pressing them hard at the head of twenty well-armed marines and three of his officers. The remainder of Jack's party had scattered in pursuit of the enemy on the lower deck; and a hand-to-hand fight was raging near the armory, from which the watch below were hastily equipping themselves. It was impossible for Jack to collect his men; yet if Babbage and his gallant band were overcome all would be over.

"You four, watch the foc's'le!" he shouted. "Come on, you others! Babbage ahoy!"

With a shout he dashed aft, a dozen men bellowing as they sprang after him. Flash went a pistol; the clashing of cutlasses mingled with the various cries of the men; and Jack, cleaving his way through the press toward the old bo'sun's side, found himself face to face with the French captain. He had but just time to parry a shrewd thrust of the Frenchman's sword when a blow from a French sailor's pike, which must have killed him outright had it not been partly diverted by Babbage, fell obliquely upon his head with such force that he stumbled, staggered, and dropped senseless to the deck. His last conscious moment was filled with the din of fighting and the roar of his men.

"Mr. Babbage!"

"Wot?"

"I axe your pardon, true."

"Wot for?"

"For calling of you Artichokes, Sparrow-grass, Turnip-tops, and Cabbage. Wi' young Mr. Hardy a-lying here with all his senses knocked out of him, I couldn't abear to think as how I hurt your feelings, Mr. Babbage. I axe your pardon."

"Granted, Turley, granted, and more to foller," said Babbage, holding out a horny hand, which Turley grasped in one equally hard. Each man looked at the other, so long that they did not perceive that Jack's eyes were open, and that he was smiling.

"Oh, you solemn old donkeys!" he exclaimed. "You know you've been friends at heart all along."

They looked sheepish, like boys detected in something unboyish.

"Ah, sir," said Babbage, "brother Sol used to say 'tis not actions wot matter, 'tis feelings."

"Brother Sol was wrong, then. I shouldn't be feeling so dizzy but for the action of some Frenchman who got a cut at me. What's happened, Babbage?"

"The ship's ourn, sir, and we're making for Portsmouth."

"Hurray! Tell me about it!"

"Well, sir, arter you was down we got our monkeys up. 'Twas all over in half a minute. Turley and Mudge and a dozen more went at 'em 'longside o' me; we drove 'em back; Mudge tumbled the captain over, and the rest hauled down their colors and cried for quarter. Then me and some more jumped down the gangway and cleared the lower deck, where some mounseers was scrambling round the arm-chest. Bless you! it didn't last long. They did their best, to be sure, but we did better; and the end of it was they all flung down their pikes and cutlasses and gave in. Then we brought you down here into the captain's cabin; I put the ship about, and cast off the _Fury_ with ten men in her; she's following in our wake now, sir."

"Capital! And what of the prisoners?"

"Tied up, sir. There's a hundred and forty, sir, all told, and being such a terrible lot more than us I couldn't leave 'em loose. They're sitting on the lower deck, side by side, twenty of them slung on to one rope, and for every twenty there's a man with a musket. They don't understand plain English, sir, but they understand a loaded musket, and every man of 'em knows that if he tries any tricks 'tis good-by."

"Well, I'm only sorry I was bowled over. You've done splendidly. How long have I been here?"

"Somewheres about half an hour, sir. We couldn't do much for you, not having no surgeon aboard; but we tied up your head as well as we could."

"Oh, I'm all right. Just a little dizzy. Help me on deck; the fresh air will do me good."

He had lost a good deal of blood, and could scarcely have reached the deck unassisted. The Englishmen gave a cheer when they saw their young officer--a somewhat muffled cheer, for their mouths were full of the food prepared for the Frenchmen's breakfast. It was so long since they had had a square meal that they were making the most of their opportunity, and the prisoners sat glum and hungry, watching the disappearance of the soup intended for themselves.

"Find the cook and cast him loose," said Jack. "He can get something ready for them. Let 'em eat, forty at a time. Where's the captain?"

"Getting over his temper for'ard, sir."

Jack found the captain, and learned from him that the vessel, named the _Glorieuse_, had been cruising off Ushant, and three days before had captured an English merchantman, which she had sent to Brest with a prize crew. The _Glorieuse_ was bound for Boulogne, and the _Fury_ had been taken for a French despatch-boat bringing orders.

By midday the _Glorieuse_ came within sight of Selsey Bill, and beating up against a westerly breeze made a slow passage to Spithead. It was almost dark before she ran into Portsmouth Harbor. Her signals had already informed the port officers that she was a prize, and she had hardly hove-to when a boat came alongside to make inquiries.

"I'll have to go and see the admiral and report," said Jack to Babbage. "Probably I shall not be back to-night. We'll see about the prisoners in the morning."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*OFF LUSCOMBE*

During the latter part of the voyage Jack had devoted a good deal of thought to his future course of action. To report to the admiral would be his first duty; when that was done he wished to wipe off a personal score. He had been shipped off to France by the smugglers of Luscombe; they had unquestionably been assisted by Monsieur de Fronsac; and, remembering the name Goujon mentioned by the Frenchman, he felt pretty sure that the boat in which he had been conveyed from the shore belonged to the sufferer from the flutters, Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon. It was not in human nature that he should let slip his chance of having his tit for tat.

And apart from his personal feelings, there were other reasons for this determination. To put down smuggling was part of his duty as a king's officer; it was no less his duty to suspect a Frenchman whom he found in league with them. There was something mysterious in their connection with De Fronsac, and something very unpleasant in the idea of De Fronsac's sailing under false colors in the house of Squire Bastable. It seemed to Jack that he would only be fulfilling a public duty, as well as getting even with private enemies, if he probed the mystery and laid the offenders by the heels.

But to do this it was very necessary that his return to England should be kept secret. The Luscombe smugglers would, no doubt, have friends spying for them in neighboring ports, and if he were seen they would be on their guard, and De Fronsac would have time to get away. He was glad, therefore, that it was dark when the _Glorieuse_ came to her anchorage. It increased his chances of escaping notice in preparing to take the smugglers by surprise.

Smartening himself up as well as he could, and removing as far as possible the traces of his wound, he went ashore and made his way to Admiral Horniman's lodgings in the Hard. He was admitted at once on explaining his errand, and found himself in the presence of a big man with rugged, weather-beaten face, fierce white eyebrows, and a wooden arm. The admiral was alone, examining a chart with the aid of a tumbler of toddy and a long pipe.

"Mr. Midshipman Hardy, sir," said the servant.

"Come in and shut that door," roared the admiral in a quarter-deck bellow. "Dash my buttons! Do you want me to catch my death of cold! Now what's this?"

"Come to report a prize, sir."

The admiral looked Jack up and down.

"You have come to report a prize, have you, sir? And what's your superior officer about when he sends a youngster like you?"

"He's in a French prison, sir. I--"

"The deuce he is! How do you come to be in charge of a prize, eh? What's your vessel?"

"The _Glorieuse_, sir!"

"Don't trifle, sir! I didn't ask you for French crack-jaw. Your own vessel, sir?"

"The _Fury_, sir," Jack responded.

"What! Are there two Furies? The only _Fury_ I know was the cutter that that fool Blake allowed to be captured. Didn't they tell me she was carried into Boulogne?"

"Yes, sir, but we retook her."

"By George! I'm glad of it; a smart cutter, the fastest on the station. And you took a craft called the _Glorieuse_ too, did you? What's your vessel, and who's your captain, and why isn't he here?"

"If you please, sir--"

"Answer my question, sir--a plain question and a plain answer."

"My vessel's the _Fury_, sir," replied Jack, "and it was the _Fury_ captured the _Glorieuse_, a thirty-gun brig."

"What! that cockle-shell take a thirty-gun brig?"

"Yes, sir, we took her by surprise, and--"

"And who retook the _Fury_?"

"Some threescore English seamen, sir; I was in command, and--"

"You in command! Bless my soul, what are you talking about? What's your name, sir?"

"Jack Hardy, sir."

"Why, why, didn't Lieutenant Blake report you as missing? Haven't I got his report--somewhere, hang me if I know where. Where's Lieutenant Blake? Why didn't he come and report all this himself?"

"I'm sorry to say he's a prisoner in France, sir. He was taken inland, and--"

"Am I standing on my head or on my feet?" cried the peppery admiral. "What's all this beating about the bush? Explain yourself, sir!"

"Why don't you give me a chance?" thought Jack; but Admiral Horniman's impetuous manner was well known on the Portsmouth station; no finer sailor ever served his Majesty; and those who knew him knew what a sterling character underlay his rough exterior. He raised his glass now and emptied it at a draft; and Jack took advantage of the action to begin his story, using as few words as possible, and hurrying on when he saw the admiral preparing to interrupt. Somewhat to his surprise, he reached the end without misadventure.

"Bless my soul! And you mean to tell me, Mr. Hardy, that you captured the _Glorieuse_ yourself?"

"No, sir; I was bowled over; but the men fought splendidly, and Ben Babbage--"

"Turnip-tops! I know him! Brother Sol on the brain! but a good seaman. Well, Mr. Hardy, you'll write all that down--plain, mind you, so that I can read it, no finicking spidery scrawl for me, egad! Now run off and get a sawbones to look at that wound of yours, and take a few days' leave ashore. The sooner you're fit for duty the better. We'll take charge of your prize."

"Thank you, sir. But about the leave--if you don't mind, I'd rather not take it at present."

"What in thunder do you want to be at then?"

"You know what happened at Luscombe, sir--at Congleton's Folly?"

"Yes--no; hang me! I remember Blake reported something. He broke into a tower, or something of that sort, and found nothing--wasn't that it?--everything gone, lock, stock, and barrel."

"Yes, sir. I want to find out what is going on in Luscombe now. I can't do it if the smugglers learn that I've come back. Of course they're bound to know that the _Fury_ has been retaken and the _Glorieuse_ brought in a prize; but if my name's kept out of it they won't be on their guard; and if you would allow me a few days' absence, I'd--"

"So you shall, by the Lord Harry!" cried the admiral, without waiting to hear what. "And I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll keep the _Glorieuse_ and the _Fury_ in quarantine. Not a man from either of 'em shall come ashore till you've reported to me. They'd blab if they did. And there's blabbing enough. Egad! Several of our merchantmen have been scooped up lately, and I'll keel-haul the villain who betrays 'em to the French if I catch him. But what about your wound, eh? Won't that be troublesome?"

"'Tis just a flesh wound, sir," replied Jack; "I shall be all right in a couple of days. There's just one thing; may I have the _Fury_ if I find I can use her?"

"Certainly, certainly, when you like; in fact, Blake being absent, you'll be in command till my lords make another appointment."