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.