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There was a little Greener gun which he had used upon midwinter nights in a boat upon this very creek of the Salcombe estuary. He had brought down his first mallard with that, and he lifted it and slid his left hand along the under side of the barrel and felt the butt settle comfortably into the hollow of his shoulder.
As matters turned out it was many, many months, owing to an accident to the schooner and the delays in re-fitting at Las Palmas, and long stays made in the Mediterranean the entrance to which could not be passed without a cruise within before the Maid of Salcombe approached the English coast, and, oddly enough, once more Captain Chubb was driven to take refuge for a few hours at Havre-de-Grace, where one of the first things to be noticed was the familiar brig.
Then under the Revelstoke and Bolt Head cliffs, with just one flying glance up into the hidden nooks of delicious little Salcombe, and away south-west into the night, bound for Cherbourg, and a very different scene. We were awakened soon after midnight by the stopping of the steamer. Then a gun.
It shows you what power the night-riders had in those days. They had gone to Salcombe to Mr Cottier's lodgings; they had questioned him, perhaps with threats, till he had confessed that he had betrayed them to the preventives; then they had gagged him, hustled him downstairs to a waiting closed carriage, and then they had quietly driven him on, undisturbed, to their fastness in the cliff.
"No-o," said Rodd thoughtfully; "but her captain might have taken a fancy to the Maid of Salcombe, and I've read that privateers are not very particular when they get a chance. And the war's only just over." "No. But then, you see, my lad, even if you were right, that brig wouldn't have a chance."
For he felt certain as the water came surging over the leeward rail that the next minute their voyage would be ended, and the Maid of Salcombe be going down. It was one horror of breathlessness in the shrieking wind, while the storm-driven spray cut and lashed and flogged at the crew. "It's all over," gasped the boy, in his excitement, though somehow even then there was no feeling of fear.
For all at once the meaning of the Spaniards' orders, enforced by a pistol shot, was explained by a bright flash, the roar of a heavy gun, and the whistle of a shot just over the speaker's head. A dead silence now fell for a few moments upon the deck of the Maid of Salcombe.
This is one of those sweetly-pretty lost villages by the sea which one hesitates to mention lest a speculator should investigate with the idea of an elaborate "simple life" hostel in his mind. But Salcombe is too difficult of approach, even for faddists, although only a nominal two miles separates it from the South Western terminus on the other side of the hill.
The next day was spent in Plymouth, and letting the idea of a visit to Salcombe rest in abeyance for a time, Uncle Paul called on different shipping agents, made inquiries in the docks, looked over two or three small vessels that he was assured would be exactly the thing he wanted, and which could be handed over to him at once if decided on; and at last, utterly wearied out, he returned home with Rodd very much impressed by the feeling that it was much easier to say what he required, than to get his wants supplied.
Don't waste time. Say you don't know." "But I think I do know, uncle," cried the boy. "Eh? What? Where? Tchah! Not you!" "But what about one of those boats the French prisoners escaped in?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Eh? What? One of those trim orange boats that go on the Mediterranean Trade, that they build at Salcombe?" "Yes, uncle.
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