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New Zealand
The half-raised anchor was hoisted aboard the moment the sheets had stiffened to set the brig in the right direction.
Flig Balt and Vin Mod were able to exchange a few words during the maneuver.
“Aha!” declared the latter, “our recruits are working out well.”
“Well enough, Mod.”
“Three more louts of that sort and we’d have the crew we need.”
“And our ship!” added Flig Balt in a low tone.
“And our captain as well!” Vin Mod declared, raising his hand to his beret, as though saluting his captain.
Flig Balt stopped him with a gesture, fearing that those imprudent words could be heard by the ship’s cabin boy, busily engaged with the sail on the jib. Then he was returning to the deckhouse when Vin Mod asked him what Mr. Gibson thought of the four regular customers of the Three Magpies.
“He was somewhat satisfied,” replied Flig Balt.
“The fact is that the outward appearance of our recruits works against them,” replied Vin Mod.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to disembark them in Wellington,” said Flig Balt.
“To disembark them in Wellington,” added Vin Mod, shrugging his shoulders, “you have to first get to Wellington. But I hope that we won’t go to Wellington, and won’t disembark anyone.”
“Don’t be imprudent, Mod!”
“Well … Flig Balt, the captain isn’t happy?”
“No.”
“What’s the difference, as long as we are!”
The bosun came back to the stern.
“Everything ready?” Mr. Gibson asked.
“All set, Captain.”
The James Cook slowly turned, approaching the dock where it would be within a half cable’s length.
A group had formed there, sailors and onlookers, who were always interested at the sight of a ship under sail. And besides, for several weeks they had been deprived of this spectacle since most ships had not been able to leave their moorings.
Now in this group could be seen several policemen whose attention seemed particularly drawn to the James Cook. That could be guessed by their gestures and attitude. There were even two or three of these officers who had run to the far end of the dock, which the ship would soon be skirting.
Of course—neither Flig Balt nor Vin Mod had any doubt—these policemen were among those whom they had seen the day before in Adam Fry’s tavern. Len Cannon and his comrades risked being recognized, and who knows if the James Cook, hailed in passage and ordered to stop, would not be given notice to surrender the sailors from the Three Magpies?
After all, Captain Gibson, at the risk of being held under strict surveillance, found it to his advantage to hold onto them, and he would have been extremely inconvenienced if he had been obliged to turn them over to the police. So, after a few words from Flig Balt, he approved Vin Mod’s taking Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle and Bryce below decks before they could be identified by the police.
“Get below … get below!” Vin Mod whispered to them.
They cast a rapid look toward the dock, understood, and disappeared down the hatch. Besides, their presence on deck was no longer necessary; the helmsman managed to direct the James Cook toward the entrance of the canal without any need to brace the sails.
The brig continued on its course approaching the end of the dock, even closer than usual for most ships, for it had to avoid an American steamship16 whose loud whistles were rending the air.
The policemen thus were able to observe the sailors on board, and surely if Len Cannon and the others had not been sent below, they would have been recognized and forced to disembark immediately. But the police did not see them, and the brig was able to enter the channel as soon as the steamer had pulled out of its way.
There was nothing more to fear; the four sailors returned to the deck.
Besides, their help was needed. The channel, which goes from southwest to northeast, is rather winding, and one must let out or tighten the sails at every turn.
The James Cook, aided by the breeze, navigated without difficulty between the green shores strewn with villas and cottages, where along one bank runs the railway that connects Dunedin to Port Chalmers
It was nearly eight o’clock when the brig passed before this port and reached the open sea. There, on the port tack, it sailed along the coast, leaving to the south the Otago lighthouse17 and Cape Saunders.18
3
Vin Mod at Work
The distance between Dunedin and Wellington, through the strait that separates the two large islands, is less than four hundred miles.1 If the northwest breeze held steady and the sea remained calm along the coast, at the rate of ten miles an hour, the James Cook would arrive the next day in Wellington.
During this short crossing, would Flig Balt be able to execute his plan, taking over the brig after getting rid of the captain and his allies and sailing it toward the distant Pacific isles where he would find safety and act with total impunity?
We know how Vin Mod intended to proceed: Mr. Gibson and the men who were faithful to him would be surprised and thrown overboard before being able to defend themselves. But as of today, it was necessary to bring Len Cannon and his comrades into the plot—which would not be very difficult—in order to feel them out beforehand on this subject and be assured of their cooperation. That’s what Vin Mod planned to do during the first day of navigation, and then take action that very night. No time to lose. In twenty-four hours, the brig, reaching Wellington, would take on Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson as passengers. So, that night, it was important that the James Cook be taken over by Flig Balt and his accomplices. If not, the chances of success would be substantially diminished, and a second opportunity might perhaps not be found.
As for the question of whether or not Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle, and Bryce would consent to join them, Vin Mod did not worry much about it. He knew that such faithless and lawless individuals, who have neither conscience nor scruples, are always attracted by the prospect of profitable deals in these regions of the Pacific, where justice cannot easily reach them.
The southern island of New Zealand,2 Tawaï-Pounamou, is said to resemble the form of a long rectangle, swollen in its lower part and somewhat obliquely laid out from southwest to southeast. On the contrary, the northern island, Ikana-Maoui, appears as an irregular triangle, its southernmost tip ending in a narrow tongue of land projecting out to the point of North Cape.
The coast that the brig followed is very jagged, banked with enormous rocks with bizarre shapes, which at a distance resemble gigantic mastodons fallen upon the shores. Here and there a succession of archways represents the periphery of a monastery, against
