Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.It was about a fortnight later when Aleck Donne went down the garden directly after breakfast with the full intent, after thinking it over a good deal, of charging old Onesimus Dunning, the gardener, with being leagued with the Eilygugg smugglers.“If I told uncle,” he argued, “he would be sent away at once; but that would be doing the poor fellow a lot of harm and perhaps make him worse. Perhaps, too, it would make him nurse up a feeling of spite against us, and he would set the Eilygugg people against us as well. So I won’t do that, but I’m not going to have the nasty old imposter smiling at me and pretending to be so innocent. I just want him to understand that I’m not such a child as to be ignorant of his tricks. I’ll let him see that I know why he wanted me not to go along yonder by the west cliff.”Aleck knew exactly where the man was likely to be, for he had been mowing the lawn, sweeping up the fragment result, and wheeling it away.“He’ll be stacking it round the cucumber frame,” thought Aleck, “to keep in the heat. By the way, I wonder what became of the beautiful cuke that lay, at the back under the big leaves—we didn’t have it indoors! I’m sure he takes some of them away. Uncle never misses anything out of the garden, but I do.”The lad went round to the kitchen garden, which sloped round towards the south, so beautifully sheltered that it was a perfect hot-bed of itself in the summer, and there, sure enough, was the heaped-up barrow of fresh green mowings, and one armful had been piled up to half hide a part of the rough wooden frame.But no gardener was visible.“Not here,” thought Aleck. “Well, perhaps I was wrong about that cuke.”The next minute he had raised the clumsily-glazed sliding sash, with a hot puff of moist air smelling delicious as it reached his nostrils, while he propped up the glass, reached in, and began turning over the prickly leaves, laying bare the rather curly little specimens of the cool, pleasant fruit; but there was no sign of the big, well-grown vegetable.“Was I mistaken?” mused the lad. “No, there was one, and there’s the remains of the stalk, showing where the cucumber has been cut. What a shame!” he muttered. “I’ll tell him of that too. Uncle would be angry if he knew.”Aleck closed the frame again and began to look round.“What a shame!” he said, again. “Nice sort of a gardener to have—lazy, a smuggler, and little better than a thief. I’ll just give him something to think about when I find him. Oh, there he is!”For just then the boy looked up, to see the old gardener standing on the highest part of the sheltering cliff, his back to him, and shading his eyes as he looked out to sea.“Ahoy! What are you doing there?” shouted Aleck.The man started and looked down.“Ships—men-o’-war—going behind the point,” shouted the gardener.Men-of-war going into Rockabie harbour! That news was sufficient to upset all Aleck’s arrangements. He forgot all about the lesson he was going to give the gardener, and rushed indoors, to hurry upstairs and rap sharply at his uncle’s study, and, getting no answer he threw open the door to cross the room and seize the glass from where it hung by its sling. Then, dashing out again, he ran downstairs, crossed the garden, mounted the cliff zigzag path, and was soon after focussing the glass upon the men-of-war, which proved to be only a good-sized sloop followed by a trim-looking white-sailed cutter, both vessels with plenty of canvas spread, and gliding steadily over the smooth sunlit sea.“Oh, I wish I’d known sooner!” groaned the lad, for he had hardly fixed the leading vessel before her bows began to disappear behind the point, and before ten minutes had elapsed the cutter was out of sight as well.“I don’t know that I should much care about going to sea,” muttered Aleck, closing the glass, “but the ships do look so beautiful with their sails set, gliding along. What a pity! What a pity! I do wish I had known sooner.”“What are they going to do there?” thought the boy, as he closed the glass and walked back to the cottage, where upon going upstairs to replace the glass he found his uncle in from his morning walk and about to settle down for a few hours’ work.“Well, Aleck, boy,” he said; “been scanning the sea?”“Yes, uncle; two vessels came along into Rockabie, but I only got a glimpse of them.”“Too late, eh? Well, why not run over in the boat? I want something done in the town.”“Do you, uncle? Oh!” cried the boy, half wild with excitement, as he turned and rushed to the little mirror over the chimney-piece to glance in.“Yes,” said the old man, smiling. “There, nothing shows now except that little darkness under your eyes. I’m quite run out of paper, my boy. Go and get me some. But—er—no fighting this time.”“No, uncle,” cried the lad, flushing up; and then, quickly: “There’s a beautiful soft breeze, dead on to the land, and it will serve going and coming.”“Off with you, then, while it holds. Paper the same as before. Get back in good time.”Aleck wanted no further incitement. The “wigging,” as he termed it, that was to be given to Dunning would keep, and he avoided the man as he hurried down into the gorge, stepped the mast and hooked on the rudder, guided the little vessel along the narrow, zigzag, canal-like harbour, and without an eye this time for the birds or beauty of the scene, he was soon after lying back steering and holding the sheet, while the well-filled sail tugged impatiently as if resenting being restrained.Aleck had fully determined to avoid the boys of Rockabie that morning, and he was half disposed to hug himself with the idea that after the thrashing Big Jem had received they would interfere with him no more. But he was quite wrong, for the port boys were too full of vitality, and always on the look-out for some means of getting rid of the effervescing mischief that bubbled and foamed within them.The distant sight of the King’s vessels heading for the port was quite enough to attract them to the pier, and there they were in force, well on the look-out for something to annoy so as to give themselves employment till the sloop and cutter came in.There was the something all ready in the person of Tom Bodger, who was seated upon a ship’s fender, one of those Brobdingnagian netted balls covered with a network of tarred rope, used to keep the edge of the stone pier from crushing and splintering the sides of the vessel.This formed a capital cushion, albeit rather sticky in hot weather, and was planted close up to a stone mooring-post, which acted as a back to lean against, while, with his wooden legs stretched straight out, the man employed himself busily in netting, his fingers going rapidly and the meshes seeming to run off the ends of his fingers.Intent upon his work, active with hands and arms, but rather helpless as to his legs, Tom Bodger was a splendid butt for the exercise of the boys’ pertinacious tactics, and with mischief sparkling out of the young rascals’ eyes they made their plans of approach and began to buzz round him like flies, calling names, asking questions, laughing and jeering too, all of which had but little effect upon the man, who was an adept at what he called giving “tongue.” And so the boys found, for they decidedly got the worst of it.Soon after, growing bolder, some of the most daring began to make approaches to snatch at the net or the ball of water-cord, but they gained nothing by that. For Tom Bodger never went out without his stick, a weapon he used for offence as well as defence, and there was not a boy there in Rockabie who did not know how hard he could hit.A few little experiences of this sort of thing were quite enough to make the party draw off and take to the hurling of missiles. But they did not confine themselves to heads, tails, and bones of fish, for they were rather scarce, so they took to the stones which were swept up in ridges by the sea right across the harbour.But even this was dangerous, for the sailor could “field” the stones thrown at him and return them with a correctness of aim and activity that would have driven a skilful cricketer half mad with envy.Finally, several of the bigger lads held a kind of conference, but not unseen, for though apparently bending intently over his netting, the sailor was watching them with one eye and asking himself what game they—to wit, the boys—were going, as he put it, to start next.Old discipline on a man-of-war had made Bodger thoroughly alert, and suspecting a rush he took hold of his ball of net twine, unrolled sufficient to make many meshes, and then put it down again, seizing the opportunity to draw the stout oaken cudgel he generally carried well within reach of his hand.Then, netting away as skilfully as a woman, he indulged in a hearty laugh, chuckling to himself as he thought of the accuracy and force with which he could send it skimming over the ground, spinning round the while and looking like a star.“That’ll give one on ’em a sore leg for a week if I do have to throw it. On’y wish I could do it with a string tied to it so as to haul it back. Well, why not?” he added, eagerly, and then under cover of his netting he unwound thirty or forty yards of the twine, cut it off, and tied the end to the middle of his cudgel.“That’ll do it,” he muttered, and chuckled again with satisfaction. For Tom lived in the days when the Australian boomerang was an unknown weapon; otherwise he would have cut and carved till he had contrived one, and given himself no rest till he could hurl it with unerring aim and the skill that would bring it back to his hand.The sloop-of-war and the Revenue cutter, its companion, had been lying at anchor some hundred yards from the end of the pier, and every now and then the sailor glanced at the trim vessels with their white sails and the sloop’s carefully-squared yards—all “ataunto,” as he termed it—and more than one sigh escaped his lips as he thought that never again would he tread the white deck that he helped to holy-stone, let alone show that he was one of the smartest of the crew to go up aloft.And as he glanced at the vessels from time to time, he, to use his words, “put that and that together,” and noticed that, contrary to custom, there was not a single hearty-looking young fisherman lounging upon the rail that overhung the head of the harbour.“Smells a rat,” muttered the old sailor. “Like as not they’ve dropped anchor here to see if there are any likely-looking lads waiting to be picked up after dark. Why, there’s a good dozen that would be worth anything to a skipper, and I could put the press-gang on to their trail as easy as could be; but they’re neighbours, and I can’t do them such a dirty turn. Now, if they’d on’y take a dozen of these young beauties it would be a blessing to the place; but, no, the skipper wouldn’t have them at a gift. But that’s what they’re after. Hullo, here comes a boat!”“Oh!” he laughed, as he saw the sloop’s cutter lowered down with its crew and a couple of officers in the stern-sheets. “The old game. Coming ashore for fresh meat and vegetables. I know that little game.”Bodger went on netting away, watching the boat out of the corner of one eye as it was rowed smartly up to the harbour steps, where the oars were turned up; and leaving the youth with him in charge of the boat’s crew, the officer sprang out with one of the men and hurried up the steps, gave a supercilious glance at the crippled sailor, who touched his hat, and then went along towards the town.“Yes, that’s it,” said the sailor to himself. “Having a look round. There’ll be a gang landed to-night as sure as my name’s Bodger.”The thinker made a few more meshes and then had a glance down on the boat and her crew, his eyes dwelling longest upon the young officer, who had taken out a small glass, through which he began to examine the town.“Middy,” said Bodger. “Smart-looking lad too. What’s their game now?” he continued, as the boys drew closer together. “They’ll be up to some game or another directly. Shying old fish at that youngster’s uniform, or some game or another. Strikes me that if they do they’ll find that they’ve caught a tartar. Just what they’d like to do—shy half a dozen old bakes’ tails at his blue and white jacket. I might say a word to him and save it, but if I did I should be saving them young monkeys too, and—look at that now!—if that arn’t Master Aleck’s boat coming round the pynte! They sees it too—bless ’em! Now they’ll be arter him, safe. That’ll save the middy, but it won’t save Master Aleck. Strikes me I’d better put my netting away and clear the decks for action.”Tom Bodger’s clearing for action consisted in turning himself aside so that he could drag a neatly-folded duck bag off the fender, and stuffing his partly-made net and twine, with stirrup, mesh, and needle, inside before tying up the neck with a piece of yarn.But his eyes were busy the while, and he watched all that went on, Aleck’s boat running in fast, the boys whispering together, their leader sending off a couple towards the town end of the pier, and eliciting the mental remark from the sailor:“Going arter Big Jem for twopence. Are we going to have another fight? Well, if we are he arn’t going to tackle two on ’em, for I’m going to see fair with my stick and the crew o’ that cutter to look on to form a ring.”By the time he had thought out this observation it was time for him to carefully ascend to the top of one of the great mooring-posts, the flattest-topped one by preference. How it was done was a puzzle, and it drew forth the observations of the cutter’s crew, while the midshipman in charge shouted “Bravo!” But somehow or other, by the use of his hands and a peculiar hop, Tom Bodger brought himself up perpendicularly upon the top of the post, steadied himself with his stick, and then held his head aloft.That was enough. Aleck was near enough in to recognise the figure and comprehend the signal, which in Tom’s code read:“Right and ready, my lad. Steer for here.”

It was about a fortnight later when Aleck Donne went down the garden directly after breakfast with the full intent, after thinking it over a good deal, of charging old Onesimus Dunning, the gardener, with being leagued with the Eilygugg smugglers.

“If I told uncle,” he argued, “he would be sent away at once; but that would be doing the poor fellow a lot of harm and perhaps make him worse. Perhaps, too, it would make him nurse up a feeling of spite against us, and he would set the Eilygugg people against us as well. So I won’t do that, but I’m not going to have the nasty old imposter smiling at me and pretending to be so innocent. I just want him to understand that I’m not such a child as to be ignorant of his tricks. I’ll let him see that I know why he wanted me not to go along yonder by the west cliff.”

Aleck knew exactly where the man was likely to be, for he had been mowing the lawn, sweeping up the fragment result, and wheeling it away.

“He’ll be stacking it round the cucumber frame,” thought Aleck, “to keep in the heat. By the way, I wonder what became of the beautiful cuke that lay, at the back under the big leaves—we didn’t have it indoors! I’m sure he takes some of them away. Uncle never misses anything out of the garden, but I do.”

The lad went round to the kitchen garden, which sloped round towards the south, so beautifully sheltered that it was a perfect hot-bed of itself in the summer, and there, sure enough, was the heaped-up barrow of fresh green mowings, and one armful had been piled up to half hide a part of the rough wooden frame.

But no gardener was visible.

“Not here,” thought Aleck. “Well, perhaps I was wrong about that cuke.”

The next minute he had raised the clumsily-glazed sliding sash, with a hot puff of moist air smelling delicious as it reached his nostrils, while he propped up the glass, reached in, and began turning over the prickly leaves, laying bare the rather curly little specimens of the cool, pleasant fruit; but there was no sign of the big, well-grown vegetable.

“Was I mistaken?” mused the lad. “No, there was one, and there’s the remains of the stalk, showing where the cucumber has been cut. What a shame!” he muttered. “I’ll tell him of that too. Uncle would be angry if he knew.”

Aleck closed the frame again and began to look round.

“What a shame!” he said, again. “Nice sort of a gardener to have—lazy, a smuggler, and little better than a thief. I’ll just give him something to think about when I find him. Oh, there he is!”

For just then the boy looked up, to see the old gardener standing on the highest part of the sheltering cliff, his back to him, and shading his eyes as he looked out to sea.

“Ahoy! What are you doing there?” shouted Aleck.

The man started and looked down.

“Ships—men-o’-war—going behind the point,” shouted the gardener.

Men-of-war going into Rockabie harbour! That news was sufficient to upset all Aleck’s arrangements. He forgot all about the lesson he was going to give the gardener, and rushed indoors, to hurry upstairs and rap sharply at his uncle’s study, and, getting no answer he threw open the door to cross the room and seize the glass from where it hung by its sling. Then, dashing out again, he ran downstairs, crossed the garden, mounted the cliff zigzag path, and was soon after focussing the glass upon the men-of-war, which proved to be only a good-sized sloop followed by a trim-looking white-sailed cutter, both vessels with plenty of canvas spread, and gliding steadily over the smooth sunlit sea.

“Oh, I wish I’d known sooner!” groaned the lad, for he had hardly fixed the leading vessel before her bows began to disappear behind the point, and before ten minutes had elapsed the cutter was out of sight as well.

“I don’t know that I should much care about going to sea,” muttered Aleck, closing the glass, “but the ships do look so beautiful with their sails set, gliding along. What a pity! What a pity! I do wish I had known sooner.”

“What are they going to do there?” thought the boy, as he closed the glass and walked back to the cottage, where upon going upstairs to replace the glass he found his uncle in from his morning walk and about to settle down for a few hours’ work.

“Well, Aleck, boy,” he said; “been scanning the sea?”

“Yes, uncle; two vessels came along into Rockabie, but I only got a glimpse of them.”

“Too late, eh? Well, why not run over in the boat? I want something done in the town.”

“Do you, uncle? Oh!” cried the boy, half wild with excitement, as he turned and rushed to the little mirror over the chimney-piece to glance in.

“Yes,” said the old man, smiling. “There, nothing shows now except that little darkness under your eyes. I’m quite run out of paper, my boy. Go and get me some. But—er—no fighting this time.”

“No, uncle,” cried the lad, flushing up; and then, quickly: “There’s a beautiful soft breeze, dead on to the land, and it will serve going and coming.”

“Off with you, then, while it holds. Paper the same as before. Get back in good time.”

Aleck wanted no further incitement. The “wigging,” as he termed it, that was to be given to Dunning would keep, and he avoided the man as he hurried down into the gorge, stepped the mast and hooked on the rudder, guided the little vessel along the narrow, zigzag, canal-like harbour, and without an eye this time for the birds or beauty of the scene, he was soon after lying back steering and holding the sheet, while the well-filled sail tugged impatiently as if resenting being restrained.

Aleck had fully determined to avoid the boys of Rockabie that morning, and he was half disposed to hug himself with the idea that after the thrashing Big Jem had received they would interfere with him no more. But he was quite wrong, for the port boys were too full of vitality, and always on the look-out for some means of getting rid of the effervescing mischief that bubbled and foamed within them.

The distant sight of the King’s vessels heading for the port was quite enough to attract them to the pier, and there they were in force, well on the look-out for something to annoy so as to give themselves employment till the sloop and cutter came in.

There was the something all ready in the person of Tom Bodger, who was seated upon a ship’s fender, one of those Brobdingnagian netted balls covered with a network of tarred rope, used to keep the edge of the stone pier from crushing and splintering the sides of the vessel.

This formed a capital cushion, albeit rather sticky in hot weather, and was planted close up to a stone mooring-post, which acted as a back to lean against, while, with his wooden legs stretched straight out, the man employed himself busily in netting, his fingers going rapidly and the meshes seeming to run off the ends of his fingers.

Intent upon his work, active with hands and arms, but rather helpless as to his legs, Tom Bodger was a splendid butt for the exercise of the boys’ pertinacious tactics, and with mischief sparkling out of the young rascals’ eyes they made their plans of approach and began to buzz round him like flies, calling names, asking questions, laughing and jeering too, all of which had but little effect upon the man, who was an adept at what he called giving “tongue.” And so the boys found, for they decidedly got the worst of it.

Soon after, growing bolder, some of the most daring began to make approaches to snatch at the net or the ball of water-cord, but they gained nothing by that. For Tom Bodger never went out without his stick, a weapon he used for offence as well as defence, and there was not a boy there in Rockabie who did not know how hard he could hit.

A few little experiences of this sort of thing were quite enough to make the party draw off and take to the hurling of missiles. But they did not confine themselves to heads, tails, and bones of fish, for they were rather scarce, so they took to the stones which were swept up in ridges by the sea right across the harbour.

But even this was dangerous, for the sailor could “field” the stones thrown at him and return them with a correctness of aim and activity that would have driven a skilful cricketer half mad with envy.

Finally, several of the bigger lads held a kind of conference, but not unseen, for though apparently bending intently over his netting, the sailor was watching them with one eye and asking himself what game they—to wit, the boys—were going, as he put it, to start next.

Old discipline on a man-of-war had made Bodger thoroughly alert, and suspecting a rush he took hold of his ball of net twine, unrolled sufficient to make many meshes, and then put it down again, seizing the opportunity to draw the stout oaken cudgel he generally carried well within reach of his hand.

Then, netting away as skilfully as a woman, he indulged in a hearty laugh, chuckling to himself as he thought of the accuracy and force with which he could send it skimming over the ground, spinning round the while and looking like a star.

“That’ll give one on ’em a sore leg for a week if I do have to throw it. On’y wish I could do it with a string tied to it so as to haul it back. Well, why not?” he added, eagerly, and then under cover of his netting he unwound thirty or forty yards of the twine, cut it off, and tied the end to the middle of his cudgel.

“That’ll do it,” he muttered, and chuckled again with satisfaction. For Tom lived in the days when the Australian boomerang was an unknown weapon; otherwise he would have cut and carved till he had contrived one, and given himself no rest till he could hurl it with unerring aim and the skill that would bring it back to his hand.

The sloop-of-war and the Revenue cutter, its companion, had been lying at anchor some hundred yards from the end of the pier, and every now and then the sailor glanced at the trim vessels with their white sails and the sloop’s carefully-squared yards—all “ataunto,” as he termed it—and more than one sigh escaped his lips as he thought that never again would he tread the white deck that he helped to holy-stone, let alone show that he was one of the smartest of the crew to go up aloft.

And as he glanced at the vessels from time to time, he, to use his words, “put that and that together,” and noticed that, contrary to custom, there was not a single hearty-looking young fisherman lounging upon the rail that overhung the head of the harbour.

“Smells a rat,” muttered the old sailor. “Like as not they’ve dropped anchor here to see if there are any likely-looking lads waiting to be picked up after dark. Why, there’s a good dozen that would be worth anything to a skipper, and I could put the press-gang on to their trail as easy as could be; but they’re neighbours, and I can’t do them such a dirty turn. Now, if they’d on’y take a dozen of these young beauties it would be a blessing to the place; but, no, the skipper wouldn’t have them at a gift. But that’s what they’re after. Hullo, here comes a boat!”

“Oh!” he laughed, as he saw the sloop’s cutter lowered down with its crew and a couple of officers in the stern-sheets. “The old game. Coming ashore for fresh meat and vegetables. I know that little game.”

Bodger went on netting away, watching the boat out of the corner of one eye as it was rowed smartly up to the harbour steps, where the oars were turned up; and leaving the youth with him in charge of the boat’s crew, the officer sprang out with one of the men and hurried up the steps, gave a supercilious glance at the crippled sailor, who touched his hat, and then went along towards the town.

“Yes, that’s it,” said the sailor to himself. “Having a look round. There’ll be a gang landed to-night as sure as my name’s Bodger.”

The thinker made a few more meshes and then had a glance down on the boat and her crew, his eyes dwelling longest upon the young officer, who had taken out a small glass, through which he began to examine the town.

“Middy,” said Bodger. “Smart-looking lad too. What’s their game now?” he continued, as the boys drew closer together. “They’ll be up to some game or another directly. Shying old fish at that youngster’s uniform, or some game or another. Strikes me that if they do they’ll find that they’ve caught a tartar. Just what they’d like to do—shy half a dozen old bakes’ tails at his blue and white jacket. I might say a word to him and save it, but if I did I should be saving them young monkeys too, and—look at that now!—if that arn’t Master Aleck’s boat coming round the pynte! They sees it too—bless ’em! Now they’ll be arter him, safe. That’ll save the middy, but it won’t save Master Aleck. Strikes me I’d better put my netting away and clear the decks for action.”

Tom Bodger’s clearing for action consisted in turning himself aside so that he could drag a neatly-folded duck bag off the fender, and stuffing his partly-made net and twine, with stirrup, mesh, and needle, inside before tying up the neck with a piece of yarn.

But his eyes were busy the while, and he watched all that went on, Aleck’s boat running in fast, the boys whispering together, their leader sending off a couple towards the town end of the pier, and eliciting the mental remark from the sailor:

“Going arter Big Jem for twopence. Are we going to have another fight? Well, if we are he arn’t going to tackle two on ’em, for I’m going to see fair with my stick and the crew o’ that cutter to look on to form a ring.”

By the time he had thought out this observation it was time for him to carefully ascend to the top of one of the great mooring-posts, the flattest-topped one by preference. How it was done was a puzzle, and it drew forth the observations of the cutter’s crew, while the midshipman in charge shouted “Bravo!” But somehow or other, by the use of his hands and a peculiar hop, Tom Bodger brought himself up perpendicularly upon the top of the post, steadied himself with his stick, and then held his head aloft.

That was enough. Aleck was near enough in to recognise the figure and comprehend the signal, which in Tom’s code read:

“Right and ready, my lad. Steer for here.”

Chapter Ten.Aleck ran his boat close in behind the cutter after lowering the sail so close that it touched the midshipman’s dignity.“Hi, you, sir!” he shouted. “Mind where you’re going with that boat.”“All right,” replied Aleck, coolly enough. “I won’t sink you.”“Hang his insolence!” muttered the middy; and as Tom lowered himself from the post and then went, rock-hopper fashion, down the steps and boarded the boat, the young officer gave Aleck a supercilious stare up and down, taking in his rough every-day clothes and swelling himself out a little in his smart blue well-fitting uniform.Aleck felt nettled, drew himself up, and returned the stare before making a similar inspection of the young naval officer.“Whose boat’s that, boy?” said the latter, haughtily.“Mine,” was Aleck’s prompt reply. “What ship’s that, middy—I don’t mean the cutter, of course?”“Well, of all the insolence—” began the lad. “Do you know, sir, that you mustn’t address one of the King’s officers like that?”“No, I didn’t know it,” said Aleck, coolly. “I thought you were only a midshipman. Are you the captain?”“Why, con—”“Look out!” cried Aleck, giving the speaker a sharp push which nearly sent him backward but saved him from receiving a wet dockfish full on the cheek, the unpleasantly foul object whizzing between the lads’ heads, followed by a roar of laughter from a group of the young ruffians on the pier.“How dare you lay your hands upon a King’s officer!” cried the midshipman, furiously.Aleck shrugged his shoulders and laughed.“Look out!” he cried. “Here come two or three more,” and he dogged aside, while the middy was compelled, metaphorically, to come down from his dignified perch and duck down nearly double to escape the missiles which flew over him.“Do you see now?” said Aleck, merrily.“Oh! Ah! Yes! Of course! The insolent young scoundrels! Here, half a dozen of you jump ashore and catch that big boy with the ragged red cap. I’ll have him aboard to be flogged.”Six of the boat’s crew sprang out on to the steps, but there was no prospect of their catching the principal offender, who uttered a derisive yell and started off to run at a rate which would have soon placed him beyond the reach of the sailors; and he knew it, too, as he turned and made a gesture of contempt, which produced a roar of delight from the other boys who stood looking on.“After him!” yelled the middy to his men, as he stood stamping one foot in his excitement; and then turning to Aleck: “If the cat don’t scratch his back for this my name’s not Wrighton.”The communication was made in quite a friendly, confidential way, which brought a response from Aleck:“He’ll be too quick for them. The young dogs are as quick as congers.”“You wait and you’ll see. I’ll make an example of him.”All this passed quickly enough, while the boy in the red cap, feeling quite confident in his powers of flight, turned again to jeer and shout at the sailors, whom he derided with impudent remarks about their fatness of person, weight of leg, and stupidity generally, till he judged it dangerous to wait any longer, when he went off like a clockwork mouse, skimming over the stones, and from the first strides beginning to leave the sailors behind.“I told you so,” said Aleck. “There he goes. I can run fast, but I couldn’t catch him. Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Tom!” he cried. “Look at that sailor!”For meanwhile Tom Bodger, stick in hand, had made his way back on to the pier, and just as the boy was going his fastest something followed him faster, in the shape of the wooden-legged sailor’s well-aimed cudgel, which spun over the surface of the pier, thrown with all the power of Tom’s strong arm, and the next instant it seemed to be tangled up with the boy’s legs, when down he went, kicking, yelling, and struggling to get up.“Hi! Oh, my! Help, help!” he yelled at his comrades; but they only stood staring, while the foremost sailors passed on so as to block the way of escape, and the next instant the offender was hemmed in by a half circle of pursuers, who formed an arc, the chord being the edge of the pier, beneath which was the deep, clear water.“There,” cried the middy, triumphantly. “Got him!” Then to his men: “Bring the young brute here.”Meanwhile, as the boy lay yelping and howling in a very dog-like fashion, the laughing sailors began to close in, and then suddenly made a dart to seize their quarry, but only to stand gazing down into the harbour.For, in pain before from the contact of the stick and his heavy fall, but in agony now from the dread of being caught, the boy kept up the dog-like character of his actions by going on all fours over two or three yards, and then, as hands were outstretched to seize him, he leaped right off the pier edge, to plunge with a tremendous splash ten feet below, the deep water closing instantly over his head.“He’s gone, sir,” said one of the sailors, turning to his officer.“Well, can’t I see he has gone, you stupid, cutter-fingered swab?” cried the middy. “Here, back into the boat and round to the other side of the pier. You’ll easily catch him then.”“Not they,” said Aleck, quietly; “didn’t I tell you he was as quick and slippery as a conger?”“Look sharp! Be smart, men,” cried the middy, angrily.“What’s the good of tiring the lads for nothing?” said Aleck, as the men began to scramble into the cutter. “It will take them nearly ten minutes to get round to where he went off.”“Would it?”“Of course.”“But, I say,” said the middy, anxiously, “mightn’t he be drowned?”“Just about as likely as that dogfish he threw at you. Come and look!”Aleck led the way up the steps, followed by the young officer, and then as they crossed the pier they came in sight directly of the boy, swimming easily, side stroke, for a group of rocks which formed the starting-point of the pier curve, and beyond which were several places where the boy could land.“He’ll be ashore before we could get near him,” said Aleck.“What! Shall I have to let him go?” cried the middy.“Of course! He got a tremendous crack on the legs from Tom Bodger’s stick—he was nearly frightened to death; and he has had a thorough ducking. Isn’t that enough?”“Well, it will have to be,” said the middy, in a disappointed tone. “I meant him to be treed up and flogged.”Aleck looked at him in rather an amused fashion.“Well, what are you staring at?” said the middy, importantly.“I was only wondering whether you would be able to order the boy to be flogged.”“Well—er—that is,” said the midshipman, flushing a little; “I—er—said I should give him—er—report it to the captain, who would give the orders on my statement. It’s the same thing, you know, as if I gave the flogging. ‘I’ll give a man a flogging’ doesn’t, of course, mean that I, as an officer, should give it with my own hands. See?”“Yes, I see,” said Aleck, quietly.“Sit fast there,” cried the middy to his men, as he began to descend the steps. “Let the young scoundrel go.”Just then Aleck glanced round and saw that the officer who had gone ashore was returning, followed by the man who had accompanied him, and he turned to Bodger, who stood waiting for orders, before descending again to the boat.

Aleck ran his boat close in behind the cutter after lowering the sail so close that it touched the midshipman’s dignity.

“Hi, you, sir!” he shouted. “Mind where you’re going with that boat.”

“All right,” replied Aleck, coolly enough. “I won’t sink you.”

“Hang his insolence!” muttered the middy; and as Tom lowered himself from the post and then went, rock-hopper fashion, down the steps and boarded the boat, the young officer gave Aleck a supercilious stare up and down, taking in his rough every-day clothes and swelling himself out a little in his smart blue well-fitting uniform.

Aleck felt nettled, drew himself up, and returned the stare before making a similar inspection of the young naval officer.

“Whose boat’s that, boy?” said the latter, haughtily.

“Mine,” was Aleck’s prompt reply. “What ship’s that, middy—I don’t mean the cutter, of course?”

“Well, of all the insolence—” began the lad. “Do you know, sir, that you mustn’t address one of the King’s officers like that?”

“No, I didn’t know it,” said Aleck, coolly. “I thought you were only a midshipman. Are you the captain?”

“Why, con—”

“Look out!” cried Aleck, giving the speaker a sharp push which nearly sent him backward but saved him from receiving a wet dockfish full on the cheek, the unpleasantly foul object whizzing between the lads’ heads, followed by a roar of laughter from a group of the young ruffians on the pier.

“How dare you lay your hands upon a King’s officer!” cried the midshipman, furiously.

Aleck shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

“Look out!” he cried. “Here come two or three more,” and he dogged aside, while the middy was compelled, metaphorically, to come down from his dignified perch and duck down nearly double to escape the missiles which flew over him.

“Do you see now?” said Aleck, merrily.

“Oh! Ah! Yes! Of course! The insolent young scoundrels! Here, half a dozen of you jump ashore and catch that big boy with the ragged red cap. I’ll have him aboard to be flogged.”

Six of the boat’s crew sprang out on to the steps, but there was no prospect of their catching the principal offender, who uttered a derisive yell and started off to run at a rate which would have soon placed him beyond the reach of the sailors; and he knew it, too, as he turned and made a gesture of contempt, which produced a roar of delight from the other boys who stood looking on.

“After him!” yelled the middy to his men, as he stood stamping one foot in his excitement; and then turning to Aleck: “If the cat don’t scratch his back for this my name’s not Wrighton.”

The communication was made in quite a friendly, confidential way, which brought a response from Aleck:

“He’ll be too quick for them. The young dogs are as quick as congers.”

“You wait and you’ll see. I’ll make an example of him.”

All this passed quickly enough, while the boy in the red cap, feeling quite confident in his powers of flight, turned again to jeer and shout at the sailors, whom he derided with impudent remarks about their fatness of person, weight of leg, and stupidity generally, till he judged it dangerous to wait any longer, when he went off like a clockwork mouse, skimming over the stones, and from the first strides beginning to leave the sailors behind.

“I told you so,” said Aleck. “There he goes. I can run fast, but I couldn’t catch him. Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Tom!” he cried. “Look at that sailor!”

For meanwhile Tom Bodger, stick in hand, had made his way back on to the pier, and just as the boy was going his fastest something followed him faster, in the shape of the wooden-legged sailor’s well-aimed cudgel, which spun over the surface of the pier, thrown with all the power of Tom’s strong arm, and the next instant it seemed to be tangled up with the boy’s legs, when down he went, kicking, yelling, and struggling to get up.

“Hi! Oh, my! Help, help!” he yelled at his comrades; but they only stood staring, while the foremost sailors passed on so as to block the way of escape, and the next instant the offender was hemmed in by a half circle of pursuers, who formed an arc, the chord being the edge of the pier, beneath which was the deep, clear water.

“There,” cried the middy, triumphantly. “Got him!” Then to his men: “Bring the young brute here.”

Meanwhile, as the boy lay yelping and howling in a very dog-like fashion, the laughing sailors began to close in, and then suddenly made a dart to seize their quarry, but only to stand gazing down into the harbour.

For, in pain before from the contact of the stick and his heavy fall, but in agony now from the dread of being caught, the boy kept up the dog-like character of his actions by going on all fours over two or three yards, and then, as hands were outstretched to seize him, he leaped right off the pier edge, to plunge with a tremendous splash ten feet below, the deep water closing instantly over his head.

“He’s gone, sir,” said one of the sailors, turning to his officer.

“Well, can’t I see he has gone, you stupid, cutter-fingered swab?” cried the middy. “Here, back into the boat and round to the other side of the pier. You’ll easily catch him then.”

“Not they,” said Aleck, quietly; “didn’t I tell you he was as quick and slippery as a conger?”

“Look sharp! Be smart, men,” cried the middy, angrily.

“What’s the good of tiring the lads for nothing?” said Aleck, as the men began to scramble into the cutter. “It will take them nearly ten minutes to get round to where he went off.”

“Would it?”

“Of course.”

“But, I say,” said the middy, anxiously, “mightn’t he be drowned?”

“Just about as likely as that dogfish he threw at you. Come and look!”

Aleck led the way up the steps, followed by the young officer, and then as they crossed the pier they came in sight directly of the boy, swimming easily, side stroke, for a group of rocks which formed the starting-point of the pier curve, and beyond which were several places where the boy could land.

“He’ll be ashore before we could get near him,” said Aleck.

“What! Shall I have to let him go?” cried the middy.

“Of course! He got a tremendous crack on the legs from Tom Bodger’s stick—he was nearly frightened to death; and he has had a thorough ducking. Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, it will have to be,” said the middy, in a disappointed tone. “I meant him to be treed up and flogged.”

Aleck looked at him in rather an amused fashion.

“Well, what are you staring at?” said the middy, importantly.

“I was only wondering whether you would be able to order the boy to be flogged.”

“Well—er—that is,” said the midshipman, flushing a little; “I—er—said I should give him—er—report it to the captain, who would give the orders on my statement. It’s the same thing, you know, as if I gave the flogging. ‘I’ll give a man a flogging’ doesn’t, of course, mean that I, as an officer, should give it with my own hands. See?”

“Yes, I see,” said Aleck, quietly.

“Sit fast there,” cried the middy to his men, as he began to descend the steps. “Let the young scoundrel go.”

Just then Aleck glanced round and saw that the officer who had gone ashore was returning, followed by the man who had accompanied him, and he turned to Bodger, who stood waiting for orders, before descending again to the boat.

Chapter Eleven.“I say, Tom,” said Aleck, “that was cleverly aimed, but you had better mind or you’ll be breaking one of the boys’ legs.”“Well-aimed, sir? Oh, that was nothing tickler. An easy shot that, sir. No fear o’ my breaking no legs. I can tell exactly how much powder to fire with. I give it ’em just strong enough to hurt; that’s all.”Just then the officer came back, spoke to the young middy, and went off again with the six men who had been unsuccessful in their chase of the red-capped boy, while Aleck and his companion exchanged glances.“There, Tom, take away the boat,” said Aleck; “I must go and get my uncle’s paper.”“Your uncle’s paper, sir?”“Yes, I’ve run over to get some for him.”“Why, you got some on’y t’other week, sir. Did he have an axdent and burn it?”“No,” said Aleck, laughing. “It’s all used up for writing.”“Wond’ful—wond’ful!” muttered the man. “Here’s me can’t write a word, and him allus going at it. Well, I suppose he was born that way. I’ll take care o’ your boat all the same, sir.”“What do you mean with your all the same?” asked Aleck, looking puzzled at the man’s words.“All the same, sir, though I can’t write a word.”Aleck went off, being saluted by a nod from the middy, who lay back in the stern-sheets of the cutter. It was a nod that might have meant anything—condescension, friendliness, or a hint to keep his distance; but it did not trouble the lad, who trudged along the pier to fulfil his mission, and was soon after in the rugged, ill-paved main street, where he in sight of the naval group from the sloop, evidently busy buying and loading up with fresh provisions from the little shops.He passed on, and was nearing the place where, in company with toys, grocery, and sweetmeats, the shopkeeper kept up a small supply of paper, for which the captain was his main customer, when a dark-bearded fisherman-like man suddenly turned out of a public-house, caught him by the arm, and hurried him sharply down a narrow alley which ran by the side of the little inn.The man’s sudden action, coupled with the fact that he was the last person in the county he would have expected to see, took away the lad’s breath for a moment or two while he gazed up in the fierce searching eyes that seemed to be reading his thoughts.“You, Eben?” he said at last.“Me it is, youngster. What game do you call this?”“I don’t call it a game at all. What are you doing here?”“Never you mind what I’m a-doing here. P’raps I’m watching you. I want to know what your game is.”“I’m playing at no game,” cried the boy, speaking rather indignantly. “Let go of my arm.”“When you’ve told me what you’re a-doing of with them sailor chaps.”“I? I’m doing nothing with them. I’ve come over in my own boat. I’m not along with them.”“I know. I’ve had my eye on yer, my lad. But let’s have the truth. You come over to meet these chaps from the boats lying off there.”“Not I. If you must know, I’ve come over to fetch some paper for my uncle.”“And what else, my lad?”“Nothing else,” cried Aleck; “but I don’t know what right you have to question me.”“You soon will, my lad. You say you’re not with these folk. Why, I saw you talking for ever so long to the chaps in the boat that come ashore to lie there by the harbour wall, and afore it had been there long you come into port and run your boat close alongside.”“Of course I did, to get up to the steps and land. Look here; what are you thinking about?”“Well,” said the man, fiercely, “if you want to know over again what you knew before, I’m just going to tell you, so as to let you see that I’m not such a fool as you take me for, and also to let you know that I can see right through you, clever as you think yourself.”“Go on,” said Aleck. “Let’s have it all then.”“Well, here you are, my lad. I s’pose you know that’s a man-o’-war sloop?”“Yes, I know that, Eben.”“Yes, I s’pose so, my lad, and you know what she’s hanging about this coast for?”“I don’t for certain,” replied Aleck, “but I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the captain wanted to press a few likely lads, if he could get hold of them.”“Oh, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? I s’pose not,” said the man, in a sneering tone.“Why, anybody would guess that.”“P’raps they would and p’raps they wouldn’t, my lad; but, of course, you don’t know that there’s the little Revenue cutter that’s looking out for any little bit of smuggling going on?”“Why, what nonsense you’re talking, Eben! Of course I knew.”“Yes, of course you did, my lad; and you’ve got a spy-glass, haven’t you!”“No; but I use my uncle’s.”“That’s right; and when them two vessels come into sight ’smorning you got the glass out to see what they were?”“Yes; directly.”“And then you went down to your boat-hole and ran over here as fast as you could?”“Yes; but it wasn’t fast, for the wind kept dropping. But how did you know this?”“Never you mind how I knowed. You knowed that me and four mates came over here last night.”“That I didn’t,” cried Aleck. “What for—to run a cargo?”“Never you mind what for, my lad. You knowed we’d come.”“That I didn’t. I hadn’t the least idea you had. But how did you know I got out the glass to have a look at the vessels? Bah! You couldn’t know if you were over here. No one saw me but old Dunning. It’s impossible.”“Is it?” said the man, with a sneer. “Then we arn’t got a glass at Eilygugg, of course, eh, and nobody left behind to look out for squalls and run across to tell us to look out when they see the wind changing? So, you see, clever as you think yourself, you’re found out, my lad. Now do you see?”“I see that you’re on the wrong tack, Eben,” said the lad, scornfully, “and let me tell you that you’ve been talking a lot of nonsense. I don’t see why I should tell you. It’s absurd to accuse me of being a spy and informer. Do you suppose we up at the Den want to be on bad terms with all the fishermen and—and people about?”“You mean to say you haven’t put the boat’s crew yonder up to taking me and my mates?”“Of course I do. Why, I haven’t even spoken to the officer, only to the midshipman.”“Well, it looks very bad,” growled the man, gazing at the lad, searchingly.“If you think a press-gang is likely to come ashore to get hold of you and your mates, why don’t you slip off into the hills for a bit?”The man stared, and his features relaxed a little and a little more, and he caught Aleck by the sleeve.“Look here, Master Aleck,” he said; “the captain yonder’s a gentleman, though we arn’t very good friends, but he never did anything to get any of us took.”“Of course he didn’t.”“Wouldn’t like you to, p’raps.”“Why, of course he wouldn’t. If the fleet want men they’ll get them somehow, and the Revenue cutter will hunt out the smugglers sooner or later; but for you to think that I’m on the look-out always to do you a bad turn—why, it’s downright foolishness, Eben.”“Well, I’m beginning to think it is, my lad,” said the man, smiling; “but that’s just what they thought at home, and my young brother Bill ran across to give us the warning. I put that and that together, and I felt as sure as sure that you’d come over to inform agen us.”“But you don’t believe it now?”“No, my lad, I don’t believe it now,” said Eben, “and I’m glad on it, because it would be a pity for a smart young chap like you to be in for it.”“In for what?” said Aleck.“For what? Ah, you’d soon know if you did blow upon us, my lad. But, there, I don’t believe it a bit now, and I got some’at else to do but stand talking to you, so I’m off. Only, you know, my lad, as it’s the best thing for a chap like you as wants to live peaceable like with his neighbours to keep his mouth shut—mum—plop.”The two last words were sounds made by slapping the mouth closely shut and half open with the open hand, after doing which Eben Megg stepped down the narrow turning and mysteriously disappeared.“Bother him and his bullyings and threats,” cried Aleck. “Such insolence! But, there, I must see about my paper and get back.”

“I say, Tom,” said Aleck, “that was cleverly aimed, but you had better mind or you’ll be breaking one of the boys’ legs.”

“Well-aimed, sir? Oh, that was nothing tickler. An easy shot that, sir. No fear o’ my breaking no legs. I can tell exactly how much powder to fire with. I give it ’em just strong enough to hurt; that’s all.”

Just then the officer came back, spoke to the young middy, and went off again with the six men who had been unsuccessful in their chase of the red-capped boy, while Aleck and his companion exchanged glances.

“There, Tom, take away the boat,” said Aleck; “I must go and get my uncle’s paper.”

“Your uncle’s paper, sir?”

“Yes, I’ve run over to get some for him.”

“Why, you got some on’y t’other week, sir. Did he have an axdent and burn it?”

“No,” said Aleck, laughing. “It’s all used up for writing.”

“Wond’ful—wond’ful!” muttered the man. “Here’s me can’t write a word, and him allus going at it. Well, I suppose he was born that way. I’ll take care o’ your boat all the same, sir.”

“What do you mean with your all the same?” asked Aleck, looking puzzled at the man’s words.

“All the same, sir, though I can’t write a word.”

Aleck went off, being saluted by a nod from the middy, who lay back in the stern-sheets of the cutter. It was a nod that might have meant anything—condescension, friendliness, or a hint to keep his distance; but it did not trouble the lad, who trudged along the pier to fulfil his mission, and was soon after in the rugged, ill-paved main street, where he in sight of the naval group from the sloop, evidently busy buying and loading up with fresh provisions from the little shops.

He passed on, and was nearing the place where, in company with toys, grocery, and sweetmeats, the shopkeeper kept up a small supply of paper, for which the captain was his main customer, when a dark-bearded fisherman-like man suddenly turned out of a public-house, caught him by the arm, and hurried him sharply down a narrow alley which ran by the side of the little inn.

The man’s sudden action, coupled with the fact that he was the last person in the county he would have expected to see, took away the lad’s breath for a moment or two while he gazed up in the fierce searching eyes that seemed to be reading his thoughts.

“You, Eben?” he said at last.

“Me it is, youngster. What game do you call this?”

“I don’t call it a game at all. What are you doing here?”

“Never you mind what I’m a-doing here. P’raps I’m watching you. I want to know what your game is.”

“I’m playing at no game,” cried the boy, speaking rather indignantly. “Let go of my arm.”

“When you’ve told me what you’re a-doing of with them sailor chaps.”

“I? I’m doing nothing with them. I’ve come over in my own boat. I’m not along with them.”

“I know. I’ve had my eye on yer, my lad. But let’s have the truth. You come over to meet these chaps from the boats lying off there.”

“Not I. If you must know, I’ve come over to fetch some paper for my uncle.”

“And what else, my lad?”

“Nothing else,” cried Aleck; “but I don’t know what right you have to question me.”

“You soon will, my lad. You say you’re not with these folk. Why, I saw you talking for ever so long to the chaps in the boat that come ashore to lie there by the harbour wall, and afore it had been there long you come into port and run your boat close alongside.”

“Of course I did, to get up to the steps and land. Look here; what are you thinking about?”

“Well,” said the man, fiercely, “if you want to know over again what you knew before, I’m just going to tell you, so as to let you see that I’m not such a fool as you take me for, and also to let you know that I can see right through you, clever as you think yourself.”

“Go on,” said Aleck. “Let’s have it all then.”

“Well, here you are, my lad. I s’pose you know that’s a man-o’-war sloop?”

“Yes, I know that, Eben.”

“Yes, I s’pose so, my lad, and you know what she’s hanging about this coast for?”

“I don’t for certain,” replied Aleck, “but I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the captain wanted to press a few likely lads, if he could get hold of them.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? I s’pose not,” said the man, in a sneering tone.

“Why, anybody would guess that.”

“P’raps they would and p’raps they wouldn’t, my lad; but, of course, you don’t know that there’s the little Revenue cutter that’s looking out for any little bit of smuggling going on?”

“Why, what nonsense you’re talking, Eben! Of course I knew.”

“Yes, of course you did, my lad; and you’ve got a spy-glass, haven’t you!”

“No; but I use my uncle’s.”

“That’s right; and when them two vessels come into sight ’smorning you got the glass out to see what they were?”

“Yes; directly.”

“And then you went down to your boat-hole and ran over here as fast as you could?”

“Yes; but it wasn’t fast, for the wind kept dropping. But how did you know this?”

“Never you mind how I knowed. You knowed that me and four mates came over here last night.”

“That I didn’t,” cried Aleck. “What for—to run a cargo?”

“Never you mind what for, my lad. You knowed we’d come.”

“That I didn’t. I hadn’t the least idea you had. But how did you know I got out the glass to have a look at the vessels? Bah! You couldn’t know if you were over here. No one saw me but old Dunning. It’s impossible.”

“Is it?” said the man, with a sneer. “Then we arn’t got a glass at Eilygugg, of course, eh, and nobody left behind to look out for squalls and run across to tell us to look out when they see the wind changing? So, you see, clever as you think yourself, you’re found out, my lad. Now do you see?”

“I see that you’re on the wrong tack, Eben,” said the lad, scornfully, “and let me tell you that you’ve been talking a lot of nonsense. I don’t see why I should tell you. It’s absurd to accuse me of being a spy and informer. Do you suppose we up at the Den want to be on bad terms with all the fishermen and—and people about?”

“You mean to say you haven’t put the boat’s crew yonder up to taking me and my mates?”

“Of course I do. Why, I haven’t even spoken to the officer, only to the midshipman.”

“Well, it looks very bad,” growled the man, gazing at the lad, searchingly.

“If you think a press-gang is likely to come ashore to get hold of you and your mates, why don’t you slip off into the hills for a bit?”

The man stared, and his features relaxed a little and a little more, and he caught Aleck by the sleeve.

“Look here, Master Aleck,” he said; “the captain yonder’s a gentleman, though we arn’t very good friends, but he never did anything to get any of us took.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t like you to, p’raps.”

“Why, of course he wouldn’t. If the fleet want men they’ll get them somehow, and the Revenue cutter will hunt out the smugglers sooner or later; but for you to think that I’m on the look-out always to do you a bad turn—why, it’s downright foolishness, Eben.”

“Well, I’m beginning to think it is, my lad,” said the man, smiling; “but that’s just what they thought at home, and my young brother Bill ran across to give us the warning. I put that and that together, and I felt as sure as sure that you’d come over to inform agen us.”

“But you don’t believe it now?”

“No, my lad, I don’t believe it now,” said Eben, “and I’m glad on it, because it would be a pity for a smart young chap like you to be in for it.”

“In for what?” said Aleck.

“For what? Ah, you’d soon know if you did blow upon us, my lad. But, there, I don’t believe it a bit now, and I got some’at else to do but stand talking to you, so I’m off. Only, you know, my lad, as it’s the best thing for a chap like you as wants to live peaceable like with his neighbours to keep his mouth shut—mum—plop.”

The two last words were sounds made by slapping the mouth closely shut and half open with the open hand, after doing which Eben Megg stepped down the narrow turning and mysteriously disappeared.

“Bother him and his bullyings and threats,” cried Aleck. “Such insolence! But, there, I must see about my paper and get back.”

Chapter Twelve.Left alone in the boat, Tom Bodger sat down on one of the thwarts with his wooden pegs stuck straight out before him. Then he brought them close together with a sharp rap and began to rub one over the other gently; but these movements had nothing to do with the thinking, though he more than once told himself that he thought better when he was rubbing his legs together.As he sat there he naturally enough began to watch the man-o’-war boat with her smart young officer and neat, trim-looking crew, while, continuing his inspection, he ran his eyes over the boat and admired its beautiful lines.This brought up memories of the time when career and body had both been cut short by that unlucky cannon ball, leaving him a cripple and a pensioner.“But I dunno,” he said to himself, in a way he had of making the best of things, “if I hadn’t been hit I might ha’ lived on and been drowned, and then there’d ha’ been no pension to enj’y as I enj’ys mine; and I don’t never have to buy no boots nor shoes, so there arn’t much to grumble about, arter all.”So Tom sat rubbing his wooden legs together, watching the sailors in the boat, thinking of how he’d been coxswain of just such a boat as that, and then beginning to feel an intense longing to compare notes with the men left with the middy in charge; but the young officer kept his men in order, and twice over had them busily at work stowing away the vegetables, fresh meat, bacon, and butter that were brought down from time to time and packed well out of the way fore and aft.Consequently there was no opportunity allowed for him to get up a gossip, the young officer looking fiercely important, and the men making no advance.“Beautifully clean and smart,” said Tom. “Wonder how long Master Aleck’ll be.”Then he swept the edge of the pier ten feet above his head in search of inimical boys, letting one hand down by his side to finger his cudgel, and indulging in a chuckle at the skilful way in which he had brought down the young offender a short time before.“Pretty well scared him away,” said Tom to himself; “he won’t show himself here again to-day.”But as it happened Tom was wrong, for the boy, after landing in safety, with the water streaming down inside his ragged breeches and escaping at the bottom of the legs when it did not slip out of the holes it encountered on its way, had made his way up the steep cliff and round to the back of the town so as to get up on the moorland, where the sun came down hotly, when he began to drip and dry rapidly.He could sweep the pier and harbour now easily, looking over the fishing-boats and watching those belonging to the man-o’-war and Aleck Donne, with Tom Bodger sitting with his legs sticking straight out.And then he called Tom Bodger a very seaside salt and wicked name, in addition to making a vow of what he would do to “sarve him out.”The boy gave another glance round as if in search of coadjutors, but all his comrades had disappeared; so he stood thinking and drying as he turned his thoughts inland, with the result that he had a happy thought, under whose inspiration he set off at a trot round by the back of the little town till he came within view of a group of patches of sandy land roughly fenced in and divided by posts of wreck-wood and rails covered with pitch—rough fragments that had once been boat planks.He ran a little faster now, and externally did not seem wet, for his hair was cropped so short that no water could find a lodgment, and his worn-old, knitted blue shirt and cloth breeches had ceased to show the moisture they had soaked up.Once within hearing of the rough fenced-in gardens he put both hands to his mouth and uttered a frightful yell, with the result that a head suddenly shot up from behind one of the fences, and its owner was seen down to the waist, looking as if he were leaning upon an old musket.But this was only the handle of a hoe, and the holder proved to be Big Jem, occupied in his father’s garden, where he had been hoeing and earthing up potatoes in lazy-boy fashion with a chip-chop and a long think, supplemented by a rest at the end of each row to chew tobacco.A minute later and the boys were lying down side by side, resting upon their elbows and kicking up their heels over their backs, what time the newcomer related what had passed down on the pier, and also what he should like to do.The narrative seemed to afford Big Jem intense satisfaction, for he uttered a hoarse crowing laugh from time to time and blinked his eyes, squeezing the lids very close and then opening them wide, when sundry signs of black, green and blue bruises became visible.When the newcomer had finished his narration, Big Jem crowed more hoarsely than ever, and indulged in what looked like an imitation of an expiring fish, for he stretched himself out flat and threw himself over from his face on to his back, beat the ground with his closed legs, and then flopped back again, over and over again, putting ten times the vigour and exertion into his acts that he had bestowed upon the hoeing, and ending by springing up, stooping to secure his hoe, and then tossing it right away to fall and lie hidden in one of the newly-hoed furrows between the potatoes.“Do, won’t it?” cried the new arrival.“Yes,” cried Big Jem, hoarsely. “Sarve ’em both out. Come on!”No time was lost, the two boys going off at a trot round by the back of the town and aiming for the shore, where by descending a very steep bit of ivy-draped and ragwort-dotted cliff they could get down to a row of black sheds used for fish-drying and the storage of nets, which lay snugly upon a shelf of the cliff.The place was quite deserted as the boys let themselves slide down a water-formed gully, peered about a bit, and then made for one of several boats moored some fifty yards from the sandy shore.More or less salt water was nothing to the Rockabie boys, and after a glance along the shore, followed by a sweeping of the pier, which ran out between them and the harbour, they waded a little way out till the water reached their chests, and then began to swim for the outermost boat, into which Big Jem climbed, to hold out a hand, and the next moment his comrade had followed and leaned over, dripping away, to cast loose the rope attached to the buoy, while Big Jem put an oar out over the stern and began to scull.“Ibney allus leaves one oar in his boat,” said Jem, sculling away.“But we mustn’t go yet.”“You hold your mouth,” said Big Jem. “I’ll show you. You shall see what you shall see. Here, lay hold of the rope and make a hitch round that killick. See?”The other boy evidently did see, for he knelt down and began to edge a big oval boulder stone from where it lay in company with three more for ballast amidship, worked it right forward into the bows, and then lifted it on to the locker, when he took hold of the boat’s painter at the end furthest from the ring-bolt, to which it was secured, and fastened the hempen cord round the boulder with a nautical knot.By the time this was done and the boy looked round for orders he caught sight of something moving at the shore end of the pier.“Here comes the sailors back to their boat,” he said. “They’ll see us.”“Over with the killick, then—easy. Don’t splash.”Big Jem drew in his oar, with which he had been making the boat progress by means of a fishtail movement, laid it along the thwarts, and then, as the other boy lifted the stone over the bows into the water, which it kissed without disturbance, it was let go and sank with a wavy movement, sending up a long train of glittering bubbles, running the rope out fast till bottom was reached and the boat swung from its stone anchor.“Now, then, down with you,” said Big Jem, and the next minute the two boys lay in the bottom, each with a great boulder for pillow, quite out of sight, unless their presence had been suspected, when a bit of coarse blue-covered body might have been seen, but then only to be taken for some idle fisher making up for last night’s fishing with a nap.Hence it was that when Tom Bodger swept the pier from where he sat in Aleck’s boat lying by the steps in the harbour, he saw nothing but the top of the pier, and his eyes fell again upon the sloop’s beautifully clean boat, which he again compared with the one he occupied, with such unfavourable effect to the latter that he muttered to himself a little, took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves over his tattooed arms, and went in for a general clean up.Tom was as busy as a bee and, to judge from the latter’s usually contented hum, just as much satisfied, for his efforts certainly vastly improved the aspect of Aleck’s boat; and he was still hard at work swabbing and drying and laying ropes in coils, when a remark from one of the sailors in the adjacent boat made the midshipman spring up out of a doze in the hot sunshine and give the order to “Be smart!”In other words, to be ready to help their messmates returning with their officer, well laden with fresh stores, which soon after were handed down into the boat and stowed. Then the men took their places again, while the officers took theirs, the order was given to cast off, there was a thrust or two given by the coxswain, and the boat glided from the steps, leaving Tom Bodger watching the movements, smiling, and thinking of the past.He smiled again as the oars were poised for a minute and then at a word dropped to starboard and larboard with a splash before beginning to dip with rhythmic regularity, the midshipman seizing the lines and steering her for her run outward to the sloop.“Well,” said the midshipman, in a low voice, “what luck?”“Pretty good,” was the reply. “Not all I should like, but I’ve seen enough to say that we ought to get a dozen smart fellows easily. There’s some game or another on I hear from a man I know—a sort of meeting of fellows from along the coast—and Brown picked up a hint or two.”“A meeting, sir?”“Well, call it what you like. Brown thinks there’s a cargo to be run somewhere and that the men are here to make arrangements for getting it inland.”“What, right under our noses?” said the midshipman.“Of course; that’s a far better way than right under our eyes, my lad. Give way, lads. I want to get aboard, Mr Wrighton, to hear what the captain and the lieutenant of the cutter have to say.”The sloop’s boat passed out between the two arms of the little harbour before Tom Bodger recommenced his polishing up in Aleck’s boat.“A pretty cutter,” he said. “There arn’t anything better worth looking at afloat than a man-o’-war’s launch or cutter well manned by a smart crew. Makes me wish I’d got my understandings again and was an AB once more. Not as I grumbles—not me. Rockabie arn’t amiss, and things has to be as they is. Here, let’s get all ship-shape afore Master Aleck comes. Wish I’d got a bit o’ sand here to give them ring-bolts a rub or two. I like to see his boat look a bit smart.“Wonder what them two’s come in for—they arn’t lying off here for nothing! Some ’un’s been sending ’em word there’s a cargo going to be run along the shore, and so they’ve come in for soft tack and wegetables. Haw! haw! haw!” he laughed, as he bent over his work. “It’s well I know that game. Fresh wegetables for the cook, a look round to find out what’s what, and as soon as it’s dark a couple o’ well-armed boats to beat up the quarters and a dozen or so o’ men pressed. I know. Well, I s’pose it’s right; the King must have men to fight his battles. They ought to volunteer; but some on ’em won’t. They don’t like going until they’re obliged, and then they do, and wouldn’t come back on no account. Strikes me there’s going to be a landing to-night. Some un must ha’ let ’em know. Wonder who could do it, for there’s a bit o’ fun coming off to-night, I lay my legs. Eben Megg wouldn’t be here for nothing, and there’s half a dozen more hanging about.“Well,” he added, after a pause. “I’m not going to tell tales about either side. Don’t know much, and what I do know I’m going to keep to myself. Smuggling arn’t right; no more arn’t playing spy and informer—so I stands upon my wooden pegs and looks on. They won’t take me. Wouldn’t mind, though, if they did. There, that looks quite decent and tidy, that does, and if Master Aleck don’t say a word o’ praise, why I say it’s a shame. Well done; just finished in time. Here you are, then, my lad. Got a load? Why didn’t yer let me come and carry it? Hold hard a minute, and I’ll fetch it aboard.”For Tom Bodger had heard a step on the pier right above him as he stooped and saw the shadow of him who had made the sound cast right down upon the thwart and flooring of the boat, the maker of the shadow being evidently the bearer of some oblong object, which he carried at arm’s length above his head.Tom was balancing himself upon his wooden legs, and in the attitude of rising from his bent-down position, when he was conscious of a faint sound and an alteration in the shadow cast down, while the next instant there was a tremendous crash.

Left alone in the boat, Tom Bodger sat down on one of the thwarts with his wooden pegs stuck straight out before him. Then he brought them close together with a sharp rap and began to rub one over the other gently; but these movements had nothing to do with the thinking, though he more than once told himself that he thought better when he was rubbing his legs together.

As he sat there he naturally enough began to watch the man-o’-war boat with her smart young officer and neat, trim-looking crew, while, continuing his inspection, he ran his eyes over the boat and admired its beautiful lines.

This brought up memories of the time when career and body had both been cut short by that unlucky cannon ball, leaving him a cripple and a pensioner.

“But I dunno,” he said to himself, in a way he had of making the best of things, “if I hadn’t been hit I might ha’ lived on and been drowned, and then there’d ha’ been no pension to enj’y as I enj’ys mine; and I don’t never have to buy no boots nor shoes, so there arn’t much to grumble about, arter all.”

So Tom sat rubbing his wooden legs together, watching the sailors in the boat, thinking of how he’d been coxswain of just such a boat as that, and then beginning to feel an intense longing to compare notes with the men left with the middy in charge; but the young officer kept his men in order, and twice over had them busily at work stowing away the vegetables, fresh meat, bacon, and butter that were brought down from time to time and packed well out of the way fore and aft.

Consequently there was no opportunity allowed for him to get up a gossip, the young officer looking fiercely important, and the men making no advance.

“Beautifully clean and smart,” said Tom. “Wonder how long Master Aleck’ll be.”

Then he swept the edge of the pier ten feet above his head in search of inimical boys, letting one hand down by his side to finger his cudgel, and indulging in a chuckle at the skilful way in which he had brought down the young offender a short time before.

“Pretty well scared him away,” said Tom to himself; “he won’t show himself here again to-day.”

But as it happened Tom was wrong, for the boy, after landing in safety, with the water streaming down inside his ragged breeches and escaping at the bottom of the legs when it did not slip out of the holes it encountered on its way, had made his way up the steep cliff and round to the back of the town so as to get up on the moorland, where the sun came down hotly, when he began to drip and dry rapidly.

He could sweep the pier and harbour now easily, looking over the fishing-boats and watching those belonging to the man-o’-war and Aleck Donne, with Tom Bodger sitting with his legs sticking straight out.

And then he called Tom Bodger a very seaside salt and wicked name, in addition to making a vow of what he would do to “sarve him out.”

The boy gave another glance round as if in search of coadjutors, but all his comrades had disappeared; so he stood thinking and drying as he turned his thoughts inland, with the result that he had a happy thought, under whose inspiration he set off at a trot round by the back of the little town till he came within view of a group of patches of sandy land roughly fenced in and divided by posts of wreck-wood and rails covered with pitch—rough fragments that had once been boat planks.

He ran a little faster now, and externally did not seem wet, for his hair was cropped so short that no water could find a lodgment, and his worn-old, knitted blue shirt and cloth breeches had ceased to show the moisture they had soaked up.

Once within hearing of the rough fenced-in gardens he put both hands to his mouth and uttered a frightful yell, with the result that a head suddenly shot up from behind one of the fences, and its owner was seen down to the waist, looking as if he were leaning upon an old musket.

But this was only the handle of a hoe, and the holder proved to be Big Jem, occupied in his father’s garden, where he had been hoeing and earthing up potatoes in lazy-boy fashion with a chip-chop and a long think, supplemented by a rest at the end of each row to chew tobacco.

A minute later and the boys were lying down side by side, resting upon their elbows and kicking up their heels over their backs, what time the newcomer related what had passed down on the pier, and also what he should like to do.

The narrative seemed to afford Big Jem intense satisfaction, for he uttered a hoarse crowing laugh from time to time and blinked his eyes, squeezing the lids very close and then opening them wide, when sundry signs of black, green and blue bruises became visible.

When the newcomer had finished his narration, Big Jem crowed more hoarsely than ever, and indulged in what looked like an imitation of an expiring fish, for he stretched himself out flat and threw himself over from his face on to his back, beat the ground with his closed legs, and then flopped back again, over and over again, putting ten times the vigour and exertion into his acts that he had bestowed upon the hoeing, and ending by springing up, stooping to secure his hoe, and then tossing it right away to fall and lie hidden in one of the newly-hoed furrows between the potatoes.

“Do, won’t it?” cried the new arrival.

“Yes,” cried Big Jem, hoarsely. “Sarve ’em both out. Come on!”

No time was lost, the two boys going off at a trot round by the back of the town and aiming for the shore, where by descending a very steep bit of ivy-draped and ragwort-dotted cliff they could get down to a row of black sheds used for fish-drying and the storage of nets, which lay snugly upon a shelf of the cliff.

The place was quite deserted as the boys let themselves slide down a water-formed gully, peered about a bit, and then made for one of several boats moored some fifty yards from the sandy shore.

More or less salt water was nothing to the Rockabie boys, and after a glance along the shore, followed by a sweeping of the pier, which ran out between them and the harbour, they waded a little way out till the water reached their chests, and then began to swim for the outermost boat, into which Big Jem climbed, to hold out a hand, and the next moment his comrade had followed and leaned over, dripping away, to cast loose the rope attached to the buoy, while Big Jem put an oar out over the stern and began to scull.

“Ibney allus leaves one oar in his boat,” said Jem, sculling away.

“But we mustn’t go yet.”

“You hold your mouth,” said Big Jem. “I’ll show you. You shall see what you shall see. Here, lay hold of the rope and make a hitch round that killick. See?”

The other boy evidently did see, for he knelt down and began to edge a big oval boulder stone from where it lay in company with three more for ballast amidship, worked it right forward into the bows, and then lifted it on to the locker, when he took hold of the boat’s painter at the end furthest from the ring-bolt, to which it was secured, and fastened the hempen cord round the boulder with a nautical knot.

By the time this was done and the boy looked round for orders he caught sight of something moving at the shore end of the pier.

“Here comes the sailors back to their boat,” he said. “They’ll see us.”

“Over with the killick, then—easy. Don’t splash.”

Big Jem drew in his oar, with which he had been making the boat progress by means of a fishtail movement, laid it along the thwarts, and then, as the other boy lifted the stone over the bows into the water, which it kissed without disturbance, it was let go and sank with a wavy movement, sending up a long train of glittering bubbles, running the rope out fast till bottom was reached and the boat swung from its stone anchor.

“Now, then, down with you,” said Big Jem, and the next minute the two boys lay in the bottom, each with a great boulder for pillow, quite out of sight, unless their presence had been suspected, when a bit of coarse blue-covered body might have been seen, but then only to be taken for some idle fisher making up for last night’s fishing with a nap.

Hence it was that when Tom Bodger swept the pier from where he sat in Aleck’s boat lying by the steps in the harbour, he saw nothing but the top of the pier, and his eyes fell again upon the sloop’s beautifully clean boat, which he again compared with the one he occupied, with such unfavourable effect to the latter that he muttered to himself a little, took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves over his tattooed arms, and went in for a general clean up.

Tom was as busy as a bee and, to judge from the latter’s usually contented hum, just as much satisfied, for his efforts certainly vastly improved the aspect of Aleck’s boat; and he was still hard at work swabbing and drying and laying ropes in coils, when a remark from one of the sailors in the adjacent boat made the midshipman spring up out of a doze in the hot sunshine and give the order to “Be smart!”

In other words, to be ready to help their messmates returning with their officer, well laden with fresh stores, which soon after were handed down into the boat and stowed. Then the men took their places again, while the officers took theirs, the order was given to cast off, there was a thrust or two given by the coxswain, and the boat glided from the steps, leaving Tom Bodger watching the movements, smiling, and thinking of the past.

He smiled again as the oars were poised for a minute and then at a word dropped to starboard and larboard with a splash before beginning to dip with rhythmic regularity, the midshipman seizing the lines and steering her for her run outward to the sloop.

“Well,” said the midshipman, in a low voice, “what luck?”

“Pretty good,” was the reply. “Not all I should like, but I’ve seen enough to say that we ought to get a dozen smart fellows easily. There’s some game or another on I hear from a man I know—a sort of meeting of fellows from along the coast—and Brown picked up a hint or two.”

“A meeting, sir?”

“Well, call it what you like. Brown thinks there’s a cargo to be run somewhere and that the men are here to make arrangements for getting it inland.”

“What, right under our noses?” said the midshipman.

“Of course; that’s a far better way than right under our eyes, my lad. Give way, lads. I want to get aboard, Mr Wrighton, to hear what the captain and the lieutenant of the cutter have to say.”

The sloop’s boat passed out between the two arms of the little harbour before Tom Bodger recommenced his polishing up in Aleck’s boat.

“A pretty cutter,” he said. “There arn’t anything better worth looking at afloat than a man-o’-war’s launch or cutter well manned by a smart crew. Makes me wish I’d got my understandings again and was an AB once more. Not as I grumbles—not me. Rockabie arn’t amiss, and things has to be as they is. Here, let’s get all ship-shape afore Master Aleck comes. Wish I’d got a bit o’ sand here to give them ring-bolts a rub or two. I like to see his boat look a bit smart.

“Wonder what them two’s come in for—they arn’t lying off here for nothing! Some ’un’s been sending ’em word there’s a cargo going to be run along the shore, and so they’ve come in for soft tack and wegetables. Haw! haw! haw!” he laughed, as he bent over his work. “It’s well I know that game. Fresh wegetables for the cook, a look round to find out what’s what, and as soon as it’s dark a couple o’ well-armed boats to beat up the quarters and a dozen or so o’ men pressed. I know. Well, I s’pose it’s right; the King must have men to fight his battles. They ought to volunteer; but some on ’em won’t. They don’t like going until they’re obliged, and then they do, and wouldn’t come back on no account. Strikes me there’s going to be a landing to-night. Some un must ha’ let ’em know. Wonder who could do it, for there’s a bit o’ fun coming off to-night, I lay my legs. Eben Megg wouldn’t be here for nothing, and there’s half a dozen more hanging about.

“Well,” he added, after a pause. “I’m not going to tell tales about either side. Don’t know much, and what I do know I’m going to keep to myself. Smuggling arn’t right; no more arn’t playing spy and informer—so I stands upon my wooden pegs and looks on. They won’t take me. Wouldn’t mind, though, if they did. There, that looks quite decent and tidy, that does, and if Master Aleck don’t say a word o’ praise, why I say it’s a shame. Well done; just finished in time. Here you are, then, my lad. Got a load? Why didn’t yer let me come and carry it? Hold hard a minute, and I’ll fetch it aboard.”

For Tom Bodger had heard a step on the pier right above him as he stooped and saw the shadow of him who had made the sound cast right down upon the thwart and flooring of the boat, the maker of the shadow being evidently the bearer of some oblong object, which he carried at arm’s length above his head.

Tom was balancing himself upon his wooden legs, and in the attitude of rising from his bent-down position, when he was conscious of a faint sound and an alteration in the shadow cast down, while the next instant there was a tremendous crash.

Chapter Thirteen.A splintering crash as of a heavy mass of stone or metal striking full upon the thwart behind him, while crash again, right upon the first sound, there was a duller and more crushing noise.“Here, hi! Hullo! Here, what in the name o’ thunder! Ahoy! Help!”Tom Bodger was standing bolt upright as he uttered these last words, fully realising what had happened as he stared down at a rugged hole in the frail planking of the bottom of the boat, up through which the water was rising like a thick, squat, dumpy fountain.“What game d’yer call this, Master Aleck? Eh, not there? I seed his shadder. He must ha’ let it fall. Went through like a sixty-four-pound shot. Master Aleck! Ahoy! Frightened yerself away, my lad? Here, quick; come and lend a hand—the boat’s going down!”Tom Bodger talked and shouted, but he did not confine himself to words, for he saw the extent of the emergency. The boat seemed to be filling rapidly from the salt fount in the middle prior to going down. So, acting promptly, he hopped on to the next thwart, down into the water in the bottom, which came above his stumps, and then on to the next thwart forward and the locker. From here he put one peg on to the bows and swung himself on to the lowest step, where he could seize the boat’s painter, fastened to a huge rusty ring in the harbour wall.It was not many moments’ work to cast the rope loose, and then he began to haul the rope rapidly through the ring, just having time to send the boat’s head on to one of the steps under water, and hanging on with all his might, while the water rose and rose aft, till, with the bows still resting on the stone step, the after part of the boat was quite submerged.As a rule there were fishermen hanging over the rail on the top of the cliff a couple of hundred yards or so away, men busy with trawl or seine net on the smacks and luggers, and a score or two of boys playing about somewhere on the pier; but there was, as Tom Bodger had said, something going on in the town, and as soon as those ashore had done watching the man-o’-war’s men and seen them row off, there was a steady human current setting away from the harbour, and not a listening ear to catch the sailor’s hails and pass the word on for help, as he hung on to the boat’s rope with all his might, feeling assured that if he slacked his efforts she would glide off the slimy stone and go to the bottom.“I arn’t got no breath to waste in hollering,” he panted. “Why, there’s a good fathom and a half or two fathom o’ water under her keel, and if I slack out down she’ll go. Wants a couple o’ boats to back in, one on each side, and get a rope under her thwarts. They could get her ashore then. Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! For him to leave me in charge, and then come back and find I’ve sunk her! I warn’t asleep, for I was standin’ up at work, so I couldn’t ha’ dreamed I heard him come, and see his shadder cast down. No; it’s all true enough. But what could he have had in his hands? I see his shadder plain, with a something held up in his hands. Paper, didn’t he say, he’d come to fetch? Well, paper’s heavy when it’s all tight up in a lump, and he must ha’ pitched it down off the pier to save carrying it and to let it come plop, so as to frighten me, not thinking how heavy it was, and then as soon as he see the mischief he’d done he squirms and runs away like a bad dog with his tail between his legs. Why, I wouldn’t ha’ thought it on him.“Oh, dear! what a weight she is! If I could only get a turn o’ the rope round anywhere I could hold on easy, but if I move an inch down she’ll go.“Can’t do it!” he groaned; “it’s quite impossible. One hitch round the ring or a catch anywhere else’d do it, but I’ve got enough to do to hold on, and if I try any other manoover I shall make worse on it. It’s no good, Tommy, my lad, that there’s your job; bite yer teeth hard and hold on. Bime by it’ll be too much for yer, and she’ll begin to slide and slither; but don’t you mind, it’ll be all right—up’ll go your hands with the rope, and then in they’ll go, fingers first, into the ring. It’s big enough to take your pretty little fists as far as yer knuckleses, and then they’ll jam and jam more, and the more they jams the tighter they’ll hold the rope till some ’un comes. Take the skin off? Well, let it. Sarve it right for not being stuck tighter on to the hones. Have to grow again, that’s all. I arn’t going to let Master Aleck’s boat sink to the bottom if I die for it. But, hub, there! Ahoy! Is everybody dead yonder up town? Why, I’d say bless him now if I could on’y set a hye on the wery wust o’ them boys.”The poor fellow hung on desperately, but he knew from his symptoms that he could not hold on much longer. The perspiration stood in huge drops all over his face, and they began to run together and trickle down, while now a queer thought flashed across his brain, bringing hope for the moment, but only for his heart to sink lower directly after.“No, no,” he groaned, “I couldn’t do it. If I could it’d be just fine; but who’s to hang on with his hands and double hisself up enough to take aim with both his wooden pegs at once so that they could go right into that ring and stopper the rope like a cable going through a hawse hole?“Can’t be done, can’t be done; but—ahoy there! Dozens on yer hanging about if yer warn’t wanted, and now not a lubber within hail. Ahoy there! Ship ahoy! Is everyone dead, I say? Ship a–a–hoy–y–y–y!” he yelled, in a despairing voice.“Ahoy there! What’s the matter? That you, Tom Bodger?”“Bodger it is, Master Aleck. Here, quick, or I shall have both my hands off as well as my legs, and you’ll have to put me out of my misery then.”“Why, Tom,” cried Aleck, wildly. “What ever—oh!”The lad wasted no more breath, for he grasped the position as soon as he reached the head of the steps.“Can you hold on a minute?”“I can’t, sir, but my fists will,” groaned the man, and then in a hoarse whisper—“Rope!”“I see,” cried Aleck, and he ran back a dozen yards along the pier to where he could see a coil of small rope for throwing aboard vessels in rough weather to bring back their looped cables and pass them over the posts.He was back again directly, uncoiling it as he came and leaving it trailing, while, end in hand, he reached the top of the steps, went down to where the poor fellow hung on, and shouting out words of encouragement the while, he passed a hand down, got hold of the loose painter below Bodger’s, and with the quick deft fingers of one used to the sea and the handling of lines he effected a quick firm knotting of the two ropes.This done, he made for the next ring hanging from the harbour wall, passed the fresh rope through, and hauled in all the slack.“Now, Tom,” he cried, “both together—ahoy—ahoy!”He threw all his strength into the hauling, aided by the man-o’-war’s man’s last remaining force; no little either, for despair gave the poor fellow a spasmodic kind of power, so that the rope passed through the ring and whizzed and quivered, it was so tight. Then another stay was found and a hitch taken twice round that before Aleck fastened off, and, panting heavily, went up a step or two to the assistance of his humble friend.“You can let go now, Tom. I have her fast.”“Sure, Master Aleck?”“Yes, certain. Let go; and mind what you’re about, or you’ll slip overboard.”“It’s all right, sir,” said the man, in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve let go now.”“Nonsense! What are you thinking about? You’ve got hold tight as ever.”“Nay, I arn’t, Master Aleck. I let go when you telled me. I’m on’y leaning agen the rope to keep from going down into the water.”“Why, Tom, what’s the matter with you?” cried Aleck, wonderingly, as he placed his hands on his companion’s. “I tell you that you’re holding on as tight as ever.”“Eh?” said the man, feebly. “No, sir, I arn’t; ’strue as goodness I arn’t.”“But you are,” cried Aleck, angrily, as he now grasped the full misfortune to his boat—not the very full, for he was not aware of the hole in her bottom. “Your fingers are clasped tightly round the rope.”“Are they, sir?”“Yes.”“’Tarn’t my doing then, sir. I hoped and prayed as they might hold on to the last, and I s’pose that’s how it is. Ah–h!”He uttered a low groan, his eyelids dropped, and his fingers suddenly became inert, while it needed all the lad’s strength to keep the poor fellow from slipping off the wet steps into the deep water of the harbour.“Tom,” he shouted; “rouse up, lad. Do you hear?” he cried, frantically, as he held the man erect, and then in obedience to a sudden flash of thought forced him back into a sitting position on one of the steps.“Hah!” he panted. “I couldn’t have held you much longer. Hold up, man. Can’t you hear what I say?”“Eh? Yes, Master Aleck, on’y don’t talk so far off like, and—and—tell ’em to leave off ringing them bells in my ears.”Coupled with the loss of the boat, Aleck’s first thought was that the man had been indulging in a sailor’s weakness and was the worse for rum; but a second glance at the ghastly face below him opened the lad’s eyes to the simple truth, and he spoke more gently:“Feel faint, Tom?”“Ay, sir, I s’pose it’s that. I feel just as I did after that there cannon ball took off my legs. I’m getting better now you’ve stopped that ringing o’ the bells in my ears.”“That’s right, Tom.”“But is the boat safe, sir? Don’t let her go right down.”“She’s safe enough so long as the rope doesn’t part.”“Then look at her knots, sir. I did teach yer proper. Don’t say as you’ve tied one as’ll slip.”“The rope’s all right, Tom.”“Hah!” groaned the man. “Then if you wouldn’t mind, sir, just help me up the other steps and lie me down flat on my back for a minute. I feel as if that would set me right.”“Come on, then,” said Aleck; “but you must help, or we shall both go overboard.”“I’m a-going to help, sir,” said the man, with his voice beginning to grow stronger. “I think I can keep upright on my pegs again if you’ll lend me a hand. No, hold hard a minute like, sir; there’s no room for two on these bits o’ steps. You’ve got plenty o’ slack line, sir?”“Yes.”“Then pass the end round under my arms and make fast. Then you go atop and haul, and you can twist the line round a post so as I can’t slip.”“Of course,” cried Aleck, and following out the poor fellow’s instructions he went up to the pier, passed the rope round the nearest post, and hauled steadily, while without rising to his feet the poor fellow hitched himself, after a way he had learned, in a sitting position by means of his hands, right on to the pier, where once landed he rolled over with a groan, and fainted dead away.

A splintering crash as of a heavy mass of stone or metal striking full upon the thwart behind him, while crash again, right upon the first sound, there was a duller and more crushing noise.

“Here, hi! Hullo! Here, what in the name o’ thunder! Ahoy! Help!”

Tom Bodger was standing bolt upright as he uttered these last words, fully realising what had happened as he stared down at a rugged hole in the frail planking of the bottom of the boat, up through which the water was rising like a thick, squat, dumpy fountain.

“What game d’yer call this, Master Aleck? Eh, not there? I seed his shadder. He must ha’ let it fall. Went through like a sixty-four-pound shot. Master Aleck! Ahoy! Frightened yerself away, my lad? Here, quick; come and lend a hand—the boat’s going down!”

Tom Bodger talked and shouted, but he did not confine himself to words, for he saw the extent of the emergency. The boat seemed to be filling rapidly from the salt fount in the middle prior to going down. So, acting promptly, he hopped on to the next thwart, down into the water in the bottom, which came above his stumps, and then on to the next thwart forward and the locker. From here he put one peg on to the bows and swung himself on to the lowest step, where he could seize the boat’s painter, fastened to a huge rusty ring in the harbour wall.

It was not many moments’ work to cast the rope loose, and then he began to haul the rope rapidly through the ring, just having time to send the boat’s head on to one of the steps under water, and hanging on with all his might, while the water rose and rose aft, till, with the bows still resting on the stone step, the after part of the boat was quite submerged.

As a rule there were fishermen hanging over the rail on the top of the cliff a couple of hundred yards or so away, men busy with trawl or seine net on the smacks and luggers, and a score or two of boys playing about somewhere on the pier; but there was, as Tom Bodger had said, something going on in the town, and as soon as those ashore had done watching the man-o’-war’s men and seen them row off, there was a steady human current setting away from the harbour, and not a listening ear to catch the sailor’s hails and pass the word on for help, as he hung on to the boat’s rope with all his might, feeling assured that if he slacked his efforts she would glide off the slimy stone and go to the bottom.

“I arn’t got no breath to waste in hollering,” he panted. “Why, there’s a good fathom and a half or two fathom o’ water under her keel, and if I slack out down she’ll go. Wants a couple o’ boats to back in, one on each side, and get a rope under her thwarts. They could get her ashore then. Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! For him to leave me in charge, and then come back and find I’ve sunk her! I warn’t asleep, for I was standin’ up at work, so I couldn’t ha’ dreamed I heard him come, and see his shadder cast down. No; it’s all true enough. But what could he have had in his hands? I see his shadder plain, with a something held up in his hands. Paper, didn’t he say, he’d come to fetch? Well, paper’s heavy when it’s all tight up in a lump, and he must ha’ pitched it down off the pier to save carrying it and to let it come plop, so as to frighten me, not thinking how heavy it was, and then as soon as he see the mischief he’d done he squirms and runs away like a bad dog with his tail between his legs. Why, I wouldn’t ha’ thought it on him.

“Oh, dear! what a weight she is! If I could only get a turn o’ the rope round anywhere I could hold on easy, but if I move an inch down she’ll go.

“Can’t do it!” he groaned; “it’s quite impossible. One hitch round the ring or a catch anywhere else’d do it, but I’ve got enough to do to hold on, and if I try any other manoover I shall make worse on it. It’s no good, Tommy, my lad, that there’s your job; bite yer teeth hard and hold on. Bime by it’ll be too much for yer, and she’ll begin to slide and slither; but don’t you mind, it’ll be all right—up’ll go your hands with the rope, and then in they’ll go, fingers first, into the ring. It’s big enough to take your pretty little fists as far as yer knuckleses, and then they’ll jam and jam more, and the more they jams the tighter they’ll hold the rope till some ’un comes. Take the skin off? Well, let it. Sarve it right for not being stuck tighter on to the hones. Have to grow again, that’s all. I arn’t going to let Master Aleck’s boat sink to the bottom if I die for it. But, hub, there! Ahoy! Is everybody dead yonder up town? Why, I’d say bless him now if I could on’y set a hye on the wery wust o’ them boys.”

The poor fellow hung on desperately, but he knew from his symptoms that he could not hold on much longer. The perspiration stood in huge drops all over his face, and they began to run together and trickle down, while now a queer thought flashed across his brain, bringing hope for the moment, but only for his heart to sink lower directly after.

“No, no,” he groaned, “I couldn’t do it. If I could it’d be just fine; but who’s to hang on with his hands and double hisself up enough to take aim with both his wooden pegs at once so that they could go right into that ring and stopper the rope like a cable going through a hawse hole?

“Can’t be done, can’t be done; but—ahoy there! Dozens on yer hanging about if yer warn’t wanted, and now not a lubber within hail. Ahoy there! Ship ahoy! Is everyone dead, I say? Ship a–a–hoy–y–y–y!” he yelled, in a despairing voice.

“Ahoy there! What’s the matter? That you, Tom Bodger?”

“Bodger it is, Master Aleck. Here, quick, or I shall have both my hands off as well as my legs, and you’ll have to put me out of my misery then.”

“Why, Tom,” cried Aleck, wildly. “What ever—oh!”

The lad wasted no more breath, for he grasped the position as soon as he reached the head of the steps.

“Can you hold on a minute?”

“I can’t, sir, but my fists will,” groaned the man, and then in a hoarse whisper—“Rope!”

“I see,” cried Aleck, and he ran back a dozen yards along the pier to where he could see a coil of small rope for throwing aboard vessels in rough weather to bring back their looped cables and pass them over the posts.

He was back again directly, uncoiling it as he came and leaving it trailing, while, end in hand, he reached the top of the steps, went down to where the poor fellow hung on, and shouting out words of encouragement the while, he passed a hand down, got hold of the loose painter below Bodger’s, and with the quick deft fingers of one used to the sea and the handling of lines he effected a quick firm knotting of the two ropes.

This done, he made for the next ring hanging from the harbour wall, passed the fresh rope through, and hauled in all the slack.

“Now, Tom,” he cried, “both together—ahoy—ahoy!”

He threw all his strength into the hauling, aided by the man-o’-war’s man’s last remaining force; no little either, for despair gave the poor fellow a spasmodic kind of power, so that the rope passed through the ring and whizzed and quivered, it was so tight. Then another stay was found and a hitch taken twice round that before Aleck fastened off, and, panting heavily, went up a step or two to the assistance of his humble friend.

“You can let go now, Tom. I have her fast.”

“Sure, Master Aleck?”

“Yes, certain. Let go; and mind what you’re about, or you’ll slip overboard.”

“It’s all right, sir,” said the man, in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve let go now.”

“Nonsense! What are you thinking about? You’ve got hold tight as ever.”

“Nay, I arn’t, Master Aleck. I let go when you telled me. I’m on’y leaning agen the rope to keep from going down into the water.”

“Why, Tom, what’s the matter with you?” cried Aleck, wonderingly, as he placed his hands on his companion’s. “I tell you that you’re holding on as tight as ever.”

“Eh?” said the man, feebly. “No, sir, I arn’t; ’strue as goodness I arn’t.”

“But you are,” cried Aleck, angrily, as he now grasped the full misfortune to his boat—not the very full, for he was not aware of the hole in her bottom. “Your fingers are clasped tightly round the rope.”

“Are they, sir?”

“Yes.”

“’Tarn’t my doing then, sir. I hoped and prayed as they might hold on to the last, and I s’pose that’s how it is. Ah–h!”

He uttered a low groan, his eyelids dropped, and his fingers suddenly became inert, while it needed all the lad’s strength to keep the poor fellow from slipping off the wet steps into the deep water of the harbour.

“Tom,” he shouted; “rouse up, lad. Do you hear?” he cried, frantically, as he held the man erect, and then in obedience to a sudden flash of thought forced him back into a sitting position on one of the steps.

“Hah!” he panted. “I couldn’t have held you much longer. Hold up, man. Can’t you hear what I say?”

“Eh? Yes, Master Aleck, on’y don’t talk so far off like, and—and—tell ’em to leave off ringing them bells in my ears.”

Coupled with the loss of the boat, Aleck’s first thought was that the man had been indulging in a sailor’s weakness and was the worse for rum; but a second glance at the ghastly face below him opened the lad’s eyes to the simple truth, and he spoke more gently:

“Feel faint, Tom?”

“Ay, sir, I s’pose it’s that. I feel just as I did after that there cannon ball took off my legs. I’m getting better now you’ve stopped that ringing o’ the bells in my ears.”

“That’s right, Tom.”

“But is the boat safe, sir? Don’t let her go right down.”

“She’s safe enough so long as the rope doesn’t part.”

“Then look at her knots, sir. I did teach yer proper. Don’t say as you’ve tied one as’ll slip.”

“The rope’s all right, Tom.”

“Hah!” groaned the man. “Then if you wouldn’t mind, sir, just help me up the other steps and lie me down flat on my back for a minute. I feel as if that would set me right.”

“Come on, then,” said Aleck; “but you must help, or we shall both go overboard.”

“I’m a-going to help, sir,” said the man, with his voice beginning to grow stronger. “I think I can keep upright on my pegs again if you’ll lend me a hand. No, hold hard a minute like, sir; there’s no room for two on these bits o’ steps. You’ve got plenty o’ slack line, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Then pass the end round under my arms and make fast. Then you go atop and haul, and you can twist the line round a post so as I can’t slip.”

“Of course,” cried Aleck, and following out the poor fellow’s instructions he went up to the pier, passed the rope round the nearest post, and hauled steadily, while without rising to his feet the poor fellow hitched himself, after a way he had learned, in a sitting position by means of his hands, right on to the pier, where once landed he rolled over with a groan, and fainted dead away.

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