Title: Contraband: A Tale of Modern Smugglers
Author: Spencer, E. R.
Language: English
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[Frontispiece: "'Good heavens!' cried Captain Stanley.  'Dare, my
boy!  Are you hurt?'" (_See page_ 160.)]



Contraband

A Tale of Modern Smugglers


By

E. R. Spencer

Author of "A Young Sea Rover," etc.



CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD

London, Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney



First published 1926


_Printed in Great Britain_



TO

SPENCER LAKE

AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES

OF

FORTUNE, NEWFOUNDLAND



CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1. On Board the "Glenbow"

2. First Blood to the Smugglers

3. Ben has a Brain-Wave

4. At St. Pierre

5. On the Trail

6. Dare's Story

7. In the Night

8. The Secret Harbour

9. Checkmate!

10. The Escape

11. Captain Stanley Acts

12. The Closing of the "Oven"



CONTRABAND


A TALE OF MODERN SMUGGLERS



CHAPTER I

ON BOARD THE "GLENBOW"

The mail packet S.S. _Glenbow_, ploughing her way up the south-west
coast of Newfoundland in a beam sea and half a gale of wind, rolled
rail in rail out as she neared St. Lawrence.

Dare Stanley, who had been lying down in his berth, felt the
necessity of fresh air, and slipping on an oilskin coat he made his
way on deck.  The air was fresh enough there in all conscience!  He
found all but the bridge deserted; the heavy sea made a stay on deck
undesirable.  Yet he did not wish to return to his cabin, having a
desire for company of some sort, so, watching his chance, he fought
his way aft to where the smoke-room was situated.

Short as was the trip, he was drenched and had the breath half
knocked out of him before he could gain sanctuary.  Once he reached
the smoke-room he had to exert all his strength to open the door,
which was pressed to as with a vice by the weight of the wind.  He
managed to get it open enough to slip inside, when the door closed
precipitately behind him and knocked him half-way across the room.

He was helped to his feet by the chief engineer, who was seated at a
card-table with the captain and two passengers.  Three other
passengers completed the company.

"Hello, young Stanley!" shouted the captain, who was a friend of
Dare's father.  "Bit rough outside, is it?"

Dare showed his teeth in a grin for answer, and stripped himself of
his oilskins, while the company returned to consideration of the game
his entry had interrupted.  It was soon finished.  The captain, who
was partnered with one of the passengers, showed great good humour as
he drew in his share of the winnings.  Not so the chief, who had lost.

"There ye are," said that disgruntled individual as he paid out.
"Man, dear, did ye ever see sich cards in all your born days!  If my
luck keeps bad I'll have to follow the lead of the fo'c'sle crew and
play for tobacco."

This humorous sally was greeted by an appreciative guffaw.

"Speaking of tobacco," said one of the passengers during the
conversational lull which followed, "I'm a living witness that the
only way you can get rid of it on this coast is to give it away."

"That's so," agreed his companion.  They were both, it seemed,
representatives of tobacco firms.  "And of all the places on the
coast Saltern Bay is the worst."

"It's a crying shame!"

This topic in lieu of a better was seized upon as likely to yield
something of interest.

"How's that, Mr. Parsons?" said the captain insinuatingly.

"Smuggling," answered Mr. Parsons tersely, and all the company,
including Dare, pricked up their ears.  For although this was a
perennial subject of discussion, it never failed to rouse interest,
for the simple reason that it touched nearly everyone's feelings or
pockets, or both, in one way or another.

"Smuggling, sir," repeated Mr. Parsons.  "Saltern Bay is a hotbed of
smugglers.  Mind you, I don't mind a man bringing in a little brandy
or tobacco on the quiet free of duty, but when you get a gang of men
organizing a regular supply of the stuff and thus undermining the
legitimate trade of the country, then I say it's time to stop it."

"You're right," asserted his colleague.  "If I had my way I'd blow
St. Pierre Colony sky-high out of water.  Why we were ever fools
enough to give it back to the French when once we'd won it, I don't
know.  It's been nothing but a thorn in the side of the tobacco
business ever since."

"Oh come, Mr. Bayley," protested the captain good-humouredly; "you
wouldn't go so far as that surely.  St. Pierre is all right.  A jolly
little town in its way."

"And as for giving it back to the French," put in the chief, "man,
there were reasons for that, diplomatic reasons which take no account
of individual likes or dislikes.  The English had to smooth down the
French a little at the time, and the cheapest way of doing it was to
cede them St. Pierre and the rights of fishing on the so-called
French coast, an injustice to the islanders if there ever was one."

"I'm with you there," put in a passenger who had hitherto remained
silent, a merchant from Bay de Verde.

"Well, I'm not worrying about the fishing rights," said Mr. Parsons
egoistically; "it's the tobacco rights I'm interested in."

"Of course," said the captain dryly.

"It's come to the time when the Government has got to take action or
be for ever disgraced in the eyes of its electors," declared Mr.
Parson's colleague somewhat grandiosely.

"Bad as that, is it?" said the captain, intent on drawing both men
out.

"Worse," interpolated Mr. Parsons pessimistically.  "Do you know the
extent of my order for the district between Point Day and Barmitage
Bay, captain?  A measly five hundred dollars, on a route that ought
to yield a three thousand dollar order every month."

"Umph!"  The sympathetic articulation came from the chief, who had a
just appreciation of figures as such.  "Man, dear, the smugglers must
be doing a roaring trade," he added, "for there's not a man on the
coast that doesna' smoke or chew the weed."

"A true word," said Mr. Parsons sadly.  "But what would you?  Five
out of ten of them do their own smuggling, and the rest are supplied
by the smuggling gang.  It's impossible to compete with their
cutthroat prices."

"A gang, is there?" inquired the captain, who had been up and down
the coast for twenty years and probably knew more about Mr. Parsons'
subject of grievance than that worthy himself did.

"Of course there's a gang, captain.  There must be.  There's a
regular underground trade."

"What are the Revenue people doing?" put in the merchant from Bay de
Verde.

"Bah!"  Mr. Parsons expectorated in disgust, then attacked the
Service in earnest.

"What do they ever do," he declared, "but send a dinky little gunboat
up and down the coast?--a boat that every smuggler recognizes twenty
miles away and avoids accordingly.  What they need to do is to place
men on land, not ten miles off it.  Saltern Bay is honeycombed with
coves and beaches where the smugglers can land and no one the wiser.
Have a few men spying up and down the land.  Let them keep their eyes
open and find out the smugglers' cache--then make a raid.  A few
raids and smuggling wouldn't be so brisk, for smugglers can no more
afford to lose their goods than other people."

Mr. Parsons' colleague nodded in agreement.

"I seem to remember hearing that the Customs at Saltern attempted
something of that kind," hazarded the captain.

"Bah!" said Mr. Parsons.  "Old man Johnson, sixty if he's a day, made
a daylight trip to 'Madam's Notch' and found half a case of brandy
and a few pounds of tobacco.  There's those who believe the smugglers
placed it there on purpose.  I'm one of them.  There's others who say
that Johnson will never be a poor man if he lives to be a hundred and
that the smugglers have made his inactivity worth while.  He ought to
be kicked out."

"He has been."  Dare could not resist the opportunity of being the
conveyor of new and interesting information.

Mr. Parsons and his colleague turned surprised looks on their
informant.

"What's that!" ejaculated Mr. Parsons incredulously.

"Didn't you know?" said the captain easily, saving Dare the trouble
of repeating his statement.  "Johnson resigned about three weeks ago.
Captain Stanley, this young man's father, has been appointed in his
place."

"News to me," confessed Mr. Parsons.

"We've been on the Northern route this past month," informed Mr. Bay
ley in explanation.

"Seems to me," said Mr. Parsons after an appropriate silence and a
hard scrutiny of Dare's countenance that caused the latter to change
colour, "seems to me that I've heard of Captain Stanley before."

"Well, you ought to have done," the chief declared, "for there's not
a man on the island has done more to rid the Revenue service of graft
and sheer inefficiency."

"Oh, that's the man, is it?  There was a question asked in the House
about him, I remember.  Well, good luck to him if he's bound on
cleaning up Saltern Bay.  All I can say is that he's got his work cut
out, for there's not a cleverer or rougher lot ever swindled the
Government out of revenue."

This point seemed to be mutually recognized as bringing an end to the
conversation.  The subject for the time being was dropped.  Soon
after, the captain withdrew to visit the bridge, and the chief,
grumbling about cheap engines, went to see how those that were
serving the _Glenbow_ so well were progressing.

Dare was left with the four other passengers, who were soon drawn
irresistibly to the card table.  But he paid little attention to his
fellow-voyagers.  His mind had been stimulated by the recent
conversation and was busy formulating guesses as to the real
situation in Saltern, and the likelihood of there being some
excitement to relieve the monotony he must otherwise endure in a
small village where he knew no one.

As the captain of the _Glenbow_ had stated, Captain Stanley was
Dare's father, and, more than that, he was something in the nature of
a hero to his son.  Bred to the merchant service, Captain Stanley
had, after twenty-five years of the Western Ocean trade, retired from
the sea and accepted from the Government a position as a special
inspector in the Revenue Service.

That was five years ago, and they had been busy years, full of
incident and sometimes yielding adventure.  In the past year or two
Dare had been taken a little into his father's confidence, and on one
occasion had proved very useful in the solving of a particularly
stiff problem centring upon illicit trading.  When, therefore, his
father had been appointed temporary Customs Officer at Saltern, the
real reason for the appointment being the elimination of the
smuggling rife in the Saltern Bay district, he naturally hoped to be
allowed to take a hand in the affair.

Captain Stanley had gone to Saltern two days after his appointment,
but Dare and the captain's old retainer, Ben Saleby, had been left
behind, Dare to finish his term at Bishop Field's College, and Ben to
attend to the details involved in closing the captain's town house.

Now, however, both were on their way to join the captain.

Dare was an average youth, quick, intelligent, well set up.  He had
fair hair which lay close to his head and had a tendency to curl.
His eyes were blue, the colour of those of most adventurers, and he
wore for the most part a winning smile.  That smile hovered about his
lips as he sat in the smoke-room thinking of Saltern and the work
ahead.  Things promised well.

The blowing of the siren and the sudden realization that the ship was
in smooth water roused him from his pleasant meditations.  The ship
was making harbour.  A glimpse through the port-hole showed him a low
point of land.  He quickly donned his oilskin coat and went on deck.
The ship was now in calm water sheltered by the land.  He went
forward and watched the town slowly come into view.  While he was
eyeing it someone nudged his elbow.  He turned round to face Ben.

"Hello, Ben!" he shouted, pleased.  "Well, we're getting there."

"And about time too," Ben grumbled.  "I've seen a windjammer work the
coast quicker'n this one."

"What place is this?  St. Lawrence?"

"Aye.  Weren't you sure?  But I fergot; you ain't been this way
before."

"That's so.  I say, Ben, there was a chap in the smoke-room spouting
a lot of stuff about the smugglers in Saltern Bay.  He said they were
a tough lot.  Looks as if there's warm work ahead."

"Reckon the cap'n kin be tough, too," said Ben with an odd touch of
pride.

"You ought to know," laughed Dare.

Ben had sailed with Captain Stanley for years and had left the sea at
the same time, though it must be admitted it had been with
reluctance.  Only his loyalty to the captain enabled him to make the
break, for the change from bos'n of a ship to major-domo of a town
house did not appeal to his deep-water tastes.  The monotony of town
life was relieved now and then, however, by the captain's Revenue
Service activities, for when there was work of a more than usually
difficult character ahead, Ben's services were always impressed, to
his great content.

"It's only an eight-hour run from here," said Dare.

"Ten on a day like this," declared Ben.

"I hope we'll be able to land," said Dare anxiously.  "It's pretty
rough."

"We'll lose this sea when we rounds into the Bay," Ben told him.
"There's smooth water off Saltern.  Never fear, we'll land all right."

"I hope so!" ejaculated Dare.

"I say, Ben," he added, a little later, "do you suppose it's true
what that chap was saying about those Saltern fellows being the
hardest lot going?"

"I don't disbelieve it," said the old sailor.  He put his hand in his
pocket and drew out a black-bowled clay pipe of incredible age, and
began to fill it dotingly.  Dare remained silent while the rite was
being performed, gazing the while on the grizzled veteran.

Ben was also "sixty if he was a day," but hard as nails yet.  His
face, tanned the colour of a barked sail, was battered and ugly, but
good nature lit it and made it human and friendly.  His short
stature, long arms, bowed legs, and slightly leaning-forward posture
gave him the appearance of a gorilla; but there the resemblance
ended, for under his hardened exterior he had the tender heart of a
child.

"There's one of 'em in the steerage," he said when his pipe was
drawing well.

"One of what?" asked Dare.

"One of them fellers from Saltern Bay."

"A smuggler?" exclaimed Dare, excited at the possibility.

"That's as may be.  He hails from Tarnish.  He told me a lot about
the smugglin' game."

"Ah!"

"Aye, he knows a thing or two, he do.  Know what he said?"

"No."

"He laughed when I asked if there warn't no way of stoppin' the
smugglin', and said, 'Not while there's a oven in Saltern Bay,' said
he.

"'And what eggsactly do you mean by that?" I asked him.

"'Oh,' he said, 'that's a riddle.'

"'But what might ovens which is meant for cookin' have to do with it,
anyhow?' I asks again.

"He laughed a great laugh and he said, 'That's fer you to find out.'"

"Well?" demanded Dare eagerly, as Ben stopped.  "What then?"

"Nothing," replied Ben.  "That's all."

"It sounds meaningless to me," said Dare.  "Do you suppose he was
pulling your leg?"

"He might have been and yet he might not."

"You didn't tell him the business we're on?"

"Trust me," assured Ben dryly.

"Well, we can do little but guess about things yet.  I expect father
will have a few things to tell us when we see him."

"Not a doubt of it."

"Let's see.  What time ought we to get there?  Eight hours' run.
It's two o'clock now.  Allow an hour for delay here.  We ought to do
it by eleven o'clock."

"Aye, around midnight," said Ben.



CHAPTER II

FIRST BLOOD TO THE SMUGGLERS

At half an hour after midnight, the _Glenbow_ rounded Saltern Head
and drawing in close to the land dropped her anchor about ten
minutes' row from Saltern Quay.  The wind had dropped, and the sea
under the shelter of the land was quite calm.  The town was hidden
from sight in the darkness, which was more than ordinarily intense
owing to the clouded sky and the lack of a moon.  Ashore, the light
on the quay blinked its warning, and two or three other late lights
showed where the town lay asleep.

A raucous blast of the ship's siren woke echoes between the
surrounding hills, but did not seemingly awake the people who lay
sleeping between them.  Dare, leaning eagerly over the rail with his
gaze fixed shorewards, thought ruefully that such a sleepy town was
not likely to yield much in the shape of adventure.  He had not much
time to dwell on that, however.  Soon Ben, who had been collecting
the luggage and seeing it safely stowed in the boat, which had just
been lowered, came up, and they both went to the ship's ladder.  A
few minutes later they were being rowed ashore.

As the boat shot between the quays jutting out from the harbour, Dare
searched the blackness in vain for the gleam of a friendly light.

"Doesn't look as if father has come to meet us," he said to Ben.
That worthy merely grunted.

The boat was rowed towards some steps at the foot of the quay on the
town side, and they disembarked without further speech.  Their
luggage was taken out of the boat and placed on the quay by the
boat's crew, which then went swinging off into the darkness, leaving
Ben and Dare to make their way through the town as best they could.

"Here's a to-do," then grumbled Ben.  "No one to meet us and it pitch
dark and we not knowin' the road or the house."

"The best thing we can do is to follow the boat's crew," suggested
Dare.  "It's likely the post office is not far from the Customs."

They were, in fact, housed in the same building.  Ben agreed, and
picking their way as well as they could, they set off to follow the
crew, with only the sound of the others' heavy tread to guide them.

They managed well enough until they came to a turning, and by that
time the crew were so far ahead that neither Ben nor Dare could
determine which way they had taken.  In this somewhat absurd
predicament they hesitated, Ben making use of the occasion as an
opportunity to air his vocabulary.  They were about to go straight
ahead, when they saw a light approaching from the turning, and
decided to accost whoever carried it.  As the bearer of the light
approached, they saw that it was a woman.  Ben, taking the
initiative, went to speak to her.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am----" he began.

"I'm sure it's the first time you ever done it, Ben Saleby," came the
tart interpolation.

"Why, it's Martha!" exclaimed Dare joyfully.  Ben grunted.

Martha, the family servant for twenty years, and housekeeper since
the death of Mrs. Stanley ten years before, had in the course of her
duties married Ben, to that individual's never-ending surprise and
astonishment.  They got along very well together, however, having
both the same interests--that is, the welfare of the Stanleys, and
although Martha, by virtue of her superior position and her longer
length of service, was inclined to be tart with Ben now and then, Ben
did not seem to mind it.  He had been well disciplined on the
quarterdeck, and it is to be supposed that he found something
reminiscent of his sailing days in Martha's summary treatment of him
at times.

"Yes, it's me, Mr. Derek," answered Martha.  Dare's real name was
Derek, but a tendency during early childhood to dare his
acquaintances to dare him to attempt incredible exploits had earned
him his nickname, which had in time ousted his real name from use by
all except Martha, who was exceedingly rigid as regards the
impropriety of misnaming those she served.

"And what might you be doing, Ben Saleby, talking to a female like
this?"

"I was goin' to ask the way.  We've lost our bearings," explained
Ben.  Martha sniffed.

"And how might you be, Martha?" Ben asked appeasingly.

"Well enough," said Martha shortly.

Ben nudged Dare's arm and said sotto voce, "In a temper."

"What's that?" demanded Martha, who was sharp of hearing.

"I was saying I hoped the cap'n was well and hearty," stated Ben
mendaciously.

"Well, you can keep on hoping," returned Martha.  "Your father is
kept to the house, Mr. Derek," she explained.  "He hurt his leg the
other day, and can't use it very well yet.  That's why he's not come
to meet you."

Dare was concerned to hear this and said so.

"It's nothing serious," Martha hastened to assure him, and turned on
Ben.

"Now then, Ben Saleby, pick up the baggage and don't keep us waiting
here all night.  This way, Mr. Derek," she directed, and the trio
took the turning leading to the Customs House, where Captain Stanley
was lodged.

They spoke little on the way.  Martha was moody and out of sorts, and
at that hour none of them had much relish for gossip.  As they halted
before a high-roofed building with lights showing below and above,
Martha spoke, however.

"I might as well tell you both," she said brusquely, "that the
captain got his bad leg from the smugglers."

Ben and Dare took this surprising information in different ways.
Dare was speechless, but Ben, ever ready to fill such a breach,
voiced several full-blooded oaths.  Martha turned on him like a
virago.

"Less of that, Ben Saleby, or I'll lay this lantern about your head.
Yes, Mr. Derek, it's so.  They set upon him two days ago when he was
gallivanting goodness knows where.  He's got a arm broke, too," she
admitted.

Dare found speech at this.  He knew Martha would make light of the
affair, and he felt certain that his father was much worse than she
had revealed.  He turned on her impatiently, demanding to be admitted
to the house and shown to his father's room; and Martha, lifting the
lantern high, straightway led him up the stairs to the captain's
apartments.

Captain Stanley was in bed, but awake, to receive them.  To Dare's
relief there was little sign of serious illness to be seen in his
father's face.

"What's this about being beaten up by the smugglers?" Dare demanded
affectionately when the first few embarrassed moments of their
greeting were over.

As he lay in bed, all that could be seen of the captain was his head,
but that was clear enough evidence of his character and former
profession.  The head was round, and the hair on it close cut; the
face full and red, the eyes blue and twinkling, the mouth firm but
able to relax in mellow moments, the chin square and dogged.  A man
whom you would like and trust on sight, one in whom you would readily
confide, and to whom you would not hesitate to give responsibility.

He smiled at Dare as the latter lightly asked his question so as to
hide his real feelings.

"So Martha told you," said the captain.  "Yes, Dare, first blood to
the smugglers, my boy."

"Hurt much?" asked Dare shyly.  He had never witnessed his father
helpless before.

"No, no," the captain was quick to say.  "My arm's broken below the
elbow, and my ankle's sprained a bit, but I'll be as well as ever in
two weeks.  In fact, I'm going to get up to-morrow, but I won't be
able to move about, confound it.  But sit down, sit down.  And you
there, Ben--come in."

Ben had been hanging about outside the door, and at the order he came
rolling into the bedroom.  He stopped at the foot of the bed and
raised his hand in salute.

"Howdy-do, cap'n?  Bad news, cap'n.  In dock for repairs, I hears."

The captain nodded, still retaining his smile.

"Leakin' bad, cap'n?" queried Ben.

"Oh no," said the captain, and repeated the information he had given
Dare concerning the extent of his injuries.

"It might be worse," said Ben, and added truculently, "I'd like to
have a go at them fellers."

"And I too!" put in Dare, indignant at the treatment to which his
father had been subjected.  "How did it happen?"

"That's a long story," said the captain, "but I know you won't go to
bed till you hear it, so make yourselves comfortable.  Ben, sit down
and take it easy while Martha makes you both something hot."

They obeyed, and Captain Stanley wrinkled his forehead in the effort
of concentration as he prepared to accede to their wishes.

"In the first place, this is a much more difficult business than I
expected," he began.

"Ah!" said Ben, leaning forward with eager interest.

"Yes.  These chaps here are a crafty lot, and hard--hard as nails.
It's my belief they won't stop at anything short of murder to prevent
anyone spoiling their trade.  And close!  I've never met such
closeness.  I've been here nearly three weeks now, and I haven't
found out a fact that's of real importance, though I've discovered a
few things that bear upon the case and reveal the extent of the
difficulty we're up against.

"But I'd better begin at the beginning.  The day after I landed I
took over the office here.  The tide-waiter was helpful but not very
enthusiastic about my coming.  In fact, the majority of the people
seem to resent it.  The merchants are the only men who are downright
glad to see me.  There's some resentment naturally at Johnson's being
fired.  He's lived here a long time and has his home here still.  The
truth of it is, of course, the majority of the people benefit by the
smuggling, for it's not only liquor and tobacco that's smuggled, but
commodities like sugar, luxuries (though in a smaller way) such as
perfume, and much more extensive than that, the smuggling of gear.
But the tobacco and liquor trade is the heaviest.

"This attitude of the townspeople--the place, by the way, is little
more than a village--made things difficult for me from the start.
Naturally I'd expected to extract a good deal of information from the
people, but they won't talk.  As for my predecessor in office, I
couldn't very well, in the nature of things, expect to learn much
from him.  He turned over the office to me and left me to work out my
own salvation.

"The news of my coming travelled fast, of course, and no doubt the
smugglers knew it before anyone else.  I received a letter hinting at
bribery before I'd been here a week, and when I didn't answer it I
received another, threatening me and advising me to go back to St.
John's, as Saltern wasn't a healthy place for busybodies.  I didn't
take any notice, of course.  I've been threatened before.  I kept on
with my work.

"I hired a boat and sailed up and down the coast by day and night.  I
took long walks on the cliff-head when there was a chance of being
unobserved.  And last of all, I kept my ears well open, but for all I
saw or discovered I might have saved myself the trouble.
Nevertheless, I knew that all I had to do was to keep at it.
Something was bound to turn up.  Someone was sure to talk.  Or the
smugglers were sure to make a slip or to relax their vigilance some
time or other.

"The smugglers and the villagers probably realized this as much as I
did, and in the first ten days I was here I became the most unpopular
man in the district.  They'd all found out by that time that I wasn't
to be bribed or frightened off by threatening letters.  So they
changed their tactics and commenced an offensive.  I found myself
being deliberately hindered in my work.  My boat's gear was stolen
and when afterwards I kept the new gear locked up, they sunk the boat
at her moorings.  The windows of the house here were broken late one
night--pure hooliganism, that--and the man who was helping me work
the boat gave up the job.  And I found I couldn't get another, though
I offered big money.  Those who would have liked to take the money
were afraid.  The gang here really dominates the district.  They're
not outlaws, but they're very nearly becoming so.  Of course, there's
no police force.  A sleepy fat old constable keeps the peace, but
he's practically useless except to settle domestic quarrels and to
fine people for keeping dogs without a licence.

"I had to deal with the hooliganism alone, but all I could do was to
lodge a complaint and guard against similar trouble in future.  For a
while I was successful.  Then I was caught, not off my guard, but in
a defenceless position, without a weapon except a heavy
walking-stick, for I don't believe in carrying a revolver."

A knock at the door interrupted the narrative at this point, and
Martha came in bearing three steaming bowls of chocolate and a plate
of sandwiches.  She refused to leave the room until the chocolate had
been drunk and the sandwiches eaten.

When Martha, satisfied, finally left the room the captain took up the
thread of his story.

"By one thing and another I had my attention turned from the coast to
what is known as the Spaleen road.  This is a cross-country road
linking Saltern to Spaleen, and running beyond Saltern to Shagtown,
Tarnish, etc., farther round the Bay.  It seemed to me there was a
great deal of traffic on this road between Spaleen and Saltern.  I
knew, of course, that the people used it a great deal for the purpose
of farming small patches of land in the district, and to cart
fire-wood from the hills.  But that did not seem to me to account for
the large amount of traffic.

"I made up my mind I'd keep a closer watch on it.  One day I took up
a stand on a small hill overlooking the road three miles from the
town, and with the aid of a pair of binoculars spied on all who
passed.  And I had a piece of luck; for I'd not been there an hour
when I saw two horse-drawn carts meet and stop.  The men driving them
engaged in conversation, and I actually saw a bottle which I dare say
contained whiskey change hands, and also a package which looked
suspiciously like a box of tobacco.

"Of course, that was a very slight exchange, and I might easily have
been mistaken in the articles passed, but I didn't think so then, and
later something occurred which proved, or at least made me feel
certain, that I was right.

"I began to puzzle out where the traffic had its head.  Spaleen, I
thought, was too far away to be considered practicable, seeing that
the smugglers could have their cache so much nearer Saltern and the
centre of Saltern Bay.  I decided to examine a road map before I made
any further investigations, and returned to town.

"That same day I located a road map in the office and discovered what
I might have expected, that the Spaleen road was a devious one, and
at two points it approached to within a few miles of the coast
between Spaleen and Saltern.

"One of the points was near Spaleen, the other in the neighbourhood
of Saltern.  I fixed upon the latter as being relative to my
suspicions.  I suspected the smugglers of having a cache somewhere on
the coast near Saltern and that the back-door of this cache gave upon
the Spaleen road, which could be made to serve admirably the needs of
distribution, as there was a great deal of traffic on it daily and
movement of any kind would not be liable to excite the curiosity and
suspicion of those who, either by nature of their profession or their
sympathies, were antipathetic to the trade.

"The thing I had to do was to prove my suspicion well founded.  But
the trouble was, how?  It's harder to escape observation on a country
road than in a city street.  I couldn't very well go in the daytime
without my every movement being watched.  And it was little use
looking for a track to the coast on a dark night--and the nights have
been particularly dark lately.  The only thing to do was to
compromise, and set out at dawn, when there were few people stirring.
And that's what I did.

"Well, to cut a long story short, I was about four miles from the
town and passing a wood when a gang sprang up from nowhere, and
jumping on me from behind had me at their mercy before I could strike
a blow or even turn upon them.

"They didn't trouble to tie me up but hit out with their boots, and
one of them lay about him with a heavy stick.  I thought they were
going to finish me, but just before I lost my senses I heard one of
them shout: 'Don't kill him; Payter said only make him wish he was
dead!'"

Both Dare and Ben broke out into indignant speech at healing this,
then allowed the captain to finish.

"They dumped me in a bush a gunshot from the road.  That's where I
was when I came to.  I would have been pretty badly situated, for I
couldn't walk, if a passing countryman hadn't heard my shouts for
help and taken me to Saltern in his cart.

"I sent for the doctor, feeling pretty bad.  Apart from my arm, and a
twisted ankle, a great number of bruises and two cuts on the head, I
was in excellent condition, he told me ironically, and sent me to
bed.  And here I am."

Dare and Ben, who had hitherto restrained their feelings, now broke
into excited comment.

"Of all the dirty, underhand, mean ways of fighting!" exclaimed Dare.

"Did you know any of them, cap'n?" asked Ben, who had for a few
minutes relapsed into the language of the fo'c'sle without rebuke.

"No," replied the captain, "I didn't recognize their voices and I
didn't see their faces.  As I've said, they came on me from behind.
And when I did glimpse their faces I was too dazed and stunned to see
them clearly.  All I discovered was that Payter didn't want me
killed, though who Payter is I don't know.  I've never heard the name
mentioned here."

"He might be the leader of the gang," suggested Dare.

"I've thought so myself," said his father.

"There was no doubtin' but that 'twas the smugglers who bate you,
cap'n?" asked Ben.

"Who else would it be?" returned the captain.

"Aye, who?" agreed Ben.

Further discussion that night, or rather that morning, was then
resolutely forbidden by Captain Stanley.

"It's time you both turned in," he declared.  "We'll talk again later
in the day.  Now, away with you!"

Obeying orders, they both left the room and retired for a much-needed
rest.



CHAPTER III

BEN HAS A BRAIN-WAVE

"What are you going to do about it, father?"

It was ten o'clock the same day.  The captain had carried out his
threat to get up and was reclining in an easy chair with his lame leg
resting on a footstool.  Dare was squatting on the floor beside him,
and Ben, whom Martha had driven out of the kitchen, was hanging about
in the background in the manner of a faithful watchdog.  At Dare's
question he pricked up his ears and waited for the captain's answer.

"I suppose you mean, what am I going to do about this assault?" the
captain counter-questioned.

Dare nodded.

"Well," said his father, "as a matter of fact I'm not going to do
anything--not at present.  I could call in reserves, but I'm not
going to.  I'm going to work this thing out myself.  And, mind you,
although I'm not a boasting man, I'm going to make someone pay
heavily for that licking I got."

"That's the talk," approved Dare.  "And as to reserves, why, you've
got Ben and myself."

"And very good reserves too," said the captain, his eyes twinkling,
"but I don't think I can use them at present."

"You'll be givin' us a rayson, cap'n, no doubt," said Ben, while Dare
checked his disappointment as it was about to find expression.

"Yes, Ben, I will," said the captain affably.  "To be frank, at
present there's absolutely nothing we can do in Saltern.  Those chaps
are too much on their guard.  We've got to play a waiting game.  We
must wait, as I said before, until somebody talks or the smugglers
make a slip.  Meanwhile, about all we can do at the moment is to
prevent stuff coming in openly, as I'm assured it did in Johnson's
time."

"But why can't Ben and I go on with the work where you dropped it?"
protested Dare.  "I'm a good wood scout if I do say it myself, and
Ben can smell a whiskey bottle a mile away, as you know."

"Agreed," said the captain.  "But I'm not going to have you two get a
dose of the medicine they gave me.  And that's all that would happen
if you attempted to play my game at present.  It's useless, as I've
said.  You wouldn't be a mile along the Spaleen road before every
smuggler in the district would know you were coming.  I could, as
I've said, call up enough reserves to search the woods and the
cliff-head adequately.  But I don't want to do that.  The time for
reserves is when we've discovered the cache ourselves, and can plan a
coup that will catch the beggars red-handed.

"No, the thing to do is to play at patience.  I've got two weeks or
more of enforced leisure in which to think out a plan, and I promise
you that at the end of that time things will begin to happen."

"Two weeks!" exclaimed Dare ruefully.

"It may seem a long time to wait for action, but it will soon pass,"
consoled the captain.

"Cap'n," said Ben, who had been making heavy work at thinking,
"there's more than one place to find out things."

"What exactly do you mean, Ben?"

"Well, now, ain't it a fact that all the liquor and things comes from
St. Pierre?"

"Certainly."

"Well, cap'n, if you was to ask me I'd say the St. Pierre end was a
good place to pick up a little smuggling news on the quiet."

Captain Stanley considered the idea.

"Ben," he said at last, "you're right.  There's something in that."

"Aye," said Ben, greatly gratified.  "Men will talk, cap'n,
especially when havin' taken drink, and where would they be as free
in their ways and speech as in a place that's outside the laws of the
country they're robbin'?"

Dare, who knew when to listen, did so now.

"Certainly something might come of that," said Captain Stanley, now
frankly interested in the action Ben had suggested.  "Of course, I
shall have to send someone not known to the Saltern people or the
smugglers.  Now who is there I can give the job to?"

"There's me, cap'n," said Ben modestly.

"There's no one I'd rather send, Ben, but all Saltern will know who
you are as soon as you put your head out of doors."

"And what if I don't put it out?" asked Ben.

The captain did not answer.

"Did you meet anyone when you came ashore last night?" he asked
instead.

"Nary a one," declared Ben, "except Martha."

"And I've said nothing to anyone about your coming.  There's no one
in my confidence here.  Who came ashore with you?"

"No one but the boat's crew with the mail-bags."

"They may have talked."

"Who to, cap'n?"

"Well, the postmistress."

"Send Martha to find out, cap'n.  If there's news of that kind ready
to the post-mistress's tongue she's not likely to hide it."

"I'll do it.  Ask Martha to come here."

Ben left the room and a few moments later returned, preceded by the
housekeeper.  The captain explained clearly what he wanted her to do.

"Go down for my letters, Martha, and engage the postmistress in
gossip.  Find out if she knows anything about Ben and Dare having
arrived last night.  Don't put a leading question.  But there, you'll
know well enough how to set about it.  You haven't spoken to anyone
yourself about their coming here, have you, Martha?"

"Not me, sir.  There's no one here I'd want to talk to about your
affairs--or my own."

"Good woman.  Well, we want to keep their presence here a secret if
it's not already known."

Martha left on her errand, and Ben, enthused at the prospect of
action, paced up and down the room as though he were on watch at sea
once again.

"If there's no one the wiser for my being here, you'll send me,
cap'n?"

"Certainly, Ben."

"And what about me, father?" demanded Dare excitedly, breaking into
speech at last.

"It's not a job I care for you to go on, Dare."

"Oh come, now, is that fair?  I don't want to blow my own horn, but
didn't I come in handy on that last job?"

"Yes, you did."

"Well, sir, why not give me the benefit of the doubt in this case?"

"I'm not suggesting you wouldn't be useful, my boy, but I'm afraid of
your running too many risks.  St. Pierre can be a rough spot at
times."

"But Ben would be there."

"Ben would be there, certainly, but you know yourself that you're not
likely to be restrained much by Ben's presence."

"That's not saying much for my discretion," said Dare ruefully.

"Well, to be frank, Dare, you are inclined to be over-impulsive, you
know.  It's a good fault--on the right side.  But it might lead to
serious consequences on a spying-out-the-land job like this."

Dare jumped to his feet.

"Look here, sir," he said, "I swear if you'll only let me go that
I'll take my orders from Ben like I would from you.  I won't do a
thing that he forbids me to do.  Word of honour, sir."

"Well, you seem very keen, Dare, and I'm sure you mean what you say,
but even so I can't promise."

"But it's not dangerous work, sir!"

"Not if the men sent know their business.  I can trust Ben to be in
character--he's never anything else.  No one would ever suspect him
of being an amateur detective.  But if you went with him, you with
your soft hands, your educated speech, how would you explain your
relation to him?  Ben has to pretend he's a fisherman.  But that will
make your presence seem an incongruity, for you don't look like a
fisherman and I don't think you ever will."

"Beggin' your pardon, cap'n, but I think that's easier nor what you
make out," said Ben, who was obviously on Dare's side.

"He could go as my nevvy, the only child of my niece who married a
clerk in St. John's, who give the boy a good eddication afore he
died, and who, leavin' him without a penny, his mother bein' already
dead, he was forced to come to me to earn his living, he bein'
without friends or pull of any kind, and me bein' glad to have him."

The captain's face twisted amusedly at the construction and the
content of Ben's unusually long speech.

"I didn't know you had so much imagination, Ben.  It's sound enough,
of course, what you say, and as I've said already, there's very
little danger in the job if you go about it rightly, as I've no doubt
you will."

"Then you'll let me go, father?" demanded Dare eagerly.

"Perhaps.  We'll see what Martha says first."

Martha came back with the information that so far as she could
discover no one in Saltern excepting themselves knew of Dare and
Ben's presence.

"Then that settles it," declared the captain.  "You'll continue to
keep under cover, Ben, and you also, Dare.  If you give me your word
not to rush your fences, as the hunting men say, you can go with Ben."

"I'll promise that quick enough," said Dare, overjoyed.  "It's
awfully good of you, father."

"Well, that's arranged then.  I'm not sure you'll accomplish much,
but certainly nothing can be lost by trying.  Now, as to plans----

"There's one thing certain; you can't start from here.  People would
be too curious.  Besides, you've got to keep out of their sight.  You
must go to Shagtown--stay here to-day and to-night, and early
to-morrow morning slip out of the house before people are stirring.
It's a four-mile jaunt to Shagtown, but you won't mind that,
especially as you're travelling light.

"At Shagtown, which is somewhat larger than Saltern, you'll not
attract much notice.  You can tell them you're baymen come to buy a
boat.  And that, in fact, will be the truth, for that's the first
thing you must do.  I advise you to buy a stout, decked boat.  Ben
knows the type I mean.  They're much used by the fishermen here.
Commission her and leave Shagtown the next day.  I don't want you to
make the trip to St. Pierre at night, though it is only a matter of
twenty-five miles.  Ben can find his way there easily enough.  We've
harboured often at St. Pierre in the old days.

"Don't run up too many expenses, even though the Government is
footing the bill.  And you're to telegraph me every four or five days
'O.K.,' so that I'll know you're all right.  Don't sign it.  I give
you two weeks.  At the end of that time I'll expect you to return
whether you've been successful or not."

Dare and Ben listened closely to every word that fell from the
captain's lips, nodding repeatedly in agreement and understanding.

"Have Martha pack two of Ben's old dunnage bags, one for each of you.
And you, Dare, get out your very oldest and roughest clothes, roughen
up your hands a bit and don't wash your face too often.  By the time
you get to St. Pierre you'll be more in character, though as Ben's
'eddicated' nephew there's not much for you to assume in that way.

"When you get to St. Pierre, Ben, you can talk a bit about your own
smuggling propensities.  But there, I leave that part of your
programme to you.  No doubt it will be dictated by what you find
happening on the spot."

The rest of that day and the early night was given up to considering
ways and means.  Both Ben and Dare entered into the adventure in
optimistic spirit.  The captain, while not so sanguine of their
success, was inclined to be enthusiastic about the project.  Martha
was the only one to disapprove of it.  But Captain Stanley won her
over with a few phrases, repeatedly assuring her that there was no
danger and that the outing could be looked upon in the nature of a
holiday.

At three o'clock the next morning, Dare and Ben slipped unnoticed out
of the house, the captain's guarded "Good luck!" sounding in their
ears.

They took to the Shagtown road with a will, striking into a walk that
would bring them to the town in an hour or so.  They reached it
without having met a single person, and made at once for the quay.
They had in a knapsack a plentiful supply of food, and on reaching
the quay they chose a snug corner and prepared to eat while waiting
for the town to awake.

There was a good deal of shipping in the harbour, from imposing
three-masted ships to fishermen's boats such as they themselves
intended to acquire.  One of the latter lay by the quay near them,
and, at the sight of smoke issuing from the small fo'c'sle, Ben
suggested asking the owner for something hot to drink, as the morning
was a raw and chilly one.

Dare agreeing, they gave the boat a hail, and in response a shutter
was pulled back and a bearded, good-natured face appeared.

"Good mornin' to you," said Ben.

"And to you," said the man, eyeing them in a friendly manner.

"We was wonderin' if you was boilin' the kettle and if we could get a
drap of tay.  We've the money to pay."

"As to your money," said the man, "I want none of it.  But you're
welcome to take a drap of tay.  Come aboard."

They proceeded quickly to accept the invitation, and leaving their
bags on deck were soon sitting down in the cramped but otherwise
comfortable fo'c'sle.  In return for the tea they shared their food,
which Martha had put up with a liberal hand.  When all three had
partaken freely, the two older men exchanged tobacco pouches and
prepared to gossip, while Dare, to whom the unusual environment was
keenly stimulating, stretched himself out and prepared to listen.

"You're up early on the go," said the boat's master.

"Aye," said Ben.  "To tell the truth we got to the town too late, or
too early you might say, to take a bed, and was waitin' for sun-up."

"No sun to-day," said the fisherman with a glance up through the
companion-way at the grey sky, across which swift clouds were moving.
"The wind's from the east."

"So 'tis," agreed Ben, who was very pleased with his surroundings.

"You'll not be Saltern men, I reckon," said the fisherman.

"No," replied Ben warily, "we comes from beyant Spaleen.  Name of
Wheeler.  This here boy is me nevvy.  We come to Shagtown to buy a
boat."

"And wouldn't you be finding one in Saltern, then?"

"The Saltern boats is not to our likin'.  We heard tell that Shagtown
is a good place fer boats Barmitage Bay built."

"So 'tis," admitted their host.  "This boat of mine is one of 'em."

"I knowed as much from her lines," said Ben.  "A good boat, I reckon."

"Aye, good enough," returned the other, then added with some pride:
"She can do eight knots in a breeze and you don't have to take in
sail until it's too bad weather for any Christian to be out.  But
she's a little small for my needs."

"Say you so?  'Tis one like her we're lookin' for.  She's not too big
an' she's got the speed.  If you can put us next to one we'd be
obleeged."

"Ah, that's easier said nor done," declared the fisherman.  He eyed
Ben with more interest than hitherto.  "You was goin' to pay cash, I
doubt?" he said.

"We was," stated Ben; and, his attention caught by something
calculating in the other's look, he added: "It'd be the great luck to
find a one like this.  You wouldn't be sellin' her for a penny, I
bet."

"No," replied the man, "but I'm not sure I wouldn't be sellin' her
for the right price."

"Ah!"

"She's worth seventy-five dollars the way she stands now."

"A nice price," said Ben.  "We was goin' to give sixty, weren't we,
nevvy?"

"Sixty," agreed Dare solemnly.

The fisherman seemed to lose all interest in the conversation.  He
was silent for some minutes, then as though it were no matter of
great concern, he said:

"You'd want her fer fishin', I s'pose?"

"Well, in a way," admitted Ben.  Then, as though revealing something
of importance, he added: "We was thinkin' of runnin' to St. Pierre
now and then."

The fisherman nodded sagely in a manner that showed he understood.

"Was you, now?  Tobaccy is a big price, 'tis true."

"And so is sugar and whiskey and gear," said Ben.

Quite satisfied now of the character of his guests, the other said:
"But they're cheaper in St. Pierre."

Ben nodded.  "That's so."

"Eighty dollars, was it, I said I'd take for her?"

"Seventy-five.  But we mentioned we was going to give sixty for one
if we found her."

"Ah, was it so?  'Tis a pity, but no doubt you'll find one to suit
you."

"Aye, no doubt.  There's a man I knows here who is well knowledged in
boats."

"I'm not sayin' I wouldn't take seventy, mind you," said the
fisherman.

"Would you, now?  Sixty-five is our limit, ain't it, nevvy?"

"We wouldn't go above sixty-five," agreed Dare.

"Cash, I think you said?" put in the fisherman.

"Cash," repeated Ben and Dare in chorus.

"Then if you're agreeable, we'll make a bargain."

Delighted more than he could say by this opportune offer, Ben stated
his willingness and the two immediately put their heads together.

"You can take her over right now," said the fisherman, "if you likes
to pay a extry five dollars fer the cookin' gear and stove.  The
dory, of course, goes with her."

Ben was agreeable.  By taking over the boat practically ready for
sea, they would save time and money.  He suggested that they should
go ashore when the bank opened, and sign the necessary papers in the
presence of witnesses.  And this they did, leaving Dare in charge.

By ten o'clock Ben was the owner of the boat and was in possession.
And by noon they had provisioned her and made her ready for sea.
Before taking leave of them the fisherman wished them good luck, and
advised them when they went to St. Pierre to trade at Giraud's.  "You
can't do better," he told them.

At this time the wind was blowing a good steady breeze from the east,
which meant a fair wind for St. Pierre, and Ben, who had examined the
sky closely, was inclined to put to sea immediately.

"We've done the business of buyin' a boat much quicker'n the cap'n
expected," he said to Dare.  "If we can work out of the harbour, and
I think we can, though the wind's blowin' in a bit, we could make the
run to St. Pierre in three hours.  The weather's clear and there's no
sign of worse to come.  What do you say, Mr. Dare?"

"The quicker the better," replied Dare; "to-morrow the weather may
not be so good."

"Then get ready, and put on your oilskins, for it'll be wet outside."

Dare obeyed and in half an hour the boat, named the _Nancy_, cast off.



CHAPTER IV

AT ST. PIERRE

They had difficulty in working the boat out of the harbour, but under
reduced sail and Ben's expert handling they eventually managed it.

Once they were far enough off the land to clear Shagtown Cape they
had straight sailing, and shaking out the reef in the big foresail
they settled down to the short voyage.  They passed Saltern a mile
from the land, which was skirted by the white foam of breaking seas.

The boat gave an admirable exhibition of her qualities and proved her
late owner's boast correct, for with a fair wind and a following sea
she did her eight knots in grand style.

Dare and Ben had an opportunity to observe the Saltern coast, and
found it wild and rugged.  Cliffs ranging from two hundred to four
hundred feet in height rose uncompromisingly upright from the sea,
but were broken at points by intersecting small sandy beaches which
gave upon less precipitous backgrounds.

Except for a solitary merchantman beating her way towards Shagtown,
they had the sea to themselves, for the weather was too rough for the
local fishermen to go to their trawls and nets.

Ben gave Dare the tiller of the _Nancy_ and turned a pair of
binoculars on the Saltern cliffs, subjecting them to a long, close
scrutiny.  Except for a few sheep and goats, and a fisherman's
cottage or so in lonely, desolate-looking spots, there was no sign of
life or human habitation.  A rugged, solitary coast it certainly Was.

Further from Saltern, however, the coast became more pleasing to the
eye, and sloped down more gradually to the sea.  Ben, at this point,
took the tiller again and changed the course a little.  Miquelon, the
companion island of St. Pierre, could be plainly seen, as could Green
Island, and setting his course by the latter Ben turned the boat's
head definitely from the land.  This necessitated taking in some
sheet and subjected the boat to a rough beam sea.  She was,
fortunately, in good ballast, and had little to fear from the press
of wind bearing her down heavily as she sank into the hollows.  Dare,
who was with Ben in the cockpit, the deck at a level with their
waists, welcomed the rough water.  The sting of the spray, the roar
of the wind, stimulated him to a high degree, and enjoyment swallowed
up any concern there might have been as to their safety.

Ben, chewing with gusto a plug of tobacco, was in his natural
element.  He had not enjoyed himself so much for years.  Now and then
he gave a grunt of approval as the boat rose gallantly from under a
breaking sea, but for the most part he was stoically inexpressive,
his gaze fixed ever ahead, his capable hand hard set on the tiller.

At four o'clock they brought open the roadstead of St. Pierre
harbour, and half an hour later, in half a gale of wind and a
blinding rainstorm, they made the inner harbour.

Considerably elated at their successful run, they headed the boat
towards the public quay next Treloar's wharf, and in calm water tied
her up and made her shipshape for the night.

"Four hours an' a half from one quay to t'other," said Ben in high
good humour.  "Now we'll go below and put the kettle on and have a
cup o' tea."

It was snug and cosy in the little fo'c'sle and Dare, stripped of his
oilskins, listened with growing pleasure in his environment to the
wail of the wind, the beat of the rain, and the uneasy chafing of the
boat and the shipping in her vicinity as the wind streamed through
their rigging.

Now and then there sounded a long warning note from a siren, a dog
would bark, and a solitary cart rattle by on the cobble-stoned quay.

A stormy night, Ben prophesied, but as they were snug in harbour they
could ignore the weather.  Ben, like the seasoned campaigner he was,
went about the business of boiling the kettle, and in a short time he
had fashioned a delectable meal consisting of a roasted piece of cod
fish, cold ham, pickles, bread, butter, jam, and tea, all tasting a
little of smoke and the tang of salt water.

Dare, as he consumed prodigious quantities of this fare, felt he had
never supped better in his life.  After the meal was finished he made
himself useful and washed up.  Ben filled his pipe and took his
pleasure of it.  His work done, Dare stretched out on a blanket.  For
awhile both he and Ben maintained a strict silence, listening to the
steady drip of the rain on deck.

"We won't telegraph the cap'n till to-morrer," Ben said at last.  "He
won't be expectin' us to get here before then.  As it's a dirty night
and'll be dark early, we won't go ashore now but take our comfort
here."

Dare, lying on his back, his head supported by his clasped hands,
nodded contentedly.  St. Pierre was lying waiting for him.  He could
afford to be patient.  There would be all the joy of discovery in
watching the town awake next morning.

"Ah, these is good times, Mr. Dare," said Ben after another silence.
"It does my heart good to be lyin' here like this.  Many's the time
I've laid me down to sleep to the sound of wind and water, and woke
to hear the cry of the watch, and the sound of the waves striking
like a steel hammer on the deck overhead.  And other nights there was
when I took me blankets on deck and laid me down under the stars,
with the sea that smooth you could frame it like a picture with the
horizon, and the air that warm an' soft you would be thinkin' you was
in the tropics, instead of in the Western Ocean not two days sail
from the Azores."

Dare nodded dreamily, Ben's voice like distant music in his ears.
What boy has not had his imagination sent rioting by thinking of such
things?  A fine life, a clean life, a brave life, that of the sailor,
with strange ports always lying ahead, and the sea, the vast sea
always about one, bringing calm and storm, monotony and drama and
adventure.

He slept that night the sleep of eager youth and dreamed rosy dreams
of the things he should do some fine day when he came into his
kingdom--that delectable world which lies before youth when it
attains the age of manhood and emancipation, that bright, that
chivalrous age of twenty-one.

Early the next morning he was roused by Ben's shout of "show a leg!"
He tumbled out eagerly.  Ben had already kindled a fire.  He shoved
his head above deck and saw the town wrapt in a morning mist, and on
the waters of the harbour the dimly seen hulls of the ships.

There was a nip in the air that drove sleep and dreams from him and
made him keen to launch forth into action and adventure.  He went on
deck, and drawing up a bucket of water plunged his head deep into it.
His toilet was soon made.  He grinned as he remembered that for the
first time in his life he had an adequate excuse for not scrubbing
his face.  When he had finished he went to the fo'c'sle head and
called down to Ben.

"Brekfus is not ready yet," Ben told him.  "As you're up there you
might as well wash down the deck and take a turn at the pump."

While he was doing this the mist rolled away and the sun appeared as
if by magic, gilding the town and the shipping with early morning
beauty.

The boat was too far below the quay for him to see anything but the
upper stories of the buildings facing the harbour, so he had to
content himself with gazing upon the latter and the variegated
shipping that filled it.  Steam trawlers, coal tramps, American
deep-water fishermen, Newfoundland Bank fishermen, cargo boats,
sailing and steam yachts, steam tugs and a host of smaller craft
filled the basin.

He gazed on this scene as he had so often gazed on St. John's harbour
as seen from the college windows, admiring the beautiful lines of
some of the vessels, the ugliness of others, indeed their endless
variety.

He was torn from this pleasant exercise by the call to breakfast.
After the meal was over they loosened the sails and shook them out to
dry, then prepared to go ashore.  By this time the town was well
awake.  At a neighbouring quay one vessel was discharging coal and
another produce, both of which commodities were being loaded on to
antiquated ox-carts drawn by even more antiquated oxen.  Numerous
dogs were barking and pretending to be fiercely excited by pieces of
stick floating in the water, and one after another were diving off
the quay, encouraged by errant bakers' boys and other seemingly
unattached youths.

The sound of strange speech struck the ear, a French that Dare could
hardly believe was the same language he was taught at school.

In time they prepared to enter this strange world.  Ben locked up the
fo'c'sle, asked the crew of a nearby boat to keep an eye on the
_Nancy_, then, followed by Dare, climbed up the side of the quay and
stood erect on dry land.

The town of St. Pierre has been formed by the needs of the visiting
sailors and fishermen of France, America, and Newfoundland.  Old as
age goes in the Americas, the remains of the English fortifications
can still be seen, but now by the Treaty of Utrecht, no garrisoning
or fortification of the island is permitted.  Its architecture is
such as one finds in the seaports of Brittany and sea towns such as
Marseilles.  There has been a rich trade done there in its day, but
its importance has declined with the importance of St. Pierre et
Miquelon as a colony, the only French colony in the Atlantic, and
little more in reality than a station for her Bank fishermen.

But enough remains of the colony's importance to ensure a brisk trade
in the summer months when the population is greatly augmented by the
visiting fleets.

The principal street is known as the waterfront.  It runs parallel to
the quays and is flanked by numerous cafés, shops, and marine stores.

Breaking it about half-way is a large square with a decrepit fountain
and an uneven, cobble-stoned pavement.  It was into this square that
Ben and Dare stepped on their first visit ashore.

Ben, faced by several routes, stopped to consider his movements.

"We can't do better than walk a little way along the waterfront, and
drop in on Madame Roquierre," he said.  "It's a little early for the
cafés, but madame is always on hand night and day."

Dare, to whom even the name of Madame Roquierre was unfamiliar,
nodded agreement, and they sauntered on their way.  The waterfront
presented a very animated scene.  Scores of sailors strolled up and
down, proprietors of _magasins_ and cafés stood outside their
premises exchanging salutations with the passers-by and not omitting
to call attention to the exclusive benefits patronage of themselves
would bring, teams of oxen plodded slowly by, and gendarmes strolled
on their rounds, keeping a vigilant eye on one and all.

Ben had little eyes for so familiar a scene, but to Dare every detail
was foreign to anything in his previous experience and therefore
worthy of interest and attention.

They eventually reached Madame Roquierre's café, a large square box
of a building with a prevailing atmosphere of sour wine inside and
out.  The bar was empty except for an old manservant busy raising a
cloud of dust.  In response to Ben's inquiries after madame, he
answered, "Elle est sortie."

Dare recognized the phrase and translated it for Ben's benefit.

"Out, is she?" said Ben.  "Well, it's no matter; we can come back
again."  They returned to the waterfront.

"The madame," explained Ben, "is a wise old bird.  She knows everyone
and everything in St. Pierre.  She's kept that there grogshop of hers
for forty years and more.  Although it's ten years since I've been
here, I'm willin' to bet she can remember me.  Aye, that's so.  You
might think I wouldn't want to be remembered as a bos'n of the
cap'n's.  But you'd be wrong.  Madame ain't the one to blab, and when
I tells her that I'm named Wheeler an' that I wants everybody who
knows me to forget they've seen me before, she'll catch on as quick
as anything.  Nothin' can't surprise her.  She's seen too much in her
time.  I'm countin' to hear a bit from her about this end of the
smuggling game.  And maybe she'll be able to give us a few names.
We'll go to her fer our dinner and supper--she keeps a good kitchen,
as I knows of old.  It ain't convenient to eat aboard all the time."

Dare welcomed this plan and said so, it being likely to offer them
diversion as well as benefit their mission.

They spent the morning sauntering from quay to quay in the manner of
others of their kind.  Now and then they were drawn into
conversation, and on such occasions responded genially and with that
seeming openness most likely to inspire confidences.  At noon they
went to the telegraph office and cabled the captain.  They then
returned to the quay and had a look at the boat.  Then they wended
their way once more towards Madame Roquierre's.

All was changed now.  The bar was fairly crowded, and through the
swing door leading to the kitchen came a delectable odour, and a
burst of sound comparable to that attendant upon the feeding of a
battalion.

Ben pushed through the crowd at the bar, Dare in his wake, and went
into the kitchen.  There, presiding over the distribution of an
enormous tureen of soup, was Madame Roquierre.  She was stout,
possessed a heavy moustache, and very white teeth which were often
revealed in an excess of geniality.  She found time, amidst her other
duties, to greet everyone who entered, and Dare and Ben were no
exceptions.  Ben called out a "bonjoor, madame," while Dare silently
gave an imitation of a bow.

They took seats at a long table already well filled, and as soon as
they were seated immense bowls of soup were placed before them.  The
soup seemed to Dare to contain nearly every known vegetable, but
decidedly it was good.  Ben attacked it with gusto, and before long
Dare was following his example.

"Never anything else here in the kitchen but soup," said Ben.  "If
you want other things they're special.  But after a bowl or two of
this you don't want much.  I come here because it would look funny
our askin' fer a private room.  We're not of that sort now.  But
later I'll have a talk with madame and we can have what we like here
in the kitchen."

After the soup they ordered coffee, and sat so long over it that the
room was practically empty when they rose to go.  Before they could
reach the door, madame confronted them.

"Bon jour, messieurs," she said genially.  "Ah, I have seen you
before, my fren'," she said to Ben, and wrinkled her forehead in an
effort to remember.  "So!  It was with the capitaine----"

"No names, madame, if you please," interrupted Ben.  "I'd take it as
a favour if you'd fergit you've seen me before."

"Hein?  Ah, so, I see!  Eh bien, it is as you say.  You stay long?"

"Two weeks, perhaps.  Perhaps less."

"So!  It is well.  You shall come to see me again, is it not?"

"We was thinkin' of takin' dinner and supper here, madame."

"Good," declared madame.  "But stay, you will drink a brandy?"

Ben, who looked upon the offer of hospitality as most favourable to
his intentions, accepted.

"And you, m'sieu?" said madame, turning to Dare.

"Nothing, thank you," replied Dare.

"But a sirop," insisted madame, "a bon sirop."  And Dare perforce
could do no other than accept.

They seated themselves again at a table and madame, who was inclined
to gossip, joined them.

"It is long, I think, since you came last," she said to Ben.

"Aye, madame, ten years."

"Ma foi!  How the time it goes!  And you sail no more with the
capitaine who shall not be named?"

"That's so.  I got a boat of me own, madame.  Me and me nevvy here,
we intends to run between St. Pierre and the mainland.  Tobaccy is
dear on the mainland.  Savvy?"

Madame smiled wisely.

"There is light," she answered.  "So, you also, hein?  Well, and why
not?  The poor should not have to pay taxes."

"You said it, madame."

"Tobacco, you have said.  And wine, yes?"

"Liquor, madame, is like tobaccy.  If you got to have it, get it
cheap."

"So you are wise.  Now I----  Well, my fren', I have a large cellar.
Vous comprenez?  And you shall do as well by me as at that ol' thief
Giraud's, who boasts he has all the trade of such as yourself."

"I've heard of Giraud," said Ben cautiously.

"A thief, my fren'.  I have said it.  And it is not true that he has
all the trade, for, mark you, I, Roquierre, say it--Pierre has taken
from me no less than one mille of the three-cross brandy since two
years."

"And who might Pierre be, madame?"  Ben made the mistake of inquiring.

Madame's expression changed the slightest bit.  A curtain of reserve
slowly descended.

"You know not Pierre?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Never heard of him," admitted Ben.  "A smuggler, is he?"

Madame rose to her feet, smiling enigmatically.

"A smuggler?" she said.  "But what is that?  Here we name not such
things.  If one wishes to take a bottle or two quietly, ma foi, is he
then to be called a smuggler?"

"What else, madame?"

"It makes nothing," madame quietly answered.  "We talk of other
things, n'est-ce pas?"

"But this Pierre feller?" insisted Ben stupidly.

Madame eyed him for a moment, then leaned forward impressively.

"Understand, m'sieu, one does not talk lightly of Pierre to those who
know him not.  So, enough.  I have already said too much.  Au'voir,
messieurs.  You are welcome always, and forget not what I have said
of Giraud."

She gave them a guarded smile and left the room.  Ben watched her go
without a word, then, beckoning to Dare to follow, made for the
street.

"Well, we didn't get much forrarder there," he exclaimed ruefully, as
he stood in the street outside.

"You went about it in the wrong way," said Dare impatiently.  "If you
hadn't asked her who Pierre was, she would have been telling you all
about him in a few minutes."

"Aye, I reckon that's so," agreed Ben, abashed.  "What a dunderhead I
be!  Why didn't you stop me, Mr. Dare?"

"I didn't have a chance.  Madame, as you've said, is a wise old
lady," he added.  "She thought it was queer your not knowing Pierre
if you were a smuggler.  Pierre, who took no less than a thousand
cases of brandy from her in two years!"

"Aye, I reckon it seemed funny," said Ben humbly.  "But anyhow, we
got somethin' to go by, we can keep a look-out for that feller
Pierre."

"That's so, of course.  He must be a smuggler in a pretty big way,
don't you think?"

"There's no tellin', but it seems so.  A thousand of brandy from one
cellar in two years is not bad work, not to mention what he might
have had from Giraud."

"Of course, he may be running cargoes down the coast, and not in
Saltern Bay at all."

"That's what we've got to find out.  One of the first things we got
to do is see Giraud."

"We might go up there later in the afternoon."

"Aye.  And to-night I'll try and get on the right side of madame
again.  I don't believe she thinks I'm not what I give myself out to
be."

"No," agreed Dare.  "But you'll have to go carefully there.  It's my
belief it's no use trying to pump her now.  She'll be on her guard.
Still, it won't hurt to quieten down her suspicions if she has any."

"You said it."

In a few minutes they had reached the quay.  The _Nancy_ was lying
almost level with it on a flood tide.

"What shall we do now?" asked Dare.

"I was thinkin' of takin' a nap," confessed Ben.  "There's no use
tryin' to see that feller Giraud till three o'clock."

"All right," said Dare.  "As for me, I'm going across the square to
that barber's shop you see there, to get a hair-cut.  Then I'll take
a stroll around and be back here for you at three sharp."

They parted on that understanding.



CHAPTER V

ON THE TRAIL

Ben overslept.  That is to put it mildly.  He woke with a start to
discover that it was five o'clock.  After magnifying his conduct in
appropriate language he hurried on deck to look for Dare.  But there
was no sign of Dare either on board or ashore on the quay.

Ben, frankly, did not quite know what to do then.  He thought it
queer that Dare should not have roused him at the hour they had
arranged to meet.  Perhaps Dare had not come back at all.  Or could
it be that he had returned and, finding him, Ben, asleep, had gone
ashore again?  Ben was more inclined to think the former.  And from
thinking thus he began to wonder why Dare had not returned.  Had he
been prevented?  Was he hurt?  Ben turned cold at the thought of harm
coming to the "cap'n's boy" while the latter was, in a way, under his
care.

Well, there was no use in sitting still, he decided, and set out to
make inquiries.  The men hanging about the quay helped him little.
They could not remember seeing anyone of Dare's description in their
vicinity during the last hour or so.  Ben, shaking off their
negatives impatiently, plunged across the square in the direction of
the barber's shop.  It was possible the barber might have noted which
direction Dare had taken when he left the premises.

The barber, an exquisite to his finger-tips, scented, hair curled,
beard drawn silkily to a point, smiled professionally as Ben entered,
but lost some of his interest when he discovered that Ben was there
merely to ask questions.  He could, as it happened, speak English,
and he began to do so with those flourishes most Latins find
necessary in their attempts at self-expression.

A youth?  English?  But no.  But yes!  It is to say, a young man,
blond, sans barbe, with the air pleasing, and muscular, oh yes,
muscular, most decidedly.  The young man had come to his shop at two
of the clock, but what he had come for it was not to be known, for to
the most astonishment this young man after a reading of the journal
short and inadequate, considering that it was the most admirable
"Journal of the Débats," that young man had thrown down the journal
with force and had run, yes decidedly, run from the shop with a
manner excitable, l'air excité.

Ben listened with impatience, following the long rambling sentence
with difficulty, due to the accent of the speaker.

"But what way did he go?" he demanded of the barber.

Oh, as to that, it was to be regretted, but it was not known.  Tiens,
no!  The young man had gone so quickly.

Ben, seeing there was no more to be learned there, thanked his
informant gruffly, and like an annoyed bear set off once again on his
search, grumbling audibly at himself and the inadequacy of the
information he had received.

Now what could have caused Mr. Dare to run from the shop like that?
Something interesting, belike.  Or it may have been no more than a
dog fight or a fight between street boys, which was much the same
thing, seen from the shop window.  In any event the fight, or
whatever it was that had had him out of the place so quickly, was
long over now.  That was no explanation of his failure to turn up at
three o'clock.  But had he failed to turn up?  How did he, Ben, know?
He didn't know and he had to admit it.

He crossed the square in a humour which was a mixture of chagrin and
anxiety, though as yet he could not very well see in what there was
cause for the latter.  It was broad daylight, and St. Pierre wasn't
Port Said by any means; and a boy ought to be as safe on its streets
as in St. John's.  Still, there was no denying that there were more
facilities for trouble in the French town for a venturesome lad, and
Mr. Dare was all of that.

He returned to the quay and took a look at the _Nancy_ in case Dare
had returned, but the boy was still missing.  Ben bethought him then
of their intention to visit Giraud.  What more likely than that Dare,
not finding him waiting on the quay, had gone on to Giraud's alone?
The boy might be there even now, still waiting for him.

At this thought Ben's mood lightened and he set out for Giraud's in
the hope of reaching it before the store closed.

It was a comparatively easy matter to find one's way to Giraud's.
Giraud had seen to that.  From the harbour one could see the towering
sign on his store, and once on shore, there was always to be seen
round some corner or other, the one word, Giraud's.

The premises were next the dry dock on the opposite side of the
waterfront.  Dark, dingy, huge, lacking paint and adequate windows,
the place was impressive only because of the vast quantities of
merchandise it stored.

Huge butts of rum and brandy, seven feet in diameter, nearly all on
tap, lay in the darkest regions.  Piles of rope, mountains of paint
tins, great anchors, barrels of tar, ochre, bales of oakum, etc.,
filled another section, and still another part of the premises was
given up to lighter articles such as soap, tobacco, ship's biscuit,
cheese, and margarine.  All these commodities, each with a
distinctive odour, gave the place an atmosphere indescribable.  It
was too strong to be attractive to most people, yet to some it was
very pleasing, none the less.

Ben, who was not over delicate in such matters, wrinkled his nose in
appreciation as he entered the store.

The entrance gave upon a small space which had the semblance of an
office, with various merchandise as its walls.  A cash register, a
few account books, and a desk of polished wood on high rickety legs,
together with an old clerk, deaf and shortsighted, completed the
paraphernalia of the place.

Ben entered this space, gave "good day" to the deaf old clerk, and
then looked about him for someone in authority--Giraud, if possible.

Down long lanes of merchandise he caught sight of several clerks and
a number of customers.  He hesitated which way to take, then was
saved the necessity of choice by the appearance of the proprietor.

Ben recognized him from descriptions heard on the waterfront, and
from a glimpse he had had of him in the old days.  It was not a
figure to be forgotten, once seen.  Giraud was a man of commanding
presence.  His bulk alone inspired respect.  He was enormously tall
for a Frenchman, over six feet, and his immense girth, his great
rounding shoulders, gave a suggestion of bull strength.  On top of
this great mass of flesh was set a head which, in proportion with the
trunk, looked ridiculously small.  The face was clean shaven, and
under a low forehead were set two crafty-looking eyes which hid their
cunning, under heavy half-lowered lids.

Ben was no more a match in duplicity for such a person than a
new-born babe.  He had the intelligence to realize this and decided
that he would make the interview as short as possible.

Giraud's eyelids flicked once indifferently, and he felt that he knew
all about Ben, his antecedents, his occupation, his very innermost
thoughts.

"Mr. Giraud, I think," said Ben in his bluff, simple manner.

"Yes," admitted Giraud non-committally.

"I heerd of you from Sam Stooding," said Ben expansively.  "I bought
that there boat of his, the _Nancy_.  A good boat, too, in her way.
Sam finds out one way and another that I'm likely to make a trip to
St. Pierre now and then, so he says to me, you take my word fer it,
Ben--Ben Wheeler, that's me name--you take my word fer it, Ben, says
Sam, you can't do better than trade at Giraud's if you ever think of
bringin' in a little brandy or tobaccy.  I got a good respect fer
Sam; Sam knows what's what.  So here I be and right glad to meet you,
mister."

Giraud's face remained expressionless during this garrulous
introduction, but he acknowledged Ben's cordiality with a slight nod
not to be mistaken for the courtesy of a bow.  He did not remember
ever having heard Stooding's name before.  But then, there were
scores of his customers whom he never saw, much less knew by name,
and it was not the first time that the indirect recommendation of
such had had good results.

He had little interest in Ben or Ben's needs.  He knew that the order
would be a small one, ridiculously small, he suspected, and as such
it could very well be turned over to some subordinate.  He was too
good a business man, however, to show his feelings, whatever they
were, and he proceeded with cut-and-dried flattering phrases to
express his pleasure at Ben's having singled out his store for
patronage.

Then he turned from Ben to call a clerk to attend to him.  Ben,
however, having guessed his intention, put up a deprecatory hand.

"I won't be tradin' fer a day or so," he said.  "I just looked in to
say howdy-do and to give your place a look over.  Now I've done that
and seen you, I'll be on my way.  But I'll be back--oh aye, you can
depend on that."

Giraud's eyelids flicked once again as though there were something in
Ben's tone which he did not quite understand.  Ben, who was looking
as stupid as possible, noted this sign of aroused interest and
proceeded to go.  He had a feeling, rightly, that this big man was
even more dangerous mentally than physically.

"Well, I reckon that's all," he pronounced heartily, and was about to
turn away when he remembered what he had hitherto completely
forgotten, that he was there to inquire about Dare.

"Now dang me! if I hadn't nearly forgot," he burst out.  "My nevvy,
you ain't seen my nevvy by any chance, I s'pose?"

Giraud, who was by now somewhat bored by Ben's presence, looked
bewildered.

"Your what?" he asked.

"My nevvy," explained Ben.  "A fine boy, gone eighteen, tall, with
light curly hair and a laughin' face.  He was goin' to meet me here,
but blessed if I can see him."

"Oh, your nephew," said Giraud enlightenedly.  "No, I have not seen
him.  But he may be here.  The place is large.  If you care to look
around----"  He waved his hand vaguely and indifferently towards the
various departments with their mountainous barriers of merchandise,
and taking Ben's acceptance of his invitation for granted, moved off.

He had not proceeded half a dozen paces, however, when a man nearly
as impressive in appearance as himself entered the store, and
sighting Giraud, exclaimed, "Ah, mon vieux, vous êtes là!"

"So, Pierre!" exclaimed Giraud, suddenly animated; "but enter.  I
have been waiting for you.  The stores, they are safely on board,
yes?"

"Mais oui," answered Pierre.  "Ça va bien," and talking vivaciously
he walked arm in arm with Giraud down one of the long aisles of goods
leading to Giraud's private office.

Pierre is one of the most common names in St. Pierre, as it is in
other French towns, yet, none the less, when Ben heard it pronounced
by Giraud he did not doubt for a moment that the new-comer so called
was the Pierre of whom Madame Roquierre had spoken.  Considerably
elated by his discovery, he determined to take advantage of this
accidental meeting and his situation by hanging about and keeping his
eye on Giraud's office and the men in it.

Pierre's appearance had, more than his significant name, convinced
Ben that he was on the track of a redoubtable man.  Pierre, like
Giraud, was tall, but there all resemblance between the two ceased.
Pierre was lithe as a tiger, walked with a pronounced swagger, and
had a shrewd open eye and an easy facile smile which, strangely
enough in one who seemed to be a Frenchman, showed between moustache
and beard of a glaring red.

He was like no Frenchman that Ben had ever seen, and come to that,
like no man of any other nation he had met.

Less formidable mentally than Giraud, he was, as Ben was old and wise
enough to judge, more to be feared than the proprietor where action
was required, or in times when passions ran riot.  Extreme caution
would certainly be needed in dealing with either of them.

Keeping an eye on the clerks and the customers, and taking care
always to be in sight of the office door, Ben strolled about,
stopping now and then to finger a piece of yarn or a boat-hook or
some such thing, as though contemplating purchasing.  He had kept
watch for about half an hour when he was rewarded by the sight of the
office door opening and Pierre and Giraud emerging.

As he was within their range of vision he made haste to slip behind a
high bale of goods, and as he did so he very nearly exclaimed aloud,
for facing him was Dare!

Dare was nearly as much excited by Ben's presence as Ben was by his,
and would probably have expressed his feelings in speech if Pierre's
voice, speaking French, had not suddenly reached their ears.

They stared at each other and realized that they were on the same
quest, then without a word spoken they flattened themselves against
the bales in case the two men should pass that way.

But Pierre, they soon learned, was leaving the store.  They heard
Giraud say "à demain," then heard him retreat in the direction of his
office.  Immediately they both headed for the street.  They reached
it just in time to see Pierre's rangy figure turn a corner, and
followed hot-foot after him.

They had no time to exchange confidences or to give explanations at
the moment, so concentrated were they on the affair in hand.

Pierre, they observed, was making by an indirect route for Treloar's
wharf.  And sure enough, at the end of ten minutes' walk, the trail
ended there.  Pierre, who had not, it seemed, the slightest suspicion
that he was being followed, whistled for a boat and in a few minutes
was being rowed towards the shipping in the centre of the harbour.

Dare and Ben ran on to the wharf and whistled for a boat also, but
there was not one to be had.  All they could do was to wait and see
if possible what ship Pierre was boarding.  They were fortunate in
this, for Pierre boarded a small schooner on the edge of the shipping.

"Now we've got to row out there and find out her name," declared
Dare, speaking to Ben for the first time since their encounter, "or
we may not know her again."

"I'd know her," stated Ben, who had been eyeing the schooner closely
and expertly.

"All the same, we ought to know her name," insisted Dare, "and the
best time to find it out is while she's under our eyes."

"Aye, perhaps you're right," said Ben, "but I wouldn't want them on
board to catch us at it."

"Who's going to notice a rowboat passing astern?" asked Dare, and
certainly in such a maze of shipping not much attention was likely to
be paid to them.

They hurried on board the _Nancy_, and drawing up their dory,
proceeded to make their way out into the harbour where lay their
objective.

The schooner Pierre had boarded was a swift-looking little craft of
about sixty tons, neatly rigged, painted dead black, with her deck
bare of the fishing dories which most of her type in the harbour
carried.  Her deck seemed deserted.

It was growing dusk when Ben and Dare neared her, and they could not
read her name on her bow, it being very faintly painted.  They made a
detour and passed under the stern, and there they read plainly enough
the legend: "Mary Lee, St. John's, Nfld."

"Well," said Ben in a harsh whisper as they rowed quietly by, "she's
St. John's registered, but the feller who went on board her is a
Frenchman or I'll eat my boots, though I do say he's the queerest
lookin' Frenchman I ever seed."

"Partly," said Dare.

"Partly what?" asked Ben, not quite clear about what Dare was
alluding to.

"Partly French.  He's half English."

"How do you know?" asked Ben, surprised.

"I heard someone say so."

"You heard somebody say so!" repeated Ben.

"Yes.  Ben, do you know who that fellow is?"

"I sartainly do," declared Ben, relishing his triumph.  "That's the
feller Pierre, that madame was talkin' about."

"It's Pierre all right," admitted Dare, "but, more than that, it's
Payter!"



CHAPTER VI

DARE'S STORY

Dare related the events which had culminated in his dramatic meeting
with Ben, when they returned on board the _Nancy_.

"When I left the quay I went straight across to the barber's," he
told Ben.  "He's a funny chap; smells like anything of scent; and
talk--my word! he gets round a subject in the most complete way."

"I know," put in Ben; "I went over and asked him if he'd seen you."

"Ah, you did.  Well, when I entered the shop he was busy shaving a
sailor; American, I think.  I sat down to wait my turn, and began
looking at a paper to pass the time.  While I was doing that and
having a look round in between whiles, I began to listen to the
barber, who was talking at a fearful rate.

"He talked about the weather, the town, the number of ships in the
harbour, the state of his trade, and gradually he got more personal
and began to try and pump the sailor.  But the sailor wasn't having
any.  All he answered was yes and no, and sometimes he didn't even
bother to say that.  But the barber didn't mind; he kept on.  And
finally he began to talk about hair; that was when he had finished
shaving the man, and had suggested a hair-cut.  The sailor told him
to go ahead, and go ahead he did, cutting the hair and talking about
it at the same time.

"'Mais it is the hair most distinctive,' he said, in that funny way
he speaks English.  It certainly was distinctive, that hair; like a
carrot for colour, and as wiry as nails.  The sailor grunted.

"'Yes, it is the hair distinctive and original!' went on the barber;
'the colour, ah! it is not often one sees such in St. Pierre.'"

Knowing how red-headed chaps hate to have anyone mention the colour
of their hair, I was half expecting that sailor to punch the barber
one in the jaw.  But all he did was grin.

"'Only one head is there to compare it with in St. Pierre,' went on
the barber, who seemed really enthusiastic.  'Only one head, and that
of a Frenchman.'

"'Never heard of a Frenchman with red hair before,' said the sailor.

"'There are many such in Normandy, oh yes.  But this man I speak of
he is only half French.  He is part English, is the excellent
Capitaine Pierre,' said the barber.

"When I heard that name I pricked up my ears.  You never can tell, I
thought; this might be the very Pierre Madame Roquierre was talking
about.

"'That accounts for it,' said the sailor and I waited to hear what
the barber would say.  If he'd known how curious I was he couldn't
have been more provoking, for what does he do but jaw about racial
characteristics as revealed in the colour of complexion, hair, and so
on, talk which the sailor couldn't understand even if he'd been
listening.  I got tired of hearing the jabber, and began to look at
my paper again.  By and by the sailor left, but there were two others
before me.  I didn't mind, as I had nothing to do, so I killed time
by looking at my paper and looking out of the window alternately.
The window, as you may have noticed, overlooks the square.  And while
I was looking out over the square I saw a tall man swaggering down
the middle of it.  And he had red hair!

"I know it was jumping to conclusions, but no sooner did I see him
than I thought, 'That's Pierre!' and I made a bee-line for the door.

"Once out in the square I set about dogging the fellow, and a pretty
chase he led me.  He crossed the square, taking his time, visited a
dock, two cafés, and finally he walked along the waterfront towards
Roquierre's.  He stopped to speak to a man on Buyez's wharf, but
didn't stay long before he was off again.  I was getting fond of the
game by that time, and I forgot the hour, my hair-cut, and my
appointment with you, so keen was I on finding out something about
the fellow before I lost him.

"I thought he was bound for Roquierre's at first, but he turned off
the waterfront into a side street, and pulled up in front of a
grog-shop called Boitet's.  I don't know if you know it?"

"Aye," said Ben, "I've been there.  Well, what then?"

"He went in," continued Dare, "and after awhile I followed.  It was
easy enough.  There was quite a crowd there drinking, and although I
look pretty young, no one stared because there were Frenchmen there
who looked no older than I did.

"This Boitet place is not like Roquierre's, as you know.  It's
smaller and it's divided into two or three sections by thin
partitions, which don't go as high as the ceiling and not quite as
far along as the bar.  The sections look like cubicles with one end
knocked out.

"I couldn't see the red head in the section I entered, but as it was
the closest to the door and I knew that he would have to pass by it
on his way out, I didn't bother to look in the other cubby-holes to
see where he'd got to.  Besides, it would have looked too suspicious
to go about staring into places.

"I sat down at a table set against the partition separating the first
section from the second, and ordered one of those sirops, like I had
at Madame Roquierre's, to pass the time.

"While I was sipping it and taking a look round, the red head turned
up at the bar and began talking to the proprietor.  His back was
towards me.  He stayed there talking quite a while, and every now and
then he would look towards the door as though he was expecting
someone, and sure enough he was.

"The door opened to let in a little bow-legged man with wide flaps of
ears and a mouth that looked like a big slash right across his face.
As soon as he saw Pierre he went up towards him, and touching his
sou'wester said something that I couldn't hear.  Pierre didn't say a
word, but led the man to a seat in the cubicle next mine.  By the
greatest good luck they were not far away from me, and they spoke
English.  I took advantage of my position to lean back against the
partition, and although there were some words I missed, I heard
enough to gather the sense of all they said.

"Pierre started it.

"'When did you get in, Bagley?' he asked.

"'A half-hour ago,' answered the man.  'Thurlton come with me--he's
mindin' the boat.  I come right ashore and walked straight here.'

"'How is everything?'

"'Couldn't be bettered,' declared Bagley.  'Sure, the coast is as
quiet as an old maid's backyard.'

"'That fellow hasn't been making any more trouble, I hope?'

"'Not he, cap'n.  Sure, he's a sick man.  He'll know better than to
be pokin' his nose in other people's business again, I warrant.'

"'Don't be too sure.  I know that fellow by reputation.  He's
dangerous, whether he's got a cracked head or not.  But let him look
to himself if he interferes with me.'

"I tell you what, Ben, it made me think a bit the way he said that.
I didn't feel a bit too comfortable myself.  The man called Bagley
laughed.

"'That's the talk, cap'n.  But there's little chance of that fer a
while, anyhow.'

"'Good.  Now what about the tides?'

"'It's low water as near as you wants it at eleven o'clock to-morrow
night.'

"'And smooth water?'

"'Aye, with the wind drawin' more off shore.  That easterly kicked up
a bit of a lop, but it's gone now.'

"'Well, we're loaded and ready,' said Pierre, 'and waiting on the
weather.  If it's in our favour you can expect us at eleven to-morrow
night.  Have all the shore hands ready.  There's a heavy night's work
in front of us.  I'm going to run two or three bumper cargoes and
then lay off a bit, to give the Revenue snifters time to get tired of
laying for us.  Once we have the stuff cached there's nothing to
worry about.  For although you trapped that Nosy Parker on the
Spaleen road there's not a chance in a thousand of anybody ever
happening on the place.'

"'Aye, that's so, cap'n.  Sure, it was made for the business.  The
fools could pass us by sea and land and never know we was there.'

"'Now look here, Bagley, there's one thing I'm not easy about.  Are
you sure the shore gang is on the square?'

"'As sure as you're sittin' there, cap'n.'

"'Then how came there to be six cases missing in the last accounting?'

"'Sure, there's always a few breakages, and you knows yourself how
many a bottle goes to wet a customer's whistle at the time of selling
him the stuff.'

"'Admitted,' said Pierre, 'but let there be less breakages in future.
Understand me, Bagley?'

"'Aye, I'll see to it, cap'n.'

"They were silent for a while, as though they were drinking deeply;
then Pierre started again.

"'Mind you,' he said, 'I'm not the man to bother about a case or two
going the usual way--but no more than that.  There's not a better
paid crew on the Island than my lot, not to mention their shares of
the profits.  And, after all, who takes all the risks?  I do.  And
who plans the business, and buys the stuff and gets a good cut off
Giraud?  Why, I do.  It's easy enough to peddle the stuff when it's
ashore, but it's no easy thing running along that infernal coast on
dark nights with no lights showing, and making in with no more than a
few inches of water to spare under the boat's keel.'

"'Aye, you've reason to say so, cap'n,' agreed Bagley.  'But it ain't
all fun fer me ayther, keepin' the shore gang bunch up to the mark.
And if one of 'em was to squeal, where would I be?'

"'Where you'd deserve to be,' said Pierre.  'Hang me, do you think
I'd put up with you a minute if you couldn't keep their tongues still
in their heads?  And what do you mean by talking of squealing,
anyhow?  Do you mean to say there's a chance of them doing so?  For
if there is, by the living image, I'll put the fear of the old 'un
into them to-morrow night.'

"'Be aisy, cap'n, be aisy,' said Bagley, as though he was half
scared.  'Sure, 'twas only a supposition of mine.  There's no one
goin' to squeal.'

"'You'll be the first to pay if anyone does, I tell you that, Bagley.'

"'Ah, sure, don't I know?  Be aisy, now, cap'n, be aisy.'

"'All right.  I hear you.  Now get back to the coast and be ready for
us.  And double the look-outs at the cache.  I don't feel too safe
since that nosy beggar turned up.'

"'I'll do it, cap'n.  I'll be leavin' in a hour at most.'

"'And why not now?'

"'Sure, cap'n, a man must needs eat at times,' protested Bagley.

"'Well, hurry up then,' said Pierre, and I heard them push back their
chairs.  They both came out and made for the door.  A man waved to
Bagley as he passed, and Bagley, with a glance at Pierre, went up to
him.

"The man must have asked him to stay and have a drink or something,
for Bagley answered: 'Sure, I've no time.  I have to be gettin' back.
Payter is in a bad temper.'  And then he followed Pierre.

"I realized then what I'd half guessed since the beginning of their
talk, that Pierre was Payter.  The English for Pierre is Peter, but
an Irishman like Bagley would naturally pronounce it Payter.  I
followed the two till they separated at the quay, then I tagged on to
Pierre again.  I wanted to find out as much as I could while I had
the chance.  As it happens, he made straight for Giraud's.  I waited
till he'd been in the shop a few minutes, then I strolled in myself
and stepped right into your arms.  The rest you know."

Ben was considerably impressed by Dare's story, and when it ended he
gave expression to his feelings in his own peculiar way.

"That's what you might call a stroke of luck," he declared
enthusiastically.  "Here's news for the cap'n."

"Not yet," said Dare.

"An' why?"

"Well, what have we got to tell him, except that we've found out who
Payter is?"

"Not much, 'tis true."

"Exactly.  We knew there was a cache before, and that's all we know
now.  It's no good telling father about Pierre unless we can manage
to have him caught red-handed.  And before we can do that we must
know where that cache is.  That's our job and we've got to do it.
I'd give anything to be able to make father's coup possible."

"Same here," declared Ben.  "The question is, how?"

"Well, we've got to think about that.  We've not done so badly so
far."

"Aye.  But there was luck in it.  Still, the luck may hold."

"I very nearly boiled over when I heard them call father a Nosy
Parker.  Well, Mr. Pierre, look out for yourself, that's all I can
say."

"He seems a bad lot," remarked Ben.

"He's a dangerous man," declared Dare.

"There's no doubting it," admitted Ben.  "If we knowed where he was
going to land we could telegraph the cap'n and have him behind the
bars pretty quick."

"If----" said Dare.  "From this time on," he added, "we've got to
keep watch on the _Mary_ day and night."

"And what about when she leaves harbour?"

"We'll follow her.  Are you willing, Ben?"

"More than willin'."

Their watch began next day.  There was not much activity on board the
_Mary_, and Ben rightly conjectured that the crew was sleeping in
preparation for the night's work.  The weather continued mild, and
favourable to the smugglers' purpose, and there seemed no reason to
doubt that she would leave harbour that night.  Dare and Ben made
their preparations accordingly.

"There's one thing knocks me," said Ben, "and that's the talk about
the tide.  Why wait fer low water when low water means, as Payter
said, that there'll only be a few inches under her keel?"

"I was thinking of that too.  It doesn't seem reasonable, does it?"

"Nary a bit," declared Ben with conviction.

"That's another mystery we've got to solve.  And that reminds me,
Ben, we didn't say anything to dad about the ovens."

"What ovens?"

"You know what that fellow said on board the _Glenbow_--that there'd
be smuggling in Saltern while there was an oven in the Bay."

"Oh, aye.  I remembers now.  But it's my belief that man was drunk.
What can ovens have to do with the matter, as I said to him?"

"I don't think he was joking or drunk, now.  You said yourself he
seemed to know something.  I wish we'd mentioned it to dad.  It might
have been a good clue."

"You could write him a line."

"We'll wait until we get back from our trip to-morrow.  We might have
bigger news to write then."

"Here's hoping.  There's only one thing bothers me and that is, will
the _Mary_ be the beat of the _Nancy_?  If so, we ain't got much
chance of keepin' in her company."

"Well, as it's a short trip and she's not due till eleven p.m. it's
not likely that they'll drive her much.  That ought to give us a
chance to keep in with her."

"It won't be easy," said Ben, "and that's a fact.  But there, we've
had the luck so far, and it may hang on to us.  I expect she'll leave
around dusk," he went on to say.  "That'll give her plenty of time.
Payter won't risk not turnin' up on the hour.  Like as not he'll be
ahead of time.  He'll draw in to the land, douse his lights and stand
by."

"All the better for us if he does.  If the place is near Saltern we
might get a chance to slip into the harbour and give the warning."

"And the cap'n laid up in his bed!"

Dare's face fell.

"It had slipped my mind.  Well, there's no use in meeting trouble
half-way.  The thing to do is to manage by hook or by crook to get
some idea of where that cache is.  We can think about what we'll do
then afterwards.  Our best chance is in trying to dog the _Mary_ like
we did her skipper."

"Not a doubt of it," agreed Ben.

"There's nothing we've forgotten?  We're all ready to leave harbour?"

"We're all set," said Ben.

"Well, we haven't got much longer to wait."

They kept to the _Nancy_ all day.  During the afternoon there was
some slight activity on board the _Mary_.  Pierre was seen to go on
shore and to return twice in three hours.  Then there was once more a
cessation of movement, and the calm that precedes action lay over the
ship.  Not over the harbour, however.  A nice breeze from the
south-west kept up its strength and showed no sign of dying out with
the approach of night.

At six o'clock Dare, watching the _Mary_, saw a haze of smoke issuing
from her quarter, about half-way down to her waterline.  This puzzled
him at first.  Then he turned to Ben, enlightened.

"She's got an engine, petrol-burning," he said.  "That'll make it
hard for us if there comes a calm."

Ben sniffed at the weather, lifting his nose to the sky dog-fashion.
"Rest easy," he said, "the wind will last."

"I've a hunch she'll leave soon," returned Dare, and went below to
put on a jacket.  He had not been there three minutes when Ben showed
his head down the companion-way.

"The crew's on deck, breakin' out the anchor."

Dare went up, and looking to where the _Mary_ lay, saw the foresail
being hoisted by a deck engine.

"You're the skipper, Ben," he said.  "Give the orders."

Ben, fastening down the flap of his sou'-wester, nodded.

"We don't want to tag her too close.  We'll give her a mile or so to
start with.  In this light wind the _Nancy_ can keep up with her
easy, unless they start that contraption of an engine."

"Why not leave ahead of her?"

"That would never do.  No, we got to take our chance and trail her.
There!  She's driftin'.  Now the wind's got her sails.  Stand by to
cast off."

Half an hour later the two boats had passed the harbour rock and were
heading for Saltern Bay.



CHAPTER VII

IN THE NIGHT

Once clear of the harbour the _Mary_ set out on a course which would
find her some miles off the Saltern coast by ten o'clock, if she kept
to it.  Ben and Dare were nowise put out by this.  They had expected
some such tactics.  With the falling of night the _Mary_ would draw
in to the land, there was no doubting that.  So they sailed
resolutely on the same course.

The _Nancy_, as Ben had prophesied, had little difficulty in keeping
in sight of the _Mary_, partly due to the fact that Pierre's boat did
not use her engine and thus the propeller acted as a drag, and partly
due to the light wind which was in the _Nancy's_ favour.

The wind was south-west and the course the _Mary_ had taken meant she
would have to beat her way back to the land, when she changed her
course.  Up to nightfall they had no difficulty in keeping the _Mary_
in sight, and they did it without getting near enough to her to
excite too close an inspection.  When dusk deepened into night,
however, their task became more difficult, for the stay lights of the
_Mary_ were not visible from behind, and they had to rely on the
light in her cabin to guide them.

The wind also began to show signs of freshening, and this adding to
the _Mary's_ advantage, threatened to take her so far ahead that she
would be lost sight of in the growing density of the night.

At this period of their chase Ben was in the bow and Dare at the
helm, both straining their eyes in the effort to keep the light in
view.  They wisely carried no lights themselves.

Gradually the form of the _Mary_ was entirely hidden from them and
the will-o'-the-wisp cabin light was the only evidence they had of
her existence.  The night was as black as can be imagined, due to the
lack of a moon, and the wind was coming off shore in increasingly bad
squalls.

They managed to keep the light in view for an hour or so, then what
they had dreaded happened and they lost sight of it.  It was now ten
o'clock.

To their great joy, however, the _Mary's_ port light suddenly came
into view and realization of what had happened dawned on them.  The
_Mary_ had swung off her course and was heading for the land.

They were about to imitate her when the port light suddenly went out
and left them completely lost now as to the schooner's position.

Ben came running aft to Dare.

"She's doused her lights," he shouted.  "We might have known they'd
do it 'fore beatin' in to the land.  We're done for."

It certainly seemed as though their chase had ended for that night.
The blackness was such that without some kind of beacon it was
impossible even to guess where the _Mary_ lay.  When this happened
the _Nancy_ had been about half a mile or so to the windward of the
_Mary_ and about a mile behind her; for Ben had had a thought for the
necessity of beating in to the land later, and had kept as much to
the windward as possible.

It became necessary to decide how they should now act.  Dare,
frankly, was at a loss to know what to do, but Ben was not without
hope that they might pick up the _Mary_ again if they hauled in a
little to the land.

The _Mary_ was on her port tack.  The _Nancy_ was half a mile to the
windward of her.  By laying in on the starboard tack they might come
near enough to the _Mary_ to pick up her cabin light again.

Curiously enough, neither Ben nor Dare thought of the obvious
thing--that the _Mary_ would use her engine and head straight for the
land.  They kept to their course.

They showed no lights, and as there was now in their vicinity another
boat without lights, both were a menace to each other.  Ben
recognized the risk, but as they were on the look-out for the _Mary_
he thought it was obviated by their preparedness.  And so it might
have been if the _Mary_ had been on her port tack, as they thought.
Instead of that, the schooner had lowered her sails and was heading
for the shore in almost complete silence under the power of her motor.

Ben, in the bow of the _Nancy_, kept a sharp look-out, as did Dare at
the tiller.  Both ears and eyes were serving them.  But the rising
wind was a perfect cover for the movements of the _Mary_.  Even if
she had been to the windward of them it is difficult to say if they
would have heard her quiet exhaust.  As it happened she was to
leeward, and heading such a course that in less than twenty minutes
she was to bring a swift doom to the _Nancy_.

It was Dare who first became aware of the impending catastrophe.  He
had given a glance to leeward and there saw nearly on top of them the
black mass of the oncoming ship.  He gave a shout of warning and
thrust the tiller hard down at the same time, but neither move served
his purpose.  The cry was too late to be acted upon, and before the
_Nancy_ could answer to her helm the bows of the _Mary_ cut her
relentlessly in two.

Dare at the impact was flung off his feet and momentarily stupefied.
He retained enough of his senses, however, to reach up a hand
instinctively for support, and fortunately he found the _Mary's_ head
rigging.

He felt the _Nancy_ sink under his feet, and drew himself up towards
the _Mary's_ trembling bowsprit.  He lay there a minute or so,
breathless, and dazed by the suddenness of the catastrophe, his ears
filled with the rush of a great wind and the intermittent shouts of
alarm voiced by the _Mary's_ crew.  Then, once more clear in his
mind, he bethought him of Ben, who must have gone down with the boat.
His heart sank at the thought, and considerably sobered by the tragic
ending to their adventure, he began cautiously to make his way
towards the _Mary's_ deck.

The collision had almost as startling an effect on the _Mary's_ crew
as it had on Dare.  At first they thought their own ship must be
fatally hurt and there was a great rush on deck.  Pierre, who had
been below, was one of the first to reach the scene.

"What is it?  What's happened?" Dare heard him shout.

"We've run down a boat," answered half a dozen voices.  "We're
sinking!"  "Show a light!" shouted the more fearful.

"The first man that shows a light goes to the fishes!" roared Pierre.
"For'ard there, confound you, and see what's the damage.  We can't be
hurt or we wouldn't be driving ahead like this."

Strange to say, the engine had not been stopped.  There was seemingly
no thought of attempting to salvage boat or men, even if it had been
possible.  A callous lot, thought Dare bitterly.

Pierre's voice gave the crew confidence and three or four of them
went into the bows to investigate, followed by their captain.  Dare,
climbing cautiously along the bowsprit, could hear them although he
could not see them.

As he reached the bow and put a foot on the deck he collided with a
moving body.  There came a burst of vigorous speech.  Dare
interrupted the tirade with a shout of joy.  "Ben!" he cried, "is it
you?"

"Aye, it's me," replied Ben, wringing Dare's hand and gasping
painfully for breath.  "It's me, what's left of me, and mighty glad I
am to see you.  I thought you'd gone down with the boat."

"And I thought you had gone."

"'Tis a great mercy."

Further conversation was interrupted by the surprised shouts of the
crew.

"There's two of 'em on the bowsprit!" someone cried.

"What's that?"  Pierre himself came running at the surprising
information.

"They're a-comin'," said Ben in a whisper to Dare.  "Keep your head
and leave everything to me."

"Hello!" they heard Pierre shout, "is anyone there?"

"Aye, we're here right enough," answered Ben as though he were in a
passion, "we're here right enough, what you've left of us.  And what
we wants to know is this--what do you mean by runnin' without lights,
eh?  You've lost us a boat and nearly our lives, not to mention as
nice a lot of liquor and tobaccy as ever you'd wish to see in a day's
walk.  What're you goin' to do about it, eh?  I'll have the law on
you--aye, I will, you cold-blooded bunch of deep-water murderers!"

"Close his mouth, somebody," shouted Pierre, incensed, "or he'll have
every boat within five miles coming to see what's the matter.  Bring
them aft.  Hey, you, how many are there of you?"

"Two," shouted back Ben, "and it's a good job for you there ain't
more."

"Bring them aft," repeated Pierre impatiently.

"We don't need to be brought," said Ben.  "We'll come quick enough.
We wants a word or two with you, mister."

And stumbling along in the dark as best they could, led by the crew,
now thoroughly recovered from their scare, they eventually reached
the cabin where Pierre had preceded them.

The scene held a certain dramatic quality.  Pierre was seated on the
cabin table, one foot swinging slightly, his arms folded, a scowl of
disapproval on his high-boned face.  Ben stood before him
truculently, a bit shaken by the shock of the accident and more than
a little angry in consequence.

Dare kept in the background as much as possible, as Ben had directed.

"Well?" rasped Pierre.

"No, it's not well, mister," burst out Ben, indignant at this
insolent reception, for Pierre, far from expressing any regret for
the accident, seemed to expect regret to come from the other side.
"No, it's not well, and if that's all you've got to say there'll be
trouble."

"What's your grouch, anyhow?" demanded Pierre.  "I didn't run you
down.  You ran under my bows, didn't you, when I had the right of
way?"

Ben gasped at the impudent assertion.  "But you wasn't showin' no
lights," he shouted.  "How'll you account fer that?"

"And what about yourself?" demanded Pierre.  "Where were your lights?
My men didn't see them."

"That's got nothin' to do with it.  I was runnin' a small punt.
Expect me to have port and starboard lights on a fishin' punt?  It's
you, mister, who'll have to answer that question, and before a court,
and right soon."

Dare, who was observing the growing blackness of Pierre's face,
thought Ben was going a little too far.  The moment was inopportune
to interrupt, however.

"What do you mean by talking about a court?" asked Pierre, ominously
quiet.

Ben did not hesitate.

"What do I mean?  Well, I like that.  Mean to say you think I'm not
goin' to report this and get damages?"

"I wouldn't advise you to," said Pierre simply.

Dare began to get uneasy.

"Oh, aye," said Ben.  "Maybe you'll tell me how to get me money back
fer the boat?  It warn't insured."

"I'll tell you this.  You won't get any money at all if you don't
drop that tone.  Do you know who you're talking to?"

"No, I don't.  But I'd like to know--aye, and to have the name of
your boat, too."

"You'll get it--perhaps."

Ben, having sufficiently worked upon Pierre's feelings to divert any
suspicion there might have been as to their real identity and their
object in these waters, began to speak in a milder manner.

"Look here, cap'n.  I know I'm a bit hot under the collar, but
wouldn't you be if you was in my boots?  That there boat had most
everything I own in the world on board her, and when you sunk her you
very nearly sunk us with her.  I'm standin' on me rights, that's all.
I'm askin' for a square deal.  And I don't want to go to no court if
there's a chance of settlin' outside."

"You're talking more sensibly now," said Pierre.  "A minute ago I
thought I'd have to throw you overboard.  Don't you suppose I've got
a grievance, having a clumsy idiot like you fall afoul of me on this
night of all nights?  Man, what's your boat to me, or you, compared
to my business?  Bah!"

"That's a high an' mighty tone to take, cap'n," said Ben doggedly.
"But you can't help admittin' you was in the wrong, runnin' without
lights."

"Wrong!  Can I help it if my lights fail me at the moment you were
crossing my bows?"

"Well, I ask you, could I help it, cap'n?  Be fair now."

"It doesn't matter to me what you could help.  I'd like to help you
ashore with the toe of my boot.  Falling foul of me like that!  What
am I going to do with you, that's what I want to know?"

"You can pay me for my boat and put me ashore, that's what you can
do."

"Oh?"

"Aye, and that's fair enough, too.  If I had me rights you'd pay for
the brandy and tobac----"

Ben stopped suddenly as though he had said too much.  Pierre eyed him
closely.

"What's that about brandy and tobacco?" he demanded sharply.

"Never you mind," said Ben secretively.

"But I do mind," said Pierre, smiling maliciously.  "Smuggling, eh?"

"Prove it," defied Ben.

Pierre shrugged his shoulders indifferently.  Ben's hint at his
feigned activities had evidently changed the current of his thoughts.
His mood lightened, though annoyance still showed on his face.  Dare
and Ben, knowing his business, could guess at its cause.

Their appearance on board was in the nature of a dilemma, for he had
neither the time nor the inclination to land them forthwith, even
though they could come to an agreement over the damages due to Ben
for the loss of his boat.  He eyed them gloomily.

"How much was that tub of yours worth?" he asked.

"She warn't no tub, cap'n.  She was a smart-lookin' fishin' boat in
prime condition, and I paid sixty-five dollars fer her to Sam
Stooding in Shagtown a few days ago, and five dollars fer the
fo'c'sle fittings."

"I'll give you seventy-five dollars," said Pierre; "that'll cover her
fully."

"Aye, it'll cover the boat."

"You're not thinking of trying to get me to pay for your liquor, are
you?" sneered Pierre.  "Try it in a court.  Be funny, wouldn't it, to
hear you explain what you were doing with the stuff in Saltern Bay?"

"I ain't sayin' nothin'.  I'll take the seventy-five, cap'n."

"On this condition--that you take to my rowboat, row to land, and
keep your mouths for ever shut."

"Take to a boat on a night like this!" exclaimed Ben in dismay.  Now
that he and Dare were on board the _Mary_ they were not in a hurry to
leave her until they had gained some idea as to her destination, and
the exact location of the cache.

"Why not?"

"Why, before we knowed where we was the wind would blow us across the
Bay and wreck us on Brunette."

"I'll give you a sail.  By taking a straight course you can lie easy
to Shagtown."

"But, cap'n," protested Ben, "that ain't no way to treat a man you've
runned down."

"You can go in the boat or swim," burst out Pierre impatiently, and
hurried on deck to consult his mate.

Ben and Dare, left alone in the cabin, stared at each other, not
daring to speak their thoughts for fear of being overheard.  They
heard a brief vivid argument between Pierre and another on deck;
then, before they could comment on it, Pierre returned to the cabin.

He was seriously put out now.  The mate had vigorously protested
against turning the two men adrift in the boat.  And he had produced
two good reasons why it should not be done.  In the first place it
was their only boat and they might need it themselves.  In the second
place, if the two men were turned adrift and later rowed into some
harbour in a boat with the _Mary Lee's_ name on it, there would be
talk, whether the men promised to keep their mouths shut or not.
Pierre could not deny the truth of this, and the mate won the day.

When Pierre returned to the cabin he ignored Ben and Dare, while he
considered the problem their presence presented.

"Who are you?" he demanded at last.  Ben told him.  "Me name's Ben
Wheeler.  This is me nevvy, in a way of speakin'."

"Where do you come from?"

"Me home's wherever there's a honest penny to be turned.  The _Nancy_
was me last.  I don't know where me next will be."

"Nor I," said Pierre grimly.

Up to this time Dare had been silent, but now he boldly turned on
Pierre.

"Why can't you land us at the port you're making for, captain?" he
asked.

"Ah, why!" said Pierre sarcastically.  "Because I don't choose to."

"That's not much of a reason."

"It's all you'll get."

Pierre seemed to be talking in order to gain time to puzzle out the
affair.  Hesitation of any kind was foreign to his nature, but in
this case he was forced to vacillate.  He was completely at a loss as
to how to deal with his unwanted guests.  To land them on the coast
in the vicinity of the _Mary Lee's_ impending operations would be the
height of folly.  To turn them adrift in the boat would be far from
wise.  The best plan of all was to take them back to St. Pierre, but
that would mean their presence on board during the landing of his
illicit cargo.  He did not care to decide on either course, yet could
not see another way out of his difficulty.

In the end action was forced upon him.  There came the subdued sound
of voices on deck, the soft patter of feet overhead; then a face was
thrust down the companion-way of the cabin.  It was that of the mate.

"We've just picked up the shore signal, cap'n," he warned.

Pierre jumped to his feet.

"Lower the spars," he ordered.  "I'll be on deck in a minute."

He turned to Ben and Dare.

"This way," he said, and led them to his own private stateroom; a box
of a place with a bed, a desk, a few charts, a chair, a dory compass,
and other small articles.

Dare and Ben entered the room, wondering what Pierre's intentions
were.  They soon found out.  When they were fairly inside, Pierre
slipped behind them and before they could make a move had darted out
of the room and shut the door.  The key turned in the lock and they
were left virtually prisoners.



CHAPTER VIII

THE SECRET HARBOUR

Ben and Dare found themselves in complete darkness.  Their surprise
at their sudden imprisonment robbed them of speech for the moment,
then found expression.

"Here's a mess!" exclaimed Ben.

Dare nodded, then remembered that Ben could not see him in the dark.
"We might have expected something like this," he said.

"Well, there'll be a reckoning, no fear of that," growled Ben angrily.

"So long as it's a reckoning we don't have to pay, I don't mind,"
said Dare, for Pierre's personality had impressed him and he could
not help remembering the summary treatment handed out to his father.

"Never a fear.  It won't be us who'll pay.  Keep up your pecker, Mr.
Dare."

"Not so loud, Ben," warned Dare in a whisper.  "We don't know if
anyone can hear us or not."

"Aye, that's so.  A word in season.  Well, we won't stay in the dark
anyhow; I've got some matches."

Striking one of them, he looked round for a lamp.  One was discovered
hanging over the bed.  It took only a moment to light it.  By its
glow they were enabled to examine more completely the room in which
they were confined.

It had but one outlet: the door through which they had entered.  One
side of the room gave upon the hold; the other three walls were
formed by the side of the ship and two strong partitions.  The door
was of mahogany and too strong to be forced.  There were perforations
above it, but that was the only way air could get in or out, for
there was no port-hole or fanlight.

"As watertight as a coffin," was Ben's estimate of their quarters.
"We'll get out when he's a mind to let us out, and not before."  He
tried the door, just to substantiate his estimate of its solidity.
It did not budge.

"Well, here we are," he declared philosophically, and sat down on the
bed.

Dare followed his example.  Their minds went back simultaneously to
the moment of the accident.

"We found the _Mary_ all right," said Ben grimly, "but I never
thought we'd learn where she was like we did."

"I happened to look to the leeward," said Dare, "and I saw her on top
of us, I gave a shout."

"Aye, I heard it just before the crash.  I was wellnigh throwed
overboard by the shock.  But it so happened that when I flung out me
hand I found the _Mary's_ bob-stay, and hung on to it.  Our boat sunk
in two minutes."

"She must have been cut right in half," said Dare.

"Aye."

They both considered their marvellous escape for a few minutes, then
relegated it to the back of their minds as a subject for future
discussion.  There were other things to be considered now.

"I don't think there's any suspicion as to who we are," whispered
Dare close to Ben's ear.

"Nary a bit," agreed Ben.  "You noticed how quick he was to believe
we was smugglers like hisself?"

"Yes.  You did that well.  First and last you've had to tell a lot of
whoppers, Ben."

"Ah, sure, they is not black lies, they is just white lies.  There's
no one goin' to think the worse of me fer them."

"Not at all.  I wonder what's going to happen now."

"There's no sayin'.  Dear knows what he wouldn't do if he got an
inklin' of our business."

Dare agreed.  "We've got to try and get more in his confidence," he
said.

"That'll take some doin'."

Their conversation was interrupted suddenly by the hurrying of feet
overhead and the distinct roar of breakers.

"Heavens! he's driving her ashore!" exclaimed Dare.

"He's certainly taking her near the land," admitted Ben anxiously.

They listened to the light, running footsteps overhead.  Except for
that sound, considerably deadened by the roar of the breakers, no
other noise reached their ears.  The _Mary_ was making port with a
minimum of disturbance on board.  Dare and Ben tried to visualize the
conditions of the ship's approach to the land, but only succeeded in
being puzzled.  They were off a straight and precipitous coast
intersected here and there by coves, but so far as they knew with
nothing in the way of a harbour.  Yet here was the _Mary_ practically
among the breakers, and still going ahead!  It seemed that there was
a secret harbour of some sort.  Otherwise, how account for the
schooner's nearness to the shore?--unless Pierre had overestimated
his distance from the land and had suddenly found his ship among the
breakers.  But that event would surely have produced more alarm and
accompanying noise than was evidenced on deck now.

Their puzzled thoughts found expression.  "Why did they lower the
masts, Ben?  You heard the order.  It's strange for a boat this size
to have masts that can be lowered at will, isn't it?"

"Aye.  And why wait for low water, when low water means there'll only
be a few inches under her keel?"

"It's as if they had to go under something...."

"Mr. Dare!" exclaimed Ben, "you've hit on the very thing.  They're
goin' under somethin'; somethin' that's not very high and therefore
has to be gone under at the lowest tide possible!"

There seemed indeed reason to believe that Dare had discovered the
solution of the puzzle.

"But under what?" asked Dare.

"Aye, that's the question.  I can't begin to think of what.  It
passes belief or understandin' when you thinks of the coast we're on."

The roar of the breakers suddenly increased.  At the same moment
there came a decided bump of the vessel's keel as it touched bottom.
For a wild moment Dare and Ben thought the ship lost and visualized
themselves being drowned like rats in a trap.  Then the ship floated
tranquilly again....

And then, with only the previous roar of the breakers for warning,
there broke upon their ears a perfect pandemonium of sound.  Even in
their retreat they had to raise their voices to be heard above it.
It was as if immense copper gongs were being beaten with giant
hammers of steel.

It took Dare and Ben several minutes to recover their equanimity.

Then Ben burst into excited speech.

"We're in a cave!" he shouted.  "We're in a cave!  That's the sea
breakin', that sound we hears.  Of all things!  Would you believe it!"

Dare willingly believed it.  There was no other adequate explanation.
The cave would act as an enormous sound-box with super-acoustic
properties, and the waves breaking against its rocky walls would echo
in its vaulted roof until the sound emanating from them would be
increased a thousandfold, developing into the din of an inferno.  But
a cave large enough to harbour a schooner of sixty tons!  It did not
seem feasible.  If it existed it would surely be too well known to
make a safe base for the smugglers.  Yet----

"I believe you're right, Ben," said Dare, "but I can't conceive a
cave like that."

"Aye, it must be a big one.  An' to think we passed close to this
coast and didn't see it!  Hallo!" he added, "they're takin' off the
hatches.  And listen, you can hear shoutin'."

It seemed that with the entering of the secret harbour all caution
was thrown aside, so sure were the smugglers of the safety of their
retreat.  There were shouts from many throats echoing in the vault in
which the ship lay, sounding above the terrific clamour as the shrill
cries of the seagulls sound above a great storm.  Accompanying the
shouts were the creak of tackle and the noise of the cargo being
dumped on deck.  There was great activity in the hold, separated from
them by a single stout partition, and voices speaking French and
English reached their ears.

There seemed to be a score of men; certainly many more than the ship
carried as crew.  Dare and Ben's curiosity grew almost beyond bounds.
They would have given anything to be on deck, witnessing what was
going on.  If they remained imprisoned while the ship was in the cave
they would be no wiser as to its position on the coast than before
they entered it.

Ben threw his bulk against the locked door once or twice, more as a
result of impatience than in the belief that he could force an exit
through it.  Then he desisted.

They sat for some time, half an hour or so, listening to the feverish
activity centring about the ship.  Then, so unexpectedly as to
startle them, there came the sound of the key being turned in the
lock.  The door opened and Pierre once more stood before them.
Neither Ben nor Dare moved.  Pierre entered the room, closed the
door, and placed his back against it, smiling sardonically the while.

"High-handed actions, cap'n," said Ben at last.

"It was necessary," returned Pierre frankly.  "I couldn't have you
coming on deck at the moment of making harbour.  I'm on private
business, you understand; that's why I've been puzzled what to do
with you.  Now I've made up my mind.  You'll have to come back to St.
Pierre with me."

"It's as you say, cap'n," Ben agreed, hardly able to hide his relief
and satisfaction.  "We're seemin'ly at your mercy.  I reckon you'll
pay for the boat?"

"I'll pay as I promised," said Pierre; "seventy-five dollars.  You'll
get it when I put you ashore, and I'll expect you to keep your mouth
shut in the bargain."

"You can count on that, cap'n.  I'm no tale-bearer.  Sure, you could
land your liquor and tobaccy in broad daylight as far as I'm
concerned."

Pierre did not look so startled as this revelation of Ben's knowledge
of his business would have caused one to expect.  He seemed to think
temporizing necessary, however.

"Liquor and tobacco!" he said.  "What are you talking about?"

The pretence was vain.

"Sure, cap'n, I can smell both a mile away, and this boat stinks of
them," declared Ben boldly.

There certainly was a distinct odour of both in the cabin.  The fact
had to be recognized, though not explained, as far as Pierre was
concerned, even if indirectly he acknowledged its existence.

"Well, what about it?"

"Nothin'," said Ben.  "We knows what we knows.  I've done the same on
a smaller scale in me time."

Pierre said nothing for a moment or two, but eyed them thoughtfully,
as though once more in doubt as to the best way to handle the
situation.

"This makes a difference," he said at last; "but I've no time to talk
to you now.  There's work for me on deck."

Then, with the same swift movements which had characterized his
entrance, he let himself out of the room, once more locking the door
behind him.

"Now you've gone and done it!" declared Dare ruefully.

"How so?" asked Ben.

"Why, do you think he's going to be as easy with us now that we've as
good as told him we know he's a smuggler?"

"Why not?  He must have known we guessed there was something funny in
the wind or he wouldn't have asked us to keep our mouths shut."

"Nevertheless, I don't see why you wanted to make him certain we
knew."

"I thought it best to be open," explained Ben.  "If we'd pretended we
didn't smell somethin' fishy he might have suspected we wasn't on the
square with him.  Never a fear, we won't lose by that.  One thing,
he'll be open with us now."

Dare looked dubious and paced up and down the confined space at their
disposal.  He eyed their quarters moodily, his gaze wandering from
the bed to the charts on the walls, the bare floor, and the one chair
and desk.  On top of the desk was an assortment of small articles, a
few screws, a pair of compasses, a file, a tin of tobacco, a pocket
knife, and a key.  The latter caught Dare's attention and a surmise
rose to his mind.  He took the key, regarded it for an instant; then,
going to the door, thrust it in the lock.  He turned it.  It
functioned, and the door came open under his grasp.

When this happened Ben, who had been regarding Dare's movements
curiously, rose to his feet with an exclamation.  Dare turned to him
with suppressed eagerness.

"It's open!" he said.

"Aye."

They both stared at the open door thoughtfully, then Ben resumed his
sitting posture on the bed.

"You'd better shut it again," he advised.

"Why?"

"What good'll it do us?  If we went on deck Pierre would be as mad as
blazes and we'd spoil what we've done.  Even if we could get away, we
don't want to go yet awhile.  Not until we knows where this here cave
is."

"We could get a look at it now, if we went on deck."

"Too risky.  You don't want Pierre to catch you spyin'."

Dare was not to be dissuaded, however.  He was fired at the thought
of catching a glimpse of the secret harbour and the activity on deck.

"I'm going, anyhow," he said, and after ascertaining that the cabin
was empty he slipped out of the room, taking care to shut the door
firmly behind him.  He stood still in the middle of the cabin for a
full minute, then cautiously mounted the ladder leading to the deck.
He was facing the taffrail as his head emerged.  There was no one in
that part of the ship.  He summoned sufficient nerve to raise his
head high enough above the shutter to view the whole of the scene
about him.

The ship, as Ben had surmised, was in a cave.  An immense cave it
was, vaulted like a cathedral.  Huge splinters of rock hung like
icicles from its roof, and its walls gleamed black as ebony in the
light of immense flares which dotted the ship's deck and rose in
tiers high up into the cave, illuminating what Dare guessed to be a
rocky stair leading either to the cliff-top or to some inner chamber.
Yet so intense was the blackness within the cave that the flares only
lit up their immediate vicinity, and deepened the intensity of the
darkness outside their bright circles.

There was grandeur in the scene, a grandeur heightened by the great
volume of sound which echoed through the cave like the emanations of
a gigantic pipe organ with all stops pulled full out.  The noise had
been immense even when heard in the seclusion of the cabin, but here
on deck it was deafening.

The mind rocked under its assault and in Dare it caused a confusion
which made the scene partake of the quality of a nightmare.  The
flitting figures of the crew, each carrying a case and sometimes two
on his shoulders, had an air of unreality.  Their activities seemed
fantastic and their movements queerly mechanical.  The cave seemed to
hold itself aloof from the use to which it was being put, gloomily
voicing continual rumblings which might be interpreted as threats to
the invaders, but which served the smugglers as a perfect cloak for
their illicit work.

So far as Dare could see there was no beach here.  The water ran deep
right to the cave's limits, and the ship was lying close against the
rock, her side protected by immense rope fenders.

The crew were carrying the cargo up a sloping, winding staircase
whose top was lost sight of in the gloom, a narrow, treacherous
staircase which it seemed that only goats could safely tread, but
which the smugglers mounted with facility.

Dare searched in vain for the entrance to the cave.  It was hidden in
the gloom, but from the shape of the immense vaulted roof he could
imagine it as being little more than a hole in the face of the cliff;
a cliff solid in appearance, but hollowed out by some freak of nature.

No wonder the smugglers considered their base as being perfect for
their purpose.  It was all that Dare had ever conceived a smugglers'
cave could be, and more.  It was like no smugglers' cave he had ever
seen or read of.  He was a little awed by it, so strong an impression
did its grandeur make on his sensibility.

He crouched in the companion-way, lost to the danger of detection,
his whole mind given up to consideration and appreciation of the
scene around him.  The crew, fortunately, were too occupied to notice
so small an object as his head rising above the cabin shutter, even
if they had been able to see it in the shadows cast by the rigging.

He remained there, safe from disturbance or discovery, until the
sudden emergence of the men from the hold caused him to think that
the cargo had been discharged.  He caught sight of Pierre and some of
the crew making their way aft, and swiftly, with a minimum of noise,
he returned to the cabin and Ben's company.



CHAPTER IX

CHECKMATE!

Half an hour later the ship began to get under way.  She made her
exit from the cave without accident of any kind, though her sides
scraped the rock in passing.

Dare and Ben sat waiting to be set free, or at least to receive some
kind of notice from Pierre.  But the ship had been at sea an hour
before they were given attention.  When they were far enough away
from the cave to prevent their discovering even by hazardous guessing
where it was situated, one of the crew unlocked the door and summoned
them to appear before Pierre, who was waiting for them in the cabin.

Pierre did not waste any time in discussion, but went straight to the
point in no uncertain way.

"You two know the smuggling game, eh?" he demanded.

"Well, cap'n--" Ben began to quibble.

"Say yes or no, hang you!" interrupted Pierre.

"Well then, it's yes."

"I thought as much.  You know the business we're running, it seems.
Now look here, I've got a proposition to make to you.  I'm going to
run two more cargoes in the next ten days or so.  I'm two men short.
I'll ship you two and pay you three times ordinary wages and a bonus
for the two trips."

Ben and Dare were both so amazed at this unexpected turn in the
situation that they could only stand and stupidly regard their gaoler.

"Well?" demanded Pierre impatiently; "say something, can't you!"

"We hardly knows what to say, cap'n," said Ben, recovering a little
from his surprise.  "It's kind of sudden."

"Of course it's sudden.  But it needn't take you aback like that.
Well, what about it?  What's it to be?"

Ben looked at Dare uncertainly, while Dare stared at him.  They were
both puzzled as to what were Pierre's intentions.  Those intentions
should have been fairly obvious.  Pierre wanted to keep them under
his personal supervision until he had finished running the big
cargoes which were to herald a temporary cessation in the trade.  The
easiest way of doing that was to keep them on board voluntarily.  But
he was quite capable of keeping them on board against their will if
they did not consent to accept the offer he made them.

So confused were Ben and Dare at the sudden proposition that they did
not think of this obvious reason for it.  They were hopelessly
puzzled as to Pierre's designs, and could only consider if it would
be to their advantage to pledge themselves to stay on board.  If they
did they stood a chance of finding out where the cave and the cache
it led to were situated.  But they might not get an opportunity to
utilize their knowledge until the cargoes were run, and thus the
opportunity of taking Pierre and his crew red-handed would be lost,
at least for some time.

On the other hand, if they refused the offer and went back to Saltern
with such knowledge as they had, they might, by a close inspection of
the coast from Saltern to Point Day, make the discovery of the cave's
whereabouts in a few days and then be free to plan the coup that
would end in the smugglers' capture.

It was true the coast had been searched many times already without
result, but with their special knowledge the task would be much more
likely to yield success.

Those thoughts passed swiftly through their minds as Pierre sat
impatiently waiting for their decision.  Dare was inclined to stay on
board, as that would be likely to yield the greatest amount of
excitement, but Ben, with an eye to the main chance, was governed by
his cautious instincts, and as it was he who was in charge he voiced
their decision.

"If it's all the same to you, cap'n, we're much obleeged, but we'd
like to leave at St. Pierre."

The captain's face clouded.

"Think again," he warned them harshly.  "I'd advise you to accept my
offer and save trouble.  I'm giving you your chance."

A chance he was giving them certainly, but not much choice, for his
manner dictated their final decision.  Ben opened his eyes a little
at the veiled threat, and began to understand a little better
Pierre's intentions and the reason for them.  This caused him to
reverse his former decision without hesitation, for although Pierre
as yet had not dealt in extremes, Ben felt him capable of doing so if
thwarted.

"Of course, cap'n," he said cringingly, "of course, if it's a favour
to yourself and if you're wishin' it strongly, we'll sign on and be
glad of the chance."

"I'm doing more than wishing it.  I'm telling you to do it."

"Well then, cap'n, we will."

"You're wise," said Pierre with that sardonic note in his voice that
he could call up so easily; but he looked a little pleased none the
less.  The decision saved time and trouble.

"Then that's all right," he added.  "You'll be a lot better off in
pocket and perhaps in other ways.  Now you can go for'ard and turn in
with the rest of the crew.  The mate will show you there.  But no
talking to the crew, you understand."

"Aye," said Ben, and Dare nodded in agreement.

Pierre then called down the mate, a rough, hard-looking case who
regarded the new recruits in no over-friendly manner.  His name was
Hines, and he acknowledged their existence with a baleful glare.  He
respectfully inclined his head toward Pierre, however, while the
latter explained Dare and Ben's new status on board.  Evidently
Pierre was held in something like awe by his subordinates.  Hines,
having taken his orders, turned to leave the cabin.  "Now then, you
two!" he snarled in a thoroughly ill-humoured way, and Ben and Dare
falling to heel were led for'ard.

The fo'c'sle was in semi-darkness, and those of the crew not on watch
were asleep in their berths.  Hines pointed out a narrow, coffin-like
space in which there was only a straw-stuffed mattress.

"That'll have to do for the two of you," he said.  "We're more than
full-up here already.  You can git blankets when we reaches St.
Pierre."

With those words he left them.  They watched him go, then turned to
their berth.  There was no chance of talking without being overheard,
so the only thing to do was sleep.  As they had not slept for
twenty-four hours they found it possible to find forgetfulness even
in such an uncomfortable bed, and they did not wake to reality till
late in the morning.

Dare was the first to stir.  He woke to find himself in unfamiliar
surroundings.  The smell of frying fish assailed his nostrils, and
the grumblings of the crew struggling out of their berths filled his
ears.  To his surprise the schooner was stationary.  So far as he
could determine they were once more at St. Pierre.

Excited by this possibility and interested beyond everything in his
surroundings, he sprang lightly out of his berth on to the fo'c'sle
floor.

The others of the crew who were stirring regarded him curiously.

"It's the feller we runned down last night," said one.  "Where's the
old one?" asked another.  "There in his berth," was the reply.

Dare felt somewhat embarrassed at being discussed as though he were
not present.  The crew had none of his sensitiveness, however, and
what they didn't know they proceeded to ask about until they were in
possession of an expurgated account of the circumstances attending
the arrival of the two in the fo'c'sle.

Their curiosity satisfied they sat down to the table, and the cook, a
Frenchman, bearded, stout, and as far removed in cleanliness and
skill from the conventional idea of a French chef as can be imagined,
served them.

Dare roused Ben, who woke in full possession of his wits and
proceeded immediately to meet the crew on their own ground of
familiarity.  The cook pointed out two places which they were told to
take, and they breakfasted with the others.

Silence hung over the table--that is, a conversational silence--until
all food in the immediate vicinity had been consumed.  Then some of
the men went on deck.  Others returned to their berths.

Ben questioned the cook, who was not averse to gossip, as to the hour
of their arrival, and discovered that they had arrived at St. Pierre
at five o'clock, and that it was now ten.

"Didn't hear a sound," confessed Ben.  "Dog-tired we was, both of us.
You fellers nearly made us food fer the fishes last night."

"Tiens!" said the cook.  "An' your boat, she has give me the one
fright.  Mon Dieu, it was to think the ship she was killed!"

"Well, all's well that ends well," said Ben soothingly.  "What say if
we goes on deck?" he added to Dare.

Dare jumped at the suggestion and made for the companion-way.  Ben
followed him.

Those of the crew who were on deck were idly smoking and gossiping,
overlooked by the mate who, seated on the cabin roof, was keeping an
officious eye on both ship and men.

Ben led the way casually to the rail near the break-deck, where they
were fairly well isolated, and seating himself, motioned to Dare to
follow his example.

"Well, here we are," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"Yes."

"And no choice but to be here.  You don't doubt that after what he
said last night?"

"No," replied Dare.  "There was nothing else to do.  Anyone could see
with half an eye that he was going to keep us on board whether we
wanted to stay or not."

"Aye.  The cap'n wouldn't be easy if he knowed," Ben stated.

"There's no need for him to know until we see this thing through."

"I s'pose not.  We'll have to send him one of them O.K. telegrams
to-morrer."

"Yes.  I'd write him also if he could do anything with the
information we can give him.  But as he's laid up there's not much
use.  It would only worry him.  We'll wait till we know more and he
can get about.  That ought to be in ten days or so.  I can't see us
staying on board this craft after we once know what we want to know,
can you?"

"No," admitted Ben.  "Once we finds out fer sure where that cave is
and gets a chance to make a break, we're off fer Saltern."

"There's the crew getting out the boat," said Dare after a short
pause in their conversation.  "We might ask to go ashore too."

"We'll do that," agreed Ben, and walked aft to solicit shore leave of
the mate.

"Go ashore?" growled that individual.  "No, you can't.  Not by a long
shot."

"This afternoon, p'r'aps?" suggested Ben with appropriate humility.

"No, nor then."

"Well, to-morrer?"

"No, nor to-morrer, nor the next day.  See?"

"No, I don't see," said Ben.  "Who give them orders, if I might ask?"

"The capting, that's who.  If you wants to go ashore you can whistle
yourself there.  My orders is to keep you on board and in sight till
we sails again."

Ben, considerably discomfited by this information, rejoined Dare and
told him what had taken place.

"We might have expected it!" said Dare.  "He's not taking any
chances."

"Aye.  But this don't make things more easy fer us.  Why, we can't
even wire the cap'n O.K. or send him a note.  Looks like it ain't
goin' to be as easy to leave this one as we thought."

"We'll leave her when we've got a mighty good reason for doing so,
don't you fret, Ben," said Dare, who considered that Pierre had
contracted one more debt that would have to be paid with interest.
"As for sending a cable to father, we might find some way of doing
that yet.  We'll have to use our brains.  We can't let this bunch get
the better of us."

"One thing's certain," growled Ben; "that feller Pierre is goin' to
get a big surprise one of these days.  If I ever meets him alone on a
dark night----  The high-handedness of that feller is beyond belief.
I'm goin' to tackle him when he comes on deck to know what he means
by keepin' us shut up like chickens in a coop."

"Best not to make trouble," said Dare.

"I'm not goin' to make trouble.  I'm only goin' to protest.  Come to
that, it wouldn't seem natural to him if I didn't."

But he got no chance of protesting to Pierre that day.  The captain
had already gone ashore and he did not return, but spent the night on
land.  About noon the next day, however, he came on board and was
closeted for a long time with the mate.  When he appeared on deck it
was once more to go ashore.  Ben had the temerity to intercept him as
he was about to board the waiting boat.

"What's this, cap'n, about me and the boy not bein' allowed to go
ashore?" he asked.

Pierre turned on him shortly.  "Don't bother me with your troubles,"
he said.  "Take your orders from the mate."

"But, cap'n----" began Ben in protest.

Pierre, impatient, unexpectedly struck out with his clenched fist,
and as Ben landed his length in the scuppers he said: "Do I have to
tell you twice, curse you!  Take your orders from the mate."

Ben got to his feet, his hand feeling at his damaged jaw, and
rejoined Dare, rage eating at his heart.

They did not make the mistake of asking for leave again, but waited
their opportunity to go ashore without leave.  The opportunity did
not arrive, however.  They found themselves kept under close
surveillance.  The mate or one of the crew unostentatiously shadowed
their every movement.

When two days passed and they failed to escape the vigilance of the
crew even for sufficient time to hail a passing boat, they began to
get anxious.  Captain Stanley, they knew, if he did not receive a
cable in another day or so, would become alarmed and might make
inquiries in St. Pierre which would wreck their plans and might very
conceivably endanger their position.

On the fourth day in port they began to load again, and the talk
for'ard was that they would be leaving on the night of the sixth.
There had been no confidential exchanges between Ben and Dare and the
rest of the crew.  Evidently the latter had been warned, for whenever
Ben or Dare endeavoured casually to bring the conversation round to
the subject of the _Mary's_ activities, an uncompromising silence
settled down.

They finished loading on the day they began taking cargo.  After
supper that evening Ben, smoking a pipe on deck, admitted to himself
the hopelessness of trying to get into communication with Captain
Stanley.

At that time of day the harbour was dotted with row-boats pulling to
the quays, containing ships' crews bound ashore for a night's
jollification.  One such passed close to the _Mary_, where Ben was in
sole possession of the deck, though a wisp of tobacco smoke, rising
above the cabin shutter, showed that the vigilant mate was not far
away.

Ben eyed the boat as he had eyed every boat which had passed the ship
for days, in the hope that it might contain some person known to him
and that some way would be found to get a message sent to the
captain.  As before he was disappointed.  He knew no one in the boat,
and therefore had no reason to hail her except for the purpose of
asking for a lift ashore, and that was not possible while the mate
was within earshot.  To his surprise, however, he was hailed by one
of the men in the boat, which contained four persons.

"That you, Ben?  How goes it?"

At the sound of voices the mate came running on deck.  He approached
near enough to Ben to hear all that passed between him and the men in
the boat.  Ben, ignoring his presence, singled out the man who had
hailed him and after a few seconds remembered him as an old shipmate.

"You Ames?" he called out.  "What you doin' here?"

"We just got in from Lisbon.  Bound to Saltern with salt.  What you
doin'?"

"Coastin' a bit."

"Goin' ashore?"

"Not the night.  Might see you to-morrer."

"We sails in the morning."

"Too bad.  Well, drink one fer me.  And remember me to all old hands
you see."

The boat then passed on, and the mate, after a suspicious look at
Ben, went back to his seat in the companion-way.

Ben was delighted with the chance meeting and the opportunity it had
given him of getting word to the captain.  For Ames was bound to meet
Captain Stanley in his official capacity at Saltern, and the captain,
knowing him to have come from St. Pierre and to be an old shipmate of
Ben's, would be sure to question him.

Ben turned to go below to inform Dare of the fortuitous incident, but
before he could do so Dare came on deck.  Ben saw from his face that
something out of the ordinary had happened, and he kept back his own
news till he had heard Dare's.

"What is it?" he asked.

Dare was labouring under great excitement.

"Ben, I've found out about the oven.  You'll never guess.  It's the
cave!"

Ben was more bewildered than surprised.

"The oven ... the cave?" he repeated.

Dare explained in detail.

"While I was lying down the sailors began to talk.  They didn't mind
me, apparently.  They talked about sailing to-morrow night and one of
them said he hoped the water would be smoother than the last time
they were at the Oven.  The cave is called the Oven, it seems.
That's what that fellow on board the _Glenbow_ meant.  And Ben!  I
think I know where it is.  One of the men mentioned the Table.  He
said it was a nuisance and that some time the _Mary_ would break her
back on it in making the cave.  Well, the Table is a queer,
flat-topped rock.  I heard the dad mention it by name when he talked
about how he had inspected the coast.  It's less than a mile from
Saltern!"

Dare's excitement did not exceed Ben's once that worthy had fully
grasped the value of the discovery.

"We got to get away from here as soon as we can," he said.  "We got
to get away before the _Mary_ sails and find some way of sendin' word
to the cap'n."

"Absolutely!" agreed Dare.  "We'll try for it early in the morning."

But they did not.  At nine o'clock that same night Pierre came aboard
in a great hurry.  In a moment the news spread that the _Mary_ would
sail that night ... immediately.  And half an hour later the schooner
was nosing her way out of the harbour.



CHAPTER X

THE ESCAPE

Pierre was in a great hurry.  He pressed all sail on the schooner and
started the engine, with the result that she began to cover the
course at a great rate.  A new moon was in its first quarter, but the
sky was clouded, as it usually is on that coast, and acted as an
effectual screen.  Nevertheless, there was a lightening of the
intense blackness which had marked the previous voyage.

The ship carried lights until she picked up the mainland, then she
cloaked them.  Pierre was taking the shortest route to the cave and
was hugging the coast, which he evidently knew by heart, to use a
local phrase.  No man not completely confident as to his knowledge of
that coast would have dared sail as Pierre did that night.  The land
loomed up visibly and now and then the crew even caught sight of a
white fringe of breakers.

There was some excitement on board, and a little grumbling.  The men
hated to have their leave cut short, but the moodiness caused by this
was to a great extent submerged in curiosity as to the reason for the
sudden change of plans.  Pierre never did anything without a very
good reason, and it was not likely that he would risk entering the
cave with the tide still two hours to fall without there being
urgency of an unusual kind.

Dare and Ben shared in the curiosity and excitement.  But their
chagrin at having failed to get away from the _Mary_ in time to be
able to make use of their knowledge in regard to the cave's
whereabouts, was great.  Ben was able to resign himself to
circumstances more than Dare, who, in fact, could not resign himself
at all.

All the while the _Mary_ was forging along the coast, a white wave at
her prow, he was trying desperately to think of some way of escaping
and getting word to his father.

Could one escape in the cave?  Or would Pierre lock them up again as
he had done formerly, as soon as they neared the coast where it was
situated?  He eyed the land, which loomed up darkly.  It was no more
than a quarter of a mile away.  If he were ashore there he could cut
across country and get to Saltern in an hour.  He knew the lie of the
land well enough for that, for he had observed it closely as they had
passed it on their way to St. Pierre.

But the land might as well have been ten miles away for all the
chance there was of his reaching it.  Quarter of a mile!  He could
swim it easily on a night like this.  At that thought his heart
leaped.  Why not swim it?  But how to escape so as to avoid pursuit?
He took a step backwards in his excitement and stumbled.  His hand
caught the rail and he steadied himself.  The incident showed him a
way out.  He would pretend to fall overboard.  He could do it easily,
shout "cramp," dive, and come up some distance away from the
schooner.  Then, after waiting for the excitement which would follow
his loss to cool down, he could strike out for the land.

He had no sooner visualized the feat than he decided on it, despite
its hazardous nature.  It was a chance, and a sporting chance, to get
the news to his father in time to plan the great coup that would end,
he felt sure, in the capture of the smugglers.  Though his father was
lame, he could go to the cave by boat.  A crew of loyal men could be
raked up somehow.  He did not stop to think much of these
difficulties.  His great desire was to get word to Saltern.

He had no time to lose and he had to plan quickly.  Should he confide
in Ben?  He decided against it.  Ben would, he knew, forbid the
attempt, and he had promised his father to obey him.  There was
nothing for it but to let Ben remain in ignorance.  It was better for
the success of the plan that he should.  It would be hard on him, but
it could not be helped.

The _Mary_ was now nearing Saltern.  Dare went to the fo'c'sle, and
taking off his heavy boots put on a pair of loose slippers, which
could be kicked off easily once he was in the water.

Trousers and a shirt would thus be his only impediments.  Having made
these preparations he went on deck.  The ship was in darkness.  He
looked ashore and could just descry a line of breakers which
betokened, he hoped, a beach.  Now was his chance!  By the greatest
good luck the mate at this moment gave the order to pump the ship.
He told Dare to draw a bucket of water.  Dare jumped at the chance to
fake an accident.  The deck was sufficiently dark for his purpose.

Dare approached the side and in the shadow of the rigging, which
obscured his movements, threw the bucket overboard.  He began drawing
it up hand over hand; then, as he leaned forward to take it in over
the rail, he pretended to slip.  He gave a shout of alarm and fell
into the sea, taking a perfect header.

He dived deep and swam under water towards shore until he was forced
to come to the surface.  When he emerged the _Mary_ was already some
distance away, but her engine had been reversed and there were sounds
of confusion rising from her deck.  Evidently there was some doubt as
to who had fallen overboard.  He gave a shout of "Cramp!"
Immediately there was an answering hail.  He shouted "Help!" more
feebly, then remained silent and attended upon the event.

He heard suddenly Ben's voice, hoarse with terror: "Show a light!
Lower a boat!  The boy's drowning!"

And closely following came Pierre's voice: "Knock that old fool on
the head!  He'll rouse the whole coast.  How'd that boy fall
overboard?  Can you see him?  Where is he?  Give a shout and if he
answers we'll lower a boat."

A guarded shout rang out.  Silence followed it.  Dare heard someone
say: "I heard him shout 'cramp.'  He's done for."

"Looks like there's nothing we can do," said Pierre.  "We might as
well get under way again.  We've got no time to lose.  Lower the
spars."

At this moment Ben, who had evidently been stunned by a blow, began
to recover and shout again.

"Put a sock in his mouth!" Pierre could be heard exclaiming.  "Take
him below and lock him up."  Then the _Mary_ began to move ahead once
again.

Dare, satisfied of the success of his ruse, began to swim shorewards
with a steady stroke.  The water was smooth under the land and there
was no wind, but the sea was terribly cold and he began to fear that
he would have a real attack of cramp if he remained in for long.

He had never swum at night before, and at first he felt overwhelmed
by the tremendous isolation bred by the darkness.  He felt pressed
down by it also, and began to realize for the first time what a puny
force was his, as he lay in the arms of the eternal mother.  Would
she bear him up or would she smother him in her embrace?

His imagination began to exaggerate the dangers before him, and
suddenly he began to lose confidence.  Was he swimming in the right
direction?  How was he to know?  He had dived, and while under water
might have turned seawards instead of landwards.  It was with great
relief that he heard the sound of the breakers ahead of him.

Then he began to be haunted by a fear that he would not find a beach.
Suppose he found the land guarded by an unscalable mountain of rock?
But the beach was there.  He had seen its white fringe of breakers.
He might be able to see it now.  He stood upright, treading water,
and raised himself as high as possible, but could see nothing but the
cliff-head looming repellently in the gloom high up above him.
However, it was something to see even that.  At least he was sure now
he was swimming in the right direction.  He must go on.  He swam
forward, vigorously at first, then less so as the long minutes
passed.  The surf was near enough now to deafen him to other sounds,
and the sea rose in waves which rolled landward and broke, not
against a wall of rock, but on a beach.  To his great joy and
thankfulness, he had found his landing--a narrow strip of shingle
between two upright cliffs.

Dare put extra energy into his enfeebled stroke, warmed and
strengthened by his success.  The last few yards were the most
difficult.  He was thrown shorewards in headlong manner, then sucked
back yards more than he had gained.  Eventually, however, he got near
enough the shore to touch the shingle.  He stood erect and began to
run forward.  A sea caught him, knocked him off his feet, and threw
him high and dry on the beach.

He lay panting there just long enough to recover his breath, then he
began to eye the cliff before him.  Was it scalable?  It did not rise
precipitously, like the cliffs which had their base in deep water.
This much he could see In those moments when the young moon peeped
from behind a cloud.  It sloped back until it merged almost
imperceptibly with the grassy headland.  Once within reach of that
upper incline and he had as good as won through.  But before that
could be gained the rocky base, steep enough to daunt even the
boldest climber, had to be negotiated.

Every moment was of value now, and as soon as he had recovered his
breath he set about exploring.  The stones cut his feet cruelly.  He
felt his way along the base of the cliff until he came to a
declivity.  Water ran down it in the wet season, but now it was dry
and filled with stones, dead twigs, and other rubbish.  He felt that
this would be a good take-off for his climb.  He might even follow it
to the top, if the loose rubble in it did not betray his footing.

He made a light leap, and using hands and feet, managed to secure a
hold.  He straddled his legs as much as possible, and pressing his
body well forward so as to maintain his balance, made a move upwards.

The headland seemed an immense distance away.  The rock cut his feet
more cruelly than the beach and made his hold precarious.  But he
held firmly to his endeavour.  There was no going back now.  He had
to go upwards or fall.  So he went upwards.  Step by step, feeling
his way, testing every hold, he mounted towards the cliff-top.  It
was slow, agonizing work, and the concentration needed very
fortunately prevented him from thinking overmuch of the peril of his
position.  Once, about half-way up, he had a sudden vision of the
cliff and himself, hanging like a fly to its walls, suspended over
the waiting beach below.  And suddenly he looked down.  The sea lay
like a lake of ink, washing the beach with a white cloth.  He grew
dizzy at the thought of falling.  Then, fearing the panic which
gripped his vitals, he put all idea of falling from him and held
tenaciously to his purpose.

As he mounted, the cliff grew less steep and facilitated his
progress.  Eventually, in reaching up a hand for a hold, he touched
grass and knew that his climb was near its end.  He quickened his
movements.  Gradually the rock was left behind.  He fell on his knees
and began to crawl; the cliff was still too steep for him to stand
erect.  The grass was soothing to his bruised feet.  He used hands
and knees and feet in negotiating the slippery, grassy slope, and
after a last breath-taking effort reached the top, rolling himself on
to the level headland, where he lay temporarily exhausted.

His intention, once he had recovered sufficiently to make a move, was
to strike inland, and cut across the wooded head of land which
separated him from Saltern.  He did not know how far he was from the
town, but he estimated it at three miles.  He thought at first the
best plan was to take the short cut, though it entailed the risk of
getting lost in the wood.  The discovery of a goat track on the edge
of the cliff, however, decided him to take the longer but more
certain, though far more dangerous, route along the shore.  The goat
track would, he thought, enable him to skirt the coast successfully.
And he had only to follow it to reach his objective, whereas in the
dark wood there was probably little to guide his steps, and he might
end by being lost altogether and spending the night in futile
searching for a way out.

Having decided on the goat track, he proceeded to prepare for it.  He
knew he could not long walk in his stockinged feet over such a path.
He therefore stripped off his shirt, tore it in two pieces and
wrapped up his feet as best he could.  The result was very
cumbersome, but much more comfortable; and he set out confidently on
his jaunt.

Although the night was a dark one, it was not so hopelessly black as
to preclude all idea of direction.  Dare could descry large solid
objects at a distance of ten yards, and the path was dimly visible
for two yards or so.  This helped him a little, but he had to go very
slowly.

There were times when a slip of the foot would have meant a fall of
some hundreds of feet; there were other times when the path ran level
and free from obstacles, well away from the edge of the cliff.  But
for the most part it skirted the precipice in a nerve-racking fashion.

The transforming of his shirt into bandages for his feet left the
upper part of his body bare, and he flinched at times as the branches
of obstructing boughs tore his skin.  Fortunately the night was warm
and he did not suffer from exposure, despite his recent swim.

He was in splendid condition, and although he had accomplished two
dangerous feats and was engaged on another, he felt no fatigue.  He
experienced an exhilaration which made effort seem almost play.

The darkness was his greatest obstacle.  It hid the dangers of the
track from him and caused his imagination to play nervy tricks.  It
made boulders take on the form of crouching creatures and stunted
trees appear as men.  There were several occasions when he startled
and was startled by sheep and goats; but on the whole his path was
free from living creatures, except those created by his imagination.

Then suddenly, as he was mounting an incline, he saw a man rise out
of the earth before him.  He could hardly credit his senses with the
apparition, but as if to prove to him that he was not dreaming,
another vague shadowy form rose up and followed the first inland.

The darkness hid Dare from them, for he was in the shadow cast by
some trees, while they were on the high back of the ridge towards
which he was mounting.  Excited by the possibility the appearance of
these nocturnal figures presented, Dare flung himself down on the
turf and waited.  Another figure appeared, then another and another,
until he had counted ten.  Then there was an end.

Each figure had had a hump-like protuberance on its back, and Dare
knew as well as if he had been told by Pierre himself that he had
seen the smugglers carrying their illicit spoil to their cache.

This incident tempted him to side-track his mission to Saltern and to
make a personal investigation of the cache.  Fortunately wisdom
returned to him in time to prevent him doing this, and he kept to his
original venture.  He crept up behind the opening in the ground.  He
would have liked to take a peep down into the cave, but caution
forbade.  He stopped only long enough to tie his pocket handkerchief
to an adjacent bush, then hurried on towards Saltern.

He had an idea that when he passed the next ridge he would see the
town.  And this proved to be so.  To his great joy he saw Saltern
light blinking its warning, and, farther off, the lights of a ship at
anchor.  The town itself was indicated by one or two late lights,
such as those which had marked it on his arrival from St. John's.

Spurred by the thought of a successful end to his endeavour, he left
the goat track and struck down straight towards the harbour.  The
trees had thinned out now sufficiently to enable him to see his way
easily, and he soon found himself on a grassy slope which ended at
the shore.

He ran down the last few yards, his momentum carrying him knee-deep
into the water.  He then had to cross the harbour.  He did not like
the idea of swimming.  He had had enough of that for one night.  So
he set about searching the shore feverishly for a boat, and as they
were fairly plentiful he soon found one.

It did not take him long to row to the town side.  Once there he
hastily tied the boat to the quay and set out at a run for the
Customs House.



CHAPTER XI

CAPTAIN STANLEY ACTS

Captain Stanley was closeted with the captain of the Revenue cutter
_Drake_, which had anchored off Saltern at eleven o'clock that night.
Despite the lateness of the hour Captain McDonnell had come ashore to
call, some rumours having reached him concerning the attack to which
his colleague and friend had been subjected.

An all-night session had thus been inaugurated, for Captain Stanley
had much to discuss and much to plan, following the opportune visit
of the _Drake_.  He gave Captain McDonnell the full story of his
activities since reaching Saltern, including the departure of Ben and
Dare for St. Pierre.  Captain McDonnell felt inclined to deprecate
the latter action, but he held his peace, seeing that his friend was
already reaping the consequences.  For Captain Stanley had been made
uneasy and finally alarmed by the continued silence of the two
adventurers.

"I'd look upon it as a personal favour," he said to Captain
McDonnell, "if you would call at St. Pierre and set inquiries on
foot.  I admit now that I made a mistake in sending those two there.
I should have known that those smuggling fellows were unscrupulous
and that if they ever came to suspect Ben and Dare it would go hard
with them.  Of course, there may be some simple reason for their
silence.  But I have my fears."

"I'll call there, certainly," said McDonnell.  "We'll leave the first
thing at daybreak."

Captain Stanley nodded and continued: "Then, if you don't mind, I'd
like you to come back here and help me clean up this nest.  I'll
borrow your crew for a land attack.  I'll find that cache or know the
reason why.  It's time the high-handed actions of those fellows were
put a stop to."

"We'll back your moves, certainly," said McDonnell vigorously.  "I'd
give a good deal to see those fellows put under restraint.  They've
made me a joke on the coast for years.  Of course, as you know,
except for chasing bait pirates we're not much use here.  We're
almost helpless so far as the liquor trade is concerned.  We can't
stop every small boat we see on suspicion.  That would be only
trouble for nothing, for these fellows, I am convinced, run only on
dark nights and usually when the _Drake_ is on another route.  For
they're well informed.  I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't know I
was here now; at least, I'm sure they've heard I'm due within
twenty-four hours, for I took care to make it known at St. Mary's
that I should be here then.  But I altered my course and got here
about fourteen hours ahead of time.  I thought it wouldn't be a bad
idea to get here before I was expected, considering all the
circumstances."

"You did well," Captain Stanley assured him, then broke into a sudden
exclamation.  For there had sounded at the door a series of loud,
insistent knocks.  Knocks at that time of the night, or morning,
rather!  Both men stared at each other; Captain Stanley in a sort of
dread.

"One of my fellows, I expect," said McDonnell, "though why he's come
I don't know.  I'd better go down and open the door, hadn't I?"

"Yes, yes, go down," commanded Captain Stanley, and literally pushed
his friend from the room.

A very few minutes later Captain McDonnell returned, his face
transfigured with excitement.

"Stanley, here's news, good news!" he shouted joyously, and dragged
Dare into the room; a Dare naked to the waist, covered with sweat
through which oozed blood from one or two deep scratches, his feet
ragged bundles of cloth, his riotous hair tumbling over eyes ablaze
with excitement.

"Good heavens!" cried Captain Stanley.  "Dare, my boy!  Are you hurt?"

Dare fervently shook the hand he found in his.  "Not a bit!" he
gasped, for he was winded a little.  "Fit as a riddle ... I've just
escaped ... listen----"

"Not a word!" broke in his father authoritatively; "not a word!  Rub
him down, McDonnell, he's wet and chilled.  I'll rouse Martha and get
him a dry shift.  There's spirits in the cupboard.  Give him a dose."

Dare was forced to submit to these ministrations.  Several times he
essayed to tell his story, pleading urgency, but his father would not
hear a word of it till he was once more in dry clothes, with the
warmth of the spirit coursing through his veins.

Then he was permitted to speak.  He told his story quickly, beginning
with the hour they had left Saltern and leading up to his dramatic
escape and subsequent adventures.  Both auditors failed to conceal
their astonishment and even horror at the risks he had taken.  But
they were too much occupied by the dramatic development his
adventures had made possible to censure him at the moment.

"McDonnell, we've got them!" exclaimed Captain Stanley.

"We have, indeed!"

"Now as to plans----  What a bit of luck, your turning up on this
night of all nights!  I must have your crew."

"And myself with them, I hope?"

"Of course.  Now, Dare, my boy, you're sure of your facts?  Near the
Table, I think you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've passed it a dozen times.  There is a hole in the cliff there.
A good-sized one, when you go near it.  But I could never have
believed it is what you say if I hadn't been told.  I remember the
first time I saw it the fisherman who was with me explained why it
was known locally as the Oven.  He said that there was deep water
inside and no beach, and that the suction and noise of the sea
forcing itself into the chasm made a noise like that of a lot of
copper pans being banged about.  So some local wit called it the
Oven.  I never dreamed that it was practicable for the smugglers'
purposes, a cave without a beach!  Of course, I never imagined a back
exit.  Who would, looking at the solid face of the cliff?  Why, the
old fisherman even warned me not to enter it, giving as a reason the
fact that there were huge splinters of rock hanging from its roof and
that from time to time there were regular avalanches of these
splinters, so that it was highly dangerous to go into the cave.  And
I believed him, for certainly the fishermen never seemed to go near
it.  Well, it's a lesson to me not to overlook even the remotest
possibility after this.

"McDonnell, we must attack from both ends.  I'll have to nab them at
the sea end because of my leg, which prevents me from walking.  I'll
take one of your boats and a good crew.  We'll make our way to the
Oven and lie off it, waiting for your signal.  For I want you to take
a dozen men and go with Dare to the land entrance.  You think you can
find it, Dare?"

"Absolutely, sir!  It's on the top of the second ridge near the
cliff-end, and to make sure I could find it again I tied my
handkerchief to a bough."

"Good boy!  You say they come out in single file?"

"Yes, sir."

"That gives you a perfect chance to nab them one by one as they come
out, McDonnell.  Knock 'em on the head and tie 'em up, and when
you've got the shore gang fast, flash us a signal from the cliff-top
with your flashlight--three long and one short--then we'll close in
by water and nab the schooner and her crew.  Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Captain McDonnell.

"Then we ought to be on our way at once.  Your boat's crew is on the
quay, I suppose?"

"I expect so.  That's where I left them."

"Then if you'll give me an arm and my stick we'll go there right
away.  I'm afraid we won't be in time.  Come on, Dare."

Stopping only long enough to speak a few reassuring words to Martha
regarding Ben's safety, the party left the house.

On the quay they found the boat's crew waiting, and were soon rowed
on board the _Drake_.  Here the crew were roused and divided into two
parties of eight men each.  Arms were served out, for it was felt the
smugglers would put up a determined resistance.  Then Captain
McDonnell took to one boat with Dare and his crew, and Captain
Stanley took to the other, with the _Drake's_ second officer as his
second-in-command.

"Give us half an hour to get there, Stanley; then row to the cave.
Don't frighten them at your end before we've nabbed the shore crew.
From what Dare says, however, the noise in the cave is such that they
won't hear anything till we're suddenly among them."

"Right you are," said Captain Stanley.  "Keep an eye on Dare.  He's
taken enough risks for one night."

"Ready?  Push off!" ordered McDonnell, and his boat went surging
harbourwards at a great rate.

The crew beached her near the spot where Dare had found a boat a
little while before, then stepped ashore, moving quietly and
efficiently.  Captain McDonnell spoke to one of them, and the man
stooped and filled a large pocket handkerchief with sand, knotting
the cloth into the shape of a bag.  The result was a silent,
formidable weapon.  He then told Dare to take the lead, and the climb
up the incline began.  Dare, though a little tired by excitement and
physical effort, showed no outward signs of fatigue.  He led the crew
swiftly and well, and they soon approached the ridge near which the
entrance to the cave was situated.  They gained the vicinity of the
entrance without having given the slightest cause for an alarm.  The
men fell on hands and knees in negotiating the last few yards.  At
last Dare discovered his handkerchief and a halt was signalled.  The
men were ranged immediately behind the entrance, so that the
smugglers would emerge with their backs to them.

Captain McDonnell drew one of the crew to his side and whispered an
order.  "We'll let the first man who comes out go, so that we can
find out where the cache is.  Follow him and don't let him get away
or give an alarm."

The man nodded and saluted.  Captain McDonnell then turned to the
sailor whom he had bade fashion the sandbag.  "Hit every man who
comes out after the first fellow, so that you don't have to hit
twice," he ordered.  "Two men will ease them down to the ground to
prevent a noise.  The others will tie them up and lay them on one
side.  Every man is to be treated in the same way.  No unnecessary
noise, if you value your extra pay."

There was silence then.  Dare, who was not the least excited of the
crew, felt as though his breath was being emitted in stentorian
snorts, which would surely warn the smugglers of his and his
companions' presence.

The suspense of waiting did not last long, however.  There suddenly
sounded a noise as though a foot had slipped on a pebble.  It was
followed by a human grunt, and the muffled sound of human speech.
The waiting men stiffened expectantly.  Then, when they had begun to
wonder if they had not been deceived, and even to be subjected to the
fear that they had arrived too late, a man's head and shoulders rose
out of the middle of the bushes behind which they were crouching.  He
was carrying two or three heavy cases hung sling-fashion from his
shoulders, and went staggering inland.  The member of the crew
detailed to follow him slipped quietly in his wake, and both were
soon lost sight of in the darkness.

The watchers sighed with relief.  They were in time, and the coup had
begun well.  Without warning another man appeared.  The sandbag
descended on his head as he set foot in the open.  Two of the sailors
caught him as he sagged, and lowered body and plunder to the ground.
Quickly others of the crew dragged both away.

Captain McDonnell counted the seconds as they passed.  Dare, his
heart beating at a suffocating rate, did likewise.  Three men then
appeared so close behind each other that the last emerged before his
predecessor could be dragged from his path.  His suspicions were
aroused, but before he could cry out the sandbag fell once again.
There was a dull report as man and packages crashed to the earth, but
no alarm was taken.  Five more men appeared in quick succession.
Each was treated in similar fashion, and the whole proceeding was
carried out so expertly that those in the cave had not the slightest
suspicion of the Nemesis on their track.

"I think that's all the shore crew," whispered Dare, when the tenth
man had been trussed.  "I counted ten the other time."

"We'll wait five minutes," said Captain McDonnell.  "Then, before
those in the cave can get uneasy about these fellows, we'll signal
your father and he can take them by surprise as we planned."

The five minutes passed without anyone appearing.  Captain McDonnell
then took an electric torch from his pocket and made his way to the
edge of the cliff.  Holding the torch so that it would be visible
from below, he flashed it on and off--three long and one short.  He
waited anxiously for a minute, then saw a single spot of light show
for an instant below.  His signal had been received.  He hurried back
to the waiting crew.

The latter were in a tremendous state of excitement, for they were
looking forward to a fight.  Hitherto, although the adventure had
been of a sporting character, it had not proved exceptionally
thrilling.  But if, as they expected, Captain McDonnell gave the
order to descend into the cave, there would certainly be a fight, and
not one of them but, like overgrown schoolboys, was excited by the
prospect.

Captain McDonnell noted the change in their attitude and smiled to
himself in the darkness.  "We'll give the boat five minutes to get
into the cave, men," he said cheerfully.  But before the five minutes
had expired there came from the sea, in the vicinity of the cave, the
report of a rifle.

"They've begun!" shouted Captain McDonnell, throwing aside all
caution with the disappearance of the need for it.  "After me, men!"
He leapt into the bushes and disappeared.  With a hearty cheer the
crew precipitately followed his example.  They could be heard
tumbling down and shouting warnings to those behind them, warnings
which were totally disregarded, for in that moment not one of the
party had a thought for his own neck, and they would have leapt a
precipice if there was a fight going on at the bottom of it.

Dare, as the youngest and weakest, had been forced to the tail-end of
the procession.  His turn soon came, however.  He leapt into the
bushes as recklessly as any of his predecessors and fell with a
resounding bump for a distance of ten feet, for at the entrance to
the cave the stair was absolutely perpendicular.  He picked himself
up, felt for broken bones, and not finding any made his way as fast
as possible after the rest of the crew.  The formation of the passage
was such that the tremendous din of the cave did not penetrate it.
All Dare could hear was the shouts of the crew ahead.  Flares such as
he had viewed from the _Mary's_ deck lighted his way.  The stair
followed a zigzag course, and suddenly he found himself in full sight
and hearing of the cave.  It was about sixty feet below him.

The flares revealed the _Mary_ lying by the side of the rock.  On her
deck were struggling demoniac figures, staggering like drunken men
from one rail to the other.  And below him, just above the
landing-place, Captain McDonnell and his crew were encountering those
of the smugglers who, seeing the danger from the sea, had attempted
to escape by the stair.

The wildness of the scene, half revealed in the supernatural light of
the flares, held him spellbound.  So great was the din given off by
the surging water in the cave that no sound of the furious battle in
progress rose above it.  Voices, blows, oaths, and cries of pain and
alarm were drowned by the great voice of the cave, which seemed to
exert itself in an effort to obliterate every human sound in its
vicinity.

Now and then in the light of the flares Dare saw an agonized face, a
lifted weapon; but no sound accompanied either revelation.  It was as
if the fight were being carried on in dumb-show.

He hurried down the stairs to join in the affray, throwing aside
caution, which had no place in any of those there that night.  As he
neared Captain McDonnell's party, which was gradually forcing the
smugglers back on board the _Mary_, where they were being severely
handled by Captain Stanley and his crew, he saw one of the fellows
escape and make a dart up the stair towards him.  He waited for the
man to get within jumping distance, then launched himself
precipitately upon him.

The smuggler gave a grunt as Dare struck him, and collapsed.  Both
went rolling over and over down the stairs and, bouncing past the
struggling crew, who were too much occupied to notice them, rolled
off the ledge into the water.

Dare, half-winded, felt the smuggler's hold relax and came above
water blowing noisily.  He saw his opponent rise about the same time
and make for the rock, a knife between his teeth.  A flare revealed
him climbing up the face of the ledge.  Then an arm reached out,
dragged him over, and clubbed him with a rifle before he could raise
a hand in defence.

Dare did not care to risk being treated in similar fashion by his own
party in the dark.  He looked about him and for the second time that
night found himself under the bowsprit of the _Mary_.  He clambered
into the head rigging and eventually reached the schooner's deck.

The mass of the struggling men were centred aft on the landing side.
The smugglers were between two fires, the land party and the sea
party, and as they were outnumbered nearly two to one it was only a
matter of minutes before they would be overpowered.  Nevertheless,
they were putting up a desperate resistance.  At such close quarters
the _Drake's_ crew found their rifles worse than useless.  Even if
they had desired to fire on the smugglers they could not have done so
without bringing down some of their own men.  So the battle
degenerated into a bout of fisticuffs, with here and there a blow
from a stick and the attempted use of a knife.

Dare made a vain effort to force his way between the backs of the sea
crew in order to get a chance for a crack at the enemy.  Finding his
attempt hopeless--for the _Drake's_ men were massed shoulder to
shoulder in fighting formation--he ran round the cabin so as to reach
the landing side farther aft.

As he passed the companion-way he stopped to take a glance down into
the cabin.  It was deserted.  He was about to pass on when he saw the
door of the captain's stateroom tremble as though under an assault.
At the same instant he heard a concerted cry of victory from the
_Drake's_ men.  He did not hesitate longer, but jumped down into the
cabin.  And as he did so he suddenly remembered Ben.  It was Ben, of
course, who was in the room!  He had heard Pierre give the order to
lock him up.  And he had forgotten the poor old chap completely until
this instant!  He ran to the door.  The key was in the lock.  He
turned it, opened the door, and was confronted by Ben.

The old sailor staggered backwards when he saw Dare before him.  "Mr.
Dare!" he exclaimed, and his voice trembled.

He reached out a horny hand and grabbed Dare's arm as though to
convince himself of its solidity.  "Mr. Dare!" he exclaimed again,
tears of thankfulness and joy in his eyes.  "Then you're not drowned?"

Dare wrung the old fellow's hand excitedly.

"No, no, not at all.  Why, I _jumped_ overboard.  I wanted to get
word to Saltern, and I didn't tell you for fear you'd prevent me.
And I did it, Ben, I did it!  We've captured the lot!"

"Then it was fighting I heard?"

"Yes, yes!"

"On deck!" shouted Ben, the light of battle in his eyes.  But before
they could make a move a wild figure suddenly filled the
companion-way, and leaping down into the cabin confronted them
menacingly.

It was Pierre.  Blood was running down his face.  His eyes were
bloodshot.  His shirt was torn from his body, which gleamed darkly.
He had the wild, distracted appearance of one who had suffered
overwhelming, humiliating defeat.

When he saw Dare he cried aloud:

"You!  Then you didn't drown?  Ah, now I see it all!  You swam ashore
and gave us away, eh?  Curse you, you'll suffer for that!"

He leapt towards Dare, who stood his ground.  But suddenly he was
swept backwards by Ben, who drove in two fists to the charging
Pierre's chest.  They rang as on hollow wood.

"All right, you first!" raged Pierre, and swung two heavy blows to
Ben's head.  The latter staggered, then shook off the effect of the
blows doggedly.  He sprang in and was enfolded by Pierre in a
bear-like hug.  Ben managed to trip his opponent.  They fell to the
floor, rolling over and over, kicking, gouging, biting.  For Pierre
was not in a mood to waste time on finesse; and Ben was forced to
meet him with his own methods in an effort at self-preservation.

Dare, his face strained and white, watched the uneven conflict.  He
knew Ben had no chance in a rough-and-tumble with Pierre, and he
sought to aid him before he should be crippled or worse.  He hovered
round the two, watching his chance.  But it was impossible to
distinguish between the opponents, so swift and tortuous were their
movements.

Then suddenly Pierre managed to drive his knee deep into Ben's
stomach.  Ben gave an immense sigh as the air was expelled from his
lungs, then relaxed his hold and lay helpless.  Pierre, as quick as a
panther, was on his feet, his face disfigured with hate and rage.  He
raised his heavily booted foot, aiming at the prostrate figure on the
floor.

Dare suddenly felt the red tide of hate rise in himself, a hate of
the cowardly and brutal gesture.

"No, you don't!" he shrieked vindictively, and raising the wooden
pump-handle he had seized as a weapon when he came on board, he
brought it down heavily on Pierre's flaming head.

The heavy, poised foot stopped in mid-air.  The kick was never
delivered.  Pierre was struck suddenly immobile, then his body sagged
like a bag of sawdust and he fell to the floor without a word or a
cry.  The last of the smugglers had been taken.



CHAPTER XII

THE CLOSING OF THE "OVEN"

Dare was standing at the window of his father's office, looking out
over the town to where the _Drake_ rode at anchor.  In the room were
Captains McDonnell and Stanley, deep in the details of the coup which
had been carried out so successfully that morning.  All the smugglers
had been taken.  Twenty-four in number, they were reposing at that
moment in cells which the _Drake_ held ready for the detention of
such as themselves.  Some of them were badly hurt, and most of them
carried cuts and bruises, as did the _Drake's_ crew.  There had been
no fatality, however, to the great satisfaction of both Captain
McDonnell and Captain Stanley; for the crew of the _Drake_ had used
only the butt-ends of their rifles, while the smugglers had been
caught weaponless save for a few knives.  Excepting the shot fired as
a signal at the entrance to the cave, no force except that of
physical strength had been used against the smugglers, but that had
sufficed.  Nine had been taken on the cliff, twelve in the cave, and
three at the cache, where that member of the _Drake's_ crew detailed
for the duty had found them and easily overpowered them with the
threat of his rifle.

The cache had yielded a great store of illicit goods of all
descriptions.  These had been seized and placed on board the _Mary_,
which now rode at anchor in Saltern harbour, her hold and her cabin
and fo'c'sle sealed, awaiting her fate.

The smugglers were to be taken to St. John's, where they would stand
their trial.  The coup had been an unprecedented success, in fact,
and both Captain Stanley and his colleague were considerably elated
at the sudden elimination of a strong, cunning enemy.

That smuggling had been wiped out in Saltern could not be doubted.
At least, it would be some time before it raised its head again, and
it probably would never attain in the future such proportions as it
had done formerly.  The capture of the whole gang had been the most
important success of Captain Stanley's career in the Revenue Service.
The people of Saltern could not hide their surprise, and in some
cases their consternation, at the event.  For if the smugglers
talked, many of them would be implicated.  There was a great deal of
destruction of evidence that morning, and many of the villagers eyed
each other in some anxiety, wondering what was to happen next.  They
had been defying the law so long without injury to themselves that
its sudden transformation into a Nemesis routed their habitual calm,
for each knew himself guilty of receiving benefits from the crime the
captured men had committed.

Dare saw them pass in groups before the Customs House, eyeing its
windows as if anxious to discover whether it was preparing a like
thunderbolt to that which had already been launched, and he could not
help smiling a little maliciously, for he had no sympathy with them;
not so much as he had for Pierre and his crew, who, at least, faced
manfully the penalties of their crimes.  These fearful villagers were
indirect, weak accomplices for the most part, not one of whom would
have boldly run the gauntlet of the Revenue Service as Pierre, the
rogue, had.  They did not need to fear for their skins, however.
Captain Stanley was more than content in having captured the
ringleaders of the trade.

"It's just enough to frighten the villagers out of their bad habits,"
he said to Captain McDonnell.  "Oh, we've ended the trade here,
there's no doubt of that."

"I think so," agreed McDonnell.  "Well," he added, "that's all the
inventory, isn't it?  And long enough it is.  My men are tickled to
death, for I've told them there'll be prize money in it for them.
Prize money for them and plenty of glory for us!"

His eyes twinkled merrily as he pronounced the latter words.

"We destroyed that cache completely after we'd taken out the last of
the stuff.  A perfect hiding-place it was: an immense pit overgrown
with brushwood so densely that it was as dry as a lime-kiln.  And you
might have walked by it a dozen times without seeing it.  We set fire
to the brush, and now all that's left of the cache is a hole in the
ground."

"A good business!" declared Captain Stanley emphatically.

"Aye.  Now, as to the _Mary_----  She's moored, I warrant you, so
that she's as safe as if she was beached.  I'll leave you five of my
men under the bo'sun to guard her and her cargo until the court makes
the order to have her fetched to St. John's."

"Five will be enough.  I'm not very doubtful of the temper of the men
here.  They're cowed, and I think that now Pierre and his fellows are
locked up they'll lose any initiative they ever had.  Still, we won't
take risks, for the _Mary_ is a prize of considerable value as she
stands."

"That's so.  And speaking of prizes, I shall recommend that man of
yours for a good competence.  It's impossible to over-estimate the
value of his and Dare's work.  My word, Stanley, that boy of yours is
a good plucked one!"

Captain Stanley flushed with pleasure and looked in Dare's direction.
Dare had heard his name pronounced and had turned inquiringly.  His
father beckoned him to approach.

"Well, Dare, my boy, we've settled up the odds and ends of this
business.  It's been the most complete success, thanks to you and
Ben.  You took risks that I could never approve of, but the results
have been so splendid that I've had no difficulty in promising
Captain McDonnell to overlook that part of the affair.  You did
splendidly, my boy, splendidly.  But I'll spare your blushes.
Besides, if I'm not mistaken, you'll hear more of this from another
and a higher quarter."

"That's so," interpolated Captain McDonnell.  "The Government will
learn of your services, my lad, both through the official report and
the medium of your humble servant.  And as you've saved them some
thousands in revenue and gained them a great deal more in seizures,
you can count on them doing the right thing."

"But I don't want them----" began Dare, considerably abashed by the
turn the conversation had taken, though he could not help feeling
delight in having earned the praise of his superiors.

"Of course you don't, boy," interrupted Captain McDonnell, "but
that's neither here nor there.  You've been of service, and as it's a
Government affair things must take their proper course.  Now, as to
the present----  But you'd better break this to him, Stanley."

Dare looked at his father questioningly.  Captain Stanley returned
the look, smiling gravely.

"I've decided, Dare, and Captain McDonnell supports my decision, that
it's best for you to leave Saltern now that our object in coming here
has been attained.  The temper of the villagers is uncertain.
They're disappointed and scared, and at such times people are apt to
be excessive in their demonstrations of emotion.  It's not that
there's any great danger, but they know of the part you played in the
cleaning up of the gang and they don't feel very friendly towards
you, to say the least; and under the circumstances I'd rather that
you left here as soon as possible.

"I'll be following you shortly myself.  As soon as the _Mary_ is
taken to St. John's, someone will be sent to relieve me and in time a
permanent official will be appointed.  Then we'll do some hunting and
fishing in the Humber Valley.  In the meantime I hope you won't mind
obliging me by leaving here alone.  I won't order you to go; you've
earned the right to decide for yourself, but I own I'll be
considerably relieved if you'll consent to follow my advice."

Dare flushed.

"Of course, dad," he burst out impulsively, "whatever you wish----"

"But where am I to go?" he asked, when his father had placed his hand
on his shoulder to show his approval.

"Ah! that will interest you, I think.  Captain McDonnell has offered
to take you cruising in the _Drake_ for a month."

"Dad!"

Both Captain Stanley and Captain McDonnell smiled at that
enthusiastic, forceful exclamation.

"Appeals to you, eh?" chuckled McDonnell.

"Rather!" ejaculated Dare.  "There's nothing I'd like better, seeing
I can't stay on here."

"Then be on board by five o'clock."

* * * * *

At half-past five the _Drake_ broke out her anchor and, dipping her
flag to the Customs House ensign, slowly got under way.  When she
reached the Oven she slackened speed, and a gun was trained on the
former harbour of the smugglers.  The shell expelled from it struck
the face of the cliff just above the narrow opening.  There came a
report as though the cliff itself had split in twain, then hundreds
of tons of loosened rock fell to form a barrier for all time to the
entrance to the cave.

Dare, who was with Captain McDonnell on the bridge, witnessed the
result with considerable satisfaction.

"Well, that's the end of the Oven," he said.

"And a jolly good thing too," said Captain McDonnell.  Then he
reached out a hand and rang "Full speed ahead" to the engine-room.

And the _Drake_, shuddering from stem to stern at the sudden
revolutions of her propeller, leapt forward like a greyhound, and
with a white wave at her prow headed jauntily for the open sea.



_The Mayflower Press, Plymouth.  William Brendon & Son, Ltd._





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