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The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 16. Escape |
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_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ESCAPE Three more shots were fired at intervals, as the brig kept making short tack after tack, and with each report the flash appeared to be brighter, indicative of the increasing darkness, while now a pale lambent light seemed to be dawning at times and making the shape of the brig stand out more clearly at intervals, but only to fade away again quickly, while there were moments when the vessel quite disappeared. "Why is that, uncle?" asked Rodd quickly, as he looked vainly now in search of the flying craft. "Ah, there she is again! I began to think she had gone down. Why is she seen so dimly sometimes?" "Hidden by the flying spray, I think," said Uncle Paul. "Oh yes, of course," cried the boy. "Ah, there she is, quite clear now, and still going on nearer and nearer to the harbour mouth. No--now it's getting darker than ever.--There, now she's coming into sight again quite clearly." "Yes, she's getting out where the harbour lights are full upon her," said Uncle Paul. As he spoke there were two more reports, almost simultaneous, and Rodd felt a peculiar sense of pain attacking him, for at one moment when the two guns flashed, the brig could be plainly seen; the next, as the boy strained his eyes, all was black darkness, and he caught at his uncle's arm with his hands trembling and an intense longing upon him to speak; but no words would come. It seemed like some minutes before a word was uttered, and then it was the doctor who spoke. "I haven't caught sight of the boats lately," he said. "It is evident that they have given up the chase." "Oh, uncle, uncle," cried Rodd, "I was not thinking about them, but of those poor fellows in the brig. One of those last shots must have hit, and they have gone down." "Oh no," cried Uncle Paul; "I saw her once again. Just now.--Yes, there she is, tossing wildly in the waves. She must be beyond the mouth of the harbour, and--" "Yes, I see her! I see her!" cried Rodd wildly. "No, she's gone again; but she was pitching and tossing horribly." "Yes," said Uncle Paul. "It's going to be hard work for them now, for the waves out there must be tremendous. Well, my boy, it was a daring attempt, and whoever they are let's hope they may escape, but--" Uncle Paul was silent, and once more the boy uttered a low groan. Then no one spoke, but all stood straining their eyes to try and catch sight again of the vessel, which had seemed to be pitching wildly in the darkness; but they looked in vain, for all now seemed to be rapidly growing black. The boy tried to speak, but no words would come, and even the waiter was silent, as he stood trying to catch sight of the vessel once more; but the darkness now was rapidly increasing, and though from time to time they could make out the faint outline of the lights, all seemed to become more dense and obscure, and the boy started violently as their guide suddenly exclaimed-- "It is no use now, sare. I sink she must have gone down." Silence; but as Uncle Paul pressed his nephew's arm Rodd followed him slowly without a word, while the waiter shook his head and suggested that they should return to the _cafe_. The boy gave one glance before stirring, and then uttered a sigh. "Come, my boy," said his uncle; "perhaps there is no occasion to despair. It is quite evident that the captain of the brig knows what he is about, and may escape." Rodd followed his uncle without a word, the waiter going on before them to show the devious ways along by the harbour and the old town. As they drew near the yard Rodd felt a sense of hesitation. "I think I would rather get back on board the schooner, uncle," he said. "Oh, but we couldn't do that, my boy," cried Uncle Paul. "I gave an order for dinner to be prepared." "Yes, uncle, but I don't feel as if I could eat anything now." "Why?" "It seemed so horrible watching that vessel trying to escape under fire." "It was evidently not hit, my boy." "But it was going right out into the face of this storm, and even you thought she'd be driven ashore." "Yes; perhaps I have been thinking the worst; but the brig's captain is evidently a clever sailor and knows what he's about. It is rather jumping at conclusions to consider that he will let his vessel be wrecked. Yes, it was nervous work watching a vessel like that; but there, we must hope for the best, and possibly there is no reason to despond. Whoever the brig belonged to had good reason for getting away, and they have succeeded in that. There, come along; let's have our dinner, and think no more about it. But hallo! What's the matter here?" Uncle Paul's remark was caused by a loud angry voice scolding in French at the waiter who had just led them to the yard door, and it was evident that the man was in difficulties for absenting himself from his duties after giving the order that the visitors' dinner should be prepared. "But I have been in attendance upon the gentlemen," he protested, with not much truth in his utterance. "I had to take them down to the side of the harbour to see the firing at the spy. Is everything ready? Because the gentlemen are anxious for their dinner." Uncle Paul nudged his nephew, glad of the opportunity to change the bearing of the boy's thoughts, and shortly after the good meal prepared in the snug, warm room diverted Rodd's mind from the roaring of the storm, which was still beating round the great hotel; and they had just finished and were talking about going outside to see what the weather was like, when a very familiar gruff voice saluted their ears, as the waiter showed Captain Chubb into the room. "Oh, here you are," he grunted. "Come ashore to look after you. 'Fraid you were lost." "We are very glad to see you," said Uncle Paul. "Sit down. We thought it was not safe to try and get aboard." "Well, it aren't very," said the skipper; "but we come in the boat to make sure you weren't both drowned, and if you'll risk it I think I can get you round by keeping under the lee of two or three vessels." "What do you say, Rodd?" asked Uncle Paul. "Shall we risk it?" "Oh, I don't think that there'll be much risk, uncle, if Captain Chubb considers it safe. I don't mind going with him." The skipper gave the boy a nod and looked pleased; then nodding at Uncle Paul he said quietly-- "As we were ashore I told the men to get a few stores down to the boat, and that I'd meet them here. I dare say Joe Cross will be an hour, and by that time it will have lulled a bit, or else be a deal worse, and we'll see." It took very little persuasion to make the skipper partake of some of the hotel fare, and naturally enough the conversation turned upon the incident that had lately taken place. "Yes," said Captain Chubb, "the skipper of that craft has got some stuff in him, and he knew how to navigate his boat. I could have done it if I'd been obliged, but I should have wanted a deal of shoving before I hoisted sail. Storm was bad enough, and no room to tack; but what I shouldn't have liked was being fired at by two boats' crews and three or four forts. I know what being fired at is, young squire," continued the captain, giving Rodd a very peculiar look out of one eye, after closing the other, "and you may take my word for it it aren't nice." "What, have you been out in a man-of-war?" asked Rodd eagerly. "Nay, my lad, but several of our fellows have, and if you ask them, they can tell you what it's like too." "Then you never were fired at?" said Rodd questioningly. "Who says I warn't? I tell you I was, though it wasn't by forts. It was a Revenue cutter got trying to hit me." "What, smuggling?" cried Rodd. "Nay! Smuggling, indeed! It was her skipper--Lieutenant somebody or another--I forget his name--say Smith. He made a blunder, same as I did in taking you and the doctor here for slavers." "Oh!" cried Rodd, laughing. "Ah, it warn't anything to laugh at, my lad, with round shot coming a-splashing right across your bows. Certainly it was in a fog, and my craft didn't get hit, but more than once the balls came pretty near, and I remember thinking whether if the cutter did sink us we should all be able to swim ashore, and I come to the conclusion that we couldn't in our boots, for it was about nine miles." "I should think not," replied Rodd dryly. "But, Captain Chubb--about that brig; do you think they'd get right away to sea?" "I shouldn't think they'd try to, my lad." "They seemed to be trying to." "Not they. Her skipper, as soon as he got outside the harbour, would try to creep under the lee of the high ground somewhere out west. Whether he'd do it or not is quite another thing. Let's hope he did, for I don't care about hearing that good men and true have been drowned in a storm, even if they are French. I am not like your uncle here." "Come, I say, Captain Chubb," cried the doctor indignantly, "how dare you say that! Surely a thinking man can have a feeling of antipathy against Napoleon Bonaparte and all his works without being accused of liking to see brave Frenchmen drowned." "Beg pardon, sir. I suppose you are right," granted the skipper; "but I should like to hear that that there smart brig got safe away." "Well, I hope so too," said Uncle Paul shortly, and with a look in his countenance that made Rodd think about some words a friend had once said about a red rag to a bull. "But I suppose you don't believe that vessel had some emissaries of Napoleon on board, come to set fire to the port of Havre?" "Nay," said the skipper, drawing out the negative very deliberately. "Don't see any likelihood of their doing such a thing. What for? Suppose they did get it alight, that wouldn't bring Bony back. Nay, his game's about up now, and there will be quiet again over here for a bit, though I wouldn't venture to say for how long. Keeping quiet isn't in a Frenchman's nature." "But there was evidently something very special about the vessel, or else the French Government wouldn't have sent orders for her to be seized." "French Government did?" "Yes, I believe so," replied Uncle Paul. "We saw the officer and his men come riding in with the dispatch." "Nay. Order for the Revenue to put men on board." "Oh no," replied Uncle Paul. "From what we saw and what we heard, it was something much more important than that. Why, hang it, captain, they wouldn't have turned out the garrison and manned all the forts to stop the progress of a smuggler, would they?" "We wouldn't at Plymouth, sir; but there's no knowing what Frenchmen will do. But there, I give in. It must have been something stronger than that, and I am beginning to think that squire here's right, and that yon vessel, the--the--the--" "_Jeanne d'Arc_" cried Rodd. "Right," snorted the skipper. "She was something of a privateer, on mischief bent, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if we was to hear something more about her. I don't know, though; if the storm blows itself out before morning we shan't lie long here in harbour, but make away south as fast as I can make the schooner bowl along." "Then you think the weather will hold up soon?" said Rodd. "Nay, I am not going to think, squire; I'll wait until I can be sure. Anyhow, I won't fill my pipe till we get aboard." "Then you mean to try soon?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Why not?" replied the skipper gruffly. "Look yonder; what do you say to that?" "That" was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could easily run the boat alongside of the schooner. And he did--while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm. _ |
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