Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon

by Herbert Strang

  *CHAPTER VIII*

  *CONGLETON'S FOLLY*

  It was several hours before the boat fell in with the _Fury_. Jack andthe men were heartily glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light.They scrambled on board, and while the men had to stand a good deal ofrough chaff from their messmates, Jack's account of his failure wasreceived by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.

  "Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with the smooth," was all thatofficer said. "I suppose you don't feel in very good trim for thatlittle expedition you proposed?"

  "Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything. I must change my things and havethe best supper the cook can give me; then you can put me on shore whenyou please. I've got a bone to pick with those rascals."

  Consequently, about half an hour before dawn, Jack was landed at a spotabout two miles east of Congleton's Folly. Lieutenant Blake arrangedthat the boat should be in waiting for him three or four hours latersome two miles farther east, at a little cove which was fairly wellsheltered from observation.

  "Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's parting words.

  Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the Hollow just as dawn wasbreaking. It was a misty morning; the shrubs and grass were thicklybesprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had taken the precaution towear a greatcoat of frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the nippingair.

  He came to the Folly, and took a more careful look at it than he haddone when he visited the spot with Arthur. It was a brick tower, aboutsixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse, but four-sided, notrounded. The base was about twenty feet square; the tower tapered towithin a few feet of the top, where it broadened out so that it lookednot unlike a mushroom on a particularly long stalk.

  On the side facing the sea was the doorway giving access, as Arthur hadtold him, to a spiral staircase leading to the single chamber above.This overhanging part was supported by stout oaken beams resting on thebrickwork of the central tower. On the inland side, in the floor ofthis room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it was through thisthat the late Congleton had been accustomed to hoist his provisions.The summit of the room was crowned by a parapet, crenelated like thewalls of a fort.

  The door, as Jack had already seen, was strongly barricaded. On theinner face of the tower, less exposed than the others to the sea winds,ivy had grown more than half-way up, and from this a number of sparrowsflew rustling out when Jack appeared.

  He walked round and round examining the tower from every point of view.What a strange man Congleton must have been to choose this lonely spotin which to pass so many years of a solitary existence! Jack closelyinspected the doorway. The wood was worm-eaten, the heads of the ironnails thick with rust, and the barricading had been so thoroughly donethat it would take a long time to free the entrance. It was quite clearthat no one had gone either in or out for many years. Yet, if the towerhad indeed been used for signaling, as he suspected, there must be a wayin. Where was it?

  He might have thought he was mistaken but for the marks of many feetaround the base of the turret. The grass had recently been trampleddown, especially on the inland side. Could there be another entrance,concealed by the ivy? He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and morebirds came twittering out; but there was no sign of a second door.Somewhat perplexed, Jack raised his eyes and scanned the brickworkabove, which the ivy had not yet reached. There was the woodentrap-door, let in the floor of the turret chamber, and a foot or two ofrusty chain hanging down.

  "That must have been part of old Congleton's machinery for hoisting hisstores," thought Jack. "I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."

  It was quite clear that it opened inward, for there was no sign of abolt outside. When the room was last used a bolt inside might have beenslipped. If not, the trap-door could be opened from below. But howcould it be reached? Only by a ladder, apparently. Was there a ladderhidden somewhere among the trees? He saw no other means of gaining thesummit, for while the ivy was strong enough to bear his weight for agood many feet up, the brickwork above was smooth, in spite of theweathering it had undergone, and offered no grip for hands or feet.

  "I must look for that ladder," he thought. But after spending at leasthalf an hour in searching the surrounding thicket he almost gave up theproblem in despair. There was no sign of a ladder, and he had searchedso carefully that one of the requisite length could not have escaped hiseyes, however well hidden. What could he do? He did not like the ideaof being beaten; especially as he had already failed once in his contestwith the smugglers. Just then there seemed nothing for it but to goback to the boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men from thecutter to break open the doorway. But before doing that he would haveone more look.

  He returned to the tower. The mist was clearing somewhat. Once more hescanned each face of the tower in turn. And now he noticed, on theinland side, what had escaped him before. On the brickwork between theivy and the chamber there were a number of small apertures dotted about,forming a kind of pattern--a spiral. The holes could not have come byaccident, for they appeared to be at equal distances apart. He countedten on the bare portion of the brickwork, and, looking intently,believed he caught sight of one more where the screen of ivy thinnedoff.

  His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened. What was the meaning of theseholes? Were there more, concealed beneath the ivy? He pulled thestrands of the plant aside, and with eye and hand examined the wall.There were no more holes, but what was this? He grasped an iron staplefirmly imbedded in the brickwork; and three feet above, surely that wasanother!

  "Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got you at last?"

  Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled asidethe ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, stillanother staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly,until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, andthere were no more staples! What was to be done now?

  True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was thelowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able toexamine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he puthis finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to bebored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that hemust find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see whatgood the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found along twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About afoot of the twig went into the wall.

  "The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I'm a Dutchman," he saidto himself. "It's long enough, and it's bored downward to prevent thestep from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must havecost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been prettyawkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or afterhis time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?"

  Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probablymade of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they?Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the houseof the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was muchmore probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand.

  Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily haveoverlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after whatseemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not togive up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps forhimself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundredyards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.

  "That's the place to rummage!" he thought.

  He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of theroof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks ofmuddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. Theroom was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewardedhis efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide sq
uare recess in thewall; he would try that.

  He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came uponthe object of his quest--a pile of rusty iron implements that seemedexactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long,with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step.And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspondwith the apertures in the walls.

  There were a dozen in all. Gathering them, no light weight, into hisarms, he returned to the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up bythe staples and tried one in the first hole. It fitted exactly. Hefixed the second, then descended for the others. Being a sailor he knewhow to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time; he slung the rest of thefittings over his shoulder with his handkerchief, and carried them upwith him once for all.

  By their aid he mounted to the top of the tower, and found himself justbelow the trap-door. But it was not quite within reach. There was thehanging chain, however, coming through a hole in the floor; would thatstand a tug? He made the attempt, intending to hoist himself up withone hand, and push with the other against the trap-door. But he foundthat when he exerted a little force the chain moved; it seemed hardlysafe to trust to it. He was about to let it go when he noticed that thetrap-door seemed to have risen slightly. Again he pulled at the chain,using more force. It gave to his tug, and as it descended he saw thetrap-door open slowly upward. The chain at length stuck; the door waswide open, and a rough rope-ladder was hanging some ten feet below thehole.

  Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the chain the trap-doortended to fall back. It was a simple matter to prevent this, for, justat his hand, there was a staple to which the chain could be hooked; itwas evidently intended for that purpose. To swing himself on to theladder was the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he had climbedthrough the open trap and stood in the turret.

  "A fine old musty smell, that's what first struck me," he saidafterward. "The dust of ages; cobwebs galore. Only one window, lookingseaward, and that shut fast. 'Twas stifling to a fellow used to thefresh air. There was a ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; afour-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at least, they had beencrimson; the dust was so thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the colorwas till I'd rubbed a bit of it off. That was where the old eccentricbreathed his last, I suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away.In the middle of the room was a deal table and a chair with a brokenback; not another stick of furniture.

  "But in the corner near the window I saw something that told a tale--apile of kegs, almost reaching to the low roof. 'Empty or full?' thoughtI. I lifted one; it was full. I knew they weren't old Congleton'sproperty, or they'd have disappeared with the rest of his furniture. Howdid I know he had any? Why, because I noticed nails on the wall, wherepictures had hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls--cleaner thanthe rest, that is--where a bureau or something of the sort had stood.Besides, no man who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings that oncewere splendid would have been likely to be satisfied with a deal tableand a common rickety chair. They were the kind of things you'd expectin a plowman's or a fisherman's kitchen.

  "At any rate, I saw that somebody had used the room since Congletondeparted this life, for there were some crumbs on the table, and achipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like the kegs. Ghosts don't eatbread and cheese and drink spirits! And there was a coil of rope underthe table, and by the window a cheap sort of curtain that just fitted.I held it up to see; right in the middle of it was a round hole. Andwhen I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress had a big dent init, and no dust on it. Somebody had had a nap there since old Congletondied.

  "Of course I saw all this in a very few seconds. Then I went on theprowl. I pulled out the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak! Ithought the old thing would fall to pieces. Behind it was a cupboard,and in the cupboard a large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder ofcardboard about eighteen inches long. 'What's that for?' I thought. Itdidn't strike me at the moment, but I took the things out and put themon the table. The lamp leaked a little; I found I'd got some spots ofoil on my breeches.

  "When I put them on the table I noticed something I'd missed before. Inthe middle was a sort of pattern in red chalk--a circle with a tail toit; and at the edge of the table two parallel strokes. They'd been donesome time, for the marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil stains.Those stains puzzled me for a bit. I could have understood wine stainsbetter. But at last I tumbled to it. That was the place where the lampwas put for the signaling. I set it down on the circular mark; it justfitted. But I could not make out at first what the two straight strokesat the edge were for. Then I caught sight of the roll of cardboard andanother idea struck me. I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; itfitted like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so that the handlewas over the tail of the circle I found that the cylinder just reachedto the two marks.

  "But that only puzzled me more than ever, for the lantern and cylinderwere now pointing straight at old Congleton's bed. Would you believeit?--I didn't at first think of turning the table round! Of course itwasn't a fixture, and when I did think of it I saw through the wholescheme. Turned round, the lantern pointed through the window. Thecylinder was a clever notion. It would prevent the light from thebull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be seen a good distance outat sea, it wouldn't attract notice in the neighborhood, except that afaint glow might be seen from below. But the Folly wasn't in sight fromthe village, and there'd be precious few of the ordinary country folkwho'd care to be near the spot after dark. They'd be in mortal fear ofseeing old Congleton's ghost.

  "I was still a little puzzled. What need was there to mark the place ofthe lantern so exactly. Anywhere near the window the light would beseen clearly enough out at sea. But now that I had moved the table Inoticed four red marks on the floor. 'Here's another discovery,' Ithought; 'there's a mark for each leg of the table.' I slewed it aroundagain, so that the legs stood on the marks. Then it flashed on me; ifthe table was always in the same place, and the lantern always exactlyon the marks, the light would always hit the same point out at sea. 'Avery pretty scheme!' says I to myself. 'Good master smugglers have alltheir wits about 'em.'

  "It was clear as daylight now that the Folly was a signal-station, andsometimes, as the kegs showed, a storehouse as well. Of course theyused old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the kegs. That coil ofrope, now! I pulled it over, and there, just underneath, was apulley--an iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and resting ateach end on a wooden block; little grooves had been chiseled out to keepthe bar steady. And when I came to look at 'em I saw, as I might haveexpected, that they'd been oiled not long before.

  "By this time I'd found out all I wished to know. The only thing leftto be discovered was, who used the Folly? I made up my mind to getLieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to the place one night when wesaw the light, and catch the men in the act. But before I went away Ithought I'd go down the staircase and see if there was anything there.I couldn't find a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into theroom; there was no other. I had another look at the cupboard, and foundafter some trouble that half the back of it was movable--it was asliding panel. I pulled it aside; it moved quite easily; and I steppedthrough--carefully, I can tell you, for it was pitch dark.

  "I got on to the staircase, and went down gingerly, a step at a time.It was wooden, and the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as Imoved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort of hand-rail, afraid ofpitching head first to the bottom. It smelled very close, and I tooksome time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and as it was awinding staircase they scarcely gave foothold except at the wall end.At last I got to the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of lightcoming through chinks in the doorway.

  "I had only just got there when I fancied I heard a rustling outside.'Mercy me!' I thought; 'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one iscoming for the kegs.' I scra
mbled up the staircase a good deal quickerthan I picked my way down, and crawled through the hole in the cupboard.Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for I saw a man sitting on therickety chair. It was Monsieur de Fronsac."