was June 30. Mr. Patterson, who had arrived yesterday evening, would not want to delay a single hour. A man as meticulous as he would arrive exactly on time; he would not even take the time to visit Cork or Queenstown, even though he did not know either one of these two towns. After a good night’s rest, during which he would have recovered from the fatigue of his travels, he would get up, wake everyone up, go to the port, get someone to show him the Alert’s anchorage, and arrange for an embarkation to take them there.
These thoughts, even though he did not know the man who was Mr. Patterson, came naturally to the mind of Harry Markel. All while making sure not to appear on deck, for fear of being seen by the fishermen, he continued to watch the bay carefully. Through one of the windows in the back wardroom, Corty, with a telescope to his eye, was observing every movement that was being made in the port, the quays of which he distinguished perfectly as well as the houses at that distance of two miles. The sky, indeed, had cleared up. The sun was rising over a very crisp horizon whose last traces of fog had dissipated. But still not the least hint of a wind, not even beyond the headlands—the semaphore signals indicated nothing but a flat calm out at sea.
“Obviously,” exclaimed John Carpenter, “prison for prison, this one is no better than the one in Queenstown! At least we were able to escape from it, whereas from here …”
“Wait,” answered Harry Markel.
A little before ten-thirty, Corty reappeared by the deck door and said: “I think that I saw a rowboat, carrying about ten people, which has just left the port.” “It must be the rowboat that brings us the passengers!” exclaimed the boatswain.
He and Harry Markel went back into the wardroom and pointed their telescopes at the boat indicated by Corty.
Soon it was no longer in doubt that the skiff was coming toward the Alert, aided by the current of the falling tide. It was guided by two sailors; a third was at helm. In the middle and in the stern were seated about ten people, among whom were visible a certain number of packages and suitcases.
There was every reason to believe that they were the passengers of the Alert who were coming on board.
A decisive moment if there ever was one, and one which might collapse this elaborate stratagem devised by Harry Markel!
Everything depended on the single chance that neither Mr. Patterson nor any of the young men was acquainted with Captain Paxton. It seemed at the very least highly improbable, and it was on that improbability that Harry Markel had banked for the success of his plan. But could the port sailors who where rowing the skiff know the captain of the Alert and what would they say when he, Harry Markel, appeared in place of Paxton?
It was necessary to note that the Alert had just stopped at the port of Queenstown for the first time, or rather in Cork Harbor. No doubt its captain had gone to shore to comply with the formalities imposed on all ships upon their arrival and departure. But one could assume, without risking too much, that the sailors in the rowboat would have not met him in Queenstown.
“At any rate,” said John Carpenter, finishing the conversation he had just had on this topic with his companions, “let’s not allow these men to come on board.”
“It’s more prudent,” declared Corty. “We’ll lend a hand to unload the luggage.”
“Everyone to his post,” ordered Harry Markel.
First, he took the precaution of getting rid of the rowboat that they had seized the night before to reach Farmar Cove. The Alert’s own boats were enough if they wanted to escape. A few blows from an axe smashed the bottom of the rowboat, which sank to the bottom of the bay.
Quickly, Corty went to the bow, ready to throw a line as soon as the boat drew alongside.
“Look,” said John Carpenter to Harry Markel, “we are running a serious risk here.”
“We’ve run them in the past, and we’ll run many others, John!”
“And we have always come out of it, Harry! After all, one cannot be hanged twice. It is true, though, that once is already one time too many!”
The skiff was approaching, keeping close to the shore, so as to come out just inside the point of land that embraces Farmar Cove. It was only about one hundred toises away. One could see its passengers distinctly.
The question would then be decided in a few minutes. If things worked like Harry Markel wanted and hoped, if Captain Paxton’s disappearance was not noticed, he would act according to the circumstances. After welcoming Mrs. Seymour’s scholarship recipients as they should be, as the captain of the Alert would have done, he would proceed to make them comfortable, while derailing any thoughts they may have of leaving the ship.
Actually, seeing that, for lack of wind, the three-masted schooner could not weigh anchor right away, perhaps Mr. Patterson and the young men would ask to be brought back to Queenstown. They certainly had not had time to visit the industrial city nor the seaside city, and since they would have leisure time, it was possible that they would make such a request. This would have been a true danger that was important to avoid. After having brought the passengers on board, the rowboat that had transported them would return to port. And it would be one of the Alert’s longboats that would have to take them, a boat manned by two or three of Harry Markel’s men.
And was it not reasonable to fear that the constables, having unsuccessfully searched the taverns in the area, would now continue their search in the streets and onto the docks? If one of the fugitives were recognized, everything would be discovered. A steam-driven launch would immediately go to Farmar Cove with a police squad, the officers would take possession of the Alert, and the entire gang would be recaptured.
Thus, once the passengers were on board, they would no longer be allowed to disembark, even if the delay were to extend for a few days. Besides, by the following night, who knows if Harry Markel would not have succeeded in getting rid of them as he had gotten rid of Captain Paxton and his crew?
Harry Markel then gave his last orders. His companions would not forget them: they were no longer the crew from the Halifax, the escapees from the Queenstown prison. They were the sailors from the Alert, at least for today. They would have to watch themselves, to not pronounce a careless word, to take on the appearance of honest sailors, to “have good manners,” as John Carpenter said, to honor the generous Mrs. Seymour! They all understood the role that they had to play.2
While waiting, and up until the moment when the skiff would have left again, their orders were to show themselves as little as possible. They would remain at their posts. The boatswain and Corty would suffice to unload the luggage and to help the passengers get settled in. As for lunch, it would be served in the wardroom—a good lunch for which the Alert’s ample storeroom would furnish the menu. It was Ranyah Cogh’s business, and he planned to astonish them with his culinary talents.
The moment had come to act as Captain Paxton and his crew would have done. The rowboat was only a few toises away, and, since it was necessary that someone be there to receive the passengers, Harry Markel advanced toward the starboard ladder.
“Captain Paxton!”
It goes without saying that he had put on the uniform of the unfortunate captain, and that all of his companions were wearing the clothing found in their quarters.
The
