Chapter Thirty.
Hilary tries again.
Soon after Sir Henry had gone, Hilary went to the window, but drew back directly.
“No,” he said to himself, “if I go there I shall be tempted into giving my parole or joining the Pretender’s party. Sir Henry seems to think he can win me over; so let us see.”
He began to walk up and down his prison. Then it struck him that his clothes had pretty well grown dry again, and he went over in his mind the incidents of the day and the past night, thoughts which were interrupted by the coming of Allstone, who bore some bread and meat, and a mug of beer, while a man behind him dragged in a table and chair, and afterwards carried in a straw mattress and a pillow, Allstone looking grimly on.
The man went out, but Allstone still waited, and at last the man came back with a bundle of sheets and blankets, which he threw upon the bed.
“There,” said Allstone, “that will do;” and seeing the man out, he darted a surly look at Hilary, and then followed and banged the door.
“Thank you,” said Hilary, laughing. “Perhaps a ladder would have been a little more convenient; but what donkeys people are—give a sailor sheets and blankets, and shut him up in a garret, and think he won’t escape! Ha! ha! ha!”
The sight of the food changed the current of Hilary’s thoughts, and sitting down he made a very hearty meal, felt that his clothes had grown thoroughly dry, and then did what was not surprising under the circumstances, began to nod, and then went off fast asleep.
Before an hour had passed he awoke; but he was so drowsy that he threw himself upon the mattress, and falling asleep directly he did not awaken till early the next morning.
No escape that day, and as he had to make up his mind to this, he waited until Allstone came with a rough breakfast, when he made a peremptory demand for some means of washing and making himself more presentable.
“My orders be to bring you something to sleep on and your meals, that’s all,” growled the fellow. “I had no orders about washing tackle.”
“Get out, you surly ill-conditioned ruffian,” cried Hilary; and the fellow grinned.
“Here’s something for you,” he said, contemptuously jerking a letter on to the floor, which Hilary picked up.
“Look here, Master Allstone,” he cried, shaking a finger at him; “one of these days I shall come here with a dozen or two of our brave boys, and if I don’t have you flogged till you beg my pardon for all this, my name is not Hilary Leigh.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the man; and he went away making as much noise as he could with the lock and bar so as to annoy his prisoner, but without success, for that individual was reading the letter he had received.
It was as follows:—
“My dear Hilary,—Fate has placed us on opposite sides, and though she has now thrown us together, I am compelled to hold aloof until you can say to me, ‘Here is my parole of honour not to betray you or to escape!’ or ‘I see that I am on the side of a usurper, and abjure his service. From henceforth I am heart and soul with you.’ When you can send me either of those messages, Hilary, Adela and I are ready to receive you with open arms. Till then we must be estranged; but all the same, my dear boy, accept my gratitude and love for your bravery in saving our lives.—Affectionately yours, Henry Norland.”
“Then we shall have to remain estranged,” said Hilary as he stood by the open window refolding the letter and thinking of his position.
“Hil! Hil!” came from below.
“Ahoy!” he answered. “Well, little lady?” and he leaned out.
“Isn’t it a beautiful morning, Hil,” said Adela, looking up. “Lovely.”
“Why don’t you come down and have a run with me in the woods?”
“For one reason, because I am locked up,” said Hilary. “For another, because I have not made my hands and face acquainted with soap and water since I was aboard the cutter; my hair is full of bits of straw and dead leaves, and my clothes are soaked and shrunken, and muddied and torn. Altogether, I am not fit to be seen.”
“Well, but Hil, dear, why don’t you wash yourself?”
“Because your esteemed friends here do not allow me soap, water, and towel. I say, Addy, if I lower down a piece of string, will you send me a jug of water?”
“Same as I did the milk? Oh, of course!” said the girl laughing.
“All right,” said Hilary; “get it, please.”
He took out his knife, and without hesitation nicked and tore off the hem of one of his sheets, knotted two lengths together, lowered them down, and in turn drew up wash-hand jug, soap, brush and comb, and afterwards a basin, by having it tied up in a towel, and attaching the string to the knots.
Adela seemed to enjoy it all as fun, but she turned serious directly after as she told her old companion how grateful she felt to him for his bravery on the previous day, remarks which made Hilary feel uncomfortable and go away from the window with the excuse that he wanted to attend to his toilet.
For the next quarter of an hour Hilary was revelling in a good wash, with all the enjoyment of one who has been shut off from the use of soap and towel, with the result that after he had finished off with a brush, he felt more himself, and ready to stare his position more comfortably in the face.
He went to the window in spite of his resolutions not to be tempted, and looked down; but Adela had gone, so he had a good look round at the country.
Here he was facing due south, and before him, stretched in the bright sunshine, wave after wave as it were of hilly land, pretty well clothed with forest-trees. In the far distance there was a range of hills with a church and a windmill, both of which he recognised as having seen from the other side when upon the deck of the cutter, and this gave him a good idea of where he was, and how to shape his course when he made his escape.
That word set him thinking, and without more ado he proceeded to cut up the sheets, knot together some of the strips, and then to lay them up, sailor fashion, into a serviceable linen rope, for the sheets were coarse and strong.
This he did with his ears attent to the coming of footsteps, and a place ready in the bed to throw his work and cover it over should Allstone or Sir Henry be at hand. But he need not have troubled, for he completed about forty feet of good strong line from the pair of sheets, and coiled it up after securing the ends ready for use.
His escape now was simplicity itself he thought, and his toil ended and the shreds carefully swept up and blown from the window, he seated himself upon the sill, and enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, planning out how he would slip down after securing one end of his cord to the window-frame.
Sir Henry would, he felt sure, provide for the safety of Adela and himself as soon as he found that the prisoner had escaped, for he felt that he could not bring peril upon them. There was no cause for fear, though, and he sat thinking of how grand it would be if he could escape the moment it was dark and get down to the shore and find the Kestrel.
That seemed hopeless, though, and too much to expect; for it was not likely that the cutter would be still cruising about and waiting for him. If she was, though, he knew how he could bring a boat’s crew well-armed ashore, and that was by making a signal with a light in a particular way.
The sun was getting lower, and everything round the old place was still, nothing but a couple of fowls that were pecking about in what had once been a large garden between the old house and the moat, being visible.
It had once been a goodly residence, no doubt, but all now was ruin and desolation, except that the warm sunshine made even the neglect and weeds look picturesque. There were massive gables to right and left, and the old tiles were orange and grey with a thick coating of lichen. Just between his window and that of Adela there were the mouldering remains of a carved shield, with surmounting helmet and crest, and a decayed motto below, while to right and left the ivy had covered the front with its dark-green glossy leaves, among which the cable-like runners could be seen.
Anywhere, almost, along the front of the venerable place he could have climbed down by the help of the ivy; in his neighbourhood, however, it had been cleared away.
He wondered sometimes how it was that he had heard no more of Adela, and that everything about the place should be so still, and concluded that Sir Henry had forbidden her to hold counsel with him, and in this belief he sat on waiting until the sun went down in a flood of orange glory.
Just then he heard Allstone’s heavy step upon the stairs, and coming away from the window Hilary threw himself upon his bed over the hidden rope.
But he need not have feared that it would be seen, for Allstone simply placed some food upon the table and went away directly after, locking the door.
The repast though rough and plain was substantial, and very welcome. Hilary felt somewhat agitated at the attempt he was about to make; but he knew that he needed fortifying with food, and he ate heartily, placing the remains of his meal in his pockets as a reserve for by-and-by.
As the sun went down the moon began to make its presence known; but it was early in its first quarter, and in the course of a couple of hours it too had set, leaving the sky to the stars, which twinkled brightly, doing little, though, to dispel the darkness.
In fact, by about nine, as he guessed it to be, the night was as suitable as possible for such an enterprise as his, and after listening to some distant sounds of talking in the back of the house, Hilary proceeded with beating heart to take out and unroll his light coil of rope.
By means of a little management he took one of the leaded panes from the bottom of the casement so as to allow the rope to be securely tied round the stout oak centrepiece of the window, and then, after watching attentively for a few minutes, he lowered down the other end until the full extent was reached, and as nearly as he could judge it touched the ground.
Even if it did not, there was nothing to fear, for at the utmost he would have had but a few feet to drop, and after a few moments’ hesitancy he passed one leg out of the window, took a good grip of the rope, climbed right out, twisted his legs round in turn, and directly after, while swinging gently, he let himself down foot by foot.
It was nothing to him. His sailor life made a descent by a rope one of the merest trifles.
Down lower and lower, past Adela’s window, and then coming into sight of a broad casement where a light was burning.
The upper floors of the old building projected beyond the lower, so that he had not been aware of this lighted room, and as he hung there turning slowly round and round he could plainly see Sir Henry in a comfortably-furnished place, seated at a table writing, while Adela was gazing up into his face as she sat upon a low stool at his feet.
For a few moments Hilary hung there motionless, feeling that if Sir Henry raised his eyes, as he was sure to do at the slightest sound, he could not help seeing him gently spinning round and round.
Recovering himself though, directly, he let himself slide, and reached the ground, but made so much noise that he heard Sir Henry speak, and he had hardly time to dart aside, drawing with him the white rope, and crouch down close to the house, before the window was opened, and he knew that some one was looking out.
“No, papa,” said a well-known voice, “I can see nothing.”
“Look again,” said Sir Henry. “Stop; I’ll come.”
There was the noise of a moving chair, and then Hilary felt that Sir Henry was looking out of the window, and wondered whether he was seen.
He hardly dared to breathe, and it seemed like an hour before he heard a sigh, and Sir Henry said, softly—
“What a lovely night, my child!”
Then there was the sound of the casement being closed, steps faintly heard across the room, and, gliding from his place of concealment, Hilary made for the bridge, crossed it, and then darted amongst the bushes beside the narrow lane, for there was a buzz of voices behind him, and from the other side of the house he could see the light of a lantern, and then came the tramp of a horse and the sound of wheels.
Chapter Thirty One.
Signalling the Kestrel.
Hilary knew that if he wished to escape he must achieve it with his brain perhaps as much as his heels. He could pretty well tell which way to go, but his knowledge of the country was very small, and great care was necessary. It was evident that there was a party leaving the old house, and most probably they were going to be present at some landing of goods upon the shore, whence the cart would bring the lading of some lugger back. If he went on now, it would be with this party always ready to overtake him at any moment, for he did not know the road. If, on the other hand, he kept hidden until the cart had gone by, their lantern would be a guide to him, and he could follow silently till he reached the cliffs. After that he must be guided by circumstances.
It was a wise idea, and lying perdu for a few minutes, he found that a cart passed him slowly, attended by six men, one of whom bore the lantern. They were all chatting and laughing, and so intent upon their business in hand that Hilary was able to follow them at a moderate distance, the lantern acting as his guide.
He soon found that fortune had favoured him, for without their guidance the chances were that he would have wandered off into one of the rugged lanes through the woods, if he had not lost the track entirely, for it was hardly worthy of the name of road.
He was going cautiously along, keeping the lantern well in sight, when, all at once, a faint glow appeared just in front; and he only stopped short just in time to avoid blundering over one of the party who had hung back to refill and light his pipe with a piece of touchwood, which he was now blowing up into a brisk glow before applying it to the bowl.
Hilary stopped as if struck by lightning, and held his breath, so close was he to the man, who, fortunately, was too much occupied with the task he had in hand to notice the young officer’s proximity; and, after getting his pipe well alight, he started off after his companions.
This adventure made Hilary, if possible, more cautious, and for the next two hours he kept at a greater distance, wondering the while how much farther it was, when all at once he noticed that the lantern had become stationary. Directly after another light approached, and then a broad glare shone out, evidently from an open door. Then there was a good deal of talking and the rattle of a cart; then of another; and Hilary, finding that he could progress no farther by the track, struck off amongst the bushes and ferns on his left, finding now that the trees were left behind; and as the next minute he found even the bushes had given place to heather and turf, he concluded that he must be nearing the sea.
It had grown so dark that he had to proceed with caution or he would have tripped over some patch of furze or fern.
But he escaped pretty well; and seeing that the lanterns were once more in motion, he determined to proceed, as well as he could, parallel with the party, watch their proceedings, and learn all he could for future service if he succeeded in getting away.
Once he thought that he had better devote himself to his escape; but he could do no more until daybreak, and if he could see how the smugglers landed their cargoes such knowledge would be invaluable.
Going cautiously on, then, he must have proceeded for a couple of hundred yards when he found that the bearers of the lanterns had stopped, and there was a low buzz of talking, and someone seemed to be giving orders.
Then the noise ceased, and he fancied he could hear footsteps going away, while the lanterns burned close together, apparently on the ground.
He was too far-off still, he thought, and in his eager curiosity he bent down and took a few steps forward, felt one foot give way, threw himself back, and lay upon the turf, wet with a cold, chilling perspiration, and clutching the short turf with his fingers driven in as far as he could.
As he lay there trembling he heard a familiar sound from far below, and as his vision cleared and he grew calmer he could just make out a faint line of light where the waves were breaking amongst the stones, for he had been within an inch of a terrible death. The little patch of turf upon which he had trod grew right on the verge of the cliff, and but for his spasmodic effort to throw himself back as the earth gave way, he must have pitched headlong on to the rocks a couple of hundred feet below.
“What an escape!” he muttered; and then, after a calm feeling of thankfulness had pervaded him for a time, he lay there enjoying the soft salt breeze that blew gently upon his cheeks, and listening with delight to the murmurous plash of the waves.
As he gazed out to sea, where all was exceedingly dark, his heart gave a great leap, for not a couple of miles away, as he judged, a vessel was lying, and there was something in the position of the lights that made him feel certain it was the Kestrel.
He would not believe it at first, but told himself it was his fancy—the suggestion of that which he fondly wished; but as he shaded his eyes and watched he became more and more certain that it was his ship, and in his elation it was all he could do not to utter a joyous shout by way of a hail.
He checked himself, however, in the mad idea, and lay thinking. There was the old Kestrel, and the idea of getting back to his stuffy quarters and the ill-temper of Lieutenant Lipscombe seemed delightful; but he knew that the greatest caution was needed, or he would fail in his attempt.
Then, again, he thought it impossible that it could be the Kestrel, for the smugglers would never have the hardihood to run a cargo just under the very nose of a king’s ship; but directly afterwards he was obliged to own that it was by these very acts of daring that they were able to carry on with such success; and the more he gazed out at those lights, the more certain he felt that they belonged to his vessel.
“Yes,” he thought, “it’s the old lass sure enough, and the lads will be as glad as can be to see me back. I know they will. Oh, if I could only signal to them and bring a boat’s crew ashore.”
He lay thinking, and then, with beating heart, began to crawl cautiously along close to the edge of the cliff till he was abreast of the lanterns, which, as he had half suspected, lay in a depression, with a high bank of rush and bushes between them and the sea. There was no one with them, and all was very silent.
Where were the smugglers, then?
That was soon solved; for on crawling a little farther he found his hands go down suddenly where the cliff made a rapid slope, and as he lay upon his chest he could hear the hum of voices, the trampling of feet upon the shingle, and though he could hardly distinguish moving figures, his imagination supplied the rest; and, as plainly as if he could see it all, there, he knew, was a large lugger ashore and a party of men landing her cargo, carrying it up the beach and among the rocks, where it was being drawn up by a rough pulley, and yonder, all the while, lay the king’s ship in utter ignorance of what was going on.
There it all was, the soft murmur of the sea—he could almost fancy he heard it lap the lugger’s sides; and certainly as he gazed more intently down, there was a dark break in the line of foam. That, then, must be the lugger.
If it had only been a little lighter he could have seen all—the busy party like so many ants running to and fro with their loads, while others were drawing them up the rocks ready for the loading of the carts. Yes, there was the creak of a pulley from a heavier load than usual; and this was the way it was done on these dark fine nights. Perhaps in another hour the whole cargo would be drawn up on the cliff, the carts would be loaded at their leisure, and as the tide rose the lugger would push off once more, and all, as he had before said, just under the nose of his majesty’s cutter.
“No wonder,” thought Hilary, “that we are so often unsuccessful; but we’ll checkmate them now! What can I do?”
He lay thus thinking and listening, and then an idea came to him. The men were all busy down below, and they had left their lanterns in that hollow.
As the thought occurred to him he began to crawl back cautiously but quickly till he was close up to where the lanterns were hidden.
“If there is anyone there,” he argued, “I can dash off into the darkness and escape.”
But he felt sure that there was no one. Still he tested the question by saying suddenly in a gruff voice:
“Now, my lads, you’re wanted below.”
It was a bold stroke, but it satisfied him that all was right, and that all hands were away.
Now, then, was his time. He could not help the Kestrel’s men, they must do the work; but if they came ashore they would know why it was, and the possibilities were that they would surprise the lugger—perhaps be in time to capture half her cargo.
Hilary did not hesitate now, but creeping down into the hollow, he extinguished the candle in one lantern and took off his jacket and wrapped it round the other, completely hiding its light. Then, taking the first in his hand, he crept up once more to the higher part of the cliff.
Here he ould see the lights of the Kestrel plain enough, but even when stooping down he could not help seeing the black patch upon the shore.
That would not do, so he crept back a few yards, finding the cliff rise in a sharp slope, going to the top of which he found that he could see the light in what was apparently a cottage.
Descending again, he cautiously chose a spot where he could easily see the cutter’s lights but not the shore below the cliff, and then he paused and listened.
The dull murmur was fainter now, but he could make out the men at work, and for a few moments he hesitated. Suppose he should be surprised and taken back!
“Never mind,” he thought, “I am only doing my duty. They dare not kill me, and, in the king’s name, here goes.”
He uncovered the lantern and placed it upon the turf, where it burned steadily and well; then opening the door, he took the candle from the extinct lantern, lit it, replaced it, and closed it in, put on his jacket, and then, taking a couple of steps to the left, he stood there holding the second lantern breast high, making a signal that he knew would be understood on board if the diagonal lights were seen by anyone of the watch.
Hilary’s heart beat fast. He was concealed by the cliff from the busy party below, and by the rise behind him from those inland, but at any moment some one might come up to where the lanterns had been placed, miss them, and see what he was about.
It was risky work, but he did not shrink, although he knew that he was lessening his chances of escape. Still, if he could only bring the Kestrel’s boats down upon the scoundrels it would be so grand a coup that his hesitation was always mastered, and he stood firm, gazing out to sea.
How long the minutes seemed, and what a forlorn hope it was! The chances were that the watch might not notice the lights; and even if they were seen, it might not be by anyone of sufficient intelligence to report them to the lieutenant, or to the boatswain or gunner.
Every now and then he fancied he heard steps. Then his imagination created the idea that some one was crawling along the ground to push him over the cliff; but he set his teeth and stood his post, keenly alive, though, to every real sound and such sights as he could see, and ready at any moment to dash down the lanterns and run inland for liberty, if not for life. How dark the lanterns seemed to make it, and how hot the one grew in his hands! Would those on board ever see it, and was he to stand there in vain?
“Ah! if I had only been on board,” he muttered, as the time wore on, till what seemed to him a couple of hours had passed, but what was really only about a fourth of that time; “I would have seen it. Somebody ought to have seen it.”
Still the lights from the cutter burned out brightly, like a couple of stars, and at last, in a hopeless mood, he began to think that the signal he was displaying was too feeble to be seen so far.
“I may as well give it up,” he muttered despairingly; “the rascals will be up directly now, and I shall be caught, and the Kestrels could never get ashore in time.—Yes—no—yes—no—yes,” he panted.
For, as he stared out at the cutter’s lights, all at once they disappeared.
He gazed till his eyes seemed starting, but there was no doubt about it; they had been put out or covered; and turning sharply round, he hid the lantern he carried, and turned over the other with his foot prior to stooping and blowing it out.
The signal had been seen.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Hilary gets in a Queer Fix.
With his heart throbbing with joy Hilary now proceeded to reverse his performance, for, taking off his jacket once more, he enveloped the burning lantern, picked up the other that was emitting an abominable odour, and hastily carried them back to the hollow where he found them.
It was so dark that he was doubtful whether he had found the right place, but he kicked against another lantern, and that convinced him.
Placing the burning one on the ground, he relit the other, his hands trembling so that he hardly knew what he did, and impeded himself to no slight degree. He succeeded, however, and had just set the second lantern down as nearly as he could remember, when he fancied he heard a sound as of some one snoring, and glancing in the direction, he saw to his horror that a man was lying there asleep.
For a few moments he felt paralysed, and stood there holding his jacket in his hand unable to move, as he asked himself whether that man had been there when he spoke and took the lights.
As he stood there wondering, he heard a voice call “Jem!” in a low tone; and this roused Hilary, who dropped down and crept away, glancing to seaward as he did so, where the cutter’s lights—if it was she—once more brightly burned.
He did not dare to go far, but lay flat upon the turf, listening as someone came up; and then there was a dull noise as of a man kicking another.
“Get up, Jem! Do you hear! Why, what a fellow you are to sleep!”
“Hullo! Oh, all right,” said another voice; and now Hilary could see two men standing, their figures plainly shown against the lantern’s light. “Oh, yes; it’s all very well to say ‘Hullo!’ and ‘All right!’” grumbled the first voice; “I never see such a fellow to sleep.”
“Have you done?” said the sleepy one yawning.
“Done? No; nor half done; she’s got a heavy cargo. If we get done in three hours we shall have worked well. Put out them candles, and come and haul.”
The lights were extinguished; and Hilary, wondering at his escape, felt his heart bound with joy, for by that time the crews of a couple of boats must have been mustered on the Kestrel’s deck, and in another five minutes they would be pulling, with muffled oars, towards the shore.
“Ah! if I were only in command of one!” cried Hilary to himself; “but as I am not, can I do anything more to help our fellows besides bringing them ashore?”
It was a question that puzzled him to answer, and he lay there on the turf wondering what it would be best to do, ending by making up his mind to creep down as cautiously as he could in the direction taken by the two men.
“The worst that could happen to me,” he thought, “would be that I should be taken; and if I am made prisoner once more, it will only be in the cause of duty—so here goes.”
The darkness favoured him as far as concealment was concerned, but it had its disadvantages. A little way to his left was the edge of the cliff, and Hilary knew that if he were not careful he would reach the shore in a way not only unpleasant to himself, but which would totally spoil him for farther service; so he exercised as much caution for self-preservation as he did to keep himself hidden from his enemies.
There was a well-beaten track, and, following this, he found the descent was very rapid into a little valley-like depression, from the bottom of which came the faint creak of a pulley now and then, with mingled sounds of busy men going to and fro with loads, which they seemed to be, as he judged, carrying up to carts somewhere at the head of the ravine.
He could see very little, the darkness was so great; but his keen sense of hearing supplied the want of sight; and as he lay beside a clump of what seemed to be furze, he very soon arrived at a tolerably good idea of what was going on.
Still he was not satisfied. He wanted to realise more thoroughly the whole procedure of the smugglers, so that if the present attempt should prove a failure he might be in a position to circumvent them another time.
It was a great risk to go any nearer, and it might result in capture, perhaps in being knocked down; but he determined to go on, especially as it grew darker every minute, the stars being completely blotted out by a curtain of cloud that came sweeping over the sky.
He hesitated for a few moments, and then crept on, listening intently the while.
The smugglers were still some distance off, down towards the edge of the lower cliff; and he crept nearer and nearer, till to his horror he found that the clearness of the part about him was only due to the cessation of the carrying for a few minutes, and now a party seemed to be coming up from the cliff edge, apparently loaded, while, when he turned to retreat, he found by the sound of voices that another party was coming down.
His manifest proceeding then was to get out of the track, but, to his horror, he found that he was down in a rift between two high walls of rock, and his first attempt to climb up resulted in a slip back, scratching his hands, and tearing his clothes.
Before he could make a second attempt he was seized by a pair of strong arms and forced down upon his knees; and dimly in the gloom he could make out that he was pretty well surrounded by rough-looking men.
“Caught you, have I?” said a deep voice.
Hilary remained silent. It was of no avail to struggle, and he reserved his strength for a better opportunity to escape.
He thought of shouting aloud to the boats, which he hoped were now well on their way; but he restrained himself, as he felt that the success of their approach depended upon their secrecy, so he merely hung down his head, without offering the slightest resistance.
He had his reward.
“Get up, you lazy, skulking lubber!” cried his captor, “or I’ll rope’s-end you.” This, by the way, was rather cool language, especially after forcing the captive down upon his knees.
“Here are we to work like plantation niggers at the oars, rowing night and day, and you ’long-shore idlers leave us to do all the work.”
“Why, he takes me for one of their party,” thought Hilary; and, dark though it was, he felt astonished at the man’s stupidity, for it did not occur to him then that he was hatless, that his hair was rough, his face and hands anything but clean, and his old uniform shrunken by his immersion, and so caked with mud and dirt, and withal so torn and ragged, that even by broad daylight anyone would have strongly doubted that he was a king’s officer, while in the gloom of that ravine he could easily be taken for a rough-looking carrier belonging to their gang.
“Come on,” said the man hauling him along, “I’ve got a nice little job for you. I don’t care for your sulky looks. Go it, my lads. Got the lot?” he continued, as a line of loaded men filed past them, they having to stand back against the rock to let the burdened party pass.
“All? no; nor yet half,” was the reply. “There, get on.”
“All right. Take it easy,” was the reply; and, trying hard to make out the surroundings, Hilary made no resistance, but let himself be hurried along down the declivity they were in, till he found himself on a platform of trampled earth, where, as far as he could make out against the skyline, a rough kind of shears was rigged up, and, by means of a block, a couple of men were hauling up packages, and another was landing them upon the platform, and unfastening and sending down the empty hooks.
“Here, one of you carry now,” said Hilary’s captor, “and let this joker haul. I found him trying to miche, and nipped him as he was skulking off. Lay hold, you lazy lubber, and haul.”
One of the men left the rope, and assuming a sulky, injured manner, Hilary took his place at the rope, and, upon the signal being given, hauled away with his new companion, who gave a grunt indicative of satisfaction, as he found how well Hilary kept time with him, bringing his strength to bear in unison with the other’s, so that they worked like one man.
“Ah, that’s better!” he said. “I’ve been doing all the work.”
They had brought a keg above the cliff edge, and this being detached, Hilary’s captor mounted it upon his shoulders, and the man who had been hauling in Hilary’s place took up a package and they began to move off.
“Let me know if he don’t work,” said the rough-voiced man.
“I’ll soon be back. Mind he don’t slip off.”
“All right,” said Hilary’s companion.
“Haul,” said a voice, and they pulled up another keg, while the tramping of men could be plainly heard below, telling Hilary of what was going on.
“Why,” he thought, as he worked steadily on, “this is where they hauled me up, the rascals; and now—”
He could not help laughing to himself at the strange trick Fate had played him in setting him, a naval officer, helping a party of smugglers to land their cargo; but all the same, he gloried in the amount of information he was picking up for some future time.
“I don’t seem to know you,” said the man beside him at last, after they had hauled up several packages and kegs. “Did old Allstone send you to help?”
This was a poser, and Hilary paused for a moment or two before saying frankly:
“No; he didn’t want me to come.”
“Ah! he’s a nice ’un,” growled the other. “I wish I’d my way; I’d make him work a little harder. He’s always skulking up at the old manor.”
Hilary uttered a low grunt, and in the intervals of hauling he strained his eyes to grasp all he could of his surroundings; but there was very little to see. He could make out that he was at the edge of a lower part of the cliff; that the rock-strewn beach was, as far as he could make out by the hauling, some forty feet below; that the platform where he stood was the sea termination of a gully, where probably in wet weather a stream ran down and over the edge in a kind of fall, while on either side the cliff towered up to a great height.
There was not much to learn, but it was enough to teach him what he wanted to know, and it quite explained the success of the smugglers in evading capture.
Hilary had strained his eyes again and again seaward; but, save that the cutter’s lights were burning brightly in the darkness, there was no sign of coming help, though, for the matter of that, a fleet of small boats might have landed and been unseen from where he stood.
The man’s suspicions seemed to have been lulled, and Hilary kept on hauling. The men came and went from where they were to the carts that he judged to be waiting, and those below, like dim shadows just seen now and then, toiled on over the rocks, but still no sign of the cutter’s boats, and in despair now of my such capture as might have been made, Hilary was thinking that when a suitable opportunity occurred he would seize hold of the hook with one hand, retain the hauling rope in the other, and let himself rapidly down, when there was a shrill chirruping whistle from below, the scrambling of feet, and a voice from the beach said sharply:
“Quick there! Luggers ahoy! Look out!”
Chapter Thirty Three.
Tom Tully acts as Guide.
Lieutenant Lipscombe’s eye had grown rapidly better, and his temper rapidly worse. He had grumbled at Chips for being so long over his task of repairing the deck and hatchway, and Chips had responded by leaving off to sharpen his tools, after which he had diligently set traps to catch his superior officer, who never went near the carpenter without running risks of laming himself by treading upon nails half buried in the deck, or being knocked down by pieces of wood delicately poised upon one end so that the slightest touch would send them over with a crash.
Chips never trod upon the upright nails, cut himself against the tools, or touched the pieces of wood or planks to make them fall. He moved about slowly, like a bear, and somehow seemed to be charmed; but it was different with the lieutenant: he never went near to grumble without putting his foot straight upon the first upright clout-nail, or leaning his arm or hand upon some ticklishly-balanced piece of plank. The consequences were that he was several times a good deal hurt, and then Chips seemed exceedingly sorry, and said he was.
But the lieutenant forgot his little accidents next day, and went straight to the carpenter, bullied him again, and after bearing it for awhile Chips’s adze would become so blunt that he was obliged to go off to the grindstone, where he would stop for a couple of hours, a good deal of which time was spent in oiling the spindle before he began.
At last, though he was obliged to finish his task, and after waiting for the deck to be done as the time when he would go straight into harbour and report Hilary’s desertion, as he persisted in calling it, Lieutenant Lipscombe concluded that he would not go, but give the young officer a chance to come back.
Meanwhile he had cruised about, chased and boarded vessels without there being the slightest necessity, put in at one or two places where he heard rumours that the Young Pretender was expected to land off the coast somewhere close at hand, heard the report contradicted at the next place he touched at, and then went cruising up and down once more.
One day he chased and boarded a lugger that bore despatches from France to certain emissaries in England; but the lieutenant did not find the despatches, only some dried fish, which he captured and had conveyed on board the cutter.
His men grumbled, and said that Master Leigh ought to be found, and there was some talk of petitioning the lieutenant to form another expedition in search of the missing man; but the lieutenant had no intention of going ashore in the dark to get his men knocked about by invisible foes without the prospect of a grand haul of prize-money at the end; so he turned a deaf ear to all suggestions for such a proceeding, and kept on cruising up and down.
“I tell you what it is,” said Tom Tully on the evening of Hilary’s escape, as the men were all grouped together in the forecastle enjoying a smoke and a yarn or two, “it strikes me as we’re doing a wonderful lot o’ good upon this here station. What do you say, Jack Brown?”
“Wonderful!” said the boatswain, falling into the speaker’s sarcastic vein.
“Ah!” said Chips, “we shall never get all our prize-money spent, boys.”
“No,” said the corporal of marines, “never. I say, speaking as a orsifer, oughtn’t we to have another one in place of Master Leigh?”
“No,” said Tom Tully. “We couldn’t get another like he.”
“That’s a true word, Tommy,” said Billy Waters, who did not often agree with the big sailor. “We couldn’t get another now he’s lost.”
“But that’s all werry well,” said Chips; “but it won’t do. If I lost my adze or caulking-hammer overboard, I must have another, mustn’t I?” No one answered, and he continued:
“If you lost the rammer of the big gun, Billy Waters, or the corporal here hadn’t got his bayonet, he’d want a new one; so why shouldn’t we have a new orsifer?”
“Don’t know,” said Billy Waters gruffly; and as the carpenter looked at each in turn, the men all shook their heads, and then they all smoked in silence.
“I wishes as we could find him again,” said Tom Tully; “and as he’d chuck the skipper overboard, or send him afloat in the dinghy, and command the cutter hisself, and I don’t kear who tells the luff as I said it.”
“No one ain’t going to tell on you, Tommy,” said Billy Waters reprovingly; for the big sailor had looked defiantly round, and ended by staring him defiantly in the face. “We all wishes as the young chap could be found, and that he was back aboard; and I think as it ought to be all reported and another expedition sent.”
There was a growl of approval at this as there had been before when similar ideas were promulgated; but the lieutenant sat in his cabin, and nothing was done.
The lights were burning brightly, and as it was a dead calm the anchor had been let go, so that the cutter should not be swept along the coast by the racing tide. The night had come on very dark since the moon had set, and the watch scanned the surface of the sea in an idle mood, that task being soon done, for there was very little sea visible to scan, and, coming to the conclusion that it was a night when they would be able to watch just as well with their ears, they made themselves comfortable and gazed longingly at the shore.
There was nothing to tempt them there but that it was shore, and they would have preferred being there to loitering on shipboard, though there was not so much as a cottage light to be seen from where they lay.
A large lugger propelled by a dozen sweeps passed them in the darkness, but so silently that they did not hear so much as the splash of an oar, and a drowsy feeling seemed to pervade the whole crew.
“I’ll be bound to say if we was to set up a song with a good rattling chorus he’d kick up a row,” said Billy Waters, getting up from where he was seated upon the deck, going to the side, and leaning over. “For my part I’d—Hullo! Lookye here, Jack Brown; what do you make of them there lights?”
He pointed as he spoke to a couple of dim stars high up on the cliff and placed diagonally.
“Signal,” said the boatswain decidedly.
“For us?” said Tom Tully.
“No,” said the gunner; “for some smuggling craft. Beg pardon, your honour,” he continued as the lieutenant came forward, “but what do you make o’ them there lights?”
The lieutenant had a long look, and then, with a display of energy that was unusual with him, he exclaimed, “It is a signal for boats; there’s a landing going on.”
His words seemed to electrify everyone on board, and the men watched the lights on shore with intense eagerness, seeing prize-money in them, as they did in every boat sent from the cutter; while, to test the lights ashore as to whether they really formed a signal, or were only an accidental arrangement of a shepherd’s lanterns, the lieutenant had the two riding lamps suddenly lowered and covered.
Then there were a few moments of intense excitement, every eye being directed to the dim diagonally-placed stars on the cliff, both of which suddenly disappeared.
“Right,” said the lieutenant. “Up with our lights again. That’s either Mr Leigh signalling to be fetched off or else there’s going to be a cargo run. Man the two boats! Gunner, serve out arms! No pipe, boatswain. Quietly, every man, and muffle the oars!”
The men needed no pipe to call them to their places, for every man was in a state of intense excitement, and ready to execute a kind of war-dance on the deck, till the lieutenant, who had been to fetch his sword and pistols, returned on deck in a dubious state of mind.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps it is only a dodge to get us away. Somebody is tricking us; and while we are going one way they’ll run a cargo in another direction.”
The men dared not murmur, but they grumbled in silence.
“Give up your arms again, my men,” said the lieutenant, “and we’ll be watchful where we are. I’m tired of being tricked.”
The men were unwillingly giving up their weapons when, as Billy Waters put it, the wind veered round again.
“Serve out the arms, my man! Now then, be smart! Tumble into the boats!”
For fear their commander should change his mind again the men did literally tumble into the boats, and, giving the boatswain charge of the vessel and putting the gunner in charge of the smaller boat, the lieutenant descended into the other, gave orders that not a word should be spoken, and they pushed off into the black night.
“When we land,” whispered the lieutenant, “two men are to stop in the boats and keep off a dozen or so yards from the shore. No getting them stove-in, or—”
He did not finish his sentence, and in its mutilated form it was passed to the other boat, which was close behind.
For the first part of the distance they rowed pretty swiftly, but when they were about halfway the lieutenant slackened speed, and, after nearly running into them, the second followed the example, and they went softly on.
It seemed to grow darker and darker, and but for the fact that they could hear the wash of the water upon the shore, and see the lights of the cutter, it would have been impossible to tell which way to go. They steered, however, straight for the land, every ear being attent, and the men so anxious to make the present expedition a success that their oars dipped without a sound.
All at once, as it seemed to them, they could hear something above the soft wash of the water that made every man’s heart beat, and roused the lieutenant to an intense state of excitement. For, plainly enough, there came from out of the pitchy darkness right ahead the tramp of feet hurrying to and fro across the sands, and there could be only one interpretation of such a sound, namely, the fact that a party of men were unloading a boat.
The lieutenant ordered his men to wait so that the second boat might come up alongside, and then they advanced together in perfect silence, with the keenest-eyed men in the bows, ready to signal by touch if they saw anything ahead.
The sound was still going on upon the beach, and the people were evidently very busy, when, at the same moment, the crews of the two boats caught sight of a large lugger run ashore, and not twenty yards away.
The lieutenant’s orders to the gunner were short and sharp.
“Board her on the larboard side; I’ll take this! Off; give way, my lads! Close in; out cutlasses and up and have her!”
Softly as his whisper was uttered it was heard upon the lugger by the watchful smugglers. A shrill whistle rang out; there was a rush of feet to get back aboard, and men sprang to their arms.
But the Kestrels were too close in this time. The boats were run one on either side; the crews pulled out their cutlasses and sprang up, racing as to who should be first on board; and after a short sharp struggle the smugglers were beaten down, and the lugger was taken.
“Now, Waters, make sure of the prisoners, and don’t trust them below!” cried the lieutenant. “Come, my lads. Crew of the first boat head for the shore.”
“Would you like lanterns, sir?” said the gunner.
“What! to show the rascals where to shoot!” said the lieutenant. “No, sir. We could take the lugger in the dark, and now we’ll have the rest of the gang and the cargo. Look here, my men,” he said, turning to the prisoners, “fifty pounds and a free pardon to the man who will act as guide and show us the way to the place where the lugger’s cargo has been placed.”
There was no answer.
“Do you hear there, my men? Don’t be afraid to speak. Fifty pounds, liberty, and my protection to the man who will act as guide.”
Still no answer.
“A hundred pounds, then,” said the lieutenant, eagerly.
“Come, be quick; there is no time to lose.”
There was not the slightest notice taken of the offer.
“Look here,” cried the lieutenant, “I promise you that the man who will tell where the cargo is carried shall be amply protected.”
Still no reply.
“Come, come, come!” cried the lieutenant; “who is going to earn this money? There, time is valuable; I’ll give two hundred pounds if we capture the rest of the cargo.”
“If you’ll give me two hundred pounds I’ll tell you where it is,” said a voice out of the darkness; and a groan and a hiss arose from the prisoners.
“Bravo! my lad,” cried the lieutenant. “I give you my word of honour you shall have the two hundred pounds. Now, then; where is it? Which way shall we go? Quick! where is it?”
“Where you and your lot won’t never find it,” said the man; and there was a tremendous roar of laughter.
“Come, my lads,” said the lieutenant angrily, “follow me.”
As the men followed him down into the boat another shrill chirruping whistle rang out upon the dark night-air, a whistle which the lieutenant knew well enough to be a warning to the men ashore that there was danger.
“Never mind,” he said; “we shall find the bags this time, and with plenty of honey too, my lads. Let’s see, who was here last and went up among the rocks?”
“Me, your honour,” said Tom Tully. “I can show you the way.”
“Come to my side, then,” said the lieutenant, leaping ashore. Tom Tully ranged up alongside, and together they hurried over the sand and shingle.
There was no doubt about their being upon the right track, for they stumbled first against a keg, directly after upon a package, then upon another and another, just as the smugglers had thrown them down to race back and defend the lugger; and with these for their guides they made right for the rocks, where, after a little hesitation, Tom Tully led the party through a narrow opening.
“I should know the place, sir,” he said, “for I got a hawful polt o’ the side of the head somewheres about here; and—ah! this here’s right, for there’s another little keg o’ spirits.”
He had kicked against the little vessel, and, to endorse his opinion, he had come upon a small package, which, with the keg, was placed upon a block of rock ready for their return.
But in spite of his recollection of the blows he had received in the struggle amongst the rocks Tom Tully’s guidance was not very good. It was horribly dark, and, but for the scuffling noise they kept hearing in front and beyond the chaos of rocks amongst which they were, the lieutenant would have ordered his men back, and tried some other way, or else, in spite of the risks, have waited while some of his men went back for lights.
There was, however, always the noise in front, and partly by climbing and dragging one another up over the rocks they managed to get nearer and nearer without once hitting upon the narrow and comparatively easy but maze-like track that was the regular way, and which was so familiar to the smuggling party that they ran along it and surmounted the various barriers with the greatest ease.
“Come, come, Tully, are you asleep?” cried the lieutenant impatiently; “push on.”
“That’s just what I am a doing of, your honour,” said the great fellow; “but they seem to have been a moving the rocks, and altering the place since we was here last, and its so plaguy dark, too, I don’t seem to hit it at all.”
“Give way, there, and let another man come to the front,” said the lieutenant.
Tom Tully did give way, and another and another tried, but made worse of it, for the big fellow did blunder on somehow, no matter what obstacles presented themselves; and at last, quite in despair, just as the sounds in front were dying right away, almost the last man being up the cliff, the great sailor clambered over a huge block of rock and uttered a shout of joy.
“Here’s the place, your honour, here’s the place!” he shouted, and the lieutenant and the men scrambled to his side.
“Well,” cried the lieutenant, “what have you found? Where are we?”
“We’re here, your honour,” cried Tom Tully eagerly. “We’re all right. Oh lor’, look out! what’s that ’ere?”
For just at that moment there was the whizz made by a running out rope, a rushing sound, a heavy body came plump on Tom Tully’s shoulders, and he was dashed to the ground.