Under the Great Bear Part 9

CHAPTER XI.

BLUFFING THE BRITISH NAVY.

Cabot was not long allowed to enjoy his sense of possession before experiencing some of the anxieties of proprietorship; for, even as he stood overlooking his newly acquired factory, a clipper-built schooner, showing the fine lines and tall topmasts of an American, rounded the outer headland and entered the harbour. For a few minutes our young engineer, who was learning to appreciate the good points of a vessel, watched her admiringly as she glided across the basin and drew near the factory wharf. Then he was joined by White, who had been detained at the house, and they went down together to greet the new-comer.

She proved to be the fishing schooner "Ruth" of Gloucester, and her skipper, who introduced himself as Cap'n Ezekiel Bland, explained that he had come to the coast after bait.

"I 'lowed to get it in St. George," he said, "but there was a pesky French frigate that wouldn't allow the natives to sell us so much as a herring, though they had a-plenty and were keen to make a trade for the stuff I've got aboard."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Cabot, curiously.

"Flour and pork mostly. You see, I'm bound on a long trip, and being obliged to lay in a big supply of grub anyway, thought I might as well stow a few extra barrels to trade for bait; but now it looks like I couldn't get rid of 'em unless I give 'em away."

"There's plenty of bait in the bay," remarked White.

"Yes, so I've heard, and a plenty of frigates, too. The Frenchy must have suspicioned where I was bound, for he has followed us up sharp, and as we came by South Head I seen him jest a bilin' along 'bout ten mile astarn, and now he'll poke into every hole of the bay till he finds us. Anyhow, there won't be no chance to trade long as he's round, for you folks don't dare say your soul's your own when there's a Frenchy on the coast."

"Nor hardly at any other time," remarked White, moodily.

"There's another one, too--Britisher, I reckon--went up the bay towards Humber Arm ahead of us. I only wish the two tarnal critters would get into a sc.r.a.p and blow each other out of the water. Then there'd be some chance for honest folks to make a living. Now I'm up a stump and don't know what to do, unless some of you people can let me have a few barrels of bait right off, so's I can clear out again to-night."

"There isn't any to be had here," replied White, "for this is a lobster factory, and the whole business of the place, just at present, is catching and canning lobsters. You'll find some round at York Harbour, though."

"No use going there now, nor anywhere else, long as that pesky Frenchman's on the lookout. Can't think what made him leave St. Pierre in such a hurry. Thought he was good to stay there a week longer at any rate. But say, who owns this factory?"

"This gentleman is the proprietor," replied White, indicating his companion as he spoke.

"Hm!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Yankee skipper, regarding Cabot with an air of interest. "Never should have took you to be the owner of a Newfoundland lobster factory. Sized you up to be a Yankee same as myself, and reckoned you was here on a visit. Seeing as you are the boss, though, how'd you like to trade your pack for my cargo--lobsters for groceries? Both of us might make a good thing out of it. Eh?

I'll take all the risks, and neither of us needn't pay no duty."

"Can't do it," replied Cabot promptly, "because, in the first place, I'm not in the smuggling business, and in the second our whole pack is engaged by parties in St. Johns."

"As for the smuggling part," responded Captain Bland, "I wouldn't let that worry me a little bit. Everybody smuggles on this coast, which is neither British, French, nor Newfoundland. So a man wouldn't rightly know who to pay duties to, even if he wanted to pay 'em ever so bad, which most of us don't. If you have engaged your goods to St. Johns, though, of course a bargain is a bargain. Same time I could afford to pay you twice as much as any St. Johns merchant. But it don't matter much one way or another, seeing as the idea of trading was only an idea as you may say that just popped into my head. Well, so long. It's coming on dark, and I must be getting aboard. See you to-morrow, mebbe."

As the Yankee skipper took his departure, Cabot and White turned into the factory, where all night long fires blazed and roared beneath the seething kettles.

Until nearly noon of the following day the work of canning lobsters was continued without interruption, and pushed with all possible energy.

Then a boy, who had been posted outside the harbour as a lookout, came hurrying in to report that he had seen a naval launch steaming in that direction.

The emergency for which Cabot had been planning ever since he consented to become the responsible head of the concern was close at hand, and he at once began to take measures to meet it.

"Draw your fires," he shouted. "Empty the kettles and cool them off.

Pa.s.s all cans, empty or full, up into the loft, and then every one of you clear out. Remember that you are not to know a thing about the factory, if anybody asks questions, and you don't even want to give any one a chance to ask questions if you can help it. Run up to the house," he added, turning to the boy who had brought tidings of the enemy's approach, "and tell Mrs. Baldwin, with my compliments, that the carriage is ready for her drive."

So thoroughly had everything been explained and understood beforehand, and so promptly were these orders obeyed, that, half an hour later, when a jaunty man-of-war's launch, flying a British Jack, entered the little harbour, every preparation had been made for her reception. The factory, closed and silent, presented no outward sign that it had been in operation for months. Those who had recently worked so industriously within its weather-stained walls now lounged about their own house doors, or on the village street, as though they had nothing to do, and limitless leisure in which to do it. White Baldwin, with his mother and sister, had driven away in a cart, leaving their tenantless house with closed doors and tightly shuttered windows.

Cabot Grant, with hands thrust into his trousers pockets, leaned against a wharf post and surveyed the oncoming launch with languid curiosity. The Yankee schooner swung gracefully at her moorings, and from her a boat was pulling towards sh.o.r.e; while on the deck of the "Sea Bee," also anch.o.r.ed in the stream, David Gidge placidly smoked a pipe.

The launch slowed down as it neared him, and an officer inquired in the crisp tones of authority:

"What place is this?"

Deliberately taking the pipe from his mouth, and looking about him as though to refresh his memory, Mr. Gidge answered:

"I've heard it called by a number of names."

"Was one of them Pretty Harbour?"

"Now that you mention it, I believe it were."

"What kind of a building is that?" continued the officer, sharply, pointing to the factory as he spoke.

David gazed at the building with interest, as though now seeing it for the first time.

"Looks to me like a barn," he said at length. "Same time it might be a church, though I don't reckon it is."

"Isn't it a lobster factory?"

"They might make lobsters in it, but I don't think they does. Mebbe that young man on the wharf could tell ye. He looks knowing."

Disgusted at this exhibition of stupidity, and muttering something about a chuckle-headed idiot, the officer motioned for his launch to move ahead, and, in another minute, it lay alongside the wharf.

"Is this the Pretty Harbour lobster factory?" demanded the officer as he stepped ash.o.r.e.

"I believe it was formerly used as a lobster cannery," replied Cabot, guardedly, "but no business of the kind is being carried on here at present."

"It is owned by the family of the late William Baldwin, is it not?"

"No, sir."

"Who then does own the property?"

"I do."

"You!" exclaimed the officer. "And pray, sir, who are you?"

"I am an American citizen named Grant, and have recently acquired this property by purchase."

"Indeed. Then of course you possess papers showing the transfer of ownership."

"Certainly."

"I should like to look at them."

"They have been sent for record to the county seat, where any one who chooses may examine them."