There lay moored in the basin in the harbor of Dover two fast-sailing luggers that, despite the fact that they had been in the water but two years, had already earned great reputations for speed and seaworthiness, and to their merchant owners they had proved sources of pride and profit.
Mr. Robert Boltwood and his brother had been approached upon more than one occasion by persons desirous of purchasing either one of their two crack coasters. They were not surprised, therefore, when they received an offer made through a shipping firm, whose principal partners were Dutchmen, for one of the vessels named the Roebuck, but they were surprised when their terms were accepted, for they had placed what they considered almost a prohibitive price upon the Roebuck, which if anything was the faster of the two.
It was natural, perhaps, for them to wish to know for what purpose the Roebuck had been bought. All they could ascertain, however, was that a gentleman named Allan, claiming to come from London, and one Mr. Van der Beck, a Hollander, had bought her in partnership, and that she was to sail out of Dunkirk in the Channel trade.
48 Now it happened that in Dunkirk there were several indefatigable spies of the British Government, and in some way it had leaked out that a privateering expedition was on foot. There were so many idle American seamen in the port that it would have been a wonder if some such rumor had not been floated, and the story that started really need have had no connection with Conyngham’s cherished project. Suffice it, however, that this came to the ears of Messrs. Boltwood’s representative, who accordingly informed his firm, and this news reached them but a short time after they had completed the sale of the Roebuck. The terms of the sale had not included the delivery of the vessel across the Channel, but Mr. Allan and the fictitious Mr. Van der Beck had mistakenly supposed that there would be no difficulty in securing a crew, or at least enough men to sail her to her port of destination. To their surprise, however, they found that this was not the case. Sailors were hard to find, and it soon became evident, also, that the old owners, repenting of their bargain, were working against them. This and the fact that their suspicions had also been aroused, made the secret commissioners wary of appearing to be in a great hurry. So while the Roebuck remained at anchor they informed their friends in Dunkirk of the situation, and Conyngham resolved upon a bold plan. It was nothing more nor less than to sail with some eight or ten men in a large open yawl and bring out the Roebuck at night from her anchorage. It was agreed that Mr. Van der Beck (whom everybody will recognize as the elder Ross), who had lived in Holland and spoke the language like a born Dutchman, and Allen, should move themselves and their belongings on board the Roebuck, whose crew consisted of two49 French sailors, almost so decrepit from age as to be no longer on the active list. On a given night this short-handed crew were to slip their anchor and make out toward the harbor mouth where Conyngham and his crew of eight men would be taken on board, when they would sail at once for Dunkirk.
Those were the days when smuggling between the Continent and England was considered almost a legitimate venture, and despite the watchfulness of the English coast-guard vessels, from many small ports and coves smuggler pilots ran their contraband cargoes in and out. It was not difficult for Conyngham to secure the services of a French smuggler pilot, and in fact some of the men of the crew, Americans though they were, had been employed, at times, in the same risky business.
A big open yawl was procured without difficulty, and on a misty night she slipped out of Dunkirk harbor heading with a favoring easterly wind for the English coast. For a short time this held true and steady, but fortune after a few hours turned against them. Before daybreak the wind had increased to half a gale, and in the choppy sea the yawl had a bad time of it. It was only by good seamanship and constant bailing that she was kept afloat. The afternoon of the next day they found themselves about three leagues from the English coast, and the wind abating they laid their course for the white cliffs of Dover.
All apparently was going well, and they had passed several vessels without exciting suspicion, for the smallness of their craft was a great point in their favor, and she might have been taken for a coaster or fisherman hailing from any of the small villages that sent out their little fleets during the trawling season.
50 Late in the afternoon, while they were creeping southward along the coast, a king’s cutter suddenly appeared around a little headland not two miles away. The French pilot who was at the helm was undoubtedly responsible for what followed, for the sudden appearance of the cutter must have caused him to lose his head. Without a word of warning he threw the yawl up into the wind and headed her off shore, plainly in an endeavor to give the cutter a wider berth. The suspicious action had been seen by the Englishman, who at once altered his own course and turned off in pursuit.
Captain Conyngham at the time that the coast-guard was sighted had been resting asleep under a tarpaulin between the thwarts. The exclamations of the men on seeing the cutter’s tactics aroused him, and as soon as he had looked to leeward he saw that it was only a matter of time when the cutter would overhaul his little craft.
They were still so close into shore that they could see the white surf leaping and boiling against the rocks and at the base of the cliff. At one point he could make out a little break in the steep side, with some foliage near the top, and down at the bottom a short stretch of sandy beach.
A rocky ledge formed a barrier to the entrance of the little cove, and over it the water jumped and tossed angrily. Here and there, farther inshore, leaped sudden spurts of foam as the waves thundered on the sharp points of the hidden rocks. Yet one thing he noticed clearly even at the distance he was from shore—the water ran smoothly and evenly up to the narrow stretch of white beach, showing that within a few feet of shore it deepened again. His mind was made up in an instant.
51
The yawl was in the midst of the smother.
The cutter was outpointing the yawl, and though at first to leeward was working up to the windward position. Conyngham gave a few quick orders as he grasped the tiller. The yawl swung about, and with loosened sheets caught the wind abaft the beam and tore away shoreward. The cutter came about also, taking a longer time at it, and, flying down just outside the edge of the breakers, made a bold attempt to head the yawl and turn her back before she could cross her bows.
It came to be a question of minutes, and there was an added danger now, for the cutter opened up with a small bow gun, firing as quickly as she could load and aim. But, owing to the small size of the target and the uneven rise and fall of the chop, her marksmanship was bad, and though the balls whistled overhead and plashed all round, not one struck the intended mark.
The Frenchman, who was now in a state of terror, began to call upon the saints. To Conyngham’s inquiry whether he knew of a safe entrance to the little cove at which they were heading he vouchsafed no reply. But as they drew near the line of breakers his wails increased.
“We shall all be drowned!” he cried over and over. “Better a prison than the bottom of the sea.”
But Conyngham, with one eye ahead and the other on the approaching cutter, held his course. In another moment he had crossed the Englishman’s bows, and as the latter fired a parting shot the yawl was in the midst of the smother of tumbling waters.
How she got through it without being wrecked was more than any one of the crew could ever tell. Time and again they held their breath, expecting to be crushed upon the black points that now and then showed themselves52 on either hand. But with the skill of an Indian guiding his canoe down the rapids, Conyngham steered the little boat, and in half an hour she had safely passed the barrier reef and the worst part of the sailing, and soon was in the comparatively smooth water near the little beach.
Now there could be noticed a few roughly built huts of stone before which there were some nets drying on the ground, and some frightened fishermen came down to the water’s edge. One of them hailed in half French and half English, to which Conyngham replied.
The man informed them that they had better not land, as they had been seen by the Government lookout on the top of the cliff, and that in all probability the guards would soon be down and they would all be made prisoners.
Evidently, like the cutter, the fellow had taken them for smugglers, but he gave the information that farther down the coast there was a small cove inaccessible and invisible from above, where they might be able to get ashore.
Shortening sail, Conyngham headed the yawl southward. Out to sea the cutter was holding the same course, watching like a cat at a rat-hole. It looked as if escape was impossible, for a long promontory ran out to south not four leagues away, and with a shifted wind it would be only by miracle that they could keep from going ashore.
But the darkness, that Conyngham was waiting for, came at last, ushered in by a blinding fall of rain, and in it he once more managed to make an offing and by good luck and good seamanship weathered the point, and with the cutter somewhere back in the darkness, he made out53 once more into the open channel. At daybreak he was off Dover and could see the flag flying on the walls of the castle, and a mass of shipping about the entrance. He made boldly in and dropped his little anchor amid a fleet of small craft. The harbor at this time was not one of the best in the world, for the shingle bar would keep shifting, and the breakwaters, except the old basin piers, were not then built. But lying well out Captain Conyngham detected a vessel that, from the description he had received from Mr. Allan, he was sure could be none other than the Roebuck.
His sailing in so boldly had not attracted the least notice, and as he had bidden most of the crew to keep themselves out of sight under the tarpaulins, the number of men he had with him had not attracted attention either.
Just at dusk he got up his anchor and came farther up into the harbor. As he passed by the Roebuck his heart was beating with excitement, for she looked to be the very vessel for his purpose. He was within hailing distance when a figure came on deck. He could scarce refrain from shouting from sheer joy, for he recognized the stocky figure of his friend Allan. Another minute and he had called his name.
Working the yawl alongside he soon stepped on deck. It was considered too risky to transfer the men while there was yet light enough for them to be perceived, and, uncomfortable as it may have been for them, they remained in their cramped position in the smaller boat until almost midnight. In the early morning hours the Roebuck slipped her cable and slid out like a ghost through the channel fog. The yawl was being towed behind, but as it54 impeded the lugger’s sailing the small boat was stove in, laden with some of the spare ballast from the Roebuck, and sunk.
Without adventure or molestation they reached Dunkirk under the British flag. As they dropped anchor well up the harbor, Mr. Allan turned to the young captain with a smile.
“Well, sir,” he said, “this part of the proceeding is over and we are ready to go on with the rest of it. By the way, shall we keep the name?” He pointed to the stern of the jolly-boat where the word Roebuck stood out in red letters.
“No,” returned Conyngham, “that will all be changed. She has been renamed what we hope she’ll be.”
“And that is?” queried Mr. Allan.
“The Surprise,” was Conyngham’s answer.