“Well, captain,” he said, “the last box has been put on board. The rest that are standing about are all empty. We are ready to get under way.”
“Has the other vessel sailed?” asked Conyngham, adding, with a wave of his hand, “you can speak frankly before this gentleman.”
“She has, sir; she slipped out four hours ago, and will join us three leagues off the coast to-morrow at daylight.”
“Are all the crew on board of her?”
“Yes, sir, and the armament. I am afraid we shall have some difficulty with the six-pounder.”
“Never cross a bridge till you come to it, Mr. Freeman,” returned Conyngham, “and now one more question. Is the agent of Mr. Hortalez on board?”
“Yes, sir; he is waiting on deck.”
“Tell him I will join him in half a minute. If you should ask my advice as a mere passenger who has had some experience, I should say that we might slip our moorings quietly and get under way; the tide, I should judge, would carry us well down the harbor. But I merely advise it, you understand, as you are the captain of the ship. And by the way, Mr. Bulger,” he added, turning to the spy, “you will kindly wait here for my return; there is a gentleman at the door who will object to your leaving, so if you will allow me to suggest, it will be better for you to remain here quietly.”
He arose as he spoke and left the cabin. “Mr. Bulger” remained seated, with consternation written on every line of his face. In a few minutes, though there had been no sound from the deck, he could tell from the swaying of the vessel that they were under way. For fully half an hour the Roebuck drifted quietly with the tide, and then the mainsail was hoisted and she keeled over to the damp easterly breeze that carried her out beyond the mouth of the harbor. For some time she sailed, holding a course to the northwestward, then she hove to and as day broke she was seen to be about three leagues off the French coast; and not two miles away, hove to also, was a clumsy little brig with her brown sails laid back against the mast. A red flag suddenly appeared, waving over the brig’s side. This was answered by the wave of a white one over the Roebuck’s taffrail, and then one on the port tack and the other on the starboard; swiftly the two vessels approached until within hailing distance. The decks of the little brig were crowded with sailormen, and amidships were long boxes, carefully wrapped and ready for slinging, and a few long bales wound in sail-cloth. By careful maneuvering they were brought together broadside to broadside, well tendered and lashed. No sooner had this been accomplished under the direction of the dark man, at whose side stood Conyngham, than the latter turned, and speaking to a slightly built but richly dressed young Frenchman, who was evidently a little upset by the motion of the sea, he requested him to step into the cabin, where he was introduced to the imprisoned Englishman as Mr. Beauchier, the representative of the owners of the Roebuck.
“And now, Mr. Bulger,” remarked Conyngham, after the introduction, “comes the favor that I am going to ask of you. I shall request you to witness the sale and transfer of this vessel from its present ownership to that of the United Colonies of America. The price has been arranged between Mr. Beauchier and myself, and only our signatures are needed to the document, with that of a witness to the same. This is the bill of sale and transfer of the lugger Roebuck, as you can see. Mr. Beauchier will sign here, I here, and you will witness and put your name on this line.”