Chapter Five.
A Missing Enemy.
As the slow-match began to sputter Hilary drew back, closed the door of the lantern, and walked backwards aft, towards where the men were gathered. The desire was strong upon him to run and rush right into the far corner of the cabin; but he was a king’s officer, and the men looked up to him for example, so he told himself that he could not show the white feather.
Fortunately he was able to keep up his dignity and retreat in safety to where the men were crouching down, and, joining them, he too assumed a reclining position upon the deck, and watched the sparkling of the piece of paper in the darkness of the forepart of the cutter.
Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, with plenty of scintillation; like some little firework made for their amusement, but no sign of the train being fired.
On deck there was an ominous silence, as if the smugglers had received warning of the coming danger, and they too were watching for the explosion.
More sparkling and more bright flashes of light, and yet the train did not catch. Never had moments seemed to Hilary so long before, and he felt sure that the slow-match had not been connected with the train, as it must have fired before now.
Then as he waited he wondered what would be the effect of the explosion, and whether it would do more harm than blow off the hatch. He hoped not, for Sir Henry’s sake; and there were moments during that terribly lengthy time of watching when he hoped that after all the plan had failed, for it seemed too terrible, and he would gladly have run forward and dashed the light aside.
They were lightning like, these thoughts, for it really was but a question of very few moments before there was a flash, a hissing noise, a bright light, and then it was as though they had all been struck a violent blow with something exceedingly soft and elastic, and at the same moment there was a dull heavy roar.
Simultaneously the lower deck was filled with the foul dank choking fumes of exploded gunpowder, the thick smoke was blinding, and the men crouched in their places for the moment forgetful of their orders till they heard the voice of Hilary Leigh shouting to them to come on, and they leaped to their feet and followed.
It was a case of blindman’s-buff; but the quarters below were narrow, and after a little blundering the two men who had charge of the ladder forced aside some of the heap of chests, hammocks and planks, placed the steps in position, and, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, the young officer sprang up. The gunner followed, and in less than a minute the whole crew were over the shattered coamings of the hatchway and on deck, ready to encounter the enemy.
The change from the stifling fumes below to the soft night-air was delightful, and the men leaped along the deck after their young leader, their cutlasses flashing in the faint light cast by the lanterns swung aloft and astern; but no enemy was to be seen.
They dashed aft right to the taffrail, and back along the starboard side, and away to the bowsprit; but the deck was without an enemy.
“Why, they’re gone!” cried Hilary, in astonishment, as he now realised the meaning of the silence over his head when he was awaiting the explosion. “Here, hi! Waters, Brown, what does this mean? Quick! go to the helm, Brown!” he shouted; “we’re going through the water at an awful pace. Quick! quick! down—down hard!” he roared. But it was too late; the wheel was lashed, and before the slightest effort could be made to check the cutter’s way, she glided, with heavy sail set, over half a dozen long rollers, and then seemed to leap upon the beach, which she struck with so heavy a thud that the little vessel shuddered from stem to stern, and pretty well the whole crew were thrown upon the deck.
The causes of the enemy forsaking the cutter were plain enough now. They did not want her, and if they did it would have been without the crew, who would have been a cause of risk and trouble to them. If they could put her hors de combat it would do just as well, and to this end all the sail had been hoisted and sheeted home, the wheel lashed, and with the unfortunate cutter running dead for the beach the party who had seized her had quietly gone over the side while Hilary and his men were plotting their destruction, and knowing full well they had nothing to fear till next tide floated her off—if ever she floated again—they proceeded to carry out their plans.
The men struggled to their feet once more as the great sail flapped, while a wave that seemed bent on chasing them struck below the cutter’s taffrail, and the spray leaped on board.
Fortunately for them it was calm and the tide fast falling, or the gallant little Kestrel would have flown her last flight. As it was, it was open to doubt whether she would ever spread her long wings again to skim the sea, for the rising tide might bring with it a gale, and before she could be got off her timbers might be torn into matchwood.
It was a rapid change from danger to danger. But a few minutes back they risked sinking the vessel by the explosion of gunpowder, believing her to be in the hands of the enemy who had cleverly compassed her defeat, and now they were cast ashore.
Hilary Leigh was seaman enough, however, to know what to do without consulting the boatswain, and giving his orders rapidly he stopped the heeling over and beating of the Kestrel upon the sand by relieving her of her sail, in the midst of which he was startled by the voice of Mr Lipscombe.
“Good heavens, Mr Leigh!” he exclaimed, angrily, “what does this mean? I go and lie down for a few minutes, leaving you in charge of the cutter, and I come up and find her ashore. Brown, Waters! where are you, men? Have you been mad, asleep, or drunk? Oh, my head! Good gracious, why, what’s this—blood?”
He staggered, and seemed about to fall, but Hilary caught his arm.
“I am glad to see you better, sir,” he cried; “but had you not better lie down?”
“Better?” he said—“better?”
“Yes, sir; don’t you remember?”
“Remember? Remember?” he said, staring.
“Yes, sir, the smugglers; they knocked us down and took possession of the ship.”
“Yes, of course, yes,” said the lieutenant eagerly. “I remember now. Of course, yes, Leigh. But—but where are they now?”
“That’s just what I should like to know, sir,” said Leigh, sharply; “we’ve got rid of them, but they ran the little Kestrel ashore.”
Chapter Six.
Exploring.
Fortunately for the little Kestrel the morning breeze was soft and the sea as smooth as a mirror, and all the crew had to do was to await the tide to float them off from where they were lying high and dry, with the keel driven so deeply in the sand that the cutter hardly needed a support, and the opportunity served for examining the bottom to see if any injury had been sustained.
Lieutenant Lipscombe appeared with a broad bandage round his head, for his head had been severely cut in his fall, and the pain he suffered did not improve his already sore temper.
For though he said nothing, Hilary Leigh could see plainly enough that his officer was bitterly annoyed at having been mastered in cunning and so nearly losing his ship. He knew that to go into port to repair damages meant so close an investigation that the result might be the loss of his command. So, after an examination of the injuries, which showed that the whole of the coamings of the hatchway were blown off and the deck terribly blackened with powder, the carpenter and his mate were set to work to cut out and piece in as busily as possible.
“Nothing to go into port for, Leigh, nothing at all. The men will soon put that right; but it was very badly managed, Leigh, very. Half that quantity of powder would have done; the rest was all waste. Hang it all! what could you have been thinking about? Here am I disabled for a few minutes, and you let a parcel of scoundrels seize the cutter and run her ashore, and then, with the idea of retaking her, you go and blow up half the deck! My good fellow, you will never make a decent officer if you go on like this.”
“Well, that’s grateful, certainly,” thought Hilary; and the desire came upon him strongly to burst out into a hearty laugh, but he suppressed it and said quietly:
“Very sorry, sir; I tried to do all for the best.”
“Yes; that’s what every weak-headed noodle says when he has made a blunder. Well, Leigh, it is fortunate for you that I was sufficiently recovered to resume the command; but of all the pickles which one of his majesty’s ships could be got into, this is about the worst. Here we are as helpless as a turned turtle on a Florida sandspit.”
“Well, sir, not quite,” replied Hilary smiling; “we’ve got our guns, and the crew would give good account of—”
“Silence, sir! This is no laughing matter,” cried the lieutenant angrily. “It may seem very droll to you, but if I embody your conduct of the past night in a despatch your chance of promotion is gone for ever.”
Hilary stared, but he had common sense enough to say nothing, while the lieutenant took a turn up and down the deck, which would have been a very pleasant promenade for a cripple with one leg shorter than the other; but as the cutter was a good deal heeled over, it was so unpleasant for Lieutenant Lipscombe, already suffering from giddiness, the result of his wound, that he stopped short and stood holding on by a stay.
“Most extraordinary thing,” he said; “my head is always perfectly clear in the roughest seas, but ashore I turn as giddy as can be. But there; don’t stand staring about, Leigh. Take half-a-dozen men and make a bit of search up and down the coast. See if you can find any traces of the smuggling party. If you had had any thought in you such a thing might have been proposed at daybreak. It will be hours before we float.”
“Yes, sir, certainly,” exclaimed Leigh, rather excitedly, for he was delighted with the idea. “Shall I arm the men, sir?”
“Arm the men, sir! Oh, no: of course not. Let every man carry a swab, and a spoon stuck in his belt. Goodness me, Mr Leigh, where are your brains? You are going to track out a parcel of desperadoes, and you ask me if you shall take the men armed.”
“Very sorry, sir,” said Hilary. “I’ll try and do better. You see I am so sadly wanting in experience.”
The lieutenant looked at him sharply, but Hilary’s face was as calm and unruffled as the sea behind him, and not finding any chance for a reprimand, the lieutenant merely made a sign to him to go, walking forward himself to hurry on the carpenter, and then repassing Hilary and going below to his cabin.
“Skipper’s got his legs acrost this mornin’, sir,” said Billy Waters, touching his hat. “Hope you’ll take me with you, sir.”
“I should like to have you, Waters, and Tom Tully. By the way, how is he this morning? He got hurt.”
“Oh, he’s all right, sir,” said the gunner grinning. “He got a knock, sir, but he didn’t get hurt. Nothin’ hurts old Tom. I don’t believe he’s got any feeling in him at all.”
“Now, if I propose to take them,” thought Hilary, “Lipscombe will say they sha’n’t go. Here he comes, though. I shall catch it for not being off.”
He made a run and dropped down through the damaged hatchway, alighting amidst the carpenter’s tools on the lower deck, ran aft to his cabin, obtained sword and pistols, and then mounted to the deck to find the lieutenant angrily addressing Waters and Tully.
For no sooner had Hilary disappeared, and the gunner made out that the chief officer was coming on deck, than he turned his back, busied himself about the breeching of one of the guns, and shouting to Tom Tully:
“Going to send you ashore, matey?”
“No,” growled Tully; “what’s on?”
“Oh! some wild-goose hunt o’ the skipper’s. I don’t mean to go, and don’t you if you can help it. There won’t be a place to get a drop o’ grog. All searching among the rocks.”
“Gunner!”
“Yes, your honour.”
Billy Waters’ pigtail swung round like a pump-handle, as he lumped up and pulled his forelock to his angry officer.
“How dare you speak like that, sir, on the deck of his majesty’s vessel? How dare you—you mutinous dog, you? Go forward, sir, and you, too, Tom Tully, and the cutter’s crew, under the command of Mr Leigh, and think yourself lucky if you are not put under punishment.”
“Very sorry, sir. Humbly beg pardon, sir,” stammered the gunner.
“Silence, sir! Forward! Serve out cutlasses and pistols to the men, and I’ll talk to you afterwards.”
Billy Waters chuckled to himself at the success of his scheme, and after a word or two of command, Hilary’s little party, instead of jumping into the cutter and rowing ashore, dropped down over the side on to the sands, and went off along the coast to the west.
“What’s going to be done first, sir?” said the gunner.
“Well, Waters, I’ve just been thinking that we ought first to try and find some traces of the boats.”
“Yes, sir; but how? They’re fur enough away by now.”
“Of course; but if we look along the shore here about the level that the tide was last night I daresay we shall find some traces of them in the sands, and that may give us a hint where to search inland, for I’ll be bound to say they were landing cargo somewhere.”
“I’ll be bound to say you’re right, sir,” said Waters, slapping his leg. “Spread out, my lads, and report the first mark of a boat’s keel.”
They tramped on quite five miles over the sand and shingle, and amidst the loose rocks, without seeing anything to take their attention, when suddenly one of the men some fifty yards ahead gave a hail.
“What is it, my lad?” cried Hilary, running up.
“Only this here, sir,” said the man, pointing to a long narrow groove in the sand, just such as might have been made by the keel of some large boat, whilst a closer inspection showed that the sand and shingle had been trampled by many feet.
“Yes, that’s a boat, certainly,” said Hilary, looking shorewards towards the cliffs, which rose like a vast ramp along that portion of the coast.
There was nothing to be seen there; neither inlet nor opening in the rock, nor depression in the vast line of cliffs. Why, then, should a boat be run ashore there? It looked suspicious. Nothing but a fishing lugger would be likely to be about, and no fishing lugger would have any reason for running ashore here. Except at certain times of the tide it would be dangerous.
“It’s the smugglers, Billy,” cried Hilary eagerly; “and there must be some way here up the rock. Hallo! what have you got there?” he exclaimed, as the gunner, true to his instinct, dropped upon his knees and scraped the sand away from something against which he had kicked his foot.
“Pistol, sir,” was the reply; and the gunner brushed the sand off the large clumsy weapon, and wiped away the thin film of rust.
“And a Frenchman,” said Hilary, examining the make.
“Frenchman it is, sir, and she ar’n’t been many hours lying here.”
“Dropped by some one last night,” said Hilary. “Hurrah! my lads, we’ve struck the scent.”
Just then Tom Tully began to sniff very loudly, and turned his head in various directions, his actions somewhat resembling those of a great dog.
“What yer up to, matey?” cried Waters. “Ah! I know, sir. He was always a wunner after his grog, and he’s trying to make out whether they’ve landed and buried any kegs of brandy here.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Hilary; “they would not do that. Come along, my lads. One moment. Let’s have a good look along the rocks for an opening. Can any of you see anything?”
“No, sir,” was chorused, after a few minutes’ inspection.
“Then now let’s make a straight line for the cliff, and all of you keep a bright lookout.”
They had about a couple of hundred yards to go, for the tide ran down very low at this point, and as they approached the great sandstone cliffs, instead of presenting the appearance of a perpendicular wall, as seen from a distance, all was broken up where the rock had split, and huge masses had come thundering down in avalanches of stone. In fact, in several places it seemed that an active man could climb up to where a thin fringe of green turf rested upon the edge of the cliff; but this did not satisfy Hilary, who felt convinced that such a place was not likely to be chosen for the landing of a cargo.
No opening in the cliff being visible, he spread his men to search right and left, but there was no sand here; all was rough shingle and broken débris from the cliff with massive weathered blocks standing up in all directions, forming quite a maze, through which they threaded their way.
“There might be a regular cavern about somewhere big enough to hold a dozen cargoes,” thought Hilary, as he searched here and there, and then sat down to rest for a few minutes, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, when it suddenly occurred to him that they had been hours away from the cutter, and that if he did not soon make some discovery he had better return.
“And I don’t like to go back without having done something,” he thought. “Perhaps if we keep on looking we may make a find worth the trouble, and—what’s that?”
Nothing much; only a little bird that kept rising up from a patch of wiry herbage at the foot of the cliff, jerking itself up some twenty or thirty feet and then letting itself down as it twittered out a pleasant little song.
Only a bird; but as he watched that bird, he did not know why, it suddenly went out of sight some twenty feet or so up the rock, and while he was wondering it came into sight again and fluttered downwards.
“Why, there must be a way through there,” he cried, rising and gazing intently at the face of the rock, but seeing nothing but yellowish sandstone looking jagged and wild.
“No, there can’t be,” he muttered; “but I’ll make sure.”
Climbing over three or four large blocks, he lowered himself into a narrow passage which seemed to run parallel with the cliff, but doubled back directly, and in and out, and then stopped short at a perpendicular mass some twenty feet high.
“Leads nowhere,” he said, feeling very hot and tired, and, turning to go back disappointed and panting, he took another look up at the lowering face of the cliff to see now that a large portion was apparently split away, but remained standing overlapping the main portion, and so like it that at a short distance the fracture could not be seen.
“There’s a way round there for a guinea,” thought Hilary, “but how to get there? Why, of course, one must climb over here.”
“Here” was a rugged piece of rock about fifty feet back from the cul de sac to which he had reached, and placing his right foot in a chink and drawing himself up he was soon on the top with a rugged track before him to the face of the cliff; but as he took a step forward, meaning to investigate a little, and then summon his men, a low chirping noise on his right took his attention, and going cautiously forward he leaned towards a rock to see what animal it was, when something came like a black cloud over his head and he was thrown violently down.
Chapter Seven.
Hilary Leigh finds himself in an Undignified Position.
“That’s a boat-cloak, and the brute’s sitting on me,” said Hilary Leigh to himself as he vainly struggled to get free and shout for help. He did utter a few inarticulate noises, but they were smothered in the folds of the thick cloak, and he felt as if he were about to be smothered himself. Getting free he soon found was out of the question, so was making use of the weapons with which he was armed, for his wrists were wrenched round behind his back and his elbows firmly lashed. So were his ankles, and at the same time he felt the pistols dragged out of his belt and his sword unhooked and taken away.
“Well, I’ve discovered the smugglers’ place and no mistake,” he thought; “but I might just as well have left it alone. Oh, this is too bad! Only last night in trouble, and now prisoner! I wonder what they are going to do?”
He was not long left in doubt, for he suddenly felt himself roughly seized and treated like a sack, for he was hauled on to some one’s back and borne along in a very uncomfortable position, his legs being banged against corners of the rock as if he were being carried through a very narrow place.
This went on for a few minutes, during which he was, of course, in utter darkness, and panting for breath. Then he was allowed to slide down, with a bump, on to the rock.
“They’re not going to kill me,” thought Hilary, “or they would not have taken so much trouble. I wish I could make Billy Waters hear.”
He tried to shout, but only produced a smothered noise, with the result that some one kicked him in the side.
“That’s only lent, my friend,” thought Hilary. “It shall be paid back if ever I get a chance. What now? I am trussed; are they going to roast me?”
For just then he felt a rope was passed round him, and a slip-knot drawn tight under his arms. Then there was a sudden snatch, and he was raised upon his feet, steadied for a moment by a pair of hands, the rope tightened more and more, and he felt himself being drawn up, rising through the air, and slowly turning round, one elbow rasping gently against the rock from time to time.
“Well, I’m learning some of their secrets,” thought Hilary, “even if they are keeping me in the dark. This is either the way up to their place, or else it’s the way they get up their cargoes.”
“Yes, cargoes only,” he said directly, as he heard indistinctly a gruff voice at his elbow, some one being evidently climbing up at his side. “I hope they won’t drop me.”
In another minute he was dragged sidewise and lowered on to the rock, a change he gladly welcomed, for the rope had hurt him intolerably, and seemed to compress his chest so that he could hardly breathe.
“Well, this is pleasant,” he thought, as he bit his lip with vexation. “The lads will have a good hunt for me, find nothing, and then go back and tell Lipscombe. He will lie on and off for an hour or two, and then go and report that I have deserted or gone off for a game, or some other pleasant thing. Oh, hang it all! this won’t do. I must escape somehow. I wish they’d take off this cloak.”
That seemed to be about the last thing his captors were disposed to do, for after he had been lying there in a most painfully uncomfortable position for quite an hour, every effort to obtain relief being met with a kick, save one, when he felt the cold ring of a pistol muzzle pressed against his neck under the cloak, he was lifted by the head and heels, some one else put an arm round him, and he was carried over some rugged ground, lifted up higher, and then his heart seemed to stand still, for he felt that he was going to be allowed to fall, and if allowed to fall it would be, he thought, from the top of the cliff.
The feeling was terrible, but the fall ridiculous, for it was a distance of a foot on to some straw. Then he felt straw thrown over him—a good heap—and directly after there was a jolting sensation, and he knew he was in a cart on a very rugged road. The sound of blows came dull upon his ear, and a faint hoarse “Go on!” And in spite of his pain, misery, and the ignorance he was in respecting his fate, Hilary Leigh began to laugh with all the light-heartedness of a lad, as he mentally said:
“Oh, this is too absurd! I’m in a donkey-cart, and the fellow who is driving can’t make the brute go.”
Chapter Eight.
Lieutenant Lipscombe lays down the Law.
“Say, lads, I’m getting tired of this here,” said Tom Tully, bringing himself to an anchor on a patch of sand; “I’m as hot as I am dry. Where’s our orsifer?”
“I d’no,” said another. “Ahoy! Billy Waters, ahoy–y–y!”
“Ahoy!” came from amongst the rocks; and the gunner plodded up wiping his face, and another of the little party came at the same time from the other direction.
“Where’s Muster Leigh?” said Tom Tully.
“Isn’t he along of you?” said Waters.
“No, I ar’n’t seen him for ever so long.”
Notes were compared, as the hailing brought the rest of the party together, and it was agreed on all sides that Hilary had gone in amongst the rocks close by where they were standing.
“I know how it is,” growled Tom Tully, “he’s having a caulk under the lee of one of these here stones while we do all the hunting about; and I can’t walk half so well as I used, after being shut up aboard that there little cutter.”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t go to sleep,” said the gunner. “He’s close here somewhere. I hope he’s had better luck than we, for I ar’n’t found nothing; have you?”
“No, no,” arose on all sides.
“Why, there ain’t nothin’ to find,” growled Tom Tully. “I wish I was aboard. You’re chief orsifer when he ar’n’t here, Billy Waters. Give the order and let’s go back.”
“What, without Mr Leigh?” said the gunner; “that’s a likely tale, that is. Here, come on lads, and let’s find him. Ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” came back from the rocks.
“There he is,” said one of the men.
“No, my lads, that’s only the ecker,” said Billy Waters. “Hark ye—Ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” came back directly.
“Hoy—hoy—hoy–y–y!” shouted the gunner again.
“Hoy—hoy–y–y!” came back.
“Mis’ Leigh, ahoy!” roared the gunner.
“Leigh—hoy!” was the response.
“Told you so, my lads; he ar’n’t about here. Let’s go further on. Now then, Tom Tully, we must have off some o’ that there tail if it’s so heavy it keeps you anchored down. Get up, will you?”
The sailor got up unwillingly, and in obedience to the gunner’s orders they began now, in place of searching for traces of the smugglers, to look for their missing officer, scattering along, as fate had it, farther and farther from the spot where he had disappeared, no one seeing a face watching them intently through the thin wiry strands of a tuft of grass growing close up under the cliff.
The heat was now intense, for the sun seemed to be reflected back from the face of the rocks, and the men were regularly fagged.
They shouted and waited, and shouted again, but the only answer they got was from the echoes; and at last they stood together in a knot, with Billy Waters scratching his head with all his might, and they were a good half mile now from where Hilary had made his discovery and stepped into a trap.
“Well, this here is a rummy go,” exclaimed the gunner, after looking from face to face for the counsel that there was not. “Let’s see, my lads; it was just about here as he went forrard, warn’t it?”
“No,” growled Tom Tully; “it were a good two-score fathom more to the east’ard.”
“Nay, nay, lad; it were a couple o’ cables’ length doo west,” said another.
“I think it were ’bout here,” said Tom Tully; “but I can’t find that there track o’ the boat’s keel now. What’s going to be done?”
“Let’s go aboard again,” growled Tom Tully. “I’m ’bout sick o’ this here, mates.”
“But I tell yer we can’t go aboard without our orsifer,” cried the gunner. “’Taint likely.”
“He’d go aboard without one of us,” growled Tom Tully, “so where’s the difference?”
“There’s lots o’ difference, my lad. We can’t go aboard without him. But where is he?”
“Having a caulk somewhere,” said Tully gruffly; “and I on’y wish I were doing of that same myself. If we stop here much longer we shall be cooked like herrings. It’s as hot as hot.”
“I tell you he wouldn’t desert us and go to sleep,” said the gunner stubbornly. “Mr Leigh’s a lad as would stick to his men like pitch to a ball o’ oakum.”
“Then why don’t he?” growled Tom Tully in an ill-used tone. “What does he go and sail away from conwoy for?”
“He couldn’t have got up the cliffs,” mused the gunner; “’cause there don’t seem to be no way, and he couldn’t have gone more to west’ard, ’cause we must have seen him. There ain’t been no boats along shore, and he can’t have gone back to the cutter. I say, my lads, we’ve been and gone and got ourselves into a reg’lar mess. What’s the skipper going to say when he sees us? You see we can’t tell him as the youngster’s fell overboard.”
“No,” growled Tom Tully; “’cause there ar’n’t no overboard for him to fall. I’m right, I know; he’s having a caulk.”
“Tell yer he ain’t,” roared Waters fiercely; “and if any one says again as my young orsifer’s doing such a thing as to leave his men in the lurch and go to sleep on a hot day like this, he’ll get my fist in his mouth.”
“Sail ho!” cried one of the men; and looking in the indicated direction, there was the cutter afloat once more, and sailing towards them, quite a couple of miles away, and as they looked there was a little puff of white smoke from her side, and a few seconds after a dull report.
“Look at that now;” cried Billy Waters, “there’s the skipper got some one meddling with my guns. That’s that Jack Brown, that is; and he knows no more about firing a gun than he do ’bout Dutch. There was a dirty sort of a shot.”
“That’s a signal, that is, for us to come aboard,” growled Tom Tully.
“Well, nobody said it warn’t, did they?” cried Waters, who was regularly out of temper now.
“No,” growled Tom Tully, “on’y wishes I was aboard, I do.”
“Then you ain’t going till you’ve found your orsifer, my lad.”
“Hah!” said Tom Tully, oracularly. “Shouldn’t wonder if he ar’n’t desarted ’cause the skipper give him such a setting down this morning.”
“Now just hark at this here chap,” cried the gunner, appealing to the others. “He’d just go and do such a dirty thing hisself, and so he thinks every one else would do the same. Tom Tully, I’m ’bout ashamed o’ you. I shouldn’t ha’ thought as a fellow with such a pigtail as you’ve got to your headpiece would say such a thing of his orsifer.”
“Then what call’s he got to go and desart us for like this here, messmet?” growled Tom Tully. “I don’t want to say no hard things o’ nobody, but here’s the skin off one o’ my heels, and my tongue’s baked; and what I says is, where is he if he ar’n’t gone?”
That was a poser; and as after another short search there was a second gun fired from the cutter, and a boat was seen to put off and come towards them, there was nothing for them but to go down to the water and get into the boat, after Billy Waters had taken bearings, as he called it, of the place where the young officer had left them, setting up stones for marks,—which, however, through the deceptive nature and similarity of the coast in one part to another, were above half a mile from the true spot,—and suffer themselves to be rowed aboard.
“The skipper’s in a fine temper,” said one of the crew. “Where’s Muster Leigh?”
“Ah! that’s just what I want to know,” said Waters, ruefully. “He’ll be down upon me for losing on him—just as if I took him ashore like a dog tied to a string. How did you get the cutter off?”
“Easy as a glove,” was the reply. “We just took out the little anchor and dropped it over, and when the tide come up hauled on it a bit, and she rode out as easy as a duck. But he’s been going on savage because Muster Leigh didn’t come back. Has he desarted?”
The gunner turned upon him so fierce a look, and made so menacing a movement, that the man shrank away, and catching what is called a crab upset the rower behind him, the crew for the moment being thrown into confusion, just as the lieutenant had raised his spyglass to his eye and was watching the coming off of the boat.
“What call had you got to do that, Billy?” cried the man, rubbing his elbows. “There’ll be a row about that. Here, give way, my lads, and let’s get aboard.”
The men made the stout ashen blades bend as they forced the boat through the water, and at the end of a few minutes the oars were turned up, laid neatly over the thwarts, and the bowman held on with the boathook while the search party tumbled on board, the sides of the cutter being at no great height above the water.
The lieutenant was there, with his glass under his arm, his head tied up so that one eye was covered, and his cocked hat was rightly named in a double sense, being cocked almost off his head.
“Disgraceful, Mr Leigh!” he exclaimed furiously. “You deserve to be court-martialled, sir! Never saw a boat worse manned and rowed, sir. I never saw from the most beggarly crew of a wretched merchantman worse time kept. Why, the men were catching crabs, sir, from the moment they left the shore till the moment they came alongside. Bless my commission, sir! were you all drunk?”
He had one eye shut by the old accident, as we have intimated, and the injury of the previous night had so affected the other that he saw anything but clearly, as he kept stamping up and down the deck.
“Do you hear, sir? I say were you all drunk?” roared the lieutenant.
“Please your honour,” said the gunner, “we never see a drop of anything except seawater since we went ashore.”
“Silence, sir! How dare you speak?” roared the lieutenant. “Insubordination and mutiny. Did I speak to you, sir? I say, did I speak to you?”
“No, your honour, but—”
“If you say another word I’ll clap you in irons, you dog!” cried the lieutenant. “A pretty state of affairs, indeed, when men are to answer their officers. Do you hear, there, you mutinous dogs! If another man among you dares to speak I’ll clap him in irons.”
The men exchanged glances, and there was a general hitching up of trousers along the little line in which the men were drawn up.
“Now then, sir. Have the goodness to explain why you have been so long, and why all my signals for recall have been disregarded. Silence, sir! don’t speak till I’ve done,” he continued, as one of the men, who had let a little tobacco juice get too near the swallowing point, gave a sort of snorting cough.
There was dead silence on board, save a slight creaking noise made by the crutch of the big boom as it swung gently and rubbed the mast.
“I call upon you, Mr Leigh, sir, for an explanation,” continued the lieutenant. “Silence, sir! Not yet. I sent you ashore to make a search, expecting that your good sense would lead you to make it brief, and to get back in time to assist in hauling off the cutter which you had run ashore. Instead of doing this, sir, you race off with the men like a pack of schoolboys, sir, larking about among the rocks, and utterly refusing to notice my signals, sir, though they have been flying, sir, for hours; and here have I been obliged to waste his majesty’s powder, sir, and foul his majesty’s guns, sir.”
Here, as the lieutenant’s back was turned, Billy Waters shook his great fist at Jack Brown, the boatswain, going through sundry pantomimic motions to show how he, Billy Waters, would like to punch Jack Brown, the boatswain’s head. To which, waiting until the lieutenant had turned and had his back to him, Jack Brown responded by taking his leg in his two hands just above the knee and shaking it in a very decisive manner at the gunner.
“And what is more, sir,” continued the lieutenant, “you had my gunner with you.”
Billy Waters, who had drawn back his fist level with his armpit in the act of striking an imaginary blow at the boatswain, stopped short as he heard himself mentioned, and the lieutenant continued his trot up and down like an angry wild beast in a narrow cage and went on:
“And, sir, I had to intrust the firing of that gun to a bungling, thick-headed, stupid idiot of a fellow, who don’t know muzzle from vent; and the wonder is that he didn’t blow one of his majesty’s liege subjects into smithereens.”
The lieutenant’s back was now turned to Billy Waters, who as he saw Jack Brown’s jaw drop placed his hands to his sides, and lifting up first one leg and then the other, as if in an agony of spasmodic delight, bent over first to starboard and then to larboard, and laughed silently till the tears ran down his cheeks.
“I say, sir—I say,” continued the lieutenant, pushing up his bandage a little, “that such conduct is disgraceful, sir; and what is more, I say—”
The lieutenant did not finish the sentence then, for in him angry excitement he had continued his blind walk, extending it more and more till he had approached close to where the carpenter had sawn out several of the ragged planks torn by the previous night’s explosion, and as he lifted his leg for another step it was right over the yawning opening into the men’s quarters in the forecastle below.
Chapter Nine.
Blind Proceedings.
It would have been an ugly fall for the lieutenant, for according to the wholesome custom observed by most mechanics, the carpenter had turned the damaged hatchway into a very pleasant kind of pitfall, such as the gentle mild Hindoo might have dug for his enemy the crafty tiger, with its arrangements for impaling whatever fell.
In this case Chips had all the ragged and jagged pieces of plank carefully stuck point upwards, with a couple of augers, a chisel or two, and a fair amount of gimlets and iron spike-like nails, so that it would have been impossible for his officer have fallen without receiving one or two ugly wounds.
Just in the nick of time, however, Jack Brown, the boatswain, darted forward and gave the lieutenant a tremendous push, which sent him clear of the opening in the deck, but in a sitting position under the bulwark, against which his head went with a goodly rap.
“Mutiny, by Jove!” he roared, in astonished fury. “Marines, fix bayonets! Run that scoundrel through.”
“Beg your honour’s pardon,” began Jack Brown, offering his hand to assist the astonished commander to rise.
“It’s a lie, sir! How dare you say it was an accident?” cried the lieutenant, struggling up and readjusting the handkerchief tied round his injured head, and his cocked hat over that. “It’s mutiny, sir, rank mutiny. You struck your officer, sir, and you’ll be shot. Corporal, take this man below. In irons, sir, in irons.”
“But your honour would have gone through the hole squelch on to the lower deck,” growled Jack Brown in an injured tone.
“Silence, sir,” roared the lieutenant. “Corporal, do your duty.”
“All right, corpy, I’m coming,” said the boatswain, as the marine laid his hand upon his arm. “But the skipper may fall overboard and drown hisself next time, afore I gives him a helping hand.”
“Mutiny! mutiny!” cried the lieutenant. “Do you hear, Mr Leigh? The ship’s crew are in open mutiny, and uttering threats. Fetch my pistols, sir,” he cried, drawing his sword. “Cut down the first man who utters another word. Do you hear, Mr Leigh? Quick! my pistols!”
“If you please, your honour,” began Billy Waters, pulling his forelock and giving a kick out behind.
“Si–lence!” roared the lieutenant. “Here, marines, come on my side. I’ll cut down the next man who dares to speak. Have you got the pistols, Mr Leigh?”
Of course there was no answer.
“I say, have you got my pistols, Mr Leigh?” cried the lieutenant again.
Still there was silence, and in his fury the lieutenant thrust the bandage up from over his inflamed eye, and tried to see what was going on.
Truth to speak, he was as blind as an owl in broad sunshine; but in his irritable frame of mind he would not own it, even to himself, and pushing the bandage higher he tilted off his cocked hat, which fell with a bang on the deck, and in trying to save his hat he struck himself on the jaw with the hilt of his sword, and dropped that in turn, to fall with a ringing noise on the whitened planks.
“Confusion!” he exclaimed as the corporal picked up hat and sword in turn, and handed them to the irate officer, whose temper was in no wise sweetened by this last upset. “Ha! thank you, Mr Leigh, you are very polite all at once,” he cried sarcastically, as he stared at the corporal, who stood before him drawn up stiff as a ramrod, but representing nothing but a blurred figure before the inflamed optic of the lieutenant. “Well, sir! Now, sir! perhaps you will condescend to give some explanation of your conduct. Silence, there! If any man of this crew dares to speak I’ll cut him down. Now, Mr Leigh, I call upon you for an explanation.”
No answer, of course.
“Do you hear what I say, sir?”
The corporal did not stir or move a muscle.
“Once more, sir, I demand why you do not explain your conduct,” cried the lieutenant.
The corporal drew himself up a little tighter, and his eyes were fixed upon the bright blade quivering in the lieutenant’s hand.
“Speak, sir. It’s mutiny by all the articles of war,” roared the lieutenant, taking a step forward, seizing the corporal by the collar, and presenting at his throat the point of the sword.
“Mind my eyes, your honour,” cried the corporal, flinching; “I ain’t Mr Leigh.”
“Where is he then?” cried the astonished lieutenant.
“Your honour won’t cut me down if I speak?” said the corporal.
“No, no,” said the lieutenant, lowering the point of his sword; “where is Mr Leigh?”
“Ain’t come aboard, sir.”
“Not come aboard? Here, Waters!”
The gunner trotted forward, pulled his forelock and kicked out his right leg behind.
“Where is Mr Leigh?”
The gunner pulled his forelock again, kicked out his left leg, and as he bobbed his head, his pigtail went up and came down again flop between his shoulders as if it were a long knocker.
“I say, where is Mr Leigh? You mutinous scoundrel, why don’t you speak?”
“Honour said you’d cut me down if I did.”
“Rubbish! Nonsense! Tell me, where is Mr Leigh?”
“Don’t know, your honour.”
“Don’t know, sir? What do you mean?”
“Please your honour, we’d found tracks, as we thought, of the smugglers’ lugger, and then Mr Leigh lost us. No; I mean, your honour, we lost him. No, he lost— I say, Tom Tully, my lad, which way weer it?”
Tom Tully grunted, gave his trousers a hitch, and looked at the lieutenant’s sword.
“Well, sir, do you hear?” cried the lieutenant; “how was it?”
“Stow all cuttin’s down,” grumbled Tom Tully, putting his hand behind so as to readjust the fall of his pigtail.
“Will—you—speak—out—you—ras–cal?” cried the lieutenant.
“Don’t know, your honour,” growled Tom Tully; “only as Muster Leigh went off.”
“There, I thought as much!” cried the lieutenant. “Deserted his men, and gone off.”
“Please your honour, I don’t think as—”
“Silence!” cried the lieutenant, so fiercely that Billy Waters gave up the young officer’s defence, and shut his teeth together with a loud snap like that of a trap.
“All hands ’bout ship!” cried the lieutenant. “He’ll be coming back presently, and signalling for a boat to fetch him off, but he shall come on to Portsmouth and make his report to the admiral.”
The great mainsail swung over to the other side, and the breeze favouring, the squaresail was set as well, and the Kestrel, so late helpless on shore, began to skim over the surface of the water at a tremendous rate, while the lieutenant, having given his orders as to which way the cutter’s head should be laid, went down to the cabin to bathe his painful eye, having told one of the men to bring him some warm water from the galley.
The man he told happened to be Tom Tully, and as he stood by, ready to fetch more if it should be wanted, the bathing seemed to allay the irritation, so that the commander grew less angry, and condescended to ask a few questions. Then he began to think of the Kestrel having been ashore, the state of her deck about the fore-hatchway, and the late encounter, all of which he would have to minutely describe to the admiral if he ran into harbour to report Hilary Leigh’s evasion.
Then, as he grew more comfortable, he began to think that perhaps, after all, the young man had not run off. Furthermore, as he owned that he was an indefatigable young officer, he came to the conclusion that perhaps Leigh might have discovered further traces of the smugglers, and, if so, it would be wrong to leave him in the lurch, especially as a good capture might be made, and with it a heap of prize-money.
“And besides, I’ll give fifty pounds to run up against that scoundrel who led me into that trap.”
A little more bathing made the lieutenant see so much more clearly, mentally as well as optically, that he went on deck and repeated his former orders of “’Bout ship,” with the result that the Kestrel was once more gently gliding along off the cliff-bound stretch of land where Hilary Leigh had fallen into strange hands.
Chapter Ten.
In the Dark.
Hilary’s burst of merriment was of very short duration. There is, no doubt, something very amusing to a young naval officer in the fact of his being made a prisoner, and carried off in a donkey-cart; but the pleasure is not of a lasting kind.
At the end of a few moments Hilary’s mirth ceased, and he grew very wrathful. He was exceedingly hot and in no little pain, and in addition his sensations were such that he began to wonder whether he should live to reach his destination, where ever that might be, without being stifled.
For the folds of the cloak were very tight about his head, and the straw on which he lay let him settle down into a hole, while that above shook down more closely and kept out the air.
For a few minutes a horrible sensation of dread troubled him, and he uttered a hoarse cry; but, making a struggle to master his fear, he grew more calm, and though he was exceedingly hot and the effort was painful, he found he could breathe, and after a final effort to relieve himself of his bonds he lay still, patiently waiting for his release.
The road seemed to grow rougher and rougher, and he felt that he must be going along some out-of-the-way by-lane, full of tremendous ruts, for sometimes one wheel would be down low, sometimes the other; and every now and then the cart seemed to stick fast, and then followed the sound of blows.
Whenever there came this sound of blows the cart began to echo back the noise with a series of tremendous kicks; for it soon became evident that this was no patient, long-suffering donkey, but one with a spirit of its own, and ready to resist.
On again, and then another stick-fast.
Whack! whack! whack! went a stick, and clatter, clatter came the donkey’s heels against the front of the cart, in such close proximity to Hilary’s head that he began to be alarmed for the safety of his skull, and after a good dead of wriggling he managed to screw himself so far round that when the next assault took place with the stick and battering with the donkey’s heels the front boards of the cart only jarred against Hilary’s arm.
Another term of progress, during which the road seemed better, and they appeared to get along some distance before there was another jerk up and another jerk down, and then a series of jumps as if they were going downhill; and then the cart gave a big bump and stuck fast.
The driver shouted and banged the donkey, and the donkey brayed and battered the front of the cart, and once more, in spite of his pain and discomfort, Hilary lay under the straw and laughed as he pictured accurately enough the scene that was taking place in that narrow lane.
For he was in a rutty, little-used track, in a roughly-made, springless cart, drawn by a big, ragged, powerful jackass, which every time the cart stuck, and his driver used the light ash stick he carried, laid down his ears, bared his teeth, and kicked at the front of the cart, which was rough with indentations and splinters, the result of the prowess of the donkey’s heels.
On again—stop again—jolt here—jolt there—more blows and kicking, and Hilary still lying there half stifled beneath the straw; but his youth and abundant vitality kept him up, so that he lay listening to the battles between the donkey and his driver; then he thought of his men, and wondered whether they had made a good search for him; then he began to think of the lieutenant, and wondered what he would say when the men went back and reported his absence; lastly, he began to wonder whether Mr Lipscombe would come with the Kestrel and try to find him.
“Not much good to come with the cutter,” he thought as drew a long breath; “he would want a troop of light horse if I’m being taken inland, as it seems to me I am.”
Then he began to wonder what would be done with him, whether Sir Henry Norland knew of his capture. Perhaps it was by Sir Henry’s orders.
“Well, if it is,” he said, half aloud, “if he don’t behave well to me he is no gentleman.”
He began musing next about Adela, and thought of how she had altered since the old days when Sir Henry was a quiet country gentleman, and had not begun to mix himself up with the political questions of the day.
“Oh!” said Hilary at last, “this is horribly tiresome and very disgusting. I don’t know that I should have much minded being made prisoner by a French ship, and then sent ashore, so long as they treated me well; but to be kidnapped like this by a beggarly set of smugglers is too bad.”
“Well,” he thought, “I don’t see that I shall be very much better off if I make myself miserable about my condition. I can’t escape just at present; they are evidently not going to kill me. That’s not likely. Why should they? So I shall just make the best of things, and old Lipscombe must grumble as long as he likes.”
Phew! It was very hot, and he was very weary. The kicking of the donkey and the sound of the blows had ceased to amuse him. He was so sore with the jolting that he told himself he could not get any worse. And still the cart went on, jolt, jolt, till a curious sensation of drowsiness came over him, and before he was aware that such a change was approaching he dropped off fast asleep, to make up for the wakefulness and excitement of the past night, the long and arduous walk of that morning, and the exhaustion produced by the jolting and shaking to which he had been subjected at intervals for the past two hours. During that time he had striven very hard to guess in which direction he was being taken, and wished he had known a little more of the locality inland, his geographical knowledge being confined to the points, bays, cliffs, villages, churches, and ports along the coast.
It was no slow dozing off and re-awaking—no softly passing through a pleasant dreamy state into a light sleep, for Nature seemed to say, with stern decision, that his body and mind had borne as great a strain as was good for either; and one moment he was awake, feeling rather drowsy; the next he was gone—plunged deep down in one of those heavy, dreamless sleeps in which hours pass away like moments, and the awakened sleeper wonders at the lapse of time.
Nature is very kind to her children, whether they are old or young; and during those restful times she builds up what the learned folks call tissue, and strengthens mind and muscle, fitting the said children for the wear and tear that is to go on again the next day, and the next.
Hilary awoke with a start, and so deep had been his sleep that it was some little time before he could recall what had taken place.
At first he thought he was in his berth on board the Kestrel, for it was intensely dark, but on stretching out his hands he could touch nothing, so it could not be there, where his elbows struck the side, and not many inches above his head there was the top.
No, it could not be there. Where was he then?
Asleep and dreaming, he believed the next minute; and then all came back with a leap—his capture, the swing off the cliff, the straw in the donkey-cart, and that was where he was now, only the donkey was standing still, for there was no jolting, and it had ceased to kick the front board of the cart.
He had either been asleep or insensible, he knew, and—
“Hullo! they’ve untied my arms,” he exclaimed; “and it isn’t so hot as it was. They must have taken off the cloak.”
Yes; the cloak was gone and his arms were free. So were his legs.
No; his legs were securely tied, but the straw over his head had been taken away.
He lay perfectly still for a few minutes, thinking, and with his eyes trying in all directions to pierce the thick black darkness by which he was surrounded, but without avail.
“I wonder where I am,” he thought, as, after forcing his mind to obey his will, he went over in review all the adventures that had befallen him from the time he left the ship till he was jolting along in that donkey-cart, half-suffocated in the boat-cloak and straw.
Then there came a dead stoppage. He could get no farther. He knew he must have gone to sleep, and the probabilities were that the cart had been backed into some shed, the donkey taken out, and he had been left to finish his sleep.
“I wish I knew what time it was,” thought Hilary. “How dark it is, to be sure. I wonder where the donkey is; and—hullo! where are the sides of the cart?”
He felt about, but could touch only straw; and on stretching his hands out farther, it was with no better result.
He listened.
Not a sound.
Strained his eyes.
All was blacker than the blackest night.
What should he do? Get up? Crawl about? Shout?
He could not answer his own questions; and as he lay there wondering what would be best, that strange feeling of confusion that oppresses the strongest of us in the dark when we are ignorant of where we are, came upon him, and he lay there at last with the perspiration gathering in big drops upon his brow.