Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon Read online

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  "Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack. _Page_121]

  JACK HARDY

  _A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon_

  _By_

  HERBERT STRANG

  _Author of_ Fighting on the Congo In Clive's Command On the Trail of the Arabs, etc.

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R. I.

  INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT 1906, 1907 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

  PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y.

  *CONTENTS*

  CHAPTER

  I The Road to LuscombeII Monsieur De FronsacIII A Fight in Luscombe MarketIV Congleton's HollowV A Midnight ExcursionVI SignalsVII The Best-Laid SchemesVIII Congleton's FollyIX Close QuartersX A Prisoner of FranceXI A Break for FreedomXII The Capture of the *Glorieuse*XIII Off LuscombeXIV A DiscoveryXV Tar and FeathersXVI A Run at Sandy CoveXVII Diamond Cut DiamondXVIII The Battle of Binsey CoveXIX Some Appointments

  *LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*

  "Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack . . . Frontispiece

  "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack

  Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over

  "If you make a movement, I shall fire"

  *JACK HARDY*

  *CHAPTER I*

  *THE ROAD TO LUSCOMBE*

  The first time Jack Hardy met Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon was also theoccasion of his first visit to Luscombe.

  It happened in this way.

  "Good-by, my boy," said his father, as Jack clambered on to the roof ofthe coach at the _White Hart_, Southwark, "and be sure you don't forgetyour Cousin Bastable, or your mother will never forgive you."

  "All right, father. I'll take a look at him if I get a chance. I say,coachman, you'll let me have a drive?"

  The coachman could not turn his head, because the collar of his coat wasstiff and his neck brawny; but he screwed his left eye into the corner,winked, and gave a hoarse chuckle.

  "I've seed Jack Tars on donkeys, and orficers on hosses," said he."Lor' bless you, I knows 'em."

  Which was the beginning of an argument that lasted all the way toGuildford.

  Jack was on his way to Wynport to join H.M.S. _Fury_. Ten miles beyondWynport lay the little village of Luscombe, and two miles beyondLuscombe was Bastable Grange, where his mother's cousin, HumfreyBastable, lived. Jack had never seen Mr. Bastable; a hundred years agorelatives separated by a hundred miles of turnpike road saw very littleof one another. But Mrs. Hardy had been very fond of her Cousin Humfreywhen they were boy and girl together, and now that her son was goingwithin easy walking distance of Bastable Grange, she insisted that Jackshould go over and pay his respects.

  Jack had just been transferred to the _Fury_ from the frigate _Ariadne_,much to his disgust. In the _Ariadne_ he had hoped to have anopportunity of joining Admiral Nelson's fleet and fighting the French;the _Fury_ was engaged in the humdrum and much less heroic work, as Jackregarded it, of hunting smugglers. But Jack was of a cheerfuldisposition, and by the time he arrived at Wynport he had forgotten hisdisappointment, for the coachman had let him take the ribbons for fivegood miles of the road, and he had nearly upset the coach in a ditch,nearly massacred a flock of geese, and nearly taken off the wheel of acarrier's cart, which was excitement enough for one day.

  When he arrived at Wynport he found that it would be three or four daysbefore the _Fury_ was ready for sea. To Jack's eyes she appearedanything but furious, shored up high and dry in the yard, with hugebalks of timber supporting her hull. "Wretched cockle-shell!" he saidto himself, as he looked at her. But, having several days to spare, hethought he might as well spend the time in looking up his CousinBastable. Lieutenant Blake, commanding the _Fury_, good-naturedly gaveMr. Midshipman Hardy leave to visit his mother's relatives, so Jackslung his valise on to a carrier's cart that would jog to Bastable inthe course of the day, and started to trudge over the cliffs. He hadbeen told that he might save a matter of an hour by taking the shorterroad by Wickham Ferrers; but it was a bright September day,exceptionally hot for the time of year, and there was more chance of abreeze by the cliffs. Besides, Jack preferred when he could to keepwithin sight of the sea.

  He had no company for the first part of the journey, and that was atrial to a lad of Jack's sociable disposition. As became a midshipmanof his Majesty's navy, he was ready to talk freely with peer or peasant.The few people he saw were going in the opposite direction, and thoughin pleasant country fashion they "passed the time of day," there was nooccasion for stopping to chat. But, about five miles out of Wynport, hesaw just ahead of him, on the winding white road, a man with a woodenleg, stumping along beside a donkey-cart. The man had a broad back andlooked a sturdy fellow. The day being hot he had stripped off his coat,which dangled from a nail in the tail-board of the cart; and he carriedin his left hand a glazed hat.

  Jack was almost abreast of the cart when the man heard his footsteps,turned, and seeming to recognize him, pulled his forelock and said:

  "Morning, sir, morning."

  "Good morning. Uncommon hot, isn't it? You seem to know me?"

  "Not to say know, sir. I've seed ye, that's all. I've been to Wynport;I goes there twice a week with my old moke here, and a cargo of fruit orvegetables, times and seasons according. And when I goes to Wynport, incourse I looks up old messmates."

  "You've been a sailor, then?"

  "Nigh thirty year, sir! Joe Gumley my name: ranked A.B. when I got myleg shot off in a' action with a French privateer six year ago. Incourse I were discharged then. I were a fisherman till they pressed mefor the navy, so when I were no more use to his Majesty, sir, I comeback to my native place, which be Luscombe, sir, and what with fishingand gardening and such like I manage to make both ends meet, as theysay. I've got a tidy bit of cottage at a low rent from SquireBastable--"

  "Oh! he's my cousin."

  "Now, if you'd said uncle, sir--"

  "Well, he's my mother's cousin; my second cousin, I suppose."

  "Not having any myself, I don't know second from first. Howsomever, asI were saying, I've give up the fishing now; but I keep to thegardening--not an easy job with this stump of mine, 'cos when I'mdigging the misbehaving thing will sink in, and it takes a terrible timeto be always heaving it out. Like as if you was to have to drop anchorand heave it again every knot you made. But I've got over that therelittle contrariness by taking a square bit of board with me now. WhenI'm going to dig, down goes the board, I sticks my stump on that, and sowe gets on as merry as you please, 'cos when I want to shift, all I'vegot to do is to kick the board along a few inches, and there we are."

  "Well, but how came you to know me?"

  "Only seed you, sir. I was over at Wynport, as I were saying, and onlythis morning I comed across my old messmate, Ben Babbage, what waspressed along o' me. He's now bo'sun of the _Fury_, and we was having asmoke and a chat abo
ut old times when you come down the yard along o'the lieutenant, and Ben says to me: 'Joe,' says he, 'that's Mr. Hardy,the new midshipman.' That's how I knowed your name, but I didn't knowas how you was cousin to squire, though to be sure, now I look at you,sir, you do seem to have something of his figurehead about you."

  "Talking of figureheads, that's a queer-looking thing yonder."

  He pointed to a tower that just showed above the trees in the distance.In shape it was not unlike a mushroom, the top and part of the stalkbeing visible.

  "That?" said Gumley. "Queer, indeed. That be Congleton's Folly."

  "And who was Congleton?"

  "A man, sir, leastways a madman. Where he hailed from no one knowed,but years and years ago, when I was a' infant in arms, Congletonsuddenlike come to Luscombe. He was a man about fifty then, and 'twassaid that having waited to that age to fall in love, he got it very badwith a widder, who wouldn't have him. Love seems to be like measles,better had young. Well, Congleton took it so to heart that he made uphis mind to live forlorn and lonely ever more. So he built a kind o'summer-house in the Hollow yonder; and when he tired o' that he set asmall army o' laborers building the Folly, for so it got to be called;and there he lived for a dozen years in one room at the top all byhimself, seeing nobody, having his food sent up twice a week by apulley. And then he died. Congleton's Folly 'twas called then, and soit be called to this day: a sort of wilderness all round it, and afearsome place on a dark night."

  The old tar talked on, Jack doing the listening, until they came to aspot where, just after the road crossed a deep chine cutting through thecliff to the sea, there stood a large farm-building by the roadside.

  "Is that one of my cousin's farms?" asked Jack.

  "No, sir, that be Mr. Gudgeon's freehold."

  Jack glanced at it idly. It was an old roving building of stone, withgables and mullioned windows, many barns and outhouses hemming it in.Across the road was the farmyard, with a large pond skirting theroadway; and beyond it a level triangular stretch of pasture andcornland extending to the edge of the cliff, which here jutted outprominently into the sea.

  Just before they reached the farm-house, Jack noticed a dense cloud ofsmoke pouring from one of the chimneys.

  "The kitchen chimney's afire, I suppose," he said.

  "Ay, ay, sir. Mr. Gudgeon do have a bad lot o' chimbleys. And there'sa many in Luscombe, too. Plenty of jobs hereabouts for a good sweep!And there's Mr. Gudgeon himself--Nathaniel's his chrisom name."

  A very big burly man, curiously short in the legs, made his appearancein the doorway, and walking backwards across the road, watched the blackcolumn of smoke drifting slowly eastward on the light breeze.

  So closely was his attention fixed that he did not at once notice thepedestrians or the donkey-cart, and not until he had backed almostacross the road did he suddenly catch sight of Joe Gumley. Then hestarted slightly, and his attention being now divided between the oldsailor and the chimney on fire, he failed to observe a deep rut left bya passing wagon, that had evidently been driven into the pond to allowthe horses to drink.

  The result of the oversight was unfortunate. One of the short legsdisappeared into the rut; there was a wild flourish of arms; and thenthe big unwieldy body toppled backward into the pond.

  Jack could not forbear smiling. Gumley gave a quiet chuckle, and toJack's surprise stumped on, not offering to help the farmer out. Butthe lad sprang forward impulsively, splashed into the water, and heldout his hands to the miserable dripping object still floundering there,unable to gain a foothold on the clayey mud of the bottom.

  "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack encouragingly. "Haul on, sir.Yo heave ho! and up we come!"

  "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack]

  "Thank'ee, sir," said Mr. Gudgeon, spluttering. He had evidentlyswallowed more of the muddied water than he cared for. "Buthow--ugh!--how do you--ugh!--know my name, sir?"

  "Why, that old sailor man told me--Gumley, you know: we hitched on somemiles up the road there."

  "Yes, yes, of course: yes, yes. I'm all of a flutter, sir; my heartgoes pit-a-pat. Ugh! That water is rank, and--and I--I feel quiteupset. It was Gumley; of course it was: and he told you my name. Yes,to be sure. And you, sir, I might guess, are a king's officer, sir?"

  "Oh, yes! My ship's the _Fury_"

  "Why, to be sure! Come in, sir. You must dry your boots. Take themoff, sir. I will take off my wet things and be with you in a fewmoments. Sit you down, sir."

  Mr. Gudgeon had led Jack into a large stone-flagged room, with a lowceiling of whitewashed rafters. He disappeared, and Jack, left tohimself, took off his boots and stockings and sat on the broad, highledge of the window. In one corner he noticed a long leather-boundtelescope, and taking it up he looked out to sea. A few fishing boatsdotted the shining surface, their brown sails just appearing above theedge of the cliff. In the offing a large lugger lay, apparently hove to.He was still peering through the glass when the farmer returned,carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. A servant came after him, andtook away the wet boots and stockings.

  "Now, sir," he said. "You have your choice. Here is brandy, and sloegin, and cider--"

  "Thanks, Mr. Gudgeon, a glass of cider for me; 'tis a cool drink for ahot day."

  "To be sure," rejoined Mr. Gudgeon; "though for myself I find brandy thebest cure for the flutters. You were taking a peep through myspy-glass, sir?"

  "Yes: a good glass."

  "Not bad, sir, not bad. And a clear day. But not much to see, sir,to-day."

  "No. There's a lugger in the offing; and French by the cut of her."

  "Surely not, sir," cried Mr. Gudgeon, taking up the glass. "Dear, dear!I'm all in a flutter again, sir. A French lugger, sir! 'Tis surely toonear our coast to be safe."

  "Yes, and I hope the _Pandora_ will catch her; she's sailing thisafternoon."

  "To be sure, sir. The impudence of these Frenchmen! But I don't thinkshe's French, after all; there's a lugger much like her down in Luscombeyonder. And you're an officer of the _Fury_? I've seen the _Fury_ morethan once, sir. She cruised about a good deal last winter on thelookout for smugglers. But she's laid up at Wynport now, I'm told."

  "Yes, or I shouldn't be here."

  "Ah! I wondered, now, what brought you to this quiet little place.Maybe you have friends in the neighborhood, sir?"

  "I'm going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable. I dare say you know him?"

  "Know the squire! To be sure: a customer of mine. Ah! as I was saying,there's a good deal of smuggling on this part of the coast: so thecommon talk is, sir. Luscombe yonder is suspected, so 'tis said. Mr.Goodman, the new riding-officer, has his eye on the village. But uphere on the cliff I don't hear much of what goes on. I keep myself tomyself, sir--lead a quiet life; anything out of the way puts me in aflutter at once. And when will the _Fury_ be ready for sea?"

  "In four or five days."

  "To be sure! And you are Mr. Bastable's cousin! Well, now, to be sure!'Tis early days for the smugglers, sir: they don't begin, so I've heard,much before October; their work needs dark nights; but I hope you'll put'em down, sir, I do. They're getting the neighborhood a bad name."

  "Well, Mr. Gudgeon, we'll do our best to polish it up for you. Now,d'you think those things of mine are dry? I am getting hungry, and mycousin, I hope, keeps a good table."

  "To be sure, sir; a fine man, Mr. Bastable. Though I'm only a poorworking farmer, and keep myself to myself, I hope I may count Mr.Bastable a friend. You will give him my respects, Mr.--?"

  "Jack Hardy: that's my name. Thanks for the cider, Mr. Gudgeon: mightygood stuff. Good-by. I hope you'll be none the worse for your sousing."

  "Thank you, sir. I hope not. I shall take no harm unless I get areturn of the flutters."

  He went with Jack to the door.

  "That is your way, sir," he said, pointing to a path that ranirregularly across the fields to the right. "The coast winds a gooddeal here; you wou
ld not think it, but the path will bring you near tothe sea. Bastable Grange is on the cliff, sir, the other side ofLuscombe, a fine airy position, though too near the coast if the Frenchshould land, _I_ say."

  Jack set off at a good pace, vaulted the many stiles that crossed thefield path, and in less than half an hour found himself approaching afine old red-brick house nestling among trees at the edge of the cliff.He paused for a few moments before lifting the latch of the gate to takea look round. There, in a hollow between the two cliffs, lay thevillage of Luscombe, its few cottages straggling from the beach up theslope. Two or three fishing smacks lay alongside the short stone jetty:others rocked gently in the little bay. A turn of the path hid themfrom sight for a minute or two; when next they came into view Jack wassurprised to see one of the smacks making under full sail out to sea.

  "Smart work that!" he thought. "There was no sign of her putting off afew minutes ago. The Luscombe fishers would make good king's men, by thelook of it; they'll have a visit from the press-gang one of these days."

  He watched until the smack rounded the point; then he turned, opened thegate, walked up the gravel path, and pulled the bell at the door ofBastable Grange.