Chapter Ten.Half an hour after, a dirty-looking sailor lad slipped down into the boat, with his worsted cap pulled well down over his eyes, and an uncomfortable feeling about his chest, as he sat back in the stern-sheets by Gurr the master.“Lay your backs well into it, my lads,” said the lieutenant, “and try and land him without being seen.”“Ay, ay, sir!” came from the men, the boat began to surge through the still water, and the boy tried to shift the lion’s head which formed the top of his dirk handle.This he had placed inside the breast of his woollen shirt, ready for use if wanted, but it promised to hurt him more than any enemy, and he wished he had left it on board.“No talking, lads,” said the master, “and don’t splash.”The oars had been muffled, and they glided along through the faint mist, in a ghostly way, well in the shadow of the cliffs, Gurr keeping up a whispered conversation with the lad by his side.“It’s no use to ask you ’bout where you are going first, sir,” whispered the master, “because I suppose it will all be chance. But you’ll go up to the farm, eh?”“Yes, I shall go there.”“And up to that big house?”Archy was silent.“Ah, well; it’s your plan, and you must do what you think’s best, only take care of yourself, and if they’re after you, don’t make for the sea, that’s where they’ll think you would go. Make inland for the woods, and hide there.”Archy nodded, and no more was said during the dark journey. They were so close to the huge wall of rocks that it seemed as if they were alive with strange marine creatures, which kept on writhing and whispering together, and making gasping and sucking noises, as the tide heaved and sank among the loose rocks and seaweed, while Archy could not divest himself of the idea that they were watched by people keeping pace with them higher up on the top of the cliff.“Wonder whether those two have landed the cow by this time?” whispered Gurr, breaking in upon one of Archy’s reveries, in which he saw himself following a band of smugglers laden with contraband goods.“I don’t know,” he replied. “We must take care they do not see us.”“Not likely on a dark night like this. Won’t be so foggy, though, as ’twas last.”Nothing was seen or heard of the late prisoners’ boat, and for very good reasons; and at last they found themselves abreast of the opening into the cove, where they lay upon their oars for a time listening.All was still. Not a sound to be heard on either of the luggers lying at their buoys, and no light was visible at the cottages at the head of the little bay.“I might venture now,” whispered Archy. “Have me rowed close in to the shingle beach on the right, not close ashore, but so that I can wade in. I shall drop over the side where it’s about two feet deep. Let them back in and we can try the depth with the boat-hook.”The order was whispered, the boat glided in through the broad opening, was turned quickly, and then the men backed water till told to stop, Archy, who had the boat-hook over the side, suddenly finding it touch the shingly bottom at the depth of about a foot.“Good-bye,” he whispered, and, gliding over the side, he softly waded ashore and stood on the beach.It looked light in front, where the limestone rocks had given place to chalk, but to right, left, and seaward, all was black as night, and stepping cautiously along, the lad approached the cottages, listening attentively, but not hearing a sound save the gurgling of water as it trickled under the stones on its way to the sea.As he reached the track leading past the cottages he had a narrow escape from falling over a boat that was drawn up on the stones, but he saved himself with a jerk; and, feeling hot with the sudden start, he turned and crouched down, but there was not a sound to indicate that he had been heard, and drawing a long breath he stepped on to reach the hard earth where his feet were not among the water-worn pebbles, and in a few minutes he was on the road he had traversed twice that day, and walking fast toward the farm.Once or twice he hesitated, for the way lay so low down in the valley, with the hills towering up to such a height on either side, that the night seemed as dark as during the fog of the previous night; but he got along over the ground pretty well in spite of its seeming more hilly and rough, till at the end of about an hour and a half he felt that he must be approaching the farm, and he advanced more cautiously, listening for footsteps and voices from time to time.There was a good broad green marge to the lane about here, and he stepped on to it, the turf deadening his footsteps.“But I don’t recollect seeing this grass in the morning,” he thought; and then he stopped short, for it suddenly occurred to him that he had not come upon the cluster of houses where the people smiled and nodded at one another as they passed.“I can’t have trailed off into another road, can I?” he said to himself, as he felt quite startled and turned hot.He looked round, but it was too dark to make out anything, and he was about to start on again, comforting himself with the idea that he must be right, when he heard at a distance thepat-patof feet on hard ground, and drew back close up to the side to stoop down among some brambles, which told him at once after their fashion what they were.“If I only dared ask whoever this is,” thought Archy, “I should do.”His thoughts took another direction directly, for, apparently about twenty yards away, he heard some one sneeze, and then mutter impatiently, followed by another sneeze.And all the while the regularpat-patof footsteps came from his right, but not as he had come, for the sound was as if some one was approaching by a road which came at right angles to the one he was in.Archy crouched there, breathless and listening, wondering who the man could be who was perfectly silent now, but he had not moved away unless the turf had silenced his footprints.“How lucky it was I stopped!” thought the midshipman. “I should have walked right on to him and been caught.”The steps came nearer, and at last it seemed as if they were going to pass on, when a gruff voice from close by said,—“Well, lad?”There was a sudden stoppage, and an exclamation, and—“Made me jump, master.”“Don’t talk foolery,” said the first voice in impatient tones, and to Archy it was unmistakable. He had heard both voices before. “What have you made out?”“Nothing.”“No boat landed?”“Nor no sign o’ one, master. Both lads swear as no one has passed along the lane.”“Wouldn’t take the upper lane, would they?”“Not likely.”“Upper lane!” thought Archy. Had he taken the upper lane in the darkness, and so missed the men on the watch?“Didn’t hear the sailors say nothing on the cutter, did you?”“Not a word.”The middy’s heart seemed to give a throb. He did know that voice then. It was that of the man who had been detained with the boy, and this other, he was sure, was the voice of the farmer.“Going to keep on watching?”“Of course. They’ll be up to some game to trap us safe. Ought to get that stuff away.”“No, I wouldn’t, master; it’s safe enough now.”“You’re a fool,” came back in a savage growl. “Anybody but you and that mole-eyed boy would have seen the kegs before them sailors.”“Did see ’em—when it was too late,” grumbled the other.“Well, go back; and take off them boots, and hang ’em round your neck. I could hear you a mile away.”“Right.”“Go and tell ’em to keep a sharp look-out in the cove, and then to run the moment a boat comes in sight.”“No boat won’t come in sight to-night. Dark.”“Then the moment you hear one.”“They won’t come to-night, master.”“Go and do as I tell you,” said the other savagely.“It’s the farmer and his man,” thought the listener; “and there is something wrong.”He wondered what he had better do. Should he give notice to them on the cutter?The answer came at once. How could he? He had made no plans for that.“Off you go,” was said roughly, and the rustling sound seemed to indicate that the man had gone back toward the cove.Archy listened patiently for the next movement of the farmer, but he could detect nothing, and he was feeling sure that the man was still watching and listening, when he heard a sneeze at a distance followed by a muttering sound, and knew that he must have moved off.Without a moment’s hesitation the lad followed, keeping along the grassy marge of the road, and listening intently to make out at last the dull sound of steps, which told that the man who made them was walking barefoot.As far as he could judge now, Archy was in the proper road, and as he walked along he tried to understand what was going on, coming at last to the conclusion at which he had at first jumped, that something would be done that night if the farmer and his people were certain that they would not be disturbed.As he thought he walked cautiously on, wondering what he had better do, and seeing at last a bright light in front high up a slope, and another away to his right much higher.A little consideration told him that the first was at the farm; the other high up, facing toward the sea, must be up at the Hoze.Trusting more to chance than plan, the midshipman went on and on, following Farmer Shackle; the task becoming easy now, for as he neared the lights the man grew more careless, so that it was easy to trace his movements, which were evidently homeward, till a few minutes later Archy saw him pass the glowing window, swing open a door from which came a burst of light, pass in, and the door was closed.Archy stood outside with a vague belief that before long the man would come out, and perhaps go to the spot where the cargo was hidden.As he waited he could not help turning his eyes in the direction of the long, solitary house in the patch of woodland, and found himself wondering whether he should ever go up there again.After waiting about a quarter of an hour outside the farm, with his back against one of the roughly piled-up stone walls of the district, Archy began to think it was very dull, and his expectations of a discovery or an adventure grew less and less. All was very quiet at the farm, so quiet that he determined at last to go and peer in at the window to see if the farmer was likely to come out again, because if this were not so he was wasting his time.“But they are not likely to do anything without him,” he thought.Advancing cautiously, he entered the garden, and was just going up to the window, when the door was thrown open, and he dropped down behind a bush as the farmer strode out.“He must see me,” thought Archy. “What a position for an officer to be in!”“Eh?” exclaimed Shackle, turning sharply round, as if to answer his wife. “Oh yes. Ought to have been here by now.”This gave the midshipman a moment’s breathing time; and he had drawn himself up behind the bush by the time the farmer had closed the door, the sudden change from darkness to light preventing Shackle from seeing the spy upon his proceedings.Just as he was passing he stopped short, uttering an ejaculation; and feeling that he was seen, the midshipman was about to leap up, jump over the low wall, and run, when he heard steps.He lay still, hoping that this might have drawn forth the exclamation, but for the next few moments he was in agony.Then came relief.“That you, Ramillies?”“Yes, father.”“Well?”“I think it’s all right. Carts are coming, and all the lads are down the roads.”“All?”“No. Two of ’em’s down by the cove, but they won’t send anybody from the cutter to-night.”“Not so sure of it, my boy,—not so sure. Can’t be too careful. ’Tain’t as if we were obliged to move ’em to-night. Landing a cargo’s one thing; getting it away another. Well, we’ll try. You’re sure they’re keeping good watch at the cove?”“Yes, father.”“What sort of an officer did he seem on the cutter?”“Little, fat, sleepy chap.”“And the others?”“Don’t seem to be no others, only that cocky-hoopy middy, who came ashore with the men. I should like to ketch him ashore some day.”One of Archy’s legs gave a twitch at the first remark about him, and the twitch occurred in his right arm at the second.“Don’t chatter. Not very sharp sort of officer, eh?”“No, father. Sort of chap who’d go to sleep all night.”Archy began wondering. He had thought the boy a dull, stupid-looking bumpkin, and he was finding out how observing he had been.“Well, we’ll risk it, boy. Come along.”Archy’s heart gave a bound.Here was news! He had been growing dull and disheartened, thinking that his expedition was foolish and impossible, and here at once he had learned what he wanted. He knew that now all he had to do was to take advantage of every wall and tree, even to creep along the ground if necessary, and he would be able to follow the smugglers to the place where they had hidden the run cargo, watch them bring it out, and then track them to the fresh hiding-place.He would thus learn everything, and be able at daybreak to make his way to the cliff, signal for a boat, and a grand capture would be made.His heart beat high as he thought of the lieutenant’s delight, and of the joy there would be amongst the men, for this would mean prize-money, and perhaps the means of deluding the vessel that had brought the cargo into a trap, so that it could be captured, and more prize-money as well as honour be the result.It did not take him long to think all this; and then he rose cautiously and dropped down again, for the door was re-opened, and the light beamed out so that the watcher felt that he must be seen.“That my Rammy?” cried Mrs Shackle.“Yes,” growled the farmer; “keep that door shut and your mouth too.”“But do be careful, master. I don’t want him took prisoner again.”“It’s all right, mother.”“Come along, boy.”Archy heard the departing steps, and began to suffer a fresh agony of suspense. He could not stir, for the farmer’s wife stood at the open door, and the slightest movement would have caused a discovery; and all the time he could hear the footsteps growing more and more faint.“Oh!” he said to himself; “and it’s so dark I shan’t be able to tell which way they have gone.”What should he do? Start up and run?If he did the woman was certain to raise an alarm; and, knowing that, he could do nothing but wait till she went in, when he might chance to pick up the clue again.His heart beat so loudly that he felt as if it must be heard, but Mrs Shackle was too intent upon listening to the departing footsteps, which grew more faint till they died out entirely, and as they passed away the midshipman’s heart sank.“Had all my trouble for nothing,” he thought. “So near success, and yet to fail!”“Ah, deary deary me!” said a voice from close at hand, “I’m very sick and tired of it all. I wish he’d be content with his cows and sheep.”Mrs Shackle drew back as she said this, the door closed, and Archy sprang up, darted out of the gateway, and hurried along the path as fast as the darkness would allow, stopping from time to time to listen.For a long time he could hear nothing. He was descending the slope toward the road leading to the cove, as far as he could tell, for it seemed to him likely that the farmer and his son had gone in that direction; but as he went on and on, and was unable to detect a sound, he felt that he must be wrong, and stopped short, listening intently.“Bother the woman!” he thought; “it’s all through her. They’ll go and get all the cargo from the hiding-place, and take it somewhere, and I shall know nothing.”He bit his lip with disappointment, and gave an angry stamp on the grass.“I’ll go back, and try some other way.”Easy to determine, but hard to carry out in the darkness, and in a place which seemed quite changed at night. There should be a lane or track leading down to the cliff he knew, but where it was he could not say; in fact, at that moment, in his confusion, he could hardly tell for certain that he was on the road leading right away to the cove.“I may just as well be moving,” he said at last despondently. “Oh, if I could only have followed them up!”His heart gave a bound just then, for plainly on the night air came a dull sound, as of footsteps on grass. Then there was a whisper, and directly after he knew that a number of people were coming quickly toward him.A moment or two later he heard a rattling noise, which he recognised as that made by a horse shaking his harness, and once more Archy’s heart beat high.There had not been time for them—if those people coming were the smugglers—to fetch the cargo, and they must be coming in his direction.“What shall I do?” thought the watcher; “lie down and let them pass, or go on?”He decided on the latter course, and finding that he was in a lane bounded by stone walls, he went on, pausing from time to time to make sure that he was being followed.This proved to be the case, the people getting nearer and nearer, and it was a curious experience to hear the whispering of voices and trampling of feet coming out of the darkness.“Walking on the side turf,” said Archy to himself, as he kept on, to find after a few minutes that the stone wall on his left had ceased, but he could feel that the road went on, and heard the people coming.A minute or two later he realised that he was going up hill; then the slope grew steeper, and he paused again to listen.He was quite right. They were coming on steadily, and he knew that there must be twenty or thirty people; but he could hear no horses now.“They’ve stopped at the foot of this steep place,” he thought, as he went on and on, the people still advancing fast, and all at once, as he went on, a sudden thought ran through him like a stab. For he had guessed at least the direction in which he was going in the black darkness; he was once more ascending the slope toward the patch of woodland high up the hill, and the place of deposit of the smuggled goods must be the Hoze.
Half an hour after, a dirty-looking sailor lad slipped down into the boat, with his worsted cap pulled well down over his eyes, and an uncomfortable feeling about his chest, as he sat back in the stern-sheets by Gurr the master.
“Lay your backs well into it, my lads,” said the lieutenant, “and try and land him without being seen.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came from the men, the boat began to surge through the still water, and the boy tried to shift the lion’s head which formed the top of his dirk handle.
This he had placed inside the breast of his woollen shirt, ready for use if wanted, but it promised to hurt him more than any enemy, and he wished he had left it on board.
“No talking, lads,” said the master, “and don’t splash.”
The oars had been muffled, and they glided along through the faint mist, in a ghostly way, well in the shadow of the cliffs, Gurr keeping up a whispered conversation with the lad by his side.
“It’s no use to ask you ’bout where you are going first, sir,” whispered the master, “because I suppose it will all be chance. But you’ll go up to the farm, eh?”
“Yes, I shall go there.”
“And up to that big house?”
Archy was silent.
“Ah, well; it’s your plan, and you must do what you think’s best, only take care of yourself, and if they’re after you, don’t make for the sea, that’s where they’ll think you would go. Make inland for the woods, and hide there.”
Archy nodded, and no more was said during the dark journey. They were so close to the huge wall of rocks that it seemed as if they were alive with strange marine creatures, which kept on writhing and whispering together, and making gasping and sucking noises, as the tide heaved and sank among the loose rocks and seaweed, while Archy could not divest himself of the idea that they were watched by people keeping pace with them higher up on the top of the cliff.
“Wonder whether those two have landed the cow by this time?” whispered Gurr, breaking in upon one of Archy’s reveries, in which he saw himself following a band of smugglers laden with contraband goods.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “We must take care they do not see us.”
“Not likely on a dark night like this. Won’t be so foggy, though, as ’twas last.”
Nothing was seen or heard of the late prisoners’ boat, and for very good reasons; and at last they found themselves abreast of the opening into the cove, where they lay upon their oars for a time listening.
All was still. Not a sound to be heard on either of the luggers lying at their buoys, and no light was visible at the cottages at the head of the little bay.
“I might venture now,” whispered Archy. “Have me rowed close in to the shingle beach on the right, not close ashore, but so that I can wade in. I shall drop over the side where it’s about two feet deep. Let them back in and we can try the depth with the boat-hook.”
The order was whispered, the boat glided in through the broad opening, was turned quickly, and then the men backed water till told to stop, Archy, who had the boat-hook over the side, suddenly finding it touch the shingly bottom at the depth of about a foot.
“Good-bye,” he whispered, and, gliding over the side, he softly waded ashore and stood on the beach.
It looked light in front, where the limestone rocks had given place to chalk, but to right, left, and seaward, all was black as night, and stepping cautiously along, the lad approached the cottages, listening attentively, but not hearing a sound save the gurgling of water as it trickled under the stones on its way to the sea.
As he reached the track leading past the cottages he had a narrow escape from falling over a boat that was drawn up on the stones, but he saved himself with a jerk; and, feeling hot with the sudden start, he turned and crouched down, but there was not a sound to indicate that he had been heard, and drawing a long breath he stepped on to reach the hard earth where his feet were not among the water-worn pebbles, and in a few minutes he was on the road he had traversed twice that day, and walking fast toward the farm.
Once or twice he hesitated, for the way lay so low down in the valley, with the hills towering up to such a height on either side, that the night seemed as dark as during the fog of the previous night; but he got along over the ground pretty well in spite of its seeming more hilly and rough, till at the end of about an hour and a half he felt that he must be approaching the farm, and he advanced more cautiously, listening for footsteps and voices from time to time.
There was a good broad green marge to the lane about here, and he stepped on to it, the turf deadening his footsteps.
“But I don’t recollect seeing this grass in the morning,” he thought; and then he stopped short, for it suddenly occurred to him that he had not come upon the cluster of houses where the people smiled and nodded at one another as they passed.
“I can’t have trailed off into another road, can I?” he said to himself, as he felt quite startled and turned hot.
He looked round, but it was too dark to make out anything, and he was about to start on again, comforting himself with the idea that he must be right, when he heard at a distance thepat-patof feet on hard ground, and drew back close up to the side to stoop down among some brambles, which told him at once after their fashion what they were.
“If I only dared ask whoever this is,” thought Archy, “I should do.”
His thoughts took another direction directly, for, apparently about twenty yards away, he heard some one sneeze, and then mutter impatiently, followed by another sneeze.
And all the while the regularpat-patof footsteps came from his right, but not as he had come, for the sound was as if some one was approaching by a road which came at right angles to the one he was in.
Archy crouched there, breathless and listening, wondering who the man could be who was perfectly silent now, but he had not moved away unless the turf had silenced his footprints.
“How lucky it was I stopped!” thought the midshipman. “I should have walked right on to him and been caught.”
The steps came nearer, and at last it seemed as if they were going to pass on, when a gruff voice from close by said,—
“Well, lad?”
There was a sudden stoppage, and an exclamation, and—
“Made me jump, master.”
“Don’t talk foolery,” said the first voice in impatient tones, and to Archy it was unmistakable. He had heard both voices before. “What have you made out?”
“Nothing.”
“No boat landed?”
“Nor no sign o’ one, master. Both lads swear as no one has passed along the lane.”
“Wouldn’t take the upper lane, would they?”
“Not likely.”
“Upper lane!” thought Archy. Had he taken the upper lane in the darkness, and so missed the men on the watch?
“Didn’t hear the sailors say nothing on the cutter, did you?”
“Not a word.”
The middy’s heart seemed to give a throb. He did know that voice then. It was that of the man who had been detained with the boy, and this other, he was sure, was the voice of the farmer.
“Going to keep on watching?”
“Of course. They’ll be up to some game to trap us safe. Ought to get that stuff away.”
“No, I wouldn’t, master; it’s safe enough now.”
“You’re a fool,” came back in a savage growl. “Anybody but you and that mole-eyed boy would have seen the kegs before them sailors.”
“Did see ’em—when it was too late,” grumbled the other.
“Well, go back; and take off them boots, and hang ’em round your neck. I could hear you a mile away.”
“Right.”
“Go and tell ’em to keep a sharp look-out in the cove, and then to run the moment a boat comes in sight.”
“No boat won’t come in sight to-night. Dark.”
“Then the moment you hear one.”
“They won’t come to-night, master.”
“Go and do as I tell you,” said the other savagely.
“It’s the farmer and his man,” thought the listener; “and there is something wrong.”
He wondered what he had better do. Should he give notice to them on the cutter?
The answer came at once. How could he? He had made no plans for that.
“Off you go,” was said roughly, and the rustling sound seemed to indicate that the man had gone back toward the cove.
Archy listened patiently for the next movement of the farmer, but he could detect nothing, and he was feeling sure that the man was still watching and listening, when he heard a sneeze at a distance followed by a muttering sound, and knew that he must have moved off.
Without a moment’s hesitation the lad followed, keeping along the grassy marge of the road, and listening intently to make out at last the dull sound of steps, which told that the man who made them was walking barefoot.
As far as he could judge now, Archy was in the proper road, and as he walked along he tried to understand what was going on, coming at last to the conclusion at which he had at first jumped, that something would be done that night if the farmer and his people were certain that they would not be disturbed.
As he thought he walked cautiously on, wondering what he had better do, and seeing at last a bright light in front high up a slope, and another away to his right much higher.
A little consideration told him that the first was at the farm; the other high up, facing toward the sea, must be up at the Hoze.
Trusting more to chance than plan, the midshipman went on and on, following Farmer Shackle; the task becoming easy now, for as he neared the lights the man grew more careless, so that it was easy to trace his movements, which were evidently homeward, till a few minutes later Archy saw him pass the glowing window, swing open a door from which came a burst of light, pass in, and the door was closed.
Archy stood outside with a vague belief that before long the man would come out, and perhaps go to the spot where the cargo was hidden.
As he waited he could not help turning his eyes in the direction of the long, solitary house in the patch of woodland, and found himself wondering whether he should ever go up there again.
After waiting about a quarter of an hour outside the farm, with his back against one of the roughly piled-up stone walls of the district, Archy began to think it was very dull, and his expectations of a discovery or an adventure grew less and less. All was very quiet at the farm, so quiet that he determined at last to go and peer in at the window to see if the farmer was likely to come out again, because if this were not so he was wasting his time.
“But they are not likely to do anything without him,” he thought.
Advancing cautiously, he entered the garden, and was just going up to the window, when the door was thrown open, and he dropped down behind a bush as the farmer strode out.
“He must see me,” thought Archy. “What a position for an officer to be in!”
“Eh?” exclaimed Shackle, turning sharply round, as if to answer his wife. “Oh yes. Ought to have been here by now.”
This gave the midshipman a moment’s breathing time; and he had drawn himself up behind the bush by the time the farmer had closed the door, the sudden change from darkness to light preventing Shackle from seeing the spy upon his proceedings.
Just as he was passing he stopped short, uttering an ejaculation; and feeling that he was seen, the midshipman was about to leap up, jump over the low wall, and run, when he heard steps.
He lay still, hoping that this might have drawn forth the exclamation, but for the next few moments he was in agony.
Then came relief.
“That you, Ramillies?”
“Yes, father.”
“Well?”
“I think it’s all right. Carts are coming, and all the lads are down the roads.”
“All?”
“No. Two of ’em’s down by the cove, but they won’t send anybody from the cutter to-night.”
“Not so sure of it, my boy,—not so sure. Can’t be too careful. ’Tain’t as if we were obliged to move ’em to-night. Landing a cargo’s one thing; getting it away another. Well, we’ll try. You’re sure they’re keeping good watch at the cove?”
“Yes, father.”
“What sort of an officer did he seem on the cutter?”
“Little, fat, sleepy chap.”
“And the others?”
“Don’t seem to be no others, only that cocky-hoopy middy, who came ashore with the men. I should like to ketch him ashore some day.”
One of Archy’s legs gave a twitch at the first remark about him, and the twitch occurred in his right arm at the second.
“Don’t chatter. Not very sharp sort of officer, eh?”
“No, father. Sort of chap who’d go to sleep all night.”
Archy began wondering. He had thought the boy a dull, stupid-looking bumpkin, and he was finding out how observing he had been.
“Well, we’ll risk it, boy. Come along.”
Archy’s heart gave a bound.
Here was news! He had been growing dull and disheartened, thinking that his expedition was foolish and impossible, and here at once he had learned what he wanted. He knew that now all he had to do was to take advantage of every wall and tree, even to creep along the ground if necessary, and he would be able to follow the smugglers to the place where they had hidden the run cargo, watch them bring it out, and then track them to the fresh hiding-place.
He would thus learn everything, and be able at daybreak to make his way to the cliff, signal for a boat, and a grand capture would be made.
His heart beat high as he thought of the lieutenant’s delight, and of the joy there would be amongst the men, for this would mean prize-money, and perhaps the means of deluding the vessel that had brought the cargo into a trap, so that it could be captured, and more prize-money as well as honour be the result.
It did not take him long to think all this; and then he rose cautiously and dropped down again, for the door was re-opened, and the light beamed out so that the watcher felt that he must be seen.
“That my Rammy?” cried Mrs Shackle.
“Yes,” growled the farmer; “keep that door shut and your mouth too.”
“But do be careful, master. I don’t want him took prisoner again.”
“It’s all right, mother.”
“Come along, boy.”
Archy heard the departing steps, and began to suffer a fresh agony of suspense. He could not stir, for the farmer’s wife stood at the open door, and the slightest movement would have caused a discovery; and all the time he could hear the footsteps growing more and more faint.
“Oh!” he said to himself; “and it’s so dark I shan’t be able to tell which way they have gone.”
What should he do? Start up and run?
If he did the woman was certain to raise an alarm; and, knowing that, he could do nothing but wait till she went in, when he might chance to pick up the clue again.
His heart beat so loudly that he felt as if it must be heard, but Mrs Shackle was too intent upon listening to the departing footsteps, which grew more faint till they died out entirely, and as they passed away the midshipman’s heart sank.
“Had all my trouble for nothing,” he thought. “So near success, and yet to fail!”
“Ah, deary deary me!” said a voice from close at hand, “I’m very sick and tired of it all. I wish he’d be content with his cows and sheep.”
Mrs Shackle drew back as she said this, the door closed, and Archy sprang up, darted out of the gateway, and hurried along the path as fast as the darkness would allow, stopping from time to time to listen.
For a long time he could hear nothing. He was descending the slope toward the road leading to the cove, as far as he could tell, for it seemed to him likely that the farmer and his son had gone in that direction; but as he went on and on, and was unable to detect a sound, he felt that he must be wrong, and stopped short, listening intently.
“Bother the woman!” he thought; “it’s all through her. They’ll go and get all the cargo from the hiding-place, and take it somewhere, and I shall know nothing.”
He bit his lip with disappointment, and gave an angry stamp on the grass.
“I’ll go back, and try some other way.”
Easy to determine, but hard to carry out in the darkness, and in a place which seemed quite changed at night. There should be a lane or track leading down to the cliff he knew, but where it was he could not say; in fact, at that moment, in his confusion, he could hardly tell for certain that he was on the road leading right away to the cove.
“I may just as well be moving,” he said at last despondently. “Oh, if I could only have followed them up!”
His heart gave a bound just then, for plainly on the night air came a dull sound, as of footsteps on grass. Then there was a whisper, and directly after he knew that a number of people were coming quickly toward him.
A moment or two later he heard a rattling noise, which he recognised as that made by a horse shaking his harness, and once more Archy’s heart beat high.
There had not been time for them—if those people coming were the smugglers—to fetch the cargo, and they must be coming in his direction.
“What shall I do?” thought the watcher; “lie down and let them pass, or go on?”
He decided on the latter course, and finding that he was in a lane bounded by stone walls, he went on, pausing from time to time to make sure that he was being followed.
This proved to be the case, the people getting nearer and nearer, and it was a curious experience to hear the whispering of voices and trampling of feet coming out of the darkness.
“Walking on the side turf,” said Archy to himself, as he kept on, to find after a few minutes that the stone wall on his left had ceased, but he could feel that the road went on, and heard the people coming.
A minute or two later he realised that he was going up hill; then the slope grew steeper, and he paused again to listen.
He was quite right. They were coming on steadily, and he knew that there must be twenty or thirty people; but he could hear no horses now.
“They’ve stopped at the foot of this steep place,” he thought, as he went on and on, the people still advancing fast, and all at once, as he went on, a sudden thought ran through him like a stab. For he had guessed at least the direction in which he was going in the black darkness; he was once more ascending the slope toward the patch of woodland high up the hill, and the place of deposit of the smuggled goods must be the Hoze.
Chapter Eleven.A feeling of misery that he could not have explained came over Archy Raystoke as he grasped the position, and he wished that he had never undertaken the task he had in hand.For it seemed so shocking that the noble-looking lady and gentleman he had seen that day should be in league with a gang of smugglers, and have lent their out-of-the-way house to be a depository for the contraband goods.“Oh, it’s impossible,” he said to himself. “They could not. The scoundrels have hidden the things somewhere up in the wood by the house, thinking that nobody would come in there to search.”“The artful rascal!” said Archy to himself, feeling better now that he had put this interpretation upon the proceedings; and, knowing his way better now, and thinking of the dog the while, he hurried on, and had nearly reached the house, meaning to hide somewhere among the abundant shrubs which surrounded it till the smugglers had passed, when all doubt as to the party being those he was tracking was chased away by his hearing a voice just before him say,—“All right, father. Here they come.”Archy stopped short, as he felt his position. The farmer and his son had come up here, and were waiting for the men to act as carriers.“What shall I do?” he asked himself, for he was between two parties, and a step might mean discovery. In fact, if the last speaker had taken a step forward, he must have detected the spy’s presence.There was no time for thought Archy stood for a moment or two as if paralysed; then, as he heard the farmer’s gruff voice, he dropped down, and began to crawl among the bushes.“Been a long time coming; here, go in and get the lanthorns now.”At that moment Archy was brought up by a wall, over which he passed his hands, to find that he was directly after touching iron bars close to the ground.It was some building, and then, as he crouched there, he was conscious of a peculiar odour, which told him not only that this was a cellar, but one in which brandy was stored.Again he felt a strange sensation of misery. He had accidentally hit upon the place where the cargo had been hidden, and it must be in the cellar of the Hoze, and not in the wood.He wished he had not made the discovery now, and felt ready to retreat, for it would be horrible to have to tell the lieutenant, giving him such information as would lead to the arrest of the tall, careworn man who had impressed him so strangely that day.All at once he was conscious of a gleam of light, following a faint noise, and right before him he saw the fluttering blue flame of a brimstone match, which blue began to turn yellow and illumine the face of the boy who had been a prisoner, and two great stacks of kegs and bales, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling of a low vault.The light shone out through the grated window, by which he was on hands and knees, and feeling that he would be at once recognised if his face was seen, he crept on under the wall a few yards, and lay flat listening, as he wished that there was time for him to get down to the cliff, and signal for help, to capture the smugglers and their store.An impossibility, he knew, for the cargo might be all gone long before he could reach the cutter, even if a boat were waiting; beside which, he felt that he did not want to tell all he had seen, for if he did, what would follow with respect to those he had spoken with that day?“Now, my lads, in with you,” cried a familiar voice. “Load up carefully when you get down to the carts, and we shall get all snug before daylight.”A murmur of acquiescence followed, and they began to tramp very close to where the midshipman lay, expecting every moment to be seen.He crouched down as low as he could, not daring to raise even his head, and wondering whether the bright hilt of his dirk would show, and he thrust it farther into his breast. Then he wondered whether he could back softly away; but that was impossible, for the light came from behind him, through the grated window, while escape forward was impossible, as he was close to a door through which shadowy forms were passing in.There was nothing for it but to lie still, and trust to his not being seen, when the next minutes were made agreeable by a host of recollections regarding the treatment received by those who betrayed smugglers, of the desperate fights there had been, how many had been killed, and a shudder ran through the lad as he recalled the story of a man who had played the spy, somewhere about the south coast, being thrown from a cliff, and literally smashed.“They’ll see me, I know they’ll see me,” thought Archy; “but I’m a king’s officer, young as I am, and I’ll show them that I can fight for my life like a man.”As this thought struck him, his hand went involuntarily to his side to get a good grip of and draw his dirk.The movement betrayed him, for, before he could quite realise that his dirk was hidden in his breast, he was seized by two great muscular hands, dragged into a standing position, and he could dimly see a face peering into his, as a voice, which he recognised as the farmer’s, growled savagely—“Who’s this?”Before he could struggle or answer, the man went on fiercely—“Why, you lazy, shuffling, young villain! Sit there and skulk, while the others do the work, would you? Come on!”Before the midshipman could recover from his surprise, he felt himself run forward by the two hands which had been dropped on his shoulders, thrust through the door, the farmer whispering savagely, “Work, or I’ll break your neck;” and giving him a fierce push and a kick, which drove him along a passage, where on his left was the open doorway into the dimly lit cellar.So great was the impetus given, that but for a desperate effort to keep his feet, and a bound or two, the lad would have gone down upon his face.As it was, the actual first leap took him level with the door of the cellar, the second right on to a flight of steps beyond in the darkness, and as he stood panting there, he realised the meaning of the old smuggler’s mistake; for he had forgotten that he was roughly dressed as a sailor boy, and had a red worsted tasselled cap, well drawn-down over his besmirched face.As Archy stood there in the darkness, at the foot of the stair which he knew must lead up into the house, he looked back to see a man come out of the cellar, his figure just dimly seen by the light from within and below, and over the man’s shoulders were swung a couple of kegs.Archy held his breath, and felt that in all probability the farmer had contented himself with driving him in to work, for he made no further movement, and the coming out of this man, and another who followed directly, completely reassured him. It was evident, too, that they did not know of his presence, and with his heart beating with hopes of escape, as he more and more understood that he had been taken for one of the boys of the gang, he backed softly up the steps, more and more into the darkness, till further progress was stayed by a door.Here he stopped, panting, and holding his hand upon his throbbing heart. Then feeling that he would be seen directly if a lanthorn were brought into the passage, he pressed the lock, it yielded, and he stepped softly up on to a stone floor.Here all was blacker than before, but it was a haven of refuge, and he passed in and softly closed the door behind him, to stand listening.All was still as death, and he began to ask himself what he should do next. He dared not stay where he was, for if the smugglers were so much at home at the Hoze that they could come like this by night, the farmer or some one else might at any moment come up those steps with a light, and then discovery was certain.But what to do? A closet—a room—a staircase—an open window leading in another direction to that where the men were busy! If he could find any of these he might be safe, and he was about to try and search for some means of concealment or escape when a cold shudder of superstitious dread ran through him, and he began to recall all he had read of haunted houses, for from somewhere in the darkness in front of him, he heard a low, piteous cry.Archy was as courageous as most boys of his age, as he was proving by his adventurous acts; but this sound, heard by a lad living in a generation wanting in our modern enlightenment, paralysed him. His blood seemed to run cold, his lips parted, his throat felt dry, and a peculiar shiver ran over his skin, accompanied by a sensation as if tiny fingers, cold as ice, were parting and turning his hair.Again the sigh came, to be followed by a cold current of air, which swept across the boy’s face, and then there was a low rustling sound, which hovered in front of him, and went up and up and up, and then slowly died away.Archy’s first impulse, as he recovered himself a little in the silence which followed, was to turn, open the door, and flee. But he hesitated. It would be right into the hands of the enemy. Besides, the terribly chilling sounds he had heard had ceased, and he felt less cowardly.“Perhaps,” he said to himself, “it was fancy, or nothing to be afraid of.”A heavy step on the other side of the door alarmed him more, and stretching out his hands, he stepped forward, went cautiously on and on, and at the end of a few yards touched what felt like panelling. The next moment he realised that he had reached a door, which was yielding, and he passed into a room, to scent the cool night air, and hear subdued sounds without and below.He was in a room over the cellar, he was sure, and the window was wide open. He crept to it, guided by the cold air which came in, and had just reached it when he heard rapid footsteps, and some one panted,—“Where’s the skipper?”“Here. What is it?” whispered Shackle, who seemed close to where the midshipman stood.“Jemmy Dadd—came from the cove. Boat’s crew landed.”“Run down and tell them all to come back,” said Shackle hoarsely.“I did, and they’re coming. I met first man.”“Right! Get all back in quick!”As he finished speaking, Archy could hear the dull, soft steps of laden men returning, and more and more kept coming, and it was soon evident that they were quickly and silently replacing the kegs they had been carrying down hill to where tumbrils were waiting for a load.The midshipman stood a little way back from the window, seeing nothing, but drinking all this in, and in imagination grasping the whole scene which went on for the next quarter of an hour or so, by which time the last load seemed to have been brought back.As he listened, he wondered what boat’s crew it could be that had landed, as no arrangement had been made for any help to be sent till he either signalled from the cliff or went down to the cove at twelve the next day, where a boat would be about half a mile out, with two men in her fishing.He could not understand it; all he could tell for certain was that the smugglers had been alarmed, and that they would not remove the cargo that night, for all at once he heard the sharp snap of a great lock beneath his feet; this was followed by the closing of a door, and directly after there was the shuffling of feet, and Shackle’s voice was heard in a hoarse whisper,—“Got the lanthorn, boy?”“Yes, father.”“Off you go then—all. Scatter!”“You won’t try again to-night?”“Try? No,” said the farmer savagely. “Wish I had some of them here!”There were retiring steps then, and Archy leaned forward towards the window, to utter a faint cry of pain, for his head had come in contact with something, and as he put up his hand he found that the window was protected by thick iron bars.He stood listening till not a sound could be heard, and then he drew back from the window, thinking about his next course, gazing out into the darkness the while, and wishing he could have stepped out, leaped down, and fled at once.“Made our plans badly,” he thought to himself. “I can’t signal even if I could find my way to the cliff, and I ought to be able to get back here at once to seize all this store, and—”More unpleasant thoughts came back now about how hard it seemed to have to betray these people.“Can’t help it,” he said to himself. “I am a king’s officer, and I’ve got to do my duty.”Then to keep these thoughts from troubling him, he began to think again about the cutter.They never expected that he would get valuable information so soon. He had been wonderfully fortunate, but what was to be his next course? Certainly to get back to the ship as soon as possible, but that was not possible till morning, and he was miles away from the cove.What should he do? Two hours would be plenty for the work, and as he guessed it was not much past twelve now. How was he to pass all those weary hours? If he could find some barn or even a haystack he would not have cared, but it seemed to him that he would have to pass the remainder of the night in walking, and watching so that he did not encounter any of the smuggler gang on his way back and so raise their suspicions.Better be off at once. Perhaps, after all, he thought as by an inspiration, the lieutenant had altered his plans, and was sending men to look after and protect him.“Let’s see,” said Archy to himself. “I must go out of this door, and keep turning a little to the right till I feel the door at the top of the stairs.”Suppose any one should hear him, take him for a thief, and fire at him?Suppose that door at the end of the passage had been locked by the smugglers?It seemed so probable, that a nervous feeling attacked the lad. He would be a prisoner, and discovered by the inmates in the morning.He would soon put that to the proof, he told himself; and he was about to step cautiously back toward the door when another thought sent a shudder through him.Suppose as soon as he got into the hall, or whatever place it was, he should hear that sigh again and the rustling sound?He shrank back as he recalled how it had affected him.“Oh, what a coward I am!” he said softly; and he took a step forward, where very faintly, as if far distant, he heard the rustling sound again. It came nearer and nearer, then there was a low sigh, the door was pushed open, for the rustling came quite plainly now, accompanied by a faint breathing.The door closed with a soft dull sound as Archy stood as if turned into stone, his hair again feeling as if moved by hands, and he would have spoken, but no words would come.At last, as he stood there in front of the window, terrified too much to stir, he suddenly heard a faint sound as of catching breath, and a voice said in a hurried, frightened whisper,—“Who’s there? Is that you, Ram?”Archy tried to speak but could not. Before he could draw a breath of relief, feeling as he did that this was nothing of which he need feel such fear, the voice said again,—“You are trying to frighten me. I can see you plainly there by the window. How dare you come in here like this, sir? Go back home with your horrid men.”
A feeling of misery that he could not have explained came over Archy Raystoke as he grasped the position, and he wished that he had never undertaken the task he had in hand.
For it seemed so shocking that the noble-looking lady and gentleman he had seen that day should be in league with a gang of smugglers, and have lent their out-of-the-way house to be a depository for the contraband goods.
“Oh, it’s impossible,” he said to himself. “They could not. The scoundrels have hidden the things somewhere up in the wood by the house, thinking that nobody would come in there to search.”
“The artful rascal!” said Archy to himself, feeling better now that he had put this interpretation upon the proceedings; and, knowing his way better now, and thinking of the dog the while, he hurried on, and had nearly reached the house, meaning to hide somewhere among the abundant shrubs which surrounded it till the smugglers had passed, when all doubt as to the party being those he was tracking was chased away by his hearing a voice just before him say,—
“All right, father. Here they come.”
Archy stopped short, as he felt his position. The farmer and his son had come up here, and were waiting for the men to act as carriers.
“What shall I do?” he asked himself, for he was between two parties, and a step might mean discovery. In fact, if the last speaker had taken a step forward, he must have detected the spy’s presence.
There was no time for thought Archy stood for a moment or two as if paralysed; then, as he heard the farmer’s gruff voice, he dropped down, and began to crawl among the bushes.
“Been a long time coming; here, go in and get the lanthorns now.”
At that moment Archy was brought up by a wall, over which he passed his hands, to find that he was directly after touching iron bars close to the ground.
It was some building, and then, as he crouched there, he was conscious of a peculiar odour, which told him not only that this was a cellar, but one in which brandy was stored.
Again he felt a strange sensation of misery. He had accidentally hit upon the place where the cargo had been hidden, and it must be in the cellar of the Hoze, and not in the wood.
He wished he had not made the discovery now, and felt ready to retreat, for it would be horrible to have to tell the lieutenant, giving him such information as would lead to the arrest of the tall, careworn man who had impressed him so strangely that day.
All at once he was conscious of a gleam of light, following a faint noise, and right before him he saw the fluttering blue flame of a brimstone match, which blue began to turn yellow and illumine the face of the boy who had been a prisoner, and two great stacks of kegs and bales, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling of a low vault.
The light shone out through the grated window, by which he was on hands and knees, and feeling that he would be at once recognised if his face was seen, he crept on under the wall a few yards, and lay flat listening, as he wished that there was time for him to get down to the cliff, and signal for help, to capture the smugglers and their store.
An impossibility, he knew, for the cargo might be all gone long before he could reach the cutter, even if a boat were waiting; beside which, he felt that he did not want to tell all he had seen, for if he did, what would follow with respect to those he had spoken with that day?
“Now, my lads, in with you,” cried a familiar voice. “Load up carefully when you get down to the carts, and we shall get all snug before daylight.”
A murmur of acquiescence followed, and they began to tramp very close to where the midshipman lay, expecting every moment to be seen.
He crouched down as low as he could, not daring to raise even his head, and wondering whether the bright hilt of his dirk would show, and he thrust it farther into his breast. Then he wondered whether he could back softly away; but that was impossible, for the light came from behind him, through the grated window, while escape forward was impossible, as he was close to a door through which shadowy forms were passing in.
There was nothing for it but to lie still, and trust to his not being seen, when the next minutes were made agreeable by a host of recollections regarding the treatment received by those who betrayed smugglers, of the desperate fights there had been, how many had been killed, and a shudder ran through the lad as he recalled the story of a man who had played the spy, somewhere about the south coast, being thrown from a cliff, and literally smashed.
“They’ll see me, I know they’ll see me,” thought Archy; “but I’m a king’s officer, young as I am, and I’ll show them that I can fight for my life like a man.”
As this thought struck him, his hand went involuntarily to his side to get a good grip of and draw his dirk.
The movement betrayed him, for, before he could quite realise that his dirk was hidden in his breast, he was seized by two great muscular hands, dragged into a standing position, and he could dimly see a face peering into his, as a voice, which he recognised as the farmer’s, growled savagely—
“Who’s this?”
Before he could struggle or answer, the man went on fiercely—
“Why, you lazy, shuffling, young villain! Sit there and skulk, while the others do the work, would you? Come on!”
Before the midshipman could recover from his surprise, he felt himself run forward by the two hands which had been dropped on his shoulders, thrust through the door, the farmer whispering savagely, “Work, or I’ll break your neck;” and giving him a fierce push and a kick, which drove him along a passage, where on his left was the open doorway into the dimly lit cellar.
So great was the impetus given, that but for a desperate effort to keep his feet, and a bound or two, the lad would have gone down upon his face.
As it was, the actual first leap took him level with the door of the cellar, the second right on to a flight of steps beyond in the darkness, and as he stood panting there, he realised the meaning of the old smuggler’s mistake; for he had forgotten that he was roughly dressed as a sailor boy, and had a red worsted tasselled cap, well drawn-down over his besmirched face.
As Archy stood there in the darkness, at the foot of the stair which he knew must lead up into the house, he looked back to see a man come out of the cellar, his figure just dimly seen by the light from within and below, and over the man’s shoulders were swung a couple of kegs.
Archy held his breath, and felt that in all probability the farmer had contented himself with driving him in to work, for he made no further movement, and the coming out of this man, and another who followed directly, completely reassured him. It was evident, too, that they did not know of his presence, and with his heart beating with hopes of escape, as he more and more understood that he had been taken for one of the boys of the gang, he backed softly up the steps, more and more into the darkness, till further progress was stayed by a door.
Here he stopped, panting, and holding his hand upon his throbbing heart. Then feeling that he would be seen directly if a lanthorn were brought into the passage, he pressed the lock, it yielded, and he stepped softly up on to a stone floor.
Here all was blacker than before, but it was a haven of refuge, and he passed in and softly closed the door behind him, to stand listening.
All was still as death, and he began to ask himself what he should do next. He dared not stay where he was, for if the smugglers were so much at home at the Hoze that they could come like this by night, the farmer or some one else might at any moment come up those steps with a light, and then discovery was certain.
But what to do? A closet—a room—a staircase—an open window leading in another direction to that where the men were busy! If he could find any of these he might be safe, and he was about to try and search for some means of concealment or escape when a cold shudder of superstitious dread ran through him, and he began to recall all he had read of haunted houses, for from somewhere in the darkness in front of him, he heard a low, piteous cry.
Archy was as courageous as most boys of his age, as he was proving by his adventurous acts; but this sound, heard by a lad living in a generation wanting in our modern enlightenment, paralysed him. His blood seemed to run cold, his lips parted, his throat felt dry, and a peculiar shiver ran over his skin, accompanied by a sensation as if tiny fingers, cold as ice, were parting and turning his hair.
Again the sigh came, to be followed by a cold current of air, which swept across the boy’s face, and then there was a low rustling sound, which hovered in front of him, and went up and up and up, and then slowly died away.
Archy’s first impulse, as he recovered himself a little in the silence which followed, was to turn, open the door, and flee. But he hesitated. It would be right into the hands of the enemy. Besides, the terribly chilling sounds he had heard had ceased, and he felt less cowardly.
“Perhaps,” he said to himself, “it was fancy, or nothing to be afraid of.”
A heavy step on the other side of the door alarmed him more, and stretching out his hands, he stepped forward, went cautiously on and on, and at the end of a few yards touched what felt like panelling. The next moment he realised that he had reached a door, which was yielding, and he passed into a room, to scent the cool night air, and hear subdued sounds without and below.
He was in a room over the cellar, he was sure, and the window was wide open. He crept to it, guided by the cold air which came in, and had just reached it when he heard rapid footsteps, and some one panted,—
“Where’s the skipper?”
“Here. What is it?” whispered Shackle, who seemed close to where the midshipman stood.
“Jemmy Dadd—came from the cove. Boat’s crew landed.”
“Run down and tell them all to come back,” said Shackle hoarsely.
“I did, and they’re coming. I met first man.”
“Right! Get all back in quick!”
As he finished speaking, Archy could hear the dull, soft steps of laden men returning, and more and more kept coming, and it was soon evident that they were quickly and silently replacing the kegs they had been carrying down hill to where tumbrils were waiting for a load.
The midshipman stood a little way back from the window, seeing nothing, but drinking all this in, and in imagination grasping the whole scene which went on for the next quarter of an hour or so, by which time the last load seemed to have been brought back.
As he listened, he wondered what boat’s crew it could be that had landed, as no arrangement had been made for any help to be sent till he either signalled from the cliff or went down to the cove at twelve the next day, where a boat would be about half a mile out, with two men in her fishing.
He could not understand it; all he could tell for certain was that the smugglers had been alarmed, and that they would not remove the cargo that night, for all at once he heard the sharp snap of a great lock beneath his feet; this was followed by the closing of a door, and directly after there was the shuffling of feet, and Shackle’s voice was heard in a hoarse whisper,—
“Got the lanthorn, boy?”
“Yes, father.”
“Off you go then—all. Scatter!”
“You won’t try again to-night?”
“Try? No,” said the farmer savagely. “Wish I had some of them here!”
There were retiring steps then, and Archy leaned forward towards the window, to utter a faint cry of pain, for his head had come in contact with something, and as he put up his hand he found that the window was protected by thick iron bars.
He stood listening till not a sound could be heard, and then he drew back from the window, thinking about his next course, gazing out into the darkness the while, and wishing he could have stepped out, leaped down, and fled at once.
“Made our plans badly,” he thought to himself. “I can’t signal even if I could find my way to the cliff, and I ought to be able to get back here at once to seize all this store, and—”
More unpleasant thoughts came back now about how hard it seemed to have to betray these people.
“Can’t help it,” he said to himself. “I am a king’s officer, and I’ve got to do my duty.”
Then to keep these thoughts from troubling him, he began to think again about the cutter.
They never expected that he would get valuable information so soon. He had been wonderfully fortunate, but what was to be his next course? Certainly to get back to the ship as soon as possible, but that was not possible till morning, and he was miles away from the cove.
What should he do? Two hours would be plenty for the work, and as he guessed it was not much past twelve now. How was he to pass all those weary hours? If he could find some barn or even a haystack he would not have cared, but it seemed to him that he would have to pass the remainder of the night in walking, and watching so that he did not encounter any of the smuggler gang on his way back and so raise their suspicions.
Better be off at once. Perhaps, after all, he thought as by an inspiration, the lieutenant had altered his plans, and was sending men to look after and protect him.
“Let’s see,” said Archy to himself. “I must go out of this door, and keep turning a little to the right till I feel the door at the top of the stairs.”
Suppose any one should hear him, take him for a thief, and fire at him?
Suppose that door at the end of the passage had been locked by the smugglers?
It seemed so probable, that a nervous feeling attacked the lad. He would be a prisoner, and discovered by the inmates in the morning.
He would soon put that to the proof, he told himself; and he was about to step cautiously back toward the door when another thought sent a shudder through him.
Suppose as soon as he got into the hall, or whatever place it was, he should hear that sigh again and the rustling sound?
He shrank back as he recalled how it had affected him.
“Oh, what a coward I am!” he said softly; and he took a step forward, where very faintly, as if far distant, he heard the rustling sound again. It came nearer and nearer, then there was a low sigh, the door was pushed open, for the rustling came quite plainly now, accompanied by a faint breathing.
The door closed with a soft dull sound as Archy stood as if turned into stone, his hair again feeling as if moved by hands, and he would have spoken, but no words would come.
At last, as he stood there in front of the window, terrified too much to stir, he suddenly heard a faint sound as of catching breath, and a voice said in a hurried, frightened whisper,—
“Who’s there? Is that you, Ram?”
Archy tried to speak but could not. Before he could draw a breath of relief, feeling as he did that this was nothing of which he need feel such fear, the voice said again,—
“You are trying to frighten me. I can see you plainly there by the window. How dare you come in here like this, sir? Go back home with your horrid men.”
Chapter Twelve.“You are making a mistake,” said Archy softly.“Oh!”There was a cry and a quick rustling toward the door.“Don’t—don’t cry out; I did not come to frighten you.”“Who are you?”“I am from the cutter lying off the coast. You saw me and spoke to me to-day when the dog came at me.”There was a low wailing sound which troubled the midshipman, and he said quickly,—“Can you not believe me? I did not come to frighten you; you frightened me.”“Then, why are you here? How dare you break into our house. Oh, I know! I know!”“Don’t cry,” he said. “I was obliged to come. It was by accident I came into this room. I was trying to find out about the smugglers.”“And—and—you have not found out anything?” came in quick, frightened tones.Archy was silent.“Why don’t you speak, sir?”“What am I to say? I am on duty. Yes, I have found out all I wanted to know.”“Ah!” came again out of the darkness, in a low wailing tone.“I wish you would believe me, that I am in as great trouble about it as you are.”“But your men. They are close here, then, and they frightened these people away.”“I suppose so. I don’t know,” said Archy.“Don’t they know that you are here?”“No.”“But you will go and tell all you have found out?”“Yes,” said Archy, slowly as he strained his eyes to try and make out the speaker.“That my father, Sir Risdon Graeme, has smuggled goods here?”“What else can I do?” replied Archy sadly.There was a sound of breath being drawn sharply through the teeth, and then the voice seemed changed as the next words came,—“Do you know what this means?”Archy was silent.“They will put him in prison, and—and—”There was a low burst of sobbing, and the young midshipman felt his own breast swell.Suddenly the sobbing ceased, and the girl said slowly,—“You shall not tell. It is not my father’s doing. He could not help it. He hates the smugglers. You shall not tell. Pray, pray, say you will not!”Archy was silent.“Do you not hear me?” came in imperious tones.“Yes, I hear you,” he replied; “but it is my duty, and—”“Yes—yes—speak!”“I must.”“Oh!”The interjection came as if it were the outcome of sudden passion. There was a quick, rustling sound, and before the boy could realise what was to come, the door was closed, the lock shot into its socket, and he heard the grinding sound of bolts, top and bottom.Then, as Archy stood in the dark, literally aghast with astonishment, he heard the faint rustling once more, and again all was silent.“Well!” he exclaimed; “and I felt sorry for her as one might for one’s sister at home, and hung back from getting her people into trouble. Of all the fierce little tartars! Oh, it’s beyond anything! Why, she has locked me up!”He laughed, but it was a curious kind of laugh, full of vexation, injuredamour propre, as the French call our love of our own dignity, of which Archibald Raystoke, in the full flush of his young belief in his importance as a British officer, had a pretty good stock.“I never did!” he exclaimed, after standing listening for a few minutes to see if the girl would repent and return. “It all comes of dressing up in this stupid way, like a rough fisher-lad. If I had been in uniform, she would not have dared.”Cold water came on this idea directly, as he recalled the fact that the darkness was intense, and Celia could not have seen him.“And I meant to save them from trouble if I could, out of respect for them all, and did not believe that such people could stoop to be mixed up with rogues and smugglers. But, all right! I’ve got my duty to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll soon show them that I am not going to be played with. Looked such a nice, lady-like girl, and all the time she’s a female smuggler, and must have been sitting up to let them in, and lock up after the rascals had done.”Rather hard measure, by the way, to deal out to the anxious girl, who could not rest while Shackle’s gang were busy about the place, and had come stealthily down to open the little corner room window, and watch from time to time until they had gone.“Well,” said Archy, as there was no further sound heard, “I’m not going to put up with this. I’ll soon rattle some one up;” and he went sharply to the door, felt for the handle, tried it, and was about to shake it and bang at the panels, when discretion got the better of valour.For it suddenly occurred to him that he was not only a prisoner, but a prisoner in the power of a very reckless set of people, who would stop at nothing. They had a valuable cargo hidden in the cellar beneath where he stood, and themselves to save, and naturally they would not hesitate to deal hardly with him, when quite a young, apparently gentle girl treated him as she had done.“No,” he thought to himself, “I don’t believe they would kill me, but they would knock me about.”On the whole, he decided that it would not be pleasant to be knocked about. The kick he had received was a foretaste of what he might expect, and after a little consideration he came to the conclusion that his duty was to escape, and get back to the cutter as quickly as he could.To do this he must scheme, lie hid till morning, then make for the nearest point, and signal for help, unless a boat’s crew were already searching for him.How to escape?The door was, he well knew, fast. The window was barred, but he went to it, and tried the bars one by one, to find them all solidly fitted into the stone sill.Perhaps there was another way out, and to prove that he went softly round to feel the oak panelling which covered the walls, to come upon a door directly. His hopes began to rise, but they fell directly, for he found it was a closet.Next moment, as he felt his way about, his hand touched an old-fashioned marble mantelpiece.Fireplace—chimney! Yes, if other ways failed, he could escape up the chimney.No, that was too bad. He could not do that. And if he did, it would only be to reach the roof of the house, and perhaps find no way down.He went on, and found a closet to match the first on the other side of the fireplace. Then all round the room. Panels everywhere, but no means of escape, and he went again to stand at the window, to bemoan his stupidity for allowing a weak girl to make a prisoner of him in so absurd a way.Sympathy and pity for the dwellers in the Hoze were completely gone now, and he set his teeth fast, and mentally called himself a weak idiot for ever thinking about such people. For the first few minutes he had felt something uncommonly like alarm, and had dwelt upon the consequences to himself if the smugglers found the spy upon their proceedings; but that dread had passed away in the idea that he had to do his duty, and before he could do that he must escape.A chair or two. Then an easy-chair. A narrow table against the wall in two places. An awkwardly-shaped high-backed chair with elbows and cushions. A thick carpet in the centre. Nothing else in the room, as far as he could make out in the darkness, and if those wretched bars had only been away, how soon he could have escaped!He went and tried to force his head through, recalling as he did that where a person’s head would go the rest of the body would pass. But there was no chance for his body there, the head would not go first.He returned, after listening intently, unable to hear a sound, and put his ear to the key-hole of the door to listen there; but all was still, and the faint hope that the girl might be near and open to an appeal for his liberty died away.Again he felt all about the room, to satisfy himself afresh that there was no way out, and he paused by the chimney, half disposed to essay that means of escape, but he shook his head.“A fellow who was shut up in prison for life might do it,” he said, “but not in a case like this.”Then, utterly wearied out, with his long and arduous twenty-four hours’ task, beginning with his watch on the cutter’s deck, he felt his way to the big chair opposite to the window to rest his legs, and try and think out some plan.“Nobody can think well when he’s tired,” he said; and he began to run over in his mind the whole of the incidents since he landed a few hours earlier.
“You are making a mistake,” said Archy softly.
“Oh!”
There was a cry and a quick rustling toward the door.
“Don’t—don’t cry out; I did not come to frighten you.”
“Who are you?”
“I am from the cutter lying off the coast. You saw me and spoke to me to-day when the dog came at me.”
There was a low wailing sound which troubled the midshipman, and he said quickly,—
“Can you not believe me? I did not come to frighten you; you frightened me.”
“Then, why are you here? How dare you break into our house. Oh, I know! I know!”
“Don’t cry,” he said. “I was obliged to come. It was by accident I came into this room. I was trying to find out about the smugglers.”
“And—and—you have not found out anything?” came in quick, frightened tones.
Archy was silent.
“Why don’t you speak, sir?”
“What am I to say? I am on duty. Yes, I have found out all I wanted to know.”
“Ah!” came again out of the darkness, in a low wailing tone.
“I wish you would believe me, that I am in as great trouble about it as you are.”
“But your men. They are close here, then, and they frightened these people away.”
“I suppose so. I don’t know,” said Archy.
“Don’t they know that you are here?”
“No.”
“But you will go and tell all you have found out?”
“Yes,” said Archy, slowly as he strained his eyes to try and make out the speaker.
“That my father, Sir Risdon Graeme, has smuggled goods here?”
“What else can I do?” replied Archy sadly.
There was a sound of breath being drawn sharply through the teeth, and then the voice seemed changed as the next words came,—
“Do you know what this means?”
Archy was silent.
“They will put him in prison, and—and—”
There was a low burst of sobbing, and the young midshipman felt his own breast swell.
Suddenly the sobbing ceased, and the girl said slowly,—
“You shall not tell. It is not my father’s doing. He could not help it. He hates the smugglers. You shall not tell. Pray, pray, say you will not!”
Archy was silent.
“Do you not hear me?” came in imperious tones.
“Yes, I hear you,” he replied; “but it is my duty, and—”
“Yes—yes—speak!”
“I must.”
“Oh!”
The interjection came as if it were the outcome of sudden passion. There was a quick, rustling sound, and before the boy could realise what was to come, the door was closed, the lock shot into its socket, and he heard the grinding sound of bolts, top and bottom.
Then, as Archy stood in the dark, literally aghast with astonishment, he heard the faint rustling once more, and again all was silent.
“Well!” he exclaimed; “and I felt sorry for her as one might for one’s sister at home, and hung back from getting her people into trouble. Of all the fierce little tartars! Oh, it’s beyond anything! Why, she has locked me up!”
He laughed, but it was a curious kind of laugh, full of vexation, injuredamour propre, as the French call our love of our own dignity, of which Archibald Raystoke, in the full flush of his young belief in his importance as a British officer, had a pretty good stock.
“I never did!” he exclaimed, after standing listening for a few minutes to see if the girl would repent and return. “It all comes of dressing up in this stupid way, like a rough fisher-lad. If I had been in uniform, she would not have dared.”
Cold water came on this idea directly, as he recalled the fact that the darkness was intense, and Celia could not have seen him.
“And I meant to save them from trouble if I could, out of respect for them all, and did not believe that such people could stoop to be mixed up with rogues and smugglers. But, all right! I’ve got my duty to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll soon show them that I am not going to be played with. Looked such a nice, lady-like girl, and all the time she’s a female smuggler, and must have been sitting up to let them in, and lock up after the rascals had done.”
Rather hard measure, by the way, to deal out to the anxious girl, who could not rest while Shackle’s gang were busy about the place, and had come stealthily down to open the little corner room window, and watch from time to time until they had gone.
“Well,” said Archy, as there was no further sound heard, “I’m not going to put up with this. I’ll soon rattle some one up;” and he went sharply to the door, felt for the handle, tried it, and was about to shake it and bang at the panels, when discretion got the better of valour.
For it suddenly occurred to him that he was not only a prisoner, but a prisoner in the power of a very reckless set of people, who would stop at nothing. They had a valuable cargo hidden in the cellar beneath where he stood, and themselves to save, and naturally they would not hesitate to deal hardly with him, when quite a young, apparently gentle girl treated him as she had done.
“No,” he thought to himself, “I don’t believe they would kill me, but they would knock me about.”
On the whole, he decided that it would not be pleasant to be knocked about. The kick he had received was a foretaste of what he might expect, and after a little consideration he came to the conclusion that his duty was to escape, and get back to the cutter as quickly as he could.
To do this he must scheme, lie hid till morning, then make for the nearest point, and signal for help, unless a boat’s crew were already searching for him.
How to escape?
The door was, he well knew, fast. The window was barred, but he went to it, and tried the bars one by one, to find them all solidly fitted into the stone sill.
Perhaps there was another way out, and to prove that he went softly round to feel the oak panelling which covered the walls, to come upon a door directly. His hopes began to rise, but they fell directly, for he found it was a closet.
Next moment, as he felt his way about, his hand touched an old-fashioned marble mantelpiece.
Fireplace—chimney! Yes, if other ways failed, he could escape up the chimney.
No, that was too bad. He could not do that. And if he did, it would only be to reach the roof of the house, and perhaps find no way down.
He went on, and found a closet to match the first on the other side of the fireplace. Then all round the room. Panels everywhere, but no means of escape, and he went again to stand at the window, to bemoan his stupidity for allowing a weak girl to make a prisoner of him in so absurd a way.
Sympathy and pity for the dwellers in the Hoze were completely gone now, and he set his teeth fast, and mentally called himself a weak idiot for ever thinking about such people. For the first few minutes he had felt something uncommonly like alarm, and had dwelt upon the consequences to himself if the smugglers found the spy upon their proceedings; but that dread had passed away in the idea that he had to do his duty, and before he could do that he must escape.
A chair or two. Then an easy-chair. A narrow table against the wall in two places. An awkwardly-shaped high-backed chair with elbows and cushions. A thick carpet in the centre. Nothing else in the room, as far as he could make out in the darkness, and if those wretched bars had only been away, how soon he could have escaped!
He went and tried to force his head through, recalling as he did that where a person’s head would go the rest of the body would pass. But there was no chance for his body there, the head would not go first.
He returned, after listening intently, unable to hear a sound, and put his ear to the key-hole of the door to listen there; but all was still, and the faint hope that the girl might be near and open to an appeal for his liberty died away.
Again he felt all about the room, to satisfy himself afresh that there was no way out, and he paused by the chimney, half disposed to essay that means of escape, but he shook his head.
“A fellow who was shut up in prison for life might do it,” he said, “but not in a case like this.”
Then, utterly wearied out, with his long and arduous twenty-four hours’ task, beginning with his watch on the cutter’s deck, he felt his way to the big chair opposite to the window to rest his legs, and try and think out some plan.
“Nobody can think well when he’s tired,” he said; and he began to run over in his mind the whole of the incidents since he landed a few hours earlier.
Chapter Thirteen.“Sure you’ve looked round everywhere, boy?”“Yes, father, quite.”“Nothing left nowhere? Sure none of the lads chucked anything aside the path when they ran up?”“Yes, father. I looked well both sides.”“Humph! Worse lads than you if you knew where to find ’em.”“Thank ye, father.”“I’m going home to breakfast.”“Shall I come too, father?”“No. Stop here till Sir Risdon comes down, and tell him I’m very sorry; that we should have cleared out last night, only a born fool saw Jerry Nandy’s lobster-boat coming into the cove, and came running to say it was a party from the cutter.”“Yes, father.”“Tell him not to be uneasy; ’tis all right, and I’ll have everything clear away to-night.”The dull sound of departing steps, and a low whistling sound coming down through the skylight window into the cabin where Archy Raystoke lay with his heavy eyelids pressed down by sleep.“What a queer dream!” he thought to himself. “No; it couldn’t be a dream. He must be awake. But how queer for Mr Gurr to be talking like that to Andrew Teal, the boy who helped the cook! And why did Andy call Mr Gurr father?”There was an interval of thinking over this knotty question, during which the low whistling went on.“If Mr Brough goes on deck and catches that boy whistling, there’ll be someone to pay and no pitch hot,” thought Archy nautically. “But what did Mr Gurr mean about going home to breakfast? And I’m hungry too. Time I was up, I suppose.”He gave himself a twist, and was about to turn out of his sleeping place, and then opened his eyes widely, and stared about him, too much overcome still by his heavy sleep to quite comprehend why it was that he was in a gloomy, oak-panelled, poorly furnished room, staring at an iron-barred open window.No: he was not dreaming, for he was looking out on the sea, over which a faint mist hung like wreaths of smoke. It was just before sunrise too, for there were flecks of orange high up in the sky.What did it mean?The answer came like a flash. He recollected it all now, even to his sitting down in the chair, wearied out.He had been fast asleep, and those words had awakened him.What did they say?—false alarm—tell Sir Risdon they would clear all away to-night—see if anything had been left about—lobster-boat!Then no boat had come from the cutter last night, and the lieutenant would wait for him to signal, and here he was a prisoner, with the information—locked up—the very news the lieutenant would give anything to know.He jumped up from the chair feeling horribly stiff, and looked steadily round for a way to escape before it was too late. Once out of that room he could ran, and by daylight the smugglers dare not hunt him down.“Oh, those bars!” he mentally exclaimed, and he was advancing toward them, when just as he drew near, there was a rustling noise under the window, a couple of hands seized the bars, there was a scratching of boot-toes against stone work, and Ram’s face appeared to gaze into the room by intention, but into the astonished countenance of the young midshipman instead.Ram was the first to recover from his surprise.“Hullo!” he said, “who are you? I was wondering why that window was open.”“Here, quick! Go round and open the door. I was shut in last night by mistake.”“Oh!” said Ram looking puzzled. “I saw you last night, and wondered whose boy you was. It was you father kicked for shirking, and—My!—well: I hardly knowed you.”“Nonsense! Come round and open the door. I’ve been shut in all night.”“Won’t do,” said Ram grinning. “Think I don’t know you, Mr Orficer? Where’s your fine clothes and your sword? Here, what made you dress up like that?”“You’re mistaken,” said Archy gruffly, as he made a feeble struggle to keep up the character he had assumed.“Won’t do,” said Ram quickly. “I know you. Been playing the spy, that’s what you’ve been doing. Who locked you in?”“Will you come round and open the door?” said Archy in an angry whisper.“Oh, of course,” replied the boy grinning; and he dropped down, rushed through the bushes, and disappeared from view.Archy stepped back to the door listening, but there was not a sound.“He has gone to give the alarm,” thought the prisoner, and he looked excitedly round for a way of escape.Nothing but the chimney presented itself. The door was too strong to attack, and he remembered the three fastenings.Should he try the chimney?And be stuck there, and dragged out like a rabbit by the hind legs from his hole!“No; I’ve degraded myself enough,” he said angrily, “and there are sure to be bars across. Hah!”A happy inspiration had come, and placing one hand upon his breast, he thrust in the other, gave a tug, and drew out his little curved dirk, glanced at the edge, ran to the window and began to cut at one of the bars.Labour in vain. He divided the paint, and produced a few squeaks and grating sounds, as he realised that the attempt was madness.Turning sharply, he looked about the room; then, after glancing ruefully at the bright little weapon, halfway up the blade of a rich deep blue, in which was figured a pattern in gold, he yielded to necessity, and began to chop at the top bar of the grate, so as to nick the edges of his weapon and make it saw-like.The result was not very satisfactory, but sufficiently so to make him essay the bar of the window once more, producing a grating, ear-assailing sound, as he found that now he did make a little impression,—so little though, that the probability was, if he kept on working well for twenty-four hours, he would not get through.But at the end of five minutes he stopped, and thrust back the dirk into its sheath.He fancied he had heard steps outside the room door, and he ran to it and listened, in the faint hope that the boy might have come to open it and set him free.It was a very faint hope, and one he felt not likely to be realised, and he returned once more to the window, with the intention of resuming his task, when he heard the bushes pressed aside by some one coming, and directly after the bars were seized as before. Ram sprang up, found a resting-place for his toes, and looked in, grinning at him.“Hullo!” he cried, in a whisper, as if he did not wish to be heard; “here you are still.”“Yes. Come round and open the door.”“What’ll yer give me?”“Anything I can,” cried Archy eagerly.“Well, you give me that little sword o’ your’n.”“No; I can’t part with that.”“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the boy jeeringly.“But I’ll—yes, I’ll give you a guinea, if you will let me out.”“Guinea?” said the boy. “Think I’d do it for a guinea?”“Well, then, two. Be quick, there’s a good fellow. I want to get away at once.”“Not you,” said the boy jeeringly. “It would be a pity. I say, do you know what you look like?”“A fisher-boy.”“Not you. Only a sham. Why, your clothes don’t fit you, and your cap’s put on all skew-rew. Don’t look a bit like a fisher-lad, and never will.”“Never mind about that; let me out of this place.”“What for?” cried Ram.“Because I want my liberty.”“Not you. Looks comf’table enough as you are. I say, do you know what you are like now?”“I told you, a fisher-boy!” cried Archy impatiently, but trying not to offend his visitor, who possessed the power of conferring freedom, by speaking sharply.“Not you. Look like a wild beast in a cage. Like a monkey.”“You insolent—”Archy checked himself, and the boy laughed.“It was your turn yesterday, it’s mine to-day. What a game! You laughed and fleered at me when I was on the cutter’s deck. I can laugh and fleer at you now. I say, you do look a rum ’un. Just like a big monkey in a show.”“Look here, sir!” said Archy, losing his temper. “Gentlemen don’t fight with low, common fellows like you, but if you do not come round and let me out, next time we meet I’ll have a bit of rope’s-end ready for you.”Ram showed his white teeth, as he burst out with a long, low fit of laughter.“You rope’s-end me!” he said. “Why, I could tie you up in a knot, and heave you off the cliff any day. What a game! Bit of a middy, fed on salt tack and weevilly biscuit, talk of giving me rope’s-end! Dressed up with a dirty face and a bit o’ canvas! Go back aboard, and put on your uniform. Ha! Ha! Ha!”“Once more; will you come and let me out?”“No. I’m going to keep you here till the gentlefolks get up, and then I’ll bring ’em round to see the monkey in his cage, just like they do in the shows, when you pay a penny. See you for nothing, middy. I say, where’s your sword? Why don’t you draw it, and come out and fight? I’ll fight you with a stick.”“You insolent young scoundrel!” cried Archy, darting his hand through between the bars, overcome now by his rage, and catching Ram by the collar.To his astonishment the boy did not flinch, but thrust his own arms through, placing them about the middy’s waist, clenching his hands behind, and uttering a sharp whistle.It was a trap, and the midshipman understood it now. The boy had been baiting him to rouse him to attack, and he was doubly a prisoner now, held fast against the bars, so that he could not even wrench round his head as he heard the door behind him opened, while as he opened his mouth to cry for help, a great rough hand was placed over his eyes, pressing his head back, a handkerchief was jammed between his teeth, and as he heard a deep growling voice say, “Hold him tight!” a rope was drawn about his chest, pinioning his arms to his sides, and another secured his ankles.“Now a handkerchief,” said the gruff voice. “Fold it wide. Be ready!”The midshipman gave his head a jerk, but the effort was vain, for the hand over his eyes gave place to a broad handkerchief, which was tightly tied behind, and then a fierce voice whispered in his ear,—“Keep still, or you’ll get your weasand slit. D’ye hear?”But in spite of the threat the lad, frenzied now by rage and excitement, struggled so hard that a fresh rope was wound round him, and he was lifted up by two men, and carried away.By this time there was a strange singing in his ears, a feeling as if the blood was flooding his eyes, a peculiar, hot, suffocating feeling in his breast, and then he seemed to go off into a painful, feverish sleep, for he knew no more.
“Sure you’ve looked round everywhere, boy?”
“Yes, father, quite.”
“Nothing left nowhere? Sure none of the lads chucked anything aside the path when they ran up?”
“Yes, father. I looked well both sides.”
“Humph! Worse lads than you if you knew where to find ’em.”
“Thank ye, father.”
“I’m going home to breakfast.”
“Shall I come too, father?”
“No. Stop here till Sir Risdon comes down, and tell him I’m very sorry; that we should have cleared out last night, only a born fool saw Jerry Nandy’s lobster-boat coming into the cove, and came running to say it was a party from the cutter.”
“Yes, father.”
“Tell him not to be uneasy; ’tis all right, and I’ll have everything clear away to-night.”
The dull sound of departing steps, and a low whistling sound coming down through the skylight window into the cabin where Archy Raystoke lay with his heavy eyelids pressed down by sleep.
“What a queer dream!” he thought to himself. “No; it couldn’t be a dream. He must be awake. But how queer for Mr Gurr to be talking like that to Andrew Teal, the boy who helped the cook! And why did Andy call Mr Gurr father?”
There was an interval of thinking over this knotty question, during which the low whistling went on.
“If Mr Brough goes on deck and catches that boy whistling, there’ll be someone to pay and no pitch hot,” thought Archy nautically. “But what did Mr Gurr mean about going home to breakfast? And I’m hungry too. Time I was up, I suppose.”
He gave himself a twist, and was about to turn out of his sleeping place, and then opened his eyes widely, and stared about him, too much overcome still by his heavy sleep to quite comprehend why it was that he was in a gloomy, oak-panelled, poorly furnished room, staring at an iron-barred open window.
No: he was not dreaming, for he was looking out on the sea, over which a faint mist hung like wreaths of smoke. It was just before sunrise too, for there were flecks of orange high up in the sky.
What did it mean?
The answer came like a flash. He recollected it all now, even to his sitting down in the chair, wearied out.
He had been fast asleep, and those words had awakened him.
What did they say?—false alarm—tell Sir Risdon they would clear all away to-night—see if anything had been left about—lobster-boat!
Then no boat had come from the cutter last night, and the lieutenant would wait for him to signal, and here he was a prisoner, with the information—locked up—the very news the lieutenant would give anything to know.
He jumped up from the chair feeling horribly stiff, and looked steadily round for a way to escape before it was too late. Once out of that room he could ran, and by daylight the smugglers dare not hunt him down.
“Oh, those bars!” he mentally exclaimed, and he was advancing toward them, when just as he drew near, there was a rustling noise under the window, a couple of hands seized the bars, there was a scratching of boot-toes against stone work, and Ram’s face appeared to gaze into the room by intention, but into the astonished countenance of the young midshipman instead.
Ram was the first to recover from his surprise.
“Hullo!” he said, “who are you? I was wondering why that window was open.”
“Here, quick! Go round and open the door. I was shut in last night by mistake.”
“Oh!” said Ram looking puzzled. “I saw you last night, and wondered whose boy you was. It was you father kicked for shirking, and—My!—well: I hardly knowed you.”
“Nonsense! Come round and open the door. I’ve been shut in all night.”
“Won’t do,” said Ram grinning. “Think I don’t know you, Mr Orficer? Where’s your fine clothes and your sword? Here, what made you dress up like that?”
“You’re mistaken,” said Archy gruffly, as he made a feeble struggle to keep up the character he had assumed.
“Won’t do,” said Ram quickly. “I know you. Been playing the spy, that’s what you’ve been doing. Who locked you in?”
“Will you come round and open the door?” said Archy in an angry whisper.
“Oh, of course,” replied the boy grinning; and he dropped down, rushed through the bushes, and disappeared from view.
Archy stepped back to the door listening, but there was not a sound.
“He has gone to give the alarm,” thought the prisoner, and he looked excitedly round for a way of escape.
Nothing but the chimney presented itself. The door was too strong to attack, and he remembered the three fastenings.
Should he try the chimney?
And be stuck there, and dragged out like a rabbit by the hind legs from his hole!
“No; I’ve degraded myself enough,” he said angrily, “and there are sure to be bars across. Hah!”
A happy inspiration had come, and placing one hand upon his breast, he thrust in the other, gave a tug, and drew out his little curved dirk, glanced at the edge, ran to the window and began to cut at one of the bars.
Labour in vain. He divided the paint, and produced a few squeaks and grating sounds, as he realised that the attempt was madness.
Turning sharply, he looked about the room; then, after glancing ruefully at the bright little weapon, halfway up the blade of a rich deep blue, in which was figured a pattern in gold, he yielded to necessity, and began to chop at the top bar of the grate, so as to nick the edges of his weapon and make it saw-like.
The result was not very satisfactory, but sufficiently so to make him essay the bar of the window once more, producing a grating, ear-assailing sound, as he found that now he did make a little impression,—so little though, that the probability was, if he kept on working well for twenty-four hours, he would not get through.
But at the end of five minutes he stopped, and thrust back the dirk into its sheath.
He fancied he had heard steps outside the room door, and he ran to it and listened, in the faint hope that the boy might have come to open it and set him free.
It was a very faint hope, and one he felt not likely to be realised, and he returned once more to the window, with the intention of resuming his task, when he heard the bushes pressed aside by some one coming, and directly after the bars were seized as before. Ram sprang up, found a resting-place for his toes, and looked in, grinning at him.
“Hullo!” he cried, in a whisper, as if he did not wish to be heard; “here you are still.”
“Yes. Come round and open the door.”
“What’ll yer give me?”
“Anything I can,” cried Archy eagerly.
“Well, you give me that little sword o’ your’n.”
“No; I can’t part with that.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the boy jeeringly.
“But I’ll—yes, I’ll give you a guinea, if you will let me out.”
“Guinea?” said the boy. “Think I’d do it for a guinea?”
“Well, then, two. Be quick, there’s a good fellow. I want to get away at once.”
“Not you,” said the boy jeeringly. “It would be a pity. I say, do you know what you look like?”
“A fisher-boy.”
“Not you. Only a sham. Why, your clothes don’t fit you, and your cap’s put on all skew-rew. Don’t look a bit like a fisher-lad, and never will.”
“Never mind about that; let me out of this place.”
“What for?” cried Ram.
“Because I want my liberty.”
“Not you. Looks comf’table enough as you are. I say, do you know what you are like now?”
“I told you, a fisher-boy!” cried Archy impatiently, but trying not to offend his visitor, who possessed the power of conferring freedom, by speaking sharply.
“Not you. Look like a wild beast in a cage. Like a monkey.”
“You insolent—”
Archy checked himself, and the boy laughed.
“It was your turn yesterday, it’s mine to-day. What a game! You laughed and fleered at me when I was on the cutter’s deck. I can laugh and fleer at you now. I say, you do look a rum ’un. Just like a big monkey in a show.”
“Look here, sir!” said Archy, losing his temper. “Gentlemen don’t fight with low, common fellows like you, but if you do not come round and let me out, next time we meet I’ll have a bit of rope’s-end ready for you.”
Ram showed his white teeth, as he burst out with a long, low fit of laughter.
“You rope’s-end me!” he said. “Why, I could tie you up in a knot, and heave you off the cliff any day. What a game! Bit of a middy, fed on salt tack and weevilly biscuit, talk of giving me rope’s-end! Dressed up with a dirty face and a bit o’ canvas! Go back aboard, and put on your uniform. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Once more; will you come and let me out?”
“No. I’m going to keep you here till the gentlefolks get up, and then I’ll bring ’em round to see the monkey in his cage, just like they do in the shows, when you pay a penny. See you for nothing, middy. I say, where’s your sword? Why don’t you draw it, and come out and fight? I’ll fight you with a stick.”
“You insolent young scoundrel!” cried Archy, darting his hand through between the bars, overcome now by his rage, and catching Ram by the collar.
To his astonishment the boy did not flinch, but thrust his own arms through, placing them about the middy’s waist, clenching his hands behind, and uttering a sharp whistle.
It was a trap, and the midshipman understood it now. The boy had been baiting him to rouse him to attack, and he was doubly a prisoner now, held fast against the bars, so that he could not even wrench round his head as he heard the door behind him opened, while as he opened his mouth to cry for help, a great rough hand was placed over his eyes, pressing his head back, a handkerchief was jammed between his teeth, and as he heard a deep growling voice say, “Hold him tight!” a rope was drawn about his chest, pinioning his arms to his sides, and another secured his ankles.
“Now a handkerchief,” said the gruff voice. “Fold it wide. Be ready!”
The midshipman gave his head a jerk, but the effort was vain, for the hand over his eyes gave place to a broad handkerchief, which was tightly tied behind, and then a fierce voice whispered in his ear,—
“Keep still, or you’ll get your weasand slit. D’ye hear?”
But in spite of the threat the lad, frenzied now by rage and excitement, struggled so hard that a fresh rope was wound round him, and he was lifted up by two men, and carried away.
By this time there was a strange singing in his ears, a feeling as if the blood was flooding his eyes, a peculiar, hot, suffocating feeling in his breast, and then he seemed to go off into a painful, feverish sleep, for he knew no more.