CHAPTER XXVIX
_In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction_
Aboard the _Black Eagle_, Skipper George Rumm and Tommy Bull, with thecook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk's careful selection, wereengaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck theschooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortuneto favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingatehad conceived and directed it. The _Black Eagle_ was to be loaded withsalt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. Shewas then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rockylittle islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and theremainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed undertarpaulin: whereupon--with thick weather to corroborate a tale ofwreck--the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water.
"'Tis but a matter o' clever management," Tom Tulk had said. "Chooseyour weather--that's all."
Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner'squarter boat with a circumstantial account of the disaster. The _BlackEagle_ was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped outher keel (it seemed), driven over the rock, filled and sunk. At Conch,by this time, the mail-boat would be due on the southward trip.Skipper George and the clerk would proceed in grief and humiliation toSt. John's to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cookand the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence withthe old reprobate's schooner they would rescue fish and cargo frombeneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island inthe north. To exchange crews at Twillingate and run the cargo to St.John's for quick sale was a small matter.
"Barrin' accident," Tom Tulk had said, "it can't fail."
There, indeed, was a cold, logical plan. "Barrin' accident," as TomTulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, itcould not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent:that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing hisschooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning?They would say in St. John's merely that Skipper George had "done itat last." Nobody would be surprised; everybody would say, "I told youso." And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load offish who would suspect him? Was not Tom Tulk known to be an eccentric?Was there any accounting for what Tom Tulk would do? Tom Tulk wouldsay, "Mind your business!" and that would make an end of thequestioning.
"Choose your weather, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk. "Let it be windyand thick."
With fog to hide the deed--with a gale to bear out the story and keepprying craft away--there would be small danger of detection. And whatif folk did suspect? Let 'em prove it! _That's_ what the law demanded.Let 'em _prove_ it!
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When the _Black Eagle_ put back to Conch from following the little_Spot Cash_, it was evident that the opportunity had come. Theweather was thick; there was a promise of wind in the air. Moreover,with Archie Armstrong on the coast in a temper, it was the part ofwisdom to beware. Skipper George went gloomily to the cabin when theschooner rode once more at anchor. It was time, now; he knew it, theclerk knew it, the crew knew it. But Skipper George had no liking forthe job; nor had the clerk, to tell the truth, nor had the cook, norhad the crew. Rascals are not made in a day; and it takes a long timeto innure them against fear and self-reproach. But skipper and crew ofthe _Black Eagle_ were already committed. Their dealing for fish onthe coast had been unpardonable. The skipper could not explain it inSt. John's; nor could the clerk excuse it.
"We got t' go through with this, Tommy," said the gloomy skipper.
"Have a dram," the clerk replied. "I'm in sore need o' one meself."
It seemed the skipper was, too.
"With that little shaver on the coast," said the clerk, "'tis bestdone quickly."
"I've no heart for it," the skipper growled.
The clerk's thin face was white and drawn. His hand trembled, now, ashe lifted his glass. Nor had _he_ any heart for it. It had been allvery well, at first; it had seemed something like a lark--just a wildlark. The crew, too, had taken it in the spirit of larking--at first.But now that the time was come both forecastle and cabin had turneduneasy and timid.
In the forecastle, the cook said to the first hand:
"Wisht I was out o' this."
"Wisht I'd never come in it," the first hand sighed.
Their words were in whispers.
"I 'low," said the second hand, with a scared glance about, "that theol' man will--will _do_ it--the morrow."
The three averted their eyes--each from the other's.
"I 'low," the cook gasped.
Meantime, in the cabin, the clerk, rum now giving him a saucy outlook,said: "'Twill blow half a gale the morrow."
"Ay," said the skipper, uneasily; "an' there's like t' be more thanhalf a gale by the glass."
"There'll be few craft out o' harbour."
"Few craft, Tommy," said the skipper, drawing a timid hand over hisbristling red beard. "I'm not likin' t' take the _Black Eagle_ t'sea."
"'Tis like there'll be fog," the clerk continued.
"Ay; 'tis like there'll be a bit o' fog."
Skipper and clerk helped themselves to another dram of rum. Why was itthat Tom Tulk had made them a parting gift? Perhaps Tom Tulkunderstood the hearts of new-made rascals. At any rate, skipper andclerk, both simple fellows, after all, were presently heartened.
Tommy Bull laughed.
"Skipper," said he, "do you go ashore an' say you'll take the _BlackEagle_ t' sea the morrow, blow high or blow low, fair wind or foul."
The skipper looked up in bewilderment.
"Orders," the clerk explained, grinning. "Tell 'em you've been wiggedlively enough by Sir Archibald for lyin' in harbour."
Skipper George laughed in his turn.
"For'ard, there!" the clerk roared, putting his head out of the cabin."One o' you t' take the skipper ashore!"
Three fishing-schooners, bound down from the Labrador, had put infor safe berth through a threatening night. And with the skippersof these craft, and with the idle folk ashore, Skipper Georgeforegathered. Dirty weather? (the skipper declared); sure, 'twas dirtyweather. But there was no wind on that coast could keep the _BlackEagle_ in harbour. No, sir: no wind that blowed. Skipper George wassick an' tired o' bein' wigged by Sir Archibald Armstrong for lyin' inharbour. No more wiggin' for _him_. No, sir! He'd take the _BlackEagle_ t' sea in the mornin'? Let it blow high or blow low, fairwind or foul, 'twould be up anchor an' t' sea for the _Black Eagle_at dawn. Wreck her? Well, let her _go_ t' wreck. Orders was orders. Ifthe _Black Eagle_ happened t' be picked up by a rock in the fog'twould be Sir Archibald Armstrong's business to explain it. Asfor Skipper George, no man would be able t' tell _him_ again thathe was afraid t' take his schooner t' sea. An' orders was orders,sir. Yes, sir; orders was orders.
"I'm not likin' the job o' takin' my schooner t' sea in wind an' fog,"Skipper George concluded, with a great assumption of indignantcourage; "but when I'm told t' drive her, _I'll drive_, an' let theowner take the consequences."
This impressed the Labrador skippers.
"Small blame t' you, Skipper George," one declared, "if you do loseher."
Well satisfied with the evidence he had manufactured to sustain thestory of wreck, Skipper George returned to the schooner.
"Well," he drawled to the clerk, "I got my witnesses. They isn't a manashore would put t' sea the morrow if the weather comes as itpromises."
The clerk sighed and anxiously frowned. Skipper George, infected bythis melancholy and regret--for the skipper loved the trim,fleet-footed, well-found _Black Eagle_--Skipper George sighed, too.
"Time t' turn in, Tommy," said he.
The skipper had done a good stroke of business ashore. Sir Archibaldhad indeed ordered him to "drive" the _Black Eagle_.
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And in the rising wind of the next day while the _Spot Cash_ lay atanchor in Tilt Cove and Archie's messages were fleeting over the wireto St. John's--the _Black Eagle_ was taken to sea. Ashore they advisedher skipper to stick to shelter; but the skipper would have none oftheir warnings. Out went the _Black Eagle_ under shortened sail. Thewind rose; a misty rain gathered; fog came in from the far, wide open.But the _Black Eagle_ sped straight out to sea. Beyond the PonyIslands--a barren, out-of-the-way little group of rocks--she beataimlessly to and fro: now darting away, now approaching. But there wasno eye to observe her peculiar behaviour. Before night fell--driven bythe gale--she found poor shelter in a seaward cove. Here she hunggrimly to her anchorage through the night. Skipper and crew, asmorning approached, felt the wind fall and the sea subside.
Dawn came in a thick fog.
"What do you make of it, Tommy?" the skipper asked.
The clerk stared into the mist. "Pony Islands, skipper, sure enough,"said he.
"Little Pony or Big?"
In a rift of the mist a stretch of rocky coast lay exposed.
"Little Pony," said the clerk.
"Ay," the skipper agreed: "an' 'twas Little Pony, easterly shore," headded, his voice dwindling away, "that Tom Tulk advised."
"An' about the tenth o' the month," Tommy Bull added.