Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.Angry, but trembling with dread, Celia had hurried up to her own room, to try and think what was best to be done. She had secured the door of the room below to gain time, feeling as she did that, as the young midshipman knew of the storing of the smuggled goods, he would, the moment he was free, go back to the cutter, bring help, there would perhaps be a desperate fight, with men killed, and her father would be dragged away to prison.Her first thought was to go to her father, but she shrank from doing this as her mother would probably be asleep, and in her delicate state the alarm might seriously affect her.Having grown learned in the ways of the smugglers, from their having on several occasions made use of the great vault without asking permission—at times when Sir Risdon was away from home—Celia had sat up to watch that night to see if the men would fetch away the kegs and bales; hence her presence during the scene, and when she had awakened to the fact that the midshipman had played spy and was ready to denounce her father, she felt that all was over.Three times over, after listening at the head of the stairs for sounds from below where her prisoner was confined, Celia had crept on tiptoe to her father’s door, only to shrink away again not daring to speak.For what would he say to her? She thought. She had no right to be downstairs watching the acts of the smugglers, and she dreaded to make a confession of her knowledge of these nocturnal proceedings.At last, bewildered, anxious, and worn-out, she knelt down by her bed, to consider with her head in her hands, ready for kindly nature to bring her comfort, for when she started up again the sun was streaming brightly in at her window.She pressed her hands to her temples, and tried to think about the business of the past night, and by degrees she collected her thoughts, and recalled that the smugglers had come to take up their kegs and bales from the temporary store to carry them further inland, that she had discovered the young midshipman watching, and to save her father she had shut their enemy in the lower corner room.Celia stood with her cheeks burning, trembling and anxious, and after bathing her face and arranging her hair, she went out into the broad passage and listened at her father’s door.It was too soon for him to be stirring yet, and determining at last to go and declare his innocency, and make an appeal to the frank-looking lad, she crept timidly down the grand old flight of stairs, trying to think out what she would say.There were two flights to descend, and the first took a long time; but she worked out a nice little speech, in which she would tell the cutter’s officer that her father had once been rich, but he had espoused the young Pretender’s cause, and the result had been that he had become so impoverished that there had been a time when they had had hardly enough to keep them and the old maid-servant who still clung to their fallen fortunes.By the time she was at the bottom of the second flight she was ready and quite hopeful, and, with the tears standing in her eyes, she felt sure that the frank, gentlemanly lad would be merciful, forgive her, and save her father from a terrible disgrace.She had, then, her speech all ready, but when she spoke everything was condensed in the one exclamation—“Oh!”For as she reached the hall where her coming and going had so startled the midshipman in the darkness, she found that the door was wide open and the window shut.She looked about bewildered, but there was no sign of the room having been occupied.“Did I dream it all?” she said in an awe-stricken whisper. “No: the men came to take away the brandy and silk, and I saw them here.”She pressed her hands to her temples, for the surprise had confused her, and in addition her head ached and throbbed.“Could I have dreamed it?” she asked herself again. “No, I remember the men coming to fetch away the things and then I found him watching.”She stood gazing before her, with her puzzled feeling increasing, till a thought struck her.She saw the men come to fetch the kegs. If she really did see that, the kegs would be gone.The proof was easy. If the brandy and silk were gone, the door of the vault would be open. If the things were not fetched away, it would be locked up; and if she tapped on the door with her knuckles, there would be a dull sound instead of a hollow, echoing noise.She ran quickly down, and the door was locked.She tapped with her knuckles, and the sound indicated that the place was full, for all was dull and heavy and no reverberation in the place.“I must have dreamed it all,” she cried joyously. “I have thought so much about it that I have fancied all this, and made myself ill. Why, of course he could not have got in there to watch or the men would have seen him come.”It is very easy to place faith in that which you wish to believe.

Angry, but trembling with dread, Celia had hurried up to her own room, to try and think what was best to be done. She had secured the door of the room below to gain time, feeling as she did that, as the young midshipman knew of the storing of the smuggled goods, he would, the moment he was free, go back to the cutter, bring help, there would perhaps be a desperate fight, with men killed, and her father would be dragged away to prison.

Her first thought was to go to her father, but she shrank from doing this as her mother would probably be asleep, and in her delicate state the alarm might seriously affect her.

Having grown learned in the ways of the smugglers, from their having on several occasions made use of the great vault without asking permission—at times when Sir Risdon was away from home—Celia had sat up to watch that night to see if the men would fetch away the kegs and bales; hence her presence during the scene, and when she had awakened to the fact that the midshipman had played spy and was ready to denounce her father, she felt that all was over.

Three times over, after listening at the head of the stairs for sounds from below where her prisoner was confined, Celia had crept on tiptoe to her father’s door, only to shrink away again not daring to speak.

For what would he say to her? She thought. She had no right to be downstairs watching the acts of the smugglers, and she dreaded to make a confession of her knowledge of these nocturnal proceedings.

At last, bewildered, anxious, and worn-out, she knelt down by her bed, to consider with her head in her hands, ready for kindly nature to bring her comfort, for when she started up again the sun was streaming brightly in at her window.

She pressed her hands to her temples, and tried to think about the business of the past night, and by degrees she collected her thoughts, and recalled that the smugglers had come to take up their kegs and bales from the temporary store to carry them further inland, that she had discovered the young midshipman watching, and to save her father she had shut their enemy in the lower corner room.

Celia stood with her cheeks burning, trembling and anxious, and after bathing her face and arranging her hair, she went out into the broad passage and listened at her father’s door.

It was too soon for him to be stirring yet, and determining at last to go and declare his innocency, and make an appeal to the frank-looking lad, she crept timidly down the grand old flight of stairs, trying to think out what she would say.

There were two flights to descend, and the first took a long time; but she worked out a nice little speech, in which she would tell the cutter’s officer that her father had once been rich, but he had espoused the young Pretender’s cause, and the result had been that he had become so impoverished that there had been a time when they had had hardly enough to keep them and the old maid-servant who still clung to their fallen fortunes.

By the time she was at the bottom of the second flight she was ready and quite hopeful, and, with the tears standing in her eyes, she felt sure that the frank, gentlemanly lad would be merciful, forgive her, and save her father from a terrible disgrace.

She had, then, her speech all ready, but when she spoke everything was condensed in the one exclamation—

“Oh!”

For as she reached the hall where her coming and going had so startled the midshipman in the darkness, she found that the door was wide open and the window shut.

She looked about bewildered, but there was no sign of the room having been occupied.

“Did I dream it all?” she said in an awe-stricken whisper. “No: the men came to take away the brandy and silk, and I saw them here.”

She pressed her hands to her temples, for the surprise had confused her, and in addition her head ached and throbbed.

“Could I have dreamed it?” she asked herself again. “No, I remember the men coming to fetch away the things and then I found him watching.”

She stood gazing before her, with her puzzled feeling increasing, till a thought struck her.

She saw the men come to fetch the kegs. If she really did see that, the kegs would be gone.

The proof was easy. If the brandy and silk were gone, the door of the vault would be open. If the things were not fetched away, it would be locked up; and if she tapped on the door with her knuckles, there would be a dull sound instead of a hollow, echoing noise.

She ran quickly down, and the door was locked.

She tapped with her knuckles, and the sound indicated that the place was full, for all was dull and heavy and no reverberation in the place.

“I must have dreamed it all,” she cried joyously. “I have thought so much about it that I have fancied all this, and made myself ill. Why, of course he could not have got in there to watch or the men would have seen him come.”

It is very easy to place faith in that which you wish to believe.

Chapter Fifteen.Lieutenant brough was out for a long walk. That is to say, he had his glass tucked under his arm, and was trotting up and down his cleanly holystoned deck, pausing from time to time to raise his glass to his eye, and watch the top of the cliff, ending by gazing in the direction of the cove.The men said he had been putting them through their facings that morning, and he had been finding more fault in two hours than in the previous week, for he was getting fidgety. He had not enjoyed his breakfast, and it was getting on toward the time for his mid-day meal.Suddenly he stopped short by the master, who had also been using a glass, and was evidently waiting to be spoken to.“Seemed in good spirits last night, Mr Gurr, eh?”“Mr Raystoke, sir? Oh yes.”“I mean liked his job?”“Yes, sir; determined on it.”“Humph! Time we had some news of him, eh?”“Yes, sir; but he may turn up on the cliff at any moment.”“Yes. Men quite ready?”“Yes, sir.”“That’s right. Of course, well-armed?”“Yes, sir; you did tell me. Soon as the signal comes, we shall push off. Awkward bit o’ country, sir; six miles’ row before you can find a place to land.”“Very awkward, but they have to find a place to land their spirits, Mr Gurr, and if we don’t soon have something to show we shall be called to account.”“Very unlucky, sir. Seems to me like going eel-fishing with your bare hand.”“Worse. You might catch one by accident.”“So shall we yet, sir. These fellows are very cunning, but we shall be too many for them one of these days.”“Dear me! Dear me!” said the little lieutenant after a few more turns up and down. “I don’t like this at all I don’t think I ought to have let a boy like that go alone. You don’t think, Mr Gurr, that they would dare to injure him if he was so unlucky as to be caught?”“Well, sir,” said the master, hesitating, “smugglers are smugglers.”“Mr Gurr,” said the little lieutenant, raising himself up on his toes, so as to be as high as possible, “will you have the goodness to talk sense?”“Certainly, sir.”“Smugglers are smugglers, indeed. What did you suppose I thought they were? Oysters?”“Beg pardon, sir; didn’t mean any harm.”“Getting very late!” said the little officer after another sweep of the top of the cliff, especially above where the French lugger landed the goods. “I shall be obliged to send you on shore, Mr Gurr. You must go and find him. I’m getting very anxious about Mr Raystoke.”“Start at once, sir?”“No, wait another half-hour. Very ill-advised thing to do. I cannot think what you were doing, Mr Gurr, to advise me to do such a thing.”“Me, sir?” said the master, looking astonished.“Yes. A great pity. I ought not to have listened to you; but in my anxiety to leave no stone unturned to capture some of these scoundrels, I was ready to do anything.”“Very true, sir.”“Now, my good fellow, what do you mean by that?”“It was only an observation, sir.”“Then I must request that you will not make it again. ‘Very true?’ Of course, what I say is very true. Do you think I should say a thing that was false?”“Beg pardon, sir. ’Fraid I picked up some awk’ard expressions aboard the old frigate.”“Awk-ward, Mr Gurr, awkward.”“Yes, sir; of course.”“You do not understand the drift of my remarks.”“’Fraid not, sir,” said the master, smiling; “understand drift of the tide much better.”“Mr Gurr!”“Yes, sir.”“I was trying to teach you to pronounce the king’s English correctly, and you turn it off with a ribald remark.”“Beg pardon, sir. ’Nother o’ my frigate bad habits.”“It is a great privilege, Mr Gurr, to be one of those who speak the English tongue, so do not abuse it. Say awk-ward in future, not awk’ard.”“Certainly, sir, I’ll try,” said the master; and then to himself, “Starboard, larboard, for’ard, back’ard, awk’ard. Why, what does he mean?”By this time the little lieutenant was scanning the cliffs again, and the master took off his hat and wiped his forehead.“Talk about thistles and stinging nettles,” he muttered, “why there’s no bearing him to-day, and all on account of a scamp of a middy such as there’s a hundred times too many on in the R’yal Navy. Dunno though; bit cocky and nose in air when he’s in full uniform, and don’t know which is head and which is his heels, but he aren’t such a very bad sort o’ boy. Well, what’s the matter with you?”Dirty Dick screwed up his mouth as if to speak, but only stared.“Don’t turn yourself into a figurehead of an old wreck sir. What do you want?”“Leave to go ashore, sir.”“Well, you’re going soon as the skipper orders.”“I mean all alone by myself, sir.”“What for? There aren’t a public-house for ten miles.”“Didn’t mean that.”“Then what did you mean? Speak out, and don’t do the double shuffle all over my clean deck.”“No, sir.”“Hopping about like a cat on hot bricks. Now, then, why do you want to go ashore?”“Try and find Mr Raystoke, sir. Beginning to feel scarred about him.”“What’s that?” said the lieutenant, who had come back from abaft unheard. “Scared about whom?”“Beg pardon, didn’t mean nowt, sir,” said the sailor touching his forelock.“Yes, you did, sir. Now look here,” cried the lieutenant, shaking his glass at the man, “don’t you try to deceive me. You meant that you were getting uneasy about Mr Raystoke’s prolonged absence.”“Yes sir, that’s it,” said Dick eagerly.“Then how dare you have the effrontery to tell me that you did not mean ‘nowt’ as you have the confounded north country insolence to call it? For two pins, sir,—women’s pins, sir, not belaying pins,—I’d have you put ashore, with orders not to show your dirty face again till you had found Mr Raystoke.”Dirty Dick passed his hand over his face carefully, and then looked at the palm to see if any of the swarthy tan had come off.“Do you hear me, sir?” cried the lieutenant.“Yes, sir,” said the man humbly. “Shall I go at once sir?”“No. Wait. Keep a sharp look-out on the cliff to see if Mr Raystoke is making signals for a boat. I daresay he has been there all the time, only you took up my attention with your chatter.”He swung round, walked aft and began sweeping the shore again with his glass, while the master and Dick exchanged glances which meant a great deal.“He is in a wax,” said Dick to himself, as he walked to the side, and stood shading his eyes with his hands, looking carefully for the signals which did not come.Two hours more passed away, during which it was a dead calm, and the sun beat down so hotly that the seams began to send out little black beads of pitch, and drops formed under some of the ropes ready to come off on the first hand which touched them.At last the little lieutenant could bear the anxiety no longer.“Pipe away the men to that boat there,” he said; and as the crew sprang in. “Now, Mr Gurr,” he said, “I’m only going to say one thing to you in the way of instructions.”“Yes, sir.”“Will you have the goodness to wait till I have done speaking, Mr Gurr, and not compel me to say all I wish over again?”“Beg pardon, sir,” said the master deprecatingly.“I say, sir, I have only one order to give you. Get ashore as soon as you can, and find and bring back Mr Raystoke.”“Yes, sir,” cried the master, and he walked over the side, glad to get into the boat and push off, muttering the while, “and I always thought him such a quiet, amiable little chap. He’s a Tartar; that’s what he is. Making all this fuss about a boy who, as like as not, is having a game with us. Don’t see me getting out o’ temper with everybody, and spitting and swearing like a mad Tom-cat. Hang the boy! He’s on’y a middy.—Now, my lads,—now, my lads, put your backs into it, will you?”The boat was already surging through the water faster than it had ever gone before, but the men bent lower and the longer, and the blades of the oars made the water flash and foam as they dipped and rose with the greatest of regularity.For the lieutenant’s anxiety about the young officer of theWhite Hawkwas growing more and more contagious, and the men gave a cheer as they span the boat along, every smart sailor on board thinking about the frank, straightforward lad who had so bravely gone on the risky expedition.“Look ye here, Jemmy,” said one of the men to his nearest mate, “talk about ’tacking the enemy, if wrong’s happened to our young gentleman, all I can say is, as I hopes it’s orders to land every night to burn willages and sack everything we can.”“And so says all of us,” came in a chorus from the rest of the crew.“Steady! My lads, steady!” cried the master—“keep stroke;” and then he began to make plans as to his first proceedings on getting ashore.He wasn’t long in making these plans, and when the cove was reached, the two fishing luggers and another boat or two lying there were carefully overhauled, Gurr gazing at the men on board like a fierce dog, and literally worrying the different fishermen as cleverly as a cross-examining counsel would a witness ashore.

Lieutenant brough was out for a long walk. That is to say, he had his glass tucked under his arm, and was trotting up and down his cleanly holystoned deck, pausing from time to time to raise his glass to his eye, and watch the top of the cliff, ending by gazing in the direction of the cove.

The men said he had been putting them through their facings that morning, and he had been finding more fault in two hours than in the previous week, for he was getting fidgety. He had not enjoyed his breakfast, and it was getting on toward the time for his mid-day meal.

Suddenly he stopped short by the master, who had also been using a glass, and was evidently waiting to be spoken to.

“Seemed in good spirits last night, Mr Gurr, eh?”

“Mr Raystoke, sir? Oh yes.”

“I mean liked his job?”

“Yes, sir; determined on it.”

“Humph! Time we had some news of him, eh?”

“Yes, sir; but he may turn up on the cliff at any moment.”

“Yes. Men quite ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s right. Of course, well-armed?”

“Yes, sir; you did tell me. Soon as the signal comes, we shall push off. Awkward bit o’ country, sir; six miles’ row before you can find a place to land.”

“Very awkward, but they have to find a place to land their spirits, Mr Gurr, and if we don’t soon have something to show we shall be called to account.”

“Very unlucky, sir. Seems to me like going eel-fishing with your bare hand.”

“Worse. You might catch one by accident.”

“So shall we yet, sir. These fellows are very cunning, but we shall be too many for them one of these days.”

“Dear me! Dear me!” said the little lieutenant after a few more turns up and down. “I don’t like this at all I don’t think I ought to have let a boy like that go alone. You don’t think, Mr Gurr, that they would dare to injure him if he was so unlucky as to be caught?”

“Well, sir,” said the master, hesitating, “smugglers are smugglers.”

“Mr Gurr,” said the little lieutenant, raising himself up on his toes, so as to be as high as possible, “will you have the goodness to talk sense?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Smugglers are smugglers, indeed. What did you suppose I thought they were? Oysters?”

“Beg pardon, sir; didn’t mean any harm.”

“Getting very late!” said the little officer after another sweep of the top of the cliff, especially above where the French lugger landed the goods. “I shall be obliged to send you on shore, Mr Gurr. You must go and find him. I’m getting very anxious about Mr Raystoke.”

“Start at once, sir?”

“No, wait another half-hour. Very ill-advised thing to do. I cannot think what you were doing, Mr Gurr, to advise me to do such a thing.”

“Me, sir?” said the master, looking astonished.

“Yes. A great pity. I ought not to have listened to you; but in my anxiety to leave no stone unturned to capture some of these scoundrels, I was ready to do anything.”

“Very true, sir.”

“Now, my good fellow, what do you mean by that?”

“It was only an observation, sir.”

“Then I must request that you will not make it again. ‘Very true?’ Of course, what I say is very true. Do you think I should say a thing that was false?”

“Beg pardon, sir. ’Fraid I picked up some awk’ard expressions aboard the old frigate.”

“Awk-ward, Mr Gurr, awkward.”

“Yes, sir; of course.”

“You do not understand the drift of my remarks.”

“’Fraid not, sir,” said the master, smiling; “understand drift of the tide much better.”

“Mr Gurr!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was trying to teach you to pronounce the king’s English correctly, and you turn it off with a ribald remark.”

“Beg pardon, sir. ’Nother o’ my frigate bad habits.”

“It is a great privilege, Mr Gurr, to be one of those who speak the English tongue, so do not abuse it. Say awk-ward in future, not awk’ard.”

“Certainly, sir, I’ll try,” said the master; and then to himself, “Starboard, larboard, for’ard, back’ard, awk’ard. Why, what does he mean?”

By this time the little lieutenant was scanning the cliffs again, and the master took off his hat and wiped his forehead.

“Talk about thistles and stinging nettles,” he muttered, “why there’s no bearing him to-day, and all on account of a scamp of a middy such as there’s a hundred times too many on in the R’yal Navy. Dunno though; bit cocky and nose in air when he’s in full uniform, and don’t know which is head and which is his heels, but he aren’t such a very bad sort o’ boy. Well, what’s the matter with you?”

Dirty Dick screwed up his mouth as if to speak, but only stared.

“Don’t turn yourself into a figurehead of an old wreck sir. What do you want?”

“Leave to go ashore, sir.”

“Well, you’re going soon as the skipper orders.”

“I mean all alone by myself, sir.”

“What for? There aren’t a public-house for ten miles.”

“Didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean? Speak out, and don’t do the double shuffle all over my clean deck.”

“No, sir.”

“Hopping about like a cat on hot bricks. Now, then, why do you want to go ashore?”

“Try and find Mr Raystoke, sir. Beginning to feel scarred about him.”

“What’s that?” said the lieutenant, who had come back from abaft unheard. “Scared about whom?”

“Beg pardon, didn’t mean nowt, sir,” said the sailor touching his forelock.

“Yes, you did, sir. Now look here,” cried the lieutenant, shaking his glass at the man, “don’t you try to deceive me. You meant that you were getting uneasy about Mr Raystoke’s prolonged absence.”

“Yes sir, that’s it,” said Dick eagerly.

“Then how dare you have the effrontery to tell me that you did not mean ‘nowt’ as you have the confounded north country insolence to call it? For two pins, sir,—women’s pins, sir, not belaying pins,—I’d have you put ashore, with orders not to show your dirty face again till you had found Mr Raystoke.”

Dirty Dick passed his hand over his face carefully, and then looked at the palm to see if any of the swarthy tan had come off.

“Do you hear me, sir?” cried the lieutenant.

“Yes, sir,” said the man humbly. “Shall I go at once sir?”

“No. Wait. Keep a sharp look-out on the cliff to see if Mr Raystoke is making signals for a boat. I daresay he has been there all the time, only you took up my attention with your chatter.”

He swung round, walked aft and began sweeping the shore again with his glass, while the master and Dick exchanged glances which meant a great deal.

“He is in a wax,” said Dick to himself, as he walked to the side, and stood shading his eyes with his hands, looking carefully for the signals which did not come.

Two hours more passed away, during which it was a dead calm, and the sun beat down so hotly that the seams began to send out little black beads of pitch, and drops formed under some of the ropes ready to come off on the first hand which touched them.

At last the little lieutenant could bear the anxiety no longer.

“Pipe away the men to that boat there,” he said; and as the crew sprang in. “Now, Mr Gurr,” he said, “I’m only going to say one thing to you in the way of instructions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you have the goodness to wait till I have done speaking, Mr Gurr, and not compel me to say all I wish over again?”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the master deprecatingly.

“I say, sir, I have only one order to give you. Get ashore as soon as you can, and find and bring back Mr Raystoke.”

“Yes, sir,” cried the master, and he walked over the side, glad to get into the boat and push off, muttering the while, “and I always thought him such a quiet, amiable little chap. He’s a Tartar; that’s what he is. Making all this fuss about a boy who, as like as not, is having a game with us. Don’t see me getting out o’ temper with everybody, and spitting and swearing like a mad Tom-cat. Hang the boy! He’s on’y a middy.—Now, my lads,—now, my lads, put your backs into it, will you?”

The boat was already surging through the water faster than it had ever gone before, but the men bent lower and the longer, and the blades of the oars made the water flash and foam as they dipped and rose with the greatest of regularity.

For the lieutenant’s anxiety about the young officer of theWhite Hawkwas growing more and more contagious, and the men gave a cheer as they span the boat along, every smart sailor on board thinking about the frank, straightforward lad who had so bravely gone on the risky expedition.

“Look ye here, Jemmy,” said one of the men to his nearest mate, “talk about ’tacking the enemy, if wrong’s happened to our young gentleman, all I can say is, as I hopes it’s orders to land every night to burn willages and sack everything we can.”

“And so says all of us,” came in a chorus from the rest of the crew.

“Steady! My lads, steady!” cried the master—“keep stroke;” and then he began to make plans as to his first proceedings on getting ashore.

He wasn’t long in making these plans, and when the cove was reached, the two fishing luggers and another boat or two lying there were carefully overhauled, Gurr gazing at the men on board like a fierce dog, and literally worrying the different fishermen as cleverly as a cross-examining counsel would a witness ashore.

Chapter Sixteen.Always the same answer.No, they hadn’t seen no sailor lad in a red cap, only their own boys, and they were all at home. Had he lost one?Yes; a boy had come ashore and not returned.The different men questioned chuckled, and one oracular-looking old fellow spat, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, stared out to sea, and said gruffly,—“Runned away.”“Ay,” said another, “that’s it. You won’t see him again.”“Won’t I?” muttered Gurr between his teeth. “I’ll let some of you see about that, my fine fellows.”He led his men on, stopping at each cluster of cottages and shabby little farm to ask suspiciously, as if he felt certain the person he questioned was hiding the truth.But he always came out again to his men with an anxious look in his eyes, and generally ranged up alongside of Dick.“No, my lad,” he would say, “they haven’t seen ’im there;” and then with his head bent down, but his eyes eagerly searching the road from side to side, he went on towards Shackle’s farm.“Say, Mester Gurr,” said Dick, after one of these searches, “he wouldn’t run away?”“What! Mr Raystoke, sir? Don’t be a fool.”“No, sir,” replied Dick humbly, and the men tramped on with a couple of open-mouthed, barefooted boys following them to stare at their cutlasses and pistols.“Say, Mester Gurr,” ventured Dick, after a pause, “none of ’em wouldn’t ha’ done that, would they?”Dick had followed the master’s look, as he shaded his eyes and stared over the green slope which led up to the cliffs.“What?”“Chucked him off yonder.”Gurr glanced round to see if the men were looking, and then said rather huskily but kindly,—“In ord’nary, Dick, my lad, no; but when smugglers finds themselves up in corners where they can’t get away, they turns and fights like rats, and when they fights they bites.”“Ah!” ejaculated Dick sadly.“You’re only a common sailor, Dick, and I’m your officer, but though I speak sharp unto you, I respect you, Dick, for you like that lad.”“Say, Mester Gurr, sir, which thankful I am to you for speaking so; but you don’t really think as he has come to harm?”“I hope not, Dick; I hope not; but smugglers don’t stand at anything sometimes.”Dick sighed, and then all at once he spat in his fist, rubbed his hands together and clenched them, a hard, fierce aspect coming into his rough dark face, which seemed to promise severe retaliation if anything had happened to the young officer.There was nowhere else to search as far as Gurr could see, save the little farm in the hollow, and the black-looking stone house up on the hill among the trees.Gurr, who looked wonderfully bull-dog like in aspect, made straight for the farm, where the first person he encountered was Mrs Shackle, who, innocent enough, poor woman, came to the door to bob a curtsey to the king’s men, while Jemmy Dadd, who was slowly loading a tumbril in whose shafts was the sleepy grey horse, stuck his fork down into the heap of manure from the cow-sheds, rested his hands on the top and his chin upon his hands, to stare and grin at the sailors he recognised.“Morning, marm,” said Gurr; “sorry to trouble you, but—”“Oh, sir,” interrupted Mrs Shackle, “surely you are not going to tumble over my house again! I do assure you there’s nothing here but what you may see.”“If you’d let me finish, you’d know,” said Gurr gruffly. “One of our boys is missing. Seen him up here? Boy ’bout seventeen with a red cap.”“No, sir; indeed I’ve not.”“Don’t know as he has been seen about here, do you?” said Gurr, looking at her searchingly.“No, sir.”“Haven’t heard any one talking about him, eh? Come ashore yesterday.”Mrs Shackle shook her head.“Thank ye!—No, Dick,” continued the master, turning back to where the men were waiting, and unconsciously brushing against the bush behind which the middy had hidden himself, “that woman knows nothing. If she knew evil had come to the poor lad, her face would tell tales like print. Hi! You, sir,” he said, going towards where Jemmy stood grinning.“Mornin’,” said Jemmy; “come arter some more milk?”“No,” growled Gurr.“Don’t want to take the cow away agen, do ’ee?”“Look here, my lad, one of our boys is missing. Came ashore yesterday, lad of seventeen in a red cap.”“Oh!” said Jemmy with a vacant look. “Don’t mean him as come with you, do you?”“I said a lad ’bout seventeen, in a red cap like yours,” said Gurr very shortly.“Aren’t seen no lads with no red caps up here,” said the man with a vacant look. “Have he runned away?”“Are you sure you haven’t seen him, my lad?” growled Gurr; “because, look here, it may be a serious thing for some of you, if he is not found.”The man shook his head, and stared as if he didn’t half understand the drift of what was said.Gurr turned angrily away, and to find himself facing Dick.“Well, seen anything suspicious?”“No, sir,” said Dick, “on’y my fingers is a itchin’.”“Scratch them then.”“Nay, you don’t understand,” grumbled Dick. “I mean to have a turn at that chap, Master Gurr, sir. I feel as if I had him for ’bout quarter hour I could knock something out of him.”“Nonsense! Come along. Now, my lads, forward!”Jemmy Dadd’s countenance changed from its vacant aspect to one full of cunning, as the party from the cutter moved off, but it became dull and semi-idiotic again, for Gurr turned sharply round.“Here, my lad, where’s your master?”“Eh?”“I say, where’s your master?”“Aren’t in; mebbe he’s out in the fields.”Gurr turned away impatiently again, and signing to his men to follow, they all began to tramp up the steep track leading toward the Hoze, with the rabbits scuttling away among the furze, and showing their white cottony tails for a moment as they darted down into their holes.Dick followed last, shaking his head, and looking very much dissatisfied, or kept on looking back at Jemmy, who stood like a statue, resting his chin upon the shaft of his pitchfork, watching him go away.“I dunno,” muttered Dick, “and a man can’t be sure. There was nowt to see and nowt to hear, and of course one couldn’t smell it, but seems to me as that ugly-looking fisherman chap knows where our Mr Raystoke is. Yah, I hates half-bred uns! If a man’s a labourer, let him be a labourer; and if he’s a fisherman, let him be a fisherman. Man can’t be two things, and it looks queer.”An argument which did not have much force when self-applied, for Dick suddenly recollected that he was very skilful with the scissors, and knew that he was the regular barber of the crew, and as this came to his mind he took off his cap and gave his head a vicious scratch.“Never mind the rabbits, lads,” cried Gurr angrily; “we want to find Mr Raystoke.”The men closed up together, and mastered their desire to go hunting, to make a change from the salt beef and pork fare, and soon after they came suddenly upon Sir Risdon and his lady, the latter, who looked weak and ill, leaning on her husband’s arm.Gurr saluted, and stated his business, while the baronet, who had turned sallower and more careworn than his lot drew a breath full of relief.“One of your ship boys?” he said.“A lad, looking like a common sailor, and wearing a red cap.”“No,” said Sir Risdon. “I have seen no one answering to the description here.”“Beg pardon, sir, but can you, as a gentleman, assure me that he is not here?”“Certainly,” said Sir Risdon. “You have seen no one?” he continued, turning to Lady Graeme.The lady shook her head.“That’s enough, sir; but may I ask you, if you do see or hear anything of such a lad, you will send a messenger off to the cutter?”“It is hardly right to enlist me in the search for one of your deserters,” said Sir Risdon coldly.“Yes, sir, but he is not a deserter; and the fact is, we are afraid the lad has run alongside o’ the smugglers, and come to grief.”“Surely!” cried Sir Risdon excitedly. “No, no,—you must be mistaken. A boyish prank. No one about here would injure a boy.”“Humph!” ejaculated Gurr, looking at the baronet searchingly. “Glad you think so well of ’em, sir. But I suppose you’ll grant that the people about here would not be above a bit of smuggling?”Sir Risdon was silent.“And would run a cargo of brandy or silk?”“I suppose there is a good deal of smuggling on the coast,” said Sir Risdon coldly, as he thought of his vault.“Yes sir, there is, and it will go hard with the people who are caught having any dealings with the smugglers.”Lady Graeme looked ghastly.“What would you say, sir, if I were to order my men, in the king’s name, to search your place?”Sir Risdon dared not trust himself to speak, but darted an agonised glance at his wife.“However, sir, I’m not on that sort of business now,” continued Gurr sternly. “Want to find that boy. Good day. Now, my lads.”The men marched off, and Sir Risdon stood watching them.“Ah, Risdon,” and Lady Graeme, “how could you let yourself be dragged into these dreadful deeds!”“Don’t blame me,” he said sadly. “I loathe the whole business, but when I saw my wife and child suffering almost from want of the very necessaries of life, and the temptation came in the shape of presents from that man, I could not resist—I was too weak. I listened to his insidious persuasion, and tried to make myself believe that I was guiltless, as I owned no fealty to King George. But I am justly punished, and never again will I allow myself to be made an accessory to these lawless deeds.”“But tell me,” she whispered, “have they any of their goods secreted there now?”“I do not know.”“You do not know?”“No. The only way in which I could allow myself to act was to keep myself in complete ignorance of the going and coming of these people. I might suspect, but I would never satisfy myself by watching; and I can say now honestly, I do not know whether they have still goods lying there or have taken them away.”“But Celia—keep it from her.”“Of course.”“And about the missing boy. Surely, Risdon, they would not—”Lady Graeme did not finish, but gave her husband a piercing look.“Don’t ask me,” he said sadly. “Many of the men engaged in the smuggling are desperate wretches, and if they feared betrayal they would not scruple, I’m afraid, to strike down any one in the way of their escape.”Lady Graeme shuddered, and they went together into the house, just as Celia came across the wood at the back, in company with the dog.

Always the same answer.

No, they hadn’t seen no sailor lad in a red cap, only their own boys, and they were all at home. Had he lost one?

Yes; a boy had come ashore and not returned.

The different men questioned chuckled, and one oracular-looking old fellow spat, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, stared out to sea, and said gruffly,—

“Runned away.”

“Ay,” said another, “that’s it. You won’t see him again.”

“Won’t I?” muttered Gurr between his teeth. “I’ll let some of you see about that, my fine fellows.”

He led his men on, stopping at each cluster of cottages and shabby little farm to ask suspiciously, as if he felt certain the person he questioned was hiding the truth.

But he always came out again to his men with an anxious look in his eyes, and generally ranged up alongside of Dick.

“No, my lad,” he would say, “they haven’t seen ’im there;” and then with his head bent down, but his eyes eagerly searching the road from side to side, he went on towards Shackle’s farm.

“Say, Mester Gurr,” said Dick, after one of these searches, “he wouldn’t run away?”

“What! Mr Raystoke, sir? Don’t be a fool.”

“No, sir,” replied Dick humbly, and the men tramped on with a couple of open-mouthed, barefooted boys following them to stare at their cutlasses and pistols.

“Say, Mester Gurr,” ventured Dick, after a pause, “none of ’em wouldn’t ha’ done that, would they?”

Dick had followed the master’s look, as he shaded his eyes and stared over the green slope which led up to the cliffs.

“What?”

“Chucked him off yonder.”

Gurr glanced round to see if the men were looking, and then said rather huskily but kindly,—

“In ord’nary, Dick, my lad, no; but when smugglers finds themselves up in corners where they can’t get away, they turns and fights like rats, and when they fights they bites.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Dick sadly.

“You’re only a common sailor, Dick, and I’m your officer, but though I speak sharp unto you, I respect you, Dick, for you like that lad.”

“Say, Mester Gurr, sir, which thankful I am to you for speaking so; but you don’t really think as he has come to harm?”

“I hope not, Dick; I hope not; but smugglers don’t stand at anything sometimes.”

Dick sighed, and then all at once he spat in his fist, rubbed his hands together and clenched them, a hard, fierce aspect coming into his rough dark face, which seemed to promise severe retaliation if anything had happened to the young officer.

There was nowhere else to search as far as Gurr could see, save the little farm in the hollow, and the black-looking stone house up on the hill among the trees.

Gurr, who looked wonderfully bull-dog like in aspect, made straight for the farm, where the first person he encountered was Mrs Shackle, who, innocent enough, poor woman, came to the door to bob a curtsey to the king’s men, while Jemmy Dadd, who was slowly loading a tumbril in whose shafts was the sleepy grey horse, stuck his fork down into the heap of manure from the cow-sheds, rested his hands on the top and his chin upon his hands, to stare and grin at the sailors he recognised.

“Morning, marm,” said Gurr; “sorry to trouble you, but—”

“Oh, sir,” interrupted Mrs Shackle, “surely you are not going to tumble over my house again! I do assure you there’s nothing here but what you may see.”

“If you’d let me finish, you’d know,” said Gurr gruffly. “One of our boys is missing. Seen him up here? Boy ’bout seventeen with a red cap.”

“No, sir; indeed I’ve not.”

“Don’t know as he has been seen about here, do you?” said Gurr, looking at her searchingly.

“No, sir.”

“Haven’t heard any one talking about him, eh? Come ashore yesterday.”

Mrs Shackle shook her head.

“Thank ye!—No, Dick,” continued the master, turning back to where the men were waiting, and unconsciously brushing against the bush behind which the middy had hidden himself, “that woman knows nothing. If she knew evil had come to the poor lad, her face would tell tales like print. Hi! You, sir,” he said, going towards where Jemmy stood grinning.

“Mornin’,” said Jemmy; “come arter some more milk?”

“No,” growled Gurr.

“Don’t want to take the cow away agen, do ’ee?”

“Look here, my lad, one of our boys is missing. Came ashore yesterday, lad of seventeen in a red cap.”

“Oh!” said Jemmy with a vacant look. “Don’t mean him as come with you, do you?”

“I said a lad ’bout seventeen, in a red cap like yours,” said Gurr very shortly.

“Aren’t seen no lads with no red caps up here,” said the man with a vacant look. “Have he runned away?”

“Are you sure you haven’t seen him, my lad?” growled Gurr; “because, look here, it may be a serious thing for some of you, if he is not found.”

The man shook his head, and stared as if he didn’t half understand the drift of what was said.

Gurr turned angrily away, and to find himself facing Dick.

“Well, seen anything suspicious?”

“No, sir,” said Dick, “on’y my fingers is a itchin’.”

“Scratch them then.”

“Nay, you don’t understand,” grumbled Dick. “I mean to have a turn at that chap, Master Gurr, sir. I feel as if I had him for ’bout quarter hour I could knock something out of him.”

“Nonsense! Come along. Now, my lads, forward!”

Jemmy Dadd’s countenance changed from its vacant aspect to one full of cunning, as the party from the cutter moved off, but it became dull and semi-idiotic again, for Gurr turned sharply round.

“Here, my lad, where’s your master?”

“Eh?”

“I say, where’s your master?”

“Aren’t in; mebbe he’s out in the fields.”

Gurr turned away impatiently again, and signing to his men to follow, they all began to tramp up the steep track leading toward the Hoze, with the rabbits scuttling away among the furze, and showing their white cottony tails for a moment as they darted down into their holes.

Dick followed last, shaking his head, and looking very much dissatisfied, or kept on looking back at Jemmy, who stood like a statue, resting his chin upon the shaft of his pitchfork, watching him go away.

“I dunno,” muttered Dick, “and a man can’t be sure. There was nowt to see and nowt to hear, and of course one couldn’t smell it, but seems to me as that ugly-looking fisherman chap knows where our Mr Raystoke is. Yah, I hates half-bred uns! If a man’s a labourer, let him be a labourer; and if he’s a fisherman, let him be a fisherman. Man can’t be two things, and it looks queer.”

An argument which did not have much force when self-applied, for Dick suddenly recollected that he was very skilful with the scissors, and knew that he was the regular barber of the crew, and as this came to his mind he took off his cap and gave his head a vicious scratch.

“Never mind the rabbits, lads,” cried Gurr angrily; “we want to find Mr Raystoke.”

The men closed up together, and mastered their desire to go hunting, to make a change from the salt beef and pork fare, and soon after they came suddenly upon Sir Risdon and his lady, the latter, who looked weak and ill, leaning on her husband’s arm.

Gurr saluted, and stated his business, while the baronet, who had turned sallower and more careworn than his lot drew a breath full of relief.

“One of your ship boys?” he said.

“A lad, looking like a common sailor, and wearing a red cap.”

“No,” said Sir Risdon. “I have seen no one answering to the description here.”

“Beg pardon, sir, but can you, as a gentleman, assure me that he is not here?”

“Certainly,” said Sir Risdon. “You have seen no one?” he continued, turning to Lady Graeme.

The lady shook her head.

“That’s enough, sir; but may I ask you, if you do see or hear anything of such a lad, you will send a messenger off to the cutter?”

“It is hardly right to enlist me in the search for one of your deserters,” said Sir Risdon coldly.

“Yes, sir, but he is not a deserter; and the fact is, we are afraid the lad has run alongside o’ the smugglers, and come to grief.”

“Surely!” cried Sir Risdon excitedly. “No, no,—you must be mistaken. A boyish prank. No one about here would injure a boy.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Gurr, looking at the baronet searchingly. “Glad you think so well of ’em, sir. But I suppose you’ll grant that the people about here would not be above a bit of smuggling?”

Sir Risdon was silent.

“And would run a cargo of brandy or silk?”

“I suppose there is a good deal of smuggling on the coast,” said Sir Risdon coldly, as he thought of his vault.

“Yes sir, there is, and it will go hard with the people who are caught having any dealings with the smugglers.”

Lady Graeme looked ghastly.

“What would you say, sir, if I were to order my men, in the king’s name, to search your place?”

Sir Risdon dared not trust himself to speak, but darted an agonised glance at his wife.

“However, sir, I’m not on that sort of business now,” continued Gurr sternly. “Want to find that boy. Good day. Now, my lads.”

The men marched off, and Sir Risdon stood watching them.

“Ah, Risdon,” and Lady Graeme, “how could you let yourself be dragged into these dreadful deeds!”

“Don’t blame me,” he said sadly. “I loathe the whole business, but when I saw my wife and child suffering almost from want of the very necessaries of life, and the temptation came in the shape of presents from that man, I could not resist—I was too weak. I listened to his insidious persuasion, and tried to make myself believe that I was guiltless, as I owned no fealty to King George. But I am justly punished, and never again will I allow myself to be made an accessory to these lawless deeds.”

“But tell me,” she whispered, “have they any of their goods secreted there now?”

“I do not know.”

“You do not know?”

“No. The only way in which I could allow myself to act was to keep myself in complete ignorance of the going and coming of these people. I might suspect, but I would never satisfy myself by watching; and I can say now honestly, I do not know whether they have still goods lying there or have taken them away.”

“But Celia—keep it from her.”

“Of course.”

“And about the missing boy. Surely, Risdon, they would not—”

Lady Graeme did not finish, but gave her husband a piercing look.

“Don’t ask me,” he said sadly. “Many of the men engaged in the smuggling are desperate wretches, and if they feared betrayal they would not scruple, I’m afraid, to strike down any one in the way of their escape.”

Lady Graeme shuddered, and they went together into the house, just as Celia came across the wood at the back, in company with the dog.

Chapter Seventeen.Gurr continued his search till it was quite dark, and then tramped his men back to the cove, where the boat-keeper was summoned, and the boat with her crew, saving Dick, were sent back to the cutter, one of the men bearing a message from Gurr to say that he was going to stay ashore till he had found Mr Raystoke, and asking the lieutenant to send the boat back for him if he did not approve.It was a very dark row back to the cutter, but her lights shone out clearly over the smooth sea, forming good beacons for the men to follow till the boat was run alongside.“Got them, Mr Gurr?” came from the deck.“No sir, and Mr Gurr’s stopping at one of the fishermen’s cottages ashore to keep on the search.”“Tut, tut!” ejaculated the lieutenant as he turned away and began to pace the deck.“Beg’n’ pardon, sir, Mr Gurr said—”“Well, well, well, what did Mr Gurr say? Pity he did not do more and not say so much.”“Said as his dooty, sir, and would you send the boat for him if you did not think he’d done right.”“No, sir! His Majesty’s boats are wanted for other purposes than running to and fro to fetch him aboard. Let him stay where he is till he finds Mr Raystoke and brings him back aboard.”“Dear, dear,” muttered the lieutenant as he walked to and fro. “To think of the boy being missing like this.—Now you, sirs, in with that boat.—Where can he be? Not the lad to go off on any prank.—There, go below and get something to eat, my lads.—All comes of being sent into a miserable little boat like this to hunt smugglers.”“Ahoy!” came from forward.“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant, and an answer came from out of the blackness ahead.“What boat’s that?” shouted the man on the watch. “Mine,” came in a low growl. “What is it?”“Want to see the skipper.”There was a little bustle forward, in the midst of which a boat came up alongside, and the man in it was allowed to come on board.He was a big, broad-shouldered, heavy fellow, with rough black beard and dark eyes, which glowered at those around as a lanthorn was held up by one of the men. “Where’s the skipper?” he growled. “Bring the man aft,” cried the lieutenant. “This way.”“All right, mate; I can find my way; I aren’t a baby,” said the man as he took three or four strides, lifting up his big fisherman’s boots, and setting them heavily down upon the deck as if they were something separate from him which he had brought on board.“Now, my man, brought news of him?” cried the lieutenant eagerly. “Eh?”And the great fellow seemed to tower over the little commander.“I say, have you brought news of the boy?”“What boy?”“Haven’t you come to tell me where he is?”“Here, what yer talking about?” growled the man. “I aren’t come ’bout no boys.”“Then, pray, why have you come?”“Send them away,” said the man in a hoarse whisper.He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and the lieutenant was about to give an order but altered his mind, for he suspected the man’s mission, not an unusual one in those days.“Come into my cabin, sir,” he said imperiously, and as he turned and strutted off, making the most of his inches, the giant—for such he was by comparison—stumbled after him, making the deck echo to the sound of his great boots.“Now, sir,” said the lieutenant haughtily, “what is your business?”The man leaned forward, and there was a leer on his bearded face seen by the dull swinging oil-lamp, as, half covering his mouth, he whispered hoarsely behind his hands—“Like Hollands gin, master?”“What do you mean, sir?” cried the lieutenant. “Speak out, for I have no time to lose.”“Oh, I’ll speak plainly enough,” growled the man; “on’y do you like it?”“Do you mean that a foreign vessel is going to land a quantity of Hollands to-night?”“Never said nothing o’ the sort, Master Orficer. Why, if I was to come and say a thing like that, and folks ashore knowed on it, there’d be a haxiden.”“What do you mean, sir?”“Some un would run up agin me atop o’ the cliff, and I should go over, and there’d be an end o’ me.”“You mean to say that if it was known that you informed, you would be in peril of your life?”“No, I don’t mean to say nothing o’ the kind, master. I only says to you that there’s going to be a drop to be got in a place I knows, and if you care to say to a chap like me—never you mind who he is—show me where this drop of Hollands gin is to be got, and I’ll give you—for him, you know—fifty pounds, it would be done.”“Look here, my lad, if you have got any valuable information to give, wouldn’t it be better for you to speak out plainly?”“Didn’t come twenty mile in my boat and get here in the dark, for you to teach me how to ketch fish, Master Orficer.”“Twenty miles!” said the lieutenant sharply; “where are you from?”“Out o’ my boat as is made fast ’longside. Is it fifty pound or aren’t it?”“Fifty pound is a great deal of money, my man. Your information may not be worth fifty pence. Suppose the boat does not come?”“Why, o’ course, you wouldn’t pay.”“Oh, now I understand you. If we take the boat with the spirits I am to give you fifty pounds?”“Me? Think I’m goin’ to be fool enough to risk gettin’ my neck broke for fifty pound? Nay, not me. You’ll give it to me to give to him.”“And where is he?”“Never you mind, master.”“Oh, well, there then; I’ll give you the fifty pounds if I take the boat. Dutch?”“P’raps. Shake hands on it.”“Is that necessary?” said the lieutenant, glancing with distaste at the great outstretched palm.“Ay, shake hands on it, and you being a gentleman, you’ll say, ’pon your honour.”“Oh, very well. There, upon my honour, we’ll pay you if we take the boat.”“Oh you’ll take her, fast enough,” said the man with a hoarse chuckle. “Yah! There’s no fight in them. They’ll chatter and jabber a bit, and their skipper’ll swear he’ll do all sorts o’ things, but you stick to the boat as soon as your lads are on board.”“Trust me for that,” said the lieutenant. “Now, then, when is the cargo to be run?”“T’night.”“And where?”“Never you mind wheer. Get up your anchor, and make sail; I’ll take the helm.”“What, do you think I am going to let a strange man pilot my vessel?”“Yah!” growled the man; “shan’t you be there, and if I come any games, you’ve got pistols, aren’t you? But just as you like.”“Come on deck,” said the lieutenant. “But one minute. I have lost a boy—gone ashore. Have you seen one?”“Not I; lots o’ boys about, soon get another!”The man went clumping on deck, and stepped over the side into his boat.“What are you going to do?” said the lieutenant sharply.“Make her fast astarn.”“Well, you need not have got into her, you could have led her round.”“This here’s my way,” said the man; and as the order was given to slip the anchor, with a small buoy left to mark its place, the informer secured his boat to one of the ringbolts astern, and then drew close in; and mounted over the bulwark to stand beside the man at the helm.“What do you propose doing?” said the lieutenant.“Tellin’ o’ you what I wants done, and then you tells your lads.”The lieutenant nodded, and in obedience to the suggestion of the man the stay-sail was hoisted; then up went the mainsail and jib, and the little cutter careened over to the soft land breeze as soon as she got a little way out from under the cliffs, which soon became invisible.“Why, you aren’t dowsed your lanthorns,” whispered the man. “I’d have them down, and next time you have time just have down all your canvas, and get it tanned brown. Going about with lanthorns and white canvas is showing everybody where you are.”After a time, as they glided on, catching a glimpse of a twinkling light or two on the shore, the man grew a little more communicative, and began to whisper bits of information and advice to the lieutenant.“Tells me,” he said, “that she’s choke full o’ Hollands gin and lace.”“Indeed!” said the lieutenant eagerly.“Ay, so that chap says. And there’s plenty o’ time, but after a bit I’d sarve out pistols and cutlasses to the lads; you won’t have to use ’em, but it’ll keep those Dutchies from showing fight.”“That will all be done, my man.”“Going to get out four or five mile, master, and then we can head round, and get clear o’ the long race and the skerries. After that I shall run in, and we’ll creep along under the land. Good deep water for five-and-twenty miles there close under the cliff.”“Then you are making for Clayblack Bay?”“Ah, you’ll see,” said the man surlily. “As long as you get to where you can overhaul the boat when she comes in, you won’t mind where it is, Mister Orficer. There’s no rocks to get on, unless you run ashore, and ’tarn’t so dark as you need do that, eh?”“I can take care of that,” said the lieutenant sharply; and the cutter, now well out in the north-east wind then blowing, leaned over, and skimmed rapidly towards the dark sea.The reef that stretched out from a point, and formed the race where the tide struck against the submerged rocks, and then rushed out at right angles to the shore, had been passed, and the cutter was steered on again through the clear dark night, slowly drawing nearer the dark shore line, till she was well in under the cliffs; with the result that the speed was considerably checked, but she was able to glide along at a short distance from the land, and without doubt invisible to any vessel at sea.“There,” said the great rough fellow, after three hours’ sailing; “we’re getting pretty close now. Bay opens just beyond that rock.”“Where I’ll lie close in, and wait for her,” said the lieutenant.The man laughed softly.“Thought I—I mean him—was to get fifty pounds, if you took the boat?”“Yes.”“Well, you must take her. Know what would happen if you went round that point into the bay?”“Know what would happen?”“I’ll tell yer. Soon as you got round into the bay, some o’ them ashore would see yer. Then up would go lights somewhere yonder on the hills, and the boat would go back.”“Of course. I ought to have known better. Wait here then?”“Well, I should, if I wanted to take her,” said the man coldly. “And I should have both my boats ready for my men to jump in, and cut her off as soon as she gets close in to the beach. She’ll come on just as the tide’s turning, so as to have no fear of being left aground.”“You seem to know a good deal about it, my lad?” said the little lieutenant.“Good job for you,” was the reply, as the sails were lowered, and the cutter lay close in under the cliff waiting. The boats were down, the men armed, and the guns loaded, ready in case the smuggler vessel should attempt to escape.Then followed a long and patient watch, in the most utter silence; for, in the stillness of such a calm night a voice travels far, and the lieutenant knew that a strange sound would be sufficient to alarm those for whom he was waiting, and send the boat away again to sea. He might overtake her, but would more probably lose her in the darkness, and see her at daybreak perhaps well within reach of a port where he dare not follow.It was darker now, for clouds had come like a veil over the bright stars, but the night was singularly clear and transparent, as soon after eight bells the informer crept silently up to where the lieutenant was trying to make out the approach of the expected vessel.The little officer started as the man touched his elbow, so silently had he approached, and on looking down, he dimly made out that the man had divested himself of his heavy boots.“Do be quiet, master,” whispered the great fellow. “Can’t ’ford to lose fifty pounds for fear o’ getting one’s feet cold. See anything?”“No,” whispered the lieutenant, after sweeping his glass round.“Tide serves, and she can’t be long now. But two o’ your chaps keep whispering for’ard, and it comes back off the cliff. No, no—don’t shout at ’em. We daren’t have a sound.”“No,” replied the lieutenant; and he went softly forward toward where a group of men were leaning over the bulwarks, peering into the darkness and listening to the tide as it gurgled in and out of the rocks, little more than a hundred yards away.“Strict silence, my lads, and the moment you get the word, over into your boats and lay ready. Are those rowlocks muffled?”“Ay, ay, sir!” said the boatswain, who was to be in command of one of the boats.“No bloodshed, my lads. Knock any man down who resists. Five minutes after you leave the side here ought to make the smuggler ours. Hush! Keep your cheering till you’ve taken the boat.”A low murmur ran round the side of the cutter, and every eye was strained as the little officer whispered,—“A crown for the first man who sights her.”After a while, the lieutenant mentally said,—“I wish Mr Raystoke was here, he and Gurr could go in the other boat. I wonder where the lad can be!”He went cautiously aft along the starboard side of his vessel, looking hard at the frowning mass of darkness under which they lay, and thinking how dangerous their position would have been had the wind blown from the opposite quarter. But now they were in complete shelter, with the little cutter rising and falling softly on the gentle swell and drifting slowly with the tide, so that theWhite Hawk’shead was pointing seaward.He glanced over the side to see that the boats were in readiness, and then went aft without a sound, till all at once he kicked against something in the darkness beneath the larboard bulwark, to which he had crossed, and nearly fell headlong.“What’s—here? Who was—Oh, it’s those confounded boots. Hush, there; silence!”He said the last words hastily, for the crew made noise enough to startle any one within range, and the sound: were being followed by the hurried whisper of those who came running aft.“Back to your places, every one,” he said; and then the men drew off, becoming invisible almost directly, for the darkness was now intense, the lanthorns carefully hidden below, and once more all was still, and the little office rested his glass on the bulwark and carefully swept the sea.“Stupid idiot!” he said to himself. “Lucky for him he isn’t one of the crew. No, not a sign of anything.”But knowing that seeing was limited enough, he put his hand to his ear and stood leaning over the side, listening for a full ten minutes, before, with an impatient ejaculation, he turned to speak to the informer, who was not aft but probably forward among the men.He walked forward.“Where’s that man?” he whispered to the first sailor he encountered, who, like the rest, was eagerly watching seaward.“Went aft, sir.”The little officer went aft, but the fisherman was not there, and he passed back along the starboard side, going right forward among the crew.“Where is the fisherman?” he said.“Went aft, sir,” came from every one he encountered; and, feeling annoyed at the trouble it gave him, Mr Brough went aft again, to notice now that there was no man at the helm.He walked forward again.“Here!” he cried in an angry whisper, “who was at the helm?”“I, your honour,” said a voice.“Then why are you here, sir?”“That fisherman chap told me you said I was to go forward, sir, as he’d take a spell now, ready for running her round the head into the bay.”“Where is that man?”There was no reply, and more quickly than he had moved for months, the lieutenant trotted aft, and looked over the stern for the fisherman’s boat.It was gone.

Gurr continued his search till it was quite dark, and then tramped his men back to the cove, where the boat-keeper was summoned, and the boat with her crew, saving Dick, were sent back to the cutter, one of the men bearing a message from Gurr to say that he was going to stay ashore till he had found Mr Raystoke, and asking the lieutenant to send the boat back for him if he did not approve.

It was a very dark row back to the cutter, but her lights shone out clearly over the smooth sea, forming good beacons for the men to follow till the boat was run alongside.

“Got them, Mr Gurr?” came from the deck.

“No sir, and Mr Gurr’s stopping at one of the fishermen’s cottages ashore to keep on the search.”

“Tut, tut!” ejaculated the lieutenant as he turned away and began to pace the deck.

“Beg’n’ pardon, sir, Mr Gurr said—”

“Well, well, well, what did Mr Gurr say? Pity he did not do more and not say so much.”

“Said as his dooty, sir, and would you send the boat for him if you did not think he’d done right.”

“No, sir! His Majesty’s boats are wanted for other purposes than running to and fro to fetch him aboard. Let him stay where he is till he finds Mr Raystoke and brings him back aboard.”

“Dear, dear,” muttered the lieutenant as he walked to and fro. “To think of the boy being missing like this.—Now you, sirs, in with that boat.—Where can he be? Not the lad to go off on any prank.—There, go below and get something to eat, my lads.—All comes of being sent into a miserable little boat like this to hunt smugglers.”

“Ahoy!” came from forward.

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant, and an answer came from out of the blackness ahead.

“What boat’s that?” shouted the man on the watch. “Mine,” came in a low growl. “What is it?”

“Want to see the skipper.”

There was a little bustle forward, in the midst of which a boat came up alongside, and the man in it was allowed to come on board.

He was a big, broad-shouldered, heavy fellow, with rough black beard and dark eyes, which glowered at those around as a lanthorn was held up by one of the men. “Where’s the skipper?” he growled. “Bring the man aft,” cried the lieutenant. “This way.”

“All right, mate; I can find my way; I aren’t a baby,” said the man as he took three or four strides, lifting up his big fisherman’s boots, and setting them heavily down upon the deck as if they were something separate from him which he had brought on board.

“Now, my man, brought news of him?” cried the lieutenant eagerly. “Eh?”

And the great fellow seemed to tower over the little commander.

“I say, have you brought news of the boy?”

“What boy?”

“Haven’t you come to tell me where he is?”

“Here, what yer talking about?” growled the man. “I aren’t come ’bout no boys.”

“Then, pray, why have you come?”

“Send them away,” said the man in a hoarse whisper.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and the lieutenant was about to give an order but altered his mind, for he suspected the man’s mission, not an unusual one in those days.

“Come into my cabin, sir,” he said imperiously, and as he turned and strutted off, making the most of his inches, the giant—for such he was by comparison—stumbled after him, making the deck echo to the sound of his great boots.

“Now, sir,” said the lieutenant haughtily, “what is your business?”

The man leaned forward, and there was a leer on his bearded face seen by the dull swinging oil-lamp, as, half covering his mouth, he whispered hoarsely behind his hands—

“Like Hollands gin, master?”

“What do you mean, sir?” cried the lieutenant. “Speak out, for I have no time to lose.”

“Oh, I’ll speak plainly enough,” growled the man; “on’y do you like it?”

“Do you mean that a foreign vessel is going to land a quantity of Hollands to-night?”

“Never said nothing o’ the sort, Master Orficer. Why, if I was to come and say a thing like that, and folks ashore knowed on it, there’d be a haxiden.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Some un would run up agin me atop o’ the cliff, and I should go over, and there’d be an end o’ me.”

“You mean to say that if it was known that you informed, you would be in peril of your life?”

“No, I don’t mean to say nothing o’ the kind, master. I only says to you that there’s going to be a drop to be got in a place I knows, and if you care to say to a chap like me—never you mind who he is—show me where this drop of Hollands gin is to be got, and I’ll give you—for him, you know—fifty pounds, it would be done.”

“Look here, my lad, if you have got any valuable information to give, wouldn’t it be better for you to speak out plainly?”

“Didn’t come twenty mile in my boat and get here in the dark, for you to teach me how to ketch fish, Master Orficer.”

“Twenty miles!” said the lieutenant sharply; “where are you from?”

“Out o’ my boat as is made fast ’longside. Is it fifty pound or aren’t it?”

“Fifty pound is a great deal of money, my man. Your information may not be worth fifty pence. Suppose the boat does not come?”

“Why, o’ course, you wouldn’t pay.”

“Oh, now I understand you. If we take the boat with the spirits I am to give you fifty pounds?”

“Me? Think I’m goin’ to be fool enough to risk gettin’ my neck broke for fifty pound? Nay, not me. You’ll give it to me to give to him.”

“And where is he?”

“Never you mind, master.”

“Oh, well, there then; I’ll give you the fifty pounds if I take the boat. Dutch?”

“P’raps. Shake hands on it.”

“Is that necessary?” said the lieutenant, glancing with distaste at the great outstretched palm.

“Ay, shake hands on it, and you being a gentleman, you’ll say, ’pon your honour.”

“Oh, very well. There, upon my honour, we’ll pay you if we take the boat.”

“Oh you’ll take her, fast enough,” said the man with a hoarse chuckle. “Yah! There’s no fight in them. They’ll chatter and jabber a bit, and their skipper’ll swear he’ll do all sorts o’ things, but you stick to the boat as soon as your lads are on board.”

“Trust me for that,” said the lieutenant. “Now, then, when is the cargo to be run?”

“T’night.”

“And where?”

“Never you mind wheer. Get up your anchor, and make sail; I’ll take the helm.”

“What, do you think I am going to let a strange man pilot my vessel?”

“Yah!” growled the man; “shan’t you be there, and if I come any games, you’ve got pistols, aren’t you? But just as you like.”

“Come on deck,” said the lieutenant. “But one minute. I have lost a boy—gone ashore. Have you seen one?”

“Not I; lots o’ boys about, soon get another!”

The man went clumping on deck, and stepped over the side into his boat.

“What are you going to do?” said the lieutenant sharply.

“Make her fast astarn.”

“Well, you need not have got into her, you could have led her round.”

“This here’s my way,” said the man; and as the order was given to slip the anchor, with a small buoy left to mark its place, the informer secured his boat to one of the ringbolts astern, and then drew close in; and mounted over the bulwark to stand beside the man at the helm.

“What do you propose doing?” said the lieutenant.

“Tellin’ o’ you what I wants done, and then you tells your lads.”

The lieutenant nodded, and in obedience to the suggestion of the man the stay-sail was hoisted; then up went the mainsail and jib, and the little cutter careened over to the soft land breeze as soon as she got a little way out from under the cliffs, which soon became invisible.

“Why, you aren’t dowsed your lanthorns,” whispered the man. “I’d have them down, and next time you have time just have down all your canvas, and get it tanned brown. Going about with lanthorns and white canvas is showing everybody where you are.”

After a time, as they glided on, catching a glimpse of a twinkling light or two on the shore, the man grew a little more communicative, and began to whisper bits of information and advice to the lieutenant.

“Tells me,” he said, “that she’s choke full o’ Hollands gin and lace.”

“Indeed!” said the lieutenant eagerly.

“Ay, so that chap says. And there’s plenty o’ time, but after a bit I’d sarve out pistols and cutlasses to the lads; you won’t have to use ’em, but it’ll keep those Dutchies from showing fight.”

“That will all be done, my man.”

“Going to get out four or five mile, master, and then we can head round, and get clear o’ the long race and the skerries. After that I shall run in, and we’ll creep along under the land. Good deep water for five-and-twenty miles there close under the cliff.”

“Then you are making for Clayblack Bay?”

“Ah, you’ll see,” said the man surlily. “As long as you get to where you can overhaul the boat when she comes in, you won’t mind where it is, Mister Orficer. There’s no rocks to get on, unless you run ashore, and ’tarn’t so dark as you need do that, eh?”

“I can take care of that,” said the lieutenant sharply; and the cutter, now well out in the north-east wind then blowing, leaned over, and skimmed rapidly towards the dark sea.

The reef that stretched out from a point, and formed the race where the tide struck against the submerged rocks, and then rushed out at right angles to the shore, had been passed, and the cutter was steered on again through the clear dark night, slowly drawing nearer the dark shore line, till she was well in under the cliffs; with the result that the speed was considerably checked, but she was able to glide along at a short distance from the land, and without doubt invisible to any vessel at sea.

“There,” said the great rough fellow, after three hours’ sailing; “we’re getting pretty close now. Bay opens just beyond that rock.”

“Where I’ll lie close in, and wait for her,” said the lieutenant.

The man laughed softly.

“Thought I—I mean him—was to get fifty pounds, if you took the boat?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you must take her. Know what would happen if you went round that point into the bay?”

“Know what would happen?”

“I’ll tell yer. Soon as you got round into the bay, some o’ them ashore would see yer. Then up would go lights somewhere yonder on the hills, and the boat would go back.”

“Of course. I ought to have known better. Wait here then?”

“Well, I should, if I wanted to take her,” said the man coldly. “And I should have both my boats ready for my men to jump in, and cut her off as soon as she gets close in to the beach. She’ll come on just as the tide’s turning, so as to have no fear of being left aground.”

“You seem to know a good deal about it, my lad?” said the little lieutenant.

“Good job for you,” was the reply, as the sails were lowered, and the cutter lay close in under the cliff waiting. The boats were down, the men armed, and the guns loaded, ready in case the smuggler vessel should attempt to escape.

Then followed a long and patient watch, in the most utter silence; for, in the stillness of such a calm night a voice travels far, and the lieutenant knew that a strange sound would be sufficient to alarm those for whom he was waiting, and send the boat away again to sea. He might overtake her, but would more probably lose her in the darkness, and see her at daybreak perhaps well within reach of a port where he dare not follow.

It was darker now, for clouds had come like a veil over the bright stars, but the night was singularly clear and transparent, as soon after eight bells the informer crept silently up to where the lieutenant was trying to make out the approach of the expected vessel.

The little officer started as the man touched his elbow, so silently had he approached, and on looking down, he dimly made out that the man had divested himself of his heavy boots.

“Do be quiet, master,” whispered the great fellow. “Can’t ’ford to lose fifty pounds for fear o’ getting one’s feet cold. See anything?”

“No,” whispered the lieutenant, after sweeping his glass round.

“Tide serves, and she can’t be long now. But two o’ your chaps keep whispering for’ard, and it comes back off the cliff. No, no—don’t shout at ’em. We daren’t have a sound.”

“No,” replied the lieutenant; and he went softly forward toward where a group of men were leaning over the bulwarks, peering into the darkness and listening to the tide as it gurgled in and out of the rocks, little more than a hundred yards away.

“Strict silence, my lads, and the moment you get the word, over into your boats and lay ready. Are those rowlocks muffled?”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said the boatswain, who was to be in command of one of the boats.

“No bloodshed, my lads. Knock any man down who resists. Five minutes after you leave the side here ought to make the smuggler ours. Hush! Keep your cheering till you’ve taken the boat.”

A low murmur ran round the side of the cutter, and every eye was strained as the little officer whispered,—

“A crown for the first man who sights her.”

After a while, the lieutenant mentally said,—

“I wish Mr Raystoke was here, he and Gurr could go in the other boat. I wonder where the lad can be!”

He went cautiously aft along the starboard side of his vessel, looking hard at the frowning mass of darkness under which they lay, and thinking how dangerous their position would have been had the wind blown from the opposite quarter. But now they were in complete shelter, with the little cutter rising and falling softly on the gentle swell and drifting slowly with the tide, so that theWhite Hawk’shead was pointing seaward.

He glanced over the side to see that the boats were in readiness, and then went aft without a sound, till all at once he kicked against something in the darkness beneath the larboard bulwark, to which he had crossed, and nearly fell headlong.

“What’s—here? Who was—Oh, it’s those confounded boots. Hush, there; silence!”

He said the last words hastily, for the crew made noise enough to startle any one within range, and the sound: were being followed by the hurried whisper of those who came running aft.

“Back to your places, every one,” he said; and then the men drew off, becoming invisible almost directly, for the darkness was now intense, the lanthorns carefully hidden below, and once more all was still, and the little office rested his glass on the bulwark and carefully swept the sea.

“Stupid idiot!” he said to himself. “Lucky for him he isn’t one of the crew. No, not a sign of anything.”

But knowing that seeing was limited enough, he put his hand to his ear and stood leaning over the side, listening for a full ten minutes, before, with an impatient ejaculation, he turned to speak to the informer, who was not aft but probably forward among the men.

He walked forward.

“Where’s that man?” he whispered to the first sailor he encountered, who, like the rest, was eagerly watching seaward.

“Went aft, sir.”

The little officer went aft, but the fisherman was not there, and he passed back along the starboard side, going right forward among the crew.

“Where is the fisherman?” he said.

“Went aft, sir,” came from every one he encountered; and, feeling annoyed at the trouble it gave him, Mr Brough went aft again, to notice now that there was no man at the helm.

He walked forward again.

“Here!” he cried in an angry whisper, “who was at the helm?”

“I, your honour,” said a voice.

“Then why are you here, sir?”

“That fisherman chap told me you said I was to go forward, sir, as he’d take a spell now, ready for running her round the head into the bay.”

“Where is that man?”

There was no reply, and more quickly than he had moved for months, the lieutenant trotted aft, and looked over the stern for the fisherman’s boat.

It was gone.

Chapter Eighteen.Lieutenant brough went into a fit of passion. Not a noisy, sea-going fit of passion, full of loud words, such as are not found in dictionaries, but a rising and falling, swelling and collapsing, silent fit of passion, as moment by moment he realised more and more that he had been victimised, and that he had been sent forward to quiet the men so as to give the big rough fellow an opportunity to creep over into his boat and cut the painter by which it was made fast, and let it glide away on the tide till it was safe to thrust an oar over astern, and, using it like a fish does its tail, paddle softly away close under the rocks to some hole, or perhaps round into the bay.For a moment the lieutenant thought of manning the boats and sending in pursuit, but he knew that such an act would be madness; and, accepting his position, he suddenly gave the order for four men to go into each boat, and begin to tow the cutter, while a few of the crew put out the sweeps to get her a little farther from the cliff to catch the breeze.Half an hour later the boats were ordered in, sail was being set, and the cutter was again moving swiftly through the water.But the wind was dead ahead now, and though theWhite Hawkcould use her wings well even in such a breeze, and sail very close, it was far different work getting back to coming away.The men were not forbidden to talk, and they were not long in grasping the situation, while their commanding officer went up and down the deck, fuming and taking himself to task more seriously than any captain had done since he first went to sea.“Only to think of me, after what I have learned of their shifts and tricks, letting myself be taken in by such a transparent dodge. Oh, it’s maddening!”He looked up at the sails, and longed to clap on more, but it was useless. The little craft was doing her best, and the water surged under her bow as she took a long stretch seaward, before tacking for the land.“There’s not a doubt of it,” muttered the lieutenant. “I know it—I’m sure of it. I deserve to lose my rank. How could I have been such a blind, idiotic baby!”He was obliged to confess, though, that the trick, if such it proved to be, had been well planned and executed, and the stipulation of the man that he should be paid fifty pounds if the boat was captured had completely thrown dust into his eyes.More than once, as the cutter rushed on through the darkness, he found himself wondering whether, after all, he was wrong, and that the man had slipped away, so as to avoid being recognised when the smuggling vessel was captured, for, if seen, he would be a marked man.“And, perhaps, in a few minutes, the smuggler would have been coming into the little bay, I should have taken her, redeemed my reputation, been looked upon as a smart officer, my crew would have got a nice bit of prize money, and the fellow would have come stealthily some night for his reward.—I’ve done wrong. Would there be time to go back?”He was on the point of bidding the men “’bout ship,” when a firm belief in his having been cheated came over him, and he kept on.Then there was another season of doubt—and then of assurance—another of doubt, till the poor little fellow grew half bewildered, and gazed around, longing for the daylight and his old moorings, so that he might send a boat ashore, and carefully examine the ground, to see if he could trace any signs of landing having gone on.At last, just at daybreak, the cutter was about to make a dash, and run right down for her old berth, when one of the men shouted “Sail ho!”He raised his glass, and there, hull down, were the three masts of a lugger, a Frenchman without a doubt, and his suspicions had their just confirmation.His immediate thought was to give chase, but the swift sailing vessel was well away with a favourable wind, and she would most probably get across the Channel before he could overtake her, and even if he were so lucky as to catch up to her, what then? She would not have a keg or bale on board which would give him an excuse for detaining her; and wrinkling up his brow, he went on more satisfied that he had been deluded away, so as to give thechasse maréean opportunity to come in and rapidly run her cargo.He saw it all now. No sooner had he passed round the race, than lights had been shown, and the lugger was run in. He felt as certain as if he had seen everything, and he ground his teeth with vexation.“Wait till I get my chance!” he muttered. “I’ll sink the first smuggler I meet; and as to that blackavised scoundrel who came and cheated me as he did—oh, if I could only see him hung!”A couple of hours later, after seeing the lugger’s masts and sails slowly disappear, the cutter was once more at her old moorings, and leaving the boatswain in charge, the lieutenant had himself rowed ashore, to land upon the ledge, and carefully search the rocks for some sight of a cargo having been landed.But the smugglers and their shore friends had been more careful this time, and search where they would, the cutter’s men could find no traces of anything of the kind, and the lieutenant had himself rowed back to the cutter, keeping the boat alongside, ready to send along shore to the cove to seek for tidings of Gurr and Dick but altering his mind, he had the little vessel unmoored once more to run back the six miles along the coast till the cutter was abreast of the cove,—the first place where it seemed possible for a boat to land,—and here he sent a crew ashore to bring his two men off.

Lieutenant brough went into a fit of passion. Not a noisy, sea-going fit of passion, full of loud words, such as are not found in dictionaries, but a rising and falling, swelling and collapsing, silent fit of passion, as moment by moment he realised more and more that he had been victimised, and that he had been sent forward to quiet the men so as to give the big rough fellow an opportunity to creep over into his boat and cut the painter by which it was made fast, and let it glide away on the tide till it was safe to thrust an oar over astern, and, using it like a fish does its tail, paddle softly away close under the rocks to some hole, or perhaps round into the bay.

For a moment the lieutenant thought of manning the boats and sending in pursuit, but he knew that such an act would be madness; and, accepting his position, he suddenly gave the order for four men to go into each boat, and begin to tow the cutter, while a few of the crew put out the sweeps to get her a little farther from the cliff to catch the breeze.

Half an hour later the boats were ordered in, sail was being set, and the cutter was again moving swiftly through the water.

But the wind was dead ahead now, and though theWhite Hawkcould use her wings well even in such a breeze, and sail very close, it was far different work getting back to coming away.

The men were not forbidden to talk, and they were not long in grasping the situation, while their commanding officer went up and down the deck, fuming and taking himself to task more seriously than any captain had done since he first went to sea.

“Only to think of me, after what I have learned of their shifts and tricks, letting myself be taken in by such a transparent dodge. Oh, it’s maddening!”

He looked up at the sails, and longed to clap on more, but it was useless. The little craft was doing her best, and the water surged under her bow as she took a long stretch seaward, before tacking for the land.

“There’s not a doubt of it,” muttered the lieutenant. “I know it—I’m sure of it. I deserve to lose my rank. How could I have been such a blind, idiotic baby!”

He was obliged to confess, though, that the trick, if such it proved to be, had been well planned and executed, and the stipulation of the man that he should be paid fifty pounds if the boat was captured had completely thrown dust into his eyes.

More than once, as the cutter rushed on through the darkness, he found himself wondering whether, after all, he was wrong, and that the man had slipped away, so as to avoid being recognised when the smuggling vessel was captured, for, if seen, he would be a marked man.

“And, perhaps, in a few minutes, the smuggler would have been coming into the little bay, I should have taken her, redeemed my reputation, been looked upon as a smart officer, my crew would have got a nice bit of prize money, and the fellow would have come stealthily some night for his reward.—I’ve done wrong. Would there be time to go back?”

He was on the point of bidding the men “’bout ship,” when a firm belief in his having been cheated came over him, and he kept on.

Then there was another season of doubt—and then of assurance—another of doubt, till the poor little fellow grew half bewildered, and gazed around, longing for the daylight and his old moorings, so that he might send a boat ashore, and carefully examine the ground, to see if he could trace any signs of landing having gone on.

At last, just at daybreak, the cutter was about to make a dash, and run right down for her old berth, when one of the men shouted “Sail ho!”

He raised his glass, and there, hull down, were the three masts of a lugger, a Frenchman without a doubt, and his suspicions had their just confirmation.

His immediate thought was to give chase, but the swift sailing vessel was well away with a favourable wind, and she would most probably get across the Channel before he could overtake her, and even if he were so lucky as to catch up to her, what then? She would not have a keg or bale on board which would give him an excuse for detaining her; and wrinkling up his brow, he went on more satisfied that he had been deluded away, so as to give thechasse maréean opportunity to come in and rapidly run her cargo.

He saw it all now. No sooner had he passed round the race, than lights had been shown, and the lugger was run in. He felt as certain as if he had seen everything, and he ground his teeth with vexation.

“Wait till I get my chance!” he muttered. “I’ll sink the first smuggler I meet; and as to that blackavised scoundrel who came and cheated me as he did—oh, if I could only see him hung!”

A couple of hours later, after seeing the lugger’s masts and sails slowly disappear, the cutter was once more at her old moorings, and leaving the boatswain in charge, the lieutenant had himself rowed ashore, to land upon the ledge, and carefully search the rocks for some sight of a cargo having been landed.

But the smugglers and their shore friends had been more careful this time, and search where they would, the cutter’s men could find no traces of anything of the kind, and the lieutenant had himself rowed back to the cutter, keeping the boat alongside, ready to send along shore to the cove to seek for tidings of Gurr and Dick but altering his mind, he had the little vessel unmoored once more to run back the six miles along the coast till the cutter was abreast of the cove,—the first place where it seemed possible for a boat to land,—and here he sent a crew ashore to bring his two men off.

Chapter Nineteen.“How many horses has your father got?”“Three.”“What colour are they?”“Black, white, and grey.”“Turn round three times, and catch whom you may.”That, as everyone knows, is the classical way of beginning the game of Blind Man’s Buff; and supposing that the blinded manpro tem, is properly bandaged, and cannot get a squint of light up by the side of his nose, and also supposing that he confuses himself by turning round the proper number of times honestly, he will be in profound darkness, and in utter ignorance of the direction of door, window, or the salient objects in the room.Take another case. Suppose a lad to have eaten a hearty supper of some particularly hard pastry. The probabilities are that he will either have the peculiar form of dream known as nightmare, or some time in the night he will get out of bed, and go wandering about his room in the darkness, to awake at last, cold, confused, and asking himself where he is, without the slightest ability to give a reasonable answer to his question.It has fallen to the lot of some people to be lost in a fog—words, these, which can only be appreciated by those who have passed through a similar experience.The writer has gone through these experiences more than once, and fully realised the peculiar sensation of helplessness, confusion, and brain numbing which follows. Dark as pitch is mostly a figure of speech, for the obscurity is generally relieved by something in the form of dull light which does enable a person to see his hand before him; but the blackness around, when Archibald Raystoke began to come back to his senses, would have left pitch far behind as to depth of tint.His head ached, and there was a feeling in it suggestive of the contents having been turned into brain-fritters in a pan—fritters which had bubbled and turned brown, and then been burned till they were quite black.He opened his eyes, and then put his hands up to feel if they were open.They were undoubtedly, and he hurt them in making the test, for he half fancied, and he had a confused notion, that a great handkerchief had been tied over them. But though they were undoubtedly open he could not see. In fact, when he closed them, strange as it may sound, he felt as if he could see better, for there were a number of little spots of light sailing up and down and round and round, like the tiny sparks seen in tinder before the fire which has consumed is quite extinct.He lay still, not thinking but trying to think, for his mind was in the condition described by the little girl who, suffering from a cold, said, “Please, ma, one side of my nose won’t go.”Archy Raystoke’s mind would not go, and for a long time he lay motionless.His memory began to work again in his back, for he gradually became conscious of feeling something there, and after suffering the inconvenience for a long time, he thrust his hand under his spine and drew out a piece of iron, sharp-edged and round like a hoop.He felt better after that, and fell to wondering why he had brought his little hoop to bed with him, and also how it was that his little hoop, which he used to trundle, had become iron instead of wood.The exertion of moving the hoop made him wince, for his back was sore and his arms felt strained as if he had been beaten.His mind began “to go” a little more, and he had to turn back mentally; but he could not do that, so he made an effort to go forward, and wondered how soon it would be morning, and the window curtains at the foot of the bed would show streaks of sunshine between.Time passed on and he still lay perfectly quiet, for he did not feel the slightest inclination to move after his late efforts, which had produced a sensation of the interior of his skull beginning to bubble up with fire or hot lead rolling about. But as that pain declined he felt cold, and after a great deal of hesitation he suddenly stretched out his hands to pull up the clothes.There were none.His natural inference had been, as he was lying there upon his back, that he must be in bed; but now he found that, though there were no bed-clothes, he was wearing his own, only upon feeling about with no little pain they did not seem like his clothes.That was as far as he could get then, but some time after there came a gleam of light in his understanding, and he recalled the mists that hung about the Channel.Of course he was in one of those thick mists, and he had gone to sleep on—on—what had he gone to sleep on?The light died out, and it was a long time before, like a flash, came the answer.The deck of the cutter!He made a movement to start up in horror, for he knew that he must have gone to steep during his watch, and his pain and stiffness were like a punishment for doing so disgraceful a thing.“What will Mr Brough say if he knows?” he thought, and then he groaned, for the pain caused by the movement was unbearable.At last his mind began to clear, and he set himself to wonder with more force. This was not the deck, for he could feel that he was lying on what was like an old sail, and where his hand lay was not wood, but cold hard stone, with a big crack full of small scraps.The lad shook his head and then uttered a low moan, for the pain was terrible.It died off though as he lay, still trying hard to think, failing—trying in a half dreamy way, and finally thrilling all over, for he remembered everything now—the smugglers—the scene in the darkness of the room where he was imprisoned—the coming of that boy who jeered at him till they engaged in a fierce struggle, with the result all plainly pictured, till he was stunned or had swooned away.These thoughts were almost enough to stun him again, and he lay there with a hot sensation of rage against the treacherous young scoundrel who had lured him on to that struggle, and held him so thoroughly fixed against the bars till he was secured and bound. Yes, and his eyes were bandaged. He could recall it now.“Oh, only wait till I get my chance!” he muttered, and he involuntarily clenched his fists.He lay perfectly quiet again though, for he found that any exertion brought on mental confusion as well as pain, and he wanted to think about his position.It came by degrees more and more, and as he was able to think with greater clearness, he found an explanation of the fancy he had felt, that he must be ill and sea-sick again, and that somebody had been giving him brandy.Part was fevered imagination, part was reality, for there could be no doubt about that faint odour of spirits. It was brandy, but brandy in smuggled kegs, and the scoundrels of smugglers had shut him up in the vault with their kegs.“Well, they have not killed me,” he said to himself with a little laugh. “They dared not try that, and all I have to do now is to escape, if Mr Brough does not send the lads to fetch me out.”He went through the whole time now since his landing; thought of what a disgraceful thing it was for a titled gentleman to mix himself up with smuggling, and what a revelation he would have for the lieutenant and the master who had been so easily deluded by Sir Risdon’s bearing.Then he thought of Celia, and how bright and innocent she had seemed; putting away all thoughts of her, however, directly as his angry feeling increased against Ram and this treacherous girl.He must have been for hours thinking, often in a drowsy, half-confused way, but rousing up from time to time to feel his resentment growing against Ram, who seemed to him now to be the personification of the whole smuggling gang.By degrees he grew conscious of a fresh pain, one that was certainly not produced by his late struggles, or by stiffness from lying upon an old sail stretched upon the damp floor of a vault.As he thought this last, he asked himself why he called it the damp floor of a vault. For it was not damp, but perfectly dry, and below the scraps of stone in the seam there was fine dust.But the said pain was increasing, and there was no mistaking it. He was hungry, decidedly hungry; and paradoxically, as he grew better he grew worse, the pain in the head being condensed in a more central region, where nature carries on a kind of factory of bone, muscle, flesh, blood, and generally health and strength.Suddenly Archy recalled that his legs had been bound, and he sat up to find that they were free now, and if he liked he could rise and go to the grated window and call for help.“If I do, they’ll come down and stuff a handkerchief in my mouth again,” he thought, “and it is no use to do that. I may as well wait till I hear our men’s voices, and then I’ll soon let them know where I am.”He got on his feet, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, and then tried to make out where the grated window was, but the darkness was absolute, and he stretched out one foot and his hands, as he began to move cautiously along, feeling his way till he kicked against a loose stone.This arrested him, and he tried in another direction for his foot to come in contact with what seemed to be round, and proved to be a spar lying in company with some carefully folded and rope-bound sails.“The old rascal!” thought Archy, as he mentally pictured the stern, sad countenance of Sir Risdon.“Why, he must have a lugger of his own, and keep his stores in here.”A little feeling about convinced him that the window of the vault could not be behind the pile of boat-gear against which he had stumbled, and he moved slowly of! Again, to stop at the end of a yard or two, feeling about with one foot.“Why, I’m not shut up!” he cried joyously. “I’m out on the ledge. They must have laid me here to be fetched off by the boat. Suppose the tide had risen while I was asleep!”But the joyous feeling went off as he stared about him. It had been dark enough in a dense fog, but it did not feel dark and cold now, as if there was a dense fog. Everything seemed dry, and though he listened attentively, he could not hear the washing of the waves among the rocks, nor smell the cool, moist, sea-weedy odour of the coast. Instead of that a most unmistakable smell of brandy came into his nostrils.And yet he seemed to be standing on that ledge close down to the water, for as he stooped down now he could trace with his hand one of the huge, curled-up shell-fish turned to the stone in which it was embedded, while, as he felt about, there was another and another larger still.He listened again.No; he was not on the seashore. He must be in the vault beneath Sir Risdon’s house, and though he had not noticed it, the floor must be paved with a layer of stones similar to those found where the little kegs had been left.He went cautiously on with outstretched hands through the intense darkness, and his feet traced the flat curls of stone again and again, but he did not find any wall, and now, as he made up his mind to go back to where he had been when he first awoke, he found that he had not the faintest idea as to which direction he ought to take.As he grew more able to move and act, the sense of confusion which suddenly arrested him was terrible—almost maddening.Where was he? What was here on all sides? It could not be the cellar, as he went in one direction or the other toward the walls, and he stood at last resting, in the most utter bewilderment of mind and helplessness of body possible to conceive, while a curious feeling of awe began to steal over him.The smugglers had not dared to kill him or throw him into the sea, as he had heard of them doing on more than one occasion, but as far as he could make out they had cast him down into some terrible place to die.The idea was terrible, and unable to contain himself he took a step or two in one direction, then in another, and stopped short, not daring to stir for fear some awful chasm such as he had seen among the rocks should be yawning at his feet, and he should fall headlong down.He stopped to wipe the cold perspiration away that was gathering on his brow, and then, trying to keep himself cool, he stood thinking, and finally, in utter weariness, sat down.“I wish I wasn’t such a coward,” said the young midshipman, half aloud. “It’s like being a child to be frightened because it’s dark. What’s that!”He started up.“That” was a gleam of light some distance off, shining on the rugged walls of a vast chamber or set of chambers. He could only dimly see this, for the light was but feeble, and the bearer hidden behind the rugged pillars which supported the roof; but it was evidently coming nearer, and as it approached he could see that he was in a vast cavernous, flat-ceiled place, which appeared to have been a quarry, from which masses of stone had been hewn, the floor here and there being littered with refuse of all sorts and sizes.As the light came on, the midshipman made out that quite a store of spars, ropes, and blocks lay at a short distance, and that more dimly seen was a large stack of tubs, from which doubtless emanated the odour of brandy.Archy’s first idea was to go and meet the bearers of the light, but on second thoughts he decided to stand upon his dignity and let them come to him, and as the thought occurred to him that the visit might be of an inimical nature, his hand stole into his breast in search of his dirk. Vainly though: the weapon was gone.All this time, as if the bearers were coming very leisurely, the light slowly approached, and as the midshipman more fully grasped the fact that he must be either in a stone quarry or a mine, he saw that the light was an ordinary horn lanthorn, and from the shadows it cast he could see that there were two people, one of whom was carrying something weighty on his shoulders.This soon resolved itself into four kegs, slung two and two, the bearer panting under their weight, while his companion held the light low down, so that he could see where to plant his feet and avoid the corners of the huge square pillars which supported the roof.Neither of the pair seemed to pay any attention to him; in fact, the midshipman was doubtful whether he was seen as he stood back waiting till they had passed him, and then hesitated as to whether he should make for the entrance and escape.Through the black darkness, not knowing which way he should go, perhaps to fall down some shaft such as was sure to be in a place like this? No; he could not risk the journey without a light, and he stood waiting and trying to make out the shadowy figures, one of whom looked strangely uncouth beneath his load, while the other was quite short.Archy had not long to wait before the pair halted by the stack of kegs, to which the four carried by the man were added, and this done they turned and came toward him.At this moment, after excitedly watching them, the midshipman became convinced.The bearer of the lanthorn was his young enemy—the boy.

“How many horses has your father got?”

“Three.”

“What colour are they?”

“Black, white, and grey.”

“Turn round three times, and catch whom you may.”

That, as everyone knows, is the classical way of beginning the game of Blind Man’s Buff; and supposing that the blinded manpro tem, is properly bandaged, and cannot get a squint of light up by the side of his nose, and also supposing that he confuses himself by turning round the proper number of times honestly, he will be in profound darkness, and in utter ignorance of the direction of door, window, or the salient objects in the room.

Take another case. Suppose a lad to have eaten a hearty supper of some particularly hard pastry. The probabilities are that he will either have the peculiar form of dream known as nightmare, or some time in the night he will get out of bed, and go wandering about his room in the darkness, to awake at last, cold, confused, and asking himself where he is, without the slightest ability to give a reasonable answer to his question.

It has fallen to the lot of some people to be lost in a fog—words, these, which can only be appreciated by those who have passed through a similar experience.

The writer has gone through these experiences more than once, and fully realised the peculiar sensation of helplessness, confusion, and brain numbing which follows. Dark as pitch is mostly a figure of speech, for the obscurity is generally relieved by something in the form of dull light which does enable a person to see his hand before him; but the blackness around, when Archibald Raystoke began to come back to his senses, would have left pitch far behind as to depth of tint.

His head ached, and there was a feeling in it suggestive of the contents having been turned into brain-fritters in a pan—fritters which had bubbled and turned brown, and then been burned till they were quite black.

He opened his eyes, and then put his hands up to feel if they were open.

They were undoubtedly, and he hurt them in making the test, for he half fancied, and he had a confused notion, that a great handkerchief had been tied over them. But though they were undoubtedly open he could not see. In fact, when he closed them, strange as it may sound, he felt as if he could see better, for there were a number of little spots of light sailing up and down and round and round, like the tiny sparks seen in tinder before the fire which has consumed is quite extinct.

He lay still, not thinking but trying to think, for his mind was in the condition described by the little girl who, suffering from a cold, said, “Please, ma, one side of my nose won’t go.”

Archy Raystoke’s mind would not go, and for a long time he lay motionless.

His memory began to work again in his back, for he gradually became conscious of feeling something there, and after suffering the inconvenience for a long time, he thrust his hand under his spine and drew out a piece of iron, sharp-edged and round like a hoop.

He felt better after that, and fell to wondering why he had brought his little hoop to bed with him, and also how it was that his little hoop, which he used to trundle, had become iron instead of wood.

The exertion of moving the hoop made him wince, for his back was sore and his arms felt strained as if he had been beaten.

His mind began “to go” a little more, and he had to turn back mentally; but he could not do that, so he made an effort to go forward, and wondered how soon it would be morning, and the window curtains at the foot of the bed would show streaks of sunshine between.

Time passed on and he still lay perfectly quiet, for he did not feel the slightest inclination to move after his late efforts, which had produced a sensation of the interior of his skull beginning to bubble up with fire or hot lead rolling about. But as that pain declined he felt cold, and after a great deal of hesitation he suddenly stretched out his hands to pull up the clothes.

There were none.

His natural inference had been, as he was lying there upon his back, that he must be in bed; but now he found that, though there were no bed-clothes, he was wearing his own, only upon feeling about with no little pain they did not seem like his clothes.

That was as far as he could get then, but some time after there came a gleam of light in his understanding, and he recalled the mists that hung about the Channel.

Of course he was in one of those thick mists, and he had gone to sleep on—on—what had he gone to sleep on?

The light died out, and it was a long time before, like a flash, came the answer.

The deck of the cutter!

He made a movement to start up in horror, for he knew that he must have gone to steep during his watch, and his pain and stiffness were like a punishment for doing so disgraceful a thing.

“What will Mr Brough say if he knows?” he thought, and then he groaned, for the pain caused by the movement was unbearable.

At last his mind began to clear, and he set himself to wonder with more force. This was not the deck, for he could feel that he was lying on what was like an old sail, and where his hand lay was not wood, but cold hard stone, with a big crack full of small scraps.

The lad shook his head and then uttered a low moan, for the pain was terrible.

It died off though as he lay, still trying hard to think, failing—trying in a half dreamy way, and finally thrilling all over, for he remembered everything now—the smugglers—the scene in the darkness of the room where he was imprisoned—the coming of that boy who jeered at him till they engaged in a fierce struggle, with the result all plainly pictured, till he was stunned or had swooned away.

These thoughts were almost enough to stun him again, and he lay there with a hot sensation of rage against the treacherous young scoundrel who had lured him on to that struggle, and held him so thoroughly fixed against the bars till he was secured and bound. Yes, and his eyes were bandaged. He could recall it now.

“Oh, only wait till I get my chance!” he muttered, and he involuntarily clenched his fists.

He lay perfectly quiet again though, for he found that any exertion brought on mental confusion as well as pain, and he wanted to think about his position.

It came by degrees more and more, and as he was able to think with greater clearness, he found an explanation of the fancy he had felt, that he must be ill and sea-sick again, and that somebody had been giving him brandy.

Part was fevered imagination, part was reality, for there could be no doubt about that faint odour of spirits. It was brandy, but brandy in smuggled kegs, and the scoundrels of smugglers had shut him up in the vault with their kegs.

“Well, they have not killed me,” he said to himself with a little laugh. “They dared not try that, and all I have to do now is to escape, if Mr Brough does not send the lads to fetch me out.”

He went through the whole time now since his landing; thought of what a disgraceful thing it was for a titled gentleman to mix himself up with smuggling, and what a revelation he would have for the lieutenant and the master who had been so easily deluded by Sir Risdon’s bearing.

Then he thought of Celia, and how bright and innocent she had seemed; putting away all thoughts of her, however, directly as his angry feeling increased against Ram and this treacherous girl.

He must have been for hours thinking, often in a drowsy, half-confused way, but rousing up from time to time to feel his resentment growing against Ram, who seemed to him now to be the personification of the whole smuggling gang.

By degrees he grew conscious of a fresh pain, one that was certainly not produced by his late struggles, or by stiffness from lying upon an old sail stretched upon the damp floor of a vault.

As he thought this last, he asked himself why he called it the damp floor of a vault. For it was not damp, but perfectly dry, and below the scraps of stone in the seam there was fine dust.

But the said pain was increasing, and there was no mistaking it. He was hungry, decidedly hungry; and paradoxically, as he grew better he grew worse, the pain in the head being condensed in a more central region, where nature carries on a kind of factory of bone, muscle, flesh, blood, and generally health and strength.

Suddenly Archy recalled that his legs had been bound, and he sat up to find that they were free now, and if he liked he could rise and go to the grated window and call for help.

“If I do, they’ll come down and stuff a handkerchief in my mouth again,” he thought, “and it is no use to do that. I may as well wait till I hear our men’s voices, and then I’ll soon let them know where I am.”

He got on his feet, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, and then tried to make out where the grated window was, but the darkness was absolute, and he stretched out one foot and his hands, as he began to move cautiously along, feeling his way till he kicked against a loose stone.

This arrested him, and he tried in another direction for his foot to come in contact with what seemed to be round, and proved to be a spar lying in company with some carefully folded and rope-bound sails.

“The old rascal!” thought Archy, as he mentally pictured the stern, sad countenance of Sir Risdon.

“Why, he must have a lugger of his own, and keep his stores in here.”

A little feeling about convinced him that the window of the vault could not be behind the pile of boat-gear against which he had stumbled, and he moved slowly of! Again, to stop at the end of a yard or two, feeling about with one foot.

“Why, I’m not shut up!” he cried joyously. “I’m out on the ledge. They must have laid me here to be fetched off by the boat. Suppose the tide had risen while I was asleep!”

But the joyous feeling went off as he stared about him. It had been dark enough in a dense fog, but it did not feel dark and cold now, as if there was a dense fog. Everything seemed dry, and though he listened attentively, he could not hear the washing of the waves among the rocks, nor smell the cool, moist, sea-weedy odour of the coast. Instead of that a most unmistakable smell of brandy came into his nostrils.

And yet he seemed to be standing on that ledge close down to the water, for as he stooped down now he could trace with his hand one of the huge, curled-up shell-fish turned to the stone in which it was embedded, while, as he felt about, there was another and another larger still.

He listened again.

No; he was not on the seashore. He must be in the vault beneath Sir Risdon’s house, and though he had not noticed it, the floor must be paved with a layer of stones similar to those found where the little kegs had been left.

He went cautiously on with outstretched hands through the intense darkness, and his feet traced the flat curls of stone again and again, but he did not find any wall, and now, as he made up his mind to go back to where he had been when he first awoke, he found that he had not the faintest idea as to which direction he ought to take.

As he grew more able to move and act, the sense of confusion which suddenly arrested him was terrible—almost maddening.

Where was he? What was here on all sides? It could not be the cellar, as he went in one direction or the other toward the walls, and he stood at last resting, in the most utter bewilderment of mind and helplessness of body possible to conceive, while a curious feeling of awe began to steal over him.

The smugglers had not dared to kill him or throw him into the sea, as he had heard of them doing on more than one occasion, but as far as he could make out they had cast him down into some terrible place to die.

The idea was terrible, and unable to contain himself he took a step or two in one direction, then in another, and stopped short, not daring to stir for fear some awful chasm such as he had seen among the rocks should be yawning at his feet, and he should fall headlong down.

He stopped to wipe the cold perspiration away that was gathering on his brow, and then, trying to keep himself cool, he stood thinking, and finally, in utter weariness, sat down.

“I wish I wasn’t such a coward,” said the young midshipman, half aloud. “It’s like being a child to be frightened because it’s dark. What’s that!”

He started up.

“That” was a gleam of light some distance off, shining on the rugged walls of a vast chamber or set of chambers. He could only dimly see this, for the light was but feeble, and the bearer hidden behind the rugged pillars which supported the roof; but it was evidently coming nearer, and as it approached he could see that he was in a vast cavernous, flat-ceiled place, which appeared to have been a quarry, from which masses of stone had been hewn, the floor here and there being littered with refuse of all sorts and sizes.

As the light came on, the midshipman made out that quite a store of spars, ropes, and blocks lay at a short distance, and that more dimly seen was a large stack of tubs, from which doubtless emanated the odour of brandy.

Archy’s first idea was to go and meet the bearers of the light, but on second thoughts he decided to stand upon his dignity and let them come to him, and as the thought occurred to him that the visit might be of an inimical nature, his hand stole into his breast in search of his dirk. Vainly though: the weapon was gone.

All this time, as if the bearers were coming very leisurely, the light slowly approached, and as the midshipman more fully grasped the fact that he must be either in a stone quarry or a mine, he saw that the light was an ordinary horn lanthorn, and from the shadows it cast he could see that there were two people, one of whom was carrying something weighty on his shoulders.

This soon resolved itself into four kegs, slung two and two, the bearer panting under their weight, while his companion held the light low down, so that he could see where to plant his feet and avoid the corners of the huge square pillars which supported the roof.

Neither of the pair seemed to pay any attention to him; in fact, the midshipman was doubtful whether he was seen as he stood back waiting till they had passed him, and then hesitated as to whether he should make for the entrance and escape.

Through the black darkness, not knowing which way he should go, perhaps to fall down some shaft such as was sure to be in a place like this? No; he could not risk the journey without a light, and he stood waiting and trying to make out the shadowy figures, one of whom looked strangely uncouth beneath his load, while the other was quite short.

Archy had not long to wait before the pair halted by the stack of kegs, to which the four carried by the man were added, and this done they turned and came toward him.

At this moment, after excitedly watching them, the midshipman became convinced.

The bearer of the lanthorn was his young enemy—the boy.

Back to IndexNext