The Three Cutters Part 4

He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on sh.o.r.e in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs; as for the revenue-vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage.

He knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name is Morrison.

You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly introduce them.

"Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that, must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we have dirt?"

"I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever, if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."

"That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"

"Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the affair."

"What did you let him off?"

"Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.

"And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.

"Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide if he had to pay a bill without a deduction."

"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay of 1811, and three gla.s.ses."

Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _Happy-go-lucky_.

"You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.

Pickersgill nodded his head.

"I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken by a revenue-cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I did not know one of you again--you were all changed."

"Very likely, Jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in your dream."

"_Mais, mon Dieu! Je ne suis pas comme ca, moi_."

"No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett.

"_Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette, laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in these last three years."

"Well, that proves I keep to my promise, anyhow."

"Yes; but you never go any further."

"I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the captain: "but wait a little,--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _pet.i.te fortune_."

"_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage_!" Jeannette held her finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant_!" and then quitted the room.

"Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board."

"I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said Morrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that we should be taken by a revenue-cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, Now, if that be a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shall be in jail in a week; if the _white_, I shall be back here."

"Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing.

"It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the gla.s.s down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately."

"Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon!" said Corbett, laughing and looking out of the window; "at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one."

"It's the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted," replied Morrison, in wrath.

"Nor do you deserve it, Morrison," replied Pickersgill; "but Corbett is only joking."

"Well, at all events, I'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether I am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did."

The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "Bravo, white pigeon!" said Corbett; "I shall be here again in a week." The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and Morrison's countenance brightened up. As he took the gla.s.s of wine poured out by Pickersgill, he said, "Here's your health, Corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, I can't be put in jail, without you are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip."

"We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said the captain; "here's success to our trip."

The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the _Happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of Saint Malo.

CHAPTER FOUR.

PORTLAND BILL.

The _Happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from Saint Malo, the evening before the _Arrow_ sailed from Barn Pool. The _Active_ sailed from Portsmouth the morning after.

The yacht, as we before observed, was bound to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. The _Active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for West Bay, on the other side of the Bill of Portland. The _Happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo.

The wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _Happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the Tuesday night, made the Portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to.

At eleven o'clock the Portland lights were made by the revenue-cutter _Active_. Mr Appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. At twelve o'clock, the yacht _Arrow_ made the Portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide.

Day broke, and the horizon was clear. The first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue-cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter.

"There are two cutters in sight, sir," said Corbett, who had the watch; for Pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on.

"What do they look like?" said Pickersgill, who was up in a moment.

"One is a yacht, and the other may be; but I rather think, as far as I can judge in the grey, that it is our old friend off here."

"What! Old Appleboy?"

"Yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet."

"Well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels: but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said Pickersgill, coming on deck.

"Yes; the king is more careful of his canvas."

"You're right," said Pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _Active_ which creeps about creeping for tubs. Well, I see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boats as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. Watch his motions, Corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. What does she go now? Four knots?--that will soon tire their men."