Old Ben’s pantry consisted of a single storey passage room connecting the old wing of the house with the new building. By getting on to its roof Roger could easily reach the window of his bedroom. His heart hammering wildly again now, he climbed on to a rain butt and hauled himself up on to the low roof. His window was open a foot. It creaked a little as he raised it further and he paused there listening intently for a moment; but no sound came and he slipped inside.
The room was in pitch darkness but his groping fingers soon found his tinder box and he lit a candle. He had already made a mental list of the things he wanted to take and with quick soft steps he set about collecting them, the solitary candle casting a giant shadow of him on the walls and ceiling.
First he broke open his money-box. He had not added anything to its contents for the past few years, but it had in it most of the cash presents he had received during his childhood. A swift count showed that he had fifteen guineas in gold and a fistful of silver crowns, which was considerably more than he had thought. Next, he stripped off his outer clothes and hurriedly changed into his best blue broadcloth suit, pulling on top of it his winter overcoat. Taking a roomy leather satchel from a chest he crammed into it a change of linen, the pair of silver-mounted pistols that his mother had given him on his fifteenth birthday, a pair of court shoes with silver buckles and a number of other items that he thought might come in useful. Thrusting his money in one pocket and the fat packet of Georgina’s jewels into another he left the letter he had written to his mother propped up on the dressing-chest, gave a last hurried look round, blew out the candle and climbed out of the window.
Having regained the garden he hastened along the grass verge of the terrace to its eastern end, withdrew the bolts of a small postern door in the high wall and let himself out. Turning into the avenue of limes that formed the drive up to the main gate of the house he broke into a run, fearful now that he had been so long in collecting his things that it would be midnight before he could reach the quay. But before he was half way along it the Town clock chimed again, eleven strokes and the three quarters, so with a gasp of relief he dropped back into a walk. Beyond the avenue there lay only a short lane ending in a steep street of old houses that ran down to the water.
At the quayside he found the Sally Ann. Only the silhouette of her mast and rigging now showed against the night sky, but having often seen her in full daylight, he knew her well as a long, rakish, swift-moving craft.
No attempt was being made to conceal her departure, as she normally made one of the fishing fleet, solitary boats of which often sailed from Lymington at the turn of the tide late at night or in the small hours of the morning.
A gruff voice hailed Roger as he reached the lugger’s side and a lantern was raised from behind a pile of tarpaulins. By its light Roger saw that the man who had challenged him was Nick Bartlett, a fellow of ill repute, who picked up a dubious living on the waterfront.
As Roger asked for Dan, Nick said in a grumbling tone: ‘So it be ‘e, be it? Dan said ‘e was a-coming wi’ us, though what he be after wi’ the likes of ’e aboard Satan knows.’
After this ill reception Roger was glad to see Dan’s bearded head emerge from the hatchway and hear him call: ‘Stow that, Nick Bartlett! What I does be my affair. ’Tis none of ’e’s business an’ the young gentleman is paying his footing handsome. Come aboard, Master Roger, an’ don’t pay no need to yon fellow’s cussedness.’
Scrambling over the lugger’s low bulwark Roger joined Dan aft and was taken by him down to the cabin. Three other men were there, whiling away the time until the tide should fall, by gambling for halfpence with a greasy pack of cards. Roger knew two of them by sight: Fred Mullins, a brawny, open-faced man, who, in his youth, had been impressed into the Navy and had later deserted; and Simon Fry, a grizzled, weather-beaten fisherman who had had the ill luck to lose his boat some winters before. The third was a dark, wiry fellow with a sly, cunning look. The others addressed him as Ned, and it later transpired that he came from Boscombe way, where he had quarrelled with and left another gang.
While Roger sat watching them from a corner of the smelly ill-lit cabin, the minutes seemed to drag again. He had a frightening vision of his father paying a last visit to his room before going to sleep, to see if he had come home by the window, and, on seeing the disorder there, coming hot-foot in pursuit of him. But he quickly reassured himself with the thought that even if his father did now discover the empty money-box and the scattered clothes he could not possibly guess where their owner had got to.
Thirty long minutes ticked away before Nick thrust his head over the edge of the hatchway and called: Tide’s on the ebb, Cap’n.’
Abandoning the cards they all went on deck, a lantern was hoisted on the forestay and at a word from Dan the hawsers were cast off. Two of the men got out long sweeps and, as the lugger drifted away from the quayside, began to pole her out into open water. Dan took the tiller and gave another order, the sweeps were drawn inboard and the jib was set. It slapped for a moment, then bellied out, soon giving the ship enough way for Dan to steer into the channel, and with the water barely rippling along her sides she dropped smoothly down river.
Roger looked back towards Lymington. Across the marshes he could see the two small beacons that marked the entrance to the harbour and the vague outline of the massed houses behind them; but the long, low salt-pans, from which for centuries the town had supplied half England and made a handsome revenue, were hidden by the darkness, as was the roof of his own home which he would have been able to make out easily, between its sheltering trees, had it been daytime.
Quarter of an hour of gentle tacking round the bends of the creek brought them to its mouth. The breeze seemed fresher now and Dan gave orders for the mainsail to be hoisted. Roger joined the others in hauling on the sheet; the wooden rings rattled against the mast, the boom swung over and the great spread of canvas rose above them. Leaving the land on their starboard beam they headed out towards the western extremity of the Isle of Wight.
After his long sleep Roger was not the least tired and he sat by Dan staring out with eager eyes into the darkness. Ahead he could see the warning beacon flashing on the cruel rocks of the Needles, to his left the friendly lights of Yarmouth harbour but to the right the great sweep of the mainland showed no signs of human occupation. In vain he searched the dark horizon there for a glimpse of Highcliffe Tower, but it was hidden by the night, so he could only gaze at a spot where he imagined it to be, as he thought of the beautiful Georgina, and wondered if she was still awake and thinking of him, or sound asleep in the big warm bed on which they had shared out her treasure that afternoon.
Giving the Needles a wide berth Dan turned the lugger out to sea and it was some half-hour after this new course had been set that Roger, chancing to glance astern, suddenly saw the faint shimmer of foam creaming at one solitary place in the gloom behind them.
‘Dan!’ he gasped in an excited whisper: ‘We’re being followed! Look astern there! Naught but a ship’s bow cutting through the wake could churn it up so steadily.’
‘Be easy, lad,’ Dan replied with unaccustomed familiarity. ‘There be more mysteries to this trade o’ ours than ’e would wot of.’ Then, to Roger’s surprise, he gave orders to douse the lights and lower the sails, and the lugger hove to.
The shimmer of foam rapidly grew to what seemed a quite abnormal height, until it was sufficiently near for Roger suddenly to realise that only the base of the pyramid at which he was gazing was formed of water and that from it rose the brow of a white-painted ship. A moment later her masts and sails were visible, and, checking her speed as she came up with them, she emerged like a ghost-ship out of the night, a trim little two-masted schooner.
Hails were exchanged with the newcomer, then Dan hoisted his jib and after a certain amount of manœuvring the two ships were brought alongside one another. The schooner’s counter was slightly higher than that of the lugger, but by leaning over it the men in her c
ould converse with Dan and his mates without raising their voices.
There was a brief interchange of questions and answers and on both parties ascertaining that all was well with the other Dan said to Roger, ‘Run, get thy bag, lad. We be goin’ aboard her.’
Roger hesitated. He had already given Dan the five pounds and he wondered unhappily if the smuggler, having been so averse to taking him in the first place, had later thought up some trick for getting his money but not taking him after all. He had now recognised the white schooner as the Albatross, out of Yarmouth, and suspected that he was to be put aboard her for shipment back to the island.
‘What’s toward, Dan?’ he asked, striving to keep the uneasiness he felt out of his voice. ‘Why must I board her?’
‘’Tis not for ’e to ask questions,’ Dan replied gruffly. ‘Do as ’e’s bid, an’ smart about it, now.’
Being in no position to argue, Roger turned away. If they intended to send him back there was nothing he could do about it, and no way in which he could recover his money from Dan, either. It was the first dealing he had had with lawless characters and he felt again how incompetent he was to hold his own outside the secure world he knew, in that where poverty made men unscrupulous.
The thought that he still had some fourteen pounds in cash upon him was some consolation. That was enough to get him to London and keep him for a week or two there. But suddenly it flashed upon him that the smugglers might rob him of the rest of his money before putting him ashore.
Hastening his steps he dived down into the cabin, pulled off his boots and poured his guineas and crowns into them, leaving only some small change in his pocket. In something of a panic now he pulled out the bulky packet of Georgina’s jewels and wondered how he could possibly manage to conceal it. After a second he tore the silk scarf he was wearing from around his neck, spread it out on the table, undid the packet of jewels and poured them on to it. Rolling the scarf up he tied each of its ends in a knot and the middle with a strand of hemp that was lying handy; then he undid his clothes and arranged the long uneven sausage round his waist next his skin, in such a way that the leather belt of his breeches would keep it in position. He was still stuffing back his shirt over it when Dan’s stentorian voice came to him.
‘Below there! What the hell’s keeping ’e?’
‘Coming!’ called Roger, and he stumbled up on deck again.
To his surprise he saw that several strange men from the schooner were now aboard the lugger and that her own crew were in the process of climbing over the schooner’s counter. Evidently the two ships were exchanging crews and this, though queer, seemed somewhat reassuring; so, without further attempt to secure an explanation, he followed Dan aboard the Albatross.
The exchange having been made the two ships cast off. Amidst a chorus of muttered farewells from their crews the bumpers were hauled in and they drew apart.
When the Sally Ann had been swallowed up in the darkness Roger made his way down to the schooner’s cabin. It was roomier and somewhat cleaner than that of the lugger, and it had eight bunks instead of only four. Depositing his satchel on one of them he went up again to seek out Dan, now feeling a twinge of remorse at his recent fears that the smuggler intended to cheat and rob him.
The crew were busy setting the sails and Dan was standing at the break of the shallow poop behind the big wheel.
‘I’ve no wish to pry, Dan,’ Roger said as he joined him, ‘but I’m all agog to know the reason for the exchange we’ve just made. Won’t you tell me what lies behind it?’
The smuggler laughed. ‘Aye, why not? ’e’ll find out for ’e’s self soon enough. ’Tis this way. The Riding Officers be mighty spry these days roun’ Mudeford and Bourne Heath; but the Isle o’ Wight has quiet covers a plenty, so ’tis there we now run our cargoes. Then the Yarmouth lads bring ’em over piecemeal, a few kegs at a time, in the little boats that be always plyin’ to an’ fro from the island.’
‘So that’s why ’tis done,’ murmured Roger. ‘But why couldn’t you land your cargo on the island direct from the lugger?’
‘I could, lad; an’ always did in the good days. But as I’ve telled ’e Ollie Nixon’s out to have my blood. ’Tis to fox he that we make the change o’ craft. Come daylight should he sight the Sally Ann, ’tis her he’ll keep his weather eye on, while she does a bit o’ harmless fishin’ an’ we take the Albatross to France.’
‘’Tis monstrous clever, that, Dan.’
‘Aye; ’tis a ruse that has worked twice afore, an’ pray God ’twill work again.’
For the best part of two hours Roger remained on deck, while the little schooner, lifting and falling gently to the swell, cleaved her way through the night; then he thought that he would turn in for a bit. The knobs and points of the jewel-filled bandage round his waist irked him somewhat but their weight was better distributed than it had been as a heavy packet in his pocket, so he decided to leave them as they were, and, adjusting them more comfortably, lay down on his bunk in his clothes. Youth can do with far more sleep than age, and, in spite of his long nap that evening, he had hardly closed his eyes before he dropped off.
When he awoke it was daylight and a strong smell of cooking assailed his nostrils. On sitting up he saw that Fred Mullins was busy cooking bacon, onions and pigs’ fry in the tiny galley that formed the far end of the cabin. Tidying his hair as best he could in a cracked mirror nailed to the bulkhead, he joined the ex-naval jolly and helped lay up the table for breakfast.
The men came down for their meal in relays, Dan being last, and when he had eaten he turned in for a spell while Roger went on deck. The old fisherman, Simon Fry, was now at the wheel and the schooner was scudding along on a fine breeze. The weather promised well and on looking round the horizon Roger could see no sail except the Sally Ann, which apparently had kept them company all through the night, and now lay about a mile away on their port quarter.
There was nothing to do but laze in the sunshine and, making himself as comfortable as he could on a coil of rope Roger took his ease there all through the morning. At midday he joined the crew in another rough and ready meal and, after it, Dan took the wheel again.
As he did so he asked Roger how he was feeling, and Roger, having entirely forgotten the plea by which he had induced the smuggler to take him on the trip, replied cheerfully: ‘I never felt better, Dan: I’m as fit as a fiddle.’
‘’Tis just as I told ’e,’ Dan laughed. ‘Tain’t no different in mid-channel, here, than ’tis huggin’ the coast in a bit o’ a yawl. An’ we’s nigher to France than England now. Come six o’clock we should make a landfall.’
The early hours of the afternoon drifted by uneventfully but soon after four o’clock Nick Bartlett, who was acting as lookout, called: ‘Sail astern, Cap’n.’
Slipping a noose of rope over one of the spokes of the wheel to keep it in position Dan picked up a spy-glass and focused it on the speck that the surly longshoreman had reported.
After a few moments he lowered his telescope with a curse and added: ‘’Tis the Revenue cutter Expedition; Ollie Nixon be after us again.’
‘Well, you’ve naught to fear’, Roger said in an effort to reassure him. ‘’Tis the Sally Ann that he’ll be interested in, not us.’
‘Aye, let’s hope so,’ Dan muttered, ‘may God rot his guts.’
The captain of the Sally Ann had also evidently sighted the Revenue cutter, as she began to play her part as a decoy and draw away, while the Albatross held on her course.
All the crew bad now assembled on deck and for the next half-hour they watched the Revenue cutter anxiously. She was considerably faster than either of the other ships, and soon began to overhaul them. In order to avoid arousing the Revenue men’s suspicions the Sally Ann had not taken any drastic action that would have been immediately perceptible to them but only adopted a slightly divergent course a few more points to westward; so it was at first impossible to tell whether the cutter was in pursuit of the schooner or the lugge
r.
Then, to their dismay, the issue became certain. The Sally Ann was now a good two miles away and had dropped some distance astern; but the Expedition was ignoring her and, with all sail spread, coming up in the wake of the Albatross.
‘Darn his eyes!’ Dan swore. ‘He’ve smelled our red herring once too often, an’ he means to board us.’
‘What if he does?’ said Roger. ‘You’ve not loaded your contraband yet, so he can’t lay a finger on you.’
‘Nay,’ Dan muttered uneasily, ‘Tonight we’ve naught to fear ’cept from the Frenchies. But Ollie Nixon havin’ tumbled to our ruse bodes ill for our homeward run. Once he have satisfied hisself that ’tis me an’ my lads is aboard the Albatross he’ll patrol these waters for days to get us.’
While they had been talking the cutter had come up to within hailing distance of the schooner and a faint but clear call came to them from across the water:
‘Heave-to, there! In the King’s name, heave-to!’
With another curse Dan gave the wheel a spin, bringing the schooner round within six points of the wind, so that her sails emptied and began to flop idly against her stays. Her crew scattered quickly to reef them in, and while they were still busy at it the cutter drew abreast. No sooner had she checked her way than some of her people began to get out a boat. It was easy to see that they were used to the business, from the despatch they used, and five minutes later a smart gig was making fast to the schooner’s stern.
A heavy, red-faced man hauled himself aboard and his sharp black eyes swept the little group of sullen-looking sailors.
‘Arternoon, Mr. Nixon,’ said Dan, with the best grace he could muster.
‘So, ’tis you, Dan Izzard,’ Nixon muttered, ‘I guessed as much. What are you and your culleys doing aboard the Albatross?’
The Launching of Roger Brook Page 11