With The Flag In The Channel

It came to be a question of minutes, and there was an added danger now, for the cutter opened up with a small bow gun, firing as quickly as she could load and aim. But, owing to the small size of the target and the uneven rise and fall of the chop, her marksmanship was bad, and though the balls whistled overhead and plashed all round, not one struck the intended mark.

The Frenchman, who was now in a state of terror, began to call upon the saints. To Conyngham’s inquiry whether he knew of a safe entrance to the little cove at which they were heading he vouchsafed no reply. But as they drew near the line of breakers his wails increased.

“We shall all be drowned!” he cried over and over. “Better a prison than the bottom of the sea.”

But Conyngham, with one eye ahead and the other on the approaching cutter, held his course. In another moment he had crossed the Englishman’s bows, and as the latter fired a parting shot the yawl was in the midst of the smother of tumbling waters.

How she got through it without being wrecked was more than any one of the crew could ever tell. Time and again they held their breath, expecting to be crushed upon the black points that now and then showed themselves on either hand. But with the skill of an Indian guiding his canoe down the rapids, Conyngham steered the little boat, and in half an hour she had safely passed the barrier reef and the worst part of the sailing, and soon was in the comparatively smooth water near the little beach.

Now there could be noticed a few roughly built huts of stone before which there were some nets drying on the ground, and some frightened fishermen came down to the water’s edge. One of them hailed in half French and half English, to which Conyngham replied.

The man informed them that they had better not land, as they had been seen by the Government lookout on the top of the cliff, and that in all probability the guards would soon be down and they would all be made prisoners.

Evidently, like the cutter, the fellow had taken them for smugglers, but he gave the information that farther down the coast there was a small cove inaccessible and invisible from above, where they might be able to get ashore.

Shortening sail, Conyngham headed the yawl southward. Out to sea the cutter was holding the same course, watching like a cat at a rat-hole. It looked as if escape was impossible, for a long promontory ran out to south not four leagues away, and with a shifted wind it would be only by miracle that they could keep from going ashore.

But the darkness, that Conyngham was waiting for, came at last, ushered in by a blinding fall of rain, and in it he once more managed to make an offing and by good luck and good seamanship weathered the point, and with the cutter somewhere back in the darkness, he made out once more into the open channel. At daybreak he was off Dover and could see the flag flying on the walls of the castle, and a mass of shipping about the entrance. He made boldly in and dropped his little anchor amid a fleet of small craft. The harbor at this time was not one of the best in the world, for the shingle bar would keep shifting, and the breakwaters, except the old basin piers, were not then built. But lying well out Captain Conyngham detected a vessel that, from the description he had received from Mr. Allan, he was sure could be none other than the Roebuck.

His sailing in so boldly had not attracted the least notice, and as he had bidden most of the crew to keep themselves out of sight under the tarpaulins, the number of men he had with him had not attracted attention either.

Just at dusk he got up his anchor and came farther up into the harbor. As he passed by the Roebuck his heart was beating with excitement, for she looked to be the very vessel for his purpose. He was within hailing distance when a figure came on deck. He could scarce refrain from shouting from sheer joy, for he recognized the stocky figure of his friend Allan. Another minute and he had called his name.

Working the yawl alongside he soon stepped on deck. It was considered too risky to transfer the men while there was yet light enough for them to be perceived, and, uncomfortable as it may have been for them, they remained in their cramped position in the smaller boat until almost midnight. In the early morning hours the Roebuck slipped her cable and slid out like a ghost through the channel fog. The yawl was being towed behind, but as it impeded the lugger’s sailing the small boat was stove in, laden with some of the spare ballast from the Roebuck, and sunk.

Without adventure or molestation they reached Dunkirk under the British flag. As they dropped anchor well up the harbor, Mr. Allan turned to the young captain with a smile.

“Well, sir,” he said, “this part of the proceeding is over and we are ready to go on with the rest of it. By the way, shall we keep the name?” He pointed to the stern of the jolly-boat where the word Roebuck stood out in red letters.

“No,” returned Conyngham, “that will all be changed. She has been renamed what we hope she’ll be.”

“And that is?” queried Mr. Allan.

“The Surprise,” was Conyngham’s answer.

CHAPTER VII

THE CHANNEL CRUISE

The people of Dunkirk must have been very stupid indeed if they could not have perceived that there was something mysterious about the strange little vessel that lay moored to one of the wharves. Although there was some attempt at carrying out the disguise of her being a peaceful trader, there were many circumstances arising that would mark her otherwise. But, to tell the truth, the people of Dunkirk were not only suspicious. In their minds they were quite settled as to the aims and ambitions of the jaunty little lugger, and sailors ashore are wont sometimes to let their tongues get away with their discretion.

The English spies and agents of course were well informed, and letters were written even to the papers in London describing the doings at Dunkirk, and the preparations that were being made to outfit a “piratical expedition,” as it was called, against the king’s commerce in his own home water.

Objection was continually made by the English representatives against the outfitting of a belligerent vessel in a friendly port, but nothing was done by the French authorities, and very soon the Surprise – or the Roebuck, as she was then called – was ready for sea with the exception of her armament, her given destination being Norway and Sweden.

Conyngham and his crew had kept away during the lading of the vessel, and most of the work had been done by Frenchmen, in order to prevent the whole thing from being too glaringly open. But one evening, just about dusk, Conyngham strolled down the edge of the wharf and stood watching some long boxes that were being slung on board and lowered over the side. A very short red-haired man came up to him and spoke to him in French.

“Good evening, monsieur,” he said. “A pretty little vessel this, eh?”

Conyngham turned at once and looked the speaker over. He knew him to be an Englishman who was supposed to be a Government spy. The man’s audacity in daring to approach him at that moment was rather startling, but Conyngham’s reply must have been more so.

“She is good to look at,” he returned in French, “and they tell me she is sailing to-morrow night. But let us go down to her,” he said, taking the smaller man’s arm, “and ask some questions of those on board. We may learn something.”

Half reluctantly, the Englishman accompanied him. In a few steps they were at the gangway. The tackle that had just deposited its load on deck swung outboard from the yard-arm that was being used as a crane, and passed close to where Conyngham and the spy were standing. With a swiftness that was surprising, Conyngham caught the rope in one hand and gave it a twist about the body of his companion beneath the arms.

“Hoist away,” he shouted, holding the struggling Englishman. And before he knew it the latter was swinging in the air, afraid to struggle for fear of being dropped, but shouting and cursing in hearty John Bull fashion.

Conyngham rushed up the gangway and met a tall, dark-featured man, who saluted him as he stepped on board. Just then the Englishman’s feet touched the deck also.

“Here, Monsieur Villois, have this man brought to the cabin,” said Conyngham, and the half-frightened spy was ushered in by two grinning French sailors.

“Now, sir,” said Conyngham, “you shall learn all about it. Sit down.” He motioned the spy to a seat and then, looking at him fixedly, continued:

“For the last three weeks you have dogged my footsteps; you have tried to overhear everything that I have spoken, and you have eavesdropped at windows and doors when I was in company with other gentlemen. You have a companion here who claims to be a very learned person, and always goes about with a book under his arm, wearing big spectacles. Last evening you met on a bench at the end of the park that leads to the street of the windmill, and you said – ” Here to the Englishman’s horror and surprise Conyngham detailed a long conversation that had taken place – word for word he had it. At last he was interrupted.

“But you could not have heard this; there was no one nigh us,” said the Englishman, and then he added quickly, “I see it all. That villain has betrayed me. What do you intend to do with me?”

“I intend,” said Conyngham quietly, “to tell you all you want to know, and to set you on shore at the proper moment. The first and most interesting point, I suppose,” he continued, “would be, What is the destination of this vessel and when does she sail? That is easy. She sails to-night – in fact, in about two hours. Her destination is nowhere in particular. At present she is the property of a French firm of merchants, and is a peaceable, unarmed lugger. In about six hours, if the wind holds fair, she will be purchased by the United Colonies of America. She will be signed and receipted for outside of the jurisdiction of the French Government. Her name also will be changed, as well as her character.”

“You will be pirates?” gasped the spy.

“Not in the least,” was Conyngham’s return. “If that question should ever arise, it could be settled with little trouble. Now,” he concluded, “you know as much as you would like to, I am sure.”

“And are you going to set me on shore?” asked the Englishman incredulously.

“Not yet, my friend,” was Conyngham’s reply. “I still have use for you.”

Just at this moment the cabin door opened and the tall man who had stood at the gangway entered. The darkness of his complexion and the straightness of his black hair betrayed the fact that he was of Spanish or some southern extraction. But the English that he spoke was pure and without accent, as it had been proved, also, was his French.

“Well, captain,” he said, “the last box has been put on board. The rest that are standing about are all empty. We are ready to get under way.”

“Has the other vessel sailed?” asked Conyngham, adding, with a wave of his hand, “you can speak frankly before this gentleman.”

“She has, sir; she slipped out four hours ago, and will join us three leagues off the coast to-morrow at daylight.”

“Are all the crew on board of her?”

“Yes, sir, and the armament. I am afraid we shall have some difficulty with the six-pounder.”

“Never cross a bridge till you come to it, Mr. Freeman,” returned Conyngham, “and now one more question. Is the agent of Mr. Hortalez on board?”

“Yes, sir; he is waiting on deck.”

“Tell him I will join him in half a minute. If you should ask my advice as a mere passenger who has had some experience, I should say that we might slip our moorings quietly and get under way; the tide, I should judge, would carry us well down the harbor. But I merely advise it, you understand, as you are the captain of the ship. And by the way, Mr. Bulger,” he added, turning to the spy, “you will kindly wait here for my return; there is a gentleman at the door who will object to your leaving, so if you will allow me to suggest, it will be better for you to remain here quietly.”

He arose as he spoke and left the cabin. “Mr. Bulger” remained seated, with consternation written on every line of his face. In a few minutes, though there had been no sound from the deck, he could tell from the swaying of the vessel that they were under way. For fully half an hour the Roebuck drifted quietly with the tide, and then the mainsail was hoisted and she keeled over to the damp easterly breeze that carried her out beyond the mouth of the harbor. For some time she sailed, holding a course to the northwestward, then she hove to and as day broke she was seen to be about three leagues off the French coast; and not two miles away, hove to also, was a clumsy little brig with her brown sails laid back against the mast. A red flag suddenly appeared, waving over the brig’s side. This was answered by the wave of a white one over the Roebuck’s taffrail, and then one on the port tack and the other on the starboard; swiftly the two vessels approached until within hailing distance. The decks of the little brig were crowded with sailormen, and amidships were long boxes, carefully wrapped and ready for slinging, and a few long bales wound in sail-cloth. By careful maneuvering they were brought together broadside to broadside, well tendered and lashed. No sooner had this been accomplished under the direction of the dark man, at whose side stood Conyngham, than the latter turned, and speaking to a slightly built but richly dressed young Frenchman, who was evidently a little upset by the motion of the sea, he requested him to step into the cabin, where he was introduced to the imprisoned Englishman as Mr. Beauchier, the representative of the owners of the Roebuck.

“And now, Mr. Bulger,” remarked Conyngham, after the introduction, “comes the favor that I am going to ask of you. I shall request you to witness the sale and transfer of this vessel from its present ownership to that of the United Colonies of America. The price has been arranged between Mr. Beauchier and myself, and only our signatures are needed to the document, with that of a witness to the same. This is the bill of sale and transfer of the lugger Roebuck, as you can see. Mr. Beauchier will sign here, I here, and you will witness and put your name on this line.”

Half trembling, the Englishman scrawled his signature beside those of the others.

“And now, Mr. Beauchier,” went on Conyngham, “is it true that I understand that you own also the vessel which is alongside of us?”

“Yes, and her contents,” was the reply.

“Have you got any ballast for sale – old iron or such like?”

“We have, sir, and also some passengers who are anxious to leave the ship, because they are afraid of the leak which the captain reports she has sprung.”

“Poor people! Poor people!” repeated Conyngham. “I will take them on board for nothing.”

The transfer of the long heavy bundles proved an easy task, as the “passengers” were all of the male sex and insisted upon turning to and helping. In two hours it was all accomplished; the lashings were cut off and the two vessels drifted apart.

It had been agreed that the little Englishman should be put ashore at some obscure French port, the brig being bound now for L’Orient. But as Mr. Bulger stood watching the lugger square away to the north he ground his teeth in impotent despair.

“Pirates, just the same,” he muttered. “Pirates, every one of them.”

At that moment there broke from the masthead of the lugger, not the Jolly Roger, but a big flag with thirteen alternate stripes of red and white. Across it diagonally stretched the writhing coils of a rattlesnake, and on the fourth white bar appeared the printed words, “Don’t tread on me.”

CHAPTER VIII

THE HARWICH PACKET

The next day proved clear and fine, and also the following day, but no sail of importance, so far as small craft were concerned, was discovered. Such vessels as were passed that flew the English ensign were too big to be reckoned with or too near armed escort; but on the morning of the 4th of the month, off the coast of Holland, a little single-sticker, a cutter, was discovered bowling merrily along from the westward, and from what the Surprise’s French pilot said it was plain that she was the very one for which Captain Conyngham was watching – the Harwich packet, that bore the mails for the north of Europe, usually carrying, besides crown moneys, a small but rich cargo.

The rules of the road at sea have been from time immemorial practically the same for sailing ships, and a vessel close hauled has the right of way of one going free on the wind. When the packet was first sighted she was running with the wind almost astern and making good time, as she tossed the white foam before her. Now, the Surprise was close hauled on the starboard tack, and it would have required but a little careful sailing to bring her across the packet’s bows. The latter had flown a large English ensign, but Conyngham had shown no flag at all, although the big red and white striped ensign with the rattlesnake across the field lay on the deck ready to be hoisted to the peak.

Nearer and nearer the two vessels came. The helmsman on the packet was evidently perplexed as to the intentions of the approaching lugger, for he had swung his vessel off in order to give the latter room to cross his forefoot. But every time he did so the Surprise would luff a little, for it was Conyngham’s intention to get close under the packet’s stern and board her if possible without firing a shot.

The trick worked like magic. In a few minutes the Englishman was so close that the features of the helmsman could be seen distinctly. He was not in the least suspicious, for he gazed in silence at the approaching lugger, contemptuously smiling at her apparently clumsy sailing.

A man who had been walking up and down the deck came to the rail as if he supposed that the Surprise was about to hail him, and making ready to answer.

Conyngham had kept his men below well out of sight, though they were all armed with pistols and cutlasses ready to rush on deck at a given signal. Just before he came under the Englishman’s stern, he let go his sheets and swinging off suddenly, his bowsprit swept over the stranger’s taffrail, beneath which appeared the words “Prince of Orange” in big red letters. The cutter, whose sails, now deprived of the wind, flapped uselessly, lost headway. Another second, and the Surprise struck so gently that it hardly started the paint on her cutwater, a grapple was thrown on board, and from the forward hatch a score of men poured over the bows upon the other’s deck.

Captain Baxter, the English skipper, was in the cabin at breakfast with five passengers, four of them merchants and one a young secretary bearing dispatches to the Dutch Government, when the mate shouted through the transom that a strange vessel had run afoul of them, and that they were being boarded by pirates!

“Great heavens!” exclaimed one of the merchants in consternation. “Pirates in the English Channel! Bless my soul, never!”

Before Captain Baxter could gain the foot of the companion-ladder a figure stepped into the cabin.

“Who are you, and what are you doing aboard my vessel?” roared the captain, reaching for a cutlass that hung from one of the berths that lined the sides.

“Hold! not so fast, my friend,” was the quiet answer. “Sure, it’s much better to take no unnecessary trouble. And my advice to you is to be as quiet as a mouse.”

As he spoke, Conyngham shifted his hand to the butt of a pistol that protruded from under his long blue coat.

Though his words were lightly spoken, the Englishman saw a dangerous gleam in the captain’s dark eyes, and stood still, muttering.

“Are you a pirate?” he demanded, hoarsely, at last.

“Far from that,” answered Conyngham, smiling and advancing farther into the little space. “If the gentlemen will seat themselves, I shall be glad to inform you of the circumstances. You are prisoners of the American cruiser Surprise, that I have the honor to command. But you need fear nothing, I assure you.”

“What is your name and under whose authority are you acting?” demanded the young under-secretary, who had now found his tongue.

“My name is Conyngham,” was the reply, “and I am acting under authority of the president of the American Congress.”

“You will hang for it,” interposed one of the merchants. “I shall complain to the Government – such an outrage, and in the English Channel, too!”

Conyngham smiled.

“You can write a letter to the Times if you see fit, my good sir,” he replied, “but at present there is no use of being bad-natured. Don’t allow me to disturb you in your meal, as I see you’ve just begun.”

At this moment a slight scuffle and some loud words came from the deck above. The captain again started to his feet.

“They’re securing the crew,” Conyngham said in explanation. “There is no use in making a fuss over the matter; we’re in complete possession. Be easy now.”

Just as he spoke the lank figure of the Yankee second mate appeared at the foot of the ladder. He saluted Conyngham, and grinned at the others as if enjoying their discomfiture.

“I have to report, sir, that all’s well, and await your orders. There is one man we had to put into irons; the rest submitted quietly.”

“You see how matters stand, gentlemen,” Conyngham went on, “and before we cast off our lashings I shall have to ask you to accompany me to my vessel.”

“A most high-handed proceeding,” muttered the English merchant.

But his protestations were interrupted by the young secretary at this point.

“It’s always best,” said he, “to accept a bad position gracefully, and I am sure if this gentleman,” he waved his hand toward Conyngham, “will allow us to remain on board here we shall much appreciate the favor. As for myself,” he added, “I will promise not to endeavor to escape. I am a bad swimmer at the best, and if our gallant friend, who, I perceive, at some time or other has been a subject of his Majesty, will permit it, we should like to remain.”

“You certainly can do so, sir,” was the quiet reply, “and need not fear that I will disturb you; but as you seem to have lost your appetites, I shall first ask that you all come on deck.” With a polite bow he ushered the party to the companionway.

Perhaps he had divined the young Englishman’s purpose. At all events, the suspicion had crossed his mind that the latter only wished to obtain time to secrete or destroy some of the papers in the dispatch-box that showed beneath a locker on one side of the cabin. With some show of discontent, the party followed his suggestions, however, and went up on deck. Once there they could not conceal their surprise at the state of affairs. There was the strange vessel, that was but slightly larger than their own, still made fast to them, and rippling almost overhead was the big rattlesnake flag. Perhaps, despite Conyngham’s assurance, they had expected to see the Jolly Roger with the skull and cross-bones, and they were to all appearances relieved.

The English crew were all under hatches forward, and no one was in sight but five or six of the Surprise’s crew, who, to tell the truth, were piratical enough in appearance to belie even the striped flag.

Leaving a guard over his guests, Conyngham went below with the first mate and began a search of the cabin. When he came on deck again he plainly perceived the importance of his prize. But a complication had arisen that made him form his plans quickly. It would never do to delay the mails or interfere with the diplomatic correspondence intended for a friendly power, and there were letters for Prussia and Holland, besides those addressed to the British ambassador at Paris. The private property of the merchants was unmolested, but a report showed that the contents of the hold was of no little value, and under the usages of war it would be fair booty. So Conyngham ordered that Captain Baxter should accompany him on board the Surprise, and with ill grace the latter did so. After giving orders to the first mate, whom he left in command of the Prince of Orange, Conyngham ordered the two vessels to be cast loose from each other, and the course was laid southeast by east for Dunkirk once again. He realized that there would be a great row made upon his landing, but in view of the connivance of the French Government at the sale of the prizes brought in by Captain Wickes, that were allowed to be disposed of just outside the harbor limits of Nantes, he thought that with the aid of Franklin’s growing importance at the French court the Government would be more than lenient with him. He supposed at least they would allow him an opportunity to dispose of the vessel and its contents for what the commissioners in Paris most needed, namely, gold; and, thinking that he would place himself in a good position to ask any favors by his conduct in connection with the foreign mails, he held no anxiety concerning himself or his crew. Besides all this, he knew that in the commission that he held from Franklin he possessed a talisman that would save him from personal danger.