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 the cook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk’s careful selection, were engaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck the schooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortune to favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate had conceived and directed it. The Black Eagle was to be loaded with salt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. She was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the remainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed under tarpaulin: whereupon––with thick weather to corroborate a tale of wreck––the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water. 248
“’Tis but a matter o’ clever management,” Tom Tulk had said. “Choose your weather––that’s all.”
Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner’s quarter boat with a circumstantial account of the disaster. The Black Eagle was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped out her 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 to St. John’s to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cook and the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence with the old reprobate’s schooner they would rescue fish and cargo from beneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island in the 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 Tom Tulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, it 249 could not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent: that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing his schooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning? They would say in St. John’s merely that Skipper George had “done it at last.” Nobody would be surprised; everybody would say, “I told you so.” And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load of fish 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 would say, “Mind your business!” and that would make an end of the questioning.
“Choose your weather, Skipper George,” said Tom Tulk. “Let it be windy and thick.”
With fog to hide the deed––with a gale to bear out the story and keep prying craft away––there would be small danger of detection. And what if folk did suspect? Let ’em prove it! That’s what the law demanded. Let ’em prove it!