The Black Joke

by Farley Mowat

  “Shipwreck? Where the ship what wrecked, hey? I don’ see no ship. Don’ hear about none either! I theenk maybe you garçons come out of the sea like mermaids, or maybe you come out of the sky? What you theenk, Jacques? You theenk mebbe we catch two angels?”

  The red-haired boy grinned.

  “Mais non, mon père, they don’t look much like angels…. Too dirty in the face.”

  By this time the fisherman had reached the camp and was standing looking down at the boys and their gear. He too was smiling, and Peter and Kye’s fears began to wear off.

  “Guess we better tell the truth,” Peter said sheepishly. “Me name’s Peter Spence, sorr, and this here’s Kye Spence. We belongs to Ship Hole over to Newfoundland…”

  “Spence? Spence?” the big man interrupted. “Maybe you the sons of Johnny Spence, non?”

  “Yiss sorr, that’s it. Jonathan Spence, he’s me father, and Kent Spence he’s Kye’s father, only he’s dead now.”

  The fisherman gave a bellow.

  “By Gar! Kent, he ees dead? A good man, that one. And Johnny, whereabouts that old devil got to anyhow? They both good fren’s to me. Long time I don’ see or hear of them.”

  “Would you be Mr. Roulett, sorr?” Kye asked hesitantly.

  “Pierre Roulett, that’s me. And thees my son, Jacques. He speak the Engleesh more bettair than me; got education in the school. Now we all sit down, I theenk, and you two fellows tell me what go on.”

  In their relief and excitement, Peter and Kye tried to tell their story all at once, but Pierre managed to calm them down and eventually get the facts. When they had finished, he looked grave.

  “Sacré bleu! Johnny Spence got himself beeg trouble, eh? Me and Jacques, we been for the lobster fishing on Langlade. Got plenty lobster too. We go to St. Pierre for sell them, but first we theenk we get some eggs. Now we got more’n eggs. Bien! We got to theenk a leetle.” He got out a short-stemmed pipe, filled it, lit up, and sat puffing hard for a few minutes.

  “I tell you what we do,” he said at last. “Johnny, he my very good fren’ and I do most anything for him and for hees garçons too. I theenk best thing Jacques and I go on to St. Pierre, so we fin’ out what happen to Johnny and hees boat. Maybe I get to talk with heem. Then he and I make the plan. Demain–tomorrow–I tell everyone I go fish for cod on Plate Bank, but I come here instead and tell you what happen.

  “Jacques! Allez! To the boat. Bring up meat, some bread, some cheese. Look like theese boy, they eat nothin’ but sea pigeon eggs…and maybe some rats too, eh?”

  Jacques did not seem to mind the long climb down and back, but went off cheerfully while Pierre, who never seemed to stop talking, continued to question the boys about their adventures.

  “That capitain Smith, he ees one tough fellow, I don’ like heem and he don’ like me. I theenk maybe Meester Barnes he work with Jean Gauthier–the beegest robbair evair live on St. Pierre; I got no use for him neither. But I fin’ out everything, you bet. I got more fren’s in St. Pierre than anyone. I hear everything I want to know.”

  At last Jacques arrived back. He was sweating profusely but still smiling, and obviously enjoying the novelty of discovering two strange boys on the crest of Colombier.

  “Here is the food, my father,” he said in his best English.

  “Bon! Now we eat a leetle. Then we go. Tomorrow we come back. You two sleep good. You got nuthin’ to worry about now. Me, Pierre Roulett, I tell you that! Capitain Smith and Meester Barnes and that diable, Gauthier, bettair they start to watch out for themselves!”

  Rather stunned by the ebullience of the big fisherman, Peter and Kye made no attempt to answer, but tucked into the proffered food with ravenous appetites. When the meal was finished, Pierre shook them both by the hand, nearly shaking the hands right off them, and said good-by. In a few moments he and his son were on their way down the cliff. The two boys watched the dory until it was out of sight around the corner of St. Pierre Island.

  Rats or no rats, Peter and Kye slept well that night, knowing they had found friends at last.

  It was late afternoon of the following day before they heard the putter of an approaching boat. They met the Roulett dory–named the Frontenac–on the narrow foreshore, but Pierre would tell them nothing until all four had climbed the cliffs, laden with food, and had eaten a full meal.

  “Now I tell you what marches,” he said when they had finished. “Some of eet ees not so good, but you are not leetle babies, so I don’ make the easy talk–I tell you straight, non?”

  The story he had to tell was grim. Jonathan had indeed been picked up by the rum-runners, but he had been unconscious at the time and had remained unconscious through the three succeeding days. He was still in the St. Pierre hospital–under arrest, and under guard. Pierre had spoken to one of the hospital doctors –an old acquaintance–who had explained that Jonathan was suffering from a severe concussion. He would recover; but it would be several days before he was fit to leave the hospital.

  “And when he leave,” Pierre said, “he go straight into the calaboose–what you call the jail. I hear from another fren’ of me that they make the charge of steal the boat–steal hees own boat…and he sure to get two months unless he kin pay the fine. It don’ be no leetle fine either. Those officials, they plenty mad weeth him, you bet!”

  Even Pierre had not been able to get in to see Jonathan, but he had smuggled in a note to say that the boys were safe, and that he, Pierre, was taking charge of them for the time being.

  “That way, he won’ worry none. He know for sure Pierre Roulett the bes’ man for to take care of trouble in whole of St. Pierre and Miquelon.”

  Pierre’s next move had been to find out what had happened to Black Joke. Through a cousin who worked for Gauthier, he had picked up some information; and through other sources he had acquired enough more, so that he could guess the story in its general outlines.

  “That fellow Barnes, he worked with Gauthier all right like the hand work in the glove. Day after Smith bring in Black Joke, they have the lawsuit in the Palais de Justice. Quick and sweet, that one. They fin’ Johnny make the mistake in the channel and Smith, hees boat hurt for twenty thousand francs damages. So they say Johnny got to pay. But, say the President, Monsieur Spence he got no money, so we sell hees boat to the highest biddar so we can pay Monsieur Smith.

  “Very next day, they have the auction. Only two fellows make the bids. Monsieur Gauthier and a fellow he hire to bid ’longside heem. And Gauthier, he get the boat for twenty-five thousand francs–one thousand dollars! They steal that boat from Johnny.

  “Very nex’ day they put Black Joke on the slipways. They tell everyone they goin’ to feex her up for to carry salt fish from Newfoundland to Trinidad and they got the carpenters right to work changin’ ’round her hold. But one of those carpenters he ees my sister husban’, and he tell me they feex her up for to carry le whiskey underneath the fish. An’ he tell me they got a great beeg engine in the warehouse for to put into her. Hundred and fifteen horsepower diesel; enough for to power a boat twice as beeg as Black Joke.

  “I go all over. I listen and I ask the question, and now I tell you what I theenk. I theenk they use that boat of Johnny for to go straight to United States with le whiskey. I theenk they try to fool the revenue fellows–make them theenk she only slow leetle old fishing boat. Maybe it work too…unless we stop them. An’ once that boat gone from St. Pierre, maybe we nevair see her no more.

  “I ask what happen to the two boys was on Black Joke, but nobody wan’ to talk about that. They theenk you two got kill when the rum-runner open fire with machine gun, or get drownded after maybe. And even the officials, they plenty scare about that. They afraid maybe comes a beeg stink from Newfoundland if the word get out. Barnes and Gauthier, they don’ be veree happy about it, because eef the Government of Terre Neuve start to ask the question about you garçons, maybe the whole cat come out of the bag, eh?

  “Me, I don’ tell nobody that you is safe–
’cept Johnny. Bettair keep them fellows scare so much as we can. So now I make to hide you good. We stay here ’till it get dark, then we go off in Frontenac to Miquelon. That’s the place where I was born. That’s where I live mos’ of my life, and that’s where I take my wife to live. She fine Newfoundland girl, that one, with beeg blue eyes and the red hair, but sacré bleu, what a tempair that woman got! Eh, Jacques?”

  Jacques had taken no part in the conversation so far. It was difficult for anyone else to talk when Pierre was talking, but now he answered the direct question.

  “Maybe she needs the hot temper with you, my father,” he said, grinning.

  “Nom de nom!” shouted Pierre. “What for you say that? I theenk I beat your head in with one of theese dead rats the boys have kill!”

  He made a lunge for his son, but Jacques skipped neatly out of the way and, in the mock chase which followed, all three boys were soon overcome with laughter, for Pierre was a natural comedian, and his wild lunges and rugby tackles after his son were always wide of the mark. Finally he grew winded, and trotted back to the camp site.

  “Ah well, I settle hees hash some other time. Now then, you garçons listen close to me. I take you to Miquelon, that’s where all the people my frens. They don’ like the people in St. Pierre, they don’ like most of the Yankee rum-runners, an’ they don’ like Monsieur Gauthier. They hide you good, an’ look after you good. Jacques, he stay with you in Miquelon for to speak the French for you and keep you out of the trouble. Me, I come back to St. Pierre and see what I can see. Okay?”

  “Thank ’ee, sorr,” said Peter, “but Kye and me, we can’t just sit still and let me father stay in jail, nor let them rum-runners steal our ship away neither.”

  Pierre struck his forehead with his fist and rolled his eyes.

  “What you theenk? You theenk I let Johnny stay in jail, an’ let the robbairs sail away with Black Joke? But first we have to make the plan, you understan’? And while we do that, you stay still in Miquelon.”

  So it was arranged. For the rest of the afternoon Peter and Kye listened wide-eyed to Pierre’s stories of fishing, of shipwreck, of smuggling, and of the rum-runners. He had an inexhaustible fund of yarns, and the lads were hardly aware of the passage of time. But suddenly it was growing dusk. Pierre jumped to his feet and, spouting orders like an admiral, soon had them at work packing the camp and toting the gear back down the cliffs to where Frontenac lay moored. Shortly after dark she was loaded and they cast off.

  The boys had never before been in one of the French sea-going dories and they were fascinated by her. Her hull was similar in shape to the small dories used in Newfoundland, but she was almost three times as big. She was powered by a seven-horse motor amidships, and when it was run wide open she could do nine knots.

  “Beeg motor for fish boat, eh?” Pierre asked. “Well, we don’ fish all the time, you understan’? Sometime we got business across in Newfoundland for take the grub to the poor peoples and bring back some other stuff. Times like that we maybe have to go pretty fast, when the Terre Neuve coastguard cutter he come sniffin’ after us.”

  Even at nine knots the trip to Pierre’s home took more than three hours, for the isolated little fishing village of Miquelon lay at the extreme northern tip of the large island of Miquelon, which was itself the northernmost of the three French islands. Only about four hundred people lived in the village, and they were almost all of Basque descent. The Basques came originally from the border areas of France and Spain and they are amongst the world’s most independent and stubborn people. For a long time the Basque fishermen on Miquelon had regularly supplied passing ships with contraband but, when the great new smuggling trade with the United States sprang up, the St. Pierre merchants tried to organize the whole of it through their own hands. The Basques resisted fiercely and their big dories continued to go to sea to meet passing boats and to supply them. They also supplied a number of the professional rum-runners as well, since Miquelon was so isolated that it was almost impossible for a spy to go there without being detected, and shipments out of Miquelon could not be traced by the United States government agents in St. Pierre.

  The two boys learned all this, and much more, about Miquelon during the journey. By the time Pierre turned the bow of the boat toward the dark and unseen shore, they were full of curiosity to see the place. But their curiosity had to wait until morning, for the village was asleep when they arrived, and they saw little of it as they followed Jacques and Pierre along the single narrow street to stop at last at the Roulett house.

  Mrs. Roulett got out of bed to let them in and as soon as she realized that they were also Newfoundlanders she almost smothered them with attention. It turned out that she had come from an outport not far from Ship Hole, and she was so full of questions that the boys could hardly manage to answer them all. It was some time before even Pierre could get in a few words, and tell the story of the Spences and of Black Joke. When she heard what had happened, Mrs. Roulett displayed her famous temper.

  “Why them maggoty dogfish!” she shouted. “Let me lay my hands to Mister Barnes, or Gauthier, or that Yankee captain, and I’ll make salt fish out of them or know the reason why! Ye got to do something about this, Pierre. Ye better do something, or I’ll claw your ears into the bargain!”

  “Hey there, ma petite!” cried Pierre, trying to stem the flow. “Slow down that engine or you burn out the bearing! Don’ you worry. We feex those fellows before we finish or my name not Pierre Roulett. Right now you bettair make the bed for these pauvre garçons before they go soun’ asleep at the kitchen table.”

  In an instant Mrs. Roulett’s temper cooled.

  “Ye poor lads,” she crooned. “What must ye think of me, keeping ye awake while I talk my head off. Come now, ye’ll have the bed that was for Jacques and it’s long past time ye was in it.”

  Twenty minutes later, having been tucked in–which they hated–Kye and Peter were alone in a big bed under the eaves of the two-story wooden house.

  “Ye still awake, Peter?” Kye whispered.

  “Yep.”

  “Quit worryin’ then. Jonathan will be all right. I got a hunch this Pierre can do just about as much as he says he can–and that’s a lot.”

  “I hopes so, Kye. One way or t’other, we got to git me father free.”

  10

  The Men of Miquelon

  IN THE MORNING the boys explored Miquelon under the guidance of Jacques. The village consisted of a long line of weather-beaten wooden houses set a little way back from a deeply curved gravel beach where the thirty or forty local dories were hauled up when not in use. There was no harbor, only the open roadside of Miquelon Bay where large vessels could not anchor safely for long. Although fishing was the main occupation, Jacques explained that the local people had also formed a sort of smugglers’ co-operative. Working as a group, they would order a cargo of liquor from Europe which would be brought to Miquelon by some old tramp freighter. Recently a shipload of whiskey had arrived off Miquelon, on consignment to American owners. The Basques had agreed to handle this cargo, taking it ashore for storage, and then loading it on the American rum-runners as it was required. They were not aware of the fact that this was part of the new plan of which Black Joke and several other re-fitted and reengined schooners were to be the vital elements.

  The two boys were the subject of much interest as Jacques took them about. Before long they had a following of a score of small children and as many dogs.

  “Not many strangers come to Miquelon,” Jacques explained, “so everyone is curious about you. But you don’t need to worry. If you are a friend of the Rouletts, you are a friend to everyone here and nobody would think to give you up to those people at St. Pierre.”

  He led the way down to the great curved beach and Peter and Kye had a good look at the dory fleet. The big boats looked a little bit like Italian gondolas, for each one had a small square “house” amidships, and both ends of the dories were curved up steeply into an abrupt sh
eer.

  “They are the best seaboats in the world,” said Jacques with pardonable pride. “With these dories we fish thirty miles to seaward of the islands. Maybe you like to make a fishing trip in one of them?”

  “Sometime I’d like to,” Peter replied. “Only not now I guess. Not till we git me father out of jail.”

  “You must have patience, Peter,” said Jacques. “It will not be tomorrow he is free. But he will be free. If my père says so, it will be so. Now it is better for you, I think, if you don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s what I been tellin’ him,” Kye interjected.

  “Come, then. We go see my Uncle Paul. He is the great fisherman. I will ask him to take us to the Banks tomorrow.”

  Meanwhile Pierre had been talking with the other leading men of the settlement. It was agreed that the Spence boys should stay in Miquelon and that no one outside the settlement would be told of their presence there. Pierre himself was to go back immediately to St. Pierre with a load of fresh fish. The fish were to ensure that his trip did not arouse any suspicion, and when he had worked out some plan to help Jonathan Spence he would send a message to the village and the local people would help in any way they could.

  Pierre’s boat was soon loaded with cod that had been brought in that morning by other fishermen, and after a quick good-by to the boys and to his own family he set off for St. Pierre, accompanied by a friend named Pascal.

  On arriving at St. Pierre, well before noon, Pierre delivered his fish and went on into town. It did not take him long to find out that Jonathan was much better and would probably be discharged in a few days, but would then have to stand trial for attempting to steal the schooner. Pierre at once sent him another note:

  Boys is safe my home Miquelon. Everybody here still think they dead and is better they think so. Tell them you don’t remember about what happen because the knock on the head make you forget everything. Leave all to me. I send message your wife telling all well and not worry okay? Better you eat this paper–P.