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Title: Under the Great Bear

Author: Kirk Munroe

Release Date: September 11, 2006 [EBook #19235]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE GREAT BEAR ***




Produced by Al Haines










[Frontispiece: From it was evoked a monstrous shape.]







  "Above this far northern sea Ursa
  Major sailed so directly overhead
  that he seemed like to fall on us."
      --_From an early voyage to the coast of Labrador_.




Under the Great Bear


BY

KIRK MUNROE




AUTHOR OF

"The Flamingo Feather," "Dorymates," "The White Conquerors," Etc.




New York

International Association of Newspapers and Authors

1901




COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY




TABLE OF CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

      I. GRADUATION: BUT WHAT NEXT?
     II. AN OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT
    III. THE STRANGE FATE OF A STEAMER
     IV. ALONE ON THE LIFE RAFT
      V. WHITE BALDWIN AND HIS "SEA BEE"
     VI. THE FRENCH SHORE QUESTION
    VII. DEFYING A FRIGATE
   VIII. A CLASSMATE TO BE AVOIDED
     IX. SENDING IN A FALSE REPORT
      X. CABOT ACQUIRES A LOBSTER FACTORY
     XI. BLUFFING THE BRITISH NAVY
    XII. ENGLAND AND FRANCE COME TO BLOWS
   XIII. A PRISONER OF WAR
    XIV. THE "SEA BEE" UNDER FIRE
     XV. OFF FOR LABRADOR
    XVI. MOSQUITOES OF THE FAR NORTH
   XVII. IMPRISONED BY AN ICEBERG
  XVIII. FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE NATIVES
    XIX. A MELANCHOLY SITUATION
     XX. COMING OF THE MAN-WOLF
    XXI. A WELCOME MISSIONARY
   XXII. GOOD-BYE TO THE "SEA BEE"
  XXIII. THE COMFORT OF AN ESKIMO LAMP
   XXIV. OBJECTS OF CHARITY
    XXV. LOST IN A BLIZZARD
   XXVI. AN ELECTRICIAN IN THE WILDERNESS
  XXVII. THE MAN-WOLF'S STORY
 XXVIII. CABOT IS LEFT ALONE
   XXIX. DRIFTING WITH THE ICE PACK
    XXX. THE COMING OF DAVID GIDGE
   XXXI. ASSISTANT MANAGER OF THE MAN-WOLF MINE




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


From It Was Evoked A Monstrous Shape . . . _Frontispiece_

On The Deck Of The Steamer "Lavinia"

He Began To Kick At It With The Hope Of Smashing
  One Of Its Panels

At This The Enraged Officer Whipped Out A Revolver

"Did This Come From About Here?"

Others Fell On The New-Comers With Their Fists

Livid With Rage, The Frenchman Whipped Out An
  Ugly-Looking Knife

A Solitary Figure Stood On The Chest Of A Bald Headland

"Yim"

"My Name Is Watson Balfour"

He Reached A Point From Which He Could Look Beyond The Barrier

"My Dear Boy, You Have Done Splendidly"




UNDER THE GREAT BEAR.


CHAPTER I.

GRADUATION: BUT WHAT NEXT?

"Heigh-ho!  I wonder what comes next?" sighed Cabot Grant as he tumbled
wearily into bed.

The day just ended marked the close of a most important era in his
life; for on it he had been graduated from the Technical Institute, in
which he had studied his chosen profession, and the coveted sheepskin
that entitled him to sign M.E. in capital letters after his name had
been in his possession but a few hours.

Although Cabot came of an old New England family, and had been given
every educational advantage, he had not graduated with honours, having,
in fact, barely scraped through his final examination.  He had devoted
altogether too much time to athletics, and to the congenial task of
acquiring popularity, to have much left for study.  Therefore, while it
had been pleasant to be one of the best-liked fellows in the Institute,
captain of its football team, and a leading figure in the festivities
of the day just ended, now that it was all over our lad was regretting
that he had not made a still better use of his opportunities.

A number of his classmates had already been offered fine positions in
the business world now looming so ominously close before him.  Little
pale-faced Dick Chandler, for instance, was to start at once for South
Africa, in the interests of a wealthy corporation.  Ned Burnett was to
be assistant engineer of a famous copper mine; a world-renowned
electrical company had secured the services of Smith Redfield, and so
on through a dozen names, no one of which was as well known as his, but
all outranking it on the graduate list of that day.

Cabot had often heard that the career of Institute students was closely
watched by individuals, firms, and corporations in need of young men
for responsible positions, and had more than once resolved to graduate
with a rank that should attract the attention of such persons.  But
there had been so much to do besides study that had seemed more
important at the time, that he had allowed day after day to slip by
without making the required effort, and now it appeared that no one
wanted him.

Yes, there was one person who had made him a proposition that very day.
Thorpe Walling, the wealthiest fellow in the class, and one of its few
members who had failed to gain a diploma, had said:

"Look here, Grant, what do you say to taking a year's trip around the
world with me, while I coach for a degree next June?  There is no such
educator as travel, you know, and we'll make a point of going to all
sorts of places where we can pick up ideas.  At the same time it'll be
no end of a lark."

"I don't know," Cabot had replied doubtfully, though his face had
lighted at the mere idea of taking such a trip.  "I'd rather do that
than almost anything else I know of, but----"

"If you are thinking of the expense," broke in the other.

"It isn't that," interrupted Cabot, "but it seems somehow as though I
ought to be doing something more in the line of business.  Anyway, I
can't give you an answer until I have seen my guardian, who has sent me
word to meet him in New York day after to-morrow.  I'll let you know
what he says, and if everything is all right, perhaps I'll go with you."

With this the matter had rested, and during the manifold excitements of
the day our lad had not given it another thought, until he tumbled into
bed, wondering what would happen next.  Then for a long time he lay
awake, considering Thorpe's proposition, and wishing that it had been
made by any other fellow in the class.

Until about the time of entering the Technical Institute, from which he
was just graduated, Cabot Grant, who was an only child, had been
blessed with as happy a home as ever a boy enjoyed.  Then in a breath
it was taken from him by a railway accident, that had caused the
instant death of his mother, and which the father had only survived
long enough to provide for his son's immediate future by making a will.
By its terms his slender fortune was placed in the hands of a trust and
investment company, who were constituted the boy's guardians, and
enjoined to give their ward a liberal education along such lines as he
himself might choose.

The corporation thus empowered had been faithful to its trust, and had
carried out to the letter the instructions of their deceased client
during the past five years.  Now less than a twelvemonth of their
guardianship remained and it was to plan for his disposal of this time
that Cabot had been summoned to New York.

He had never met the president of the corporation, and it was with no
little curiosity concerning him that he awaited, in a sumptuously
appointed anteroom, his turn for an audience with the busy man.  At
length he was shown into a plainly furnished private office occupied by
but two persons, one somewhat past middle age, with a shrewd,
smooth-shaven face, and the other much younger, who was evidently a
private secretary.

Of course Cabot instantly knew the former to be President Hepburn; and
also, to his surprise, recognised him as one who had occupied a
prominent position on the platform of the Institute hall when he had
graduated two days earlier.

"Yes," said Mr. Hepburn, in a crisp, business tone, as he noted the
lad's flash of recognition, "I happened to be passing through and
dropped in to see our ward graduate.  I was, of course, disappointed
that you did not take higher rank.  At the same time I concluded not to
make myself known to you, for fear of interfering with some of your
plans for the day.  It also seemed to me better that we should talk
business here.  Now, with your Institute career ended, how do you
propose to spend the remainder of your minority?  I ask because, as you
doubtless know, our instructions are to consult your wishes in all
matters, and conform to them as far as possible."

"I appreciate your kindness in that respect," replied Cabot, who was
somewhat chilled by this business-like reception, "and have decided, if
the funds remaining in your hands are sufficient for the purpose, to
spend the coming year in foreign travel; in fact, to take a trip around
the world."

"With any definite object in view," inquired Mr. Hepburn, "or merely
for pleasure?"

"With the definite object of studying my chosen profession wherever I
may find it practised."

"Um!  Just so.  Do you propose to take this trip alone or in company?"

"I propose to go with Thorpe Walling, one of my classmates."

"Son of the late General Walling, and a man who failed to graduate, is
he not?"

"Yes, sir.  Do you know him?"

"I knew his father, and wish you had chosen some other companion."

"I did not choose him.  He chose me, and invited me to go with him."

"At your own expense, I suppose?"

"Certainly!  I could not have considered his proposition otherwise."

"Of course not," agreed Mr. Hepburn, "seeing that you have funds quite
sufficient for such a venture, if used with economy.  And you have
decided that you would rather spend the ensuing year in foreign travel
with Thorpe Walling than do anything else?"

"I think I have, sir."

"Very well, my boy.  While I cannot say that I consider your decision
the best that could be made, I have no valid objections to offer, and
am bound to grant as far as possible your reasonable desires.  So you
have my consent to this scheme, if not my whole approval.  When do you
plan to start?"

"Thorpe wishes to go at once."

"Then, if you will call here to-morrow morning at about this hour, I
will have arranged for your letter of credit, and anything else that
may suggest itself for making your trip a pleasant one."

"Thank you, sir," said Cabot, who, believing the interview to be ended,
turned to leave the room.

"By the way," continued Mr. Hepburn, "there is another thing I wish to
mention.  Can you recommend one of your recent classmates for an
important mission, to be undertaken at once to an out-of-the-way part
of the world?  He must be a young man of good morals, able to keep his
business affairs to himself, not afraid of hard work, and willing as
well as physically able to endure hardships.  His intelligence and
mental fitness will, of course, be guaranteed by the Institute's
diploma.  Our company is in immediate need of such a person, and will
engage him at a good salary for a year, with certain prospects of
advancement, if he gives satisfaction.  Think it over and let me know
in the morning if you have hit upon one whom you believe would meet
those requirements.  In the meantime please do not mention the subject
to any one."

Charged with this commission, and relieved that the dreaded interview
was ended, Cabot hastened uptown to a small secret society club of
which he was a non-resident member.  There he wrote a note to Thorpe
Walling, accepting his invitation, and expressing a readiness to set
forth at once on their proposed journey.  This done, he joined a group
of fellows who were discussing summer plans in the reading-room.

"What are you going in for, Grant?" asked one.  "Is your summer to be
devoted to work or play?"

"Both," laughed Cabot.  "Thorpe Walling and I are to take an
educational trip around the world, during which we hope to have great
fun and accomplish much work."

"Ho, ho!" jeered he who had put the question.  "That's a good one.  The
idea of coupling 'Torpid' Walling's name with anything that savors of
work.  You'll have a good time fast enough.  But I'll wager anything
you like, that in his company you will circumnavigate the globe without
having done any work harder than spending money.  No, no, my dear boy,
'Torpid' is not the chap to encourage either mental or physical effort
in his associates.  Better hunt some other companion, or even go by
your lonely, if you really want to accomplish anything."

These words recurred to our lad many times during the day, and when he
finally fell asleep that night, after fruitlessly wondering who of his
many friends he should recommend to President Hepburn, they were still
ringing in his ears.




CHAPTER II.

AN OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT.

Thorpe Walling had never been one of Cabot Grant's particular friends,
nor did the latter now regard with unmixed pleasure the idea of a
year's intimate association with him.  He had accepted the latter's
invitation because nothing else seemed likely to offer, and he could
not bear to have the other fellows, especially those whose class
standing had secured them positions, imagine that he was not also in
demand.  Besides, the thought of a trip around the world was certainly
very enticing; any opposition to the plan would have rendered him the
more desirous of carrying it out.  But in his interview with his
guardian he had gained his point so easily that the concession
immediately lost half its value.  Even as he wrote his note to Thorpe
he wondered if he really wanted to go with him, and after that
conversation in the club reading-room he was almost certain that he did
not.  If Mr. Hepburn had only offered him employment, how gladly he
would have accepted it and declined Thorpe's invitation; but his
guardian had merely asked him to recommend some one else.

"Which shows," thought Cabot bitterly, "what he thinks of me, and of my
fitness for any position of importance.  He is right, too, for if ever
a fellow threw away opportunities, I have done so during the past four
years.  And now I am deliberately going to spend another, squandering
my last dollar, in company with a chap who will have no further use for
me when it is gone.  It really begins to look as though I were about
the biggest fool of my acquaintance."

It was in this frame of mind that our young engineer made a second
visit to his guardian's office on the following morning.  There he was
received by Mr. Hepburn with the same business-like abruptness that had
marked their interview of the day before.

"Good-morning, Cabot," he said.  "I see you are promptly on hand, and,
I suppose, anxious to be off.  Well, I don't blame you, for a pleasure
trip around the world isn't offered to every young fellow, and I wish I
were in a position to take such a one myself.  I have had prepared a
letter of credit for the balance of your property remaining in our
hands, and while it probably is not as large a sum as your friend
Walling will carry, it is enough to see you through very comfortably,
if you exercise a reasonable economy.  I have also written letters of
introduction to our agents in several foreign cities that may prove
useful.  Let me hear from you occasionally, and I trust you will have
fully as good a time as you anticipate."

"Thank you, sir," said Cabot.  "You are very kind."

"Not at all.  I am only striving to carry out your father's
instructions, and do what he paid to have done.  Now, how about the
young man you were to recommend?  Have you thought of one?"

"No, sir, I haven't.  You see, all the fellows who graduated with
honours found places waiting for them, and as I knew you would only
want one of the best, I can't think of one whom I can recommend for
your purpose.  I am very sorry, but----"

"I fear I did not make our requirements quite clear," interrupted Mr.
Hepburn, "since I did not mean to convey the impression that we would
employ none but an honour man.  It often happens that he who ranks
highest as a student fails of success in the business world; and under
certain conditions I would employ the man who graduated lowest in his
class rather than him who stood at its head."

Cabot's face expressed his amazement at this statement, and noting it,
Mr. Hepburn smiled as he continued:

"The mere fact that a young man has graduated from your Institute, even
though it be with low rank, insures his possession of technical
knowledge sufficient for our purpose.  If, at the same time, he is a
gentleman endowed with the faculty of making friends, as well as an
athlete willing to meet and able to overcome physical difficulties, I
would employ him in preference to a more studious person who lacked any
of these qualifications.  If you, for instance, had not already decided
upon a plan for spending the ensuing year, I should not hesitate to
offer you the position we desire to fill."

Cabot trembled with excitement.  "I--Mr. Hepburn!" he exclaimed.
"Would you really have offered it to me?"

"Certainly I would.  I desired you to meet me here for that very
purpose; but when I found you had made other arrangements that might
prove equally advantageous, I believed I was meeting your father's
wishes by helping you carry them out."

"Is the place still open, and can I have it?" asked Cabot eagerly.

"Not if you are going around the world; for, although the duties of the
position will include a certain amount of travel, it will not be in
that direction."

"But I don't want to go around the world, and would rather take the
position you have to offer than do anything else I know of," declared
Cabot.

"Without knowing its requirements, what hardships it may present, nor
in what direction it may lead you?" inquired the other.

"Yes, sir.  So long as you offer it I would accept it without question,
even though it should be a commission to discover the North Pole."

"My dear boy," said Mr. Hepburn, in an entirely different tone from
that he had hitherto used, "I trust I may never forfeit nor abuse the
confidence implied by these words.  Although you did not know it, I
have carefully watched every step of your career during the past five
years, and while you have done some things, as well as developed some
traits, that are to be regretted, I am satisfied that you are at least
worthy of a trial in the position we desire to fill.  So, if you are
willing to relinquish your proposed trip around the world, and enter
the employ of this company instead, you may consider yourself engaged
for the term of one year from this date.  During that time all your
legitimate expenses will be met, but no salary will be paid you until
the expiration of the year, when its amount will be determined by the
value of the services you have rendered.  Is that satisfactory?"

"It is, sir," replied Cabot, "and with your permission I will at once
telegraph Thorpe Walling that I cannot go with him."

"Write your despatch here and I will have it sent out.  At the same
time, do not mention that you have entered the employ of this company,
as there are reasons why, for the present at least, that should remain
a secret."

When Cabot's telegram was ready, Mr. Hepburn, who had been glancing
through a number of letters that awaited his signature, handed it to
his secretary, to whom he also gave some instructions that Cabot did
not catch.  As the former left the room, the president turned to our
young engineer and said:

"As perhaps you are aware, Cabot, there is at present an unprecedented
demand all over the world for both iron and copper, and our company is
largely interested in the production of these metals.  As existing
sources of supply are inadequate it is of importance that new ones
should be discovered, and if they can be found on the Atlantic
seaboard, so much the better.  In looking about for new fields that may
be profitably worked, our attention has been directed to the island of
Newfoundland and the coast of Labrador.  While the former has been
partially explored, we desire more definite information as to its
available ore beds.  There is a small island in Conception Bay, not far
from St. Johns, known as Bell Island, said to be a mass of iron ore,
that is already being worked by a local company.  From it I should like
to have a report, as soon as you reach St. Johns, concerning the nature
of the ore, the extent of the deposit, the cost of mining it, the
present output, the facilities for shipment, and so forth.  At the same
time I want you to obtain this information without divulging the nature
of your business, or allowing your name to become in any way connected
with this company.

"Having finished with Bell Island, you will visit such other portions
of Newfoundland as are readily accessible from the coast, and seem to
promise good results, always keeping to yourself the true nature of
your business.  Finally, you will proceed to Labrador, where you will
make such explorations as are possible.  You will report any
discoveries in person, when you return to New York, as I do not care to
have them entrusted to the mails.  Above all, do not fail to bring back
specimens of whatever you may find in the way of minerals.  Are these
instructions sufficiently clear?"

"They seem so, sir."

"Very well, then.  I wish you to start this very day, as I find that a
steamer, on which your passage is already engaged, sails from a
Brooklyn pier for St. Johns this afternoon.  This letter of credit,
which only awaits your signature before a notary, will, if deposited
with the bank of Nova Scotia in St. Johns, more than defray your year's
expenses, and whatever you can save from it will be added to your
salary.  Therefore, it will pay you to practise economy, though you
must not hesitate to incur legitimate expenses or to spend money when
by so doing you can further the objects of your journey.  You have
enough money for your immediate needs, have you not?"

"Yes, sir.  I have about fifty dollars."

"That will be ample, since your ticket to St. Johns is already paid
for.  Here it is."

Thus saying, Mr. Hepburn handed over an envelope containing the
steamship ticket that his secretary had been sent out to obtain.

"I would take as little baggage as possible," he continued, "for you
can purchase everything necessary in St. Johns, and will discover what
you need after you get there.  Now, good-bye, my boy.  God bless you
and bring you back in safety.  Remember that the coming year will
probably prove the most important of your life, and that your future
now depends entirely upon yourself.  Mr. Black here will go with you to
the banker's, where you can sign your letter of credit."

So our young engineer was launched on the sea of business life.  Two
hours later he had packed a dress-suit case and sent his trunk down to
the company's building for storage.  On his way to the steamer he
stopped at his club for a bite of lunch, and as he was leaving the
building he encountered the friend with whom he had discussed his plans
the day before.

"Hello!" exclaimed that individual, "where are you going in such a
hurry.  Not starting off on your year of travel, are you?"

"Yes," laughed Cabot.  "I am to sail within an hour.  Good-bye!"

With this he ran down the steps and jumped into a waiting cab.




CHAPTER III.

THE STRANGE FATE OF A STEAMER.

So exciting had been the day, and so fully had its every minute been
occupied, that not until Cabot stood on the deck of the steamer
"Lavinia," curiously watching the bustling preparations for her
departure, did he have time to realise the wonderful change in his
prospects that had taken place within a few hours.  That morning his
life had seemed wholly aimless, and he had been filled with envy of
those among his recent classmates whose services were in demand.  Now
he would not change places with any one of them; for was not he, too,
entrusted with an important mission that held promise of a brilliant
future in case he should carry it to a successful conclusion?

[Illustration: On the deck of the steamer "Lavinia."]

"And I will," he mentally resolved.  "No matter what happens, if I live
I will succeed."

In spite of this brave resolve our lad could not help feeling rather
forlorn as he watched those about him, all of whom seemed to have
friends to see them off; while he alone stood friendless and unnoticed.

Especially was his attention attracted to a nearby group of girls
gathered about one who was evidently a bride.  They were full of gay
chatter, and he overheard one of them say:

"If you come within sight of an iceberg, Nelly, make him go close to it
so you can get a good photograph.  I should like awfully to have one."

"So should I," cried another.  "But, oh! wouldn't it be lovely if we
could only have a picture of this group, standing just as we are aboard
the ship.  It would make a splendid beginning for your camera."

The bride, who, as Cabot saw, carried a small brand-new camera similar
to one he had recently procured for his own use, promptly expressed her
willingness to employ it as suggested, but was greeted by a storm of
protests from her companions.

"No, indeed!  You must be in it of course!" they cried.

Then it further transpired that all wished to be "in it," and no one
wanted to act the part of photographer.  At this juncture Cabot stepped
forward, and lifting his cap, said:

"I am somewhat of a photographer, and with your permission it would
afford me great pleasure to take a picture of so charming a group."

For a moment the girls looked at the presumptuous young stranger in
silence.  Then the bride, flushing prettily, stepped forward and handed
him her camera, saying as she did so:

"Thank you, sir, ever so much for your kind offer, which we are glad to
accept."

So Cabot arranged the group amid much laughter, and by the time two
plates had been exposed, had made rapid progress towards getting
acquainted with its several members.

The episode was barely ended before all who were to remain behind were
ordered ashore, and, a few minutes later, as the ship began to move
slowly from her dock, our traveller found himself waving his
handkerchief and shouting good-byes as vigorously as though all on the
wharf were assembled for the express purpose of bidding him farewell.

By the time the "Lavinia" was in the stream and headed up the East
River, with her long voyage fairly begun, Cabot had learned that his
new acquaintance was a bride of but a few hours, having been married
that morning to the captain of that very steamer.  She had hardly made
this confession when her husband, temporarily relieved of his
responsibilities by a pilot, came in search of her and was duly
presented to our hero.  His name was Phinney, and he so took to Cabot
that from that moment the latter no longer found himself lonely or at a
loss for occupation.

As he had never before been at sea, the voyage proved full of interest,
and his intelligent questions received equally intelligent answers from
Captain Phinney, who was a well-informed young man but a few years
older than Cabot, and an enthusiast in his calling.

Up Long Island Sound went the "Lavinia," and it was late that night
before our lad turned in, so interested was he in watching the many
lights that were pointed out by his new acquaintance.  The next morning
found the ship threading her way amid the shoals of Nantucket Sound,
after which came the open sea; and for the first time in his life Cabot
lost sight of land.  Halifax was reached on the following day, and here
the steamer remained twenty-four hours discharging freight.

The capital of Nova Scotia marks the half-way point between New York
and St. Johns, Newfoundland, which name Cabot was already learning to
pronounce as do its inhabitants--Newfund-_land_--and after leaving it
the ship was again headed for the open across the wide mouth of the
Gulf of St. Lawrence.  Thus far the weather had been fine, the sea
smooth, and nothing had occurred to break the pleasant monotony of the
voyage.  Its chief interests lay in sighting distant sails, the
tell-tale smoke pennons of far-away steamers, the plume-like spoutings
of sluggishly moving whales, the darting of porpoises about the ship's
fore-foot, the wide circling overhead of gulls, or the dainty skimming
just above the wave crests of Mother Carey's fluffy chickens.

"Who was Mother Carey," asked Cabot, "and why are they her chickens?"

"I have been told that she was the _Mater Cara_ of devout Portuguese
sailors," replied Captain Phinney, "and that these tiny sea-fowl are
supposed to be under her especial protection, since the fiercest of
gales have no power to harm them."

"How queerly names become changed and twisted out of their original
shape," remarked Cabot meditatively.  "The idea of _Mater Cara_
becoming Mother Carey!"

"That is an easy change compared with some others I have run across,"
laughed the captain.  "For instance, I once put up at an English
seaport tavern called the 'Goat and Compasses,' and found out that its
original name, given in Cromwell's time, had been 'God Encompasseth
Us.'  Almost as curious is the present name of that portion of the
Newfoundland coast nearest us at this minute.  It is called
'Ferryland,' which is a corruption of 'Verulam,' the name applied by
its original owner, Lord Baltimore, in memory of his home estate in
England.  In fact, this region abounds in queerly twisted names, most
of which were originally French.  Bai d'espair, for instance, has
become Bay Despair.  Blanc Sablon and Isle du Bois up on the Labrador
coast have been Anglicised as Nancy Belong and Boys' Island.  Cape
Race, which is almost within sight, was the Capo Razzo of its
Portuguese discoverer.  Cape Spear was Cappo Sperenza, and Pointe
l'Amour is now Lammer's Point."

While taking part in conversations of this kind both Cabot and Mrs.
Phinney, who were the only passengers now left on the ship, kept a
sharp lookout for icebergs, which, as they had learned, were apt to be
met in those waters at that season.  Finally, during the afternoon of
the last day they expected to spend on shipboard, a distant white speck
dead ahead, which was at first taken for a sail, proved to be an
iceberg, and from that moment it was watched with the liveliest
curiosity.  Before their rapid approach it developed lofty pinnacles,
and proved of the most dazzling whiteness, save at the water line,
where it was banded with vivid blue.  It was exquisitely chiselled and
carved into dainty forms by the gleaming rivulets that ran down its
steep sides and fell into the sea as miniature cascades.  So
wonderfully beautiful were the icy details as they were successively
unfolded, that the bride begged her husband to take his ship just as
close as possible, in order that she might obtain a perfect photograph.
Anxious to gratify her every wish, Captain Phinney readily consented,
and the ship's course was slightly altered, so as to pass within one
hundred feet of the glistening monster, which was now sharply outlined
against a dark bank of fog rolling heavily in from the eastward.

Both cameras had been kept busy from the time the berg came within
range of their finders, but just as the best point of view was reached,
and when they were so near that the chill of the ice was distinctly
felt, Cabot discovered that he had exhausted his roll of films.
Uttering an exclamation of disgust, he ran aft and down to his
stateroom, that opened from the lower saloon, to secure another
cartridge.  As he entered the room, he closed its door to get at his
dress-suit case that lay behind it.

Recklessly tossing the contents of the case right and left, he had just
laid hands on the desired object and was rising to his feet when,
without warning, he was flung violently to the floor by a shock like
that of an earthquake.  It was accompanied by a dull roar and an awful
sound of crashing and rending.  At the same time the ship seemed to be
lifted bodily.  Then she fell back, apparently striking on her side,
and for several minutes rolled with sickening lurches, as though in the
trough of a heavy sea.

In the meantime Cabot was struggling furiously to open his stateroom
door; but it had so jammed in its casing that his utmost efforts failed
to move it.  The steel deck beams overhead were twisted like willow
wands, the iron side of the ship was crumpled as though it were a sheet
of paper, and with every downward lurch a torrent of icy water poured
in about the air port, which, though still closed, had been wrenched
out of position.  With a horrid dread the prisoner realised that unless
quickly released he must drown where he was, and, unable to open the
door, he began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of its
panels.

[Illustration: He began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of
its panels.]

With his first effort in this direction there came another muffled roar
like that of an explosion, and he felt the ship quiver as though it
were being rent in twain.  At the same moment his door flew open of its
own accord, and he was nearly suffocated by an inrush of steam.
Springing forward, and blindly groping his way through this, the
bewildered lad finally reached the stairs he had so recently descended.
In another minute he had gained the deck, where he stood gasping for
breath and vainly trying to discover what terrible thing had happened.

Not a human being was to be seen, and the forward part of the ship was
concealed beneath a dense cloud of steam and smoke that hung over it
like a pall.  Cabot fancied he could distinguish shouting in that
direction, and attempted to gain the point from which it seemed to
come; but found the way barred by a yawning opening in the deck, from
which poured smoke and flame as though it were the crater of a volcano.
Then he ran back, and at length found himself on top of the after
house, cutting with his pocket knife at the lashings of a life raft;
for he realised that the ship was sinking so rapidly that she might
plunge to the bottom at any moment.

Five minutes later he lay prone on the buoyant raft, clutching the
sides of its wooden platform, while it spun like a storm-driven leaf in
the vortex marking the spot where the ill-fated.  "Lavinia" had sunk.




CHAPTER IV.

ALONE ON THE LIFE RAFT.

Anything less buoyant than a modern life raft, consisting of two steel
cylinders stoutly braced and connected by a wooden platform, would have
been drawn under by the deadly clutch of that swirling vortex.  No open
boat could have lived in it for a minute; and even the raft, spinning
round and round with dizzy velocity, was sucked downward until it was
actually below the level of the surrounding water.  But, sturdily
resisting the down-dragging force, its wonderful buoyancy finally
triumphed, and as its rotary motion became less rapid, Cabot sat up and
gazed about him with the air of one who has been stunned.

He was dazed by the awfulness of the catastrophe that had so suddenly
overwhelmed the "Lavinia," and could form no idea of its nature.  Had
there been a collision?  If so, it must have been with the iceberg, for
nothing else had been in sight when he went below.  Yet it was
incredible that such a thing could have happened in broad daylight.
The afternoon had been clear and bright; of that he was certain, though
his surroundings were now shrouded by an impenetrable veil of fog.
Through this he could see nothing, and from it came no sound save the
moan of winds sweeping across a limitless void of waters.

What had become of his recent companions?  Had they gone down with the
ship, and was he sole survivor of the tragedy?  At this thought the lad
sprang to his feet, and shouted, calling his friends by name, and
begging them not to leave him; but the only answer came in shape of
mocking echoes hurled sharply back from close at hand.  Looking in that
direction, he dimly discerned a vast outline of darker substance than
the enveloping mist.  From it came also a sound of falling waters, and
against it the sea was beating angrily.  At the same time he was
conscious of a deadly chill in the air, and came to a sudden
comprehension that the iceberg, to which he attributed all his present
distress, was still close at hand.

Its mere presence brought a new terror; for he knew that unless the
attraction of its great bulk could be overcome, his little raft must
speedily be drawn to it and dashed helplessly against its icy cliffs.
This thought filled him with a momentary despair, for there seemed no
possibility of avoiding the impending fate.  Then his eyes fell on a
pair of oars lashed, together with their metal rowlocks, to the sides
of his raft.  In another minute he had shipped these and was pulling
with all his might away from that ill-omened neighbourhood.

The progress of his clumsy craft was painfully slow; but it did move,
and at the end the dreaded ice monster was beyond both sight and
hearing.  The exercise of rowing had warmed Cabot as well as
temporarily diverted his mind from a contemplation of the terrible
scenes through which he had so recently passed.  Now, however, as he
rested on his oars, a full sense of his wretched plight came back to
him, and he grew sick at heart as he realised how forlorn was his
situation.  He wondered if he could survive the night that was rapidly
closing in on him, and, if he did, whether the morrow would find him
any better off.  He had no idea of the direction in which wind and
current were drifting him, whether further out to sea or towards the
land.  He was again shivering with cold, he was hungry and thirsty, and
so filled with terror at the black waters leaping towards him from all
sides that he finally flung himself face downward on the wet platform
to escape from seeing them.

When he next lifted his head he found himself in utter darkness,
through which he fancied he could still hear the sound of waters
dashing against frigid cliffs, and with an access of terror he once
more sprang to his oars.  Now he rowed with the wind, keeping it as
directly astern as possible; nor did he pause in his efforts until
compelled by exhaustion.  Then he again lay down, and this time dropped
into a fitful doze.

Waking a little later with chattering teeth, he resumed his oars for
the sake of warming exercise, and again rowed as long as he was able.
So, with alternating periods of weary work and unrefreshing rest, the
slow dragging hours of that interminable night were spent.  Finally,
after he had given up all hope of ever again seeing a gleam of
sunshine, a faint gray began to permeate the fog that still held him in
its wet embrace, and Cabot knew that he had lived to see the beginnings
of another day.

To make sure that the almost imperceptible light really marked the
dawn, he shut his eyes and resolutely kept them closed until he had
counted five hundred.  Then he opened them, and almost screamed with
the joy of being able to trace the outlines of his raft.  Again and
again he did this until at length the black night shadows had been
fairly vanquished and only those of the fog remained.

With the assurance that day had fairly come, and that the dreaded
iceberg was at least not close at hand, Cabot again sought
forgetfulness of his misery in sleep.  When he awoke some hours later,
aching in every bone, and painfully hungry, he was also filled with a
delicious sense of warmth; for the sun, already near its meridian, was
shining as brightly as though no such things as fog or darkness had
ever existed.

On standing up and looking about him, the young castaway was relieved
to note that the iceberg from which he had suffered so much was no
longer in sight.  At the same time he was grievously disappointed that
he could discover no sail nor other token that any human being save
himself was abroad on all that lonely sea.

He experienced a momentary exhilaration when, on turning to the west,
he discovered a dark far-reaching line that he believed to be land; but
his spirits fell as he measured the distance separating him from it,
and realised how slight a chance he had of ever gaining the coast.  To
be sure, the light breeze then blowing was in that direction, but it
might change at any moment; and even with it to aid his rowing he
doubted if his clumsy craft could make more than a mile an hour.  Thus
darkness would again overtake him ere he had covered more than half the
required distance, though he should row steadily during the remainder
of the day.  He knew that his growing weakness would demand intervals
of rest with ever-increasing frequency until utter exhaustion should
put an end to his efforts; and then what would become of him?  Still
there was nothing else to be done; and, with a dogged determination to
die fighting, if die he must, the poor lad sat down and resumed his
hopeless task.

A life raft is not intended to be used as a rowboat, and is unprovided
with either seats or foot braces.  Being thus compelled to sit on the
platform, Cabot could get so little purchase that half his effort was
wasted, and the progress made was barely noticeable.  During his
frequent pauses for rest he stood up to gaze longingly at the goal that
still appeared as far away as ever, and grew more unattainable as the
day wore on.  At length the sun was well down the western sky, across
which it appeared to race as never before.  As Cabot watched it, and
vaguely wished for the power once given to Joshua, the bleakness of
despair suddenly enfolded him, and his eyes became blurred with tears.
He covered them with his hands to shut out the mocking sunlight, and
sat down because he was too weak to stand any longer.  He had fought
his fight very nearly to a finish, and his strength was almost gone.
He had perhaps brought his craft five miles nearer to the land than it
was when he set out; but after all what had been the gain?  Apparently
there was none, and he would not further torture his aching body with
useless effort.

In the meantime a small schooner, bringing with her a fair wind, was
running rapidly down the coast, not many miles from where our poor lad
so despairingly awaited the coming of night.  That he had not seen her
while standing up, was owing to the fact that her sails, instead of
being white, were tanned a dull red, that blended perfectly with the
colour of the distant shore line.  A bright-faced, resolute chap,
somewhat younger than Cabot, but of equally sturdy build, held the
tiller, and regarded with evident approval the behaviour of his
speeding craft.

"We'll make it, Dave," he cried, cheerily.  "The old 'Sea Bee's' got
the wings of 'em this time."

"Mebbe so," growled the individual addressed, an elderly man who stood
in the companionway, with his head just above the hatch, peering
forward under the swelling sails.  "Mebbe so," he repeated, "and mebbe
not.  Steam's hard to beat on land or water, an' we be a far cry from
Pretty Harbour yet.  So fur that ef they're started they'll overhaul us
before day, and beat us in by a good twelve hour.  It's what I'm
looking fur."

"Oh, pshaw!" replied the young skipper.  "What a gammy old croaker you
are.  They won't start to-day, anyhow.  But here, take her a minute,
while I go aloft for one more look before sundown to make sure."

As the man complied with this request, and waddling aft took the
tiller, his more active companion sprang into the main rigging and ran
rapidly to the masthead, from which point of vantage he gazed back for
a full minute over the course they had come.

"Not a sign," he shouted down at length.  "But hello," he added to
himself, "what's that?"  With a glance seaward his keen eye had
detected a distant floating object that was momentarily uplifted on the
back of a long swell, and flashed white in the rays of the setting sun.

"Luff her, David!  Hard down with your hellum, and trim in all," he
shouted to the steersman.  "There, steady, so."

"Wot's hup?" inquired the man a few minutes later, as the other
rejoined him on deck.

"Don't know for sure; but there's something floating off there that
looks like a bit of wreckage."

"An' you, with all your hurry, going to stop fur a closer look, and
lose time that'll mebbe prove the most wallyable of your life," growled
the man disgustedly.  "Wal, I'll be jiggered!"

"So would I, if I didn't," replied the lad.  "It was one of dad's rules
never to pass any kind of a wreck without at least one good look at it,
and so it's one of mine as well.  There's what I'm after, now.  See,
just off the starboard bow.  It's a raft, and David, there's a man on
it, sure as you live.  Look, he's standing up and waving at us.  Now,
he's down again!  Poor fellow!  In with the jib, David!  Spry now, and
stand by with a line.  I'm going to round up, right alongside."




CHAPTER V.

WHITE BALDWIN AND HIS "SEA BEE."

The hour that preceded the coming of that heaven-sent schooner was the
blackest of Cabot Grant's life, and as he sat with bowed head on the
wet platform of his tossing raft he was utterly hopeless.  He believed
that he should never again hear a human voice nor tread the blessed
land--yes, everything was ended for him, or very nearly so, and
whatever record he had made in life must now stand without addition or
correction.  His thoughts went back as far as he could remember
anything, and every act of his life was clearly recalled.  How mean
some of them now appeared; how thoughtless, indifferent, or selfish he
had been in others.  Latterly how he had been filled with a sense of
his own importance, how he had worked and schemed for a little
popularity, and now who would regret him, or give his memory more than
a passing thought?

Thorpe Walling would say: "Served him right for throwing me over, as he
did," and others would agree with him.  Even Mr. Hepburn, who had
doubtless given him a chance merely because he was his guardian, would
easily find a better man to put in his place.  Some cousins whom he had
never seen nor cared to know would rejoice on coming into possession of
his little property; and so, on the whole, his disappearance would
cause more of satisfaction than regret.  Most bitter of all was the
thought that he would never have the opportunity of changing, or at
least of trying to change, this state of affairs, since he had
doubtless looked at the sun for the last time, and the blackness of an
endless night was about to enfold him.

Had he really seen his last ray of sunlight and hope?  No; it could not
be.  There must be a gleam left.  The sun could not have set yet.  He
lifted his head.  There was no sun to be seen.  With a cry of terror he
sprang to his feet, and, from the slight elevation thus gained, once
more beheld the mighty orb of day, and life, and promise, crowning with
a splendour infinitely beyond anything of this earth, the distant
shore-line that he had striven so stoutly to gain.

Dazzled by its radiance, Cabot saw nothing else during the minute that
it lingered above the horizon.  Then, as it disappeared, he uttered
another cry, but this time it was one of incredulous and joyful
amazement, for close at hand, coming directly towards him from out the
western glory, was a ship bearing a new lease of life and freighted
with new opportunities.

The poor lad tried to wave his cap at the new-comers; but after a
feeble attempt sank to his knees, overcome by weakness and gratitude.
It was in that position they found him as the little schooner was
rounded sharply into the wind, and, with fluttering sails, lay close
alongside the drifting raft.

David flung a line that Cabot found strength to catch and hold to,
while the young skipper of the "Sea Bee" sprang over her low rail and
alighted beside the castaway just as the latter staggered to his feet
with outstretched hand.  The stranger grasped it tightly in both of
his, and for a moment the two gazed into each other's eyes without a
word.  Cabot tried to speak, but something choked him so that he could
not; and, noting this, the other said gently:

"It is all over now, and you are as safe as though you stood on dry
land; so don't try to say anything till we've made you comfortable, for
I know you must have had an almighty hard time."

"Yes," whispered Cabot.  "I've been hungry, and thirsty, and wet, and
cold, and scared; but now I'm only grateful--more grateful than I can
ever tell."

A little later the life raft, its mission accomplished, was left to
toss and drift at will, while the "Sea Bee," with everything set and
drawing finely, was rapidly regaining her course, guided by the
far-reaching flash of Cape Race light.  In her dingy little cabin,
which seemed to our rescued lad the most delightfully snug, warm, and
altogether comfortable place he had ever entered, Cabot lay in the
skipper's own bunk, regarding with intense interest the movements of
that busy youth.

The latter had lighted a swinging lamp, started a fire in a small and
very rusty galley stove, set a tea kettle on to boil, and a pan of cold
chowder to re-warm.  Having thus got supper well under way, he returned
to the cabin, where he proceeded to set the table.  The worst of
Cabot's distress had already been relieved by a cup of cold tea and a
ship's biscuit.  Now, finding that he was able to talk, his host could
no longer restrain his curiosity, but began to ask questions.  He had
already learned Cabot's name, and told his own, which was Whiteway
Baldwin, "called White for short," he had added.  Now he said:

"You needn't talk, if you don't feel like it, but I do wish you could
tell how you came to be drifting all alone on that raft."

"A steamer that I was on was wrecked yesterday, and so far as I know I
am the only survivor," answered Cabot.

"Goodness!  You don't say so!  What steamer was she, where was she
bound, and what part of the coast was she wrecked on?"

"She was the 'Lavinia' from New York for St. Johns, and she wasn't
wrecked on any part of the coast, but was lost at sea."

"_Jiminetty_!  The 'Lavinia'!  It don't seem possible.  How did it
happen?  There hasn't been any gale.  Did she blow up, or what?"

"I don't know," replied Cabot, "for I was down-stairs when it took
place, and my stateroom door was jammed so that I couldn't get out for
a long time.  I only know that there was the most awful crash I ever
heard, and it seemed as though the ship were being torn to pieces.
Then there came an explosion, and when I got on deck the ship was
sinking so fast that I had only time to cut loose the raft before she
went down."

"What became of the others?" asked White excitedly.

"I am afraid they were drowned, for I heard them shouting just before
she sank, but there was such a cloud of steam, smoke, and fog that I
couldn't see a thing, and after it was all over I seemed to be the only
one left."

"Wasn't there a rock or ship or anything she might have run into?"
asked the young skipper, whose tanned face had grown pale as he
listened to this tale of sudden disaster.

"There was an iceberg," replied Cabot, "but when I went down-stairs it
wasn't very close, and the sun was shining, so that it was in plain
sight."

"That must be what she struck, though," declared the other.  Then he
thrust his head up the companionway and shouted: "Hear the news, Dave.
The 'Lavinia's' lost with all on board, except the chap we've just
picked up."

"What happened her?" asked the man laconically.

"He says she ran into an iceberg in clear day, bust up, and sank with
all hands, inside of a minute."

"Rot!" replied the practical sailor.  "The 'Laviny' had collision
bulkheads, and couldn't have sunk in no sich time, ef she could at all.
'Sides Cap'n Phinney ain't no man to run down a berg in clear day, nor
yet in the night, nor no other time.  He's been on this coast and the
Labrador run too long fur any sich foolishness.  No, son, ef the
'Laviny's' lost, which mind, I don't say she ain't, she's lost some
other way 'sides that, an' you can tell your friend so with my
compliments."

Cabot did not overhear these remarks, and wondered at the queer look on
the young skipper's face when he reentered the cabin, as he did at the
silence with which the latter resumed his preparations for supper.  At
the same time he was still too weak, and, in spite of his biscuit, too
ravenously hungry to care for further conversation just then.  So it
was only after a most satisfactory meal and several cups of very hot
tea that he was ready in his turn to ask questions.  But he was not
given the chance; for, as soon as White Baldwin was through with
eating, he went on dock to relieve the tiller, and the other member of
the crew, whose name was David Gidge, came below.

He was a man of remarkable appearance, of very broad shoulders and long
arms; but with legs so bowed outward as to materially lower his
stature, which would have been short at best, and convert his gait into
an absurd waddle.  His face was disfigured by a scar across one cheek
that so drew that corner of his mouth downward as to produce a
peculiarly forbidding expression.  He also wore a bristling iron-grey
beard that grew in form of a fringe or ruff, and added an air of
ferocity to his make up.

As this striking-looking individual entered the cabin and rolled into a
seat at the table, he cast one glance, accompanied by a grunt, at
Cabot, and then proceeded to attend strictly to the business in hand.
He ate in such prodigious haste, and gulped his food in such vast
mouthfuls, that he had cleaned the table of its last crumb, and was
fiercely stuffing black tobacco into a still blacker pipe, before
Cabot, who really wished to talk with him, had decided how to open the
conversation.  Lighting his pipe and puffing it into a ruddy glow, Mr.
Gidge made a waddling exit from the cabin, bestowing on our lad another
grunt as he passed him, and leaving an eddying wake of rank tobacco
smoke to mark his passage.

For some time after this episode Cabot struggled to keep awake in the
hope that White would return and answer some of his questions; but
finally weariness overcame him, and he fell into a sleep that lasted
without a break until after sunrise of the following morning.

In the meantime the little schooner had held her course, and swept
onward past the flashing beacons of Cape Race, Cape Pine, and Cape St.
Mary, until, at daylight, she was standing across the broad reach of
Placentia Bay towards the bald headland of Cape Chapeau Rouge.  She was
making a fine run, and in spite of his weariness after a six hours'
watch on deck, White Baldwin presented a cheery face to Cabot, as the
latter vainly strove to recognise and account for his surroundings.

"Good morning," said the young skipper, "I hope you have slept well,
and are feeling all right again."

"Yes, thank you," replied Cabot, suddenly remembering, "I slept
splendidly, and am as fit as a fiddle.  Have we made a good run?"

"Fine; we have come nearly a hundred miles from the place where we
picked you up."

"Then we must be almost to St. Johns," suggested Cabot, tumbling from
his bunk as he spoke.  "I am glad, for it is important that I should
get there as quickly as possible."

"St. Johns!" replied the other blankly.  "Didn't you know that we had
come from St. Johns, and were going in the opposite direction?  Why, we
are more than one hundred and fifty miles from there at this minute."




CHAPTER VI.

THE FRENCH SHORE QUESTION.

Although Cabot had had no reason to suppose that the "Sea Bee" was on
her way to St. Johns, it had not for a moment occurred to him that she
could be going anywhere else.  Thus the news that they were not only a
long way from the place he wished to reach, but steadily increasing
their distance from it, so surprised him that for a moment he sat on
the edge of his bunk gazing at the speaker as though doubting if he had
heard aright.  Finally he asked: "Where, then, are we bound?"

"To Pretty Harbour, around on the west coast, where I live," was the
answer.

"I'd be willing to give you fifty dollars to turn around and carry me
to St. Johns," said Cabot.

"Couldn't do it if you offered me a hundred, much as I need the money,
and glad as I would be to oblige you, for I've got to get home in a
hurry if I want to find any home to get to.  You see, it's this way,"
continued White, noting Cabot's look of inquiry, "Pretty Harbour being
on the French shore----"

"What do you mean by the French shore?" interrupted Cabot.  "I thought
you lived in Newfoundland, and that it was an English island."

"So it is," explained White; "but, for some reason or other, I don't
know why, England made a treaty with France nearly two hundred years
ago, by which the French were granted fishing privileges from Cape Bay
along the whole west coast to Cape Bauld, and from there down the east
coast as far as Cape St. John.  By another treaty made some years
afterwards France was granted, for her own exclusive use, the islands
of Miquelon and St. Pierre, that lie just ahead of us now.

"In the meantime the French have been allowed to do pretty much as they
pleased with the west coast, until now they claim exclusive rights to
its fisheries, and will hardly allow us natives to catch what we want
for our own use.  They send warships to enforce their demands, and
these compel us to sell bait to French fishermen at such price as they
choose to offer.  Why, I have seen men forced to sell bait to the
French at thirty cents a barrel, when Canadian and American fishing
boats wore offering five times that much for it.  At the same time the
French officers forbid us to sell to any but Frenchmen, declaring that
if we do they will not only prevent us from fishing, but will destroy
our nets."

"I should think you would call on English warships for protection,"
said Cabot.  "There surely must be some on this station."

"Yes," replied the other, bitterly, "there are, but they always take
the part of the French, and do even more than they towards breaking up
our business."

"What?" cried Cabot.  "British warships take part with the French
against their own people!  That is one of the strangest things I ever
heard of, and I can't understand it.  Is not this an English colony?"

"Yes, it is England's oldest colony; but, while I was born in it, and
have lived here all my life, I don't understand the situation any
better than you."

"It seems to me," continued Cabot, "that the conditions here must be
fully as bad as those that led to the American Revolution, and I should
think you Newfoundlanders would rebel, and set up a government of your
own, or join the United States, or do something of that kind."

"Perhaps we would if we could," replied White; "but our country is only
a poor little island, with a population of less than a quarter of a
million.  If we should rebel, we would have to fight both England and
France.  We should have to do it without help, too, for the United
States, which is the only country we desire to join, does not want us.
So you see there is nothing for us to do but accept the situation, and
get along as best we can."

"Why don't you emigrate to the States?" suggested Cabot.

"Plenty of people whom I know have done so," replied the young
Newfoundlander, "and I might, too, if it were not for my mother and
sister; but I don't know how I could make a living for them in the
States, or even for myself.  You see, everything we have in the world
is tied up right here.  Besides, it would be hard to leave one's own
country and go to live among strangers.  Don't you think so?"

"How do you make a living here?" asked Cabot, ignoring the last
question.

"We have made it until now by canning lobsters; but it looks as though
even that business was to be stopped from this on."

"Why?  Is it wrong to can lobsters?"

"On the French shore, it seems to be one of the greatest crimes a
person can commit, worse even than smuggling, and the chief duty of
British warships on this station is to break it up."

"Well, that beats all!" exclaimed Cabot.  "Why is canning lobsters
considered so wicked?"

"I don't know that I can explain it very clearly," replied the young
skipper of the "Sea Bee," "but, so far as I can make out, it is this
way: You see, the west coast of Newfoundland is one of the best places
in the world for lobsters.  So when the settlers there found they were
not allowed to make a living by fishing, they turned their attention to
catching and canning them.  They thought, of course, that in this they
would not be molested, since the French right was only to take and dry
fish, which, in this country, means only codfish.  They were so
successful at the new business that after a while the French also began
to establish lobster canneries.  As no one interfered with them they
finally became so bold as to order the closing of all factories except
their own, and to actually destroy the property of such English
settlers as were engaged in the business.  Then there were riots, and
we colonists appealed to Parliament for protection in our rights."

"Of course they granted it," said Cabot, who was greatly interested.

"Of course they did nothing of the kind," responded White, bitterly.
"The English authorities only remonstrated gently with the French, who
by that time were claiming an exclusive right to all the business of
the west coast, and finally it was agreed to submit the whole question
to arbitration.  It has never yet been arbitrated, though that was some
years ago.  In the meantime an arrangement was made by which all
lobster factories in existence on July 1, 1889, were allowed to
continue their business, but no others might be established."

"Was your factory one of those then in existence?" asked Cabot.

"It was completed, and ready to begin work a whole month before that
date; but the captain of a French frigate told my father that if he
canned a single lobster his factory would be destroyed.  Father
appealed to the commander of a British warship for protection; but was
informed that none could be given, and that if he persisted in the
attempt to operate his factory his own countrymen would be compelled to
aid the French in its destruction.  On that, father went to law, but it
was not until the season was ended that the British captain was found
to have had no authority for his action.  So father sued him for
damages, and obtained judgment for five thousand dollars.  He never got
the money, though, and by the time the next season came round the law
regarding factories in existence on the first of the previous July was
in force.  Then the question came up, whether or no our factory had
been in existence at that time.  The French claim that it was not,
because no work had been done in it, while we claim that, but for
illegal interference, work would have been carried on for a full month
before the fixed date."

"How was the question settled?" asked Cabot.

"It was not settled until a few days ago, when a final decision was
rendered against us, and now the property is liable to be destroyed at
any minute.  Father fought the case until it worried him to death, and
mother has been fighting it ever since.  All our property, except the
factory itself, this schooner, and a few hundred acres of worthless
land, has gone to the lawyers.  While they have fought over the case, I
have made a sort of a living for the family by running the factory at
odd times, when there was no warship at hand to prevent.  This season
promises to be one of the best for lobsters ever known, and we had so
nearly exhausted our supply of cans that I went to St. Johns for more.
While there I got private information that the suit had gone against
us, and that the commander of the warship 'Comattus,' then in port, had
received orders to destroy our factory during his annual cruise along
the French shore.  The 'Comattus' was to start as soon as the 'Lavinia'
arrived.  The minute I heard this I set out in a hurry for home, in the
hope of having time to pack the extra cases I have on board this
schooner, and get them out of the way before the warship arrives.  That
is one reason I am in such a hurry, and can't spare the time to take
you to St. Johns.  I wouldn't even have stopped long enough to
investigate your raft if you had been a mile further off our course
than you were."

"Then all my yesterday's rowing didn't go for nothing," said Cabot.

"I should say not.  It was the one thing that saved you, so far as this
schooner is concerned.  I'm in a hurry for another reason, too.  If the
French get word that a decision has been rendered against us, and that
the factory is to be destroyed, they will pounce down on it in a jiffy,
and carry away everything worth taking, to one of their own factories."

"I don't wonder you are in a hurry," said Cabot.  "I know I should be,
in your place, and I don't blame you one bit for not wanting to take me
back to St. Johns; but I wish you would tell me the next best way of
getting there.  You see, having lost everything in the way of an outfit
it is necessary for me to procure a new one.  Besides that and the
business I have on hand, it seems to me that, as the only survivor of
the 'Lavinia,' I ought to report her loss as soon as possible."

"Yes," agreed White, "of course you ought; though the longer it is
unknown the longer the 'Comattus' will wait for her, and the more time
I shall have."

"Provided some French ship doesn't get after you," suggested Cabot.

"Yes, I realise that, and as I am going to stop at St. Pierre, to sec
whether the frigate 'Isla' is still in that harbour, I might set you
ashore there.  From St. Pierre you can get a steamer for St. Johns, and
even if you have to wait a few days you could telegraph your news as
quickly as you please."

"All right," agreed Cabot.  "I shall be sorry to leave you; but if that
is the best plan you can think of I will accept it, and shall be
grateful if you will set me ashore as soon as possible."

Thus it was settled, and a few hours later the "Sea Bee" poked her nose
around Gallantry Head, and ran into the picturesque, foreign-looking
port of St. Pierre.  The French frigate "Isla," that had more than once
made trouble for the Baldwins, lay in the little harbour, black and
menacing.  Hoping not to be recognized, White gave her as wide a berth
as possible; but he had hardly dropped anchor when a boat--containing
an officer, and manned by six sailors--shot out from her side, and was
pulled directly towards the schooner.




CHAPTER VII.

DEFYING A FRIGATE.

"I wonder what's up now?" said White Baldwin, in a troubled tone, as he
watched the approaching man-of-war's boat.

"Mischief of some kind," growled David Gidge, as he spat fiercely into
the water.  "I hain't never knowed a Frencher to be good fur nawthin'
else but mischief."

"Perhaps it's a health officer," suggested Cabot.

"It's worse than that," replied White.

"A customs officer, then?"

"He comes from the shore."

"Then perhaps it's an invitation for us to go and dine with the French
captain?"

"I've no doubt it's an invitation of some kind, and probably one that
is meant to be accepted."

At this juncture the French boat dashed alongside, and, without leaving
his place, the lieutenant in command said in fair English:

"Is not zat ze boat of Monsieur Baldwin of Pretty Harbour on ze cote
Francaise?"

"It is," replied the young skipper, curtly.

"You haf, of course, ze papaire of health, and ze papaire of clearance
for St. Pierre?"

"No; I have no papers except a certificate of registry."

"Ah!  Is it possible?  In zat case ze commandant of ze frigate 'Isla'
will be please to see you on board at your earlies' convenience."

"I thought so," said White, in a low tone.  Then aloud, he replied:
"All right, lieutenant.  I'll sail over there, and hunt up a good place
to anchor, just beyond your ship, and as soon as I've made all snug
I'll come aboard.  Up with your mud hook, Dave."

As Mr. Gidge began to work the windlass, Cabot sprang to help him, and,
within a minute, the recently dropped anchor was again broken out.
Then, at a sharp order, David hoisted and trimmed the jib, leaving
Cabot to cat the anchor.  The fore and main sails had not been lowered.
Thus within two minutes' time the schooner was again under way, and
standing across the harbour towards the big warship.

The rapidity of these movements apparently somewhat bewildered the
French officer, who, while narrowly watching them, did not utter a word
of remonstrance.  Now, as the "Sea Bee" moved away, his boat was
started in the same direction.

Without paying any further attention to it, White Baldwin luffed his
little craft across the frigate's bow, and the moment he was hidden
beyond her, bore broad away, passing close along the opposite side of
the warship, from which hundreds of eyes watched his movements with
languid curiosity.

The boat, in the meantime, had headed for the stern of the frigate,
with a view to gaining her starboard gangway, somewhere near which its
officer supposed White to be already anchoring.  What was his
amazement, therefore, as he drew within the shadow of his ship, to see
the schooner shoot clear of its further side, and go flying down the
wind, lee rail under.  For a moment he looked to see her round to and
come to anchor.  Then, springing to his feet, he yelled for her to do
so; upon which White Baldwin took off his cap, and made a mocking bow.

At this the enraged officer whipped out a revolver, and began to fire
wildly in the direction of the vanishing schooner, which, for answer,
displayed a British Union Jack at her main peak.  Three minutes later
the saucy craft had rounded a projecting headland and disappeared,
leaving the outwitted officer to get aboard his ship at his leisure,
and make such report as seemed to him best.

[Illustration: At this the enraged officer whipped out a revolver.]

After the exciting incident was ended, and the little "Sea Bee" had
gained the safety of open water, Cabot grasped the young skipper's hand
and shook it heartily.

"It was fine!" he cried, "though I don't see how you dared do it.
Weren't you afraid they would fire at us?"

"Not a bit," laughed White.  "They didn't realise what we were up to
until we were well past them, and then they hadn't time to get ready
before we were out of range.  I don't believe they would dare fire on
the British flag, anyway; especially as we hadn't done a thing to them.
I almost wish they had, though; for I would be willing to lose this
schooner and a good deal besides for the sake of bringing on a war that
should drive the French from Newfoundland."

"But what did they want of you, and what would have happened if you had
not given them the slip?"

"I expect they wanted to hold me here until they heard how our case had
gone, so that I couldn't get back to the factory before they had a
chance to run up there and seize it.  Like as not they would have kept
us on one excuse or another--lack of papers or something of that
sort--for a week or two, and by the time they let us go some one else
would have owned the Pretty Harbour lobster factory."

"Would they really have dared do such a thing?" asked Cabot, to whom
the idea of foreign interference in the local affairs of Newfoundland
was entirely new.

"Certainly they would.  The French dare do anything they choose on this
coast, and no one interferes."

"Well," said Cabot, "it seems a very curious situation, and one that a
stranger finds hard to understand.  However, so long as the French
possess such a power for mischief, I congratulate you more than ever on
having escaped them.  At the same time I am disappointed at not being
able to land at St. Pierre, and should like to know where you are going
to take me next."

"I declare!  In my hurry to get out of that trap, I forgot all about
you wanting to land," exclaimed White, "and now there isn't a place
from which you can get to St. Johns short of Port aux Basques, which is
about one hundred and fifty miles west of here."

"How may I reach St. Johns from there?"

"By the railway across the island, of which Port aux Basques is the
terminus.  A steamer from Sidney, on Cape Breton, connects with a train
there every other day."

"Very good; Port aux Basques it is," agreed Cabot, "and I shan't be
sorry after all for a chance to cross the island by train and see what
its interior looks like."

So our young engineer continued his involuntary voyage, and devoted his
time to acquiring all sorts of information about the great northern
island, as well as to the study of navigation.  In this latter line of
research he even succeeded in producing a favorable impression upon
David Gidge, who finally admitted that it wasn't always safe to judge a
man from his appearance, and that this young feller had more in him
than showed at first sight.

While thus creating a favorable impression for himself, Cabot grew much
interested in the young skipper of the schooner.  He was surprised to
find one in his position so gentlemanly a chap, as well as so generally
well informed, and wondered where he had picked it all up.

"Are there good schools at Pretty Harbour?" he asked, with a view to
solving this problem.

"There is one, but it is only fairly good," answered White.

"Did you go to it?"

"Oh, no," laughed the other.  "I went to school as well as to college
in St. Johns.  You see, father was a merchant there until he bought a
great tract of land on the west coast.  Then he gave up his business in
the city and came over here to establish a lobster factory, which at
that time promised to pay better than anything else on the island.  He
left us all in St. Johns, and it was only after his death that we came
over here to live and try to save something from the wreck of his
property.  Now I don't know what is to become of us; for, unless one is
allowed to can lobsters, there isn't much chance of making a living on
the French shore.  If it wasn't for the others, I should take this
schooner and try a trading trip to Labrador, but mother has become so
much of an invalid that I hate to leave her with only my sister."

"What is your sister's name?"

"Cola."

"That's an odd name, and one I never heard before, but I think I like
it."

"So do I," agreed White; "though I expect I should like any name
belonging to her, for she is a dear girl.  One reason I am so fond of
this schooner is because it is named for her."

"How is that?"

"Why, it is the 'Sea Bee,' and these are her initials."

It was early on the second morning after leaving St. Pierre that the
"Sea Bee" drifted slowly into the harbour of Port aux Basques, where
the yacht-like steamer "Bruce" lay beside its single wharf.  She had
just completed her six-hour run across Cabot Strait, from North Sidney,
eighty-five miles away, and close at hand stood the narrow-gauge train
that was to carry her passengers and mails to St. Johns.  It would
occupy twenty-eight hours in making the run of 550 miles from coast to
coast, and our lad looked forward to the trip with pleasant
anticipations.

But he was again doomed to disappointment; for while the schooner was
still at some distance from the wharf, the train was seen to be in
motion.  In vain did Cabot shout and wave his cap.  No attention was
paid to his signals, and a minute later the train had disappeared.
There would not be another for two days, and the young engineer gazed
about him with dismay.  Port aux Basques appeared to be only a railway
terminus, offering no accommodation for travellers, and presenting,
with its desolate surroundings, a scene of cheerless inhospitality.

"That's what I call tough luck!" exclaimed White Baldwin,
sympathetically.

"Isn't it?" responded Cabot; "and what I am to do with myself in this
dreary place after you are gone, I can't imagine."

"Seems to me you'd better stay right where you are, and run up the
coast with us to St. George's Bay, where there is another station at
which you can take the next train."

"I should like to," replied Cabot, "if you would allow me to pay for my
passage; but I don't want to impose upon your hospitality any longer."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed White.  "You are already doing your full share of
the work aboard here, and even if you weren't of any help, I should be
only too happy to have you stay with us until the end of the run, for
the pleasure of your company."

"That settles it," laughed Cabot.  "I will go with you as far as St.
George's, and be glad of the chance.  But, while we are here, I think I
ought to send in the news about the 'Lavinia.'"

As White agreed that this should be done at once, Cabot was set ashore,
and made his way to the railway telegraph office, where he asked the
operator to whom in St. Johns he should send the news of a wreck.

"What wreck?" asked the operator.

"Steamer 'Lavinia.'"

"There's no need to send that to anybody, for it's old news, and went
through here last night as a press despatch.  'Lavinia' went too close
to an iceberg, that capsized, and struck her with long, under-water
projection.  Lifted steamer from water, broke her back, boiler
exploded, and that was the end of 'Lavinia.'  Mate's boat reached St.
Johns, and 'Comattus' has gone to look for other possible survivors."

As Cabot had nothing to add to this story, he merely sent a short
despatch to Mr. Hepburn, announcing his own safety, and then returned
to the schooner with his news.

"Good!" exclaimed White, when he heard it.  "I hope the 'Comattus' will
find those she has gone to look for; and I'm mighty glad she has got
something to do that will keep her away from here for a few days
longer.  Now, Dave, up with the jib."




CHAPTER VIII.

A CLASSMATE TO BE AVOIDED.

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.




CHAPTER IX.

SENDING IN A FALSE REPORT.

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 reembarked 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?"

[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."




CHAPTER X.

CABOT ACQUIRES A LOBSTER FACTORY.

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.




CHAPTER XI.

BLUFFING THE BRITISH NAVY.

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 reentered 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.




CHAPTER XII.

ENGLAND AND FRANCE COME TO BLOWS.

The Baldwins returned to their home shortly after the departure of the
discomfited officer, and listened with intense interest to Cabot's
report of all that had taken place during their absence.

"So one but a Yankee would have thought of such a plan!" exclaimed
White, "or had the cheek to carry it out.  But it makes me feel as mean
as dirt to have run away and left you to face the music alone."

"You needn't," replied Cabot, "for your absence was one of the most
important things, and I couldn't possibly have carried out the
programme if you had been there.  Now, though, we've got to hustle, for
I expect that navy chap will be back again to-morrow, and whatever we
can accomplish between now and then will probably end the
lobster-packing business so far as this factory is concerned."

That night the workers received a reinforcement, as unexpected as it
was welcome, from the crew of the Yankee schooner, who, led by Captain
Bland, came to assist their fellow countryman in his struggle against
foreign oppression.  With this timely and expert aid, the canning
business was so rushed that by ten o'clock of the next morning, when
the lookout again reported a launch to be approaching, every can was
filled and the pack was completed.  More than half of it had also been
removed from the factory and stowed aboard the "Sea Bee," ready for
delivery to the St. Johns purchaser.

"I wish he were here now," said White, "so that we might settle up our
business with him before those chaps arrive."

"Well, he isn't," replied Cabot, "and we must protect the goods as best
we can until he comes.  In the meantime I think you'd better disappear
and leave me to manage alone, the same as I did yesterday."

"No.  I won't run away again.  I'm going to stay and face the music."

"All right," agreed Cabot.  "Perhaps it will be just as well, since the
factory is closed sure enough this time.  You must let me do all the
talking, though, and perhaps in some way we'll manage to scare 'em off
again."

"If we could have just one day more we'd be all right," said White,
"but there they come.  Only, I say!  They are Frenchmen this time.  See
the flag."

Sure enough.  Instead of flying the British Union Jack the launch that
now appeared in the harbour displayed the tri-colour of the French
Republic.  Thus, when Cabot and White reached the wharf, they were just
in time to greet their acquaintance of St. Pierre, the lieutenant of
the French frigate "Isla," whom White had so neatly outwitted in that
port.  As he stepped ashore he was accompanied by a sharp-featured,
black-browed individual, whom White recognised as M. Delom, proprietor
of a French lobster factory located on another shore of the bay.

"That chap has come for pickings and stealings," he remarked in a low
tone.

"Shouldn't wonder," returned Cabot, "for he looks like a thief."

"Ah, ha, Monsieur Baldwin!  I haf catch you zis time, an' you cannot
now gif me what you call ze sleep," cried the French lieutenant.  "Also
I am come to siz your property, for you may no more can ze lob of ze
Francaise.  Behol'!  I have ze aut'orization."

So saying, the officer drew forth and unfolded with a flourish a paper
that he read aloud.  It was an order for the confiscation and removal
of all property owned by a person, or persons, named Baldwin, and used
by them contrary to law in canning lobsters on the French territory of
Newfoundland, and it was signed: "Charmian, Capitan de Fregate."

"So, Monsieur Baldwin," continued the officer, when he had finished the
reading, "you will gif to me ze key of your factory zat I may from it
remof ze materiel.  I sall also take your schooner for to convey it to
ze factory of M. Delom.  Is it plain, ma intention?"

"Your intention is only too plain," responded White.  "You are come to
aid that thief in stealing my property; but you are too late, for the
factory no longer belongs to the Baldwin family."

"Ah!  Is it so?  Who zen belong to it?"

"This gentleman is the present owner," replied White, "and you must
arrange your business with him."

"Who is he?" demanded the Frenchman, surveying Cabot contemptuously
from head to foot.  "But I do not care.  Ze material mus all ze same be
remof."

"I am an American citizen," interrupted Cabot, "and I forbid you to
touch my property.  If you do so I shall claim damages through the
American government, and in the meantime I shall call on the British
frigate now in this bay for protection."

"For ze Americains I do not care," cried the Frenchman, assuming a
theatrical attitude.  "For l'Anglais, pouf!  I also care not.  When it
is my duty I do him.  Ze material mus be remof.  Allons, mes garcons."

A dozen French bluejackets, armed with cutlasses and pistols, had
gathered behind their leader, and now these sprang forward with a
shout, clearing a way through the collected throng of villagers.
Advancing upon the main entrance to the factory, they quickly battered
down its door and rushed inside.  With them went swarthy-faced Delom,
who gloated over the spoil that now seemed within his grasp, and which
would make his own factory the best equipped on the coast, he was
especially pleased to note the pack all boxed ready for shipment, and
our lads saw him direct the officer's attention to it.  As a result the
latter gave an order, and in another minute a file of French
bluejackets, each with a case of canned lobster on his shoulder, was
marching towards the door.

Just as they reached it there came a shout and a tramp of heavy feet
from the outside.  Then a stern voice cried:

"Halt!  What are you doing here, you French beggars?  Drop those boxes
and clear out."

As the Frenchmen halted irresolute, their officer, who could not see
what was going on, but imagined that some of the villagers were
blocking the entrance, shouted for them to march on and clear away the
canaille who dared oppose them.

The French bluejackets attempted to obey, but, with their first forward
movement, they were met by an inrush of sturdy British sailors, who
sent them and their burdens crashing to the floor in every direction.
Some of them as they regained their feet drew their cutlasses, while
others fell upon the new-comers with their fists.  A pistol shot rang
out, and a British sailor pitched heavily forward.  At the same instant
both officers sprang into the melee, beating back their men with the
flat of their swords, and fiercely ordering them to desist from further
fighting.

[Illustration: Others fell on the new-comers with their fists.]

So sharp had been the brief encounter between these hereditary enemies,
that as they sullenly withdrew their clutch from each other's throats a
British sailor remained on the floor striving to staunch the blood that
spurted from a bullet wound in his leg, w