Cabot had been impressed by the rugged scenery of the Nova Scotia shore line, but it had been tame as compared with the stern grandeur of that unfolded when the "Sea Bee" rounded Cape Ray and was headed up the west coast of Newfoundland. He had caught glimpses of lofty promontories and precipitous cliffs as the schooner skirted the southern end of the island; but most of the time it had kept too far from shore for him to appreciate the marvellous details. Now, however, as they beat up against a head wind, they occasionally ran in so close as to be wet by drifting spray from the roaring breakers that ceaselessly dashed against the mighty wall, rising, grim and sheer, hundreds of feet above them. Everywhere the rock was stained a deep red, indicating the presence of iron, and everywhere it had been rent or shattered into a thousand fantastic forms. At short intervals the massive cliffs were wrenched apart to make room for narrow fiords, of unknown depth, that penetrated for miles into the land, where they formed intricate mazes of placid waterways. Beside them there were nestled tiny fishing villages of whitewashed houses, though quite as often these were perched on apparently inaccessible crags, overlooking sheltered coves of the outer coast.
On the tossing waters fronting them, fleets of fishing boats, with sails tanned a ruddy brown, like those of the "Sea Bee," or blackened by coal tar, darted with the grace and fearlessness of gulls, or rested as easily on the heaving surface, while the fishermen, clad in yellow oilskins, pursued their arduous toil.
To our young American the doings of these hardy seafarers proved so interesting that he never tired of watching them nor of asking questions concerning their perilous occupation. And he had plenty of time in which to acquire information, for so adverse were the winds that only by the utmost exertion did White Baldwin succeed in getting his schooner to the St. George's landing in time for Cabot to run to the railway station just as the train from Port aux Basques was coming in.
The two lads exchanged farewells with sincere regrets, after White had extended a most cordial invitation to the other to finish the cruise with him, and visit his home at Pretty Harbour. Much as Cabot wished to accept this invitation, he had declined it for the present, on the plea that he ought first to go to St. Johns. At the same time he had promised to try and make the proposed visit before leaving the island, to which White had replied:
"Don't delay too long, then, or you may not find us at home, for there is no knowing what may happen when the warships get there."
Even David Gidge shook hands with the departing guest, and said it was a pity he couldn't stay with them a while longer, seeing that he might be made into a very fair sort of a sailor with proper training.
With one regretful backward glance, Cabot left the little schooner on which he had come to feel so much at home, and sprinted towards the station, where was gathered half the population of the village—men, women, children, and dogs. The train was already at the platform as he made his way through this crowd, wondering if he had time to purchase a ticket, and he glanced at it curiously. It was well filled, and heads were thrust from most of the car windows on that side. Through one window Cabot saw a quartette of men too busily engaged over a game of cards to take note of their surroundings. As our lad's gaze fell on these, he suddenly stood still and stared. Then he turned, pushed out from the crowd, and made his way back towards the landing as rapidly as he had come from it a few minutes before.
The "Sea Bee" was under way, but had not got beyond hail, and was put back when her crew discovered who was signalling them so vigorously.
"What is the matter?" inquired her young skipper, as Cabot again clambered aboard. "Did you miss the train after all?"
"No," replied Cabot. "I could have caught it; but made up my mind at the last moment that I might just as well go with you to Pretty Harbour now as to try and visit it later."
"Good!" cried White, heartily. "I am awfully glad you did. We were feeling blue enough without you, weren't we, Dave?"
"Blue warn't no name for it," replied Mr. Gidge. "It were worse than a drop in the price of fish; an' now I feel as if they'd riz a dollar a kental."
"Thank you both," laughed Cabot. "I hadn't any idea how much I should hate to leave the old 'Bee' until I tried to do it. You said there was another station that I could reach from your place, didn't you?" he added, turning to White.
"Yes. There is one at Bay of Islands that can be reached by a drive of a few hours from Pretty Harbour; and I'll carry you over there any time you like," replied the latter.
"That settles it, then; and I'll let St. Johns wait a few days longer."
So the little schooner was again headed seaward, and set forth at a nimble pace for her run around Cape St. George and up the coast past Port au Port to the exquisitely beautiful Bay of Islands, on which Pretty Harbour is located; and, as she bore him away, Cabot hoped he had done the right thing.
When commissioned to undertake this journey that was proving so full of incident, our young engineer had been only too glad of an excuse to break his engagement with Thorpe Walling; for, as has been said, the latter was not a person whom he particularly liked. Walling, on the other hand, had boasted that the most popular fellow in the Institute had chosen above all things to take a trip around the world in his company, and was greatly put out by the receipt of Cabot's telegram announcing his change of plan. The more Thorpe reflected upon this grievance the more angry did he become, until he finally swore enmity against Cabot Grant, and to get even with him if ever he had the chance.
He was provoked that his chosen companion should have dismissed him so curtly, without any intimation of what he proposed to do, and this he determined to discover. So he went to New York and made inquiries at the offices of the company acting as Cabot's guardian; but could only learn that the young man had left the city after two private interviews with President Hepburn. At the club where Cabot had lunched on the day of his departure, Thorpe's appearance created surprise.
"Thought you had started off with Grant on a trip around the world?" said one member in greeting him.
"No," replied Walling; "we are not going."
"But he sailed two days ago. At least, he said that was what he was about to do when he bade me good-bye on his way to the steamer."
"What steamer, and where was she bound?" asked Thorpe.
"Don't know. He only said he was about to sail."
"I'll not be beaten that way," thought Walling, angrily; and, having plenty of money to expend as best suited him, he straightway engaged the services of a private detective. This man was instructed to ascertain for what port a certain Cabot Grant had sailed from New York two days earlier, and that very evening the coveted information was in his possession.
"Sailed on the 'Lavinia' for St. Johns, Newfoundland, has he?" muttered Thorpe. "Then I, too, will visit St. Johns, and discover what he is doing. I might as well go there as anywhere else; and perhaps Grant will find out that it would have been wiser to confide in an old friend than to treat him as shabbily as he has me."
Having reached this decision, Walling took a train from New York, and, travelling by way of Boston, Portland, and Bangor, crossed the St. Croix River from Maine into New Brunswick at Vanceboro. From there he went, via St. John, N.B., and Truro, Nova Scotia, to Port Mulgrave, where he passed over the Strait of Canso to Cape Breton. Across that island his route lay through the Bras d'Or country to North Sidney, at which point he took steamer for Port aux Basques and the Newfoundland railway that should finally land him in St. Johns. On this journey he became acquainted with several Americans, with whom he played whist, which is what he was doing when his train pulled up at the St. George's Bay platform.
At sight of his classmate, Cabot became instantly desirious of avoiding him and the embarrassing questions he would be certain to ask. Although our young engineer could not imagine why Thorpe Walling had come to Newfoundland, he instinctively felt that the visit had something to do with his own trip to the island. He knew that Thorpe delighted to pry into the secrets of others; and also that he was of a vindictive nature, quick to take offence, and unscrupulous in his enmities. Therefore, as his instructions permitted him to visit whatever part of Newfoundland he chose, he decided to avoid St. Johns for the present rather than risk the results of a companionship that now seemed so undesirable.
Somewhat earlier on that same day one of Thorpe's travelling companions, named Gregg, spoke to him of Newfoundland's mineral wealth, and referred particularly to the Bell Island iron mines.
"Yes," replied Walling, who had never before heard of Bell Island, "they must be immensely valuable."
"Oh, I don't know," said the other, carelessly. "Several American companies are trying to get control of them; but perhaps they are not what they are cracked up to be after all."
"Isn't a New York man by the name of Hepburn one of the interested parties?" asked Thorpe, at a venture.
"Yes, he is," responded Mr. Gregg, turning on him sharply. "Why, do you know him?"
"I can't say that I know him; but I know a good deal about him, and have every reason to believe that he has just sent an acquaintance of mine, a young mining engineer, up here to examine that very property."
"Is he an expert?"
"Oh, yes. He and I were classmates at a technical institute."
"Then you also are a mining engineer?"
"I am."
"Have you come to Newfoundland to investigate mineral lands?"
"Not exactly; though I may do something in that line if I find a good opening. At present I am merely on a pleasure trip."
"I see, and I am glad to have made your acquaintance, as I am somewhat interested in mineral lands myself. When we reach St. Johns I hope you will introduce me to your friend, and it may happen that I can return the favour by putting you on to a good thing."
"Certainly, I will introduce you if we run across him," replied Thorpe. "At the same time I hope you won't mention having any knowledge of his business, as he is trying to keep it quiet."
"Like most of us who have 'deals' on hand," remarked the other, with a meaning smile. "But it is hard to hide them from clever chaps like yourself."
At which compliment, Thorpe, who had only been making some shrewd guesses, looked wise, but said nothing.
It happened that these two were playing whist when the train reached St. George's Bay, and Mr. Gregg remarked to his partner:
"There's a chap staring at this crowd as if he knew some of us."
Thorpe glanced from the window, and started from his seat with an exclamation. At the same moment Cabot Grant turned away and hurried from the station.
"Do you know him?" asked Mr. Gregg.
"He is the very person I was speaking to you about a while ago," replied Thorpe.
At sight of Cabot, Thorpe Walling's instinct had been to leave the car and follow him; but the thought of his luggage, which he knew he could not get off in time, caused him to hesitate, and then it was too late, for the train was again in motion.
"The young man did not seem particularly anxious to meet his old classmate," remarked Mr. Gregg. "In fact, it rather looked as though he wished to avoid recognition."
Thorpe pretended to be too busy with his cards to make reply to this suggestion; but an ugly expression came into his face, and, from that moment, he hated Cabot Grant. When, on the following day, he reached St. Johns and learned of the loss of the "Lavinia," with all on board, except those saved in the mate's boat, he was more perplexed than ever. Cabot's name was published as one of those who had gone down with the ill-fated steamer, and yet he had certainly seen him alive and well only the day before. What could it mean?
"Do you suppose Hepburn knows of his escape?" asked Mr. Gregg, who was stopping at the same hotel, and to whom Thorpe confided this mystery.
"I haven't an idea."
"What do you say to wiring and finding out? It can't do us any harm, and might gain us an insight into the old man's plans up here."
"I should say it was a good idea."
As a result of this desire for information the following telegram was sent to the president of the Gotham Trust and Investment Company:
"St. Johns, N'f'l'd.—Here all right. What shall I do next?——C. G."
And the answer came promptly:
"Congratulations. Send B. I. report. If in need of funds, draw.——H."
"That settles it!" exclaimed Mr. Gregg, exultingly. "Hepburn is after Bell Island, and your friend was sent here to report upon its value. Now, it will be a pity if the old man doesn't get his information, which he isn't likely to do for some time with that young chap over on the west coast. Some one ought to send him a report."
"I have a mind to do it myself," said Thorpe, reflectively.
"It would be an awfully decent thing for you to do. Be a good joke on your friend, too, and make him fed ashamed of himself for cutting you so dead yesterday, when he finds it out. He is bound to get into trouble if some sort of a report isn't sent in, now that he is known to have escaped from the wreck."
"Confound him!" exclaimed Thorpe. "I don't care how soon he gets into trouble; nor how much."
"Oh, come. That isn't a nice way to speak of an old friend and classmate," remarked Mr. Gregg, reprovingly. "Now, I always feel sorry when I see a decent young chap like that throwing away a good chance, and want to help him if I can. So in the present case, I think we really ought to send in a report that will satisfy old Hepburn, and keep the boy solid with his employers. I shouldn't know how to word it myself, but if you, with your expert knowledge of the subject, will make it out, of course after taking a look at the mine, I'll see that you don't lose anything by your kindness."
"All right," replied Thorpe, who was quite sharp enough to comprehend the other's meaning. "I'll do it."
So the two conspirators drove to the picturesque fishing village of Portugal Cove, where they hired a boat to carry them across to Bell Island. There they paid a hasty visit to the mine, which Mr. Gregg plausibly belittled and undervalued, until Thorpe really began to consider it a greatly overestimated piece of property, and this idea he embodied in a report that he wrote out that very evening.
"I'm glad to see that you think as I do concerning the real worthlessness of Bell Island," remarked Mr. Gregg, gravely, as he glanced over the paper, "and the man who would have anything to do with it after reading this must be a greater fool than I take old Hepburn to be."
On the following day a type-written copy of Thorpe's report was made, signed "C. G.," and forwarded by mail to the president of the Gotham Trust and Investment Company. As a result, a telegram was received a week later at the Bank of Nova Scotia in St. Johns addressed to Cabot Grant, and desiring him to return at once to New York. As the bank people wired back that they had no knowledge of any such person, Mr. Hepburn in reply requested them to keep a sharp lookout for a young man of that name, who would shortly present a letter of credit to them, and provide him with a ticket to New York on account of it, but nothing more. Mr. Hepburn also explained that, as Cabot Grant's guardian, he had the right to thus limit his ward's expenditures.
Thus our lad fell into disgrace with his employer, who knew, as well as any man living, the exact status of the Bell Island iron mine, and had only requested Cabot to report on it in order to test his fitness for other work.
While the correspondence with the bank was being carried on, Messrs. Walling and Gregg watched for the arrival of the young engineer, whom they expected by every train. They also anxiously awaited the news that the Hepburn syndicate had withdrawn its offer for the Bell Island property, in which event it would fall, at a greatly reduced price, to the company represented by Mr. Gregg.
Totally unconscious of all this, Cabot Grant was at that very time in a remote corner of the west coast, happily engaged in aiding certain of its inhabitants to discomfit the combined naval forces of two of the most powerful governments of the world. Moreover, he had become so interested in this exciting occupation, as well as in certain discoveries that he was making, as to have very nearly lost sight of his intention to visit the capital of the island.
When he reëmbarked on the "Sea Bee" at St. George's Bay, he fully intended to catch the train of two days later at the station to which White had promised to convey him. He was glad of a chance to view some more of that magnificent west coast scenery, and when the little schooner finally rounded South Head, and was pointed towards the massive front of Blomidon, which David Gidge called "Blow-me-down," he felt well repaid for his delay by the enchanting beauty of the Bay of Islands that lay outspread before them.
Soon after passing South Head, the "Sea Bee," with flags flying from both masts, slipped through a narrow passage into the land-locked basin of Pretty Harbour. On its further shore stood a handful of white houses, and a larger building that fronted the water.
"That's our factory!" cried White, "and there is our house, on the hillside, just beyond. See, the one with the dormer windows. There's Cola waving from one of them now. Bless her! She must have been watching, to sight us so quickly. Oh, I can't wait. Dave, you take the 'Bee' up to the wharf. Mr. Grant will help you, I know, as well as excuse me if I go ashore first."
"Of course, I will," replied Cabot; and in another minute the young skipper was sculling ashore in the dinghy, while the schooner drifted more slowly in the same direction.
When they finally reached the factory wharf White was on hand to meet them, and beside him stood the slender, merry-eyed girl for whom the schooner had been named. She unaffectedly held out a hand to Cabot when they were introduced, and at once invited him to the house to meet her mother.
"Yes," said White, "you two go along, and don't wait for me. You see," he added, apologetically, to Cabot, "there's been a great catch of lobsters, and if I can only get them packed before we are interfered with, we'll make a pretty good season of it, after all."
So the new-comer walked with Cola up the straggling village street, past a score of fisher cottages, each with a tiny porch, pots of flowers in the front windows, and a bit of a garden fenced with wattles, to keep out the children, goats, dogs, and pigs, that swarmed on all sides. At length they came to the neatly kept and comfortable-looking house, overlooking the whole, that White Baldwin called home. Here Cabot was presented to the sweet-faced invalid mother, who sat beside a window of the living-room, from which she could look out on the little harbour, and who was eager to learn the details of his recent experiences that White had only found time to outline to her.
Both mother and daughter listened with deepest interest while Cabot told of the loss of the "Lavinia," and when he had finished Mrs. Baldwin said:
"You certainly made a wonderful escape, and I am grateful that my boy was granted the privilege of rescuing you from that dreadful raft. I am confident, also, that you have been brought to this place for some wise purpose, and trust that you are planning to remain with us as long as your engagements will permit."
"Thank you, madam," replied Cabot. "I wish I might accept your hospitality for a week, at least. For I am certain I should find much to enjoy in this delightful region. I feel, however, that I ought to catch to-morrow's train, as it is rather necessary for me to reach St. Johns without further delay."
"It seems queer," remarked Cola, "that this stupid place can strike even a stranger as being delightful, since there is no one to see but fisherfolk, who can talk of nothing but fish, and there isn't a thing to do but watch the boats go and come. For my part, I am so tired of it all that I wish something would happen to send us away from here forever."
"My dear!" said Mrs. Baldwin to Cola, reprovingly.
"Some one seems to have found an occupation here in collecting a cabinet of specimens," suggested Cabot, indicating, as he spoke, some shelves covered with bits of rock, that had attracted his attention.
"Yes," admitted Cola, "I have found some amusement in gathering those things; but I don't know what half of them are, and there is no one here to tell me."
"Possibly I might help you to name some of them," said Cabot, "as I have a bowing acquaintance with geology."
"Oh! can you?" cried the girl. "Then I wish you would, right away, for I am almost certain that several of them contain minerals, and I want awfully to know if they are gold."
The next moment the two young people were standing before the cabinet, deep in the mysteries of periods, ages, formations, series, and other profound geologic terms. All at once Cabot paused, and, holding a bit of serpentine in his hand, asked:
"Did this come from about here?"
"Did this come from about here?"[Illustration: "Did this come from about here?"]
"Did this come from about here?"[Illustration: "Did this come from about here?"]
"Yes; ail of them did."
"Could you show me the place, or somewhere near where you found it?"
"I think I could, if we had time; but not if you are going away in the morning, for it would take at least half a day."
"Well," said Cabot, "I believe I might wait over long enough for that, and guess I won't start for St. Johns to-morrow, after all."
The Baldwins were greatly pleased at Cabot's decision to wait over a train; for, as Mrs. Baldwin said, a desirable guest in that out-of-the-way corner of the world was the greatest of luxuries. White was glad to prolong the friendship so strangely begun, and also to escape a present necessity for leaving his work to carry Cabot to the distant railway station, while Cola was delighted to have found what she termed a geologic companion. After it was arranged that these two should set forth early the following day on a search for specimens, Cabot strolled down to the factory to learn something of the process of canning lobsters.
He was amazed at the change effected in so short a time. When he landed at Pretty Harbour the factory had been closed, silent, and deserted. Now it was a hive of bustling activity, in which every available person of the village, including women and children, was hard at work. Fires were blazing under a number of great kettles half filled with boiling water. Into these, green lobsters were tossed by barrowfuls, to be taken out a little later smoking hot and coloured a vivid scarlet. On the packing tables their shells were broken, and the extracted meat was put into cans, to which covers, each with a tiny hole in the middle, were soldered. Then the filled cans were steamed, by trayfuls, to exhaust their air; a drop of solder closed each vent, and they were ready for labelling and packing in cases. White Baldwin, in person, superintended all these operations, while David Gidge saw to the unloading of the "Sea Bee," and kept sharp watch on a gang of shouting urchins, who were withdrawing the live lobsters from the outside salt-water pens, in which they had been kept while awaiting their fate.
White was in high spirits, for the travelling agent of a St. Johns business house had just offered a good cash price for his entire pack.
"Of course," the young proprietor said to Cabot, as they viewed the busy scone, "we won't make anything like what we would if we were allowed a whole uninterrupted season; but, if they will only let us alone for a week, I'll pack a thousand cases. Those will yield enough to support us for a year, and before that is up I'm not afraid but that I'll find some other way of earning a living. Now, if I can only get sufficient help, I'm going to run this factory night and day for the next week, unless compelled by force to stop sooner."
Cabot was already so interested that he promptly volunteered to aid in making the all-important pack.
"I don't know anything about the business," he said, "but if you can make use of me in any way, I shall be only too glad of a chance to repay a small portion of the great debt I owe you."
"Nonsense!" laughed White. "You don't owe me a thing, and I don't want you to feel that way. At the same time I should be ever so glad of your help in getting things well started; for just now one strong fellow like you would be worth a dozen of those children."
So, a few minutes later, Cabot, clad in overalls and an old flannel shirt of White's, was as hard at work as though the canning of lobsters was the business of his life. Far into the night he laboured, only pausing long enough to go up to the house for supper; and, on the following morning, he was actually pleased that a heavy rain storm should postpone the trip for specimens, furnish him with an excuse for prolonging his stay, and leave him at liberty to resume his self-imposed task in the factory.
The storm lasted for two days, at the end of which time half the pack had been made, and Cabot had become so familiar with all details of the work as to be a most valuable assistant. On the third day, the supply of lobsters on hand being exhausted, operations were suspended until the boats could return with a new catch; and, as the weather was again fine, Cabot and Cola set forth on their geological exploration.
It was a glorious day, with a sky of deepest blue; the hot sunshine tempered by a cool breeze pouring in from the sea, and all nature sparkling with joyous life. To Cabot, who had thought of Newfoundland as a place of perpetual fog, and almost constant rain, the whole scene was a source of boundless delight. As the two young people climbed the steep ascent behind the village, new beauties were unfolded with each moment, until, when they reached the crest, and could look far out over the islanded bay, with the placid cove and its white hamlet nestling at their feet, Cabot declared his belief that there was not a more exquisite view in all the world.
After gazing their fill, the explorers plunged into a sweet-scented forest of spruce and birches, threaded by narrow wood roads, and tramped for miles, stopping now and then to examine some outcropping ledge or gather a handful of snow-white capilear berries. But the main object of their quest, the copper-bearing serpentine, was not found until they had gained the summit of the Blomidon range and were in full view of the sea. Then they came to a distinct outcrop of mineral-bearing rock that caused the eyes of the young geologist to glisten with anticipation.
While he chipped off specimens, studied the trend of the ledge, and made such estimates of its character as were possible from surface indications, his companion climbed a rocky eminence that, short of Blomidon itself, commanded the most extended view of any in that region. She had hardly gained the summit when she uttered a cry that attracted Cabot's attention and caused him to hasten in her direction. In a few moments he met her running breathlessly down the hill.
"What is it?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
"A warship coming up the coast," she panted. "I saw it plainly, and we must get back with the news as quick as we can."
Much as Cabot hated to give over the exploration of that wonderful copper-bearing ledge, he did not hesitate to obey the imperative call of friendship, and accompanied Cola with all speed back to the village. When they reached it they found White jubilant over the extraordinary catch of lobsters that was even then being brought in.
"Hurrah!" he cried, as Cabot appeared. "Biggest catch of the season, and you are just in time to help pack it away. But what brings you back so early? I thought you were off for all day."
"Oh, White, they are coming!" gasped Cola.
"Who are coming?"
"A warship. I saw it from Maintop."
"British or French?"
"I don't know. I only knew it was a warship because it was so much bigger than the 'Harlaw' and had tall masts."
"Well, it don't make any difference," growled White, "one is just as bad as another, and our business is ruined anyway. Why couldn't they have kept away for three days longer?"
"What will they do?" inquired Cabot, curiously.
"I don't know," replied White, bitterly. "Either destroy or seize the whole plant and leave us to starve at our leisure. Now, I suppose we might as well go up to the house and tell mother. There's no use doing any more work under the circumstances."
"I don't see why not," objected Cabot, who was not accustomed to throwing up a fight before it was begun. "There is a possibility that the vessel may not be a warship after all, and another that she is not coming to this place. Even if she does, you don't know that she has any warrant for interfering with your business. So, if I were you, I'd go right on with the work and keep at it until some one compelled me to stop. I say, though, speaking of warrants gives me an idea. All you want is three days' delay, isn't it?"
"That is what I want most just now," replied White.
"Well, then, why not place this property in the name of some friend—David Gidge, for instance—and when those men-of-war people begin to make trouble let him ask them whose factory it is they are after. They will say yours, or your mother's, of course. Then he'll speak up and say in that case they've come to the wrong place, since this is the property of Mr. David Gidge, while their warrant only mentions that of Mrs. Whiteway Baldwin. It'll be a big bluff, of course, and won't work for very long, but it may puzzle 'em a bit and give the delay of proceedings that you require."
"I believe you are right about keeping on with the work," replied White, thoughtfully; "though I am not so sure about the other part of your scheme. Anyway, I must run to the house for a little talk with mother, and if you'll just set things going in the factory I shall be much obliged."
"All right," agreed Cabot, "I'll shake 'em up."
And he was as good as his word, for when, after an absence of more than an hour, White reappeared on the scene he found the factory in full blast, with its operatives working as they had never worked before, and Cabot Grant, the most disreputable-looking of the lot, urging them on by voice and example to still greater exertions. He seemed to be everywhere and doing everything at once.
"Hello, old man! We've got greenbacks to burn, and we're a-burning 'em," he cried cheerily as he paused to greet his friend, and at the same time dash the streaming perspiration from his face with a grimy hand. "What's the news?"
"The news is that you are a trump!" exclaimed White, "and that in spite of all you are doing for us we want you to grant us still another favour."
"Name it, my boy, and if it is anything within reason, including a defiance of the whole British navy, I'll do it," laughed Cabot.
"I hope you will, for it is something that we all want you to do very much," responded White. "You see it's this way. I spoke of your suggestion to mother, and she thought so well of it that I went to the magistrate and got him to draw up a deed transferring this property, for a nominal consideration, to a friend. Now it is all ready for signatures, and we want you to be that friend."
"Me!" cried Cabot, completely staggered by this unexpected result of his own planning. "You can't mean that. Why, you don't know anything about me. For all you know I might never give the property back to you."
"We are willing to risk that," replied White, "and would rather trust you to act for us in this matter than any one else we know. It is a big favour to ask, I know; but you said you felt indebted to me and only wanted a chance to pay off the debt, so I thought perhaps—but if you don't want to do it, of course——"
"But I will, if you really want me to," cried Cabot. "I have always longed to own a lobster factory. It never entered my head when I proposed the plan that I would help carry it out; but if you think I can be of the slightest assistance in that way, why of course I am only too glad."
So the papers constituting Cabot Grant, Esq., sole owner of the Pretty Harbour lobster factory were duly signed and recorded; and at sunset of that very evening our hero stood regarding his suddenly acquired property with the air of one who is dubiously pleased at a prospect.
Cabot was not long allowed to enjoy his sense of possession before experiencing some of the anxieties of proprietorship; for, even as he stood overlooking his newly acquired factory, a clipper-built schooner, showing the fine lines and tall topmasts of an American, rounded the outer headland and entered the harbour. For a few minutes our young engineer, who was learning to appreciate the good points of a vessel, watched her admiringly as she glided across the basin and drew near the factory wharf. Then he was joined by White, who had been detained at the house, and they went down together to greet the new-comer.
She proved to be the fishing schooner "Ruth" of Gloucester, and her skipper, who introduced himself as Cap'n Ezekiel Bland, explained that he had come to the coast after bait.
"I 'lowed to get it in St. George," he said, "but there was a pesky French frigate that wouldn't allow the natives to sell us so much as a herring, though they had a-plenty and were keen to make a trade for the stuff I've got aboard."
"What kind of stuff?" asked Cabot, curiously.
"Flour and pork mostly. You see, I'm bound on a long trip, and being obliged to lay in a big supply of grub anyway, thought I might as well stow a few extra barrels to trade for bait; but now it looks like I couldn't get rid of 'em unless I give 'em away."
"There's plenty of bait in the bay," remarked White.
"Yes, so I've heard, and a plenty of frigates, too. The Frenchy must have suspicioned where I was bound, for he has followed us up sharp, and as we came by South Head I seen him jest a bilin' along 'bout ten mile astarn, and now he'll poke into every hole of the bay till he finds us. Anyhow, there won't be no chance to trade long as he's round, for you folks don't dare say your soul's your own when there's a Frenchy on the coast."
"Nor hardly at any other time," remarked White, moodily.
"There's another one, too—Britisher, I reckon—went up the bay towards Humber Arm ahead of us. I only wish the two tarnal critters would get into a scrap and blow each other out of the water. Then there'd be some chance for honest folks to make a living. Now I'm up a stump and don't know what to do, unless some of you people can let me have a few barrels of bait right off, so's I can clear out again to-night."
"There isn't any to be had here," replied White, "for this is a lobster factory, and the whole business of the place, just at present, is catching and canning lobsters. You'll find some round at York Harbour, though."
"No use going there now, nor anywhere else, long as that pesky Frenchman's on the lookout. Can't think what made him leave St. Pierre in such a hurry. Thought he was good to stay there a week longer at any rate. But say, who owns this factory?"
"This gentleman is the proprietor," replied White, indicating his companion as he spoke.
"Hm!" ejaculated the Yankee skipper, regarding Cabot with an air of interest. "Never should have took you to be the owner of a Newfoundland lobster factory. Sized you up to be a Yankee same as myself, and reckoned you was here on a visit. Seeing as you are the boss, though, how'd you like to trade your pack for my cargo—lobsters for groceries? Both of us might make a good thing out of it. Eh? I'll take all the risks, and neither of us needn't pay no duty."
"Can't do it," replied Cabot promptly, "because, in the first place, I'm not in the smuggling business, and in the second our whole pack is engaged by parties in St. Johns."
"As for the smuggling part," responded Captain Bland, "I wouldn't let that worry me a little bit. Everybody smuggles on this coast, which is neither British, French, nor Newfoundland. So a man wouldn't rightly know who to pay duties to, even if he wanted to pay 'em ever so bad, which most of us don't. If you have engaged your goods to St. Johns, though, of course a bargain is a bargain. Same time I could afford to pay you twice as much as any St. Johns merchant. But it don't matter much one way or another, seeing as the idea of trading was only an idea as you may say that just popped into my head. Well, so long. It's coming on dark, and I must be getting aboard. See you to-morrow, mebbe."
As the Yankee skipper took his departure, Cabot and White turned into the factory, where all night long fires blazed and roared beneath the seething kettles.
Until nearly noon of the following day the work of canning lobsters was continued without interruption, and pushed with all possible energy. Then a boy, who had been posted outside the harbour as a lookout, came hurrying in to report that he had seen a naval launch steaming in that direction.
The emergency for which Cabot had been planning ever since he consented to become the responsible head of the concern was close at hand, and he at once began to take measures to meet it.
"Draw your fires," he shouted. "Empty the kettles and cool them off. Pass all cans, empty or full, up into the loft, and then every one of you clear out. Remember that you are not to know a thing about the factory, if anybody asks questions, and you don't even want to give any one a chance to ask questions if you can help it. Run up to the house," he added, turning to the boy who had brought tidings of the enemy's approach, "and tell Mrs. Baldwin, with my compliments, that the carriage is ready for her drive."
So thoroughly had everything been explained and understood beforehand, and so promptly were these orders obeyed, that, half an hour later, when a jaunty man-of-war's launch, flying a British Jack, entered the little harbour, every preparation had been made for her reception. The factory, closed and silent, presented no outward sign that it had been in operation for months. Those who had recently worked so industriously within its weather-stained walls now lounged about their own house doors, or on the village street, as though they had nothing to do, and limitless leisure in which to do it. White Baldwin, with his mother and sister, had driven away in a cart, leaving their tenantless house with closed doors and tightly shuttered windows. Cabot Grant, with hands thrust into his trousers pockets, leaned against a wharf post and surveyed the oncoming launch with languid curiosity. The Yankee schooner swung gracefully at her moorings, and from her a boat was pulling towards shore; while on the deck of the "Sea Bee," also anchored in the stream, David Gidge placidly smoked a pipe.
The launch slowed down as it neared him, and an officer inquired in the crisp tones of authority:
"What place is this?"
Deliberately taking the pipe from his mouth, and looking about him as though to refresh his memory, Mr. Gidge answered:
"I've heard it called by a number of names."
"Was one of them Pretty Harbour?"
"Now that you mention it, I believe it were."
"What kind of a building is that?" continued the officer, sharply, pointing to the factory as he spoke.
David gazed at the building with interest, as though now seeing it for the first time.
"Looks to me like a barn," he said at length. "Same time it might be a church, though I don't reckon it is."
"Isn't it a lobster factory?"
"They might make lobsters in it, but I don't think they does. Mebbe that young man on the wharf could tell ye. He looks knowing."
Disgusted at this exhibition of stupidity, and muttering something about a chuckle-headed idiot, the officer motioned for his launch to move ahead, and, in another minute, it lay alongside the wharf.
"Is this the Pretty Harbour lobster factory?" demanded the officer as he stepped ashore.
"I believe it was formerly used as a lobster cannery," replied Cabot, guardedly, "but no business of the kind is being carried on here at present."
"It is owned by the family of the late William Baldwin, is it not?"
"No, sir."
"Who then does own the property?"
"I do."
"You!" exclaimed the officer. "And pray, sir, who are you?"
"I am an American citizen named Grant, and have recently acquired this property by purchase."
"Indeed. Then of course you possess papers showing the transfer of ownership."
"Certainly."
"I should like to look at them."
"They have been sent for record to the county seat, where any one who chooses may examine them."
"Where shall I find a person by the name of Whiteway Baldwin?"
"I can't tell you, as he has left the place."
"Is any member of his family here?"
"No. All of them went with him."
"Have you the keys of this factory?"
"I have."
"Then I must trouble you to open it, as I wish to look inside."
As the two entered the building, and the officer caught sight of the machinery used in canning lobsters, he said:
"I am very sorry, Mr. Grant, but I have orders to destroy everything found in this factory that has been, or may be, used in the canning of lobsters."
"Those orders apply to the property of Mrs. William Baldwin, do they not?"
"They do."
"Then, sir, since she no longer owns this building, and I do, together with all that it contains, I warn you that if you destroy one penny's worth of my property I shall at once bring suit for damages against both you and your commanding officer. I can command plenty of money and a powerful influence at home, both of which shall be brought to bear on the case. If it goes against you my claim will be pressed by the American Government at the Court of St. James. Moreover, articles concerning the outrage will be published in all the leading American papers. Public sentiment will be aroused, and you doubtless know as well as any one whether England, with all the troubles now on her hands, can afford to incur the ill will of the American people for the sake of a pitiful lobster factory. You can see for yourself that no illegal business—nor in fact business of any kind—is being carried on here at present, and, under the circumstances, I would advise you to take time for serious reflection before you begin to destroy the property of an American citizen."
Bewildered by this unexpected aspect of the situation, and remembering how a suit brought by the proprietors of that same factory had gone against a former British commander who had interfered with its operations, the officer hemmed and hawed and made several remarks uncomplimentary to Americans, but finally decided to lay the case before his captain. As he reëntered his launch he said:
"Of course you understand, sir, that no work of any kind is to be done in this building between this and the time of my return, nor may anything whatever be removed from it."
"I understand perfectly," replied Cabot. Yet within half an hour the employees of the factory had returned to their tasks, fires had been re-lighted, kettles were boiling merrily, and the place again hummed with busy activity.
"Young feller, it was the biggest bluff I ever see, and it worked!" exclaimed Captain Ezekiel Bland a few minutes earlier, as he stood on the wharf with Cabot watching the departing launch.