The Cruise of the Frolic

Tom had some reason for his melancholy forebodings, for the “Pretty Polly” most certainly appeared to be out of luck. Do all she could, the “Ranger,” bringing up a fresh breeze, gained rapidly on her. The people in the revenue-cruiser had evidently seen her soon after she saw them, and, suspecting her character, had been using every exertion to come up with her. They had, in fact, long been on the watch for her, and quickly recognised her as their old friend. The smugglers walked the deck, vainly whistling for a wind, but, though they all whistled in concert, the partial breeze refused to swell their sails till it had filled those of their enemy. Nothing they could do, either wetting their sails, or altering her trim by shifting the cargo, would make the “Pretty Polly” go along faster. One great object was to retain a considerable distance from her till darkness covered the face of the deep, when they might hope more easily to make their escape.

As the sun went down the heavens grew most provokingly clear, and the stars shone forth from the pure sky, so that the smugglers saw and were seen by the revenue-cutter, and the character of the “Pretty Polly” was too well-known by every cruiser on the station to allow her to hope to escape unquestioned. Still Joe boldly held on his course. He never withdrew his eye from his pursuer, in order to be ready to take advantage of the slightest change in her proceedings, but he soon saw that he must make the best use of his heels and his wits, or lose his cargo. Poor Joe, he thought of his charming Margaret, he thought of his good resolutions, he thought of Tom’s evil prognostications, but he was not a fellow to be daunted at trifles, and he still trusted that something in the chapter of accidents would turn up to enable him to escape.

The breeze at last came up with the “Pretty Polly,” but at the same time the “Ranger” drew still nearer. All their means of expediting her movements had been exhausted, every inch of canvas she could carry was spread aloft, and even below the main-boom and square-sail-boom water sails had been extended, so that the craft looked like a large sea-bird, with a small black body, skimming, with outspread wings, along the surface of the deep. The land, at no great distance, laid broad on their beam to the starboard. With anger and vexation they saw that all their efforts to save their cargo would probably be fruitless.

“It can’t be helped, my lads,” cried Joe; “better luck next time. In with all that light canvas. Be smart about it, stand by the square-sail halliards – lower away; hoist the foresail again; down with the helm, Bill, while we get a pull at the main-sheet. We must run into shoal water and sink the tubs. It will come to that, I see.”

As Joe said, there was no time to lose, for the revenue-cruiser was now a little more than a mile distant, looming large in the fast-increasing obscurity of night. There promised, however, to be too much light during the night for them to hope to elude the sharp and practised eyes of her lookouts. While the smuggler, with the wind nearly abeam, was running in for the land, her crew were busily employed in getting the tubs on deck, and slinging them in long lines together, with heavy weights attached, over the side, so as to be able, by cutting a single lanyard, to let them all sink at once. No sooner did they alter their course than their pursuer did the same. They had, at all events, gained the important advantage of escaping being overhauled in daylight. They now stood steadily on till they got within a quarter of a mile of the land, the revenue-cutter not having gained materially on them. By this time every tub was either on deck or over the side.

“Starboard the helm a little, Tom – steady now!” sung out Joe; “we’ll have the marks on directly; I can just make out Pucknose Knoll and Farleigh church steeple. Now mind, when I sing out cut, cut all of you.”

It was not without some difficulty that the points he mentioned could be distinguished, and none but eyes long accustomed to peer through darkness could have seen objects on the shore at all. His aim was to bring certain marks on the shore in two lines to bisect each other, at which point the tubs were to be sunk, thus enabling him to find them again at a future day.

“Starboard again a little, Tom – steady now – that will do – luff you may, luff – I have it. Cut now, my hearties, cut!” he exclaimed, and the next moment a heavy splash told that all the tubs slung outside had been cut away, and sunk to the bottom. “Stand by to heave the rest overboard,” he continued, and a minute afterwards, with fresh bearings, the remainder of the cargo was committed to the deep. “Now let’s haul up for Fairport, and get home to comfort our wives and sweethearts. Better luck next time.”

With this philosophical observation, Joe buttoned up his pea-jacket, and twisted his red comforter round his neck, determined to make himself comfortable, and to bear his loss like a man. By the “Pretty Polly’s” change of course she soon drew near the “Ranger,” when a shot from one of the guns of the latter came flying over her masthead. On this significant notice that the cruiser wished to speak to her, Joe, not being anxious for a repetition of the message, let fly his jib-sheet, and his cutter coming round on the other tack, he kept his foresail to windward and his helm down, thus remaining almost stationary. A boat soon pulled alongside with the mate of the cruiser, who, with his crew, each carrying a lantern, overhauled every part of the vessel’s hold, but not even a drop of brandy was to be found, nor a quid of tobacco.

“Sorry, sir, you’ve taken all this trouble,” said Joe, touching his hat to the officer. “I thought, sir, you know’d we was a temp’rance vessel.”

It was diamond cut diamond. The officer looked at Joe, and burst out laughing, though disappointed at not making a seizure.

“Tell that to the marines, Mister Buntin,” he answered. “If you hadn’t, half an hour ago, enough spirits on board to make the whole ship’s company of a line-of-battle ship as drunk as fiddlers, I’m a Dutchman.”

“I can’t help, sir, what you thinks,” replied Joe, humbly; “but I suppose you won’t detain us? We wants to get to Fairport to-night, to drink tea with our wives and nurse our babies.”

“You may go, my fine fellow, and we will bring in your tubs in the morning,” answered the mate, as he stepped into his boat.

“Thank ye, sir,” said Joe, making a polite bow, but looking very much inclined to expedite his departure with a kick, but discretion withheld him.

“Let draw!” he sang out in a voice which showed the true state of his feelings, beneath his assumed composure; “now about with her.”

In a short time after, the “Pretty Polly” was safely moored in Fairport River.

The next morning at daybreak, the “Ranger” was seen hovering in rather dangerous proximity to the spot where the tubs had been sunk. She was then observed to get her dredges out, and to be groping evidently for the hidden treasures. In the course of the day, Joe and his crew had the mortification to see her come into the harbour with the greater part of their cargo on board. Of course they all looked as innocent as if none of them had ever before seen a tub, for there was nothing to betray them, though it was not pleasant to see their property in the hands of others. The revenue-cutter then hauling alongside the quay, sent all the tubs she had on board up to the castle, where they were shut up securely while she went back to grope for more.

Joe watched all these proceedings with apparently calm indifference, walking up and down all the time on the quay, with a short pipe in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets. No sooner, however, had darkness set in, than he and his companions might have been seen consulting earnestly together, and going round to the most trustworthy of their acquaintance. What was the subject of their consultations may hereafter be guessed at. Their plans, whatever they were, were soon matured, and then Joe repaired to pay his accustomed visit to Sergeant Ramrod and his grand-daughter.

Joe Buntin was, as I have hinted, not the only lover Margaret Ramrod possessed, which was, of course, no fault of hers. One of them, for there might have been half-a-dozen at least, was James Lawson, a coast-guard man, belonging to Fairport; and if he was aware that he was a rival of his superior officer it did not afflict him. As it happened, he was stationed at the castle to guard the tubs which had been captured in the morning. Having seen that every thing was safe, he soon grew tired of watching on the top of the castle, for it was a dark, cold night, with a thick, driving rain, and a high wind, so he persuaded himself that there could be no harm looking into Sergeant Ramrod’s snug room, lighted up by pretty Margaret’s bright eyes, and warmed by a blazing fire. The sergeant welcomed him cordially, and Margaret mixed him a glass of hot brandy and water, while discussing which, a knock was heard at the castle-gate, on which Mistress Margaret, throwing her apron over her head, ran out to admit the visitors. She was absent a minute or more; probably she had some difficulty in again closing the gates on so windy a night: at last she returned, followed by no less a person than Joe Buntin, and his shadow, Tom Figgit.

A smile stole over Margaret’s pretty mouth as she watched Joe, who looked as fierce as he could at Lawson, and by Ramrod’s invitation, sat himself down directly opposite the revenue-man. Lawson was not to be stared out of countenance, so, notwithstanding Joe’s angry glances, he firmly kept his post. Tom Figgit quietly sipped his grog, eyeing Lawson all the time much in the way that a cat does a mouse she is going to devour, so that at last the revenue-man, feeling himself rather uncomfortable, he scarcely knew why, helped himself thoughtlessly to another stiff glass. Joe laughed and talked for all the party, and told several capital stories, contriving in the interval to whisper a word into Margaret’s ear, at which she looked down and laughed slyly. She was soon afterwards seen filling up the coast-guard man’s glass, only by mistake she poured in Hollands instead of water. The error was not discovered, and Lawson became not only very sagacious, but brave in the extreme. After some time he recollected that it was his duty to keep a look-out from the top of the castle, and accordingly rose to resume his post. Joe on this jumped up also, and wishing the old couple and their grand-daughter good-night, took his departure, followed by Tom; Sergeant Ramrod and Lawson closing the gates securely behind them.

No sooner were Joe and his mate outside the walls than they darted down a small alley which led to the water, and at a little sheltered slip they found a boat, with a coil of rope and some blocks stowed away in the stern-sheets. Joe, giving a peculiarly low whistle, two other men appeared crawling from under a boat, which had been turned with the keel uppermost on the beach, and then all four jumping in, pulled round underneath the castle-wall to a nook, where they could not be observed from the quay even in the daytime.

It was, as we have mentioned, blowing and raining, and as dark as pitch, so that our friends had no reason to complain of the weather. After feeling about for some time, Joe discovered a small double line, to which he fastened one of the stouter ropes, and hauling away on one end of it, brought it back again into the boat. Who had rove the small line we cannot say, but we fear that there was a little traitor in the garrison; perhaps Joe or Tom had contrived to do it before they entered the sergeant’s sitting-room.

“Hold on fast,” Joe whispered to his comrades; “I’ll be up in a moment.” Saying this, he climbed up the rope, and soon had his face flush with the summit of the castle-walls. Looking round cautiously, he observed no one, so he climbed over the parapet, and advanced across the platform to the top of a flight of steps which communicated with the lower part of the building. He looked over the railing, but his eyes could not pierce the gloom, so he descended the steps, and had the satisfaction to find Lawson fast asleep at the bottom of them, sheltered from the rain by one of the arches. “All’s right: he won’t give us much trouble, at all events,” he muttered to himself; and returning to the parapet he summoned his companions. Two other boats had now joined the first, and, one after the other, twelve smugglers scaled the walls. Others were, it must be understood, watching at various points in the neighbourhood, to give the earliest notice of the approach of the coast-guard. Joe stationed two men by the side of Lawson to bind and gag him if he awoke, which he was not likely to do, while the rest proceeded with their work.

They soon contrived to break open the door of the store, opening from the platform, where the tubs had been deposited; then each man, carrying one at a time, like ants at their work, they transported them to the parapet of the castle-wall. From thence, with great rapidity, they were lowered into the boats, and then conveyed round to the foot of a garden belonging to an uninhabited house, which, of course, had the character of being haunted by spirits. Joe and his friends worked with a will, as much delighted with the thought of doing the revenue as at recovering their property.

The greater number had been thus secured when the rain ceased, and the clouds driving away, the smugglers were afraid of being seen by their opponents. They therefore secured the door of the nearly empty store, and all descending, unrove the rope from the breech of the gun to which it had been fastened, so as to leave no trace of their proceedings.

The next morning Lawson, on recovering from his tipsy slumbers, seeing the door closed, reported that all was right. Mr Hogson was the first person to make the discovery that all was wrong, and his astonishment and rage may be more easily imagined than described. Nearly every tub of the rich prize had disappeared; and the lieutenant swore he was certain that wicked little vixen, Margaret Ramrod, had something to do with it.

Neither Sergeant Ramrod nor Lawson could in any way account for it; and as it would have been a subject of mirth to all their brother-officers, who would not have shared in the prize, the authorities of Fairport thought it wiser not to say much on the subject. Several persons were suspected of having had a hand in the transaction; but the smugglers were known to be too true to each other to afford the remotest chance of discovering the culprits.

Soon after this Joe Buntin married Margaret Ramrod; and, wonderful to relate, forswore smuggling ever after. Whether her persuasions, or from finding it no longer profitable, had most influence, is not known; at all events, he is now one of the most successful and active pilots belonging to Fairport, and though he does not mention names, he is very fond, among other stories, of telling how a certain friend of his did the revenue.

As soon as old Sleet had finished his story, which was much more effective when told by him than as it now stands written down by me, he scraped his right foot back, made a swing with his hat, and was rolling forward, when Hearty cried out, “Stop, stop, old friend, your lips want moistening after that long yarn, I’m sure. What will you have, champagne, or claret, or sherry, or brandy, or rum, or – ”

The honest seaman grinned from ear to ear.

“Grog,” he answered, emphatically. “There’s nothing like that to my mind, Mr Hearty. It’s better nor all your French washes put together.”

Due praise was bestowed on Joe Buntin’s history, but he evidently thought the extra glass of grog he had won of far more value.

“Health to you, gentlemen and ladies all, and may this sweet craft never want a master nor a mistress either,” he rapped out; then fearing he had said something against propriety, he rolled away to join his messmates forward.

Chapter Twenty Four

The Polacca-Brig again – The “Zebra” in Chase – Reflections on Africa and the Slave-Trade

It was now time for the officers of the “Zebra” to return on board their ship. Another night and day passed away much in the same manner as its predecessors. All this time we were edging over to the African coast. Miss Mizen was rapidly recovering her strength, indeed she could no longer be declared an invalid, and it was very evident that a sea-life perfectly agreed with her.

Though I missed Bubble’s fun and anecdotes, and his merry laugh and good-natured visage, I must confess that I much enjoyed the society of the two ladies. Mrs Mizen was a kind-hearted, right-minded, good-natured, sensible, motherly woman, without a particle of affectation or nonsense of any sort. She had seen a good deal of the world, and of the people in it, and could talk well of what she had seen. Under present circumstances, indeed, I preferred her, as a companion, to her daughter. Barring the difference of age, they were very like each other. Miss Mizen also treated me with the utmost frankness and kindness as the friend of her intended husband, and I often enjoyed a pleasant conversation with her, though, of course, it more frequently fell to my share to entertain her mother.

While the fine weather lasted, the life we led was excessively pleasant; but as winter was now rapidly approaching, we knew that we must look out for squalls and heavy seas. We had, as I before remarked, been making our way to the westward along the African coast, now making the land, and then standing off again at night-time.

One morning when daylight broke, we found ourselves rather in-shore of the brig. As I came on deck to relieve Porpoise, I saw her signalising. We got the signal-book.

“What is Rullock talking about?” asked my brother-officer, as I was looking over the leaves of Harriot’s well-known work.

“A suspicious sail to the north-west. Stay where you are. I shall chase, but be back by nightfall,” said I; on which Porpoise ordered the answering signal to be hoisted.

The brig now crowded all sail, but as she kept away I saw that the bunting was again at work.

“If we do not appear by noon to-morrow, return to Malta,” said I, interpreting the flags. “And so our pleasant cruise will be up: but all things pleasant must come to an end. I wish it could have lasted longer.”

“Well, Porpoise, what do you make of the stranger he is after?”

“By – that she is no other than our friend the Greek polacca-brig,” he exclaimed, almost letting his glass fall from aloft, where he had gone to get a look of the vessel the brig was chasing. “I have a great mind to rouse Hearty up, and get him to disobey orders, and go in chase of her also. I don’t like the thoughts of the pirate being captured without our being present.”

“Remember that we have ladies on board, and I don’t think Hearty will be inclined to run the risk of carrying away our spars or mast for any such gratification,” I remarked. “He’ll be for obedience in this case, depend on it.”

“That’s the worst of having ladies on board,” answered Porpoise with a sigh. “But, I say, they have been rather more alive on board the brig than I should have given them credit for. How could they have suspected that the polacca out there was our friend?”

“You forget that Will Bubble is on board, and probably he was on deck, and aloft, indeed, at sunrise, and made out the Greek,” I answered, not that I considered that there was any want of strict discipline or sufficient alertness kept on board the brig, though the crew were any thing but first-rate specimens of men-of-war’s men.

By the by, that reminds me that I should like to say a few words about manning the navy. But I won’t, though, simply because the subject is just here somewhat out of place. We are off the northern coast of Africa in a yacht with some ladies on board, and they might be bored, and we have to watch the proceedings of the brig-of-war and the vessel of which she is in chase. Only I would strongly urge any members of parliament, or other law-makers, or persons of influence, whose eyes may glance over these pages to think, and talk, and do very seriously about the matter. It will not bear letting alone or sleeping over. Something must be done, and at once. I’ve known ships-of-war go to sea with not a quarter of the men seamen – because seamen were not to be got. How would it fare with us had we to engage in a downright earnest naval war? Our men, it will be answered, will fight like Britons; so they will, I doubt not, but is it just to oppose landsmen to the well-trained seamen of other nations? Is it just to the able seamen to make them do the work which should be shared by others? But now we will again look after the brig-of-war and the chase.

The polacca, as soon as she saw that the British man-of-war was in pursuit of her, made all sail to the northward and westward. Old Rullock was evidently determined that she should not escape from any neglect on his part of carrying enough sail. Royals and studding-sails were quickly set, and under a wide spread of snow-white canvas away stood the “Zebra,” leaving us jogging slowly on, with the purpose of returning to the spot whence we started. Hearty’s surprise, as may be supposed, was very considerable, and so was that of his lady guests, when they found that the brig had run away from us.

“However, Mrs Mizen, I suppose we must obey orders, must we not?” said he, with a shrug of his shoulders. “If you do not blame Captain Rullock for his treachery, I am sure that I do not, since he has left with me hostages of so much value for his safe return.”

Mrs Mizen and her daughter seemed to think the affair a very good joke, only they could not understand why the cutter should not go in chase of the polacca as well as the brig-of-war.

“Perhaps the captain wishes to have all the honour of capturing the pirate by himself without our assistance,” observed Porpoise; “I suppose the fellow will show fight should he come up with him.”

“No fear of that,” I remarked. “The truth is, I suspect, that Captain Rullock feared, that had he allowed the yacht to proceed in chase of the pirate, we might have come up with her before he could, and had to bear the brunt of the action. He probably would not have cared very much about that, had there been only four yachting gentlemen on board to be shot at, but the case was very different when his sister and niece might be placed in danger.”

“He did very right. There can be no dispute about it,” said Hearty. “We must bear our disappointment like men, and during breakfast we will consider what amusement we can afford our guests, to recompense them for the absence of the brig in the landscape – or rather seascape we ought to call it – for little enough of the land have we had this cruise.”

We had a great deal of amusing conversation during breakfast. It is a pleasant meal everywhere, if people are well and in spirits, and nowhere is it more pleasant than at sea under the same provisions.

“What do you say to a look at the African coast, Mrs Mizen?” exclaimed Hearty. “We could get there very soon – could we not, Porpoise?”

“We should be well in with the land, so as to have a good view of it before the evening, and if the wind holds, we might be back here before the brig-of-war returns to look for us,” was the answer.

“Capital; then let us stand in there at once,” said Hearty. “It is a fine, mountainous, bold coast, very picturesque. You will have your sketching things ready, I hope,” he added, looking at Miss Mizen. He had not learnt to call her Laura when any one else was present.

Miss Mizen said she would get her drawing-board and colour-box ready, and Porpoise went on deck to put the cutter’s head to the southward. A steady breeze from the south-west enabled us to stand in for the land close-hauled. As we rapidly approached it, the mountains, with their lofty peaks and wooded sides, seemed to rise out of the water like the scene at a theatre, till the lower lands at their base – rocky, undulating heights, and even the seashore – became clearly visible.

“How very different is this scenery from the common notion of Africa!” said Miss Mizen, as, with Hearty’s help, she was arranging her sketching-board, to make a view of the coast. “I have hitherto always pictured it to myself as a country of arid sands and dense jungle.”

“You’d find jungle enough and sand enough in many parts, Miss Mizen, where I have been,” observed Porpoise. “But both in the north and south there are districts which will vie in fertility with most in the world. Just think of Egypt; what an abundance of corn does that produce! All along this north coast are many fertile districts: so there are on the west coast, only it is rather too hot there to be pleasant; and then at the Cape and Natal are to be found spots rich in various productions.”