ry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate
had conceived and directed it. The _Black Eagle_ was to be loaded with
salt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. She
was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky
little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the
remainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed under
tarpaulin: whereupon--with thick weather to corroborate a tale of
wreck--the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water.

"'Tis but a matter o' clever management," Tom Tulk had said. "Choose
your weather--that's all."

Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner's
quarter boat with a circumstantial account of the disaster. The _Black
Eagle_ was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped out
her keel (it seemed), driven over the rock, filled and sunk. At Conch,
by this time, the mail-boat would be due on the southward trip.
Skipper George and the clerk would proceed in grief and humiliation to
St. John's to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cook
and the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence with
the old reprobate's schooner they would rescue fish and cargo from
beneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island in
the north. To exchange crews at Twillingate and run the cargo to St.
John's for quick sale was a small matter.

"Barrin' accident," Tom Tulk had said, "it can't fail."

There, indeed, was a cold, logical plan. "Barrin' accident," as Tom
Tulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, it
could not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent:
that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing his
schooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning?
They would say in St. John's merely that Skipper George had "done it
at last." Nobody would be surprised; everybody would say, "I told you
so." And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load of
fish who would suspect him? Was not Tom Tulk known to be an eccentric?
Was there any accounting for what Tom Tulk would do? Tom Tulk would
say, "Mind your business!" and that would make an end of the
questioning.

"Choose your weather, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk. "Let it be windy
and thick."

With fog to hide the deed--with a gale to bear out the story and keep
prying craft away--there would be small danger of detection. And what
if folk did suspect? Let 'em pro