THE CHANNEL CRUISE The people of Dunkirk must have been very stupid indeed if they could not have perceived that there was something mysterious about the strange little vessel that lay moored to one of the wharves. Although there was some attempt at carrying out the disguise of her being a peaceful trader, there were many circumstances arising that would mark her otherwise. But, to tell the truth, the people of Dunkirk were not only suspicious. In their minds they were quite settled as to the aims and ambitions of the jaunty little lugger, and sailors ashore are wont sometimes to let their tongues get away with their discretion. The English spies and agents of course were well informed, and letters were written even to the papers in London describing the doings at Dunkirk, and the preparations that were being made to outfit a “piratical expedition,” as it was called, against the king’s commerce in his own home water. Objection was continually made by the English representatives against the outfitting of a belligerent vessel in a friendly port, but nothing was done by the French authorities, and very soon the Surprise--or the Roebuck, as she was then called--was ready for sea with the exception of her armament, her given destination being Norway and Sweden. Conyngham and his crew had kept away during the lading of the vessel, and most of the work had been done by Frenchmen, in order to prevent the whole thing from being too glaringly open. But one evening, just about dusk, Conyngham strolled down the edge of the wharf and stood watching some long boxes that were being slung on board and lowered over the side. A very short red-haired man came up to him and spoke to him in French. “Good evening, monsieur,” he said. “A pretty little vessel this, eh?” Conyngham turned at once and looked the speaker over. He knew him to be an Englishman who was supposed to be a Government spy. The man’s audacity in daring to approach him at that moment was rather startling, but Conyngham’s reply must have been more so. “She is good to look at,” he returned in French, “and they tell me she is sailing to-morrow night. But let us go down to her,” he said, taking the smaller man’s arm, “and ask some questions of those on board. We may learn something.” Half reluctantly, the Englishman accompanied him. In a few steps they were at the gangway. The tackle that had just deposited its load on deck swung outboard from the yard-arm that was being used as a crane, and passed close to where Conyngham and the spy were standing. With a swiftness that was surprising, Conyngham caught the rope in one hand and gave it a twist about the body of his companion beneath the arms. “Hoist away,” he shouted, holding the struggling Englishman. And before he knew it the latter was swinging in the air, afraid to struggle for fear of being dropped, but shouting and cursing in hearty John Bull fashion.