As We Sweep Through The Deep Part 9

"And min' yew, Dan," he added, "if us lands this un all right, us'll be rich, lad--ha! ha! Besides, wot's Hawkins got tow be afear'd of? The _Brixham_ can cut the winkers from the wind's eye, that she can. Tack and 'alf tack though buried in green seas, Dan. Never saw a craft tow sail closer tow a wind. Here's tow bold Hawkins and the brave _Brixham_!"

The toast was drunk from a black bottle which the "capting" handed to Dan.

"'Ave a pull, chap; yew needs it to brace yewr courage tow the sticking-point."

Captain Butler prided himself on the seaworthiness and fleetness of his cutter, the saucy little _Moonbeam_. Not that she had been much to look at, or much to sail either, when he took her over; for in those good old times the Admiralty was not a whit more generous with paint and copper nails than it is now. But One-legged Butler was a man of some means, who might have driven his coach on sh.o.r.e had he not been so fond of the brine and the breeze. So he had the _Moonbeam_ seen to at his own expense--not without asking and receiving permission, of course, for he was a strict-service man. Her bows were lengthened and her rig altered and improved; she was made, in fact, quite a model of.

And Captain Butler was justly proud of the _Moonbeam_. So highly did he regard her that he would not have marked her smooth and spotless deck with his timber toe to obtain his promotion, and therefore his servant had orders to always keep the end of that useful limb shod with softest leather.

Nothing that ever sailed got the weather-gauge on the _Moonbeam_.

Except the _Brixham_.

That smuggling sloop landed many a fine bale of silk, hogshead of wine, and tobacco galore, all along the south coast; but never had been caught. She was a fly-by-night and a veritable phantom. Thrice Butler had chased her. He might as well have attempted to overhaul a gull on the wing.

But to-night One-legged Butler meant to do or die. He knew she was going to venture into Tor Bay, and lie off at anchor under the lee of the cliffs. He could have boarded her in boats perhaps; but that would not have suited Butler's idea of seamanship. It must be neck or nothing--a fair race and a fair fight.

The _Brixham_ carried a dare-devil crew, however, and Hawkins feared nothing. The _Moonbeam_ would have her work cut out; but then all the more glory to the bold fellows on board of her; for these were the days when adventure was beloved for its own sake alone.

When, on the night previous, twenty brave blue-jackets from the _Tonneraire_ were told off for special service and sent aboard the little _Moonbeam_, which sailed a few hours after just as the moon was rising over the Hoe, they had no idea what was in the wind. From their armature of cutla.s.ses and pistols, they "daresayed" there was a little bit of fighting to be done, and rejoiced accordingly, for Jack dearly loves a scrimmage. The wind blew high, even then tossing the cutter about like a cork, although she carried but little sail. By next forenoon, however, she had pa.s.sed Tor Bay, and lay in semi-hiding near Hope's Nose. There was the risk of the vessel's presence being discovered and reported to Scrivings and his gang; but there always are risks in warfare.

As soon as it was dusk a portion of the men were landed. Then the _Moonbeam_, although it blew big guns, set herself to watch for the foe.

Hour after hour flew by, and the moon, glinting now and then through a rift in the clouds, whitened the curling waves, but showed no signs of the _Brixham_, or of anything else.

It was an anxious time.

At twelve o'clock grog and biscuits were served out. The men never had time to swallow a mouthful--of biscuit, I mean. No doubt they drank the grog, for those were the days of can-tossing, a custom now happily but seldom honoured.

Yes, there she was! It could be none other save daring Hawkins in the _Brixham_.

Small look-out was being kept to-night, however, on the smuggler.

The _Moonbeam_ swept down on her as hawk swoops down on his prey, and although Tor Bay is wondrous wide, and the _Brixham_ was nearly in the centre of it, the cutter was on her in a surprisingly short time.

Fine seamanship, fine steering, to sheer alongside and grapple, despite the fact that the sea had gone down, and the waves were partially under the lee of the hills.

If ever man was surprised, that man was Smuggler Hawkins. But he answered the call to surrender with a shout of defiance.

After this it was all a wild medley of pistols cracking, cutla.s.ses clashing, cries--yes, and, I am sorry to say, a few groans; for blood was shed, and one man at least would never sail the salt seas more. But if blood was shed, the seas washed it off; for the fight took place with the spray driving over both vessels, white in the moonlight.

A prize crew was left on the _Brixham_, and in less than twenty minutes both craft were safe at anchor in Torquay harbour.

Meanwhile, the party who had been landed near to Hope's Nose had made their way inland, bearing somewhat to the east to make a detour, both for the purpose of getting well in the rear of the smugglers'

cottage--where Tom Fairlie, who was in command, knew the smugglers were to be found--and because the night was still young.

When Scrivings left the outlook with Dan on watch, he betook himself to this cottage, in order to complete arrangements for landing the cargo, every bale and tub of which they had meant to haul up from Daddy's Hole to the plains above, then to cart them away inland.

But he found his ten men ready, and even the horses and carts in waiting. They were hired conveyances. The smugglers found no difficulty in getting help to secure their booty in those days, when many even of the resident gentry of England sympathized with contraband trade. So there was nothing to be done but to wait.

It was a lonely enough spot where the little cottage stood among rocks and woodland. Lovely as well as lonely and wild; though I fear its beauties alone did nothing to recommend the place to the favour of "Capting" Scrivings and his merry men.

The night waned. The moon rose higher and higher. The men in the bothy, having eaten and drunk, had got tired at last of card-playing, and nearly all were curled up and asleep.

The sentry had seated himself on a stone outside, and he too was nodding, lulled into dreamland by the sough of the wind among the solemn pines.

The wind favoured Fairlie's party, who, as stealthily as Indians, crept towards the cottage from the rear.

The sentry was neatly seized and quickly gagged, and next moment the lieutenant, sword in hand, his men behind him, had rushed into the dimly-lit bothy.

"Surrender in the king's name! The first who stirs is a dead man!"

It was beautifully done. Not a show of resistance was or could be made, and in less than an hour Tom Fairlie, with his crestfallen prisoners, had reached the harbour, where they were welcomed by a hearty cheer, which awakened the echoes of the rocks and a good many of the inhabitants of the village of Torquay.[A]

[A] The town now shows a bolder front.

And now Captain Jack Mackenzie shook hands right heartily with his friend Tom Fairlie.

"Splendid night's work, Tom," he said. "A thousand thanks! Now the saucy _Tonneraire_ may be called ready for sea."

Splendid night's work was it? Well, we now-a-days would think this impressment cruel--cruel to take men away from their homes and avocations, perhaps never to see their country more. Yet it must be admitted that smugglers like these, who had so long defied the law, richly deserved their fate.

CHAPTER X.

IN THE MOON'S BRIGHT WAKE.

"Now welcome every sea delight-- The cruise with eager watchful days, The skilful chase by glimmering night, The well-worked ship, the gallant fight, The loved commander's praise!"--_Old Song._

It was not without a tinge of sorrow at his heart that Jack Mackenzie stood on his own quarter-deck and saw the chalky cliffs of England fading far astern, as the gloom of eventide fast deepened into night. He was not the one to give way to useless grief, but he could not help contrasting the hope and joyfulness with which he had last left home with his present state of mind. He was not a post-captain then certainly, but he had that--or thought he had--for which he would gladly now take the epaulettes from off his shoulders and fling them in the sea--namely, the love of the only girl he ever thought worth living for.

But she-- Well, no matter; that was past and gone. His love had been all a dream, a happy dream enough while it lasted, while his heart had been to her a toy. But then his father, his good old careless-hearted father. Wrecked and ruined! That he was in difficulties Jack had known for years, but he never knew how deep these were, nor that they had so entwined themselves around the roots of the old homestead, that to get rid of the former was to tear up the latter and cast all its old a.s.sociations to the four winds of heaven. Dear old homestead! Somehow Jack had dreamt he would always have it to go home to on every return voyage, always have his father there to welcome him back, always--

"Hallo!" said a voice at his side, "what is all this reverie about, Jack?"

Tom laid his hand gently, half timidly on his arm as he spoke. Half timidly, I say, because it would not do for even the men to note a shadow of familiarity on p.o.o.p or quarter-deck betwixt a commander and his captain.

Jack smiled somewhat sadly.

"I daresay, Tom," he replied, "it was very wrong, but I was just breathing one last sigh for lost love and home. Oh, I don't care for Grantley Hall so much; but then there is sister, and poor father, and it seems rather hard he should take service again. There is just enough saved out of the wreck for them to live on."

"Yes; and you'll win a fortune yet, mayhap an earldom, Jack--"