The people of Dunkirk must have been very stupid indeed if they could not have perceived that there was something mysterious about the strange little vessel that lay moored to one of the wharves. Although there was some attempt at carrying out the disguise of her being a peaceful trader, there were many circumstances arising that would mark her otherwise. But, to tell the truth, the people of Dunkirk were not only suspicious. In their minds they were quite settled as to the aims and ambitions of the jaunty little lugger, and sailors ashore are wont sometimes to let their tongues get away with their discretion.
The English spies and agents of course were well informed, and letters were written even to the papers in London describing the doings at Dunkirk, and the preparations that were being made to outfit a “piratical expedition,” as it was called, against the king’s commerce in his own home water.
Objection was continually made by the English representatives against the outfitting of a belligerent vessel in a friendly port, but nothing was done by the French authorities, and very soon the Surprise—or the Roebuck, as she was then called—was ready for sea with the exception56 of her armament, her given destination being Norway and Sweden.
Conyngham and his crew had kept away during the lading of the vessel, and most of the work had been done by Frenchmen, in order to prevent the whole thing from being too glaringly open. But one evening, just about dusk, Conyngham strolled down the edge of the wharf and stood watching some long boxes that were being slung on board and lowered over the side. A very short red-haired man came up to him and spoke to him in French.
“Good evening, monsieur,” he said. “A pretty little vessel this, eh?”
Conyngham turned at once and looked the speaker over. He knew him to be an Englishman who was supposed to be a Government spy. The man’s audacity in daring to approach him at that moment was rather startling, but Conyngham’s reply must have been more so.
“She is good to look at,” he returned in French, “and they tell me she is sailing to-morrow night. But let us go down to her,” he said, taking the smaller man’s arm, “and ask some questions of those on board. We may learn something.”
Half reluctantly, the Englishman accompanied him. In a few steps they were at the gangway. The tackle that had just deposited its load on deck swung outboard from the yard-arm that was being used as a crane, and passed close to where Conyngham and the spy were standing. With a swiftness that was surprising, Conyngham caught the rope in one hand and gave it a twist about the body of his companion beneath the arms.
“Hoist away,” he shouted, holding the struggling Englishman. And before he knew it the latter was swinging57 in the air, afraid to struggle for fear of being dropped, but shouting and cursing in hearty John Bull fashion.
Conyngham rushed up the gangway and met a tall, dark-featured man, who saluted him as he stepped on board. Just then the Englishman’s feet touched the deck also.
“Here, Monsieur Villois, have this man brought to the cabin,” said Conyngham, and the half-frightened spy was ushered in by two grinning French sailors.
“Now, sir,” said Conyngham, “you shall learn all about it. Sit down.” He motioned the spy to a seat and then, looking at him fixedly, continued:
“For the last three weeks you have dogged my footsteps; you have tried to overhear everything that I have spoken, and you have eavesdropped at windows and doors when I was in company with other gentlemen. You have a companion here who claims to be a very learned person, and always goes about with a book under his arm, wearing big spectacles. Last evening you met on a bench at the end of the park that leads to the street of the windmill, and you said—” Here to the Englishman’s horror and surprise Conyngham detailed a long conversation that had taken place—word for word he had it. At last he was interrupted.
“But you could not have heard this; there was no one nigh us,” said the Englishman, and then he added quickly, “I see it all. That villain has betrayed me. What do you intend to do with me?”
“I intend,” said Conyngham quietly, “to tell you all you want to know, and to set you on shore at the proper moment. The first and most interesting point, I suppose,” he continued, “would be, What is the destination58 of this vessel and when does she sail? That is easy. She sails to-night—in fact, in about two hours. Her destination is nowhere in particular. At present she is the property of a French firm of merchants, and is a peaceable, unarmed lugger. In about six hours, if the wind holds fair, she will be purchased by the United Colonies of America. She will be signed and receipted for outside of the jurisdiction of the French Government. Her name also will be changed, as well as her character.”
“You will be pirates?” gasped the spy.
“Not in the least,” was Conyngham’s return. “If that question should ever arise, it could be settled with little trouble. Now,” he concluded, “you know as much as you would like to, I am sure.”
“And are you going to set me on shore?” asked the Englishman incredulously.
“Not yet, my friend,” was Conyngham’s reply. “I still have use for you.”
Just at this moment the cabin door opened and the tall man who had stood at the gangway entered. The darkness of his complexion and the straightness of his black hair betrayed the fact that he was of Spanish or some southern extraction. But the English that he spoke was pure and without accent, as it had been proved, also, was his French.
“Well, captain,” he said, “the last box has been put on board. The rest that are standing about are all empty. We are ready to get under way.”
“Has the other vessel sailed?” asked Conyngham, adding, with a wave of his hand, “you can speak frankly before this gentleman.”
“She has, sir; she slipped out four hours ago, and will59 join us three leagues off the coast to-morrow at daylight.”
“Are all the crew on board of her?”
“Yes, sir, and the armament. I am afraid we shall have some difficulty with the six-pounder.”
“Never cross a bridge till you come to it, Mr. Freeman,” returned Conyngham, “and now one more question. Is the agent of Mr. Hortalez on board?”
“Yes, sir; he is waiting on deck.”
“Tell him I will join him in half a minute. If you should ask my advice as a mere passenger who has had some experience, I should say that we might slip our moorings quietly and get under way; the tide, I should judge, would carry us well down the harbor. But I merely advise it, you understand, as you are the captain of the ship. And by the way, Mr. Bulger,” he added, turning to the spy, “you will kindly wait here for my return; there is a gentleman at the door who will object to your leaving, so if you will allow me to suggest, it will be better for you to remain here quietly.”
He arose as he spoke and left the cabin. “Mr. Bulger” remained seated, with consternation written on every line of his face. In a few minutes, though there had been no sound from the deck, he could tell from the swaying of the vessel that they were under way. For fully half an hour the Roebuck drifted quietly with the tide, and then the mainsail was hoisted and she keeled over to the damp easterly breeze that carried her out beyond the mouth of the harbor. For some time she sailed, holding a course to the northwestward, then she hove to and as day broke she was seen to be about three leagues off the French coast; and not two miles away, hove to also, was60 a clumsy little brig with her brown sails laid back against the mast. A red flag suddenly appeared, waving over the brig’s side. This was answered by the wave of a white one over the Roebuck’s taffrail, and then one on the port tack and the other on the starboard; swiftly the two vessels approached until within hailing distance. The decks of the little brig were crowded with sailormen, and amidships were long boxes, carefully wrapped and ready for slinging, and a few long bales wound in sail-cloth. By careful maneuvering they were brought together broadside to broadside, well tendered and lashed. No sooner had this been accomplished under the direction of the dark man, at whose side stood Conyngham, than the latter turned, and speaking to a slightly built but richly dressed young Frenchman, who was evidently a little upset by the motion of the sea, he requested him to step into the cabin, where he was introduced to the imprisoned Englishman as Mr. Beauchier, the representative of the owners of the Roebuck.
“And now, Mr. Bulger,” remarked Conyngham, after the introduction, “comes the favor that I am going to ask of you. I shall request you to witness the sale and transfer of this vessel from its present ownership to that of the United Colonies of America. The price has been arranged between Mr. Beauchier and myself, and only our signatures are needed to the document, with that of a witness to the same. This is the bill of sale and transfer of the lugger Roebuck, as you can see. Mr. Beauchier will sign here, I here, and you will witness and put your name on this line.”
Half trembling, the Englishman scrawled his signature beside those of the others.
61 “And now, Mr. Beauchier,” went on Conyngham, “is it true that I understand that you own also the vessel which is alongside of us?”
“Yes, and her contents,” was the reply.
“Have you got any ballast for sale—old iron or such like?”
“We have, sir, and also some passengers who are anxious to leave the ship, because they are afraid of the leak which the captain reports she has sprung.”
“Poor people! Poor people!” repeated Conyngham. “I will take them on board for nothing.”
The transfer of the long heavy bundles proved an easy task, as the “passengers” were all of the male sex and insisted upon turning to and helping. In two hours it was all accomplished; the lashings were cut off and the two vessels drifted apart.
It had been agreed that the little Englishman should be put ashore at some obscure French port, the brig being bound now for L’Orient. But as Mr. Bulger stood watching the lugger square away to the north he ground his teeth in impotent despair.
“Pirates, just the same,” he muttered. “Pirates, every one of them.”
At that moment there broke from the masthead of the lugger, not the Jolly Roger, but a big flag with thirteen alternate stripes of red and white. Across it diagonally stretched the writhing coils of a rattlesnake, and on the fourth white bar appeared the printed words, “Don’t tread on me.”