"Cormorant Crag" (continued 7)

At last, thoroughly convinced, the strain of thinking became too great, the motion of the boat and the constant gliding along in that horrible monotonous whirl began to affect Mike as it had affected Vince, and, in spite of his energetic struggles to rouse himself from it, was now attacking him more strongly than ever. They were surrounded by dangers, the least of which was that of the pursuing boat with the exasperated captain; for so surely as the boat grazed upon a rock just below the surface she would capsize. But all this was as nothing to the mentally and bodily exhausted lads. Nature was all-powerful, and by degrees the head of first one then of the other drooped, and sleep, deep and sudden, fell upon them.

But the sleep was not then profound. The mind still acted like the flickering of a candle in its socket, and urged them to start up wakeful and determined once more. And this happened again and again, the sufferers telling themselves that it would be madness to go to sleep. But, madness or no, Nature said they must; and almost simultaneously, after seating themselves in the bottom of the boat, so as to prop themselves in the corners between the thwart and side, they glided lower and lower, and at last lay prone in the most profound of slumber, totally unconscious of everything but the great need which would renew with fresh vigour their exhausted frames.

Chapter Thirty Two.

A Strange Awakening.

The grey gulls were wheeling round and round, dipping down from time to time to pick up some scrap of floating food or tiny fish from out of a shoal; the cormorants and shags were swimming here and there, and diving down swift as the fish themselves, in chase of victim after victim for their ravenous maws, and the fish, crowded together, were playing about the surface, and leaping out at times like bars of silver, to fall back again with a splash, while the sun made the water sparkle as it rippled and played and foamed among the rocks.

It was a glorious morning; and the heather, gorse and purple-hued lavender blossomed, sea-pinks glistened and flashed, as the sun played and sent off rays of dazzling iridescent hues from the evanescent gems with which the night mists had bedewed them.

Everywhere all was life and light, save where a boat went gliding along upon a swift current stem first, stern first, or broadside on, as the various curves and jutting rocks at the foot of the huge cliffs affected the hurrying waters and made them react upon the boat.

All at once there was a desperate quarrel and screaming for as a diver rose from its plunge, and was flying towards one of the cliff shelves to enjoy its morning meal in the shape of a large, newly caught fish, it was attacked by a huge pirate of a black-backed gull, which pounced down upon it with open beak, secured the fish, and as it flew off was followed and mobbed by a score of other birds, when such a wild clamour of sharp metallic screams arose, that it startled one of the occupants of the boat, making him spring up, rub his eyes, stare, and then bend down to rouse his companion.

“Here! Hi! Mike! Ladle! Wake up!”

The other obeyed, sprang to his feet, and stared wildly at his companion, with that dull, heavy, dreamy look in the eyes, which tells that though the muscular energy of the body may be awake, the mind is still fast plunged in sleep.

Then both rubbed their eyes, and Vince did more: he knelt down, leaned over the side of the boat, and plunging both hands in, scooped up the cool sparkling water, and bathed face and temples till his brain grew clearer, and he stood up again, dabbing his face with his handkerchief.

“Do as I do. Do you hear, Mike? I say, you’re asleep!”

“Sleep?” said Mike, looking at him vacantly.

“Yes, asleep. Rouse up and look! It’s wonderful! Here, if you won’t, I must. Kneel down.”

He pressed upon the boy’s shoulders; and Mike, without making the slightest resistance, knelt in the bottom of the boat. He yielded too as Vince pressed a hand upon the back of his head, and then splashed some water in his face.

The effect was electrical. The next minute Mike was bathing his brows, throwing up the water with both hands; and as he felt the refreshing coolness send an invigorating and calming thrill through every nerve, he rose up and stood drying himself and gazing round, wondering whether he was yet awake, or this was part of some strange, wild dream.

Vince did not speak, but stood there watching him, while the boat glided on, as it had all through the night, with unerring regularity; and there before them was the great watery oval they had gone on traversing, dotted with sea-birds, while now, instead of the mighty cliffs around, looking black, overhanging and forbidding, they were beautiful in the extreme, both in the morning light and their deep empurpled shades.

Mike looked and looked up at the highest cliffs on his left, over the rapidly gliding water to his right, where the great ridge was dotted with sea-birds, and away to fore and aft, where the lofty overhanging rocks were repeated.

“I say,” cried Mike at last, “am I awake?”

“If you’re not, I’m fast asleep,” said Vince.

“But how did we get here?”

“I don’t know. Through some narrow passage, I suppose; and then, as soon as we got in, we must have been going on round and round, and round and round, thinking that we were getting out to sea. I say, no wonder it seemed so far!”

“Then it is true,” said Mike excitedly. “I don’t know that cave, though.”

“No, we never saw that before,” said Vince, as they were swept by a low archway, and then onward by a broad opening, which, seen from their fresh point of view, looked beautiful but strange.

“Is that—” began Mike, in a dubious, hesitating way.

“Yes, of course. Look: we don’t know it from out here, but there’s the seal hole and our fishing place, where we caught the crab. It’s all shadowy inside, or we could see our kitchen and fishing tackle.”

“No, no; it can’t be,” said Mike despairingly: “if it was, we should come directly upon the smugglers’ place.”

“Yes, you’ll see: we shall be carried by directly.”

“But there’ll be some one there. Here, quick: let’s row away,”—and Mike seized an oar.

“You can’t row against a current like this,” said Vince quietly; “and if anybody had been in there they would have been awake and seen us long before this.”

“Then I don’t believe this is the cove, and that can’t be our cavern,” cried Mike sharply.

“Very well; but you soon will. Now look: here we go. I say, how smooth the walls of rock are worn by the water!—that accounts for our never having been upset in the night. We shall see the big cave directly. Shall we try and land?”

“Yes; no; I don’t know what will be best to do. Yes; but let’s make sure first.”

“And land when we come round again?” said Vince.

“Yes, if you like. I don’t know what to say.”

“Seems best way,” said Vince thoughtfully. “And yet I don’t know. We might hide, for they’ve blocked up the passage; but they’d hunt us out, as we couldn’t keep hidden very long. And they’d know we were there, because they’d find the boat.”

“Perhaps they’d think we were drowned,” said Mike; and then, excitedly, “Why, it is the big cavern, Cinder!”

“Yes, it’s the big cavern, sure enough; and if it wasn’t so dark inside we could see the stack of kegs.”

There was no room for further doubt, as they glided by the mouth of the great opening, with its wonderful beach of soft sand, and directly after began to recognise the piled-up masses of rock. As they went on, they saw the outlying masses round which the waters foamed and bubbled, but became quite bewildered as they tried to make out which was the outlet by which the smuggler crew had taken them and the captain through on the previous day. They passed narrow rifts, but the water always seemed to be flowing swiftly into the great basin in which they were and joining the seething waters in their continuous round.

Vince pointed to this and then to that gap between the rocks, as the one through which they must have come overnight, but he could never be in the least sure; and as they went on, he had to content himself with looking up at the ridge which faced the caverns, and beyond which they believed the sea to be.

Everywhere at the foot of the cliffs the water was deep, and so clear that they could see the rocks at the bottom, smooth, and treacherous-looking, apparently rising up to capsize the boat; but they glided over all in safety, the great basin being worn smooth by the constant friction of the currents, and at last began to approach the end opposite to where they had been deftly taken out by the men.

Here they looked eagerly for another way of getting out—the rift through which the waters must pass back into the sea—but, if it existed, it was shut from their sight by the heaped-up rocks, and the current carried them on and on with unchecked speed.

“No wonder I thought we were a long while getting out to sea!” said Vince at last: “we can’t have gone near the big channel through which the lugger must come and go.”

“Never mind that,” said Mike impatiently; “there must be another way out from this basin. We saw signs of it from up above, when you sat up there and I held the rope.”

“Yes,” said Vince gloomily; “but sitting up there’s one thing, and sitting down here’s another. Think we shall find another way out this end? Must, mustn’t we?”

Mike nodded as he stood up and searched the rocks for the opening that was hidden from their eyes, from the fact that it was behind one of the barriers of rock and far below the surface current which swept them along.

As far as they could judge, they were going on for half an hour, making the complete circuit of the great watery amphitheatre; and then, as they passed the caverns again, they determined to examine the other end more carefully, for the exit used by the smugglers, which must, they knew, be ample and easy if they could master the knack of getting the boat in. For they had some hazy notion of learning how it was done and then hiding till night, when they might manage perhaps to pass out unseen.

“But if we did,” said Mike despondently, “we should perhaps be swept in here again, or be upset and drowned. I say, Cinder, did you ever see such an unlucky pair as we are?”

“Never looked,” said Vince; “but I tell you what: we shall have to land in the big cave, and get through to ours.”

“What for?”

“Breakfast. There’s all our food, if they haven’t found it.”

“Could you eat now?” said Mike, with a look of horror.

“Eat? I could almost eat you,” replied Vince.

“Ugh!” said Mike, with a shudder. “I feel so faint and sick and sinking inside, I couldn’t touch anything.”

“Shouldn’t like to trust you,” said Vince, whom the bright sunshine and the beauty of the place were influencing in his spirits. “But now, then, let’s have a good look this time.”

They were going round swiftly enough, and noted the entrance to the first low, arched cavern, which was some forty or fifty yards to the westward of the seal hole; then they glided by the others in turn, and tried hard to make out how the men had managed to thrust the big boat through the running waters beyond that great beach and into the eddy which bore them in the other direction.

“Do you see?” asked Mike.

“No, not yet; but perhaps I shall when we come round again. But, I say, we can’t keep on sailing round like this. We must land.”

“But Jacques and his men, they won’t be gone till to-night. You heard what was said by old Joe?”

“Don’t mention his name,” cried Vince passionately. “I should like to see the old wretch flogged.”

“I should like to do it,” said Mike grimly. “They’ll come back and find us here, for certain, if we don’t hide,” said Vince; “but I don’t know that I shall much mind now, for I’m afraid we shan’t get away.”

They glided round again, and in passing the spot where they believed the exit to be, Vince fancied he detected an eddy among some rocks, but he could not be sure; and at last they were once more approaching the cavern, with its low arch, when Vince, who was watching the far end and trying to fit together the means for getting away, suddenly snatched up the boat-hook, thrust it out, and, leaning over the stern, caught hold of a projecting rock, some two feet above the water. Then hauling hard, hand over hand along the ash pole, he checked the progress of the boat and drew it close in. Next, quick as lightning, he made another dash with the hook and caught at another projection, missed, and, as the boat was gliding back again, made another—a frantic—dash, and caught the hook in a rift, while Mike thrust out an oar against a rock to help.

This time he drew the boat right up to the mouth of the new cavern, and whispered sharply to his companion:

“Now—quick! help me run her in. Mind! duck down!”

Mike obeyed, and the boat glided in under the low arch, which just cleared their heads as they sat in the bottom of the boat, and passed on out of the bright sunshine into the chill darkness of the cave.

“Think they saw us?” whispered Vince.

“They? Saw us?”

“Didn’t you see them coming through among the rocks quite quickly?”

“No: did you?”

“Just the tops of their caps: they were behind one of those low rocks where the water rushes round.”

“Are you sure, Vince?”

“Sure?—yes. Ah, mind! that oar!” cried the boy.

He crept past Mike, after seizing the boat-hook, and, reaching over the stern, made a dash at the oar his companion had been using to thrust with against the rocks, and which had been laid-down when they passed right in, so that Mike could use his hands.

How it had slipped over the gunwale neither could have said; but when Vince caught sight of it, the oar was floating just in the entrance, and the sharp dash he made at it resulted in the hook striking the blade so awkwardly that he drove it farther out, where it was caught by the current and drawn swiftly away.

“Gone!” said Mike despairingly.

“Gone! Yes, of course it’s gone; and now they’ll find out where we are.”

“No, they’re not obliged to,” said Mike; “that oar may have been washed from anywhere, and they haven’t found it yet.”

“Oh no,” said Vince bitterly—“not yet; but you’ll see.”

Mike made no reply, but helped, without a word of objection, to thrust the boat farther in along the passage, which greatly resembled the seal hole, as they called it, but was nearly double the width, and afforded plenty of room for the boat.

As soon as they felt that they were far enough in to be hidden by the darkness, they sat watching the entrance, through which the bright morning light poured, and listened intently for some sound to indicate that the smugglers’ boat was near.

But an hour must have passed, and Vince was fidgeting at something which took his attention, when Mike suddenly whispered,—

“I say, do you notice anything strange about the way in yonder?”

Vince was silent.

“Why don’t you speak?” said Mike sharply. “You have seen it. Why didn’t you speak before?”

“Felt as if I couldn’t,” said Vince hoarsely.

“Then it is so,” said Mike. “The tide is rising, and the hole’s getting smaller. Come on: we must get out at once.”

“Too late,” replied Vince gloomily. “The water’s too high now. If we tried we should be wedged in.”

“But— oh! we must try, Vince, or we shall be drowned! Why didn’t you speak before?”

“I wasn’t sure till it began to run up so quickly; and what could we do? If we had gone out we should have been seen directly. Perhaps it won’t rise any higher now. It never covered the seal cave.”

“That was twice as high,” groaned Mike. “Look at the limpets and mussels on the roof: this must be shut right in at every tide.”

Chapter Thirty Three.

Re-Trapped.

Misfortunes, they say, never come singly, and these words had hardly been uttered when voices were heard, and directly after a familiar voice said loudly, the words coming in through the low passage and quite plainly to the boys’ ears,—

“Made the oar myself, Skipper Jarks, and I ought to know it again. What I say is as they must ha’ managed somehow to ha’ got in here.”

The boat darkened the entrance for a few moments, and then glided by; while the cavern kept closing like some monstrous eye whose lid was pressed up from below, opening again fairly widely, enough almost to suggest the possibility of their passing under; but closing again as the tide rose and sank in slow, regular pulsations.

But as they watched they could make out that the soft wave rose higher and higher and sank perceptibly less, while the prisoners’ eyesight became so preternaturally sharp that they could detect the gradual opening of the sea anemones, as they spread out their starry crowns of tentacles after the first kiss of the water had moistened them. The many limpets, too, which had been tight up against the smooth rock, like bosses or excrescences, were visibly raising their shells and standing up, partly detached.

Then a new horror attracted the boys, and made them almost frantic for the moment; for, as they crouched there in the bottom of the boat, watching the slowly diminishing amount of light which came in through the archway, the water softly and quickly, welled up, nearly shut the entry, and a wave ran up the passage and passed under the boat, which was heaved up so high that the gunwale grated against the roof, and they had to bend themselves down to avoid being pressed against the rock.

Then, as they lay there, they heard the wave run on and on, whispering and waking up the echoes far inside, till the whole of the interior seemed to be alive with lapping, hissing sounds, which slowly died away as the boat sank to nearly its old level, and the light flashed in once more.

“That’s a hint to do something,” said Vince, as he rose up, finding that his head nearly touched the shell-encrusted roof.

“Yes; to force our way out,” said Mike excitedly. “We must before it’s too late.”

“It is too late, as I told you before,” said Vince sharply. “Look for yourself. Can’t you see that the arch is too small for the sides of the boat to get through? and at any moment another of those waves may come in. It’s all right, Ladle, if you’ll only be firm.”

“I’ll be as firm as you are,” said the boy angrily.

“Then help me push her along.”

Mike pressed his hands against the roof, Vince did the same; and they both thrust hard, but in spite of all the boat did not stir.

“Why, you’re pushing to send it in,” said Mike.

“And you to drive it out! What nonsense! This place is sure to get bigger inside, where the water has washed it out. We must get right in, beyond where the water rises.”

Mike shuddered; for the silence and darkness of the place would, he felt, be horrible, and all the time he knew that the water would be gradually chasing them, like some terribly fierce creature, bent on suffocating them in its awful embrace.

Vince’s was the stronger will; and his companion yielded, changing his tactics, and forcing the boat along for some distance before there was any change in the roof, which crushed down upon them as low as ever, and Mike began once more to protest.

“It’s of no use,” he said: “we may as well be smothered where we can see as here, where it is so dark. Let’s go back as far as we can.”

“No; I’m sure this place will open out more if we go farther in.”

At that moment there was a loud, plashing noise far inward, and this raised such loud reverberations that Mike was fain to confess that the roof must be far higher.

Vince took advantage of this to urge his companion on; and a minute later they could not touch the rock above them with their hands, while a little farther on it could not be reached with an oar.

“Yes, it’s bigger,” granted Mike; “but we shall be suffocated all the same. There can’t be enough air to last us till the tide goes down.”

“We shall see,” said Vince; and then, quite cheerily: “I say, this is better than wading, the same as we did in the seal hole.”

“Yes, but there are seals here. I heard them.”

“Yes, so did I, but what of that? We mustn’t interfere with them, and they won’t with us. Besides, we’re in a boat now, recollect.”

Mike recollected it well enough, but it did not comfort him much; however, he kept his thoughts to himself, and proposed that they should keep as near the light as they could.

“Better keep where the roof’s highest,” suggested Vince. “We shall be able to breathe more freely then.”

After that they were both very silent, for they suffered horribly from the dread that as soon as the entrance was entirely closed up by the tide, they would be rapidly exhausting all the pure breathable air shut-in; and so deeply did this impress them, that before long a peculiar sensation of compression at the chest assailed them both, with the result that they began to breathe more hurriedly, and to feel as if they had been running uphill, till, as it is called, they were out of breath.

Neither spoke, but suffered in silence, their brains busy with calculations of how long it would be before it was high water, and then how long it would take before the tide sank low enough for the mouth of the cave to be open once more.

Vince probably suffered the more keenly after the light was shut out entirely; but his sufferings were the briefer, for just when his breath was shortest, and he was feeling that he must breathe more rapidly if he wished to keep alive, he heard a loud plashing and wallowing some distance farther in.

That it was a party of seals playing about he was certain, and in imagination he saw them crawling up on to some piece of rock by means of their flappers and plunging down again. Once he heard a pair of them swimming in chase one of the other, blowing and uttering loud, sighing noises as they came near, and then appeared to turn and swim back, to climb up on the rock again, with the effect of dislodging others, which sprang heavily into the water, sending little waves along big enough to make the boat rock perceptibly.

This was just when Vince felt at his worst, and Mike was lying back in the boat breathing hard and in the most hurried way.

It was singular that just then the recollection of a story he had once read in a work belonging to his father came to Vince’s mind. True or false, it had been recorded that some French surgeons had been discussing the effect of the imagination upon the human mind, and to test for themselves whether its effects could be so strong as some writers and experimentalists had declared, they obtained permission to apply a test to a condemned convict.

Their test was as follows: It had been announced to the man that he was to die, and that his execution was to be the merciful one of being bled to death. So at the appointed time the culprit was bound and blindfolded in the presence of the surgeons, who then proceeded to lance his arm and allowed a tiny jet of warm water to trickle over the place and down to the wrist.

It is said that, though the man had not lost a drop of blood, he began, as soon as he had felt the lancet prick and the trickling of the warm water, to grow faint, and after a time sank and sank, till he actually died from imagination.

“And that’s what we’re doing,” thought Vince, as he drew slowly a long, deep breath, and then another and another.

The first was very catchy and strange, the second caused him acute suffering, and the third was deep, strong, and life-inspiring.

“That’s it,” said Vince to himself—“it is imagination; for if the seals, which are things that have to come up to the surface to breathe, can live in here, why can’t I?”

Vince again took a deep breath, and another, and another, and so great a feeling of vigour ran through him that he laughed aloud, and Mike started up.

“What is it?” he said.

“Listen,” cried Vince; and he loudly drew breath, and expressed it as loudly, then, “Do that,” he cried.

“I—I can hardly get mine. This place is stifling.”

“Try,” said Vince. “That’s right. Again! Better. Now take a long pull. How are you now?”

“Oh, better—better,” said Mike eagerly.

“Breathe again.”

“Yes, yes; I am breathing better and better. Then the air is coming now?”

“Yes,” said Vince drily; “the air is coming fast, and the light can’t be very long. There—it’s all right, Ladle; we shan’t hurt now. But I don’t know how we’re going to manage when the tide falls, for we shan’t dare to go out.”

“No,” said Mike, whose spirits sank again at these words, “we shan’t dare to go out. Do you know, I wish, as you did, that we had stopped on board.”

“And not taken all this trouble for nothing. How long should you say it would be before the light comes again?”

“Hours,” said Mike; “but I don’t mind it so much now that we can breathe better.”

“No; it is better,” said Vince drily. “I say, I wonder what they are doing at home?”

Vince wished the next moment that he had not said those words, for they had the effect of sinking his companion into a terrible state of depression, while, in spite of his efforts, he was himself nearly as bad.

But then it was before breakfast, and they had hardly touched a mouthful since the morning before.

At last, after what seemed to be a full day in length of time, there was afar off a faint soft gleam of light on the surface of the water—a ray which sent a flood into the hearts of the watchers—and from that moment the light began to grow broader and higher, while they suddenly woke to the fact that the boat was moving gently towards the entrance of the cavern, drawn by the falling tide.

After a while there was a tiny archway; then this began to increase as the water sank and rose, but always rose less and less, leaving the sea anemones and the various shell-fish dotted with drops which gathered together, glittering and trembling in the light, and then fell with a musical drip upon the smooth surface.

The little arch increased rapidly after a time, and still the boat drew nearer to the entrance, neither of the boys having the heart to check its progress after their long imprisonment, for the outer world never looked so bright and glorious before.

But they had to pay for their pleasure. As the level sank till there was ample room to thrust the boat out, and they were thinking that to be safe they ought to withdraw a little and wait until they could feel sure that the lugger and her crew were gone—a departure they felt must be some time that evening, when the tide was at a certain stage well known to old Joe—the entrance was suddenly darkened once more by a boat, whose bows came with the stream from the right, and were cleverly directed in, while her occupants began to thrust her along by pressing against the sides, and a couple of lanthorns were held up.

“Aha!” cried the voice the boys had grown to hate, “so ve have found a pair of ze seal sitting in a boat vich zey steal avay. You are right, Joseph, mon bon ami. Your boat sall not have gone out of ze pool, and you sall have him back. Aha! Stop you bose, or I fire, and zis time I vill not miss.”

“In, in farther, Vince,” whispered Mike wildly.

“No: they’ve seen us, and they could follow us in their boat. It’s of no use, Mike; we must give up this time.”

“You hear me?” roared the captain fiercely. “I see quite plain vere you sall be. Venez. Come out.”

“Come and fetch us,” said Vince shortly. “You have your men.”

The captain gave his orders, the boat was thrust on, and as its bow approached the boys saw the black silhouette of their old companion in many a fishing trip seated on the forward thwart.

This was too much for Vince, who began upon him at once, with bitter irony in his words and tone.

“You there, Joe!” he cried. “Good morning. Don’t you feel very proud of this?”

“Dunno ’bout proud, young gen’leman; but I’m precious glad to get my boat back.”

“Your boat back!” cried Vince, as one of the smuggler crew made fast a rope to the ring-bolt in their stern.

“Aye. Didn’t know as young gen’lemen took to stealing boats altogether.”

“You dare to say we stole the boat, and I’ll—”

“Well, you took it right away, anyhow. That comes o’ beginning with borrying and not asking leave.”

“Better than taking to kidnapping people.”

Old Joe growled out something, and shuffled himself about in his seat while the boat was drawn out into the sunshine once more, and drifted behind the other rapidly along till she reached the smugglers’ cavern.

“Give zem some biscuit and some vater,” said the captain. “You, Joseph, take your boat and go on. Allez!”

The old fisherman looked at him rather uneasily, then at the boys, and back at the captain.

“You hear vat I sall say?” cried the latter fiercely.

He made a menacing gesture; and the boys took each a deep draught of water, and began to nibble the hard sea biscuit that was their fare.

Chapter Thirty Four.

The Tightening of the Chains.

There was something very grim and suggestive about the captain’s behaviour to the two boys later on towards evening, when he came and stood glaring down at them, where they sat in the sand. He had said a few words to one of the men, who went up into the back of the cavern while the other waited; and Vince noted that there was a splashing sound round the corner of the buttress which supported one side of the great arch, so that he was not surprised directly after to see the prow of a boat appear, to be run in and beached upon the sand.

Vince looked up inquiringly when the smuggling captain came and stood before him; but the man did not speak—he only glared down, apparently with the idea that he was frightening the lads horribly. Vince did not shrink, for he did not feel frightened, only troubled about home and the despondency there, as the time went by without news of their fate. For it was evident to him that the time had come for them to be taken on board ready for the lugger to sail.

The second man came back with some fine line in his hand.

“Vite—tight!” said the captain laconically.

“You’re not going to tie us?” said Vince, flushing.

“Yais, bose togezaire,” said the Frenchman, with a grin of satisfaction at seeing the boy moved to indignant protest.

“But if we say we will not try to escape?” cried Vince.

“I vill not believes you. Non, mon ami, ve have enough of ze peine to attraper you again. Two slippery garçons. I tie you bose like ze mutton sheep, and zen if von shump to run avays he pull ze ozaire down. Vous comprenez?”

“Oh yes, I comprong,” cried Vince contemptuously. “Just like a Frenchman. An Englishman would not be afraid of a boy.”

“Vat!” cried the captain, showing his teeth, as he raised his hand to strike—when, quick as lightning, the boy threw himself into an attitude of defence; but the men seized him and dragged his arms behind his back.

“That’s right, coward!” cried Vince, half mad now with excitement.

At the word coward the captain’s face looked black as night, his right-hand was thrust into his breast pocket, and he drew out and cocked a small pistol, while Mike darted to his companion’s side, laid his hands across Vince’s breast, and faced the captain; but he was seized by one of the men, who passed the line about his wrists after it had been dexterously fastened round those of his fellow-prisoner.

“Never mind, Mike; but I like that, old chap!” cried Vince. “Well done! Let’s show him what English boys are like: he daren’t shoot us. Do you hear, Jacques? vous n’oses pas.”

“Aha! You begin by stumble blunder bad French, you canaille boy. I not dare shoot you?”

“No,” said Vince defiantly, as the pistol was presented full at his face. “You dare not, you great coward!”

“Aha, encore? You call me coward, une insulte! Mais bah! It is only a silly boy. Tie zem bose togezaire, my lad, an trow zem in ze boat. Silly boy! Like two shicken volatile go to be roace for dinnaire. Non, arretez; stop, my lad. Coward! It was une insulte. Now you apologise me.”

“I won’t,” said Vince sturdily: “you are a coward to tie up two boys like this.”

The black wrath in the Frenchman’s face at these words made Mike shiver, and he pressed closer to Vince as the pistol was raised once more.

“Don’t—don’t,” he whispered. “Say something: we are so helpless.”

“Aha! I hear vat he say. Yais, you apologise me, sare.”

“I won’t,” said Vince, who, with nerves strung by the agony he felt at his wrists, which were being cut into by the cord, was ready to dare and say anything.

“You vill not?” cried the captain, slowly uncocking the pistol, as his face resumed its ordinary aspect.

“No, I—will—not!” cried Vince. “Put it away. You dare not fire.”

“Non; it would be a pity. I nevaire like to shoot good stuff. You are a brave boy, and I vill make you a fine man. And you too, mon garçon.”

He laid his hands on the boys’ shoulders, and pressed them hard, smiling as he said,—

“Non, I sink I am not a coward, mon enfant, but I tie you bose up vis ze hant behint, so you sall not run avay. Aha! Eh? You not run avay vis ze hant, mais vis ze foot? Eh bien: n’importe: it does not mattaire. You ugly boy,” he continued, striking Vince a sharp rap in the chest with the back of the hand, “I like you. Yais. You have saucy tongue. You are a bouledogue boy. I vill see you two ’ave a fight some days. Now, my lad, take zem bose into ze boat. Ah, yah, bête cochon—big peegue!” he roared, as he examined the way in which the boys’ wrists were tied behind their backs. “I tell you to lash zem fast. I did not say, ‘Cut off ze hant.’ Cast zem off.”

The man who had secured Vince sulkily obeyed, and the captain looked on till the line was untied, leaving the boys’ wrists with white marks round and blackened swellings on either side.

“Ah, he is a fool,” said the captain, taking up first one and then the other hand. “Vy you do not squeak and pipe ze eye?”

Vince frowned, but made no reply.

“Zere, valk down to ze boat vis me. Say you vill not run avay.”

“No: I mean to escape,” said Vince.

“Bah! It is sillee. You cannot, mon garçon. Come, ze parole d’honneur. Be a man.”

Vince glanced at Mike, who gave him an imploring look, which seemed to say: “Pray give it.”

“Yais,” said the captain, smiling: “Parole d’honneur. If you try to run il faut shooter zis time.”

“Parole d’honneur for to-day,” said Vince. “After to-day I shall try to escape.”

“It is bon—good,” said the captain, laughing. “After to-day—yais. Zere, valk you down to ze boat. I like you bose. If you had been cry boy, and go down on your knees, and zay, ‘Oh, pray don’t,’ I kick you. En avant!”

He clapped his hand upon Vince’s shoulder, and walked with both to the boat, signing to them to enter and go right forward, where they seated themselves in the bows while he took his place in the stern.

“Oh, Cinder!” whispered Mike, with a look of admiration at his friend, “I wish I’d had the heart to speak to him like that.”

“What?” whispered back Vince, “why, I never felt so frightened in my life. I thought he was going to shoot.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Mike quietly. “I say, now let’s see how they manage to get out of this great whirling pool.”

They were not kept waiting long, for the boat was thrust off, sent into the stream, and away they went, skirting the long, low rock which rose in their way; and then, just as it seemed that they were going to be sunk by the tremendous rush of water passing in between two huge masses, the boat was thrust into another sharply marked current, hung in suspense for a few moments, and then glided along the backwater and out at last into the pool. Here the glassy surface streaked with numerous lines told of the rapid currents following their well-marked courses, and the eddies and reflections of the water known to the men and taken advantage of, so that the vessel’s side was reached with ease.

As they neared the side the captain, who had been keenly watching the boys and reading their thoughts, came slowly past his men, so quietly that Vince and Mike started on hearing him speak.

“You could manage ze boat now and take him vere you vill? Non, mes enfans. It take long time to find ze vay. I sink you bose drown last night, but you have bonne fortune and escape. But you get avay till I say go? Nevaire! Shump.”

He pointed upward, and the lads climbed aboard, looking wistfully to right and left as they recalled their adventures along the side in the dark, and saw old Daygo’s boat hanging by her painter close under the stern.

“Took a lot of trouble for nothing, Cinder,” said Mike sadly.

“Yes: can’t always win,” replied Vince. “Never mind: I’m glad we tried.”

Mike had not the heart to say “So am I,” though he felt that he ought to have done so; but, catching sight of the old fisherman leaning over the bulwark forward, he said instead,—

“There’s that old wretch again! Oh, how I should like to—”

He did not say what, but turned his back upon him in disgust.

“Yes—a beauty!” said Vince, scowling. “I say, Mike, no wonder old Joe was always so well off that he never had to work. Pst! here’s the skipper.”

“Non, mon ami—ze capitaine. Eh bien—ah, vell! you are on board again. I sall lock you down upon ze powdaire again and keep you prisonaire? My faith, no! It is vord of honnaire to-day, and to-day last vingt-quatre heures—till zis time to-morrow: you understand?”

“Yes,” said Vince; and then, frankly, “I beg your pardon, skip—”

“Eh?”

“Captain,” said Vince quickly: “I beg your pardon, captain, for calling you a coward.”

The Frenchman looked at him searchingly, and then clapped down both hands on the boy’s shoulders and held him firmly.

“Bon!” he said; “bon! Zat is all gone now. I sall not call you out and say vill you have ze pistol or ze arm blanc—ze sword. You bose come dine vis me ce soir—zis evening, and you not make fool of ze comestible, as ve call him, eh? Now go valk about ze deck. You like to see ze vay out? No; ve leave all zat to my good ami, Joseph Daygo. He take ze Belle-Marie out to sea vile ve dine. It is ze secret know only to Joseph. I could not do him myselfs.”

This only increased Vince’s desire to discover by what means the lugger was piloted out from its moorings beneath the towering rocks, where it was completely shut-in, though it seemed that there was a channel behind the rock which spread out in front.

Sunset was drawing near, and it became evident that the time was approaching for a start to be made, for the boat in which they came from the cave had been hoisted up to the davits, and the men were busy preparing for hoisting sails. The hatches were in their places, and the vessel looked wonderfully orderly, being very different in aspect from those of its class. In fact, from stem to stern she was nearly as neat as a king’s ship.

Meanwhile Joe Daygo kept close to the bulwark, turning from time to time to note how the men were progressing, and then leaning over the bulwark again to gaze at the perpendicular wall of rock before him, which towered up to a great height and went apparently straight down into the sea. “I know,” said Vince at last, in a whisper. “Know what?”

“Joe Daygo is watching that streak of white paint on the rock over yonder.”

“I see no streak of white paint,” said Mike. “Yes, I do. But what of that?”

“It’s his mark,” said Vince. “He’s going to wait till the tide touches that, and then going to cast off.”

“Think so?”

“Sure of it.”

But Vince had no opportunity for waiting to see. The glassy current was still a couple of inches below the dimly seen white mark, when there was a peculiar odour which came from a tureen that the cook carried along the deck towards the cabin; and almost at the same moment a hand was laid upon the boy’s shoulder.

“Come,” said the captain; “it is time for ze dinnaire. You are bose hungry?—yais, I know.”

Vince would have liked to decline, so strong was his desire to study the key to the entrance of the secret little port; but to refuse to go down was impossible, and he preceded his host through the cabin-hatch, where a swinging lamp was burning and the deadlights were closed so that not a gleam could escape. The tureen steamed on the table, they were in no danger, and healthy young appetite prevailed, for the soup was good even if the biscuits were flinty and hard.

As for the captain, it seemed absurd to associate him with smuggling or pistols, for he played the host in the most amiable manner when fish succeeded the soup; but as it was being discussed there were hurried sounds on deck. Men were running to and fro; then came the peculiar dull, rasping sound of cables being hauled in through hawser holes, and a slight motion told that they were starting.

Vince ceased eating, and his eyes were involuntarily turned to the side, when the captain said laughingly,—

“It is nozing, my younger ami, and ze bulkhead side is not glass: you cannot see nozing. You vant to know? Vell, my sheep is in ze sharge of ze pilot, and ze men cast off. If he take her out quite vell, sank you, ve sall soon be at sea. If he make ze grand error he put my sheep on ze rock, vich make ze hole and you sall hear ze vater run in. You bose can svim? Yais? Good, but you need not try: you stay down here vis me and not take trouble, but go to ze bottom like ze brave homme, for ze big tide on’y take you avay and knock you against ze rock. Now eat you feesh.”

It was not a pleasant addition to the boys’ dinner, but they went on listening in the intervals of the captain’s many speeches, and picturing to themselves how the great lugger was being carefully piloted along a sharp current and steered here and there, apparently doubling upon her course more than once. But by the time the boiled fowl was nearly eaten there was a steady heeling over, following the sound of the hoisting of a sail. Then the vessel heeled over a little more, and seemed to dance for a minute in rough water, as if she were passing over some awkward place. The captain smiled.

“My sheep she is lively,” he said. “She sink it vas time not to be tied by ze head and tail, so she commence to dance. Zat is a vairy bad place, but Joseph is a grand pilot; he know vat to do, and I am nevaire in his way.”

Just then there was a dull thud, as if a mass of water had struck the side, and the vessel heeled over more than ever, righted herself, and then rose and rode over a wave, plunging down and again gliding along upon a level keel. “Eat, eat, mes amis,” said the captain. “You do not mean that you have le mal-de-mer?”

“Oh no,” said Vince quickly, as if ashamed to be suspected of such a weakness. “We don’t mind the sea; besides, it isn’t rough. We’re not going over a bar of sand?”

“Non: a bar of rocks, vere Joseph can take us safely. Anozaire man? Non, non.”

They could not grasp much, as the dinner drew now to an end, and no doubt their imaginations played them false to a great extent; but they thoroughly realised that for a few minutes the great lugger was being slowly navigated through a most intricate channel, where the current ran furiously; after that more sail was made, and the regular motion of the vessel told them that they were getting out into the open sea.

All at once the door was opened, and old Daygo appeared.

“Aha! you are finish, mon ami?”

Daygo nodded his head and uttered a low grunt.

“Good. I come on deck.”

Old Joe turned and went up the ladder, followed by the captain; and then Mike dashed after them.

“What are you going to do?” cried Vince. But Mike made no reply; and the other followed on deck, anxious to see what was going to take place, for that Mike had some project was very evident.

As Vince reached the deck he saw that Mike was at the leeward side, where a couple of men stood by the rope which held the pilot’s boat, while the captain and the old fisherman were walking right forward, talking earnestly. The lugger was sailing gently along half a mile from the shore in the direction of the south point; and Vince’s heart leaped and then sank as he faintly made out one of the familiar landmarks on the highest part of the island, but he had no time for indulging in emotion just then, for the captain turned suddenly and old Joe made for his boat.

“Mike isn’t going to jump in and try to go with him, is he?” thought Vince; and a pang shot through him at the very thought of such a cowardly desertion. “No,” he added to himself; “he wouldn’t do that.”

Vince was right, for all he did was to rush at Daygo, catch him by the shoulder and whisper something.

The old fisherman turned, stared, and Mike repeated as far as Vince could make out his former question, while the captain stood a little way back and looked on.

Just then Daygo growled out “No!” angrily, and thrust Mike away so roughly that the boy staggered back and nearly fell; but before the old man could reach the bulwark, Mike had recovered himself, leaped at him, and delivered such a kick, that the pilot plunged forward half over the bulwark, and then turned savagely to take revenge upon his assailant. But the captain had advanced, and he said something sharply, which made Daygo hurry over the bulwark and drop down into his boat. One of the men cast off the rope and threw it after him, and the next moment she was astern, with the old man standing upright, his hands to each side of his mouth; and he bellowed out,—

“Yah! Good luck to you both! You’ll never see this Crag agen.”

Then the darkness began to swallow up his small boat, and the great three-masted lugger glided onward—where?

Mike turned sharply, expecting to be seized by the captain; but the latter had his back to him, and went forward to give orders for another sail to be hoisted, while the boys went involuntarily to the side to gaze at the Crag.

“What was it you asked Joe?” said Vince.

“Not what you thought,” replied Mike rather bitterly.

“Why, what did I think?”

“That I was begging him to take me in the boat.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Vince sharply. “I thought at first that you’d run up to jump in, but directly after I said to myself that you wouldn’t be such a sneak. What did you say to him?”

“I told him my father would give him a hundred pounds, and that he should never say anything to Joe, if he’d go and tell them directly where we are.”

“And he wouldn’t. Well, I’m glad you kicked him, for shoving you away like that.”

“I should be,” replied Mike, “if he wasn’t such an old man.”

“He isn’t an old man,” said Vince hotly: “he’s an old wretch, without a bit of manliness in him.”

“All right, then; I’m glad I kicked him. But never mind Joe Daygo, Vince. It’s getting darker, and the old Crag is seeming to die away. Oh, Cinder, old chap, is it all true? Are we being taken away like this?”

Vince could not trust himself to speak, but leaned over the bulwark, resting his chin upon his thumbs, and shading the sides of his face—partly to conceal its workings, which was not necessary in the darkness, partly to shut off the side-light and see the island more easily.

And neither was this necessary, for there were no sidelights, and the Crag was now so dim that had he not known it was there it would have been invisible; but he preserved it all mentally, and thought of the pleasant home, with the saddened faces there, of the happy days he had spent, and now for the first time fully realised what a joyous boyhood he had passed in the rocky wildly picturesque old place, with no greater trouble to disturb his peaceful life than some puzzling problem or a trivial fit of illness. All so bright, so joyous, so happy,—and now gone, perhaps, for ever; and some strange, wild life to come, but what kind of existence he could not grasp.

Naturally enough, Mike’s thoughts ran in the same channel, but he gave them utterance; and Vince, as he stood there, heard him saying piteously,—

“Good-bye, dear old home! I never knew before what you really were. Good-bye—good-bye!” And then, passionately—“Oh, Vince, Vince! what have we done to deserve all this? Where are we going now?”

“To bed, mes amis,” said the captain, slapping them both on the shoulders and rudely interrupting their thoughts. “Come: I take you myself. Not over ze powdaire now. I vill not tempt you to faire sauter—make jump ze chasse-marée—blow up ze sheep, eh? My faith, no! But you take ze good counsel, mes boys. You go to your bunk like ze good shile, and have long sleep. You get out of the deadlight vis ze sheep in full sail. You go ovaire-board bose of you, and I am vair sorry for ze bonnes mammas.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” said Vince stoutly, “taking us off prisoners like this.”

“Prisonaires! Faith of a good man! You sink I treat you like prisonaires, and have you to dinnaire and talk to you vis bonnes conseilles like ze papa?”

“You are taking us away, and making every one who cares for us think we are dead.”

“C’est dommage—it is a great pitee, my young friend; but, you see, I have a large propertee at ze caverne. It is vort tousand of pounds, and ze place is vair useful to me and ze confrère who come to take it somevere else.”

“What, are there more of you?” blurted out Vince.

“Eh? You nevaire mind. But I cannot part vis my store, and I vant ze place to go to ven I bring a cargo.”

“But we’ll promise you on our words that we will not betray it to any one, if you set us ashore.”

“Aha! Not to have anozaire kick at notre bon Joseph, eh?”

“No, not even to serve Joe Daygo out,” said Vince. “An old wretch! But he deserves it.”

“And faith of a gentlemans, on your word of honneur, you vould not tell vere ze contraband is kept?”

“On our honour, as gentlemen, we would not: would we, Mike?”

“No,” was the eager reply.

“I believe you bose,” said the captain. “But you could not keep your vort. It is impossible.”

“But we would,” said Vince.

“You vould try, mon garçon, but you vould be oblige to tell. Listen—von vort for all. I have faith in you bose, but no, it cannot be. You cannot go back, so you must act like ze man now.”

“Then you are going to take us away?” cried Vince.

“I ’ave take you avay, my boy, and I sall not let you go back till I no longer vant ze cavern store, and ze safe place to hide. Zen you may go back—if you like.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Vince quickly.

“Vat I say: if you like. I sink by zat time you bose say to me, ‘Non, Monsieur Jacques, ve do not vant to go.’ Now I talk no more. Down vis you!”

“Only tell us one thing,” said Vince: “where are you going to take us?”

“I tell you ven I can,” said the captain.

“What do you mean by that?” cried Mike excitedly.

“Vat I say. I do not know.”

He pressed them towards the hatchway, and they descended, feeling that they could do nothing else, while the captain followed and opened a door opposite to that of the cabin.

“Zere,” he said. “You can sleep in zose bunk. I keep zat for my friend, and I give zem to mine ennemi, you see. I vill not lock ze door, but you listen, bose of you. I am ze capitaine, and I am le roi—ze king here. If a man say he vill not, I knock him down. If he get up and pull out ze knife, I take ze pistol and shoot: I am dangéreux. If I hear ze strange noise, I shoot. Don’t you make ze strange noise in ze night, mes amis, but go sleep, as you Anglais say, like ze sound of two top hummin. You understand. Bon soir! You come to ze déjeuner—breakfast in ze morning.”

He shut them in, and the two boys were left in the darkness to their thoughts. But they were too weary to think much, and soon felt their way into their bunks, one above the other.

An hour later the door was softly opened, and a lanthorn was thrust in, the captain following to look at each face in turn.

There was no sham this time. Utterly worn out by the excitement of the past hours, Vince and Mike were both off—fast in the heavy, dreamless, restful slumber of sixteen—the sleep in which Nature winds up a boy’s mainspring terse and tight, and makes him ready to go on, rested and fresh, for the work of another day.

Chapter Thirty Five.

How some Folk turn Smugglers.

The sea was up before the boys next morning, and in its own special way was making the chasse-marée pitch and toss, now rising up one side of a wave, now gliding down the other; for the wind had risen towards morning, and was now blowing so hard that quite half the sail hoisted overnight had had to be taken down, leaving the swift vessel staggering along beneath the rest.

Vince turned out feeling a bit puzzled and confused, for he did not quite grasp his position; but the full swing of thought came, with all its depressing accompaniments, and he roused up Mike to bear his part and help to condole as well.

Mike, on the contrary, turned out of his bunk fully awake to their position, and began to murmur at once bitterly as he went on dressing, till at last Vince turned upon him.

“I say,” he said, “it’s of no use to make worse of it.”

“No one can,” cried Mike.

“Oh, can’t they? Why, you’re doing your part.”

“I’m only saying that it’s abominable and outrageous, and that I wish the old lugger may be wrecked. Here, I say, what have you been doing with my clothes?”

“Haven’t touched ’em.”

“But you must have touched them. I folded them up, and put them together, and they’re pitched all over the place. Where are my boots?”

“Servant girl’s fetched ’em out to clean, perhaps,” said Vince quietly.

“Eh? Think so? Well, they did want it.—Get out! I don’t see any need for jeering at our position here. Just as if I didn’t know better! Here, you must have got them on.”

“Not I! Even if I wanted to, one of your great ugly boots would be big enough for both of my feet.”

“Do you want to quarrel, Cinder?” said Mike roughly.

“Not here. Isn’t room enough. There are your boots, one on each side of the door in the corners of the cabin.”

“Then you must have kicked them there, and—”

Mike did not finish, for the lugger gave such a lurch that the boy went in a rush against the opposite bulkhead with a heavy bang.

“Didn’t kick you there, at all events,” said Vince, who was fastening his last buttons.

“Why, the sea’s getting up,” said Mike. “Has it been blowing up above?”

“Haven’t been on deck, but it has been alarming down here. I had a horrible job to find my things. They were all over the place.”

“How horrid! And what a miserable place to dress in!”

“Better than a sandbank in a seal’s hole.”

“Oh! don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? It’s over. Deal better off than we have been lately, for we have got an invitation to breakfast.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Cinder,” said Mike querulously.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Now you’re at it again, trying to cut jokes and making the best of things at a time like this.”

“All right: I’m silent, then,” said Vince. “Shall I go on deck?”

“Go? what for?”

“Leave you more room to dress.”

“It will be very shabby if you do go before I’m dressed. If ever two fellows were bound to stick together it’s us now. Oh dear, how awkward everything is! I say, there’s no danger, is there?” cried Mike, as the lugger gave a tremendous plunge and then seemed to wallow down among the waves.

“No, I don’t see what danger there can be. Seems a beautifully built boat, and I daresay Jacques is a capital sailor.”

“A scoundrel!” said Mike bitterly.

“Now, mes enfans, get up,” cried the skipper’s voice; and this was followed by a smart banging at the door, which was opened and a head thrust in.

“If you sall bose be ill you can stay in bed to-day; but you vill be better up. Vell, do you feel vairy seek?”

“No, we’re all right,” said Vince; and soon after the two boys climbed on deck and had to shelter themselves from the spray, which was flying across the deck in a sharp shower.

It was a black-looking morning, and the gloom of the clouds tinged the surface of the sea, whose foaming waves looked sooty and dingy to a degree, while the boys found now how much more severe the storm was than they had supposed when below. The men were all in their oilskins, very little canvas was spread, and they were right out in a heavy, chopping sea, with no sign of land on any hand.

They had to stagger to the lee bulwarks and hold on, for the lugger every now and then indulged in a kick and plunge, while from time to time a wave came over the bows, deluging the deck from end to end.

But before long the slight feeling of scare which had attacked the boys passed off, as they saw the matter-of-fact, composed manner in which the men stood at their various stations, while the captain was standing now beside the helmsman, and appeared to be giving him fresh directions as to the course he was to steer, with the result that, as the lugger’s head paid off a trifle, the motion became less violent, while her speed increased.

“Aha!” shouted the captain, as he found them—“not seek yet? Vait till ve have ze déjeuner, and zen ve sall see.”

“Oh, we’ve been to sea before,” said Vince rather contemptuously.

“And you like ze sea, n’est-ce pas—is it not so?”

“Oh yes; we like the sea,” said Vince. “It is good,” said the captain, clapping him on the shoulder. “Zen you sall help me. You say no at ze beginning, but bah! a boy—two boy like you brave garçons—vill not cry to go home to ze muzzer. It is a fine sing to have a luggar of tree mast like zis, and you sall bose make you fortune ven I have done.”

He nodded and turned away, leaving the boys to stand looking at each other aghast, and forgetting all about the state of the sea, till a big wave came over the bows and made them seek for shelter.

They saw but little of the captain that day, except at meal-times, when he was good-humoured and jocose with them in spite of the fact that the weather did not mend in the least. Then the next day passed, and the next, with the wind not so violent, but the sea continued rough, and the constant misty rain kept them for the most part below. The crew were civil enough, and chatted with them when they did not ask questions; but failing to obtain any information from them as to their destination, Vince agreed with Mike that one of them should ask the captain where they were going to first. So that evening, when they were sailing slowly in a north-easterly direction, after being driven here and there by contrary winds, they waited their opportunity, and upon the captain coming up to them Vince began at once with,—

“Where are we going to first, captain?”

“Eh? you vant to know?” he said. “Vell, you sall. In zere.” The boys looked sharply in the direction pointed out but could see nothing for the misty rain which drifted slowly across the sea.

“Where’s in there?” said Mike.

“You are not good sailore yet, mon ami, or you vould have study our course. I vill tell you. You look over ze most left, and you vill see ze land of ze fat, heavy Dutchmans.”

“What, Holland?” cried Vince eagerly.

“Yais: you know ze name of ze river and ports?”

“Yes; Amsterdam, Rotterdam,” began Vince. “Are we going to one of those places?”

“Aha! ve sall see. You no ask questions. Some day, if you are good boy and can be trust, you vill know everysings. Perhaps ve go into ze Scheldt, perhaps ve make for ze Texel and ze Zuyder Zee, perhaps ve go noveres. Now you know.”

He gave them a peculiar look and left them, and as the rain came on in a drifting drizzle the boys made this an excuse for going below.

“Mike,” said Vince, as soon as they were alone, “got a pencil?”

“No.”

“And there is neither pen nor ink.”

“Nor yet paper.”

“Then we’re floored there,” said Vince impatiently.

“What did you want to do?”

“Want to do? Why, write home of course, telling them where we were. We surely could post a letter at the port.”

“No: he’ll never give us a chance.”

“Perhaps not; but we might bribe some one to take the letter.”

“What with? I haven’t a penny, and I don’t believe you have.”

Vince doubled his fists and rested his head upon them.

“I tell you what, then: we only gave our word for one day. We must wait till we are in port, and then swim ashore. Some one would help us.”

“If we could speak Dutch.”

“Oh dear,” said Vince, “how hard it is! But never mind, let’s get away. We might find an English ship there.”

Mike shook his head, and Vince set to work inventing other ways of escaping; but they finally decided that the best way would be to wait till they were in the river or port, and then to try and get off each with an oar to help support them in what might prove to be a longer swim than they could manage.

That evening the weather lifted, and after a couple of hours’ sail they found themselves off a dreary, low-lying shore, upon which a cluster or two of houses was visible, and several windmills—one showing up very large and prominent at the mouth of what seemed to be a good-sized river, whose farther shore they could faintly discern in the failing evening light.

“We’re going up there,” said Vince—“that’s certain.” But just as it began to grow dark there was a loud rattling, and down went an anchor, the lugger swung round, and the boys were just able to make out that they were about a couple of miles from the big windmill.

“Too many sandbanks to venture in,” said Vince.

“No; we’re waiting for a pilot.”

“I believe,” said Vince, “he’ll wait for daylight and then sail up the river; and if we don’t escape somehow before we’re twenty-four hours older my name isn’t Burnet.”

Mike said nothing, but he did not seem hopeful; and soon after they were summoned to the cabin to dinner, where the captain was very friendly.

“Aha! now you see Holland. It is beautiful, is it not? Flat as ze Dutchman face. Not like your Cormorant Crag, eh? But nevaire mind. It vas time, and soon ve get butter, bread and milk, ze sheecan, ze potate, for you hungry boy have eat so much ve get to ze bottom of ze store.”

They asked no questions, for they felt that it did not matter. Any land would do, and if they could escape it would go hard if they did not avoid recapture.

They were too much excited to sleep for some time that night, lying listening for the coming of the pilot or for the hoisting of the anchor; for there was, after all, the possibility of their having anchored till the tide rose sufficiently for them to cross some bar at the mouth of the river. But sleep overcame them at last, and they lay insensible to the fact that about midnight a light was hoisted at the mast-head, which was answered about an hour after by the appearance of another light in the mouth of the river—a light which gradually crept nearer and nearer till about an hour before dawn, when the boys were awakened by a soft bumping against the lugger’s side, followed by a dull creaking, and then came the hurrying to and fro of feet on the deck overhead.

“Quick, Mike!” cried Vince—“into your clothes. She’s sinking!”

As they hurried on a few things, the passing to and fro of men grew louder; they heard the captain’s voice giving orders, evidently for the lowering of a boat, and the boys tried to fling open the door and rush on deck.

Tried—but that was all.

“Mike, we’re locked in!” cried Vince frantically; and he began to kick at the door, shouting with Mike for help.

Their appeal was so vigorous that they did not have to wait for long. There was the sound of the captain’s heavy boots as he blundered down the ladder, and he gave a tremendous kick at the door.

“Yah!” he roared: “vat for you make zat row?”

“The lugger! She’s sinking,” cried the boys together.

“I com in and sink you,” roared the captain. “Go to sleep, bose of you.”

“But the door’s locked.”

“Yais, I lock him myself. Silence!”

Then the lugger was not sinking; but the faint creaking and grinding went on after the captain had gone back on deck, and the boys stood listening to the orders given and the hurrying to and fro of men.

“She must be on a rock, Cinder,” said Mike, in a half-stifled voice.

“No rocks here. On a sandbank, and they’re trying to get her off.”

Then there was a rattling and banging noise, which came through the bulkhead.

“Why, they’re taking up the hatches over the hold.”

“Yes,” said Vince bitterly; “they’re thinking more of saving the bales than of us.”

“Down vis you, and pass ’em up,” cried the captain; and, for what seemed to be quite a couple of hours, they could hear the crew through the bulkhead busy in the hold fetching out and passing up the bales on to the deck in the most orderly way, and without a bit of excitement.

“Can’t be much danger,” said Vince at last, “or they wouldn’t go on so quietly as this.”

“I don’t know,” said Mike bitterly; “it must be bad, and they will forget us at last, and we shall be drowned, shut up here.”

“Don’t make much difference,” said Vince, with a laugh. “Better off here. Fishes won’t be able to get at us and eat us afterwards.”

“Ugh! how can you talk in that horrid way at a time like this!”

“To keep up our spirits,” said Vince. “Perhaps it isn’t so bad. She’s on a bank, I’m sure, and perhaps—yes, that’s it—they’re trying to lighten her and make her float.”

“They’re not,” said Mike excitedly. “Why, they’re bringing other things down. You listen here.”

Vince clapped his ear to the bulkhead and listened, and made out plainly enough that for every bale passed up a box seemed to be handed down, and these were being stacked up against the partition which separated them from the hold.

“I say, what does it mean?” whispered Mike at last.

“I don’t know,” replied Vince; “but for certain they’re bringing in things as well as taking them away. Then we must be in port, and they’re landing and loading up again.”

“Oh, Cinder! and we can’t get ashore and run for it.”

“No; he’s too artful for us this time. That’s why he has locked us up. Never mind; our turn will come. He can’t always have his eyes open.”

“Is there any way of getting out?”

“Not now,” said Vince thoughtfully; “but we might get one of those boards out ready for another time. They’re wide enough to let us through.”

The soft creaking and grinding sounds went on, but were attributed to the lugger being close up to some pier or wharf, and the boys stood with their ears close to the bulkhead, trying to pick up a word now and then, as the men who were below, stowing the fresh cargo, went on talking together.

But it was weary work, and led to nothing definite. They knew that the loading was going on—nothing more.

“Well, we are clever ones,” said Vince at last; and he laid hold of the wooden shutter which let in light and air to the narrow place, but only let his arm fall to his side again, for it was firmly secured.

“Never mind,” he added; “we’ll make it all straight yet.”

Hours had gone by, and from the bright streaks of light which stole in beneath and over the door they knew that it was a fine morning; and, as the dread had all passed away, they finished dressing, and sat in an awkward position against the edge of the bottom bunk, listening to the bustle on deck, till all at once it ceased and the men began to clap on the hatches once again.

Then, as they listened, there came the sound of ropes being cast off, the creaking and grinding ceased, the captain shouted something, and was answered from a distance, and again from a greater distance, just as the lugger heeled over a little, and there came the rattle and clanging of the capstan, with the heave-ho singing of the men.

“We’re under way again, Mike,” said Vince; “and there’s no chance of a run for the shore this time.”

He had hardly spoken when the heavy tread of the captain was heard once more, and he stopped at the door to shoot a couple of bolts.

“Bon jour, mes amis. You feel youselfs ready for ze brearkfas?”

Vince did not reply, and the captain did not seem to expect it, for he walked into the cabin, while the boys went on deck, to find that the men were hoisting sail, while a three-masted lugger, of about the same build as the one they were on, was a short distance off, making for the mouth of the muddy river astern. They were about in the same place as they were in when anchor was cast overnight, and it became evident to the boys that the noise and grinding they had heard must have been caused by the two vessels having been made fast one to the other while an exchange of cargo took place.

“Where next?” thought Vince, as their sails filled in the light, pleasant breeze of the sunny morning.

He was not long in doubt, for upon walking round by the steersman the compass answered the question—their course was due south.

“Aha! you take a lesson in box ze compais,” said a voice behind them. “Good: now come and take one, and eat and drink. It is brearkfas time.”

Chapter Thirty Six.

“To vistle for ze Vind.”

Four days passed in the quiet, uneventful way familiar on board a small vessel, with the prisoners sinking into that state of apathy known as accepting the inevitable. They were weary of condoling with one another, and telling themselves that sooner or later their chance for escape would come. They bore their position good-temperedly enough, chatted with the sailors, took a turn or two at steering under the guidance of the man at the helm, and received a nod of approbation from the captain when he saw what they were doing.

“Aha, yais,” he said, showing his teeth. “You vill be my first and second officer before long, and zen ve sall all be ze grand contrabandiste.”

“Oh, shall we?” said Vince, as soon as they were alone. “We shall see about that.”

The captain had been amiable enough to them, and had the boys only felt that those they loved were well and possessing the knowledge that they were safe, the life would have been pleasant enough; but the trouble at home hung like a black cloud over them, and whenever they met each other’s eyes they could read the care they expressed, and the feeling of misery deepened for awhile.

They went to bed as usual that fourth night, but towards morning Vince somehow felt uneasy; and at last, being troubled by thirst, he determined to go up on deck and get a pannikin of water from the cask lashed by the mainmast.

He half expected to find the door fastened, but it yielded to a touch; and, after listening at the cabin for a few moments to try and find whether the captain was asleep, he crept up on deck in the cool grey of the coming morning, and, looking back, saw the man at the helm, and forward two more at the look-out.

He had not many steps to go, and there was the pannikin standing ready, and the cover of the cask had only to be moved for him to dip out a tinful of the cool, fresh water, which tasted delicious; and, being refreshed by the draught, he was about to descend, when the beauty of the sea took his attention. The moon was sinking in the west and the dawn was brightening in the east, so that the waves were lit up in a peculiar way. On the side of the moon they glistened as though formed of liquid copper, while on the side facing the east they were of a lovely, pearly, silvery, ever-changing grey. So beautiful were the tints and lights and shades that Vince remained watching the surface of the sea for some minutes, and then the chill wind suggested that he should go down; when, making a sweep round, he felt as if his breath had been taken away, for there, away to the south, and looming up of huge height and size in the morning mist, was unmistakably the Crag, and they were once more close to home.

Here, then, was the answer to the question they had asked one another—Where are we sailing to now?

Yes: there was the Crag, with its familiar outline; and his heart beat fast as he felt that if Mike’s father were on the look-out with his glass he would be able to see the lugger’s sails.

“No, he must be in bed and asleep,” thought Vince. “But I’ll fetch Mike up to see. Why, old Jacques must be taking us home. No; he is going to fetch another load!”

“Yais, zat is ze Crag,” said a voice behind him, and there stood the captain with a glass under his arm. “Now you vill go down and stop vis ze ozaire boy till I tell you to come up. But zis time you can stay in ze cabin. Mind,” he said impressively, “you vill stay. You comprenez?”

“Oh yes,” said Vince; “but you will let us go as soon as you’ve got the cargo all on board.”

“Aha, you sink so?”

“Yes.”

“But you are not so stupede as to sink I can take all avay at von trip. Non, mon ami, it vill take four or five time more. Now go down, and tell ze ozaire to obey, and not make feel zat I can shoot.”

“May I bring him up to see the Crag?” said Vince.

“No,” replied the captain abruptly. “He sleep. Let him rest. Better you sleep too.”

Vince glanced in at the cabin, to find that the deadlights were up and the place very dimly lit by the tiny skylight. Then, closing the door as he entered the cupboard-like place in which they passed their nights, he found Mike still sleeping; and fearing that he would get into trouble if he tried to watch their approach, he lay down too, and was awakened apparently in a few minutes by Mike shaking him.

“I say, it’s awfully late, and we’ve anchored again.”

“Dressed?” said Vince in wonder.

“Yes, and I was going on deck, but the skipper pushed me back and banged down the hatch. I say, I haven’t the least idea where we are.”

“I have,” said Vince.

“Well, where?”

“Back at the cavern.”

“Nonsense.”

“You’ll see.”

Mike did see, and before long, for half an hour later the captain came down in the cabin, breakfast was eaten, and then the boys were allowed to go on deck, to find themselves in their old berth, with the rocks towering up and shutting them in, while the lugger was safely moored head and stern to the wall-like rock.

Vince involuntarily looked round for the rugged face of old Joe Daygo, and one of the men noticed it.

“Looking for the pilot, youngster?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, he came and run us in while you two were asleep, and you don’t look as if your eyes were unbuttoned yet.”

“It’s of no use, Cinder,” said Mike, as they turned away: “Jacques don’t want us to see how it’s all done; but only wait till we get away, and we’ll find out somehow.”

That was a busy day for every one but the boys; who, quite feeling their helplessness about escaping, quietly settled down to think of their strange position: as the crow flew not above a mile from home, but powerless to make their presence known.

The captain never left the deck, and the boats were going to and fro constantly; but they took nothing ashore, and it was evident that the smuggler meant to clear out the cavern, whose stores were far greater than the boys could have believed. The boats came back loaded down almost to the gunwale; but they were managed with wonderful dexterity, and as soon as they were made fast alongside, the men sprang aboard and their cargoes were rapidly transferred to the hold, which seemed to swallow up an enormous quantity of the contraband goods. So well shaped were the packages and so deftly packed below that they fitted into their places like great bricks in a building, so that by night the lugger was well laden, and it seemed evident that they would sail again when the tide suited.

It was just after dark; all the boats were hanging from the davits, and the tired men busy over a meal the cook had prepared, while the captain was walking thoughtfully up and down the deck, his dark eyes watchful over everything, and the boys, as they leaned over the bulwarks, talking softly together about how well the various little currents were made to work for the smugglers, knew that every motion they made was watched.

“It’s of no use, Ladle,” Vince said cheerily. “This isn’t the place to try and get away. We’ve tried it, and we know. If it was, I’d say, jump in and swim for it!”

“Pst! a boat,” whispered Mike.

Vince turned sharply round, to see that a small boat had suddenly glided out of the darkness, to be borne by the current up against the lugger’s side; and the next minute Daygo climbed in, painter in hand, the captain going up to him at once, and then returning to where the boys were standing together.

Dark as it was, they could see a mocking smile upon the man’s face, but before he could speak Vince forestalled him.

“All right,” he said: “you want us to go below and stay till the lugger is worked out.”

“Yais, zat is it,” said the captain. “Some day you sall help me, visout ze pilot, eh? Go below, and stop youselfs. Shut ze cabin door. You vill find somesings to eat.”

The boys went down without a word, and they had proof that the captain followed them, for a sharp click told that a bolt outside had been shot.

“Eat!” said Vince scornfully; “he thinks that boys are always wanting to eat!”

“Never mind, Cinder,” said Mike, sitting down before the table, upon which some fresh provisions stood. “Let him think what he likes; let you and me eat while we have a chance; we may be escaping, and not get an opportunity for hours and hours.”

Vince saw the force of the argument, and followed his companion’s example, both listening the while and hearing the men hurry on deck.

Soon after they felt the lugger begin to move, and they sat eating and comparing notes as they recalled what they had heard the last time. But they could only build up imaginary ideas about the currents, channels and rocks which the vessel had to thread.

“I give it up,” said Vince; “we can’t understand it all without eyes.”

Just then the captain came down and seated himself to make a hearty supper, and by the time he had done it was evident that they were out to sea once more, for the vessel swayed softly from side to side, but there was little motion otherwise.

“You vill not be sea-seek to-night, mes amis,” said the captain; “zere is hardly no vind at all. You must go on deck soon and vistle for it to come.”

But he did not let them go up till he had himself been there for some time, and when they ascended eagerly, it was to see that the sky was brilliantly studded with stars, a very faint wind blowing from the west, and the Crag looming out of the darkness about a mile away, but Joe Daygo’s boat had disappeared.

The lugger was gliding along very gently, on a north-easterly course, with all sail set; and the boys came to the conclusion that the last manoeuvre was to be repeated, but unless the wind sprang up the trip promised to be long and tedious.

But one never knows what is going to happen at sea.

They had been sailing for about a couple of hours, with the captain walking up and down with a long spy-glass under his arm; and from time to time he stopped to rest it on the rail and carefully sweep the offing, as if in search of something, but apparently always in vain, till all at once he closed the glass with a snap, and walking forward, gave a sharp order, whereupon two of the men hurried below, to return directly with a couple of lanthorns, which were rigged on to a chopstick kind of arrangement, which held them level and apart as they were attached to the halliards and sent gliding up to the mast-head.

“Signal,” whispered Vince; “but we can’t be near the shore.”

They searched the soft, transparent darkness for some time, gazing in the direction in which they had seen the captain use his glass, but it was all in vain; till Vince suddenly started, and pressed his companion’s arm. Then pointed to where, about a mile away, two dull stars close together seemed to be rising slowly out of the sea to a little distance above the horizon, to stand nearly stationary for a while, and then slowly sink down and disappear.

“Another smuggler,” whispered Vince; and then turned to look up at the mast-head of their own vessel, but their signal had been lowered.

“Depend upon it,” whispered Mike, “that boat will come up close, like the other did, and they’ll make fast together and begin to shift cargo.”

“Think so?” said Vince thoughtfully, as it began to dawn upon his mind that possibly Captain Jacques with his fast lugger ran across Channel to various smuggling ports, and brought cargoes over to deposit in the cavern ready for the contraband goods to be fetched by other vessels and landed here and there upon the English coast. He did not know then that he had made a very shrewd guess, and hit the truth of how the captain had for years gone on enriching himself and others by his ingenious way of avoiding the revenue cutters, whose commanders had always looked upon the Crag as a dangerous place, that every one would avoid, but who would have given chase directly had they seen Jacques’ long low swift vessel approaching any part of the English coast to land a cargo.

Vince did not ripen his thoughts then—that happened afterwards, for he was interrupted by a hand laid upon his shoulder, Mike feeling another upon his.

“You sink you vill keep ze middle vatch?” said the captain: “ma foi, no! Go down and sleep, and grow to big man.”

He gave them a gentle push in the direction of the hatch.

“Bon soir,” he said mockingly, and the boys went down.

“You’ll hear the bolts shot directly,” said Vince grimly, as he seated himself on the edge of the bunk.

Click—clack! came instantaneously, and then they heard an ascending step.

“Don’t mean us to see much of what is going on,” said Mike.

“Oh, it isn’t that,” replied Vince. “He fancies we should do something while they’re busy—get a boat down, slip on board the other lugger or whatever it is.”

“He needn’t fancy that,” said Mike. “Frying-pan’s bad enough; I’m not going to jump into the fire and try that!”

“Nor I either. Well, shall we turn in?”

“May as well: I don’t want to stop up and listen to a gang of smugglers loading and unloading their stupid cargo.”

“Nor I, Ladle. I say, what a shame it is of old Jacques to be living now, instead of a hundred years ago! Poor old chap, you won’t get any plunder after all!”

“I don’t see that it’s right to be trying to make fun of our trouble,” said Mike bitterly; “there’s the poor old Crag only a few miles away, and we’re shut up here!”

“Don’t take any notice,” said Vince: “I say all sorts of things I don’t mean. No chance of getting away to-night, is there?”

“No—not even to drown ourselves by trying to swim away,” said Mike, with a sigh; and they hardly spoke again.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

The King’s Cutter speaks out.

“Ladle!”

“Hullo!”

“Wake up!”

“What’s the good? We can’t go on deck. May as well lie here and rest.”

“Nonsense! Get up, or I’ll pull you out by one leg!”

“You touch me, and I’ll send you flying against the bulkhead.”

“Go it!” cried Vince, who was standing on the rough floor, in his trousers; and, quick as thought, he seized Mike’s leg and pulled him half out. “Now kick, and I’ll let you down bang.”

“Oh! I say, Cinder, let go! Don’t, there’s a good fellow.”

“Then will you get up?”

“Yes: all right. Does it rain?”

“No—lovely morning; you can see it is through that bit of skylight.”

Mike slipped out and began to dress.

“Wonder what they’ve been doing in the night?”

“Don’t know—don’t care,” said Vince, yawning. “Oh, how horrid it is to be boxed up here like a rabbit! Can hardly breathe, and perhaps he won’t let us out for hours. Here, Jacques, come and unfasten this door,” he said in a low, angry growl; and, seizing the handle, he was about to give the door a rough shake, when to the surprise of both it flew open.

“Hurrah!” cried Vince; and they were not long finishing dressing and hurrying on deck, to find that, whatever might have been done, the hatches were in their places, while a good-sized schooner was lying close by with her sails flapping, as were those of the lugger; for the sea was very smooth, save where the currents showed, and during the night they had been carried by one of these well back towards the island, whose north-east point lay about a couple of miles on their port bow.

“That’s an English schooner, for certain,” said Vince. “What is she?”

“The Shark” read Mike from her stern. “Looks as if she could sail better than the Belle-Marie.”

“Not she,” said Vince, with the tone of authority; “these long three-masted luggers can race through the water.”

“Aha! mes enfans—my good shildren,” said the captain, in his irritating way of giving bad interpretations of his French which annoyed the boys, “I vant you vairy bad. You go and vistle for ze vind, eh? We shall go soon upon ze rock.”

“Wind’s coming soon,” said Vince; “it’s on the other side of the island now. Look: you can see the ripple off the point. Looks dark. We don’t get it because the Crag shelters us.”

“Good boy! I see you sall make a grand sailor some day, and be my first lieutenant; I give you command of a schooner like ze Shark.”

He waved his hand towards the vessel, and then looked eagerly in the direction of the rippled water, which indicated the coming wind.

“Is that boat yours?” said Vince.

“Yais! vy you ask? Ah–h–h–ah—ze wind—vill he nevaire com?”

At that moment the schooner hoisted a small flag very rapidly, and, simple as the action was, it completely changed the aspect of affairs. Orders were given sharply; and, to the boys’ wonder, they were startled by seeing the men begin rapidly to cast loose the four small long guns, while others were busy fetching up powder and shot from below, passing down the little hatchway which had led to the boys’ first place of confinement.

The captain walked sharply here and there, giving his instructions, and in an incredibly short space of time every stitch of sail possible was crowded upon the lugger, while a similar course was pursued by the captain of the schooner.

A thrill of excitement ran through the boys as they saw an arm chest hoisted up from the cabin, placed amidships, and the lid thrown open; but nothing was taken out, and after watching their opportunity, so that the captain should not observe their action, the boys walked by where the chest had been placed, and saw that it was divided longitudinally, and on one side, neatly arranged, were brass-bound pistols, on the other, cutlasses.

They had hardly seen this, when a glance forward showed them the captain superintending the loading of the two bow guns, and as soon as this was done he began to walk aft, while the boys discreetly walked forward along the other side, so as to be out of the fierce-looking fellow’s way.

“I say, Ladle,” whispered Vince, “this is like what we have often read of. How do you feel? There’s going to be a fight. Look! they’re loading the guns aft.”

“Oh, I feel all right yet,—just a little shivery like. But what makes you say there’s going to be a fight?”

“Didn’t you see the schooner hoist a flag?”

“Of course I did, but I thought she was a friend. Why are they going to fight? Oh, I know: it’s only a sham fight, for practice.”

“I don’t believe it is sham; the skipper looked too serious. I saw him showing his teeth, and the men all look in earnest. They’ve been doing something old Jacques don’t like, and he’s going to bring them to their senses. Here, I say, you’re not getting those ready for breakfast?”