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CHAPTER XXV

In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o’ Twillingate and the Skipper of the “Black Eagle” Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader

There was never a more notorious rascal in Newfoundland than old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. There was never a cleverer rascal–never a man who could devise new villainies as fast and execute them as neatly. The law had never laid hands on him. At any rate not for a crime of importance. He had been clapped in jail once, but merely for debt; and he had carried this off with flying colours by pushing past the startled usher in church and squatting his great flabby bulk in the governor’s pew of the next Sunday morning. He was a thief, a chronic bankrupt, a counterfeiter, an illicit liquor seller. It was all perfectly well known; but not once had a constable brought an offense home to him. He had once been arrested for theft, it is true, and taken to St. John’s by the constables; but on the way he had stolen a watch from one and put it in the pocket of the other, thereby involving both in far more trouble than they could subsequently involve him.

Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk.

George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the Black Eagle in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses.

“Now, Skipper George,” said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, “’tis a mint o’ money an’ fair easy t’ make.”

“I’m not likin’ the job,” the skipper complained. “I’m not likin’ the job at all.”

“’Tis an easy one,” Tom Tulk maintained, “an’ ’tis well paid when ’tis done.”

Skipper George scowled in objection.

“Ye’ve a soft heart for man’s work,” said Tom, with a bit of a sneer.

Skipper George laughed. “Is you thinkin’ t’ drive me by makin’ fun o’ me?” he asked.

“I’m thinkin’ nothin’,” Tom Tulk replied, “but t’ show you how it can be done. Will you listen t’ me?”

“Not me!” George Rumm declared.

Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper’s ears were wide open.

“Not me!” Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. “No, sir! I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it!”

Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper’s ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man.

“Well, well!” he sighed. “Say no more about it.”

“I’m not denyin’,” said Skipper George, “that it could be done. I’m not denyin’ that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it. I’m an honest man, Tom Tulk, an’ I’d thank you t’ remember it.”

“Well, well!” Tom Tulk sighed again. “There’s many a man in this harbour would jump at the chance; but there’s never another so honest that I could trust him.”

“Many a man, if you like,” Skipper George growled; “but not me.”

“No, no,” Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; “not you.”

“’Tis a prison offense, man!”

“If you’re cotched,” Tom Tulk laughed. “An’ tell me, George Rumm, is I ever been cotched?”

“I’m not sayin’ you is.”

“No; nor never will be.”

It had all been talked over before, of course; and it would be talked over again before a fortnight was past and the Black Eagle had set sail for the French Shore with a valuable cargo. Tom Tulk had begun gingerly; he had proceeded with exquisite caution; he had ventured a bit more; at last he had come boldly out with the plan. Manned with care–manned as she could be and as Tom Tulk would take care to have her–the Black Eagle was the ship for the purpose; and Skipper George, with a reputation for bad seamanship, was the man for the purpose. And the thing would be easy. Tom Tulk knew it. Skipper George knew it. It could be successfully done. There was no doubt about it; and Skipper George hated to think that there was no doubt about it. The ease and safety with which he might have the money tumble into his pocket troubled him. It was not so much a temptation as an aggravation. He found himself thinking about it too often; he wanted to put it out of his mind, but could not.

“Now, Tom Tulk,” said he, at last, flushing angrily, “let’s have no more o’ this. I’m fair tired of it. I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it; an’ I tells you so, once an’ for all.”

“Pass the bottle,” said Tom Tulk.

The bottle went from hand to hand.

“We’ll say no more about it,” said Tom Tulk; “but I tells you, Skipper George, that that little clerk o’ yours, Tommy Bull, is just the ticket. As for a crew, I got un handy.”

“Belay, belay!”

“Ay, ay, Skipper George,” Tom Tulk agreed; “but as for fetchin’ a cargo o’ fish into St. John’s harbour without tellin’ where it came from, if there’s any man can beat me at that, why, I’d–”

Skipper George got up and pulled open the hatch.

“I’ll see you again,” said Tom Tulk.

Skipper George of the Black Eagle helped himself to another dram when Tom Tulk had withdrawn his great body and sly face. It was true, all that Tom Tulk had said. It was true about the clerk; he was ripe to go bad. It was true about the crew; with hands scarce, and able-bodied young fellows bound to the Sidney mines for better wages, Skipper George could ship whom he liked and Tom Tulk chose. It was true about fetching fish into St. John’s without accounting whence it came. Tom Tulk could do it; nobody would ask eccentric old Tom Tulk where he got his fish–everybody would laugh. It was true about the skipper himself; it was quite true that his reputation was none of the best as a sailing-master. But he had never lost a ship yet. They might say he had come near it, if they liked; but he had never lost a ship yet. No, sir; he had never lost a ship yet. Nor would he. He’d fetch the Black Eagle home, right enough, and show Sir Archibald Armstrong!

But the thing would be easy. It was disgustingly easy in prospect. Skipper George wished that old Tom Tulk had never come near to bother him.

“Hang Tom Tulk!” thought he.

But how easy, after all, the thing would be!

The first hand put his head in the hatchway to tell Skipper George that he was to report to Sir Archibald Armstrong in the office at once. Skipper George was not quite easy about the three drams he had taken; but there was nothing for it but to appear in the office without delay. As a matter of fact Sir Archibald Armstrong detected nothing out of the way. He had something to say to Skipper George about the way to sail a schooner–about timid sailing, and reckless sailing, and feeling about in fogs, and putting out to sea, and running for harbour. When he had finished–and he spoke long and earnestly, with his blue eyes flashing, his head in the air, his teeth snapping once in a while–when Sir Archibald had finished, Skipper George was standing with his cap in his hand, his face flushed, answering, “Yes, sir,” and, “No, sir,” in a way of the meekest. When he left the office he was unpleasantly aware that he was face to face with his last chance. In this new trouble he forgot all about Tom Tulk.

“Skipper George,” he thought, taking counsel with himself, as he poured another dram, “you got t’ do better.”

He mused a long time.

“I will do better,” he determined. “I’ll show un that I can sail a schooner.”

Before he stowed away for the night, a little resentment crept into his thoughts of Sir Archibald. He had never felt this way before.

“I got t’ stop this,” he thought.

Tom Tulk was then dreaming over a glass of rum; and his dreams were pleasant dreams–concerning Skipper George of the Black Eagle.

CHAPTER XXVI

In Which the Enterprise of Archie Armstrong Evolves Señor Fakerino, the Greatest Magician In Captivity. In Which, also, the Foolish are Importuned Not to be Fooled, Candy is Promised to Kids, Bill o’ Burnt Bay is Persuaded to Tussle With “The Lost Pirate,” and the “Spot Cash” Sets Sail

For three dismal, foggy days, Archie Armstrong was the busiest business man in St. John’s, Newfoundland. He was forever damp, splashed with mud, grimy-faced, wilted as to clothes and haggard as to manner. But make haste he must; there was not a day–not an hour–to spare: for it was now appallingly near August; and the first of September would delay for no man. When, with the advice of Sir Archibald and the help of every man-jack in the warehouses (even of the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull), the credit of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company had been exhausted to the last penny, Archie sighed in a thoroughly self-satisfied way, pulled out his new check-book and plunged into work of another sort.

“How’s that bank-account holding out?” Sir Archibald asked, that evening.

“I’m a little bit bent, dad,” Archie replied, “but not yet broke.”

Sir Archibald looked concerned.

“Advertising,” Archie briefly explained.

“But,” said Sir Archibald, in protest, “nobody has ever advertised in White Bay before.”

“Somebody is just about to,” Archie laughed.

Sir Archibald was puzzled. “Wh-wh-what for?” he inquired. “What kind of advertising?”

“Handbills, dad, and concerts, and flags, and circus-lemonade.”

“Nothing more, son?” Sir Archibald mocked.

“Señor Fakerino,” Archie replied, with a smack of self-satisfaction, “the World’s Greatest Magician.”

“The same being?”

“Yours respectfully, A. Armstrong.”

Sir Archibald shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes twinkled, his sides began to shake, and he threw back his head and burst into a roar of laughter, in which Archie and his mother–they were all at dinner–joined him.

“Why, dad,” Archie exclaimed, with vast enthusiasm, “the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company is going to give the people of White Bay such a good time this summer that they’ll never deal with anybody else. And we’re going to give them the worth of their money, too–every penny’s worth. On a cash basis we can afford to. We’re going into business to build up a business; and when I come back from that English school next summer it’s going to go right ahead.”

Sir Archibald admitted the good prospect.

“Pity the poor Black Eagle!” said Archie, grinning.

Lady Armstrong finished Señor Fakerino’s gorgeously spangled crimson robe and high-peaked hat that night and Archie completed a very masterpiece of white beard. Afterwards, Archie packed his trunks. When he turned in at last, outward bound next day by the cross-country mixed train, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had stowed the phonograph, the printing-press and type, the signal flags, the magical apparatus and Fakerino costume and the new accordion; and he knew–for he had taken pains to find out–that the stock of trading goods, which he had bought with most anxious discrimination, was packed and directed and waiting at the station, consigned to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, General Merchants, Ruddy Cove, Newfoundland.

Archie slept well.

When the mail-boat made Ruddy Cove, Archie was landed, in overflowing spirits, with his boxes and bales and barrels and trunks and news. The following days were filled with intense activity. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company chartered the On Time in due form; and with the observance of every legal requirement she was given a new name, the Spot Cash. They swept and swabbed her, fore and aft; they gave her a line or two of gay paint; they fitted her cabin with shelves and a counter and her forecastle with additional bunks; and Bill o’ Burnt Bay went over her rigging and spars. While Jimmie Grimm, Bobby North and Bagg unpacked the stock and furnished the cabin shelves and stowed the hold, Billy Topsail and Archie turned to on the advertising.

The printing-press was set up in Mrs. Skipper William’s fish-stage. Billy Topsail–who had never seen the like–stared open-mouthed at the operation.

“We got to make ’em buy,” Archie declared.

“H-h-how?” Billy stammered.

“We got to make ’em want to,” said Archie. “They’ll trade if they want to.”

In return Billy watched Archie scribble.

“How’s this?” Archie asked, at last.

Billy listened to the reading.

“Will that fetch ’em aboard?” Archie demanded, anxiously.

“It would my mother,” said the astonished Billy. “I’d fetch her, bet yer life!”

They laboriously set up the handbill and triumphantly struck it off:

“That’ll fetch ’em, all right!” Archie declared. “Now for the concert.”

Billy had another shock of surprise. “Th-th what?” he ejaculated.

“Concert,” Archie replied. “You’re going to sing, Billy.”

“Me!” poor Billy exclaimed in large alarm.

“And Skipper Bill is, too,” Archie went on; “and Bagg’s going to double-shuffle, and Bobby North is going to shake that hornpipe out of his feet, and Jimmie Grimm is going to recite ‘Sailor Boy, Sailor Boy,’ and I’m going to do a trifling little stunt myself. I’m Señor Fakerino, Billy,” Archie laughed, “the Greatest Magician in Captivity. Just you wait and see. I think I’ll have a bill all to myself.”

Archie scowled and scribbled again with a result that presently made him chuckle. It appeared in the handbill (after some desperately hard work) in this guise.

It was late in the afternoon before the last handbill was off the press; and Billy Topsail then looked more like a black-face comedian than senior member of the ambitious firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie was no better–perspiring, ink-stained, tired in head and hands. But the boys were delighted with what they had accomplished. There were two other productions: one announcing the concert and the other an honest and quiet comparison of cash and credit prices with a fair exposition of the virtue and variety of the merchandise to be had aboard the Spot Cash.

When Bill o’ Burnt Bay, however, was shown the concert announcement and informed, much to his amazement, that it was down in the articles of agreement, as between him, master of the Spot Cash, and the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company–down in black and white in the articles of agreement which he was presumed to have signed–down and no dodging it–that he was to sing “The Lost Pirate” when required–Bill o’ Burnt Bay was indignant and flatly resigned his berth.

“All right, skipper,” Archie drawled. “You needn’t sing, I ’low. Billy Topsail has a sweet little pipe, an’ I ’low it’ll be a good deal better to have him sing twice.”

“Eh?” Bill gasped, chagrined. “What’s that?”

“Better to have Billy sing twice,” Archie repeated indifferently.

Bill o’ Burnt Bay glared at Billy Topsail.

“Billy Topsail,” said Archie, in a way the most careless, “has the neatest little pipe on the coast.”

“I’ll have you to know,” Bill o’ Burnt Bay snorted, “that they’s many a White Bay liveyere would pay a dime t’ hear me have a tussle with ‘The Lost Pirate.’”

Archie whistled.

“Look you, Archie!” Skipper Bill demanded; “is you goin’ t’ let me sing, or isn’t you?”

“I is,” Archie laughed.

That was the end of the mutiny.

At peep of dawn the Spot Cash set sail from Ruddy Cove with flags flying and every rag of sail spread to a fair breeze. Presently the sun was out, the sky blue, the wind smartly blowing. Late in the afternoon she passed within a stone’s throw of Mother Burke and rounded Cape John into White Bay. Before dark she dropped anchor in Coachman’s Cove and prepared for business.

“Come on, lads!” Archie shouted, when the anchor was down and all sail stowed. “Let’s put these dodgers where they’ll do most good.”

The handbills were faithfully distributed before the punts of Coachman’s came in from the fishing grounds; and that night, to an audience that floated in punts in the quiet water, just beyond the schooner’s stern, and by the light of four torches, Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company presented their first entertainment in pursuit of business, the performers operating upon a small square stage which Bill o’ Burnt Bay had rigged on the house of the cabin.

It was a famous evening.

CHAPTER XXVII

In Which the Amazing Operations of the “Black Eagle” Promise to Ruin the Firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and Archie Armstrong Loses His Temper and Makes a Fool of Himself

Trade was brisk next day–and continued brisk for a fortnight. From Coachman’s Cove to Seal Cove, from Seal Cove to Black Arm, from Black Arm to Harbour Round and Little Harbour Deep went the Spot Cash. She entered with gay signal flags and a multitude of little Union Jacks flying; and no sooner was the anchor down than the phonograph began its musical invitation to draw near and look and buy. And there was presently candy for the children; and there were undeniable bargains for the mothers. In the evening–under a quiet starlit sky–Skipper Bill “tussled” gloriously with “The Lost Pirate,” and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his very toes, and Bill Topsail wistfully piped the well-loved old ballads of the coast in a tender treble; and after that Señor Fakerino created no end of mystification and applause by extracting half-dollars from the vacant air, and discovering three small chicks in an empty top-hat, and producing eggs at will from Bagg’s capacious mouth, and with a mere wave of his wand changing the blackest of ink into the very most delicious of lemonade. The folk of that remote coast were delighted. They had never been amused before; and they craved amusement–like little children.

Trade followed as a matter of course.

Trade was brisk as any heart could wish up the White Bay coast to the first harbours of the northern reaches of the French Shore; and there it came to an appalling full stop. The concerts were patronized as before; but no fish came aboard for exchange.

“I can’t bear to look the calendar in the face,” Archie complained.

The Spot Cash then lay at anchor in Englee.

“’Tis the fifth o’ August,” said Billy Topsail.

“Whew!” Archie whistled. “Sixteen days to the first of September!”

“What’s the matter, anyhow?” Skipper Bill inquired.

“The Black Eagle’s the matter,” said Archie, angrily. “She’s swept these harbours clean. She cleaned out Englee yesterday.”

“Stand by, all hands!” roared the skipper.

“What’s up, skipper?” asked Archie.

“Nothin’,” replied the skipper; “that’s the trouble. But the mains’l will be up afore very long if there’s a rope’s end handy,” he added. “We’ll chase the Black Eagle.”

They caught the Black Eagle at anchor in Conch that evening. She was deep in the water. Apparently her hold was full; there were the first signs of a deck-load of fish to be observed. In a run ashore Archie very soon discovered the reason of her extraordinary success. He returned to the deck of the Spot Cash in a towering rage. The clerk of the Black Eagle had put up the price of fish and cut the price of every pound and yard of merchandise aboard his vessel. No wonder she had loaded. No wonder the folk of the French Shore had emptied their stages of the summer’s catch. And what was the Spot Cash to do? Where was she to get her fish? By selling at less than cost and buying at more than the market price? Nothing of the sort! Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company were not going to be ruined by that sort of folly. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company couldn’t have any fish. The powerful firm of Armstrong & Company of St. John’s was going to put the poor little firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company out of business–going to snuff ’em out–had snuffed ’em out. The best thing Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company could do was to get to cover and call cash trading as big a failure as had ever been made in Newfoundland business.

“Isn’t fair!” Archie complained, aboard the Spot Cash. “It’s dirty business, I tell you.”

“Let’s fire away, anyhow,” said Jimmie Grimm.

“It isn’t fair of dad,” Archie repeated, coming as near to the point of tears as a boy of his age well could. “It’s a low trick to cut a small trader’s throat like this. They can outsail us and keep ahead of us; and they’ll undersell and overbuy us wherever we go. When they’ve put us out of business, they’ll go back to the old prices. It isn’t fair of dad,” he burst out. “I tell you, it isn’t fair!”

“Lend a hand here,” said Bill. “We’ll see what they do.”

A pretense of hauling up the mainsail was made aboard the Spot Cash. There was an immediate stir on the deck of the Black Eagle; the hands were called from the forecastle.

“Look at that!” said Archie, in disgust.

Both crews laughed and gave it up.

“It isn’t like your dad,” said Bill o’ Burnt Bay. “I’ll lay you alongside the Black Eagle, Archie,” he added, “an’ you can have a little yarn with Skipper George.”

Skipper George Rumm was glad to see Archie–glad in a too bland way, in which, however, Archie did not detect a very obvious nervousness. Three eighty-five for fish? Yes; the skipper did believe that Tommy Bull was paying three eighty-five. No; he didn’t know the market price in St. John’s. Flour and pork and sugar and tea? No; the skipper didn’t know just what Tommy Bull was selling flour and pork and sugar and tea at. You see, Tommy Bull was clerk of the Black Eagle; and that was the clerk’s business. Tommy Bull was ashore just then; the skipper didn’t just quite know when he’d come aboard. Were these prices Sir Archibald’s orders? Really, Skipper George didn’t know. Tommy Bull knew all about that; and Tommy Bull had clerked in these waters long enough to keep the firm’s business to himself. Tommy Bull was closemouthed; he wouldn’t be likely to blab Sir Archibald’s orders in every harbour of the coast or whisper them in the ear of a rival trading clerk.

This last thrust was too much for Archie’s dignity. He leaped from the deck of the Black Eagle into his own punt in a greater rage than ever.

“There’s t’ be a spell o’ rough weather,” were Skipper George’s last words.

The punt moved away.

“Skipper Bill,” said Archie, “the nearest telegraph station is at Tilt Cove. Can we make it in a night?”

“If the wind holds,” the skipper answered.

“Then we’ll try,” said Archie.

The predicament was explained to Donald North and Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail. The Spot Cash could have no more fish as long as the Black Eagle paid three eighty-five with the St. John’s market at three thirty-five. But was the market at three thirty-five? Hadn’t the Black Eagle later information? That must be found out; and from Tilt Cove it could be discovered in two hours. So up went the sails of the Spot Cash, and, with the Black Eagle following, she jockeyed out of the harbour. Presently, when she had laid a course for Cape John and Tilt Cove, the Black Eagle came about and beat back to Conch.

Next morning–and dirty weather was promised for the day–the Spot Cash dropped anchor in the shelter of the cliff at Tilt Cove and Billy Topsail pulled Archie ashore. It was in Archie’s heart to accuse his father’s firm of harsh dealing with a small competitor; but he resolved to do no more than ask the price of fish. The answer would be significant of all that the lad wished to know; and if the great firm of Armstrong & Company had determined to put obstacles in the way of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, even to the point of ruin, there was no help for Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie would ask no quarter.

“Make haste!” Skipper Bill called from the deck of the Spot Cash. “I’ve no love for this harbour in a gale o’ wind.”

It was poor shelter at best.

“Much as I can,” Archie shouted back.

The boy sent this telegram:

Tilt Cove, August 6

Armstrong & Company,
St. John’s.
Price of fish.

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company

There was now nothing to do but wait. Sir Archibald would be in his little office overlooking his wharves and shipping. It would not be long. And the reply presently came:

St. John’s, August 6

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company,
Aboard "Spot Cash,"
Tilt Cove.
Still three thirty-five. No rise probable.

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company

Archie Armstrong was hurt. He could hardly conceive that his father had planned the ruin of his undertaking and the loss of his honour. But what was left to think? Would the skipper and clerk of the Black Eagle deliberately court discharge? And discharge it would be–discharge in disgrace. There was no possible excuse for this amazing change in prices. No; there was no explanation but that they were proceeding upon Sir Archibald’s orders. It was inconceivable that they should be doing anything else. Archie would ask no quarter of his father; but he would at least let Sir Archibald know that he was aware of the difference between fair and unfair competition. Before he boarded the Spot Cash he dispatched this message:

Tilt Cove, August 6

Armstrong & Company,
St. John’s.
Tilt Cove.
“Black Eagle” paying three eighty-five. Underselling flour, pork, tea, sugar. Why don’t you play fair?

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company

If Archie Armstrong could have been in the little office which overlooked the wharves to observe the effect of that message upon Sir Archibald he would not only have been amazed but would have come to his senses in a good deal less time than he actually did. The first item astounded and bewildered Sir Archibald; the second–the brief expression of distrust–hurt him sorely. But he had no time to be sentimental. Three eighty-five for fish? What was the meaning of that? Cut prices on flour, pork, sugar and tea? What was the meaning of that? Sir Archibald saw in a flash what it meant to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. But what did it mean to Armstrong & Company? Sir Archibald flushed and perspired with wrath. He pushed buttons–he roared orders–he scribbled telegrams. In ten minutes, so vociferous was his rage, so intense his purpose, it was known from one end of the establishment to the other that the Black Eagle must be communicated with at once.

But Armstrong & Company could not manage to communicate with the Black Eagle direct, it seemed. Armstrong & Company might, however, communicate with the Spot Cash, now at Tilt Cove and possibly bound north. Doubtless by favour of the clerk of the Spot Cash Armstrong & Company would be able to speak orders in the ear of Skipper George Rumm.

“Judd!” Sir Archibald roared.

The pale little clerk appeared on the bound.

“Rush this,” said Sir Archibald.

The message read: