BUFTON IS IMPLACABLE.
The Nederland, the Dutch schooner--she was a two-topsail one--would have been out of the river some day or so ago--and would have slipped down past Woolwich and Tilbury and the Nore on one of these dark, moonless nights, and with no more lights showing than necessary, had it not been for three facts. One was that her master was not at all sure that the infernal captain of the Mignonne might not see fit at any moment to slip after her and make an inspection of what she contained, if he observed the slightest sign of her departing in a more or less mysterious manner--although the aforesaid person did not think Barry would dare to board her while she lay in the river, and was consequently under the protection of the colours she flew. Another reason was that "Mr. Lewis," who was a great help to the worthy master, had requested him not to hurry his departure more than was necessary, as the former considered he might be able to provide the latter with further suitable merchandise; while, also, there was still a third and more powerful reason behind the other two. This was that François Thurot, of Boulogne, who had been a licensed corsair, but was now a naval officer of the French King, was reported to be cruising outside in the Channel, and would be as likely as not to seize on any ship coming out of the Thames, no matter what flag she flew. For it was Thurot's system to attack anything he observed leaving English waters, on the plea that he mistrusted all vessels found in them (or quitting them) sailing under false colours, and if he discovered he was wrong, it was easy to allow them to proceed on their voyage. Nor; as a matter of fact, did he often find himself wrong, he being well served by his spies, especially by a despatch-boat he owned called the Faucon, and another called the Homard, nor would he have done so in this case.
For, in absolute fact (as any one, no matter whether it were Sir Geoffrey Barry or François Thurot, would soon have known, had they gone on board the schooner), though she might be called the Nederland at the present moment and might be sailing under the Dutch flag, she was nothing of the kind, but was instead the Amarynth of Plymouth, in Massachusetts, her captain being an Englishman, that is to say, a colonist.
None had, however, up to now, attempted to molest the ship in the Thames, since all connected with the navy were otherwise busily employed in preparing to resist the threatened attack of Conflans; and the master was now only waiting to hear from "Mr. Lewis" to depart. That is, to depart if he should also get the information that the dreaded Thurot was anywhere else than where he was at present reported to be. But, whether he got it or not, he would have to go ere long. For his "merchandise" was an eating and drinking cargo, and, consequently, an expensive one.
He stood on his poop on this present morning, after having seen the Mignonne glide down the river under a pretty full spread of canvas, and after having respectfully dipped his ensign; but now it was two hours later than that occurrence, and he was watching a shore-boat sailing out under a lugsail, and undoubtedly making for his ship. A shore-boat which he did not put himself to the trouble of hailing, or causing to be hailed, since he recognised its occupant and passenger as "Mr. Lewis."
"Good-morning, sir," he said, with due down East emphasis, as now the boat came alongside his schooner. "Good-morning, sir. I thought I should see you again before I up'd."
"Ay," said Granger, "I thought so too. I felt sure you wouldn't have up'd and gone away without seeing me. Don't you require my services any more?"
"Oh! well--why, yes. There's more room in the hold yet, you know. All the same, sir, I've got a cargo, and I may as well be getting along with it. Come into the saloon." Whereon he led the way to a cabin under the poop which he kept for his own private use. While, as he went, he asked, "Where is that Thurot?"
"You're safe enough from him," replied Granger, "if all accounts be true. They say he is at Gottenburg victualling. And there are too many of our ships of war about. The Mignonne went out, too, this morning."
"I saw her. I'll go out also--afore she comes back. A week I suppose, eh?"