This being settled (Wilkinson’s concurrence being rendered the easier by my telling him that, providing the lading was safely run, I would adhere to my undertaking to give them six hundred and sixty pounds each for their share), I went below and spent half an hour over a letter to Mr. Jeremiah Mason. There was no ink, but I found a pencil, and for paper I used the fly-leaves of the books in my cabin. I opened with a sketch of my adventures, and then went on to relate that the Boca was a rich ship; that as she had been a pirate, I risked her seizure by carrying her to London; that I stood grievously in need of his counsel and help, and begged him not to lose a moment in returning with the messenger to Deal, and there hiring a boat and coming to me, whom he would find cruising off Beachy Head. That I might know his boat, I bade him fly a jack a little below the masthead. “As for the Boca del Dragon,” I added, “Wilkinson would recognize her if she were in the middle of a thousand sail, and indeed a farmer’s boy would be able to distinguish her for her uncommon oddness of figure.” I was satisfied to underscore the words “a rich ship,” quite certain his imagination would be sufficiently fired by the expression. At anything further I durst not hint, as the letter would be open for Wilkinson to read.
When I had finished, I took a lanthorn and the keys of the chest and went very secretly and expeditiously to the run, and removing the layers of small-arms from the top of the case that held the money, I picked out some English pieces, quickly returned the small-arms, locked the chest, and returned.
All this time we were running up Channel before a fresh westerly wind. It was true December weather, very raw, and the horizon thick, but I knew my road well, and whilst the loom of the land showed, I desired nothing better than this thickness.
But wary sailing delayed us; and it was not till ten o’clock on the night of the seventh that we hove the schooner to off the shingly beach of Lydd within sound of the wash of the sea upon it. The bay sheltered us; we got the boat over; I gave Wilkinson the letter and ten guineas, bidding him keep them hidden and to use them cautiously with the silver change he would receive, for they were all guineas of the first George and might excite comment if he, a poor sailor, ill-clad, should pull them out and exhibit them. Happily, in the hurry of the time, he did not think to ask me how I had come by them. He thrust them into his pocket, shook my hand and dropped into the boat, and the negroes immediately rowed him ashore.
I stood holding a lanthorn upon the rail to serve them as a guide, waiting for the boat to return, and never breathed more freely in my life than when I heard the sound of oars. The two negroes came alongside, and, clapping the tackles on to the boat, we hoisted her with the capstan, and then under very small canvas stood out to sea again.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE END
I should require to write to the length of this book over again to do full justice by description to the difficulties and anxieties of the days that now followed. If it had not been thick weather all the time, I do not know how I should have fared, I am sure. I was between two fires, so to say; on the one side the French cruisers and privateers, and on the other side the ships of my own country, and particularly the revenue cutters and the sloops and the like cruising after the smugglers. As I knew that my relative could not be with me under four days, I steered out of sight of land into the middle of the Channel, betwixt Beachy Head and the Seine coast, and there dodged about under very small canvas, heartily grateful for the haze that shrouded the sea to within a mile of me. I scarcely closed my eyes in sleep, and though my worries were now of a very different kind from those which had racked me on the ice, they were, in their way, to the full as tormenting. Every sail that loomed in the dinginess filled me with alarm. Several ships passed me close, and I could scarce breathe till they were out of sight. Indeed, I lay skulking out upon that sea as if I was some common thief broken loose from jail. However, it pleased heaven that I should manage to keep out of sight of those whom I most strenuously desired not to see; and the afternoon of the fourth day found the Boca lying off Beachy Head, and I peering over the rail, with a haggard face, at the dark shadow of the land.
It had been blowing and snowing all day. The seas ran short and spitefully. It was a dismal December afternoon, and the more sensibly disgusting to us who were fresh from several weeks of the balm and glory of the tropics. And yet I would not have exchanged it for a clear fine day for all that I was like to be worth.
It was the most reasonable thing in the world that a vessel should be hove-to in such sombre weather, and so I was under no concern that our posture in this respect would excite suspicion, should we be descried. The hours stole away one by one. Now and again a little coaster would pass, some hoy bound west, a sloop for the Thames, a lugger on some unguessable mission: all small ships, oozing dark and damp out of the snow and mist and passing silently. I kept the land close aboard to be out of the way of the bigger craft, and held the vessel in the wind till it was necessary to reach to our station. The three of us were mighty pensive and eager, staring incessantly with all our eyes; but it looked as if we were not to expect anything that day when the night put its darkness into the weather. Then, as I foresaw a serious danger if the wind shifted into the south, and as I could not obtain a glimpse of a shore-light, I resolved to bring up and ride till dawn. Long ago we had got the schooner’s old anchors at the catheads and the cables bent, so, lowering the mainsail and hauling down the stay foresail, we let fall the starboard anchor, and the ship came to a stand. I put the lead over the side that we might know if she dragged, hung a lantern on the forestay and one on either quarter that our presence might be marked by my relative should he be out in quest of us, and went below, leaving Cromwell to keep the look-out.
I was extremely fretful and anxious and had no patience to talk with Billy Pitt. There were too many risks, too many vague chances in this exploit to render contemplation of it tolerable. Suppose my relative should be dead? Suppose Wilkinson should be robbed of his money? fall to the cutting of capers, as a sailor newly delivered to the pleasures of the land with ten guineas in his pocket? Get locked up for breaking the peace? Blab of us in his cups and start the Customs on our trail? There was no end to such conjectures, and I made myself so melancholy that I was fool enough to think that the treasure was no better than a curse, and that on the whole I was better off on the ice than here with the anchor in English ground and my native soil within gunshot.
I was up and about till midnight, and then, being in the cabin and exhausted, I fell asleep across the table, and in that posture lay as one dead. Some one dragging at my arm, with very little tenderness, awoke me. I was in the midst of a dream of the schooner having been boarded by a party of French privateersmen, with Tassard at their head, and the roughness with which I was aroused was exactly calculated to extend into my waking the horror and grief of my sleep.
I instantly sprang to my feet and saw Washington Cromwell.
“Massa Rodney,” he bawled, “Massa Rodney, de gent’s ’longside—him an’ Wilkinson—yaas, by de good Lord—dey’se both dere! Dey hail me an’ I answer and say who are you, and dey say are you de Boca? We am, I say, and dey say——”
I had stood stupidly staring at him, but my full understanding coming to me on a sudden, I jumped to the ladder and darted on deck. I heard voices over the starboard side and ran there. It was not so dark but that I could see the outline of a Deal lugger. Whilst I was peering, the voice of my man Wilkinson cried out, “On deck, there! Cromwell—Billy—where’s Mr. Rodney?”
“Here I am!” cried I.
“My God, Paul!” exclaimed the voice of Mr. Mason, “this encounter is fortunate indeed.”
I shouted to the negroes to show a light, and in a few minutes Mr. Mason, Wilkinson, and a couple of Deal boatmen came over the side. I grasped my relative by both hands. I had not seen him for four years.
“This is good of you, indeed!” I cried. “But you must be perished with the cold of that open boat. Come below at once—come Wilkinson, and you men�
�there’s a fire in the cook-room and drink to warm us;” and down I bundled in the wildest condition of excitement, followed by Mason and the others.
My relative was warmly clad and did not seem to suffer from the cold. He took me by the hand and brought me to the lanthorn-light, and stood viewing me.
“Ay,” said he, “you are your old self: a bit worried looking, but that’ll pass. Stout and burnt. Odd’s heart! Paul, if you have passed through the experiences Wilkinson has given me a sketch of, we must have your life, man, we must have your life—for the booksellers.”
Well, I need not detain you by reciting all the civilities and congratulations which he and I exchanged. He and Wilkinson had arrived at Deal at three o’clock that afternoon, and, after a hurried meal, had hired a lugger and started at once for Beachy Head. It was now three o’clock in the morning; and what I may consider a truly extraordinary circumstance is, that they had sailed as true a course for the schooner as if she had lain plain to the gaze at the very start; that since the night had drawn down they had met no vessel of any kind or description, until they came up to us; that in all probability they would have run stem on into us if they had not seen our lights, and that their seeing our lights had caused them to hail us, their “ship ahoy!” being instantly answered by Cromwell.
“Well,” said I, “there are stranger things to tell of than this, even. Now, Wilkinson, and you Billy, and Cromwell, get us a good supper and mix a proper bowl. How many more of you are in the lugger?”
“Four, sir,” says one of the boatmen.
“Then fetch as many as may safely leave the boat,” said I. “Billy, get candles and make a good light here. Throw on coal, boys; there’s enough to carry us home.”
I saw Mason gazing curiously about him.
“’Tis like a tale out of the Arabian Nights, Paul,” he exclaimed.
“Ay,” said I, “but written in bitter prose, and no hint of enchantment anywhere. But, thank God, you are come! I have passed a dismal time of expectation, I promise you.” I added softly, “I have something secret—we will sup first, man—I shall amaze you! We must talk apart presently.”
He bowed his head.
Three more boatmen arrived, giving us the company of five of them. Soon there was a hearty sound of frying and a smell of good things upon the air. Pitt put plates and glasses upon the cabin table, two great bowls of punch were brewed, and in a little time we had all fallen to. I whispered Wilkinson, who sat next me, “These boatmen know nothing of our business; I shall have to take Mr. Mason apart and arrange with him. These fellows may not be fit for our service. Let no hint escape you.”
“Right, sir,” said he.
This I said to disarm his suspicions should he see me talking alone with Mr. Mason. He entertained us with an account of his excursion to London; and then, partly to appease the profound curiosity of the boatmen and partly to save time when I should come to confer with my relative, I gave them the story of my shipwreck, and told how I had met with the schooner and how I had managed to escape with her.
“And now, Mason,” said I, “whilst our friends here empty these bowls, come you with me to the cook-room.” And with that we quitted the cabin.
“D’ye mean to tell me, Paul,” was the first question my relative asked, “that this vessel was on the ice eight-and-forty years?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Surely you dream?”
“I think not.”
“What we have been eating and drinking—is that forty-eight years old, too?”
“Ay, and older.”
“Well, such a thing shall make me credulous enough to duck old women for witches. But what brandy—what brandy! Never had spirit such a bouquet. Every pint is worth its weight in guineas to a rich man. To think of Deal boatmen and blacks swilling such nectar!”
“Mason,” said I, speaking low, “give me now your attention. In the run of this schooner are ten chests loaded with money, bars of silver and gold, and jewellery. This vessel was a pirate, and her people valued their booty at ninety to a hundred thousand pounds.”
His jaw fell; he stared as if he knew not whether it was he or I that was mad.
“Here is evidence that I speak the truth,” said I. “A little sample only—but look at it!” And I put the pirate captain’s watch into his hand.
He eyed it as though he discredited the intelligence of his sight, turned it about, and returned it to me with a faint “Heaven preserve me!” Then said he, still faintly, “You found some of the pirates alive?”
“No.”
“Who told you that the people of the vessel valued their plunder at that amount?”
I answered by giving him the story of the recovery of the Frenchman.
He listened with a gaze of consternation: I saw how it was; he believed my sufferings had affected my reason. There was only one way to settle his mind; I took a lanthorn, and asked him to follow me. As we passed through the cabin I whispered Wilkinson that I meant to show my relative the lading below, and bade him keep the Deal men about him. I had the keys of the chests in my pocket: lifting the after-hatch, we entered the lazarette, and Mason gazed about him with astonishment. But I was in too great a hurry to return to suffer him to idly stand and stare. I opened the second hatch and descended into the run, and crawling to the jewel chest opened it, removed a few of the small-arms, and bade him look for himself.
“Incredible! incredible!” he cried. “Is it possible! is it possible! Well, to be sure!” And for some moments he could find no more to say, so amazed and confounded was he.
I quickly showed him the gold and silver ingots and then returned the firearms and locked the chests.
“These,” said I emphatically, pointing to the cases, “have been my difficulty; not the lading, though there is value there too. My crew know nothing of these chests: of their value, I mean; they believe them cases of small-arms. How am I to get them ashore? If I tell the truth, they will be seized as piratical plunder. If I equivocate, I may tumble into a pit of difficulties. I durst not carry them to the Thames, the river swarms with thieves and Custom House people. I am terrified to linger here, lest I be boarded and the booty discovered. There is but one plan, I think: we must hire some Deal smugglers to run these chests and the cargo for us. The boat now alongside might serve, and I don’t doubt the men are to be had at their own price.”
My relative had regained his wits, which the sight of the treasure had temporarily scattered, and surveyed me thoughtfully whilst I spoke; and then said, “Let us return to the fire; I think I have a better scheme than yours.”
The men still sat around the table talking. Some liquor yet lay in one of the bowls, and the fellows were happy enough. I smiled at Wilkinson as I passed, that he might suppose our inspection below very satisfactory, and I saw him look meaningly and pleasantly at Washington Cromwell, who sat with a laced hat on his head.
“Paul,” said Mason, sitting down and folding his arms, “your smuggling plan will not do. It would be the height of madness to trust those chests to the risks of running and to the honesty of the rogues engaged in that business.”
“What is to be done?”
“Tell me your lading,” said he.
I gave it to him as accurately as I could.
“Why,” he exclaimed, “a single boat would take a long time to discharge ye—observe the perils—several boats would mean a large number of men; they would eat you up; they would demand so much, you would have nothing left. And suppose they opened the chests! No, your scheme is worthless.”
“What’s to do, then, in God’s name?”
“I’ll tell you!” he exclaimed, smiling with the complacency of a man who is master of a great fancy. “I shall sail to Dover at once. ’Tis now a quarter past four. Give me twelve hours to make Dover: I shall post straight to London and be there by early morning. Now, Paul, attend you to this. Today is Wednesday; by tomorrow night you must contrive to bring your ship to an anchor off Barking Level.”
“The Thames!” I cried.
He nodded.
I looked at him anxiously. He leaned to me, putting his hand on my leg.
“I own a lighter,” said he: “she will be alongside of you at dusk. I have people of my own whom I can trust. The lighter will empty your hold and convey the lading to a ship chartered by me, arrived from the Black Sea on Sunday and lying in the Pool. The stuff can be sold from that ship as it is—”
“But the chests—the chests, Mason!”
“They shall be lowered into another boat, and taken ashore and put into a waggon that will be in waiting—I in it—and driven to my home.”
I clapped him on the shoulder in a transport.
“Nobly schemed indeed!” I cried; “but have we nothing to fear from the Customs people?”
“No, not low down the river and at dark. You bring up for convenience, d’ye see. Mind it is dark when you anchor. A lighter and boat shall be awaiting you. It is down the river, you know, that all the lumpers drop with the lighters they go adrift in from ships’ sides. There’s more safety in smuggling over Thames mud than on this coast shingle. One thought more: you say that Wilkinson believes the chests hold small-arms?”
“Yes.”
“Then account to him for sending the chests away separately by saying that I have found a purchaser, and that they are going to him direct. You have your cue—you see all!”
“All.”
“Let me hurry, then, Paul; that brandy should fetch you half a guinea a pint. You are in luck’s way, Paul. See that you bring your ship along safely. Till tomorrow night!”
He clasped and wrung my hand and ran into the cabin.
“Now, lads, off with us!” he cried. “Off to Dover! Put me ashore there smartly and you shall find your account. Off now—time presses.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 288