George Manville Fenn (continued 5)

There was a reason for this route being chosen, for Celia did not care to be seen by Ram, or any of the men who might be pretending to work hard on Shackle’s farm, which was ill tended, and consisted for the most part of cliff grazing land; but somehow seemed to need quite a large staff of labourers to keep it in such bad order.

By passing through the fir-wood, Celia meant to get out of sight of the cottages, and she went on, with the dog following sulkily behind, but reviving a little upon being given the basket to carry.

She trudged on for about a mile over the thin stony pastures, found a fair number of small, sweet, pink-gilled mushrooms where the turf was finest and richest, and gradually adding to her store of glistening bramble-berries till her finger-tips were purple with the stains.

The course she chose was down in the hollows between the hills, till at last she struck the one along which she had passed after leaving Ram and his companion, and turned down here, believing that, if the boy selected it, there would be good reason for his so doing. She walked steadily on, finding a button mushroom here and a bunch of blackberries there. For one minute she paused, struck by the peculiar sweet and sickly odour of a large-leaved herb which she had crushed, and admired its beautifully veined blossoms, in happy ignorance of the fact that it was the deadly poisonous henbane, and then all at once she missed Grip.

“Oh, how tiresome!” she cried excitedly; and she called him loudly, but there was no reply. A gull or two floated about and uttered their querulous calls, otherwise the silence was profound, and, though she swept the great curved sides of the hollow, whose end seemed filled up by the towering hill, all soft green slope toward her, but sheer scarped and projecting cliff toward the sea, there was not so much as a sheep in sight.

With a great horror coming upon her, she hurried along towards the cliff, thinking of what Dadd had said, and picturing in her mind’s eye poor Grip racing along some seaward slope in chase of a rabbit, and going right over the cliff, she went on almost at a run, pausing, though, to call from time to time.

It was intensely hot in that hollow, for the sea breeze was completely shut off, but she did not pause, and rapidly neared the cliff now, her dread increasing, as she wondered whether Ram would be good enough to get a boat, and row along under the cliff to find the poor dog’s body, so that she might bury it up in the fir-wood behind the house, in a particular spot close to where she had so often sat.

No sign of Grip: no sound. She called again, but there was no cheery bark in response, and with her despondent feeling on the increase, she began to climb the side of the hollow, passing unnoticed great clusters of blackberries, whose roots were fast in the stones, and the fruit looking like bunches of black grapes; past glistening white mushrooms, better than any she had yet seen, but they did not attract her; and at last she had climbed so high that she could see the blue waves spreading up and up to the horizon, and about a couple of miles out the white-sailed cutter, which was creeping slowly along the shore.

“I wonder where that midshipman is,” she thought, forgetting the dog for the moment. “How strange that all was! Could it really have been a dream?”

“Yes, it must have been, or else he would have gone and told his captain, and they would have come and searched the cellar, and there would have been sad trouble.”

She turned her eyes from the sea, and began to search the green slopes around, and then all at once she uttered a cry of joy as she could sight, on the highest slope right at the end of the valley, a white speck which suddenly appeared out of the earth, and then stood out clear on the green turf, and seemed to be looking about before turning and plunging down again.

It was quite half a mile away, and her call was in vain, and she began to descend diagonally into the hollow, the tears in her eyes, but a smile of content on her lips.

“Oh, you bad dog,” she cried merrily, “how I will punish you!” and she stooped and picked a couple of mushrooms, quite happy again, and even sang a scrap of a country ditty in a pretty bird-like voice as she came to a bramble clump, and went on staining her fingers.

By degrees she passed the end of the hollow, leaving all the blackberries behind, and now, only pausing to pick a mushroom here and there, she began to ascend the slope toward where she had seen the dog.

“It is getting nearer the edge of the cliff,” she said; “but it slopes up, and not down. Ah, I see you, sir. Come here directly! Grip! Grip!”

The dog had suddenly made his appearance about fifty yards in front, right as it were out of the grassy slope, to stand barking loudly for a few moments before turning tail and plunging down again.

“Oh, how tiresome!” she cried. “Grip! Grip!”

But, as the dog would not come to her, she went on, knowing perfectly well that he had gone down one of the old stone pits, and quite prepared to stand at last gazing into a hole which inclined rapidly into the hillside, but was as usual provided with rough stones placed step-wise, and leading the way into darkness beneath a fern-fringed arch, while the whole place was almost entirely choked-up with the luxuriantly growing brambles.

“He has found a rabbit,” she thought to herself, as her eyes wandered about the sides of the pit, and brightened at the sight of the abundant clusters of blackberries, finer and riper than any she had yet secured.

“I wish I was not so frightened of these places,” she said to herself. “Why, I could fill a basket here, and there can’t be anything to mind, I know; it is only where they used to dig out the stone.”

A sudden burst of barking took her attention to the dog, who came bounding up the rugged steps right to her feet, looked at her with his great intelligent eyes, and, before she could stop him, rushed down again, where she could hear him scratching, and there was a sound which she knew was caused by his moving a piece of stone such as she could see lying at the side in broken fragments, and of the kind dug in thin layers, and used in the neighbourhood instead of tiles.

“Oh, Grip, Grip! And you know you can’t get at him. Come here.”

“Ahoy!”

Celia was leaning over the rugged steps, gazing down into the darkness beneath the ferns, when, in a faint, smothered, distant way, there came this hail, making her nearly drop her basket as she started away from the pit.

The hail was followed by a sharp burst of barking, and the dog came bounding up again, to stand looking after her, barking again before once more descending.

Slowly, and with her eyes dilated and strained, the girl crept back step by step, as she withstood her desire to run away, for all at once the thought had come that perhaps some shepherd or labourer had fallen down to the bottom, and was perhaps lying here with a broken leg.

She had heard of such things, and it would be very terrible, but she must know now, and then go for help.

In this spirit she once more reached the entrance to the old quarry, and peered down, listening to the worrying sound made by the dog, who kept rattling one piece of stone over another, every now and then giving a short, snapping bark.

“Ahoy!” came again, as if from a distance, and a thrill ran through the girl, bringing with it a glow of courage.

“It is some poor fellow fallen down;” and, placing her basket by the side, she began to descend cautiously, with Grip rushing to meet her, barking now joyously, and uttering whine after whine.

The descent was not difficult, and after the first few steps the feeling of timidity began to wear off, and Celia descended more quickly till, about fifty feet from the top, some distance under where the fringe of ferns hung, and where it had seemed quite dark from above, but was really a pleasant greenish twilight, she found beneath her feet a few loose flat stones, part of a quantity lying before her in the archway that seemed to lead straight on into the quarry.

But here, right at her feet, the dog began to scratch, tossing one thin piece of stone over the others upon which it lay.

Celia looked before her wonderingly, for she had expected to see a fallen man at once, probably some one of the men whom she knew by sight; but, in spite of the dog’s scratching, she could not imagine anything was there, and she was bending forward, gazing into the half choked-up level passage before her, when there came from under her feet the same smothered,—

“Ahoy!”

She started away, clinging to the side for support, and ready in her fear to rush back to the surface.

But the dog’s action brought her to herself, as he began again to bark furiously, and tore at the stones.

“Hush! Quiet, Grip!” she said in an awe-stricken whisper, as she went down on her knees and listened, her heart beating wildly, and a horrible idea, all confused, of some one having been buried alive, making her face turn ashy pale.

“Ahoy! Any one there?” came in the same faint tones.

“Yes—yes,” panted the girl. “What is it?”

“Help!”

And then, more loudly,—

“Let me out, pray.”

“Oh,” moaned the girl, “what does it mean?”

“Ahoy there!” came more plainly now. “Whoever you are, get a boat, and go off to the cutter White Hawk. Can you hear?”

“Yes, yes,” said the girl huskily, as a horrible suspicion ran through her mind.

“Tell Lieutenant Brough that Mr Raystoke is a prisoner, kept by the smugglers, and then show his men the way here.”

There was a pause, for Celia could make no reply; she knew who Mr Raystoke was, and it seemed horrible to her that the frank, good-looking young midshipman should be kept a prisoner in such a tomb-like place as that.

“Don’t, don’t say you will not go!” came up in the smothered tones. “You shall have a reward.”

“As if I wanted a reward!” panted Celia. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”

“Help—pray help!” came from below; and Grip joined in.

“Yes, I will help you,” cried Celia, placing her face close down to the stones.

“What!” came up. “I know you—the young—yes, Miss Graeme.”

“Yes,” she cried hastily.

“Pray help me.”

“I want to,” she said; “but—but you will go and—and tell—about what you have seen.”

There was a pause, and then came faintly the words,—

“I—don’t—want to; but—I must.”

“But I cannot—I cannot help you if you are going to fetch the sailors here, perhaps to seize—Oh, what shall I do?”

There was a pause before the prisoner spoke again.

“Look here,” he said; “I don’t want to tell about your father being mixed up with the smugglers.”

“You must not—you dare not!” cried Celia.

There was another pause, and then the prisoner’s voice came again reproachfully.

“You ought to know it’s my duty, and that I was sent ashore to find this out.—I say.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know I was shut up like this by those beasts?”

“Oh, no, no, no!”

“Your father did. He had me sent here, so that he should not get into trouble.”

“Indeed no! He would not do so wicked a thing.”

“But he is a smuggler.”

“It is not true!” cried Celia passionately; “and if you dare to say such things of my dear, good, suffering father, I’ll go away and never help you.”

“I can’t help saying it,” said Archy sturdily. “I’d give anything to get out of this dreadful dark place; but I must speak.”

“Not of him.”

“I don’t want to speak of him,” said Archy, “but what can I do? I must tell about all those smuggled things there in the cellar that night when you found me in that room—out of uniform.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Celia.

“I know it’s hard on you, but I’ve been here a prisoner ever since, and it’s enough to break one’s heart.”

The poor fellow’s voice changed a little as he spoke, and he would have given way if he had seen Celia’s head bowed down, and that she was crying bitterly.

“You will send for help?”

“I cannot,” sobbed the girl, “unless you will promise not to tell.”

There was a pause again.

“I can’t promise,” came up huskily, in faint smothered tones. “I say, is the door locked as well as bolted?”

“I cannot tell; it is covered with stones. Pray, pray promise me that you will not tell. I do want to help you to get away.”

“I can’t promise,” said Archy at last, after a bitter struggle with self. “I must go straight to my officer and tell him as soon as I get out.”

At that moment there was a sharp barking from the dog, who rushed up the steps to stand at the top for a few moments before coming down again.

“Won’t you help me?”

“To send my poor innocent father to prison,” said Celia in a low voice.

“I can’t hear you,” came from below.

“And I can’t tell you,” said Celia to herself. “What shall I do—what shall I do?”

She stole softly up the rugged steps, with her fingers in her ears, in dread lest she should be called upon to listen to the prisoner’s piteous appeals for help; and, as soon as she reached the top, she set off running as hard as she could go, to find her father, tell him all, and appeal to him to try and save the poor fellow from the cruel trials he was called upon to bear.

Celia could hardly see the direction in which she was going, for her eyes were blinded with tears, and so it was that, when down in the lowest part of the hollow, as she hurried blindly along, she tripped over one of the many loose stones, fell heavily, striking her temple against a block projecting from the steep side of the little valley; and fell, to lie insensible for a time; and when she did come to her senses, it was to find Grip lying by her, with his head upon her chest, and his eyes looking inquiringly into hers, as if to ask what it all meant.

Her head ached, and she felt half stunned still, but she strove to rise to her feet, and sank back with a moan of pain.

For a worse trouble had discovered itself: her ankle was badly wrenched, so that she could not stand, and in the solitary place in which she had fallen, it was possible that she might lie for days and not be found, unless special search was made.

A sudden thought came—to tie her handkerchief about Grip’s neck, and send him home.

The first was easily done, the latter impossible. Grip was an intelligent dog in his way, but nothing would make him leave his mistress there; and the poor girl lay all day in the hot sun, and at last saw that night was coming on, and that there was no help.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Celia Graeme took sundry precautions to avoid being seen, but she was not so successful as she imagined.

Jemmy Dadd was an old servant of Farmer Shackle, one who always made a point of doing as little as was possible about the farm. He did not mind loading a cart, if he were allowed as much time as he liked, or feeding the pigs, because it afforded him an opportunity to lean over the sty and watch the pretty creatures eat, while their grunting and squeaking was sweet music in his ear. He generally fed the horses, too, and watched them graze. Calling up the cows from the cliff pastures he did not mind, because cows walked slowly; and he did the milking because he could sit down and rest his head; but to thump a churn and make butter was out of his line.

Mrs Shackle complained bitterly to her lord and master about different lots of cream being spoiled, but Farmer Shackle snubbed her.

“Can’t expect a man to work night and day too,” he grunted. “Set one of the women to churn.”

In fact, the farmer never found any fault with Jemmy, for the simple reason that he was his best worker on dark nights, and as handy a sailor as could be found.

Jemmy knew it, felt that he was licensed, and laughed to himself as he followed his own bent, and spent a good deal of time every day in what he called seeing the crops grow.

When there were no crops growing, he went to see how the grass was getting on, and to do this properly, he put a piece of hard black tobacco in his cheek, and went and lay down on one of the hill-slopes.

He was seeing how the grass got on that particular morning with his eyes shut, when, happening to open them, he caught sight of Celia going along, a mile away, with her basket and dog.

He knew her by the dog, though even at that distance, as she moved almost imperceptibly over the short turf of the treeless expanse along by the sea, he would have been sure that it was Sir Risdon’s child.

“What’s the good of telling on her?” he growled to himself, as he lay back with his hands under his head; and in that attitude he rested for nearly three hours. Then, moved by the cogitations in which he had been indulging, he slowly and deliberately rose, something after the fashion of a cow, and began to go slowly in the direction taken by Celia hours before.

Jemmy Dadd seemed to be going nowhere, and as he slouched along, lifting up one heavy sea boot and putting it down before the other, he never turned his head in either direction. So stiff was he in his movements, that any one who watched him would have concluded that he was looking straight forward, and that was all.

A great mistake; for Jemmy, by long practice, had made his eyes work like a lobster’s, and, as he went on, they were rolling slowly round and round, taking in everything, keeping a look-out to sea, and watching the revenue cutter, sweeping the offing, running over the fields and downs and hollows, missing nothing, in short, as he steadily trudged along, not even the few mushrooms that the pleasant showers had brought up, and placing them in his hat.

Slow as his pace was, the distance between the prints of the big boots was great, and the mushroom hunting took him, before very long, up the cliff beyond the entrance to the old quarry, then down below it, and then close up alongside, where he stooped over, and then went down a few steps out of sight.

He did not turn his head, for his lobster eyes had convinced him that no one was in sight, and, as he disappeared in the deep hole, he pounced upon the basket, and then went softly and quickly down to where the loose tile stones lay.

A rapid examination satisfied him that they had not been moved, and he went softly up again, basket in hand, stood still and rolled his eyes, but saw no sign of the basket’s owner, and then, thrusting his arm through the handle, he went steadily back to the farm, where he thrust his head in at the door, stared at Farmer Shackle, who was innocently mending a net, and backed out and went into the rough stable.

Shackle followed him, net in one hand, wooden netting-needle in the other.

“Hullo!” he said.

Jemmy held out the basket.

“Well, I see brambrys and masheroons. What of ’em?”

“Little missus’s basket. Fun’ it.”

“Take it home. No—I’ll send Ramillies. Ladyship don’t like to see you.”

“Fun’ it in number one!”

“What!”

“See her going along there with that dog. She must ha’ smelled him out.”

“Place been opened?”

“No.”

Farmer Shackle scratched his nose on both sides with the netting-needle; then he poked his red worsted cap a little on one side with the same implement, and scratched the top of his head, and carefully arranged the red cap again.

“Mayn’t have seen or heard anything, lad.”

“Must, or wouldn’t have left the basket.”

“Right. Have big Tom Dunley, Badstock and two more, and be yonder at dark. Ramillies know?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t tell him. He’s waiting yonder for you. Here he comes. Go on just as usual, and don’t tell him nothing. I’ll meet you soon as it’s dark.”

“Pistols?”

“No. Sticks.”

“Jemmy there, father? Ah, there you are! Come on. I’ve been waiting such a time.”

Ram looked sharply from one to the other, and knew there was something particular on the way, but he said nothing.

“Get it out of Jemmy,” he said to himself.

“I’m ready, lad; I’m ready.”

“Look sharp, boy,” said the farmer.

“Yes, father,” said Ram. “I’ll go and get the basket.”

“Ay, do, boy. And look here—never mind more to-day; but take double ’lowance to-morrow, so as not to go every day.”

“Very well, father. Look sharp, Jemmy!”

The boy ran back to the house, followed by his father, who went on netting, and a minute later Jemmy and Ram were off over the bare pastures in the direction from which the man had come.

“Find that basket you give to father, Jemmy?”

“Ay, lad, half full o’ brambrys and masheroons. Wondered whose it was. Gaffer says it’s little missus’s, and you’re to take it up.”

“Oh,” thought Ram, “that’s what they were talking about;” and he began whistling, quite content, as they went wandering about mushrooming, till, apparently tired, they sat down close to the mouth of the quarry, where Jemmy’s eyes rolled round for a good ten minutes before he said, “Now.”

Then the pair rolled over to left and right, down into the hole, and descended quickly to the bottom, where the man crept right on along the half choked passage, took a lanthorn from a great crevice; there was the nicking of flint and steel, a faint blue light, and the snap of the closing lanthorn as the dark passage showed a yellow glow.

Meanwhile Ram had been busy removing the pieces of stone, laying bare a trap-door upon which were a big wooden lock and a couple of bolts. These he unfastened, threw open the door, and descended with his basket; while, after handing down the lanthorn into the black well-like hole, Jemmy climbed up again to the surface and stood with his eyes just above the level, sheltered by blackberry strands and other growth, and slowly made his eyes revolve; till, at the end of half an hour, Ram reappeared, when the business of closing and bolting the door went on, while Jemmy blew out the light, closed the lanthorn, through whose crevices came forth an unpleasant odour, bore it back to its hiding-place; and then the pair departed as cautiously as they came.

“What did he say?” growled Jemmy.

“Oh, not much. Seemed all grumpy, and wouldn’t answer a civil question.”

“Should ha’ kicked him,” said Jemmy.

Very little more was said till they reached home, and Ram busied himself about the farm till after supper, wishing that he could help the midshipman to escape without getting his father into trouble.

He was thinking how horribly dark and miserable the old quarry must be, for the first time. The thought had not occurred to him before, through every hole and corner being so familiar, from the fact that scores of times he had held the lanthorn while his father’s men carried in smuggled goods landed at the ledge, if there was plenty of time; for, if the landing had been hurried, and the danger near, the things were often carried up to the Hoze for temporary deposit till carts came to bear the things into the interior.

“I do wish he’d be friends,” thought Ram, when his musings were interrupted by his father saying,—

“Ah, there’s that basket Jemmy found’s mornin’. Go and take it up to the Hoze.”

“He needn’t go to-night, need he?” said Mrs Shackle.

“You mind your own business,” said the farmer fiercely. “Be off, boy.”

Ram put on his red cap, took the basket, and trotted off toward the Hoze, while Mrs Shackle sighed, for she knew that something particular must be on the way, or Ram would not have been sent off, and her husband have prepared to go out directly after.

“Oh dear me, dear me, dear me!” said the plump, comfortable-looking woman, as the door closed on her husband’s back. “If he would only keep to his cows and sheep!”

“Here,” said the farmer, reopening the door, “be off to bed. Ramillies need not know that I’m gone out.”

“No, dear. But do take care of yourself.”

“Yah!”

Bang went the door, and Mrs Shackle, after putting a few things straight, went off obediently to bed, troubling in no wise about the door being left on the latch.

Chapter Thirty Three.

Archy Raystoke was fast asleep, dreaming about being once more on board the cutter, with the sun shining full in his eyes, because he was lying on the deck, right in everybody’s road, and Gurr the master was scolding him for it in a way which was very disrespectful to an officer and a gentleman, while the men grouped around grinned.

He was not surprised, for somehow Mr Brough was not there, and Gurr had assumed the command of the cutter, and was playing the part of smuggler and pirate, and insulting him, whom he addressed again: “Get up!”

Archy leaped to his feet, and saw at a glance that it was not the sun, but the light of a lanthorn shining in his eyes, while, before he could do more than realise that several men were standing close to him, half of a sack was drawn-down over his head and shoulders, and a thin rope was twisted round and round his arms, fastening him securely, and only leaving his hands free.

“What are you going to do?” he shouted, after a vain struggle to free himself, and his voice sounded muffled and thick through the heavy sack.

“Pitch you off the cliff if you make so much as a sound,” said a gruff voice by his car. “Keep quiet, and you won’t be hurt.”

The lad’s heart beat heavily, and he felt hot and half suffocated.

“Do you want to smother me?” he said. “Can’t breathe.”

“Slit the back of the sack, lad,” said the same gruff voice, and there was a sharp cutting noise heard, as a breathing-hole was cut right up behind his head.

“Now, then, bring him along.”

His hand was grasped, and, as he felt himself led over ground that was quite familiar now, he knew that he was on the way to the entrance.

Were they going to take him out, and set him free?

No; if they had been going to do that, they would not have blindfolded his eyes.

Yes, they would, for, if they were going to set him free, they would do so in a way that would place it beyond his power to betray their secret store.

Quick immatured thoughts which shot through him as he was led along, and he knew directly after that it was only fancy. Of course. He could show the lieutenant where the opening was in the cliff, and by knowing that it would be easy to track out the land entrance.

“No,” said the midshipman to himself sadly; “they are going to take me and imprison me somewhere else, for they must now know that I was holding communications with that girl.”

“Now then, steady!” said a voice, as he felt that the cool air was coming down on to his head, and he breathed it through the thick sacking. “Make a rope fast round him.”

“I must be at the foot of the way in,” thought Archy, as he felt a rope passed round him, and the next minute it tightened, he was raised from his feet, and the rope cut into him painfully as he felt himself hauled up. Then hands seized him, and he was thrown down on the grass, while the last rope was cast off.

As he lay there being untied, though his eyes were blinded, his ears were busy, and he listened to the smothered sounds of the trap being fastened and the stones being drawn over it again.

“Trap-door—door into a trap,” he thought. “Where am I going now? Surely they would not kill me.”

A cold chill shot through him, but he mastered the feeling of terror as he felt himself dragged to his feet.

“Now, then, keep step,” the same gruff voice said; and, with apparently half a dozen men close by him, as far as he could judge by their mutterings and the dull sound of their feet over the grass, he was marched on for over an hour—hearing nothing, seeing nothing, but all the while with his ears strained, waiting for an opportunity to appeal for help, in spite of the threats he had heard, as soon as he could tell by the voices that he was near people who were not of the smugglers’ gang.

But no help seemed to be at hand, and, as far as he could judge, he was being taken along the fields and rough ground near the edge of the wild cliffs, now near the sea, now far away. At one time he could hear the dull thud and dash of waves, for a good brisk breeze was blowing, and he fancied that he had a glint of a star through the thick covering, but he was not sure. Then the sound of the waves on the shore was completely hushed, and he felt that they must either be down in a hollow, or going farther and farther away inland.

Twice this happened, and the third time, as all was still, and he could feel a hard road beneath his feet, he became sure. There was an echoing sound from their footsteps, dull to him, but still plain, and it seemed as if they were down in some narrow cutting or rift, when all at once! Just in front, after the men about him had been talking more loudly, as if clear of danger, there rang out a stern—

“Halt—stand!”

There was a hasty exclamation. Then came in the loud, gruff voice,—

“Back, lads, quick!”

He was seized, and retreat had begun, when again rang out:—

“Halt—stand!”

The smugglers were between two fires.

The midshipman was conscious of a familiar voice crying,—

“No shots, lads. Cutlashes!”

There was a rush; the sound of blows, men swayed and struggled about wildly, and the lad, bound, blindfolded, and helpless, was thrust here and there. Then he received a sharp blow from a cudgel, which sent him staggering forward, and directly after a dull cut from a steel weapon, which, fortunately for him, fell upon and across the rope which bound his arms to his sides. There were oaths, fierce cries, and the struggling grew hotter, till all at once there was a rush, Archy went down like a skittle, men seemed to perform a triumphal war-dance upon his body, and then they passed on with the fight, evidently consisting of a retreat and pursuit, till the sounds nearly died away.

A minute later, as Archy lay there perfectly helpless, the noises increased again. Men were evidently laughing and talking loudly, and the sounds seemed to come round a corner, to become plainer all at once.

“Pity we didn’t go on after them? Nonsense, my lad! They know every hole and corner about here, and there’s no knowing where they’d have led us,” said a familiar voice.

“Well, it is precious dark,” said another.

“Too dark to see what we are about. But I take you all to witness, my lads, they ’tacked us first.”

“Ay, ay: they began it,” came in chorus.

“And if it happens that they are not smugglers, and there’s trouble about it, you know what to say.”

Archy heard all this, and it seemed to him that the party were about to pass him, when a voice he well knew growled out,—

“Hit me an awful whack with a stick.”

“Ay, I got one too, my lad; and I didn’t like to use my cutlash.”

“Wish we’d took a prisoner, or knocked one or two down. Why, here is one.”

There was a buzz of voices, and Archy felt himself hoisted up.

“Can you stand? Not wounded, are you? Who cut him down?”

“Well, I’m ’fraid it was me,” said one of the familiar voices. “Why, he is a prisoner ready made.”

“What? Here, cut him loose, lads. Hullo, my lad, who are you?”

“Take this off,” panted Archy in a stifled voice; and then, as the sack was dragged over his head, he uttered a sigh, and staggered, and would have fallen, had not one of the men caught him.

“Hold up, lad. Not hurt, are you?”

“No,” said Archy hoarsely.

“Who are you? What were they going to do with you?”

“Don’t you know me, Mr Gurr?”

“Mr Raystoke!”

The rest of his speech, if he said anything, was drowned in a hearty cheer as the men pressed round.

“Well, I am glad!” cried the master. “We’ve been ashore a dozen times, my lad, and searched everywhere, till the skipper thought you must have run away.”

“Run away!” cried Archy huskily. “I’ve been a prisoner.”

“Those were smugglers, then?”

“Yes,” cried Archy; “but they shall smart for all this. I know where all their hiding-places are, and we’ll hunt them down.”

“Hooray!” shouted the men.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Well, not to-night, my lad. Making a bit of a patrol,” said Gurr. “The skipper thought that perhaps we might run against something or another, and we have and no mistake. But what’s the matter? Not hurt, are you?”

“No, not much. I got a blow on the shoulder, and then some one gave me a chop with a cutlass.”

“That was you, Dirty Dick! I did see that,” cried one of the men.

“Well, I don’t say it warn’t me. How was I to know it was a orsifer in the dark, and smothered up like that?”

“Are you wounded, then?” cried the master excitedly.

“No; it felt more like a blow, but people kept trampling on me after I was down.”

“That’s bad,” said Gurr, giving vent to a low whistle. “Here, lads, let’s carry him to the boat.”

“No, no!” cried the midshipman. “I think I can walk. I could hardly breathe.”

“Well, go steady, then. It’s on’y ’bout half a mile to the cove. Where did they mean to take you, lad?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps on board some ship to get me out of the way;” and he briefly explained his late position, as they walked steadily on, the men listening eagerly the while.

“Then you can take me right to the place, Mr Raystoke?” said Gurr.

Archy hesitated.

“I can point it out from the sea, but it will be all guess-work from the shore.”

“Never mind; we’ll find it. But you can’t think about where they were taking you to-night?”

“I have no idea. Of course they blindfolded me, so that I should not see the way out of the place I left, nor the way into the other.”

“Ah, well, come on, and the skipper will talk to you. He has been fine and mad about it, and I ’most think he’s turned a bit thinner, eh, Dick?”

“Ay, that he have,” said the latter. “Leastwise you might think so.”

“One day he’s been all in a fret, saying you’ve run away, and that you’d be dismissed the service, and it was what he quite expected; and then, so as not to put him out, when you agreed with him, he flew out at you, and called you a fool, and said he was sure the smugglers had murdered his officer, or else tumbled him off the cliff.”

Archy was too weary with excitement to care to talk much, and he tramped on with the men, hardly able to realise the truth of his escape, and half expecting to wake up in the darkness and find it all a dream. But he was reminded that it was no dream, from time to time, by feeling a hand laid deprecatingly upon his bruised arm, and starting round to see in the darkness that it was Dirty Dick, who patted his injury gently, and then uttered a satisfied “Hah!”

“Pleased to see me back,” thought the midshipman, “but I wish he wouldn’t pat me as if I were a dog.”

“Hullo!” exclaimed the master just then, as they came opposite a depression in the cliff which gave them a view out to sea. “What’s going on? Forrard, my lads. Smart!”

The pace was increased, for away in the darkness there hung out a bright signal which all knew meant recall, and the midshipman’s heart throbbed as he felt that before long he would be in a boat dancing over the waves, and soon after treading the deck of the smart little cutter.

“No,” he said to himself, as after a hail a boat came out of the darkness, its keel grating on the pebbly shore, and he uttered a sigh of content on sinking back in the stern-sheets; “it isn’t a dream.”

Chapter Thirty Four.

Archy Raystoke’s sense of weariness rapidly passed off, as the oars splashed, and the boat glided softly out of the waters of the cove, between the two huge corners of rock which guarded the entrance, and then began to dance up and down as she reached out into the tideway. After the darkness of the old quarry, with its faint odour of spirits, the night seemed comparatively like noonday, and the pure, brisk air that fanned his cheek delicious. He seemed to drink it in, drawing down great draughts which made his bosom swell, his heart beat, and there were moments when, like a schoolboy upon whom has suddenly come the joys of an unexpected half-holiday, he felt ready to jump up, toss his cap in the air, and shout for joy.

“But it would be undignified in an officer,” he felt; and he sat still, feeling the boat live almost in the water as she throbbed from end to end with the powerful strokes, and glide up the waves, hang for a moment, and slide down.

“Tidy swell on, Mr Raystoke,” said Gurr.

“Oh, it’s glorious!” replied the lad in a low voice.

“Glorious?”

“Yes. You don’t know what it means to have been shut up in a place like a cellar, always black, and longing to see the blue sky and sunshine.”

“Well, there aren’t none now, my lad.”

“No, Gurr, there is no blue sky and sunshine, but—but—this is delightful;” and he said to himself, with his breast swelling, “I feel stupid, and as if I could cry like a child.”

They were nearing the cutter fast, her lights growing plainer, and the lad leaned forward with feelings that were almost ecstatic as he tried to scan her lines, and thought of leaping on her deck, and feeling the easy, yielding motion as she rose and fell to her cable where she lay at anchor. He even thought of how glorious it would be for there to come a storm, with the spray beating on his cheeks and then, as he involuntarily raised his hand to his face, a thought occurred to him which made him start.

“Oh!” he mentally ejaculated, as he thought of his long sojourn in the cave, and a feeling of satisfaction came over him that it was dark; “what a horribly dirty wretch I must look!”

A hail came from the cutter at last, and was answered from the boat, Archy’s heart beating fast as he dimly saw the figures on board, and thought of the joy of being once more in his own cabin.

“Gurr,” he whispered, “don’t say a word to Mr Brough; let me tell him I have come on board.”

“Right, my lad; but you’ll say we found you, and all that. You see, I must make my report.”

“Of course.”

Just then the oars were thrown up and laid alongside, and, as the lieutenant came to the gangway, Archy sprang on to the cutter so sharply that he came rather roughly in contact with his commanding officer.

“How dare you! Why, you clumsy young—” Before he could say more, the midshipman touched his red cap.

“Come aboard, sir,” he said.

“Why? What? Mr Ray—Oh, my dear boy!”

There was not a bit of official dignity in the greeting, for the plump little lieutenant, in his surprise and delight, caught Archy by the arms, then by the shoulders; stared in his face; seized his hands, shook them both, and was about to hug him, but, suddenly recollecting himself, he drew back.

“In with that boat,” he cried sharply. Then, giving the orders to slip the cable, and prepare to make sail, he turned to Gurr.

“I’ll take your report directly, Mr Gurr,” he said. Then, very stiffly, “Take charge of the deck. Mr Raystoke, follow me, sir, to my cabin.”

“Going to wig me,” said the midshipman, as he followed his officer down into the cabin and shut the door.

“Now, sir,” cried the lieutenant, turning upon him sharply, “have the goodness to explain your conduct. Stop—not a word yet. I entrusted you with an important commission. I dealt with you as if you were a man, an officer and a gentleman; and, instead of doing your duty, you went off like a contemptible cabin-boy on a shore-going game, sir—dissipation, sir—behaved like a blackguard till all your money was spent; and then you come sneaking back on board, insult me by blundering up against me, and all you’ve got to say for yourself is, ‘Come aboard, sir.’ Now, then, what else have you to say?”

“Well, sir!—”

“Stop. Let me tell you that, knowing as I did what a young scamp you were, I refrained from reporting your conduct at Portsmouth, to get you dismissed His Majesty’s service; and knowing, too, that it would break your father’s and mother’s heart, I did not write and tell them. For I said to myself, ‘He’ll come back and ask forgiveness to-morrow, and I’ll punish him and forgive him,’ for I did not want to blast your career. But to-morrow has always been coming, and you haven’t come till to-night. And now, what have you to say before—before I treat you—yes, I’ve a good mind to—like some mutinous scoundrel, and—What’s that, sir, what’s that? How dare you sit down in my presence, when—”

“I’m so done up, sir, and hungry and faint.”

“And serve you right, you insolent young dog. I knew it, and—”

“Oh, I say, Mr Brough, you don’t think I could have been such a beast.”

“What?”

“I found out all about the smugglers, but they caught me, and I’ve been a prisoner ever since. Do give me something to eat and drink, and don’t scold me any more, till I’ve got on my uniform and had a good wash.”

“My dear boy! My dear Archy Raystoke!” cried the lieutenant, seizing his hands and pumping them up and down. “Of course I didn’t think it! Knew you were too much of a gentleman, but I was stuffed full of thoughts like that, and they would come out. Here,” he cried, “drink that, and here’s some cake sent from Poole, and—tip it up, and eat away. I am glad to see you again. God bless you, my dear boy! I’m your officer, but you don’t know how miserable I’ve been.”

“Yes, I do, sir. I know you always liked me,” cried the midshipman, between the mouthfuls he was taking. “But never mind the being prisoner, sir. I know all the scoundrels’ secrets now, and you can capture them, and make some good hauls. You must send a strong party ashore as soon as it’s day.”

“But—but—”

Archy answered those buts to such an extent that Gurr’s report was needless, and the master was terribly disappointed.

By that time the cutter was slowly gliding away seaward, with every eye on the watch, for, as the lieutenant explained, after telling his recovered officer how he had searched in all directions, he had that night seen lights shown far up on one of the cliffs—lights which might mean a warning to some vessel to keep off, or just as likely might have the other intention, and be an invite to some lugger to land her cargo.

In any case the lieutenant meant to be on the alert, and hence the sailing of the cutter.

The lieutenant had hesitated a little at first after hearing his midshipman’s report, but he now decided how to act.

“No,” he said; “not to-night, my lad. I’m inclined to think the signal was a warning to keep off. They may hide the cargo they leave ashore, and if we don’t capture it, so much the worse, but our work is to crush up the gang more than to capture a few barrels and bales. We’ll look out to-night, and, as soon as it is daylight, you shall make sure of the bearings of your prison, then we’ll land a strong boat’s crew, and go along the top of the cliff to the place, and put an end to that game. You shall make a good meal, and then have a sleep, ready for to-morrow’s work. Hah!” cried the little lieutenant; “that ought to mean a good day’s business, Mr Raystoke, and promotion to better jobs than this.”

“I hope so, sir,” said Archy, with his mouth full.

“No use to hope,” said the lieutenant dismally. “I’m like poor old Gurr; they don’t consider me fit for service in a crack ship; and when I make my report, and send in my despatches, and ask for an appointment, I shall be told I do my work too well on this important service, and that they cannot spare so valuable an officer from the station. Gammon, Mr Raystoke, gammon! It’s all because I’m so little and so fat.”

Archy was silent, for he knew it was the truth, and that such a quaint little fellow did not somehow quite command the men’s respect.

Half an hour after, he was sleeping heavily, with the delightful sensation of being undressed and between blankets, to wake up with a start in the morning, by hearing Ram coming to the trap-door.

No, it was a noise on deck; and he sprang up and rapidly washed and dressed, to hurry up to see what was going on.

Chapter Thirty Five.

As the midshipman reached the deck, it was to find that there was a light mist on the water, and that the lieutenant was at the side with Gurr, where they were watching a boat coming in from seaward.

The cutter was back not far from her old moorings, and the great cliffs of the shore were dimly visible.

“Lobster-boat, sir,” said Gurr, as Archy came behind them.

“Never mind! I’ll overhaul her. I’m going to be suspicious of everything now. Take the boat, and—Ah, to be sure. Mr Raystoke, take the boat, and see what those fellows mean. They’re making straight for the ledge, and there is no one to buy lobsters there.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

That familiar sea-going reply seemed to ring out of the lad’s throat, and afforded him a pure feeling of delight. No more groping about in the darkness, biting his nails, and feeling heart-sick with despondency, but the full delight of freedom and an active life.

No lad ever sprang to his work with more alacrity, and, as he leaped into the boat, and the men dropped their oars, there was a hearty look of welcome in each smiling face.

“She has just gone into the mist there, Mr Raystoke,” said the lieutenant; “but she’s making straight for that ledge, and you can’t miss her. One moment. If the men seem all right and honest as to what they are going to do, see if you can get any information, but be on your guard, as they’ll send you, perhaps, on some fool’s errand.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Archy again, as he took the handle of the tiller. “Now, my lads, give way!”

The mist was patchy, thin here and thick there, but it seemed an easy task to overtake the boat, which had glided into the fog, going slowly, with her little sail set, and with only a man and boy for crew. She was about a mile away from the cutter, and about a quarter of that distance from the land when she passed out of sight, and the possibility of not overtaking her never entered the midshipman’s head. All the same, though, he was well enough trained in his duties to make him keep a sharp look-out on either side, as they crept in, to make sure that the boat did not slip away under the cliffs to right or left unseen.

The mist grew more dense as they neared the towering cliffs. Then it seemed to become thinner, and, just as the midshipman was thinking to himself how glorious it would be if the man and boy in the boat should prove to be his old friends Ram and Jemmy Dadd, there came a peculiar squeaking sound from somewhere ahead.

“Lowering sail, sir,” said Dirty Dick, who was pulling first oar.

“Then we have not missed them,” thought Archy, as the men pulled steadily on, with the rushing, plunging noise of the waves beginning to be heard as they washed the foot of the cliffs. “I’ll be bound to say it is Ram and that big scoundrel. Oh, what a chance to get them aboard in irons and under hatches, for them to have a taste of what they gave me!”

It seemed perfectly reasonable that those two should have been off somewhere in a boat, and were now returning. Who more likely to be making for the ledge, which, as far as he could judge, was a point or two off to the right.

All at once, after a few minutes’ pulling, the boat glided right out of the bank of mist which hung between them like a soft grey veil, while in front, lit up by the first beams of the morning sun, was the great wall of cliff, the ledge over which the waves washed gently, the green pasture high up, and the ledges dotted with grey and white gulls. The picture was lovely in the extreme, but it wanted two things in Archy’s eyes to make it perfect; and those two things were a background formed by the great cliff, down which he had crept, and the feature which would have given it life and interest—to wit, the fishing-boat containing Ram and Jemmy Dadd.

“Hold hard, my lads!” cried the midshipman, and the men ceased rowing, holding their oars balanced, with the diamond-like drops falling sparkling from their blades into the clear sea, while the boat glided slowly on towards the ledge, which was just in front.

“Why, where’s the boat?” cried Archy excitedly, as he swept the face of the cliff with his eyes.

“She aren’t here, sir,” said Dick.

“Well, I can see that, my man. Can she have slipped aside and let us pass?”

“No,” said one of the other men. “’Sides, sir, she was just afore us ten minutes ago, and we heard her lowering down her mast and sail.”

“Could that have been a gull?”

“What, make a squeal like a wheel in a block? No, sir, not it.”

“Then they have run her up on the ledge and dragged her into one of the holes. Give way!”

The men pulled in quickly, and at the end of a few minutes they were as close to the side of the ledge as it was safe to go, for, as the waves ran in, the larger ones leaped right over the broad level space, washing it from end to end. But there was no sign of the boat, and the midshipman hesitated about believing that the man and boy could have taken advantage of a good wave and run her right on.

“It’s strange,” said Archy aloud, as he sat there thinking that, if he chose his time right, he might make his men pull the boat in upon a wave, let them jump out and drag her up the rocks.

But he shook his head, for he knew that if everything was not done to the moment, the boat would be stove in.

“Hullo! What are you shaking your head about?” he said sharply to Dick.

“Nothing sir, only you said it was strange.”

“Well, isn’t it strange?”

“Ay, sir; so’s the Flying Dutchman!”

“What? Why, you do not think any of that superstitious nonsense about the boat, do you?”

“Well, sir, I dunno. I only says, Where’s the boat now? She couldn’t have got away.”

“No,” said another of the men. “She couldn’t have landed there.”

“Nonsense!” cried Archy angrily. “Absurd! Who ever heard of a phantom lobster-boat?”

Dick shook his head, and then sat playing with the handle of his oar.

“You Dick,” cried Archy, “you’re a goose! There, it will not be safe to land, my lads. Here, you two jump ashore as we back in. Mind, just as the sea’s off the ledge; and run up and have a good look round.”

The boat was turned, backed in, and, seizing the right moment, the men jumped on to the rock just as the water was only ankle-deep, had a good search round, and came back, to be picked up again safely, though the boat was within an ace of being capsized.

But they had seen nothing. There was no boat, and they searched along some distance east, turned back to the ledge and went west, still without elucidation of the mystery; then they went as close under the cliffs as they dared go, in the hope of finding some cavern or passage through the rocks that escaped notice from outside.

All in vain, and, obeying the signal now flying on the cutter, the boat was rowed back.

“Well, Mr Raystoke, where’s the boat?”

“Don’t know, sir. We never got sight of her.”

“Then you must have been asleep,” cried the lieutenant angrily. “There, breakfast, my lads, and be smart.”

After the meal, Gurr was left in the charge of the cutter, while the lieutenant accompanied Archy to search for the high cliff which contained the old quarry, and they rowed east for a couple of miles in vain. But, after pulling back to the starting-point, and making for the other direction, they had not gone four hundred yards under the cliff before the midshipman exclaimed excitedly,—

“There; that’s the place: there!”

“Then why didn’t you say so when we were on deck? You could have seen it there.”

“I could not tell without seeing it close in, sir; and besides it looks so different from right out yonder.”

“But are you sure this is right?”

“Oh yes, sir. Look, that’s the place—where there is that narrow rift, and if you look high up there is a hole. There, I can see it plainly.”

“Humph! Can you? Well, I cannot!”

“But you can see that broad ledge, sir, about two hundred feet up. That’s where I climbed down to, and we had the struggle—that boy and I.”

“No, I can’t see any ledges, Mr Raystoke. There may be one there, but if you had not been upon it, I don’t believe you would know that there was one.”

Archy looked up at the towering pile of rock, and was obliged to own that he was right. He shivered slightly as he swept the face of the cliff for the various points that had helped him in his descent, and, as he gazed out there in cold blood, it seemed to have been an extremely mad idea to have attempted the descent.

“Well, it is impossible to land here,” continued the lieutenant. “You are certain that this is the place?”

“Certain, sir.”

“Good. Then we’ll go back to the cutter, and this evening a strong party shall land. I’ll lead them myself, and we’ll try and surprise them. It’s quite likely that the signals I saw last night may mean business for to-night. If so, we shall be on the spot.”

“Won’t you go at once?” Archy ventured to observe.

“No, certainly not; what would be the good? We would be watched, of course, and the scoundrels would signal from hill to hill, and our every step would be known. This evening, my lad, at dusk. Now, my lads, give way.”

The boat was rowed rapidly from under the shadow of the mighty cliff, and the midshipman could not repress a shudder as he noticed how swiftly the current ran right out to sea, and fully realised what would have been the consequences to any one who had tried to swim along the coast if he had managed to descend in safety to the cliff foot.

Back on board the cutter there was a fair amount of bustle and excitement among the men, for, after months of unfruitful hanging about the coast, chasing luggers which proved to be empty, following false leads to get them off the scent or out of the way when contraband goods were to be landed, here was genuine information at last, the smugglers having, after such long immunity, placed themselves in the hands of the King’s men.

Consequently cutlasses were being filed up, pistols carefully examined as to their flints and nicked off to see that they threw a good shower of sparks into the pans, and the men sat and talked together as eagerly as if they were about proceeding upon a pleasant jaunt, instead of upon a risky expedition which might result in death to several, and certainly would in serious injury.

“Yes,” the lieutenant said, “rats will run away as long as they can, but when driven to the end of their holes they will fight.”

“But will they dare, do you think, sir?” said Archy.

“Dare! Yes, my lad. You had a bit of a taste of it the other night when they were surprised in the lane. They will be more savage in their holes, and therefore, as you are so young, I should like you to go with the men, show them the way, and then leave them to do the work.”

Archy stared at him.

“Yes: I mean it. Of course as an officer you cannot shrink from your duty, but, as you are a mere boy, it is not your duty to go and fight against strong men who are sure to get the better of you.”

“But they are not all men there, sir,” said the midshipman, with a look of disappointment getting heavier in his face. “There’s a boy there—that young rascal who came after the cow. I owe him such a thrashing that I must have a turn at him.”

“Ah, that’s different,” said the lieutenant; “and it will keep up appearances. But take care to confine yourself to fighting with him. And—er—I would not use my pistol, Raystoke.”

“Not shoot, sir?”

“Well—no. I want to destroy this wasps’ nest, but in as merciful a way as possible. I have given orders to the men, and I wish you to mind too—I don’t want to kill the wasps, but to make them prisoners.”

“Yes, sir, I see.”

“They are not French wasps, or Dutch wasps, but English. You understand?”

“Quite, sir.”

“That’s right. Another hour and you may be off. You think you can find the place?”

“I do not feel a doubt about it, sir.”

“Well, it’s going to be a dark night, and you and Mr Gurr will have to be careful over your men. You had better keep as close to the cliff as you can, for, of course, the entrance must be somewhere near. I have given Mr Gurr full instructions. You are to search and find the place, and if found hold it, but if you do not find it you will be back on board by daybreak, and another expedition must be made by day. If we can surprise them by night, when they think all is safe, it may save bloodshed. If we are obliged to go by day, they will have good warning, and be prepared to receive us, though they may be now. I wish I was going with you, but that cannot be.”

Chapter Thirty Six.

Everything was arranged on board, so that no watcher armed with a glass who scanned the ship should suspect that an expedition was on hand; but as soon as it was dark the men were ordered into two boats, one commanded by Gurr, with whom was Archy, the other by the boatswain, only leaving a very small crew on board with the lieutenant. Then they pushed off, rowing with muffled oars, and keeping right away from the cliffs, so that any watcher there should have no indication of their passing.

The quiet little cove was still a couple of miles away, when Archy suddenly touched the master’s arm as he sat there holding his cutlass.

“Yes; what is it?”

For answer the midshipman leaned forward, and pointed to where, far back and apparently opposite to the cutter, a couple of faint lights could be seen high up and away from the cliff.

“Humph! Lights,” said Gurr; “but they may be up at some cottage. What do you think?”

“I thought they might be signals.”

“Well, my lad, if they be, it’s to bring the smugglers ashore, where we may have the luck to be in waiting for ’em. But before that the skipper may have seen them, and, though he’s short-handed, they could manage to shake out a sail or two, and manage a gun.”

“You would not put back, then, after seeing these lights?”

“Not likely, with the orders we’ve got, sir,” said the master; and the men rowed on, and in due time reached the cove, where all was perfectly quiet, the tide falling, and as they landed quite a noisy tramp had to be made over the fine pebbles, in which the men’s feet sank.

A couple of men were left in charge of the boats, the others were formed up, and, after passing the cottages of the few fishermen of the place, the party struck off for the top of the cliffs, to follow the rugged, faint track which was more often lost, and the arduous tramp was continued hour after hour, till, partly from the schooner’s lights, partly from his idea of the run of the coast, the late prisoner began to calculate that they must be approaching the land side of the large cliff.

It had been a terrible walk in the darkness, for the cliff tops were as if a gigantic storm had taken place when that part of the coast was formed, and a series of mountainous—really mountainous—waves had run along and became suddenly congealed, leaving sharp-crested hill and deeply grooved valley, which had to be climbed and descended in turn, till the men vowed that the distance was double what it would have been by road, and they certainly were not exaggerating much.

It was only here and there that the party had been able to follow the edge of the cliff. For the most part prudence forced them to keep well in, but at times they had some arduous climbs, and walked along the sides of slopes of thin short grass, covered with tiny snails, whose shells crushed beneath their feet with a peculiar crisp sound; and had it been daylight, the probabilities were that they would have given these risky spots a wider berth.

“Call a halt, Gurr,” whispered Archy at last; and it was done. Then, giving the master his ideas, the men were allowed a few minutes’ breathing space before being formed in a line, with a space of a few yards between the men, one end of the line being close to the edge of the cliff, the other some distance inland.

In this way the men were instructed to walk slowly on, scanning every depression and clump of bared stone carefully, and at a word uttered by the man who felt that he had found any place likely to prove to be an entrance to a cave or quarry, all were to halt, the word was to be passed along, and the officers were to examine the place before the line went on again.

The plan was good, and the long line swept slowly along, the halt being called soon after they had started, but the stoppage was in vain, the midshipman and Gurr finding before them only a rough piled-up collection of stones from which the earth had in the course of ages crumbled or been washed away.

On again in the darkness, the officers pacing along portions of the line to urge on the men to be careful, and warning those near the cliff edge.

The advice was needed, for all at once, just as Archy was leaving the edge, there was a faint cry; the halt was called, and the young officer, closely followed by Dick, went quickly to the spot from whence the cry had come.

“It’s Bob Harris, sir,” said the last man they reached. “I see him a moment ago, and heard him cry out, and then he was gone.”

With his blood seeming to chill, Archy crept in the darkness close to the cliff edge, to find that it sloped down where he stood.

“Give me your hand, Dick,” he whispered.

“Lie down, my lad, and I’ll go down too,” said the sailor in a husky voice, which told of the horror he felt.

It was good advice, and the midshipman was putting it in force just as Gurr came tearing up.

“What is it?” he panted.

“Bob Harris gone over, sir,” whispered Dick.

“And no rope with us!” exclaimed the master. “See anything, my lad?”

“Yes; he is just below here on a ledge. Hi! Are you hurt?”

“No, sir,” came up faintly; “but I durstn’t move, or I should go over.”

“Lie still, then, till we pull you up. Mr Gurr, I can almost touch him. I could, if some one lowered me a little more.”

“No, no, my lad, no, no!” whispered the master. “Here, Dick, and you,” he said in short, quick, decisive tones, as he lay down and looked over. “Now, then, four more men here. Now, who’ll volunteer to lean over and get a good grip of him, while we hold by your legs?”

“I will,” said Dick.

“’Spose I’m as strong as any on ’em. But who’s going to hold my legs?”

“Two men, my lad, and there’ll be others to hold them.”

“Right,” said Dick shortly; and the men lay down, forming themselves into a human chain, the end of which Dick was lowered slowly down the slope and over the edge.

“Look here, my man,” said Archy, as he lay with his head and chest over the edge of the awful precipice, listening to the faint beat of the waves, and involuntarily thinking of his adventure with Ram, “as soon as Dick grips you, get tight hold of him too.”

“Ay,” came up in a hoarse whisper. “Please be quick. I feel as if I was going.”

“Now,” said the master, “ready, lads? Steady! You, Dick, give the word yourself to lower away.”

“Ay, ay, sir; lower away.” Then again, “Lower away! Lower away!”

The suspense in the darkness seemed strained to breaking point, and Archy lay with his heart beating painfully, watching till it seemed as if the case was hopeless, and that if Dick, now nearly off the cliff, could grip hold of the fallen man, they would never be able to get him and his burden back.

“’Nother inch,” came up out of the void. “Touched him. ’Nother inch!”

At each order, given in a hoarse, smothered way, the men shuffled themselves forward a little, and lowered Dick down.

“Just a shade more, my lads,” came up.

“Can’t!” said one of the men who held one of Dick’s legs.

“Right. Got him,” came up, as a thrill of horror ran along the chain at that word can’t. “Haul away!”

How that hauling up was managed the midshipman hardly knew, but he had some consciousness of having joined in the efforts made, by seizing one man of the human chain, and dimly seeing Gurr and two other men of the group now gathered about them lend their aid. Then there was a scuffling and dragging, a loud panting, and, with a few adjurations to “hold on,” and “haul,” and “keep tight,” Dick and the man he had been lowered down to save were dragged into safety.

“Phew!” panted Dick. “Look here, Bob Harris—never no more, my lad, never no more!”

“Bravely done, Dick,” whispered Gurr.

“Thank ye, sir. But, never no more. I want to be a good mate to everybody, but this here’s a shade too much.”

“And I’d take it kindly, Master Raystoke, sir,” said the man the midshipman had gripped, “if nex’ time, sir, you wouldn’t mind grappling my clothes only. You’re tidy strong now, and I can’t ‘answer for my flesh’, if you take hold like that.”

“Hush! No talking,” said the master. “Dick, take the outside now, and be careful. Form your line again. Bob Harris, take the far left.”

“Well, Master Raystoke, sir,” grumbled Dick, “I call that giving a fellow a prize. Saves that chap, and here am I.”

“Post of honour, Dick. Go slowly, and not too near.”

“Not too nigh it is, sir,” said Dick, with a sigh; and a minute later the word was given, and they went on once more.

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred yards, but no sign.

Then a discovery was made, and by the midshipman.

They had come to the descent on the far side of the vast hill by whose top they had been searching. There was a stiff slope beyond, and another mass of cliff loomed up, rising dimly against the sky, in a way that made Archy feel certain that, though so far their search had been in vain, they had now before them the huge cliff which held the smugglers’ store.

The midshipman felt so assured of this, that he whispered his belief freely to Gurr, as he encountered him from time to time perambulating the line of men, but the old master received the communication rather surlily.

“All guess-work, my lad,” he said. “We’re working wrong way on. These great places would puzzle a monkey, and we shan’t find the hole unless we come by daylight, and leave a boat off-shore to signal to us till we get over the spot.”

“What’s that?” cried Archy excitedly, as one of the men on his left uttered a sharp, “Look out!”

“Sheep, I think, sir.”

“No, it was a dog,” said another.

“Hi! Stop him!” cried a third. “Boy!”

There was a rush here and there in the darkness, the line being completely broken, and the men who composed it caught sight from time to time of a shadowy figure to which they gave chase as it dodged in and out of the bushes, doubling round masses of weather-worn stone, plunging into hollows, being lost in one place and found in another, but always proving too active for its pursuers, who stumbled about among the rough ground and dangerous slopes. Here for a moment it was lost in a damp hollow full of a high growth of mares-tail (equisetum), that curious whorled relic of ancient days; driven from that by a regular course of beating the ground, it led its pursuers upward among rough tumbled stones where the brambles tripped them, and here they lost it for a time. But, growing hotter in the chase, and delighted with the sport, which came like a relief from their monotonous toil, the Jacks put their quarry up again, to get a dim view of it, and follow it in full cry, like a pack of hounds, over the rounded top of the hill, down the other side into a damp hollow full of tall reeds, through which the men had to beat again, panting and regaining their breath, but too excited by the chase to notice the direction in which they had gone, and beyond hearing of the recall shouted by their officers.

The midshipman joined as eagerly in the chase as any of the men, forgetting at the moment all about discipline, formation, and matters of that kind, for in one glimpse which he had of the figure, he made certain that it was Ram, whom they had surprised just leaving the entrance to the cave; and it was not until he had been joined in the hunt for about a quarter of an hour, that he felt that the men ought instantly to have been stopped, and the place around thoroughly searched.

“How vexatious!” he cried to himself, as he panted on alone, always in dread of coming suddenly upon the edge of the cliff, and trembling lest in their excitement the men might go over.

All regrets were vain now, and he kept on following the cries he heard, first in one direction and then in another, till at last, after a weary struggle through a great patch of brambles and stones, he found himself quite alone and left behind.

But his vanity would not accept this last.

“I’ve quite out-run them,” he said, half aloud, as he peered round through the gloom, listening intently the while, but not a sound could be heard, and in his angry impatience he stamped his foot upon the short dry grass.

“What an idiot I am for an officer!” he cried. “Leading men and letting them bolt off in all directions like this. Suppose the smugglers should turn upon us now!”

“They would not have any one to turn upon,” he added, after a pause.

“Well, it’s all over with anything like a surprise,” he continued, after a time, “and we must get back to the place where we started from, if we can find it.”

“I’ll swear that was Ram,” he said, as he trudged on up a steep hillside; “and if they have caught him, we’ll make him show us the way. Stubborn brute! He was too much for me in the quarry, but out here with the men about, I’ll make him sing a different tune.”

“Where can they be?” he cried, after wandering about for quite half an hour. “Why! Ah!” he ejaculated. “I can see it all now. It was Ram, and he was playing peewit. The cunning rascal! Oh, if I only get hold of him!

“Yes; there’s no doubt about it, and he has been too clever for us. He was watching by the entrance, and just as the men got up, and would have found it, he jumped up and dodged about, letting the men nearly catch him, and then running away and leading them farther and farther on.”

“Never mind. I’ll get the men together, and we’ll go back to the place and soon find it. Oh, how vexatious! Which way does the sea lie?”

There was not a star to be seen, and the night was darker than ever.

He listened, but the night was too calm for the waves to be heard at the foot of the cliffs, and, gaze which way he would, there was nothing but dimly seen rugged ground with occasional slopes of smooth, short grass.

“Ahoy!” he cried at last, and “Ahoy!” came back faintly.

“Hurrah!” he said, after answering again, and walking in the direction from which the cry came, downward in one of the combe-like hollows of the district. “No one need be lost for long, if he has a voice. Don’t hear any of the others though.”

He shouted again and again, getting answers, and gradually diminishing the distance, till he saw dimly the figure of a stoutly built man, and the next minute he was saluted with,—

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr Raystoke? Pretty run you’ve led me. Pray what sort of a game do you call this?”

“Game, sir!” said Archy ruefully; “it’s horribly hard work!”

“Hard work! To you, sir—a mere boy! Then what do you suppose it is to me? I have hardly a breath left in me.”

“But where are the men Mr Gurr?”

“The men, Mr Raystoke, sir? That’s what I was going to ask you. Now just have the goodness to tell me what you mean by forgetting all the discipline you have been taught, and leading these poor chaps off on such a wild-goose chase.”

“I, Mr Gurr?” said Archy in astonishment.

“Yes, sir, you, sir. What am I to say to Mr Brough when we get back? I am in command of this expedition, and you lead the men away like a pack of mad March hares, and now I find you here without them. Where are they?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know!”

“I thought they were with you.”

“And you took them away and left them?”

“I didn’t take them away!” cried the midshipman angrily.

“Then where are they, sir?”

“I don’t know. You were close by me when they rushed off after that boy.”

“Sheep, sir.”

“No, no, Mr Gurr; boy—Ram.”

“Well, I said sheep, Mr Raystoke.”

“No, no, boy; that’s his name—Ram.”

“Nonsense, sir; it was a sheep, and if it was not, it was a dog.”

“I tell you, sir, it was the smuggler’s boy, Ram,—the one who came aboard after the cow.”

“Hang the cow, sir! I want my men. Do you think I can go back on board without them. Why, it’s high treason for a naval officer to let one man slip away, and here you have let two boats’ crews go. I say once more, how am I to face Mr Brough?”

“I don’t know, Mr Gurr,” said Archy, who was growing vexed now at the blame being thrown on his shoulders. “You were in command of the expedition, and the bosun was in charge of the second boat’s crew. I don’t see how I am to blame.”

“But you led the men away, sir.”

“Not I, Mr Gurr. I joined in the chase, and I tried to get the boys together, but they scattered everywhere.”

“But it really is awkward, Mr Raystoke, isn’t it?”

“Horribly, sir. Got anything to eat?”

“To eat? No, my lad. But—tut—tut—tut! I can’t hear them anywhere.”

“Nor I, sir.”

“Well, we must not stand here. But what did you say?—I did not see what it was; they went off after a boy?”

The master spoke so civilly now that Archy forgot his anger, and entered into the trouble warmly.

“Yes,” he said; “and it was a plan. That boy is as cunning as can be. We must have been close up to the way into the cave when he started out and led us all away from it.”

“Eh?”

“I say he jumped up and dodged about, knowing the place by heart, and kept hiding and running off again, to get us right away from the entrance.”

“That’s it—that’s it, Mr Raystoke. Don’t try any more, sir. You’ve hit it right in the bull’s eye.”

“You think so?”

“No, sir; I’m sure of it. A young fox. Now as soon as we’ve taken him prisoner, I’ll put the matter before Mr Brough in such a way that the young scamp will be tied up, and get four dozen on the bare back.”

“Hadn’t we better catch him first, Mr Gurr?”

“Right, Mr Raystoke. Come on then; and the first thing is to get the men together. We shall catch him, never you fear that. These cunning ones generally get caught first. Now then, sir, let’s listen.”

They listened, but there was not a sound.

“’Pon my word! This is a pretty state of affairs!” cried the master. “What do you propose next?”

“Let’s get right up to the top of this place and hail.”

“That’s good advice, Mr Raystoke, sir: so come on.”

They started at once, and at the end of ten minutes they were at the top of a hill, but upon gazing round they could only dimly see other hills similar to the one on which they stood,—regular earth-waves of the great convulsion which had thrown the strata of the Freestone Shore into a state of chaos,—but nothing more.

“I’ll hail,” said Archy; and he shouted, but there was no reply.

“The scoundrels!” cried the master angrily. “They’re all together in some public-house drinking, and glad to get away from us. Eh? What are you laughing at?”

“There are no public-houses out in this wild place, Mr Gurr.”

“Eh? Well, no, I suppose not. I’ll hail. Ahoy?”

A faint echo in reply. That was all.

“Which way shall we go?”

“I don’t know, Mr Gurr.”

“Can’t make out which is the north, can you?”

“No, sir, nor the south neither.”

“Humph! I think I could find the south if you told me which was the north,” said the master drily. “Well, we must do the best we can. Let’s strike along here. I seem to feel that this is the right direction.”

Archy felt that it was the wrong direction, but, at he could not point out the right, he followed his leader for about a quarter of a mile, both pausing to shout and listen from time to time.

All at once Gurr came to a dead stop.

“I feel as if we’re going wrong,” he said. “You choose this time.”

“Let’s try this way,” said Archy, selecting the route because it was down hill; but a quarter of an hour of this did not satisfy him, and he too stopped dead short.

“I feel just as much lost as I did in the dark in that cave, Mr Gurr,” he said.

“Never mind, my lad,” said the master good-humouredly. “It’s all an accident, and nobody’s fault. Wish I had my pipe.”

“Ahoy!” shouted Archy, but there was no reply.

“I’d sit down and wait for morning, only conscience won’t let me.”

“Well, let’s try this way,” suggested Archy.

“Seems to me, my lad, that it don’t matter which way we take, we only go wandering in and out among the stones and brambles and winding all sorts of ways. Never mind; we must keep moving, so come on.”

They trudged on for how long they could not tell, but both were getting exceedingly weary, and as ignorant now ever as to their whereabouts; for, whether the direction they followed was east, west, south, or north, there was no indication in the sky; and they kept on, always cautiously, in dread and yet in hope that they might come upon the edge of the cliff, which would solve their difficulty at once, if they could see the cutter’s lights.

“Though that aren’t likely, Mr Raystoke. Strikes me that he’ll lie there, and not show a light, on the chance of a smuggling lugger coming along, though that’s hardly our luck.”

“I don’t know,” said Archy bitterly. “Seems just the time for her to come when the skipper’s so short-handed that he can’t attack.”

“Yes, we are an unlucky craft and no mistake, and I ’most wish sometimes I’d never sailed in her. Look here, for instance, here’s a chance for us.”

“Hist! Listen!” whispered Archy.

“What is it?”

“A hail right in the distance.”

“No such luck, my lad. I don’t know how I’m going to face Mr Brough. Hark!”

“Yes; there it is again, away to the left. Yes; there it goes. Ahoy!”

They stopped and listened after the midshipman had hailed as loudly as he could; and, to the intense delight of both, the hail was responded to.

Hurriedly changing their direction, they went on as rapidly as the rough ground would allow, getting an answering hail every time they shouted, and each time louder, as if those who called were also coming toward them.

Ten minutes later they heard voices, by degrees these became a murmur, and they knew that there must be several of the men together.

In another ten minutes they came upon a group steadily approaching.

Mutual inquiries took place.

No, the men had not captured the fugitive, but they were sure it was a boy; Dirty Dick was ready to take an oath to that effect, but he was not asked.

Then came the important question—Where were they?

The boatswain gave it as his opinion that they had been going westward, but he could give no reason why; and it was decided to continue in that direction, after Gurr had satisfied himself that the men were all present, though they learned that there had been a good deal of hailing before all were collected.

They trudged on almost in silence, for the whole party were wearied out, till an announcement galvanised them all, for suddenly Dick put an end to the question of their journeying west by suddenly shouting,—

“South ho!”

“Eh? What do you mean?” cried the master.

“I know yon hill,” said Dick, pointing to an eminence dimly seen away before him. “That’s just close to the cove, and if we keep straight on, we shall be in the road in less than half an hour, and at the boats ten minutes later.”

“No, no, my lad,” said the master; “I don’t think that’s right.—Yes, it is, my lad; I’m ’most sure of it now.”

Right it was, as was proved a quarter of an hour later, by their striking the rough road at right angles, and there a halt was called.

“Don’t seem any good to go searching along again in the dark, Mr Raystoke,” said the master; and the boatswain shook his head decisively.

“All ’bout done up,” he growled.

“We could do no good now,” said Archy, “for of course I am not sure where the entrance is.”

“Must be getting toward morning too, and time to be aboard, Mr Raystoke. There, sir, sometimes we win and many more times we lose. We’ve lost this time, so let’s go back aboard, according to orders. Forward right, my lads, and let’s make the best of it.”

“Never mind, Mr Gurr,” said Archy in a low voice. “I was regularly in despair as I was being taken from one prison to be shut up in another, when I ran up against you. Perhaps we may run up against the smugglers after all.”

“Wish we might,” said the master. “Oh, how I could fight!”

But they ran up against no smugglers on their way to the boats, which they hailed from the strand, where the water was very low; and soon after they were passing in the lowest of low spirits, out of the cove to the open channel, when once more every one was thrilled with excitement, for right away in the offing they heard a gun.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

“Can’t be, sir,” said Gurr, as he tried to pierce the darkness, “because the skipper must be lying at anchor where we left him.”

“Hah! See that?” cried Archy, as the men bent to their oars and made the now phosphorescent water flash.

“Only the oars, lad. Water brimes.”

Thud! came the report of a heavy gun.

“You’re right, lad! ’Twas the flash from a gun. Some one’s pursuing of something. Pull away, my lads, let’s get aboard, and the skipper may join in. Bah! What’s the good o’ shore-going? Man’s sure to get wrong there.”

The men forgot their weariness in the excitement, as they realised that some vessel was in chase of a smuggler, but they murmured among themselves at their ill luck at being away from the cutter; for if they had been aboard at the first shot, the anchor would have been weighed or slipped, and the White Hawk gone to see what was going on, probably to help capture a heavily laden smuggler craft.

“And we should have took our share, lads,” said Dick in a whisper. “Hey, boot we are out o’ luck.”

“Don’t sit muttering and grumbling there, my lad, but pull hard, and let’s get aboard,” cried the master, and the oars dipped away in the dark sea, seeming to splash up so much pale lambent fire at every stroke.

But this was no novelty to the men, and the boats sped on, one in the other’s wake, with the crew straining their heads over their left shoulders to catch a glimpse of the next flash which preceded the gun.

“Good six mile away from where we are now,” said Gurr. “Oh, my lad, my lad, I wish we were aboard.”

But it was a long pull from the cove to where the cutter lay, nearly a mile and a half from the shore, and, though the master and Archy kept straining their eyes to catch sight of their little vessel, she was invisible.

As they rowed on, they kept on increasing their distance from the shore, steering so as to pass along one side of a right-angled triangle, instead of along by the cliff and then straight off; but, as the cutter showed no lights, this was all guess-work, and made the task rather anxious.

The firing kept on, the dull thud of the gun being preceded by the flash, and at each notification of a shot the men gave such a tug at the stout ash blades that they bent, and the boat leaped through the water.

“Hurrah! Morning,” cried Archy, and the men answered his remark with a cheer, for there was a grey light coming fast now in the east, but, to the utter astonishment of all, the cutter did not become visible.

They gazed round excitedly as the light broadened, but there was no cutter where they expected she would be, but ten minutes later, dimly seen as yet, they made her out miles away under full sail, in chase of a long, low, three-masted lugger, at which she was keeping up a slow and steady fire.

The men cheered as the direction of the boats’ heads was changed.

“Pull, my lads, pull!” cried master and boatswain. The men responded with another cheer, and the water rattled under their bows.

“It’s a long pull,” cried the master; “but as soon as she sees us, she’ll run down and pick us up.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the men.

“Well done, Mr Brough, well done!” cried Gurr excitedly. “Think of him, with hardly a man to help him, sailing the cutter, and keeping up a steady fire like that. Oh, Mr Raystoke, why aren’t we aboard?”

“Ah, why indeed? There she goes again. I say, Mr Gurr, won’t she be able to knock some of her spars overboard.”

“I wish I was aboard the lugger with an axe,” growled Gurr, shading his eyes; and then, placing his foot against the stroke oar, he gave a regular thrust with the man’s pull, a plan imitated by the boatswain on board the other boat.

The light increased rapidly now, and the soft grey sky gave promise of a glorious day, but this did not take the attention of those on board the boats, who could see nothing but the lugger trying to escape, and gradually growing more distant, while the cutter kept on slowly, sending a shot in her wake, evidently in the hope of bringing down one of her masts.

“What boat’s that, Mr Gurr?” said Archy at last, drawing the master’s attention to one in full sail in the opposite direction to that in which they were going.

“Dunno, my lad. Never mind her. Lobster, I should say.”

“Looks fast and smart for a lobster-boat,” thought Archy, as he kept glancing at the craft, whose aspect seemed to have a strange attraction for him alone. In fact, every eye was fixed upon the two vessels in the offing, while it seemed to Archy that the boat, which was sailing rapidly, had changed her course on seeing them, and was trying to get close up under the cliffs, apparently to reach the cove from which they had come.

There was nothing suspicious in a sailing-boat making for the cove, but, as the middy looked at it, the boat heeled over in a puff of wind, and he fancied that he caught sight of a familiar figure behind the sail.

It was only a momentary glance, and directly after he told himself it was nonsense, for the figure which had started up in the night, away on the cliff was Ram Shackle, and he could not be in two places at once.

“We shall never do it, my lads,” said the master suddenly. “Easy—easy. It’s of no use to break your backs, and your hearts too. She’s sailing two knots to our one. Easy in that boat,” he shouted. “We can’t do it.”

A low murmur arose from both crews.

“Silence there!” shouted Gurr. Then, more gently, “I don’t want to give it up, but you can see for yourself, bo’s’n, we can’t do it.”

“No,” came back abruptly.

“It would only be hindering her too. No, Mr Raystoke, it’s only our old bad luck, and common sense says it’s of no use to fight again it.”

“Mr Gurr,” said Archy excitedly, speaking with his eyes fixed on the sailing-boat.

“Yes, my lad, what is it?”

“Do you think it possible that yonder boat has had anything to do with the lugger?”

“Eh? What?” cried the master sharply. “Haven’t got a glass. I dunno. They’re such a set of foxes about here that she might.”

He shaded his eyes with his hand, and took a long look at her, and once more a puff of wind caught her sail and heeled her over, so that he could get a good look over her side.

She was about a mile away, and well in toward the shore, keeping far enough from the cliffs to catch the land breeze, and now, as the task of catching up the cutter was given up as impossible, the boat took the attention of all.