With the setting of the sun a light mist formed and hung above the surface of the big crescent-shaped bay on which Austin’s Pool was located. The shadowy blanket was just heavy enough to dim the side lights of the little vessels that were moving in and out of the harbor, going to or returning from the fishing grounds, and to make the craft themselves phantom-like and ghostly as they flitted by.
Jack and Ray, with Warden Williams and Old Mitchell, were not the first to arrive at the end of the long dock which was the appointed place of meeting for the party that was to raid Frenchman’s Point. Indeed, as they made their way down the pier they could see a group of shadowy figures standing about the structure, the glowing openings of their pipe bowls making dull red sparks in the grayed darkness.
The matter of which kind of a boat would be best to take the party across the bay was under discussion when the warden and his three assistants arrived. Some advised the use of sail boats which would approach the Point in silence, while others suggested motor boats because of their superior speed. The chief of the expedition soon settled the question, however, by suggesting that Mitchell’s boat, the Betsy Anne, which was known to be one of the speediest of its size in that vicinity, be used to convey part of the group. Joe Milliken’s sloop was chartered to carry the remainder. There were twenty men all told, which provided ten to each boat, thus allowing all to travel in comfort.
Before embarking, however, a council of war was held, for every man of the twenty was decidedly eager to have the expedition a success. Not one of them had the slightest liking for the riffraff of Frenchman’s Point and they said so in rather crude but forceful language. Indeed, almost every fisherman and lobsterman at the Pool had some grudge against Salmon Jack and other men of the notorious settlement across the bay, and they were more than eager to pay up old scores. Nets had been cut or stolen, lobsters and even lobster traps and lobster cars had disappeared, and the fishermen were quite certain that the honest old seamen who put in at the Pool were not to blame for these outrages.
In truth, the fact that Old Mitchell had actually secured evidence by means of which arrests and convictions could be made pleased every one in the fishing village who had heard of it so far, and probably Warden Williams could have had a hundred deputies if he had wanted them. His assistant, June Emery, whom Jack and Ray had seen in the warden’s office that evening and whom Mr. Williams had sent to organize the posse, had been discreet, however, and had only told the news of the proposed raid to the men whom he knew Mr. Williams was anxious to have as members of his party.
Every man of them had come armed in some way or another. One or two had guns, but most of them carried clubs or short-handled, ugly looking mallets, which Ray informed Jack were called “muckles” and were used by cod-fishermen to kill the big fish as they were hauled aboard the dories out on the banks.
The conference on the wharf’s end lasted fully fifteen minutes and finally resulted in Warden Williams outlining a plan of action.
“Look here, boys,” he said. “It’ll be about half-past nine when we reach t’ P’int. By that time ha’af of the population of the shanties will be in Fred King’s hang-out, which is the only social center those heathens have. I suggest we land on the P’int as quickly as we can and go up and surround the rum shop. Then I’ll go inside and arrest whoever I want, and if they try to scatter, we’ll buckle into ’em and arrest every one we can lay hands on, even if we can’t prove anything agin’ ’em. How’s that?”
“Right’s a fiddle,” said several.
“Mighty smart figgerin’,” assured others.