Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.Unbusinesslike Proceedings in “The Office”—Peekins Grows Desperate and Takes Refuge in the “Three Jolly Tars.”Mr Denham stood in front of his office fire with a coat-tail, as usual, under each arm; his feet planted on two little roses that grew on each side of a large bouquet which flourished perennially on his rug, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He had just arrived at Redwharf Lane, and looked quite fresh and ruddy from the exercise of walking, for Denham was a great walker, and frequently did the distance between his house and his office on foot.Mr Crumps sat shivering in his own room, looking the reverse of ruddy, for Crumps was old and his blood was thin, and there was no fire in his room. It is but justice to say, however, that this was no fault of Denham’s, for the apartment of his junior partner did not possess a fireplace, and it could not be expected that a fire should be lit,à laRed Indian, on the middle of the floor. At all events Crumps did not expect it. He was not, therefore, liable to disappointment in his expectations. He contented himself, poor old man, with such genial gusts of second-hand warmth as burst in upon him from time to time from Denham’s room when the door was open, or poured in upon him in ameliorating rivulets through the keyhole, like a little gulf-stream, when the door was shut.“The letters, sir,” said Peekins, the meek blue tiger in buttons, entering at that moment and laying a pile of letters on the table.Had Peekins been a little dog without a soul, capable of wagging his tail and fawning, Denham would have patted him, but, being only a boy in blue with a meek spirit, the great man paid no attention to him whatever. He continued to gaze at the ceiling as if he were reading his destiny there. Perhaps he would have looked as blank as the ceiling had he known what that destiny was to be; but he did not know, fortunately (or unfortunately, if the reader chooses), hence he turned with a calm undisturbed countenance to peruse his letters after the boy had retired.We do not say that Denham was a hard man; by no means; he was only peculiar in his views of things in general; that was all!For some time Denham broke seals, read contents, and made jottings, without any expression whatever on his countenance. Presently he took up an ill-folded epistle addressed to “Mister Denham” in a round and rather rugged hand.“Begging,” he muttered with a slight frown.“‘Dear Uncle’ (‘eh!’ he exclaimed,—turned over the leaf in surprise, read the signature, and turned back to the beginning again, with the least possible tinge of surprise still remaining), ‘I’m sorry’ (humph) ‘to have to inform you that theNancyhas become a total wreck,’ (‘indeed!’) ‘on the Goodwin Sands.’ (‘Amazing sands these. What a quantity of wealth they have swallowed up!’) ‘The cargo has been entirely lost,’—(‘ah! it was insured to its full value,’) ‘also two of the hands.’ (‘H’m, their lives wouldn’t be insured. These rough creatures never do insure their lives; wonderfully improvident!’) ‘I am at present disabled, from the effects of a blow on the head received during the storm.’ (Very awkward; particularly so just now.) ‘No doubt Bax will be up immediately to give you particulars.’” (Humph!)“‘The cause of the loss of your schooner was, inmyopinion,’ (Mr Denham’s eyebrows here rose in contemptuous surprise), ‘unseaworthiness of vessel and stores.’”Mr Denham made no comment on this part of the epistle. A dark frown settled on his brow as he crumpled the letter in his hand, dropped it on the ground as if it had been a loathsome creature, and set his foot on it.Denham was uncommonly gruff and forbidding all that day. He spoke harshly to old Mr Crumps; found fault with the clerks to such an extent, that they began to regard the office as a species of Pandemonium whichoughtto have smelt sulphurous instead of musty; and rendered the life of Peekins so insupportable that the poor boy occupied his few moments of leisure in speculating on the average duration of human life and wondering whether it would not be better, on the whole, to make himself an exception to the general rule by leaping off London Bridge at high water—blue-tights, buttons, and all!Things continued in this felicitous condition in the office until five in the afternoon, when there was a change, not so much in the moral as in the physical atmosphere. It came in the form of a thick fog, which rolled down the crooked places of Redwharf Lane, poured through keyholes, curled round the cranes on the warehouses, and the old anchors, cables, and buoys in the lumber-yards; travelled over the mudflats, and crept out upon the muddy river among the colliers, rendering light things indistinct, black things blacker, dark places darker, and affording such an opportunity for unrestrained enjoyment to the rats, that these creatures held an absolute carnival everywhere.About this period of the day Mr Denham rose, put on his hat and greatcoat, and prepared to go. Peekins observed this through a private scratch in the glass door, and signalised the gladsome news in dumb-show to his comrades. Hope at once took the place of despair in the office, for lads and very young men are happily furnished with extremely elastic spirits. The impulse of joy caused by the prospect of Denham’s departure was so strong in the breast of one youth, with red hair, a red nose, red cheeks, large red lips, blue eyes, and red hands (Ruggles by name), that he incontinently seized a sheet of blotting-paper, crumpled it into a ball, and flung it at the head of the youngest clerk, a dark little boy, who sat opposite to him on a tall stool, and who, being a new boy, was copying letters painfully but diligently with a heavy heart.The missile was well aimed. It hit the new boy exactly on the point of the nose, causing him to start and prolong the tail of a y an inch and a quarter beyond its natural limits.This little incident would not have been worth mentioning but for the fact that it was the hinge, so to speak, on which incidents of a more important nature turned. Mr Denham happened to open his door just as the missile was discharged and saw the result, though not the thrower. He had no difficulty, however, in discovering the offender; for each of the other clerks looked at their comrade in virtuous horror, as though to say, “Oh! how could you?—please, sir, it wasn’tme, it washim;” while Ruggles applied himself to his work with an air of abstraction and a face of scarlet that said plainly, “It’s of no use staring in that fashion at me, for I’m as innocent as the unborn babe.”Denham frowned portentously, and that peculiarly dead calm which usually precedes the bursting of a storm prevailed in the office. Before the storm burst, however, the outer door was opened hastily and our friend Bax stood in the room. He was somewhat dishevelled in appearance, as if he had travelled fast. To the clerks in that small office he appeared more fierce and gigantic than usual. Peekins regarded him with undisguised admiration, and wondered in his heart if Jack the Giant-Killer would have dared to encounter such a being, supposing him to have had the chance.“I’m glad I am not too late to find you here, sir,” said Bax, puffing off his hat and bowing slightly to his employer.“Humph!” ejaculated Denham, “step this way.”They entered the inner office, and, the door being shut, Ruggles internally blessed Bax and breathed freely. Under the influence of reaction he even looked defiant.“So you have lost your schooner,” began Denham, sitting down in his chair of state and eyeing the seaman sternly. Bax returned the gaze so much more sternly that Denham felt disconcerted but did not allow his feelings to betray themselves.“The schoonerhasbeen lost,” said Bax, “and I am here to report the fact and to present these letters, one from the seamen’s missionary at Ramsgate, the other from your nephew, both of which will show you that no blame attaches to me. I regret the loss, deeply, but it was un—”Bax was going to have said unavoidable, but he felt that the expression would have been incorrect, and stopped.“Finish your remark,” said Denham.“I merely wished to say that it was out ofmypower to prevent it.”“Oh!” interjected Denham, sarcastically, as he read the letters. “The seamen’s missionary is one of whom I know nothing. His opinion, therefore, carries no weight. As to my nephew,hisremarks are simply unworthy of notice. But you say that no blame attaches toyou. To whom then does blame attach, if not to the skipper of the vessel? Do you mean to lay it at the door of Providence?”“No, sir, I do not,” replied Bax.“Have you, then, the presumption to insinuate that it lies withme?”Bax was silent.“Am I to expect an answer?” said Denham.“I make no insinuations,” said Bax, after a short pause; “I do but state facts. If the ‘Nancy’ had been fitted with a new tops’l-yard and jib-boom, as I advised last summer, I would have carried her safe into the Downs.”“So,” said Denham, in a tone of increasing sarcasm, “you have the hardihood to insinuate that it wasmyfault?”Bax reddened with indignation at the tone of insult in which these words were uttered. His bass voice grew deeper and sterner as he said:—“If you insist on plain speaking, sir, you shall have it. Idothink the blame of the loss of the ‘Nancy’ lies at your door, and worse than that, the loss of two human lives lies there also. There was not a sound timber or a seaworthy article aboard of the schooner from stem to stern. You know well enough that I have told you this,—in more civil language it may be,—again and again; and I hope that the telling of it now, flatly, will induce you to consider the immense responsibility that lies on your shoulders; for there are other ships belonging to your firm in much the same condition—ships with inferior charts and instruments, unsound spars, not enough of boats, and with anchors and chains scarce powerful enough to hold a Deal lugger in a moderate gale.”Mr Denham was not prepared for this sudden and wholesale condemnation of himself and his property. He gazed at the seaman’s flushed countenance for a few seconds in mute surprise. At last he recovered self-possession, and said in a calm voice—“You applied last year, if I remember rightly, for the situation of mate aboard our ship the ‘Trident’—now on her second voyage from Australia?”“I did,” said Bax, shortly, not knowing how to take this sudden change of subject.“Do you suppose,” said Denham, with a peculiar curl of his lip, “that this interview will tend to improve your chance of obtaining that situation?”Denham put the question with the full expectation of humbling Bax, and with the further intention of following up his reply with the assurance that there was much greater probability of the moon being turned into green cheese than of his promotion taking place; but his intentions were frustrated by Bax starting, and, in a voice of indignation, exclaiming—“Sir, do you suppose I have come here to beg? If you were to offer me thecommandof the ‘Trident,’ or any other ship that you possess, I would refuse it with scorn. It is bad enough to risk one’s life in the rotten craft you send to sea; but that would be nothing compared with the shame of serving a house that thinks only of gain, and holds human life cheaper than the dirt I tread under my feet. No, sir; I came here to explain how the ‘Nancy’ was lost. Having done so, I take my leave.”“Stay,” said Denham, as Bax turned to go. “Perhaps you will do me one more service before we part. Will you kindly inform my nephew that he need not be in a hurry to come back here. I extend his leave. He may continue to absent himself as long as he pleases—to all eternity if it suits him.”Mr Denham flushed up with anger as he said the last words. Bax, without deigning a reply, turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the glass-door behind him with such violence that every panel in it was shivered to atoms! He wheeled round and re-entered the room. Denham grew pale, supposing that the roused giant was about to assault him; but Bax only pointed to the door, and said sternly— “Part of the wages due me will pay for that. You can keep the balance, and buy yourself a Bible with it.”Next moment he was gone, and Peekins stood staring at his master through the shattered door, trembling from head to foot. Immediately afterwards Denham took his hat and stick, and passed through the office. Pausing at the door he looked back:—“Ruggles.”“Yes, sir.”“There are five or six foreign letters in my desk for tomorrow’s post. Copy them out to-night. See that you do itto-night. Peekins will remain with you, and lock up after you have done.”Ruggles, who knew that this involved work till near midnight, humbly replied, “Yes, sir.”Having thus secured the misery of at least two human beings, Denham went home, somewhat relieved, to dinner.Bax unconsciously, but naturally, followed his example. He also went to dinner, but, having no home in that quarter, he went to the “Three Jolly Tars,” and found the landlord quite willing to supply all his wants on the shortest possible notice, namely, three-quarters of an hour.In a snug box of that celebrated place of entertainment, he found Tommy Bogey (whom he had brought with him) awaiting his appearance. The precocious youth was deeply immersed in a three-days’-old copy ofThe Times.“Hallo! Bax, you’ve been sharp about it,” said Tommy, laying down the paper and pulling a little black pipe out of his pocket, which he proceeded coolly and quietly to fill just as if he had been a bearded and grey-headed tar; for Tommy, being a worshipper of Bax, imitated, as all worshippers do, the bad as well as the good qualities of his hero, ignorant of, as well as indifferent to, the fact that it would have been more noble to imitate the good and avoid the bad.“Ay, we’ve settled it all slick off in no time,” said Bax, sitting down beside his young companion, and proceeding also to fill his pipe.“An’ wot about the widders and horphans?” inquired Tommy, beginning to smoke, and using his extremely little finger as a tobacco-stopper in a way that might have surprised a salamander.“The widows!” exclaimed Bax.“Ay, the widders—also the horphans,” repeated Tommy, with a grave nod of the head. “I ’ope he’s come down ’andsome.”“Tommy,” said Bax, with a disconcerted look, “I’ve forgot ’em altogether!”“Forgot ’em? Bax!”“It’s a fact,” said Bax, with much humility, “but the truth is, that we got to loggerheads, an’ of course you know it was out of the question to talk on such a subject when we were in that state.”“In course it was,” said Tommy. “But it’s a pity.”The fact was that Bax had intended to make an appeal to Mr Denham in behalf of the widows and children of the poor men who had been drowned on the night when the “Nancy” was wrecked; but the unexpected turn which the conversation took had driven that subject utterly out of his mind.“Well, Tommy, it can’t be helped now; and, after all, I don’t think the widows will come by any loss by my forgetfulness, for certain am I that Denham would as soon supply a best-bower anchor to the ‘Trident’ as give a sovereign to these poor people.”Bax and his young friend here relapsed into a state of silent fumigation from which they were aroused by the entrance of dinner. This meal consisted of beef-steaks and porter. But it is due to Bax to say that he advised his companion to confine his potations to water, which his companion willingly agreed to, as he would have done had Bax advised him to drink butter-milk, or cider, or to go without drink altogether.They were about done with dinner when a weak small voice in the passage attracted their attention.“Is there one of the name of Bax ’ere,” said the meek voice.“Here I am,” shouted Bax, “come in; what d’ye want with me?”Peekins entered in a state of great agitation.“Oh! sir, please sir,—I’ll never do it again; but I couldn’t help it indeed, indeed—I was dyin’, I was. It’s a great sin I knows, but—”Here Peekins burst into tears, and sat down on the seat opposite.“Wot a green ’un!” muttered Tommy, as he gazed at the tiger in blue through a volume of tobacco smoke.“What’s the matter, boy?” inquired Bax, in some surprise. “Anything wrong at Redwharf Lane?”“Ye-es—that’s to say, not exactly, only I’ve run’d away.”“You han’t run far, then,” said Bax, smiling. “How long is’t since you ran away?”“Just ten minutes.”Tommy burst into a laugh at this, and Peekins, feeling somewhat relieved, smiled idiotically through his tears.“Well now, my lad,” said Bax, leaning forward in a confidential way which quite won the affection of the tiger, and patting him on the shoulder, “I would advise you strongly to go back.”“Oh! sir, but I can’t,” said Peekins dolefully. “I dursn’t. My life is miserable there. Mr Denham is so ’ard on me that I feels like to die every time I sees ’im. It ain’t o’ no use” (here Peekins became wildly desperate), “Iwon’tgo back; ’cause if I do I’m sure to die slow; an’ I’d rather die quick at once and be done with it.”Bax opened his eyes very wide at this. It revealed a state of things that he had never before imagined. Tommy Bogey puffed so large a cloud that his face was quite concealed by it, and muttered “youaira rum ’un!”“Where d’ye stop, boy?” inquired Bax.“In lodgin’s in Fenchurch Street.”“D’ye owe ’em anything at the office?”“No, nothin’; they owes me seventeen and six.”“D’ye want it very much?”“O no, I don’t mindthat, bless ye,” said Peekins, earnestly.“What d’ye mean to do?” inquired Bax.“Go withyou—to sea,” replied the tiger, promptly.“But I’m not going to sea.”“Then, I’ll go with you wherever you please. I like you,” said the boy, springing suddenly to his side and grasping his hand, “I’ve no one in the world to care for but you. I never heard any one speak like you. If you’ll only let me be your servant, I’ll go with you to the end of the world, and—and—”Here poor Peekins was again overcome.“Brayvo!” shouted Tommy Bogey in admiration. “You’re not such a bad fellow after all.”“Poor boy,” said Bax, stroking the tiger’s head, “you are willing to trust too easily to a weak and broken reed. But, come, I’ll take you to the coast. Better to go there, after all, than stop with such a tender-hearted Christian as Mr Denham. Here, take a bit of dinner.”Having tasted no food since breakfast, Peekins gladly accepted the invitation, and ate heartily of the remnants of the meal, to the great satisfaction of his companions, especially of Tommy, who regarded him as one might regard a pet canary or rabbit, which requires to be fed plenteously and handled with extreme gentleness and care.

Mr Denham stood in front of his office fire with a coat-tail, as usual, under each arm; his feet planted on two little roses that grew on each side of a large bouquet which flourished perennially on his rug, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He had just arrived at Redwharf Lane, and looked quite fresh and ruddy from the exercise of walking, for Denham was a great walker, and frequently did the distance between his house and his office on foot.

Mr Crumps sat shivering in his own room, looking the reverse of ruddy, for Crumps was old and his blood was thin, and there was no fire in his room. It is but justice to say, however, that this was no fault of Denham’s, for the apartment of his junior partner did not possess a fireplace, and it could not be expected that a fire should be lit,à laRed Indian, on the middle of the floor. At all events Crumps did not expect it. He was not, therefore, liable to disappointment in his expectations. He contented himself, poor old man, with such genial gusts of second-hand warmth as burst in upon him from time to time from Denham’s room when the door was open, or poured in upon him in ameliorating rivulets through the keyhole, like a little gulf-stream, when the door was shut.

“The letters, sir,” said Peekins, the meek blue tiger in buttons, entering at that moment and laying a pile of letters on the table.

Had Peekins been a little dog without a soul, capable of wagging his tail and fawning, Denham would have patted him, but, being only a boy in blue with a meek spirit, the great man paid no attention to him whatever. He continued to gaze at the ceiling as if he were reading his destiny there. Perhaps he would have looked as blank as the ceiling had he known what that destiny was to be; but he did not know, fortunately (or unfortunately, if the reader chooses), hence he turned with a calm undisturbed countenance to peruse his letters after the boy had retired.

We do not say that Denham was a hard man; by no means; he was only peculiar in his views of things in general; that was all!

For some time Denham broke seals, read contents, and made jottings, without any expression whatever on his countenance. Presently he took up an ill-folded epistle addressed to “Mister Denham” in a round and rather rugged hand.

“Begging,” he muttered with a slight frown.

“‘Dear Uncle’ (‘eh!’ he exclaimed,—turned over the leaf in surprise, read the signature, and turned back to the beginning again, with the least possible tinge of surprise still remaining), ‘I’m sorry’ (humph) ‘to have to inform you that theNancyhas become a total wreck,’ (‘indeed!’) ‘on the Goodwin Sands.’ (‘Amazing sands these. What a quantity of wealth they have swallowed up!’) ‘The cargo has been entirely lost,’—(‘ah! it was insured to its full value,’) ‘also two of the hands.’ (‘H’m, their lives wouldn’t be insured. These rough creatures never do insure their lives; wonderfully improvident!’) ‘I am at present disabled, from the effects of a blow on the head received during the storm.’ (Very awkward; particularly so just now.) ‘No doubt Bax will be up immediately to give you particulars.’” (Humph!)

“‘The cause of the loss of your schooner was, inmyopinion,’ (Mr Denham’s eyebrows here rose in contemptuous surprise), ‘unseaworthiness of vessel and stores.’”

Mr Denham made no comment on this part of the epistle. A dark frown settled on his brow as he crumpled the letter in his hand, dropped it on the ground as if it had been a loathsome creature, and set his foot on it.

Denham was uncommonly gruff and forbidding all that day. He spoke harshly to old Mr Crumps; found fault with the clerks to such an extent, that they began to regard the office as a species of Pandemonium whichoughtto have smelt sulphurous instead of musty; and rendered the life of Peekins so insupportable that the poor boy occupied his few moments of leisure in speculating on the average duration of human life and wondering whether it would not be better, on the whole, to make himself an exception to the general rule by leaping off London Bridge at high water—blue-tights, buttons, and all!

Things continued in this felicitous condition in the office until five in the afternoon, when there was a change, not so much in the moral as in the physical atmosphere. It came in the form of a thick fog, which rolled down the crooked places of Redwharf Lane, poured through keyholes, curled round the cranes on the warehouses, and the old anchors, cables, and buoys in the lumber-yards; travelled over the mudflats, and crept out upon the muddy river among the colliers, rendering light things indistinct, black things blacker, dark places darker, and affording such an opportunity for unrestrained enjoyment to the rats, that these creatures held an absolute carnival everywhere.

About this period of the day Mr Denham rose, put on his hat and greatcoat, and prepared to go. Peekins observed this through a private scratch in the glass door, and signalised the gladsome news in dumb-show to his comrades. Hope at once took the place of despair in the office, for lads and very young men are happily furnished with extremely elastic spirits. The impulse of joy caused by the prospect of Denham’s departure was so strong in the breast of one youth, with red hair, a red nose, red cheeks, large red lips, blue eyes, and red hands (Ruggles by name), that he incontinently seized a sheet of blotting-paper, crumpled it into a ball, and flung it at the head of the youngest clerk, a dark little boy, who sat opposite to him on a tall stool, and who, being a new boy, was copying letters painfully but diligently with a heavy heart.

The missile was well aimed. It hit the new boy exactly on the point of the nose, causing him to start and prolong the tail of a y an inch and a quarter beyond its natural limits.

This little incident would not have been worth mentioning but for the fact that it was the hinge, so to speak, on which incidents of a more important nature turned. Mr Denham happened to open his door just as the missile was discharged and saw the result, though not the thrower. He had no difficulty, however, in discovering the offender; for each of the other clerks looked at their comrade in virtuous horror, as though to say, “Oh! how could you?—please, sir, it wasn’tme, it washim;” while Ruggles applied himself to his work with an air of abstraction and a face of scarlet that said plainly, “It’s of no use staring in that fashion at me, for I’m as innocent as the unborn babe.”

Denham frowned portentously, and that peculiarly dead calm which usually precedes the bursting of a storm prevailed in the office. Before the storm burst, however, the outer door was opened hastily and our friend Bax stood in the room. He was somewhat dishevelled in appearance, as if he had travelled fast. To the clerks in that small office he appeared more fierce and gigantic than usual. Peekins regarded him with undisguised admiration, and wondered in his heart if Jack the Giant-Killer would have dared to encounter such a being, supposing him to have had the chance.

“I’m glad I am not too late to find you here, sir,” said Bax, puffing off his hat and bowing slightly to his employer.

“Humph!” ejaculated Denham, “step this way.”

They entered the inner office, and, the door being shut, Ruggles internally blessed Bax and breathed freely. Under the influence of reaction he even looked defiant.

“So you have lost your schooner,” began Denham, sitting down in his chair of state and eyeing the seaman sternly. Bax returned the gaze so much more sternly that Denham felt disconcerted but did not allow his feelings to betray themselves.

“The schoonerhasbeen lost,” said Bax, “and I am here to report the fact and to present these letters, one from the seamen’s missionary at Ramsgate, the other from your nephew, both of which will show you that no blame attaches to me. I regret the loss, deeply, but it was un—”

Bax was going to have said unavoidable, but he felt that the expression would have been incorrect, and stopped.

“Finish your remark,” said Denham.

“I merely wished to say that it was out ofmypower to prevent it.”

“Oh!” interjected Denham, sarcastically, as he read the letters. “The seamen’s missionary is one of whom I know nothing. His opinion, therefore, carries no weight. As to my nephew,hisremarks are simply unworthy of notice. But you say that no blame attaches toyou. To whom then does blame attach, if not to the skipper of the vessel? Do you mean to lay it at the door of Providence?”

“No, sir, I do not,” replied Bax.

“Have you, then, the presumption to insinuate that it lies withme?”

Bax was silent.

“Am I to expect an answer?” said Denham.

“I make no insinuations,” said Bax, after a short pause; “I do but state facts. If the ‘Nancy’ had been fitted with a new tops’l-yard and jib-boom, as I advised last summer, I would have carried her safe into the Downs.”

“So,” said Denham, in a tone of increasing sarcasm, “you have the hardihood to insinuate that it wasmyfault?”

Bax reddened with indignation at the tone of insult in which these words were uttered. His bass voice grew deeper and sterner as he said:—

“If you insist on plain speaking, sir, you shall have it. Idothink the blame of the loss of the ‘Nancy’ lies at your door, and worse than that, the loss of two human lives lies there also. There was not a sound timber or a seaworthy article aboard of the schooner from stem to stern. You know well enough that I have told you this,—in more civil language it may be,—again and again; and I hope that the telling of it now, flatly, will induce you to consider the immense responsibility that lies on your shoulders; for there are other ships belonging to your firm in much the same condition—ships with inferior charts and instruments, unsound spars, not enough of boats, and with anchors and chains scarce powerful enough to hold a Deal lugger in a moderate gale.”

Mr Denham was not prepared for this sudden and wholesale condemnation of himself and his property. He gazed at the seaman’s flushed countenance for a few seconds in mute surprise. At last he recovered self-possession, and said in a calm voice—

“You applied last year, if I remember rightly, for the situation of mate aboard our ship the ‘Trident’—now on her second voyage from Australia?”

“I did,” said Bax, shortly, not knowing how to take this sudden change of subject.

“Do you suppose,” said Denham, with a peculiar curl of his lip, “that this interview will tend to improve your chance of obtaining that situation?”

Denham put the question with the full expectation of humbling Bax, and with the further intention of following up his reply with the assurance that there was much greater probability of the moon being turned into green cheese than of his promotion taking place; but his intentions were frustrated by Bax starting, and, in a voice of indignation, exclaiming—“Sir, do you suppose I have come here to beg? If you were to offer me thecommandof the ‘Trident,’ or any other ship that you possess, I would refuse it with scorn. It is bad enough to risk one’s life in the rotten craft you send to sea; but that would be nothing compared with the shame of serving a house that thinks only of gain, and holds human life cheaper than the dirt I tread under my feet. No, sir; I came here to explain how the ‘Nancy’ was lost. Having done so, I take my leave.”

“Stay,” said Denham, as Bax turned to go. “Perhaps you will do me one more service before we part. Will you kindly inform my nephew that he need not be in a hurry to come back here. I extend his leave. He may continue to absent himself as long as he pleases—to all eternity if it suits him.”

Mr Denham flushed up with anger as he said the last words. Bax, without deigning a reply, turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the glass-door behind him with such violence that every panel in it was shivered to atoms! He wheeled round and re-entered the room. Denham grew pale, supposing that the roused giant was about to assault him; but Bax only pointed to the door, and said sternly— “Part of the wages due me will pay for that. You can keep the balance, and buy yourself a Bible with it.”

Next moment he was gone, and Peekins stood staring at his master through the shattered door, trembling from head to foot. Immediately afterwards Denham took his hat and stick, and passed through the office. Pausing at the door he looked back:—

“Ruggles.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There are five or six foreign letters in my desk for tomorrow’s post. Copy them out to-night. See that you do itto-night. Peekins will remain with you, and lock up after you have done.”

Ruggles, who knew that this involved work till near midnight, humbly replied, “Yes, sir.”

Having thus secured the misery of at least two human beings, Denham went home, somewhat relieved, to dinner.

Bax unconsciously, but naturally, followed his example. He also went to dinner, but, having no home in that quarter, he went to the “Three Jolly Tars,” and found the landlord quite willing to supply all his wants on the shortest possible notice, namely, three-quarters of an hour.

In a snug box of that celebrated place of entertainment, he found Tommy Bogey (whom he had brought with him) awaiting his appearance. The precocious youth was deeply immersed in a three-days’-old copy ofThe Times.

“Hallo! Bax, you’ve been sharp about it,” said Tommy, laying down the paper and pulling a little black pipe out of his pocket, which he proceeded coolly and quietly to fill just as if he had been a bearded and grey-headed tar; for Tommy, being a worshipper of Bax, imitated, as all worshippers do, the bad as well as the good qualities of his hero, ignorant of, as well as indifferent to, the fact that it would have been more noble to imitate the good and avoid the bad.

“Ay, we’ve settled it all slick off in no time,” said Bax, sitting down beside his young companion, and proceeding also to fill his pipe.

“An’ wot about the widders and horphans?” inquired Tommy, beginning to smoke, and using his extremely little finger as a tobacco-stopper in a way that might have surprised a salamander.

“The widows!” exclaimed Bax.

“Ay, the widders—also the horphans,” repeated Tommy, with a grave nod of the head. “I ’ope he’s come down ’andsome.”

“Tommy,” said Bax, with a disconcerted look, “I’ve forgot ’em altogether!”

“Forgot ’em? Bax!”

“It’s a fact,” said Bax, with much humility, “but the truth is, that we got to loggerheads, an’ of course you know it was out of the question to talk on such a subject when we were in that state.”

“In course it was,” said Tommy. “But it’s a pity.”

The fact was that Bax had intended to make an appeal to Mr Denham in behalf of the widows and children of the poor men who had been drowned on the night when the “Nancy” was wrecked; but the unexpected turn which the conversation took had driven that subject utterly out of his mind.

“Well, Tommy, it can’t be helped now; and, after all, I don’t think the widows will come by any loss by my forgetfulness, for certain am I that Denham would as soon supply a best-bower anchor to the ‘Trident’ as give a sovereign to these poor people.”

Bax and his young friend here relapsed into a state of silent fumigation from which they were aroused by the entrance of dinner. This meal consisted of beef-steaks and porter. But it is due to Bax to say that he advised his companion to confine his potations to water, which his companion willingly agreed to, as he would have done had Bax advised him to drink butter-milk, or cider, or to go without drink altogether.

They were about done with dinner when a weak small voice in the passage attracted their attention.

“Is there one of the name of Bax ’ere,” said the meek voice.

“Here I am,” shouted Bax, “come in; what d’ye want with me?”

Peekins entered in a state of great agitation.

“Oh! sir, please sir,—I’ll never do it again; but I couldn’t help it indeed, indeed—I was dyin’, I was. It’s a great sin I knows, but—”

Here Peekins burst into tears, and sat down on the seat opposite.

“Wot a green ’un!” muttered Tommy, as he gazed at the tiger in blue through a volume of tobacco smoke.

“What’s the matter, boy?” inquired Bax, in some surprise. “Anything wrong at Redwharf Lane?”

“Ye-es—that’s to say, not exactly, only I’ve run’d away.”

“You han’t run far, then,” said Bax, smiling. “How long is’t since you ran away?”

“Just ten minutes.”

Tommy burst into a laugh at this, and Peekins, feeling somewhat relieved, smiled idiotically through his tears.

“Well now, my lad,” said Bax, leaning forward in a confidential way which quite won the affection of the tiger, and patting him on the shoulder, “I would advise you strongly to go back.”

“Oh! sir, but I can’t,” said Peekins dolefully. “I dursn’t. My life is miserable there. Mr Denham is so ’ard on me that I feels like to die every time I sees ’im. It ain’t o’ no use” (here Peekins became wildly desperate), “Iwon’tgo back; ’cause if I do I’m sure to die slow; an’ I’d rather die quick at once and be done with it.”

Bax opened his eyes very wide at this. It revealed a state of things that he had never before imagined. Tommy Bogey puffed so large a cloud that his face was quite concealed by it, and muttered “youaira rum ’un!”

“Where d’ye stop, boy?” inquired Bax.

“In lodgin’s in Fenchurch Street.”

“D’ye owe ’em anything at the office?”

“No, nothin’; they owes me seventeen and six.”

“D’ye want it very much?”

“O no, I don’t mindthat, bless ye,” said Peekins, earnestly.

“What d’ye mean to do?” inquired Bax.

“Go withyou—to sea,” replied the tiger, promptly.

“But I’m not going to sea.”

“Then, I’ll go with you wherever you please. I like you,” said the boy, springing suddenly to his side and grasping his hand, “I’ve no one in the world to care for but you. I never heard any one speak like you. If you’ll only let me be your servant, I’ll go with you to the end of the world, and—and—”

Here poor Peekins was again overcome.

“Brayvo!” shouted Tommy Bogey in admiration. “You’re not such a bad fellow after all.”

“Poor boy,” said Bax, stroking the tiger’s head, “you are willing to trust too easily to a weak and broken reed. But, come, I’ll take you to the coast. Better to go there, after all, than stop with such a tender-hearted Christian as Mr Denham. Here, take a bit of dinner.”

Having tasted no food since breakfast, Peekins gladly accepted the invitation, and ate heartily of the remnants of the meal, to the great satisfaction of his companions, especially of Tommy, who regarded him as one might regard a pet canary or rabbit, which requires to be fed plenteously and handled with extreme gentleness and care.

Chapter Ten.The “Hovel” on Deal Beach—A Storm Brewing—Plans to Circumvent the Smugglers.On a calm, soft, beautiful evening, about a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, Guy Foster issued from Sandhill Cottage, and took his way towards the beach of Deal.It was one of those inexpressibly sweet, motionless evenings, in which one is inclined, if in ordinary health, to rejoice in one’s existence; and in which the Christian is led irresistibly to join with the Psalmist in praising God, “for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men.”Young Foster’s thoughts ran for a considerable time in this latter channel; for he was one of those youthful Christians whose love to our Saviour does not easily grow cold. He was wont to read the Bible as if he really believed it to be the Word of God, and acted in accordance with its precepts with a degree of bold simplicity and trustfulness, that made him a laughing-stock to some, and a subject of surprise and admiration to others, of his companions and acquaintance. In short, he was a Christian of a cheerful, straightforward stamp.Yet Guy’s course was not all sunshine, neither was his conduct altogether immaculate. He was not exempt from the general rule, that “through much tribulation” men shall enter into the Kingdom. As he walked along, rejoicing in his existence and in the beauty of that magnificent evening, a cloud would rise occasionally and call forth a sigh, as he recollected the polite intimation of his uncle, that he had extended his leave of absenceadinfinitum! He could not shut his eyes to the fact that a brilliant mercantile career on which he had recently entered, and on which he might naturally look as the course cut out for him by Providence, was suddenly closed against him for ever. He knew his uncle’s temper too well to expect that he would relent, and he felt that to retract a statement which he knew to be true, or to express regret for having boldly told the truth as he had done, was out of the question. Besides, he was well aware that such a course would not now avail to restore him to his lost position. It remained, therefore, that, being without influential friends, he must begin over again and carve his own way in the world.But what then? Was this not the lot of hundreds of thousands? Little time had been lost; he was young, and strong, and hearty. God had written, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.” “Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, as unto the Lord, and not unto men.” Under the influence of such thoughts the clouds cleared away from Guy’s brow, and he raised his eyes, which for some minutes had been cast down, with a hopeful gaze to the heavens.There he soon became lost in admiration of the clouds that were floating in masses of amber and gold; rising over each other—piled up, mass upon mass—grotesque sometimes in form, solid yet soft in aspect, and inexpressibly grand, as a whole, in their towering magnificence.There were signs, however, among the gorgeous beauties of this cloud-land, that were significant to eyes accustomed to read the face of the sky. Various lurid and luminous clouds of grey and Indian-red hues told of approaching storm, and the men of Deal knew that the sea, which just then pictured every cloud in its glassy depths as clearly as if there had been another cloud-land below its surface, would, ere long, be ruffled with a stiffish breeze; perhaps be tossed by a heavy gale.Men in general are not prone to meditate very deeply on what is going on around them beyond the reach of their own vision. This is natural and right to some extent. If we were to be deeply touched by the joys, sorrows, calamities, and incidents that at all times affect humanity, we should cease to enjoy existence. Life would become a burden. The end of our creation would not be attained. Yet there is an evil of an opposite kind which often mars our usefulness, and makes us unconsciously participators in acts of injustice. This evil is, partial ignorance of, and indifference to, much that goes on around us beyond the range of our vision, but which nevertheless claims our attention and regard.Every one who reflects will admit that it is pleasant to think, when we retire to rest, that a splendid system of police renders our home a place of safety, and that, although there are villains more than enough who would do their best to get at our purses and plate, we need not make ourselves uneasy so long as the stout guardians of the night are on the beat. Do we not congratulate ourselves on this? and do we not pay the police-tax without grumbling, or at least with less grumbling than we vent when paying other taxes?Should it, good reader, be less a subject of pleasant contemplation that, when the midnight storm threatens to burst upon our shores, there are men abroad who are skilled in the perilous work of snatching its prey from the raging sea; that, when the howling gale rattles our windows and shakes our very walls, inducing us perchance to utter the mental prayer, “God have mercy on all who are on the sea this night,” that then—at that very time—the heroes of our coast are abroad all round the kingdom; strong in the possession of dauntless hearts and iron frames, and ready to plunge at any moment into the foaming sea to the rescue of life or property?Who can say, during any storm, that he may not be personally interested in the efforts of those heroes?We knew a family, the members of which, like those of all the other families in the land, listened to the howling of that fearful storm which covered our shores with wrecks on the 25th of November, 1859. Their thoughts were sad and anxious, as must be the case, more or less, with all who reflect that in such nights hundreds of human beings arecertainlyperishing on our shores. But ah! what would the feelings of that family have been had they known—as they soon came to know—that two stalwart brothers of their own went down that night among the 450 human beings who perished in the wreck of the “Royal Charter?”In regard to the “Royal Charter,” it may be truly said that there was no necessity for the loss of that vessel. God did not senddirectdestruction upon her. The engines were too weak to work her off the land in the face of the gale, and the cables could not hold her. These were among the causes of her loss. And when she did get ashore, every life might have been saved had there been a lifeboat or rocket apparatus at hand. We know not why there were neither; but may it not have been because lifeboats and rockets are not sufficiently numerous all along our shores? How many bleeding hearts there were that would have given drops of their life-blood to have provided the means of saving life on the coast of Anglesea on that terrible night! A few small coins given at an earlier date might have saved those lives! No individual in the land, however far removed from the coast, can claim exemption from the dangers of the sea. His own head may indeed lie safe from the raging billow, but at any moment the sea may grasp some loved one, and thus wreck his peace of mind, or engulf his property and wreck his fortune. Why, then, should not the whole nation take the affairs of the coast nearer to its heart? The Lifeboat Institution is not supported by taxation like our police force. It depends on the charity of the people. Don’t you think, reader, that it has a strong claim on the sympathies, the prayers, and the purse of every living soul in the kingdom? But to return, with many apologies, from this digression.Guy Foster noted the peculiar appearance of the clouds, and concluded that “something was brewing.” All along the shores stout men in glazed and tarry garments noted the same appearances, and also concluded that it would be dirty weather before long. The lifeboat men, too, were on thequi vive; and, doubtless, the coxswain of each boat, from John o’ Groat’s to the Land’s-end, was overhauling his charge to see that all was right and in readiness for instant service.“It’s going to blow to-night, Bax,” said Guy, on entering the hovel of the former.“So ’tis,” replied Bax, who was standing beside his friends Bluenose and Tommy Bogey, watching old Jeph, as he busied himself with the model of his lifeboat.Jeph said that in his opinion it was going to be a regular nor’-easter, and Bluenose intimated his adherence to the same opinion, with a slap on his thigh, and a huge puff of smoke.“You’re long about that boat, Jeph,” said Bluenose, after a pause, during which he scanned the horizon with a telescope.“So I am. It ain’t easy to carry out the notion.”“An’ wot may the notion be?” inquired Bluenose, sitting down on a coil of rope, and gazing earnestly at the old man.“To get lifeboats to right themselves w’en they’re upset,” replied Jeph, regarding his model with a look of perplexity. “You see it’s all very well to have ’em filled with air-chambers, which prevents ’em from sinkin’; but w’en they’re upset, d’ye see, they ain’t o’ no use till they gets on their keels again; and that ain’t easy to manage. Now I’ve bin thinkin’ that if we wos to give ’em more sheer, and raise the stem and stern a bit, they’d turn over natural-like, of their own accord.”“I do believe they would,” said Bax. “Why, what put that into yer head, old man?”“Well, it ain’t altogether my own notion,” said Jeph, “for I’ve heard, when I was in the port o’ Leith, many years ago, that a clergyman o’ the name of Bremer had made a boat o’ this sort in the year 1792, that answered very well; but, somehow or other, it never came to anything. There’s nothin’ that puzzles me so much as that,” said the old man, looking up with a wondering expression of countenance. “I don’t understand how, w’en a good thing is found out, it ain’t made the most ofat once! I never could discover exactly what Mr Bremer’s plan was, so I’m tryin’ to invent one.”As he said this, Jeph placed the model on which he was engaged in a small tub of water which stood at his elbow. Guy, who was much interested in the old man’s idea, bent over him to observe the result of the experiment. Tommy Bogey sat down beside the tub as eagerly as if he expected some wonderful transformation to take place. Bax and Bluenose also looked on with unusual interest, as if they felt that a crisis in the experimental labours of their old comrade had arrived.“It floats first-rate on an even keel,” cried Tommy, with a pleased look as the miniature boat moved slowly round its little ocean, “now then, capsize it.”Old Jeph quietly put his finger on the side of the little boat, and turned it upside down. Instead of remaining in that position it rolled over on one side so much, that the onlookers fully expected to see it right itself, and Tommy gave vent to a premature cheer, but he cut it suddenly short on observing that the boat remained on its side with one of the gunwales immersed, unable to attain an even keel in consequence of the weight of water inside of it.“I tell ye wot it is, Jeph,” said Bluenose, with emphasis, “you’ll do it yet; if you don’t I’ll eat my sou’-wester without sauce, so I will. As the noospapers says, you’ll inaggerate a new era in lifeboats, old boy, that’s a fact, and I’ll live to see it too!”Having delivered himself of this opinion in tones of much fervour, the captain delivered his mouth of a series of cloudlets, and gazed through them at his old friend with unfeigned admiration.Guy and Bax were both impressed with the partial success of the experiment, as well as with Jeph’s idea, and said to him, encouragingly, that he had very near hit it, but Jeph himself only shook his head and smiled sadly.“Lads,” said he, “very nearis sometimes a long way farther off than folk suppose. Perpetual motion has binvery nearlydiscovered ever since men began to try their hands at engineerin’, but it ain’t discovered yet, nor never will be—’cause why? it ain’t possible.”“Ain’t poss’ble!” echoed Bluenose, “you’re out there, old man. I diskivered it, years ago. Just you go up to Sandhill Cottage, and inquire for one Mrs Laker, a hupright and justifiable sister o’ mine. Open that ’ooman’s mouth an’ look in (she won’t bite if ye don’t bother her too much), and lyin’ in that there cavern ye’ll see a thing called atongue,—if that ain’t an engine of perpetooal motion, shiver my timbers! that’s all.”Just as the captain made this reckless offer to sacrifice his timbers, Peekins—formerly the blue tiger—entered the hovel, and going hastily to Bluenose, whispered in his ear.A very remarkable transformation had taken place in the outward man of poor Peekins. After coming with Bax to Deal he had been adopted, as it were, by the co-partners of the hovel, and was, so to speak, shared equally by Bax, Bluenose, old Jeph, and Tommy. The wonderfully thin and spider-like appearance which he presented in his blue-tights and buttons on his arrival, created such a howl of derisive astonishment among the semi-nautical boys of Deal, that his friends became heartily ashamed of him. Bax, therefore, walked him off at once to a slop-shop, where sea-stores of every possible or conceivable kind could be purchased at reasonable prices, from a cotton kerchief, with the Union Jack in the middle of it, to the old anchor of a seventy-four gun ship, with a wooden stock big enough to make a canoe.Here Peekins was disrobed of his old garments, and clad in canvas trousers, pilot-cloth jacket and vest, with capacious pockets, and a sou’-wester; all of which fitted him so loosely that he felt persuaded in his own mind he could easily have jumped out of them with an upward bound, or have slipped out of them downwards through either leg of the pantaloons. He went into that store a blue spider, he came out a reasonable-looking seafaring boy, rather narrow and sloping about the shoulders, it is true, but smart enough and baggy enough—especially about the nether garments—to please even Bax, who, in such matters, was rather fastidious.The whispered communication, above referred to, had the effect of causing Bluenose to spring up from the coil of rope, and exclaim— “You don’t say so!”Then, checking himself, and looking mysterious, he said he wanted to have a word with Bax in private, and would be obligated if he’d go with him a bit along shore.“Well, what’s the news?” inquired Bax, when they were alone.“We’ve heerd of Long Orrick,” said Bluenose, eagerly.“That’s not much news,” said Bax; “you told me there wasn’t enough witnesses to swear to him, or something o’ that sort, and that it would be no use attempting to put him in limbo, didn’t you?”“Ay,” replied the other, striking his clenched right hand into the palm of his left, “but the villain don’t the less deserve to be tied up, and get twelve dozen for all that. I’d content myself with knocking out both his daylights for his cowardly attempt to badger an old man, but that wouldn’t be safe; besides, I know’d well enough he’d take to smugglin’ again, an’ soon give us a chance to nab him at his old tricks; so Coleman and I have been keepin’ a look-out on him; and we’ve found that small yard o’ pump-water, Peekins, oncommon clever in the way o’ watchin’. He’s just brought me word that he heard Long Orrick talkin’ with his chum Rodney Nick, an’ plannin’ to run their lugger to-night into Pegwell Bay, as the coast at the Fiddler’s Cave would be too well watched; so I’m goin’ down to Fiddler’s Cave to-night, and I wants you to go with me. We’ll get Coleman to help us, for he’s savage to get hold of Long Orrick ever since the night they put him in a sack, an’ left him to air his timbers in the Great Chapel Field.”“But if,” said Bax, “Long Orrick said he would run to Pegwell Bay, which is three or four miles to the nor’ard o’ this, and resolved that he wouldnotgo to Fiddler’s Cave, which is six miles to the s’uth’ard, why should you go to the very place he’s not likely to be found at?”“Because I knows the man,” replied Bluenose, with a wink of deep meaning; “I knows him better than you do. W’en Long Orrick is seen bearin’ away due north with flying colours, you may take your Davy that his true course lies south, or thereby.”Bax smiled, and suggested that they should take Guy Foster with them, and when Tommy Bogey heard what they were about he volunteered his services, which were accepted laughingly. Being of a sociable disposition, Tommy deemed it prudent to press Peekins into the service, and Peekins, albeit not pugnacious by nature, was quite willing and ready to follow wherever his sturdy little friend chose to lead.So they all set off, along the road that skirts the beach, towards Saint Margaret’s Bay. The sun was just sinking as they started, and the red clouds were beginning to deepen in their colour and look ominous, though the sea was still quiet and clear like a sheet of glass.After following the road for some time, they diverged into the footpath that leads to, and winds along the giddy edge of, the chalk cliffs which rise abruptly from the shore at this part of the Kentish coast to the height of several hundred feet.The path being narrow, they were obliged to walk in single file, Bax leading, Bluenose and Guy following, and Tommy with his meek friend bringing up the rear.The view seawards was indescribably magnificent from the elevated ridge along which they hastened. The Downs was crowded with hundreds of vessels of every form and size, as well as of every country, all waiting for a favourable breeze to enable them to quit the roadstead and put to sea. Pilot luggers and other shore-boats of various kinds were moving about among these; some on the look-out for employment, others intent on doing a stroke of business in the smuggling way, if convenient. Far away along the beach men of the coastguard might be seen, like little black specks, with telescopes actively employed, ready to pounce on and overhaul (more or less stringently according to circumstances) every boat that touched the shingle. Everything in nature seemed silent and motionless, with the exception of the sea-mews that wheeled round the summits of the cliffs or dived into the glassy sea.All these things were noted and appreciated in various degrees by the members of the party who hastened towards Saint Margaret’s Bay, but none of them commented much on the scenery. They were too well accustomed to the face of nature in every varying mood to be much struck with her face on the present occasion. Perhaps we may except Guy Foster, who, being more of a city man than his companions, besides being more highly educated, was more deeply impressed by what he saw that evening. But Guy was too much absorbed by the object of the expedition to venture any remark on the beautiful aspect of nature.“D’ye see that lugger, Bax?” said Bluenose, pointing to a particular spot on the sea.“Between the Yankee and the Frenchman?” said Bax, “I see it well enough. What then?”“That’s Long Orrick’s boat,” replied the Captain, “I’d know it among a thousand. Depend on it we’ll nab him to-night with a rich cargo of baccy and brandy a-board. The two B’s are too much for him. He’d sell his soul for baccy and brandy.”“That’s not such an uncommon weakness as you seem to think,” observed Guy. “Every day men sell their souls for more worthless things.”“D’ye think so?” said Bluenose, with a philosophical twist in his eyebrows.“I know it,” returned Guy; “men often sell both body and soul (as far as we can judge) for a mere idea.”Here Bax, who had been examining the lugger in question with a pocket-telescope, said that he had no doubt whatever Bluenose was right, and hastened forward at a smarter pace than before.In less than two hours they descended the steep cliffs to the shingle of Saint Margaret’s Bay; and at the same time the wind began to rise, while the shades of night gradually overspread the scene.Saint Margaret’s Bay is one of those small, quiet, secluded hamlets which are not unfrequently met with along our coasts, and in regard to which the stranger is irresistibly led to ask mentally, if not really, “Why did people ever come to build cottages and dwell here, and what do they do? How do they make a livelihood?”No stranger ever obtains a satisfactory answer to these questions, for the very good reason that, short though they be, the answers to them would involve almost a volume, or a speech equal in length to that with which the Chancellor of the Exchequer introduces his annual budget. There would be various classes to describe, numerous wants to apprehend, peculiar circumstances and conditions of social life to explain; in short, the thing is a mystery to many, and we merely remark on the fact, without having any intention of attempting to clear the mystery away.So narrow is the strip of shingle that lies between the sea and the cliffs in Saint Margaret’s Bay, that the cottages have been built close up to the latter—much too close, we venture to think, for safety; but perhaps men who live in constant peril of their lives, count the additional risk of being crushed along with their families under twenty or thirty tons of chalk, unworthy of consideration!On descending to the beach the first thing our party saw was the burly figure of Coleman seated on his “donkey” by the “sad sea waves.”It must not be supposed that the coast-guard-man was literally astride of a live ass! No; his “donkey” was an exceedingly ingenious contrivance invented specially for the use of a class of men who, being human, cannot avoid becoming fatigued—yet who, being sentinels, must not on any account whatever be permitted to encourage sleep.The men of the coast-guard are subject to prolonged and frequent periods of watching, by night as well as by day, hence they are liable to become wearied. It has been wisely considered that the most self-denying mortal alive will, when hard pressed, sit down on a rock or on the ground, if need be, just to relieve his legs a little. The same wise consideration has recalled the fact that when men do this they become helplessly incapable of resisting the drowsy god, and will assuredly go to sleep, against their will and their judgment.To meet this case, some truly great mind invented the “donkey.” This contrivance is simply a stool withoneleg. The top of the stool is not round, but oblong, and very small. A hole in the centre receives the solitary leg, which is attached to it by a piece of cord, and can be pulled out when occasion requires, and the machine thrown over the arm as one would throw a cloak or scarf. The beauty of the donkey is, that it forms an excellent seat on which a man can balance himself and rest with great comfort as long as he keeps awake; but should he fall asleep, even for one instant, he infallibly comes to the ground with a shock so severe that he is quite certain to remain wakeful during the remainder of his vigil!“What, ho! Coleman,” cried Bax, as he and his friends drew near, “have you actually acquired the art of sleeping on a donkey?”Coleman rose and turned round with a good-humoured smile on his ruddy visage:“Nay, not quite that,” said he, “but the hiss of the waves is apt to dull the hearin’ a bit, an’ one don’t naturally look for enemies from land’ard, d’ye see?”“Mayhap not,” said Bluenose, taking a fresh quid of tobacco out of a brass box which he carried at all times in his waistcoat pocket; “but I expect an enemy from seaward to-night who’ll be oncommon glad to make your acquaintance, no doubt!”Here the Captain chuckled, engulfed his fresh quid, and proceeded to explain the nature of their errand. Having done so, he asked Coleman what he thought of it.The worthy coast-guard-man scratched his nose and stared at the shingle for some minutes before venturing to reply.“I think,” said he at length, “that we’ll cook his goose to-night; that’s wot it is.”Coleman paused, and looked thoughtfully at Bluenose. The Captain nodded his head pleasantly, but said nothing, and Coleman proceeded:—“He’ll come in with the flood-tide no doubt, if the gale don’t drive him in sooner, an’ run ashore as near to the cave as possible; but he’ll be scared away if he sees anything like unusual watchin’ on the shore, so you’d better get out o’ sight as fast as ye can, and keep there.”“Don’t you think it would be as well that you also should keep out of sight, and so leave the coast clear for him?” suggested Bax.“Not so,” said Coleman with a grin, “he’d see that I’d done it for an object. Long Orrick keeps his weather eye too wide open to be caught so easy as that comes to.”“Well, but come up for half-an-hour, and have a glass of beer while we talk over the business,” said Bax.Coleman shook his head, “Can’t quit my post; besides, I don’t drink no beer.”“Brayvo! old feller,” cried Bluenose, “give us your flipper. Water, cold, for ever! say I, as the whale remarked to the porpoise. But let’s go under the lee o’ the boat-’ouse an’ talk it out, for we shan’t nab Long Orrick this night, if we doesn’t go at ’im like a cat at a mouse.”“Just listen to that old codfish,” said Tommy Bogey to Peekins, “takin’ credit to his-self for not drinkin’, though he smokes like a steam-tug, an’ chews like—like—I’m a Dutchman if I know what, unless it be like the bo’sun of a seventy-four gun ship.”“Do bo’suns of seventy-four gun ships chew very bad?” inquired Peekins.“Oh! don’t they!” exclaimed Tommy, opening his eyes very wide, and rounding his mouth so as to express his utter inability to convey any idea of the terrific powers of bo’suns in that particular line. “But Bluenose beats ’em all. He’d chew oakum, I do believe, if he didn’t get baccy, and yet he boasts of not drinkin’! Seems to me he’s just as bad as the rest of us.”“D’you think so?” said Peekins, with a doubtful look; “don’t you think the man who does only two nasty things is better off than the one that does three?”“Nasty things!” exclaimed Tommy in a tone of amazement. “Don’t Bax drink and smoke, and d’ye thinkhe’ddo one or t’other if they was nasty? Peekins, you small villian as was a blue spider only a week since, if you ever talks of them things being nasty again, I’ll wop you!”“You hear that, Bax?” said Guy Foster, who, being only a few paces ahead of the boys, had overheard the remark, spoken as it was in rather a loud key.Bax nodded his head, and smiled, but made no reply.It is but just to say that Tommy’s threat was uttered more than half in jest. He would as soon have thought of “wopping” a little girl as of maltreating his meek companion. But Peekins was uncertain how to take his threat, so, not being desirous of a wopping, he held his tongue and humbly followed his comrades.The party walked for some time at the foot of the cliffs under the lee of a boat-house, engaged in earnest conversation as to the best mode of proceeding in the meditated enterprise. It was evident to all of them that the hour for action could not now be far distant; for the gale increased every moment; the light on the South Foreland was already sending its warning rays far and wide over the angry sea, whence the floating lights that mark the sands sent back their nightly greeting, while dark thunderous clouds mantled over the sky and deepened the shades of night which, ere long, completely overspread land and sea.

On a calm, soft, beautiful evening, about a week after the events narrated in the last chapter, Guy Foster issued from Sandhill Cottage, and took his way towards the beach of Deal.

It was one of those inexpressibly sweet, motionless evenings, in which one is inclined, if in ordinary health, to rejoice in one’s existence; and in which the Christian is led irresistibly to join with the Psalmist in praising God, “for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men.”

Young Foster’s thoughts ran for a considerable time in this latter channel; for he was one of those youthful Christians whose love to our Saviour does not easily grow cold. He was wont to read the Bible as if he really believed it to be the Word of God, and acted in accordance with its precepts with a degree of bold simplicity and trustfulness, that made him a laughing-stock to some, and a subject of surprise and admiration to others, of his companions and acquaintance. In short, he was a Christian of a cheerful, straightforward stamp.

Yet Guy’s course was not all sunshine, neither was his conduct altogether immaculate. He was not exempt from the general rule, that “through much tribulation” men shall enter into the Kingdom. As he walked along, rejoicing in his existence and in the beauty of that magnificent evening, a cloud would rise occasionally and call forth a sigh, as he recollected the polite intimation of his uncle, that he had extended his leave of absenceadinfinitum! He could not shut his eyes to the fact that a brilliant mercantile career on which he had recently entered, and on which he might naturally look as the course cut out for him by Providence, was suddenly closed against him for ever. He knew his uncle’s temper too well to expect that he would relent, and he felt that to retract a statement which he knew to be true, or to express regret for having boldly told the truth as he had done, was out of the question. Besides, he was well aware that such a course would not now avail to restore him to his lost position. It remained, therefore, that, being without influential friends, he must begin over again and carve his own way in the world.

But what then? Was this not the lot of hundreds of thousands? Little time had been lost; he was young, and strong, and hearty. God had written, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.” “Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, as unto the Lord, and not unto men.” Under the influence of such thoughts the clouds cleared away from Guy’s brow, and he raised his eyes, which for some minutes had been cast down, with a hopeful gaze to the heavens.

There he soon became lost in admiration of the clouds that were floating in masses of amber and gold; rising over each other—piled up, mass upon mass—grotesque sometimes in form, solid yet soft in aspect, and inexpressibly grand, as a whole, in their towering magnificence.

There were signs, however, among the gorgeous beauties of this cloud-land, that were significant to eyes accustomed to read the face of the sky. Various lurid and luminous clouds of grey and Indian-red hues told of approaching storm, and the men of Deal knew that the sea, which just then pictured every cloud in its glassy depths as clearly as if there had been another cloud-land below its surface, would, ere long, be ruffled with a stiffish breeze; perhaps be tossed by a heavy gale.

Men in general are not prone to meditate very deeply on what is going on around them beyond the reach of their own vision. This is natural and right to some extent. If we were to be deeply touched by the joys, sorrows, calamities, and incidents that at all times affect humanity, we should cease to enjoy existence. Life would become a burden. The end of our creation would not be attained. Yet there is an evil of an opposite kind which often mars our usefulness, and makes us unconsciously participators in acts of injustice. This evil is, partial ignorance of, and indifference to, much that goes on around us beyond the range of our vision, but which nevertheless claims our attention and regard.

Every one who reflects will admit that it is pleasant to think, when we retire to rest, that a splendid system of police renders our home a place of safety, and that, although there are villains more than enough who would do their best to get at our purses and plate, we need not make ourselves uneasy so long as the stout guardians of the night are on the beat. Do we not congratulate ourselves on this? and do we not pay the police-tax without grumbling, or at least with less grumbling than we vent when paying other taxes?

Should it, good reader, be less a subject of pleasant contemplation that, when the midnight storm threatens to burst upon our shores, there are men abroad who are skilled in the perilous work of snatching its prey from the raging sea; that, when the howling gale rattles our windows and shakes our very walls, inducing us perchance to utter the mental prayer, “God have mercy on all who are on the sea this night,” that then—at that very time—the heroes of our coast are abroad all round the kingdom; strong in the possession of dauntless hearts and iron frames, and ready to plunge at any moment into the foaming sea to the rescue of life or property?

Who can say, during any storm, that he may not be personally interested in the efforts of those heroes?

We knew a family, the members of which, like those of all the other families in the land, listened to the howling of that fearful storm which covered our shores with wrecks on the 25th of November, 1859. Their thoughts were sad and anxious, as must be the case, more or less, with all who reflect that in such nights hundreds of human beings arecertainlyperishing on our shores. But ah! what would the feelings of that family have been had they known—as they soon came to know—that two stalwart brothers of their own went down that night among the 450 human beings who perished in the wreck of the “Royal Charter?”

In regard to the “Royal Charter,” it may be truly said that there was no necessity for the loss of that vessel. God did not senddirectdestruction upon her. The engines were too weak to work her off the land in the face of the gale, and the cables could not hold her. These were among the causes of her loss. And when she did get ashore, every life might have been saved had there been a lifeboat or rocket apparatus at hand. We know not why there were neither; but may it not have been because lifeboats and rockets are not sufficiently numerous all along our shores? How many bleeding hearts there were that would have given drops of their life-blood to have provided the means of saving life on the coast of Anglesea on that terrible night! A few small coins given at an earlier date might have saved those lives! No individual in the land, however far removed from the coast, can claim exemption from the dangers of the sea. His own head may indeed lie safe from the raging billow, but at any moment the sea may grasp some loved one, and thus wreck his peace of mind, or engulf his property and wreck his fortune. Why, then, should not the whole nation take the affairs of the coast nearer to its heart? The Lifeboat Institution is not supported by taxation like our police force. It depends on the charity of the people. Don’t you think, reader, that it has a strong claim on the sympathies, the prayers, and the purse of every living soul in the kingdom? But to return, with many apologies, from this digression.

Guy Foster noted the peculiar appearance of the clouds, and concluded that “something was brewing.” All along the shores stout men in glazed and tarry garments noted the same appearances, and also concluded that it would be dirty weather before long. The lifeboat men, too, were on thequi vive; and, doubtless, the coxswain of each boat, from John o’ Groat’s to the Land’s-end, was overhauling his charge to see that all was right and in readiness for instant service.

“It’s going to blow to-night, Bax,” said Guy, on entering the hovel of the former.

“So ’tis,” replied Bax, who was standing beside his friends Bluenose and Tommy Bogey, watching old Jeph, as he busied himself with the model of his lifeboat.

Jeph said that in his opinion it was going to be a regular nor’-easter, and Bluenose intimated his adherence to the same opinion, with a slap on his thigh, and a huge puff of smoke.

“You’re long about that boat, Jeph,” said Bluenose, after a pause, during which he scanned the horizon with a telescope.

“So I am. It ain’t easy to carry out the notion.”

“An’ wot may the notion be?” inquired Bluenose, sitting down on a coil of rope, and gazing earnestly at the old man.

“To get lifeboats to right themselves w’en they’re upset,” replied Jeph, regarding his model with a look of perplexity. “You see it’s all very well to have ’em filled with air-chambers, which prevents ’em from sinkin’; but w’en they’re upset, d’ye see, they ain’t o’ no use till they gets on their keels again; and that ain’t easy to manage. Now I’ve bin thinkin’ that if we wos to give ’em more sheer, and raise the stem and stern a bit, they’d turn over natural-like, of their own accord.”

“I do believe they would,” said Bax. “Why, what put that into yer head, old man?”

“Well, it ain’t altogether my own notion,” said Jeph, “for I’ve heard, when I was in the port o’ Leith, many years ago, that a clergyman o’ the name of Bremer had made a boat o’ this sort in the year 1792, that answered very well; but, somehow or other, it never came to anything. There’s nothin’ that puzzles me so much as that,” said the old man, looking up with a wondering expression of countenance. “I don’t understand how, w’en a good thing is found out, it ain’t made the most ofat once! I never could discover exactly what Mr Bremer’s plan was, so I’m tryin’ to invent one.”

As he said this, Jeph placed the model on which he was engaged in a small tub of water which stood at his elbow. Guy, who was much interested in the old man’s idea, bent over him to observe the result of the experiment. Tommy Bogey sat down beside the tub as eagerly as if he expected some wonderful transformation to take place. Bax and Bluenose also looked on with unusual interest, as if they felt that a crisis in the experimental labours of their old comrade had arrived.

“It floats first-rate on an even keel,” cried Tommy, with a pleased look as the miniature boat moved slowly round its little ocean, “now then, capsize it.”

Old Jeph quietly put his finger on the side of the little boat, and turned it upside down. Instead of remaining in that position it rolled over on one side so much, that the onlookers fully expected to see it right itself, and Tommy gave vent to a premature cheer, but he cut it suddenly short on observing that the boat remained on its side with one of the gunwales immersed, unable to attain an even keel in consequence of the weight of water inside of it.

“I tell ye wot it is, Jeph,” said Bluenose, with emphasis, “you’ll do it yet; if you don’t I’ll eat my sou’-wester without sauce, so I will. As the noospapers says, you’ll inaggerate a new era in lifeboats, old boy, that’s a fact, and I’ll live to see it too!”

Having delivered himself of this opinion in tones of much fervour, the captain delivered his mouth of a series of cloudlets, and gazed through them at his old friend with unfeigned admiration.

Guy and Bax were both impressed with the partial success of the experiment, as well as with Jeph’s idea, and said to him, encouragingly, that he had very near hit it, but Jeph himself only shook his head and smiled sadly.

“Lads,” said he, “very nearis sometimes a long way farther off than folk suppose. Perpetual motion has binvery nearlydiscovered ever since men began to try their hands at engineerin’, but it ain’t discovered yet, nor never will be—’cause why? it ain’t possible.”

“Ain’t poss’ble!” echoed Bluenose, “you’re out there, old man. I diskivered it, years ago. Just you go up to Sandhill Cottage, and inquire for one Mrs Laker, a hupright and justifiable sister o’ mine. Open that ’ooman’s mouth an’ look in (she won’t bite if ye don’t bother her too much), and lyin’ in that there cavern ye’ll see a thing called atongue,—if that ain’t an engine of perpetooal motion, shiver my timbers! that’s all.”

Just as the captain made this reckless offer to sacrifice his timbers, Peekins—formerly the blue tiger—entered the hovel, and going hastily to Bluenose, whispered in his ear.

A very remarkable transformation had taken place in the outward man of poor Peekins. After coming with Bax to Deal he had been adopted, as it were, by the co-partners of the hovel, and was, so to speak, shared equally by Bax, Bluenose, old Jeph, and Tommy. The wonderfully thin and spider-like appearance which he presented in his blue-tights and buttons on his arrival, created such a howl of derisive astonishment among the semi-nautical boys of Deal, that his friends became heartily ashamed of him. Bax, therefore, walked him off at once to a slop-shop, where sea-stores of every possible or conceivable kind could be purchased at reasonable prices, from a cotton kerchief, with the Union Jack in the middle of it, to the old anchor of a seventy-four gun ship, with a wooden stock big enough to make a canoe.

Here Peekins was disrobed of his old garments, and clad in canvas trousers, pilot-cloth jacket and vest, with capacious pockets, and a sou’-wester; all of which fitted him so loosely that he felt persuaded in his own mind he could easily have jumped out of them with an upward bound, or have slipped out of them downwards through either leg of the pantaloons. He went into that store a blue spider, he came out a reasonable-looking seafaring boy, rather narrow and sloping about the shoulders, it is true, but smart enough and baggy enough—especially about the nether garments—to please even Bax, who, in such matters, was rather fastidious.

The whispered communication, above referred to, had the effect of causing Bluenose to spring up from the coil of rope, and exclaim— “You don’t say so!”

Then, checking himself, and looking mysterious, he said he wanted to have a word with Bax in private, and would be obligated if he’d go with him a bit along shore.

“Well, what’s the news?” inquired Bax, when they were alone.

“We’ve heerd of Long Orrick,” said Bluenose, eagerly.

“That’s not much news,” said Bax; “you told me there wasn’t enough witnesses to swear to him, or something o’ that sort, and that it would be no use attempting to put him in limbo, didn’t you?”

“Ay,” replied the other, striking his clenched right hand into the palm of his left, “but the villain don’t the less deserve to be tied up, and get twelve dozen for all that. I’d content myself with knocking out both his daylights for his cowardly attempt to badger an old man, but that wouldn’t be safe; besides, I know’d well enough he’d take to smugglin’ again, an’ soon give us a chance to nab him at his old tricks; so Coleman and I have been keepin’ a look-out on him; and we’ve found that small yard o’ pump-water, Peekins, oncommon clever in the way o’ watchin’. He’s just brought me word that he heard Long Orrick talkin’ with his chum Rodney Nick, an’ plannin’ to run their lugger to-night into Pegwell Bay, as the coast at the Fiddler’s Cave would be too well watched; so I’m goin’ down to Fiddler’s Cave to-night, and I wants you to go with me. We’ll get Coleman to help us, for he’s savage to get hold of Long Orrick ever since the night they put him in a sack, an’ left him to air his timbers in the Great Chapel Field.”

“But if,” said Bax, “Long Orrick said he would run to Pegwell Bay, which is three or four miles to the nor’ard o’ this, and resolved that he wouldnotgo to Fiddler’s Cave, which is six miles to the s’uth’ard, why should you go to the very place he’s not likely to be found at?”

“Because I knows the man,” replied Bluenose, with a wink of deep meaning; “I knows him better than you do. W’en Long Orrick is seen bearin’ away due north with flying colours, you may take your Davy that his true course lies south, or thereby.”

Bax smiled, and suggested that they should take Guy Foster with them, and when Tommy Bogey heard what they were about he volunteered his services, which were accepted laughingly. Being of a sociable disposition, Tommy deemed it prudent to press Peekins into the service, and Peekins, albeit not pugnacious by nature, was quite willing and ready to follow wherever his sturdy little friend chose to lead.

So they all set off, along the road that skirts the beach, towards Saint Margaret’s Bay. The sun was just sinking as they started, and the red clouds were beginning to deepen in their colour and look ominous, though the sea was still quiet and clear like a sheet of glass.

After following the road for some time, they diverged into the footpath that leads to, and winds along the giddy edge of, the chalk cliffs which rise abruptly from the shore at this part of the Kentish coast to the height of several hundred feet.

The path being narrow, they were obliged to walk in single file, Bax leading, Bluenose and Guy following, and Tommy with his meek friend bringing up the rear.

The view seawards was indescribably magnificent from the elevated ridge along which they hastened. The Downs was crowded with hundreds of vessels of every form and size, as well as of every country, all waiting for a favourable breeze to enable them to quit the roadstead and put to sea. Pilot luggers and other shore-boats of various kinds were moving about among these; some on the look-out for employment, others intent on doing a stroke of business in the smuggling way, if convenient. Far away along the beach men of the coastguard might be seen, like little black specks, with telescopes actively employed, ready to pounce on and overhaul (more or less stringently according to circumstances) every boat that touched the shingle. Everything in nature seemed silent and motionless, with the exception of the sea-mews that wheeled round the summits of the cliffs or dived into the glassy sea.

All these things were noted and appreciated in various degrees by the members of the party who hastened towards Saint Margaret’s Bay, but none of them commented much on the scenery. They were too well accustomed to the face of nature in every varying mood to be much struck with her face on the present occasion. Perhaps we may except Guy Foster, who, being more of a city man than his companions, besides being more highly educated, was more deeply impressed by what he saw that evening. But Guy was too much absorbed by the object of the expedition to venture any remark on the beautiful aspect of nature.

“D’ye see that lugger, Bax?” said Bluenose, pointing to a particular spot on the sea.

“Between the Yankee and the Frenchman?” said Bax, “I see it well enough. What then?”

“That’s Long Orrick’s boat,” replied the Captain, “I’d know it among a thousand. Depend on it we’ll nab him to-night with a rich cargo of baccy and brandy a-board. The two B’s are too much for him. He’d sell his soul for baccy and brandy.”

“That’s not such an uncommon weakness as you seem to think,” observed Guy. “Every day men sell their souls for more worthless things.”

“D’ye think so?” said Bluenose, with a philosophical twist in his eyebrows.

“I know it,” returned Guy; “men often sell both body and soul (as far as we can judge) for a mere idea.”

Here Bax, who had been examining the lugger in question with a pocket-telescope, said that he had no doubt whatever Bluenose was right, and hastened forward at a smarter pace than before.

In less than two hours they descended the steep cliffs to the shingle of Saint Margaret’s Bay; and at the same time the wind began to rise, while the shades of night gradually overspread the scene.

Saint Margaret’s Bay is one of those small, quiet, secluded hamlets which are not unfrequently met with along our coasts, and in regard to which the stranger is irresistibly led to ask mentally, if not really, “Why did people ever come to build cottages and dwell here, and what do they do? How do they make a livelihood?”

No stranger ever obtains a satisfactory answer to these questions, for the very good reason that, short though they be, the answers to them would involve almost a volume, or a speech equal in length to that with which the Chancellor of the Exchequer introduces his annual budget. There would be various classes to describe, numerous wants to apprehend, peculiar circumstances and conditions of social life to explain; in short, the thing is a mystery to many, and we merely remark on the fact, without having any intention of attempting to clear the mystery away.

So narrow is the strip of shingle that lies between the sea and the cliffs in Saint Margaret’s Bay, that the cottages have been built close up to the latter—much too close, we venture to think, for safety; but perhaps men who live in constant peril of their lives, count the additional risk of being crushed along with their families under twenty or thirty tons of chalk, unworthy of consideration!

On descending to the beach the first thing our party saw was the burly figure of Coleman seated on his “donkey” by the “sad sea waves.”

It must not be supposed that the coast-guard-man was literally astride of a live ass! No; his “donkey” was an exceedingly ingenious contrivance invented specially for the use of a class of men who, being human, cannot avoid becoming fatigued—yet who, being sentinels, must not on any account whatever be permitted to encourage sleep.

The men of the coast-guard are subject to prolonged and frequent periods of watching, by night as well as by day, hence they are liable to become wearied. It has been wisely considered that the most self-denying mortal alive will, when hard pressed, sit down on a rock or on the ground, if need be, just to relieve his legs a little. The same wise consideration has recalled the fact that when men do this they become helplessly incapable of resisting the drowsy god, and will assuredly go to sleep, against their will and their judgment.

To meet this case, some truly great mind invented the “donkey.” This contrivance is simply a stool withoneleg. The top of the stool is not round, but oblong, and very small. A hole in the centre receives the solitary leg, which is attached to it by a piece of cord, and can be pulled out when occasion requires, and the machine thrown over the arm as one would throw a cloak or scarf. The beauty of the donkey is, that it forms an excellent seat on which a man can balance himself and rest with great comfort as long as he keeps awake; but should he fall asleep, even for one instant, he infallibly comes to the ground with a shock so severe that he is quite certain to remain wakeful during the remainder of his vigil!

“What, ho! Coleman,” cried Bax, as he and his friends drew near, “have you actually acquired the art of sleeping on a donkey?”

Coleman rose and turned round with a good-humoured smile on his ruddy visage:

“Nay, not quite that,” said he, “but the hiss of the waves is apt to dull the hearin’ a bit, an’ one don’t naturally look for enemies from land’ard, d’ye see?”

“Mayhap not,” said Bluenose, taking a fresh quid of tobacco out of a brass box which he carried at all times in his waistcoat pocket; “but I expect an enemy from seaward to-night who’ll be oncommon glad to make your acquaintance, no doubt!”

Here the Captain chuckled, engulfed his fresh quid, and proceeded to explain the nature of their errand. Having done so, he asked Coleman what he thought of it.

The worthy coast-guard-man scratched his nose and stared at the shingle for some minutes before venturing to reply.

“I think,” said he at length, “that we’ll cook his goose to-night; that’s wot it is.”

Coleman paused, and looked thoughtfully at Bluenose. The Captain nodded his head pleasantly, but said nothing, and Coleman proceeded:—

“He’ll come in with the flood-tide no doubt, if the gale don’t drive him in sooner, an’ run ashore as near to the cave as possible; but he’ll be scared away if he sees anything like unusual watchin’ on the shore, so you’d better get out o’ sight as fast as ye can, and keep there.”

“Don’t you think it would be as well that you also should keep out of sight, and so leave the coast clear for him?” suggested Bax.

“Not so,” said Coleman with a grin, “he’d see that I’d done it for an object. Long Orrick keeps his weather eye too wide open to be caught so easy as that comes to.”

“Well, but come up for half-an-hour, and have a glass of beer while we talk over the business,” said Bax.

Coleman shook his head, “Can’t quit my post; besides, I don’t drink no beer.”

“Brayvo! old feller,” cried Bluenose, “give us your flipper. Water, cold, for ever! say I, as the whale remarked to the porpoise. But let’s go under the lee o’ the boat-’ouse an’ talk it out, for we shan’t nab Long Orrick this night, if we doesn’t go at ’im like a cat at a mouse.”

“Just listen to that old codfish,” said Tommy Bogey to Peekins, “takin’ credit to his-self for not drinkin’, though he smokes like a steam-tug, an’ chews like—like—I’m a Dutchman if I know what, unless it be like the bo’sun of a seventy-four gun ship.”

“Do bo’suns of seventy-four gun ships chew very bad?” inquired Peekins.

“Oh! don’t they!” exclaimed Tommy, opening his eyes very wide, and rounding his mouth so as to express his utter inability to convey any idea of the terrific powers of bo’suns in that particular line. “But Bluenose beats ’em all. He’d chew oakum, I do believe, if he didn’t get baccy, and yet he boasts of not drinkin’! Seems to me he’s just as bad as the rest of us.”

“D’you think so?” said Peekins, with a doubtful look; “don’t you think the man who does only two nasty things is better off than the one that does three?”

“Nasty things!” exclaimed Tommy in a tone of amazement. “Don’t Bax drink and smoke, and d’ye thinkhe’ddo one or t’other if they was nasty? Peekins, you small villian as was a blue spider only a week since, if you ever talks of them things being nasty again, I’ll wop you!”

“You hear that, Bax?” said Guy Foster, who, being only a few paces ahead of the boys, had overheard the remark, spoken as it was in rather a loud key.

Bax nodded his head, and smiled, but made no reply.

It is but just to say that Tommy’s threat was uttered more than half in jest. He would as soon have thought of “wopping” a little girl as of maltreating his meek companion. But Peekins was uncertain how to take his threat, so, not being desirous of a wopping, he held his tongue and humbly followed his comrades.

The party walked for some time at the foot of the cliffs under the lee of a boat-house, engaged in earnest conversation as to the best mode of proceeding in the meditated enterprise. It was evident to all of them that the hour for action could not now be far distant; for the gale increased every moment; the light on the South Foreland was already sending its warning rays far and wide over the angry sea, whence the floating lights that mark the sands sent back their nightly greeting, while dark thunderous clouds mantled over the sky and deepened the shades of night which, ere long, completely overspread land and sea.

Chapter Eleven.The Smugglers’ Cave—A Surprise, a Deception, a Fight, and an Escape.The Fiddler’s Cave,aliasCanterbury Cave,aliasthe Smugglers’ Cave, is a cavern of unknown extent situated under the high chalk cliffs at the southern extremity of Saint Margaret’s Bay.Tradition informs us that its first appellation was bestowed in consequence of a fiddler having gone into it with his dog many years ago, and never having come out again. Four days afterwards the dog crept out in a dying condition. It is supposed that the man must have wandered too far into the cavern, and been overpowered by foul air. Tradition also says that there is a passage from it, underground, all the way to Canterbury, a distance of eighteen miles; hence its second name. No one, however, seems to have verified this report. The Kentish smugglers, from whom the cave derives its last title, have undoubtedly made much use of it in days of old. At the period of our story, the entrance to Fiddler’s Cave was so much obstructed by rubbish and sand that a man had to stoop low on entering the passage which led to the interior. At the present day the entrance is so nearly closed up that a man could not creep along it even on his hands and knees.Here, on the threatening night of which we are writing, a boatman stood on the watch, close under the rocks that overhung the entrance to the cavern. The man was habited, like most of his brethren of the coast, in rough garments, with long boots, sou’-wester cap, and oiled, tarred, and greased upper garments, suitable to the stormy night in which he had seen fit to hold his vigil.A feeble ray of light that struggled in the cavern showed that the man clutched a pistol in his right hand, and with a frown on his brow, glanced alternately out to sea where all was darkness, and along shore where the only visible living object was the figure of old Coleman seated on his “donkey.” It need scarcely be added that the sight of the coast-guard-man was the cause of the smuggler’s frown.The gale was now blowing stiffly, and rolling black clouds so covered the sky that the moon was entirely obscured by them, save when an occasional break permitted a few rays to stream down and reveal the elemental strife that was going on below.Coleman, regardless of the storm, maintained his position on his one-legged companion, and bending his body to the blast, endeavoured to pierce the gloom that enshrouded everything seaward beyond the large breakers that sent their foam hissing up to his very feet. While he sat there he thought, or muttered, thus:—“It’s odd, now, I’d ha’ thought he’d have run ashore afore this; seein’ that I’ve sat on this here donkey for more nor an hour, a-purpose to let him see that I’m only watchin’here, and nowhere else. He can’t but see there’s a goodish lump o’ the coast free to him so long as I sit here. But he’s a sly feller; p’raps he suspects somethin’. An’ yet, I’ll go bound, he don’t guess that there’s six or seven of his worst enemies hidin’ all along the coast, with eyes like needles, and ears on full cock! How’sever, it won’t do to sit much longer. If he don’t come in five minutes, I’ll git up an’ walk along in an easy unsuspectin’ way. Dear me, wot a set o’ hypocrites we’ve got to be in the hexecution of our dooty!”While Coleman moralised thus, in utter ignorance of the near proximity of an eye-witness, the smuggler at the mouth of the cave, who was no other than Orrick’s friend, Rodney Nick, muttered some remarks between his teeth which were by no means complimentary to the other.“What are ye sittin’ there for, ye old idiot?” said he savagely. “I do b’lieve ye’ve larned to sleep on the donkey. Ha! there’s two of ye together, an’ the wooden one’s the best. Wouldn’t I just like to be yer leftenant, my boy? an’ I’d come to know why you don’t go on your beat. Why, there may be no end o’ cats and galleys takin’ the beach wi’ baccy an’ lush enough to smother you up alive, an’ you sittin’ there snuffin’ the east wind like an old ass, as ye are.”The smuggler uttered the last sentence in deep exasperation, for the time appointed for signalising his comrades at sea had arrived, and yet that stolid coast-guard-man sat there as if he had become fastened to the shingle.“I’ve a good mind to run out an’ hit ye a crack over yer figure-head,” he continued, grasping his pistol nervously and taking a step forward. “Hallo! one would a’most think you’d heard me speak,” he added and shrank back, as Coleman rose from his seat (the five minutes having expired), and sauntered with a careless air straight towards the cave.On reaching it he paused and looked into it. Rodney Nick crouched in the shadow of a projecting rock, and grasped his pistol tightly for a moment, under the impression that he was about to be discovered. He was one of those fierce, angry men who are at all times ready to risk their lives in order to gratify revenge. Old Coleman had more than once thwarted Rodney Nick in his designs, besides having in other ways incurred his dislike, and there is no doubt that had the coast-guard-man discovered him at that moment, he would have paid for the discovery with his life. Fortunately for both of them Coleman turned after standing a few seconds at the mouth of the cave, and retraced his steps along the beach.He prolonged his walk on this occasion to the extremity of his beat, but, long before reaching that point his figure was lost to the smuggler’s view in darkness.“At last!” exclaimed Rodney Nick, taking a dark lantern from his breast, and peering cautiously in every direction. “Now then, Long Orrick, if ye look sharp we’ll cheat ’em again, and chew our quids and drink our grog free of dooty!”As he muttered his words the smuggler flashed the lantern for an instant, in such a manner that its brilliant bull’s-eye was visible far out at sea. Again he let its light shine out for one instant; then he closed the lid and awaited the result.Out upon the sea, not far from the wild breakers that thundered and burst in foam on the south end of the Goodwin Sands, a boat, of the size and form styled by men of the coast a “cat,” was tossing idly on the waves. The men in her were employed in the easy task of keeping her head to the wind, and in the anxious occupation of keeping a “bright look-out” on the shore.“Time’s up,” said one of the men, turning suddenly towards his companions, and allowing the light of a dark lantern to fall on the face of a watch which he held in his hand.“Dowse the glim, you lubber,” cried the angry voice of Long Orrick, “and keep a sharp look-out for the signal. If it don’t come we’ll run for Old Stairs Bay, an’ if they’re too sharp for us there we’ll make for Pegwell Bay, and drop the tubs overboard with sinkers at ’em.”For nearly quarter of an hour the party in the boat watched in silence. It was evident that Long Orrick was becoming impatient from the way in which he turned, now to windward, to scan the threatening sky, and then to land-ward, to look for the expected signal. He felt, on the one hand, that if the gale continued to increase, it would be necessary to run for the nearest place of safety; and he felt, on the other hand, that if he did not succeed in landing the goods at Fiddler’s Cave, there would be small chance of his getting them ashore at all.“There’s the glim,” cried one of the men.“All right! up with a bit o’ the sail,” said Long Orrick, seizing the tiller from the man who held it.In a second or two they were driving before the wind straight for the shore. With such a stiff breeze the boat was soon close to the breakers, and now the utmost care was necessary in order to prevent it from broaching-to and being capsized. No anxiety was felt, however, by the crew of the little craft. Deal boatmen are noted for their expertness in beaching their boats and in putting off to sea in rough weather, and the man who held the tiller of the little boat which danced on the white crests of the waves that night had many and many a time come through such trifling danger scatheless.“Look out, Bill,” cried Orrick, as the thunder of the waves on the beach sounded in his ears, and the great chalk cliffs rose up, ghostlike and dim, before him. To one unaccustomed to such scenes it might have appeared an act of madness to run ashore on such a night. But the danger was not so great as it seemed.The man at the bow stood ready with a boat-hook. In a moment the keel grated on the shingle. Instantly the men were over the side, and the boat was hauled up the beach.“Now, then, for the tubs. Make for the cave straight. Rodney Nick will be here in a minute. Ah, here he comes! Well, Rodney, we’ve done it pretty smart,” said Long Orrick, wading with a keg of brandy towards a figure which approached him from the beach. “Here you are! there’s lots more of ’em. We’re in luck. Look alive. The coast’s clear, I suppose?”“Hall right,” said the dark figure in a hoarse whisper, which terminated in a low chuckle, as Long Orrick placed the keg innocently in the arms of old Coleman and returned to the boat for more!It may be as well to remark here—in order to clear up this mystery—that although Coleman had not observed the flash of Rodney Nick’s lantern, his sharp eye had observed the gleam of the light in the boat, when one of the men, as already mentioned, threw it on the face of his timepiece.Supposing, erroneously, that this latter was a signal to the shore, Coleman, nevertheless, came to the correct conclusion that some one must be awaiting Long Orrick near at hand, and felt convinced that the Smugglers’ Cave must needs be the rendezvous.Hastening cautiously to Bax, whose station was not far distant from the cave, he communicated his suspicions, and they went together towards the place.“I’ll go in first,” said Coleman, “’cause I know the place better than you do.”“Very good,” assented Bax, “I’ll stand by to lend a hand.”Arrived at the cavern, Bax waited outside, and Coleman went in so stealthily that he was at Rodney Nick’s side before that worthy had the smallest suspicion of his presence. Indeed, Coleman would certainly have run against the smuggler in the dark, had not the latter happened to have been muttering savage threats against wind and tide, friends and foes, alike, in consequence of the non-appearance of the boat.Seizing him suddenly from behind, Coleman placed his knee in the small of his back, forced him almost double, and then laid him flat on the ground.At the same moment Bax knelt by his side, put one of his strong hands on the smuggler’s right arm—thereby rendering it powerless—and placed the other on his mouth.So quickly was it all done that Rodney was bound and gagged in less than two minutes. Coleman then ran out just in time to receive the first instalment of the brandy, as already related. Being much the same in build and height with Rodney Nick, he found no difficulty in passing for him in the darkness of the night and violence of the wind, which latter rendered his hoarse whispers almost unintelligible.In this way several kegs of brandy, boxes of cigars, and bundles of tobacco were landed and conveyed to the cavern by Coleman, who refused to allow Bax to act as an assistant, fearing that his great size might betray him.On the fifth or sixth trip he found Long Orrick waiting for him somewhat impatiently.“You might have brought a hand with ye, man,” said the latter, testily.“Couldn’t git one,” said Coleman, taking the keg that was delivered to him.“What say?” cried Orrick.“Couldn’t git one,” repeated the other, as loudly and hoarsely as he could whisper.“Speak out, man,” cried Long Orrick, with an oath; “you ain’t used to have delicate lungs.”“I couldn’t git nobody to come with me,” said Coleman, in a louder voice.The tone was not distinct, but it was sufficient to open the eyes of the smuggler. Scarcely had the last word left his lips when Coleman received a blow between the eyes that laid him flat on the beach. Fortunately the last wave had retired. There was only an inch or so of foam around him. Long Orrick knelt on his foe, and drew a knife from his girdle. Before the next wave came up, Coleman with one hand caught the uplifted arm of his adversary, and with the other discharged a pistol which he had drawn from his breast. In another instant they were struggling with each other in the wave which immediately swept over the beach, and Bax was standing over them, uncertain where to strike, as the darkness rendered friend and foe alike undistinguishable.The men in the boat at once rushed to the rescue, omitting to take weapons with them in their haste. Seeing this, Bax seized the struggling men by their collars, and exerting his great strength to the utmost, dragged them both high upon the beach. He was instantly assailed by the crew, the first and second of whom he knocked down respectively with a right and left hand blow; but the third sprang on him behind and two others came up at the same moment—one on each side—and seized his arms.Had Bax been an ordinary man, his case would have been hopeless; but having been endowed with an amount of muscular power and vigour far beyond the average of strong men, he freed himself in a somewhat curious manner. Bending forward, he lifted the man who grasped him round the neck from behind quite off his legs, and, by a sudden stoop, threw him completely over his head. This enabled him to hurl his other assailants to the ground, where they lay stunned and motionless. He then darted at Coleman and Long Orrick, who were still struggling together with tremendous fury.Seeing his approach, the smuggler suddenly gave in, relaxed his hold, and exclaimed, with a laugh, as Bax laid hold of him—“Well, well, I see it’s all up with me, so it’s o’ no use resistin’.”“No, that it ain’t, my friend,” said Coleman, rising and patting his foe on the back. “I can’t tell ye how pleased I am to meet with ye. You’re gettin’ stouter, I think. Smugglin’ seems to agree with ye!—hey?”He said this with a leer, and Bax laughed as he inspected Long Orrick more narrowly.The fact was that the smuggler’s clothing was so stuffed in all parts with tobacco that his lanky proportions had quite disappeared, and he had become so ludicrously rotund as to be visibly altered even in a dark night!“Well, it does agree with me, that’s a fact,” said Long Orrick, with a savage laugh; in the tone of which there was mingled however, quite as much bitterness as merriment.Just at this moment the rest of Coleman’s friends, including Tommy Bogey and Peekins, appeared on the scene in breathless haste, having been attracted by the pistol-shot.In the eager question and answer that followed, Long Orrick was for a moment not sufficiently guarded. He wrenched himself suddenly from the loosened grasp of Bax, and, darting between several of the party, one of whom he floored in passing with a left-handed blow, he ran along the shore at the top of his speed!Bax, blazing with disappointment and indignation, set off in fierce pursuit, and old Coleman, bursting with anger, followed as fast as his short legs and shorter wind would permit him. Guy Foster and several of the others joined in the chase, while those who remained behind contented themselves with securing the men who had been already captured.

The Fiddler’s Cave,aliasCanterbury Cave,aliasthe Smugglers’ Cave, is a cavern of unknown extent situated under the high chalk cliffs at the southern extremity of Saint Margaret’s Bay.

Tradition informs us that its first appellation was bestowed in consequence of a fiddler having gone into it with his dog many years ago, and never having come out again. Four days afterwards the dog crept out in a dying condition. It is supposed that the man must have wandered too far into the cavern, and been overpowered by foul air. Tradition also says that there is a passage from it, underground, all the way to Canterbury, a distance of eighteen miles; hence its second name. No one, however, seems to have verified this report. The Kentish smugglers, from whom the cave derives its last title, have undoubtedly made much use of it in days of old. At the period of our story, the entrance to Fiddler’s Cave was so much obstructed by rubbish and sand that a man had to stoop low on entering the passage which led to the interior. At the present day the entrance is so nearly closed up that a man could not creep along it even on his hands and knees.

Here, on the threatening night of which we are writing, a boatman stood on the watch, close under the rocks that overhung the entrance to the cavern. The man was habited, like most of his brethren of the coast, in rough garments, with long boots, sou’-wester cap, and oiled, tarred, and greased upper garments, suitable to the stormy night in which he had seen fit to hold his vigil.

A feeble ray of light that struggled in the cavern showed that the man clutched a pistol in his right hand, and with a frown on his brow, glanced alternately out to sea where all was darkness, and along shore where the only visible living object was the figure of old Coleman seated on his “donkey.” It need scarcely be added that the sight of the coast-guard-man was the cause of the smuggler’s frown.

The gale was now blowing stiffly, and rolling black clouds so covered the sky that the moon was entirely obscured by them, save when an occasional break permitted a few rays to stream down and reveal the elemental strife that was going on below.

Coleman, regardless of the storm, maintained his position on his one-legged companion, and bending his body to the blast, endeavoured to pierce the gloom that enshrouded everything seaward beyond the large breakers that sent their foam hissing up to his very feet. While he sat there he thought, or muttered, thus:—

“It’s odd, now, I’d ha’ thought he’d have run ashore afore this; seein’ that I’ve sat on this here donkey for more nor an hour, a-purpose to let him see that I’m only watchin’here, and nowhere else. He can’t but see there’s a goodish lump o’ the coast free to him so long as I sit here. But he’s a sly feller; p’raps he suspects somethin’. An’ yet, I’ll go bound, he don’t guess that there’s six or seven of his worst enemies hidin’ all along the coast, with eyes like needles, and ears on full cock! How’sever, it won’t do to sit much longer. If he don’t come in five minutes, I’ll git up an’ walk along in an easy unsuspectin’ way. Dear me, wot a set o’ hypocrites we’ve got to be in the hexecution of our dooty!”

While Coleman moralised thus, in utter ignorance of the near proximity of an eye-witness, the smuggler at the mouth of the cave, who was no other than Orrick’s friend, Rodney Nick, muttered some remarks between his teeth which were by no means complimentary to the other.

“What are ye sittin’ there for, ye old idiot?” said he savagely. “I do b’lieve ye’ve larned to sleep on the donkey. Ha! there’s two of ye together, an’ the wooden one’s the best. Wouldn’t I just like to be yer leftenant, my boy? an’ I’d come to know why you don’t go on your beat. Why, there may be no end o’ cats and galleys takin’ the beach wi’ baccy an’ lush enough to smother you up alive, an’ you sittin’ there snuffin’ the east wind like an old ass, as ye are.”

The smuggler uttered the last sentence in deep exasperation, for the time appointed for signalising his comrades at sea had arrived, and yet that stolid coast-guard-man sat there as if he had become fastened to the shingle.

“I’ve a good mind to run out an’ hit ye a crack over yer figure-head,” he continued, grasping his pistol nervously and taking a step forward. “Hallo! one would a’most think you’d heard me speak,” he added and shrank back, as Coleman rose from his seat (the five minutes having expired), and sauntered with a careless air straight towards the cave.

On reaching it he paused and looked into it. Rodney Nick crouched in the shadow of a projecting rock, and grasped his pistol tightly for a moment, under the impression that he was about to be discovered. He was one of those fierce, angry men who are at all times ready to risk their lives in order to gratify revenge. Old Coleman had more than once thwarted Rodney Nick in his designs, besides having in other ways incurred his dislike, and there is no doubt that had the coast-guard-man discovered him at that moment, he would have paid for the discovery with his life. Fortunately for both of them Coleman turned after standing a few seconds at the mouth of the cave, and retraced his steps along the beach.

He prolonged his walk on this occasion to the extremity of his beat, but, long before reaching that point his figure was lost to the smuggler’s view in darkness.

“At last!” exclaimed Rodney Nick, taking a dark lantern from his breast, and peering cautiously in every direction. “Now then, Long Orrick, if ye look sharp we’ll cheat ’em again, and chew our quids and drink our grog free of dooty!”

As he muttered his words the smuggler flashed the lantern for an instant, in such a manner that its brilliant bull’s-eye was visible far out at sea. Again he let its light shine out for one instant; then he closed the lid and awaited the result.

Out upon the sea, not far from the wild breakers that thundered and burst in foam on the south end of the Goodwin Sands, a boat, of the size and form styled by men of the coast a “cat,” was tossing idly on the waves. The men in her were employed in the easy task of keeping her head to the wind, and in the anxious occupation of keeping a “bright look-out” on the shore.

“Time’s up,” said one of the men, turning suddenly towards his companions, and allowing the light of a dark lantern to fall on the face of a watch which he held in his hand.

“Dowse the glim, you lubber,” cried the angry voice of Long Orrick, “and keep a sharp look-out for the signal. If it don’t come we’ll run for Old Stairs Bay, an’ if they’re too sharp for us there we’ll make for Pegwell Bay, and drop the tubs overboard with sinkers at ’em.”

For nearly quarter of an hour the party in the boat watched in silence. It was evident that Long Orrick was becoming impatient from the way in which he turned, now to windward, to scan the threatening sky, and then to land-ward, to look for the expected signal. He felt, on the one hand, that if the gale continued to increase, it would be necessary to run for the nearest place of safety; and he felt, on the other hand, that if he did not succeed in landing the goods at Fiddler’s Cave, there would be small chance of his getting them ashore at all.

“There’s the glim,” cried one of the men.

“All right! up with a bit o’ the sail,” said Long Orrick, seizing the tiller from the man who held it.

In a second or two they were driving before the wind straight for the shore. With such a stiff breeze the boat was soon close to the breakers, and now the utmost care was necessary in order to prevent it from broaching-to and being capsized. No anxiety was felt, however, by the crew of the little craft. Deal boatmen are noted for their expertness in beaching their boats and in putting off to sea in rough weather, and the man who held the tiller of the little boat which danced on the white crests of the waves that night had many and many a time come through such trifling danger scatheless.

“Look out, Bill,” cried Orrick, as the thunder of the waves on the beach sounded in his ears, and the great chalk cliffs rose up, ghostlike and dim, before him. To one unaccustomed to such scenes it might have appeared an act of madness to run ashore on such a night. But the danger was not so great as it seemed.

The man at the bow stood ready with a boat-hook. In a moment the keel grated on the shingle. Instantly the men were over the side, and the boat was hauled up the beach.

“Now, then, for the tubs. Make for the cave straight. Rodney Nick will be here in a minute. Ah, here he comes! Well, Rodney, we’ve done it pretty smart,” said Long Orrick, wading with a keg of brandy towards a figure which approached him from the beach. “Here you are! there’s lots more of ’em. We’re in luck. Look alive. The coast’s clear, I suppose?”

“Hall right,” said the dark figure in a hoarse whisper, which terminated in a low chuckle, as Long Orrick placed the keg innocently in the arms of old Coleman and returned to the boat for more!

It may be as well to remark here—in order to clear up this mystery—that although Coleman had not observed the flash of Rodney Nick’s lantern, his sharp eye had observed the gleam of the light in the boat, when one of the men, as already mentioned, threw it on the face of his timepiece.

Supposing, erroneously, that this latter was a signal to the shore, Coleman, nevertheless, came to the correct conclusion that some one must be awaiting Long Orrick near at hand, and felt convinced that the Smugglers’ Cave must needs be the rendezvous.

Hastening cautiously to Bax, whose station was not far distant from the cave, he communicated his suspicions, and they went together towards the place.

“I’ll go in first,” said Coleman, “’cause I know the place better than you do.”

“Very good,” assented Bax, “I’ll stand by to lend a hand.”

Arrived at the cavern, Bax waited outside, and Coleman went in so stealthily that he was at Rodney Nick’s side before that worthy had the smallest suspicion of his presence. Indeed, Coleman would certainly have run against the smuggler in the dark, had not the latter happened to have been muttering savage threats against wind and tide, friends and foes, alike, in consequence of the non-appearance of the boat.

Seizing him suddenly from behind, Coleman placed his knee in the small of his back, forced him almost double, and then laid him flat on the ground.

At the same moment Bax knelt by his side, put one of his strong hands on the smuggler’s right arm—thereby rendering it powerless—and placed the other on his mouth.

So quickly was it all done that Rodney was bound and gagged in less than two minutes. Coleman then ran out just in time to receive the first instalment of the brandy, as already related. Being much the same in build and height with Rodney Nick, he found no difficulty in passing for him in the darkness of the night and violence of the wind, which latter rendered his hoarse whispers almost unintelligible.

In this way several kegs of brandy, boxes of cigars, and bundles of tobacco were landed and conveyed to the cavern by Coleman, who refused to allow Bax to act as an assistant, fearing that his great size might betray him.

On the fifth or sixth trip he found Long Orrick waiting for him somewhat impatiently.

“You might have brought a hand with ye, man,” said the latter, testily.

“Couldn’t git one,” said Coleman, taking the keg that was delivered to him.

“What say?” cried Orrick.

“Couldn’t git one,” repeated the other, as loudly and hoarsely as he could whisper.

“Speak out, man,” cried Long Orrick, with an oath; “you ain’t used to have delicate lungs.”

“I couldn’t git nobody to come with me,” said Coleman, in a louder voice.

The tone was not distinct, but it was sufficient to open the eyes of the smuggler. Scarcely had the last word left his lips when Coleman received a blow between the eyes that laid him flat on the beach. Fortunately the last wave had retired. There was only an inch or so of foam around him. Long Orrick knelt on his foe, and drew a knife from his girdle. Before the next wave came up, Coleman with one hand caught the uplifted arm of his adversary, and with the other discharged a pistol which he had drawn from his breast. In another instant they were struggling with each other in the wave which immediately swept over the beach, and Bax was standing over them, uncertain where to strike, as the darkness rendered friend and foe alike undistinguishable.

The men in the boat at once rushed to the rescue, omitting to take weapons with them in their haste. Seeing this, Bax seized the struggling men by their collars, and exerting his great strength to the utmost, dragged them both high upon the beach. He was instantly assailed by the crew, the first and second of whom he knocked down respectively with a right and left hand blow; but the third sprang on him behind and two others came up at the same moment—one on each side—and seized his arms.

Had Bax been an ordinary man, his case would have been hopeless; but having been endowed with an amount of muscular power and vigour far beyond the average of strong men, he freed himself in a somewhat curious manner. Bending forward, he lifted the man who grasped him round the neck from behind quite off his legs, and, by a sudden stoop, threw him completely over his head. This enabled him to hurl his other assailants to the ground, where they lay stunned and motionless. He then darted at Coleman and Long Orrick, who were still struggling together with tremendous fury.

Seeing his approach, the smuggler suddenly gave in, relaxed his hold, and exclaimed, with a laugh, as Bax laid hold of him—

“Well, well, I see it’s all up with me, so it’s o’ no use resistin’.”

“No, that it ain’t, my friend,” said Coleman, rising and patting his foe on the back. “I can’t tell ye how pleased I am to meet with ye. You’re gettin’ stouter, I think. Smugglin’ seems to agree with ye!—hey?”

He said this with a leer, and Bax laughed as he inspected Long Orrick more narrowly.

The fact was that the smuggler’s clothing was so stuffed in all parts with tobacco that his lanky proportions had quite disappeared, and he had become so ludicrously rotund as to be visibly altered even in a dark night!

“Well, it does agree with me, that’s a fact,” said Long Orrick, with a savage laugh; in the tone of which there was mingled however, quite as much bitterness as merriment.

Just at this moment the rest of Coleman’s friends, including Tommy Bogey and Peekins, appeared on the scene in breathless haste, having been attracted by the pistol-shot.

In the eager question and answer that followed, Long Orrick was for a moment not sufficiently guarded. He wrenched himself suddenly from the loosened grasp of Bax, and, darting between several of the party, one of whom he floored in passing with a left-handed blow, he ran along the shore at the top of his speed!

Bax, blazing with disappointment and indignation, set off in fierce pursuit, and old Coleman, bursting with anger, followed as fast as his short legs and shorter wind would permit him. Guy Foster and several of the others joined in the chase, while those who remained behind contented themselves with securing the men who had been already captured.

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