The Cruise of the Frolic Part 30

We must now return to the "Pretty Polly." Besides Joe Buntin, the crew of the cutter consisted of d.i.c.k Davis, Tom Figgit, and Jack Calloway, as thorough seamen as were ever collected together, and all of them licenced pilots for the Channel, each having a share in the craft; then there were, besides them, twice this number of men shipped on certain occasions, who, though they received a share of the profits, had no property in her. Joe had determined to run great risks this voyage, in the hopes of making large profits, and had invested a large part of his property in the venture, which his agent had prepared ready for shipment at Cherbourg. The wind shifted round to the nor'ard, and the "Pretty Polly" had a quick run across the Channel. The evening of the day she left Fairport, she was riding at anchor in the magnificent harbour of Cherbourg. As soon as they arrived, he and his mates went on sh.o.r.e, and the agent, not expecting him that evening, being out of the way, they betook themselves to a _cafe_ on the quay, overlooking the harbour. Joe always made himself at home wherever he went, and although he had no particular apt.i.tude for learning languages, he managed, without any great difficulty, to carry on a conversation in French, and his thorough good nature and ready fund of humour gained him plenty of friends among the members of the great nation.

The house of entertainment into which the Englishmen walked, is ent.i.tled "Le Cafe de la Grande Nation." The room was large, and had gla.s.s doors opening on the quay, through which a view of the harbour was obtained.

It was full of little round tables, with marble slabs, surrounded with chairs, and the walls were ornamented with glowing pictures of naval engagements, in which the tricolour floated proudly at the mastheads of most of the ships, while a few crippled barks, with their masts shot away, and their sails in tatters, had the British ensign trailing in the water. The prospect before them was highly picturesque. Directly in front was an old tower, the last remnant of the ancient Walls of Cherbourg. Beyond, spread out before them, was the broad expanse of its superb harbour, capable of containing all the fleet of France. In the centre, where labourers were busily at work, was the breakwater, the intended rival of Plymouth, one entrance guarded by the Fort of Querqueville, the other by that of Pelee; and on the western sh.o.r.e, guarded by numerous ranges of batteries, was the naval a.r.s.enal and dockyard, the pride of the people of Cherbourg, and which, when finished, is intended to surpa.s.s any thing of the kind possessed by the _perfide Anglais_.

Joe and his friends, having ordered some _eau de vie_ and water, and lighted their cigars, took their seats near the door. They did not stand much on ceremony in pa.s.sing their remarks on all they saw, particularly at the men-of-war's men who were strolling about the town.

"My eyes, d.i.c.k," exclaimed Tom Figgit, "look at them fellows with their red waistcoats and tight jackets, which look as if they were made for lads half their size, and their trousers with their sterns in the fore part. Just fancy them going aloft."

"They are rum enough, but, to my mind, not such queer-looking chaps as the sodgers," answered d.i.c.k.

"Do you know, d.i.c.k, that I've often thought that a Frenchman must be cast out of quite a different mould to an Englishman? The clothes of one never would fit t'other. It has often puzzled me to account for it."

"Why, Tom, it would puzzle one if one had to account for all the strange things in the world," answered the other. "You might just as well ask why all the women about here wear caps as big as balloons; they couldn't tell themselves, I warrant."

Just then their conversation was broken off, that they might listen to Joe, who had entered into a warm discussion with the boatswain, or some such officer of one of the French ships-of-war, on the relative qualities of their respective navies. The _salle_ was full at the time of naval and military officers of inferior grades, douaniers, gens-d'armes, and worthies of a similar stamp, all smoking, and spitting, and gesticulating, and talking together.

"Comment, Monsieur Buntin," said the Frenchman; "do you mean to say that you have got an a.r.s.enal as large as le notre de Cherbourg in the whole of England?"

"I don't know how that may be," answered Joe, quietly; "Portsmouth isn't small, and Plymouth isn't small, but perhaps we don't require them so big. We get our enemies to build ships for us."

"Bah," exclaimed the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders; "les perfides!"

Just then a fine frigate was seen rounding Point Querqueville. Like a stately swan slowly she glided through the water till, when she approached the town, her rigging was crowded with men, her courses were clewed up, her topsails and topgallant-sails were furled, and she swung round to her anchor. She was a model of symmetry and beauty, and the Frenchmen looked on with admiration.

"There," exclaimed Joe's friend, "n'est-ce pas que c'est belle? Have you got a ship in the whole English navy like her?"

"I don't know," answered Joe, innocently. "But if there came a war, we very soon should, I can tell you."

"Comment?" said the Frenchman.

"Why you see, monsieur, we should have she."

"Sare!" exclaimed half a dozen Frenchmen, starting up and drawing their swords. "Do you mean to insult La Grande Nation?"

Whereupon Tom Figgit and d.i.c.k Davis, though they did not exactly comprehend the cause of offence, jumped up also, and prepared for a skirmish, which might have ended somewhat seriously for the three Englishmen, had not Joe's agent at that moment appeared and acted as a pacificator between them, Joe a.s.suring them that he had no intention of insulting them or any one of their nation, and that he had merely said what he thought would be the case.

Joe did not spend a longer time than was absolutely necessary at Cherbourg, and as soon as he got his cargo on board, the "Pretty Polly"

was once more under way for England. Her hold was stowed with much valuable merchandise, chiefly silks, laces, and spirits. She had also on deck a number of empty tubs, and a few bales filled with straw. As soon as he had got clear of the land, the wind, which had at first been southerly, shifted to the south-west, and it soon came on to blow very fresh. This he calculated would bring him upon the English coast at too early an hour for his purpose, so when he had run about two-thirds of his distance, he lay to, with his foresail to windward, waiting for the approach of evening.

As he walked the deck of his little vessel, with Tom Figgit by his side, he every now and then broke into a low quiet laugh. At last he gave vent to his thoughts in words.

"If we don't do the revenue this time, Tom, say I'm no better than one of them big-sterned mounsieurs. What a rage that dirty spy, Hogson, will be in! Ha, ha, ha! It's a pleasure to think of it."

Tom fully partic.i.p.ated in all his leader's sentiments, and by their light-hearted gaiety one might have supposed that they had some amusing frolic in view, instead of an undertaking full of peril to their personal liberty and property. All this time a man was stationed at the masthead to keep a look-out in every direction, that no revenue-cruiser should approach them without due notice, to enable them to get out of her way.

We must now return to Lieutenant Hogson. As soon as he felt certain that the boats had landed, he hurried down with his men to the beach.

His approach was apparently not perceived, and while the smugglers were actively engaged in loading themselves with tubs and bales of goods, he was among them.

"Stand and deliver, in the king's name," he shouted out, collaring the first smuggler he could lay hands on, his men following his example.

For a moment the smugglers appeared to be panic-struck by the suddenness of the attack; but soon recovering themselves, as many as were at liberty threw down their loads and made their escape.

"Seize the boats," he added. "Here, take charge of this prisoner." And rushing into the water, he endeavoured to capture the boat nearest to him; but just as he had got his hand on her gunnel, the people in her, standing up with their oars in their hands, gave her so hearty a shove, that, lifting on the next wave, she glided out into deep water, while he fell with his face into the surf, from which he had some difficulty in recovering himself with a thorough drenching; the other boat getting off in the same manner. In the mean time, signals had been made by the revenue-men stationed on the neighbouring heights, that the expected run had been attempted, and the coast-guard officers and their people from the nearest stations hurried up to partic.i.p.ate in the capture. Some came by land, while others launched their boats in the hopes of cutting off the "Pretty Polly" in case she should not have discharged the whole of her cargo.

With m.u.f.fled oars and quick strokes they pulled across the bay; but if they expected to catch Joe Buntin, or the "Pretty Polly," they certainly were disappointed; for although they pulled about in every direction till daylight, not a sign or trace of her did they discover. Not so unfortunate, however, was Lieutenant Hogson, for although he did not capture his rival, he made a large seizure of tubs, and several bales of silk, as he supposed, and a considerable number of prisoners, which would altogether bring him in no small amount of prize-money. One prisoner he made afforded him considerable satisfaction. It was no other than Tom Figgit, who, having jumped out of the boat with a tub on his back, was seized before he had time to disengage himself from his load, and this, with many a grimace, he was now compelled to carry.

"I hope you've made up your mind for a year in Winchester jail, Master Tom," said Mr Hogson, holding a lantern up to his face. "It isn't the first time you've seen its inside, I warrant."

"It would be, though; and what's more, I intend to spend my Christmas with my wife and family," answered Tom, doggedly.

The prisoners were now collected, and marched up to the nearest coast-guard station, but there were so many tubs and bales that the coast-guard men were obliged to load themselves heavily with them; for it was found that should only a small guard be left to take charge of them, the smugglers would carry them off. The wind whistled coldly, the rain came down in torrents, and the revenue people and their prisoners had a very disagreeable march through the mud up to the station, Tom Figgit being the only person who retained his spirits and his temper-- though he grumbled in a comical way at being compelled to carry a tub for other people, and insisted that he should retain it for his trouble at the end of his journey. When he reached the guard-house, he slyly tumbled the tub off his shoulders, and down it came on the ground with so heavy a blow that it was stove in. The names of the prisoners were now taken down in due form, and they were told they must be locked up till they could be carried before a magistrate, and be committed to jail for trial. As soon as the officer had done speaking,--

"Please, sir," said Tom, "there's one of the tubs leaking dreadfully, and if it isn't looked to, it will all have run out before the morning; though for the matter of that, it doesn't smell much like spirits."

"Bring me a gla.s.s," said the lieutenant, who, wet and cold, was longing to have a drop of spirits. "I'll soon pa.s.s an opinion on your _eau de vie_, Master Tom."

Tom smiled, but said nothing, while one of the men brought a gla.s.s and broached the leaky tub.

"Show a light here," said Tom. "Well, I can't say as how it's got much of the smell of spirits--hang me, if I can make it out."

Tom filled the gla.s.s, and, with a profound bow, worthy of a Mandarin, presented it to the officer. Lieutenant Hogson was thirsty, and, without even smelling the potion, he gulped it down.

"Salt water, by George!" he exclaimed, furiously, spitting and spluttering it out with all his might, and giving every expression to his disgust.

Tom, forgetful of the respect due to a king's officer, burst into a fit of uproarious laughter.

"Well, I warned you, sir. I told you there was something odd about it-- ha, ha, ha--and now you find what I said was true--ha, ha, ha!"

"What do you mean, you scoundrel?" cried the lieutenant, stamping furiously. "How dare you play such a trick?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing," answered Tom, coolly; "you see I should have been very much surprised if there had been any thing else but salt water; for you see we was bringing those tubs on sh.o.r.e, full of sea-water, for a poor old lady who lives some way inland, and her doctors ordered her to try sea-bathing on the coast of France; but as she couldn't go there herself, you see, she has the water carried all the way from there to here. It's a fancy she has, but it's very natural and regular, and we get well paid for it, sir."

"Do you, Master Tom, actually expect me to believe such a pack of gross lies?" stammered out the lieutenant, as well as his rage would let him.

"I don't know, sir," answered the smuggler; "some people believe one thing, some another, and I hope you won't think of keeping us here any longer, seeing as how we've done nothing against the law in landing tubs of salt water for old Missis Grundy up at Snigses Farm, sir. You may just go and axe her if what I says isn't as true as gospel. It might be the death of her if she didn't get her salt water to bathe in, you know, sir."

"Old Missis Grundy! I never heard of her before," exclaimed the lieutenant, growing every moment more angry; "and Snigses Farm, where's that, I should like to know?"

"Why, sir, you see it's two or three miles off, and rather a difficult road to find," answered Tom, winking at his companions. "You first go up the valley, then you turn down by Waterford Mill, next you keep up by Dead Man's Lane, and across Carver's Field, and that will bring you about a quarter of the distance."

"Why, you scoundrel!" exclaimed the lieutenant, who recognised the names of these places, and knew them to be wide apart, "you impudent rogue, you--why, you are laughing at me!"

"Oh, no, sir," answered Tom, demurely, pulling a lock which hung from his bullet-shaped head, "couldn't think of laughing at you; besides, sir, you knows one can't always make one's face as long as a grave-digger's apprentice's."

"I'll make it long enough before I've done with you, Master Tom, let me tell you," exclaimed the officer. "Now let us see what are in those other casks and bales."

"What, all them that your people have had the trouble of carrying up here?" cried Tom. "Lord! sir, the tubs, of course, is all full of salt water, too, for Missis Grundy."