The Black Joke (6 page)

“We'll have our lines ashore in half an hour,” Jonathan said to Barnes as the merchant came up beside him.

“Maybe you will, Skipper, maybe you will,” Barnes replied noncommittally; and leaving Jonathan to stare in surprise at his back, he moved to the foot of the mainmast and stood braced against it.

“Motor vessel comin' out the channel, Kye,” Jonathan said. “Keep well over to the starboard side; give him what room he needs.”

The two vessels were approaching each other fairly slowly, both on their own sides of the channel, which was now only a few hundred feet wide.

A sudden spurt of white water at the motorboat's stern caught Jonathan's eye. As he watched, the power boat leapt forward under the full thrust of her twin engines. In a few moments she was racing along at fifteen knots and then, quite inexplicably, she altered course directly for
Black Joke
.

With a single jump Jonathan was at
Black Joke's
wheel, roughly pushing Kye aside. The motorboat was coming straight for the schooner's bow, and unless one of the two ships altered course a collision was inevitable. The action of the motorboat seemed so inexplicable that Jonathan wondered briefly if she had gone out of control–perhaps her steering had failed. He had only seconds to decide what he should do. If he hauled to port, and the other ship then tried to return to her own side of the channel, the consequent collision would be partly Jonathan's fault. But if he hauled to starboard and ran his ship outside the channel and into the nest of sunken rocks which lay there, he would probably sink her. The third alternative, to hold his course, trust
ing to the fact that
Black Joke
, being under sail, had the right of way over the other ship, might prove equally fatal unless the master of the motorboat quickly admitted
Black Joke's
rights and swung back to his own side of the channel. It seemed fearfully plain that this was something he had no intention of doing.

There was no time to weigh the odds. The motorboat was holding straight on toward the schooner, and in seconds the two vessels would collide head-on and with disastrous results. Jonathan made his decision. With a shout of warning, he spun the wheel hard over and
Black Joke's
bows began to swing to port, toward the center of the channel.

It was as if the master of the motorboat had been waiting for this action (as indeed he had). Having forced the schooner to disobey the rule of keeping to the right, the American now swung his own ship sharply toward mid-channel. Being under power, the motorboat answered to her helm much faster than
Black Joke
could do. Before Jonathan could counter this move by trying to swing back to starboard, the master of the motor ship had slowed his engines to quarter speed and had deliberately run under the
Black Joke's
bow so that the schooner struck a glancing blow just abaft the rum-runner's wheelhouse. It was neatly done. The motorboat skipper had calculated the angle of impact to a nicety, so that his ship would take no serious damage.
Black Joke
swept along the rum-runner's port quarter aft. The schooner's anchor, catted out over her bow,
caught on the rum-runner's boat davits and tore loose, plunging into the channel with a jolt that released the brake on the windlass and sent ten fathoms of chain running out with a roar. Brought up short by the anchor,
Black Joke
swung into the wind, her sails flapping wildly, while the motor vessel spun about and headed back at full speed toward the inner harbor, not even pausing to see what damage
Black Joke
had suffered.

Things had happened so rapidly that neither Peter nor Kye were at all clear as to what had actually occurred; but at Jonathan's shout of “
Get the sail off her. JUMP, you two!
” they leapt instinctively to the halyards. Meanwhile Jonathan raced forward and swung himself out on the bobstays (which brace the bowsprit), where he satisfied himself that, apart from two or three splintered planks well above waterline,
Black Joke
had taken no real damage.

The excitement seemed to be over almost as quickly as it had begun. While the boys furled the sails, Jonathan started the old engine. The chain and anchor were winched aboard, and the ship was under way once more.

Back at the wheel, Jonathan was reminded of the presence of the merchant, who had not moved from his position by the mainmast.

“You hit that poor chap pretty hard,” Barnes said.

Jonathan could not conceal his surprise at the remark.

“Lardy, sorr!” he replied in astonishment. “He run
hisself
square into
me!
A proper madman in command, I'd say. We's lucky not to be swimmin', with that'un out to sink us like he looked to be.”

“P'raps
you
might see it that way,” Barnes said, “but to me it looked like you went in the wrong, hauling over to port the way you did.”

Jonathan's temper, already overstrained by the events of the past half-hour, shot out of control at this.

“Why, ye blind old robber!” he shouted. “In the wrong, was I? And what'd you have done? Hauled off to starboard and put the schooner on the rocks?”

Barnes only smiled coldly before turning his back and going forward to pack his gear.

Jonathan was still fuming when
Black Joke
entered the inner harbor and came alongside the wharf in front of the customs house. He was surprised to see what looked like a reception committee waiting on the dock. Apart from three uniformed
douanes
(customs officers), there was also a detachment of gendarmes led by the
chef de gendarmerie
himself. A score of civilians surrounded these dignitaries, but none of them offered to take
Black Joke
's mooring lines when the boys flung them ashore. Kye had to leap to the wharf and make the lines fast himself.

Two of the customs men then came aboard, closely followed by the chief of the gendarmes. Jonathan led the way to the forepeak and, taking his ship's papers out of the watertight box where he stored his valuables, he presented them to the customs officers, while casting a curious glance at the gendarme. The police did not
normally concern themselves with a vessel's arrival, and already Jonathan was beginning to smell trouble ahead.

The customs men made no difficulty. After a rapid reading of the papers, they excused themselves.

“All seems to be in order, but you will present yourself to the customs house, please,
monsieur le capitain
,” said the senior of the two. “The formalities, you understand. Good morning.” They climbed the ladder and disappeared, leaving Jonathan alone with the
chef de gendarmerie
, an imposing fellow in a most elaborate uniform. He seemed somewhat ill at ease.

“I am informed, Monsieur,” he began, “that there was a little trouble in the channel?”

“Aye,” replied Jonathan indignantly. “Trouble there was. I'll be takin' me protest to the harbormaster this very day. And there's like to be more trouble afore I'm through with that madman who nigh onto sunk my ship.”

The policeman bowed very slightly.

“
Monsieur le capitain
,” he continued, “I am afraid there will indeed be trouble. Already there is a protest lodged by the master of the other ship, and here is a writ from the
judiciairie
. Your vessel is under arrest until the matter is settled. You will not attempt to leave port, please? I am sorry. I must tell you, I do not like some of the Yankee people who come here in these times, but they have many friends in St. Pierre. I am not their friend, but I must do my duty. Let us go on deck, please?” He climbed the companion ladder with a worried Jonathan close behind him. One of the gen
darmes had come aboard and was busy nailing an official-looking piece of paper to the mainmast.

“This man will stay aboard your ship,” the Chief explained. “I hope he will not make the inconvenience for you.”

Not a little confused by the course of events, Jonathan searched the crowd for Barnes, who, as charterer of the ship, would presumably be involved in any difficulties that had arisen. But Barnes had vanished. He was at that moment sitting in Jean Gauthier's living room, drinking a glass of neat whiskey and chuckling as he recounted the story of the collision.

“Went off smooth as oiled silk,” he was saying. “That Yankee fellow–Smith you say his name is?–couldn't have done no better. So now there's him, and his crew, and me from
Black Joke
to testify Spence done the wrong thing. We'll all of us swear he had his engine going, even though his sails was still up. I figured on having two of my own men aboard to back up the story, but I don't reckon we'll need them. Spence won't have nobody but they two b'ys to testify for him, and both of 'em's too young to fetch any weight in court. How much did you tell Smith to ask fer damages?”

“Fifty thousand francs,” Gauthier replied amiably. “It will be enough, for you tell me Captain Spence has no money. My
avocat
has arranged all. The official investigation will be held on Monday, and there is little doubt of the result. After that will come Smith's suit for damages. If we win that, then the boat will be sold
to pay the judgment, and already it is arranged that I will buy the boat. A week, no more, is needed. I have been able, as you say, to oil the wheels of justice a little.”

 

6

The Land Sharks Snare a Ship

J
ONATHAN
S
PENCE
was more angry than unhappy. He was not much worried about the outcome of the investigation into the accident. That would get straightened out easily enough, thought Jonathan. But he was annoyed that the master of the rum-runner had had the nerve to pretend total innocence and attempt to lay the blame on the
Black Joke
.

“We're in a kettle of fish, b'ys,” he explained to Peter and Kye, whose curiosity about the presence of the policeman was so great they could hardly contain themselves. “See that bit of paper the Johnnydarm has nailed onto the mainmast? That's what they calls a ‘blanket.' It's a kind of summons, like. Means
Black Joke
is under arrest, but they can't very aisy put a schooner into their jail, so they sticks up that poster on her and puts a guard aboard to see she don't run off.”

“But why'd the Frenchies want to arrest
Black Joke?
” asked Peter.

“On account of the so-called skipper of that cockeyed motorboat what almost sunk us. Knowed he was in the wrong, so he hustles into harbor ahead of us and swears out a complaint claimin' 'twas we 'uns was at fault. Tryin' to git the leap on us, ye see. But we've no cause to worry none. With ye two young 'uns and merchant Barnes to back me up, the truth'll come out quick enough. We'll have that seagoing idjut wishin' he'd stayed t'home to drive a pony cart, when the truth gits told. I'm off to the agent now to see about gittin' the cargo took off. Ye b'ys stay close to the ship till I gits back.”

Jonathan leapt onto the quay and walked briskly across the
Place
, a large open square beside the harbor which was enclosed on three sides by the offices of ships' agents (who conduct the shore business for visiting ships), bars, cafés, and shops catering to fishermen and seamen. Several idlers glanced at the big Newfoundlander curiously. The story of the collision in the channel was already common gossip.

Jonathan turned into one of the larger buildings, under the gilt-encrusted sign of
Jean Gauthier et Cie
, and striding up to the ornate counter he caught the attention of a rather seedy-looking little man behind it.

“Captain Spence,” he said firmly, “Schooner
Black Joke
come from Bay Despair with lumber belongin' to Simon Barnes. You speak English?”

The seedy little man smiled briefly. “
Oui, monsieur–
yes,
mon capitain
, I speak it very well. We already have the order from Monsieur Barnes to act as agent
for your ship. Tomorrow the stevedores will unload the lumber. Meanwhile whatever we can do to be of service, you must ask. There are supplies perhaps you need?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Maybe afore we sails for home there'll be some things to buy. Main thing you can do fer me now is find out exactly why my vessel's been arrested. That, and tell me the course I ought to steer with the authorities.”

“Certainly, Monsieur. As to the first, I can myself tell you what you wish to know.
Monsieur le capitain
Smith, whose ship you hit, has made the protest to the harbor authorities that you cut across his bow incorrectly and without warning. Besides he has made the action against you in the court for damages–very large damages I think, perhaps fifty thousand francs.

“Two days from now will be the investigation at the
Palais de Justice
. It will be best for you to have an
avocat–
how you say, a lawyer? There is, of course, the matter of the cost. It will be necessary to deposit five thousand francs, to guarantee the fee of the lawyer.”

“Five thousand francs!” Jonathan replied indignantly. “That's close by a hundred dollars! Almost more'n me charter's worth! Where d'ye think I'd lay hands on that much money, eh?”

“As to that, Monsieur, I cannot say,” said the agent smoothly. “Nevertheless, no lawyer will act for you without the guarantee. Perhaps Monsieur Barnes will make the advance against your charter?”

“And perhaps codfish'll start to fly! Look 'ee here, me
son. I'm in the rights in that collision, and it don't take a hundred dollars to help me tell the truth, neither!” And with that Jonathan turned on his heel and stamped out of the building, while the agent lost no time in picking up the old-fashioned phone in his office to inform his employer, Mr. Gauthier, of the details of the encounter.

Gauthier and Barnes were still together. After having listened to his employee on the telephone, Gauthier turned gleefully toward his guest.

“It marches well,” he said. “The good
capitain
will not find anyone in St. Pierre to help him with his case–unless he pays; and pay he cannot unless you wish to be the generous friend and make an advance upon his charter.”

Barnes chuckled and poured himself another drink. “That sounds likely, don't it now?” he asked.

Aboard
Black Joke
, Peter and Kye were doing ship's chores, furling the sails in proper harbor style and generally putting things shipshape; but they could not refrain from casting longing glances at the town.

It was the largest town either of them had ever seen and, though it only boasted five thousand people, it seemed like a veritable New York. Trucks laden with salt fish trundled busily through the
Place
. Other trucks laden with wooden boxes, stenciled with the names of famous whiskey manufacturers in Scotland, were shuttling back and forth between the whiskey warehouses and a rusty old tramp freighter which was unloading at one of the docks. Basque fishermen, wearing black be
rets, brought their big power dories laden with fresh cod into the harbor. Motorcycles roared and sputtered up the steep and narrow streets past gray and weathered houses built in the styles of ancient France. A steady stream of apparently aimless loungers moved in and out of the several bars along the waterfront. One group, consisting of three or four tough-looking men carrying sheath knives at their belts, wandered down to the dock where
Black Joke
was lying, and eyed her speculatively. Ignoring the two boys, who were at work loosening the lashings on the piles of lumber stowed on deck, they began to talk amongst themselves.

“Them Newfies sure build 'em rough,” one of them said.

“Rough but tough, I guess,” replied a second.

“Good enough lines to her,” said the third. “Give her the power and she'll move.”

The first man laughed harshly. “Yep, she'll move. Move right out from under that tinhorn Newfie skipper. Who do you reckon'll take charge of her?”

“Smith, more'n likely. He's welcome. For my money she's a fish tub, nothin' more, even when they put a hundred horse-power diesel in her guts.”

“Lay off that talk,” said the first man. “This joint's getting lousy with Federal agents. Keep your yap shut, Jimmy, or someone'll shut it for you.”

“Who's to hear? Nobody aboard her but a French cop with hair in his ears and a couple of kids. Hey, kids, you hear what we been sayin'?”

Peter and Kye had heard all right, though they had
not fully understood. They were a little afraid of these strange men who spoke English with a queer accent, so they pretended total ignorance. Ducking their heads they continued with their work.

“See?” said the man who had been told to keep his mouth shut. “Deaf and dumb. Dumb, anyhow.”

Nevertheless the three men continued their conversation in lowered tones that no longer carried to the boys' ears. After a few minutes they re-crossed the
Place
and entered another bar.

When they were out of earshot, Peter turned to Kye.

“Can 'ee figure what they 'uns was talking about?” he asked.

Kye shrugged: “Sounded like they was plannin' to buy
Black Joke
, or thought they was anyhow. You think maybe they're rum-runners from the States?”

Peter nodded his head wisely. “Must be. Good thing Dad wasn't aboard or he'd have made 'em swallow what they said about Newfoundlanders.”

Jonathan did not get back to the boat until late afternoon, and when he did arrive he was in no happy mood. After leaving the agent's office, he had gone to the offices of three different lawyers and had tried to arrange for one of them to represent him at the official hearing into the accident. The first lawyer had simply refused to understand English, though Jonathan was certain the man understood it well enough. The other two had been agreeable to represent Jonathan–if he was prepared to give them a retainer of a hundred dollars in advance.

“I never thought too much of lawyers,” Jonathan told the boys when he got back to the ship, “but I never figured to find them squeezin' blood from a man
afore
they'd give him a hand. I'd have told the lot of 'em to go to perdition, only I run into a skipper I knowed, Paddy Mathews from Burin. His vessel's lyin' up on the marine railway for hull repairs and he got me aboard of her and told me he figures I either got to git a lawyer, or lose the case. He claims he heard a story someone's plannin' to steal
Black Joke
offen me, and has paid off the authorities to help. Paddy's a good man, and worth trustin'. So after he told me that, I went huntin' for merchant Barnes. Took me two hours to track him down. I asks him for half the charter money in advance, seein' as how the lumber is safe delivered in St. Peter's. Barnes says, ‘Your charter ain't completed until we gits back home, Skipper Spence, and I never pays until a job's complete.' Well, b'ys, I wasn't goin' to beg offen the likes of him so I come away, and here I am.”

Kye and Peter looked at each other, not quite sure whether to risk adding to Jonathan's problems or not, then Kye took the bull by the horns.

“There was somethin' happened whilst you was away, Uncle Jonathan. A crowd of Yankees or some such fellows come down to the wharf–rum-runners likely from the look of them–and Peter and I heard 'em talkin' like they expected friends of theirs was goin' to own
Black Joke
. One of 'em said somethin' about ‘movin' her right out from under her Newfie skipper.'”

“Don't pay no heed to half what ye hear, me b'ys,” Jonathan said, for he did not wish the boys to know how worried he was becoming, and how their story dovetailed with what he had already heard from his friend, Mathews. It was all rumor, of course, but the rumors were beginning to make a pattern–one that Jonathan did not like at all.

Affecting an air of joviality, Jonathan put the boys to work getting supper ready. After it had been eaten and the enamel plates and mugs had been washed and carefully stowed in the racks above the old stove, he announced that he was going ashore once more.

“Goin' to look for a old friend of mine,” he explained. “Fisherman from Miquelon, name of Pierre Roulett, married a woman from the south coast. He used to come down the Bay years past, salmon fishin'. Me and Kye's father done him a good turn once when the fishery patrol boat was looking for Frenchy poachers. He always said if ever I come to St. Peter's I was to seek him out, and now I guess it's time I did. Seems like we could use a friend or two.”

The boys waited up until late that night, but Jonathan did not return until after sleepiness had driven them to their bunks. In the morning he told them that he had been unable to find his friend, Pierre Roulett. “He's off in Miquelon where he belongs to,” he explained. “Him and his son Jacques. So it looks like we'll just have to make out on our own.”

Soon after breakfast a gang of French navvies appeared on the wharf with three old trucks, and all
through the day they worked the lumber. By the afternoon the decks and holds had been cleared and
Black Joke
lay empty.

At dusk another gendarme came to relieve the one on duty guarding the boat, and he brought a paper for Jonathan–in French. When Jonathan took it to the agent for a translation it turned out to be a summons to appear at the
Palais de Justice
at 10:00
A.M.
on Monday to attend an investigation of the collision.