“Er-her! Going to school! Yer!”
Vince, who had some books under his arm, felt a peculiar twitching in the nerves, as he turned sharply upon the heavy-looking lad who had spoken the above words, with the prologue and epilogue formed of jeering laughs, which sounded something like the combinations placed there to represent them.
The speaker was the son of the Jemmy Carnach who was, as the Doctor said, a martyr to indigestion—a refined way of expressing his intense devotion to lobsters, the red armour of which molluscs could be seen scattered in every direction about his cottage door, and at the foot of the cliff beyond.
As Jemmy Carnach had thought proper to keep up family names in old-fashioned style, he had had his son christened James, like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather—which was as far as Carnach could trace. The result was a little confusing, the Crag island not being big enough for two Jemmy Carnachs. The fishermen, however, got over the difficulty by always calling the father Jemmy and his son Young ’un; but this did not suit Vince and Mike, with whom there had always been a feud, the fisherman’s lad having constantly displayed an intense hatred, in his plebeian way, for the young representatives of the patricians on the isle. The manners in which he had shown this, from very early times, were many; and had taken the forms of watching till the companions were below cliffs, and then stealing to the top and dislodging stones, that they might roll down upon their heads; filling his pockets with the thin, sharply ground, flat oyster-shells to be found among the beach pebbles—a peculiarly cutting kind of weapon—and at every opportunity sending them skimming at one or other of the lads; making holes in their boat, when they had one—being strongly suspected of cutting two adrift, so that they were swept away, and never heard of again; and in divers other ways showing his dislike or hatred—displaying an animus which had become intensified since Mike had called in Vince’s help to put a stop to raids and forays upon the old manor orchard when the apples, pears and plums were getting ripe, the result being a good beating with tough oak saplings.
Not that this stopped the plundering incursions, for Carnach junior told the two lads, and probably believed, as an inhabitant of the island, that he had as good a right to the fruit as they.
Of course the many assaults and insults dealt out by Carnach junior—for he was prolific in unpleasant words and jeers, whenever the companions came within hearing—had results in the shape of reprisals. Vince was not going to see Mike Ladelle’s ear bleeding from a cut produced by a forcibly propelled oyster-shell, without making an attack upon the young human catapult; and Mike’s wrath naturally boiled over upon seeing a piece of rock pushed off the edge of the cliff, and fall within a foot of where Vince was lying on the sand at the foot. But the engagements which followed seemed to do no good, for Carnach junior was so extremely English that he never seemed to realise that he had been thrashed till he had lain down with his eyes so swollen up that there was hardly room for the tears to squeeze themselves out, and his lips so disfigured that his howls generally escaped through his nose.
“I never saw such a fellow,” Vince used to say: “if you only slap his face, it swells up horribly.”
“And it’s of no use to lick him, it doesn’t do any good,” added Mike. “Why, I must have thrashed him a hundred times, and you too.”
This was a remark which showed that either Mr Deane’s instructions in the art of calculation were faulty, or Mike’s mental capacity inadequate for acquiring correctness of application.
Still there must have been some truth in Mike’s words, for Vince, who was a great stickler for truthfulness, merely said:
“Ah! we have given it to him pretty often.”
Vince and Mike did not take to Young ’un or Youngster, as a sobriquet for Carnach junior, and consequently they invented quite a variety of names, which were chosen, not for the purpose of distinguishing the fat, flat-faced, rather pig-eyed youth from other people, but it must be owned for annoyance, and by way of retaliation for endless insults.
“You see, we must do something,” said Mike.
“Of course,” agreed Vince; “and I’m tired of making myself hot and knocking my knuckles about against his stupid head; and besides, it seems so blackguardly, as a doctor’s son, to be fighting a chap like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mike thoughtfully: “I shall be a Sir some day, I suppose.”
“What a game!” chuckled Vince—“Sir Michael Ladelle!”
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Mike; “but, as I was saying, if we don’t lick him every now and then there’ll be no bearing it. He’ll get worse and worse.”
So it was to show their contempt for the young lout that they invented names for him—weakly, perhaps, but very boylike—and for a time he was James the Second, but the lad seemed rather to approve of that; and it was soon changed for Barnacle, which had the opposite effect, and two fights down in a sandy cave resulted, at intervals of a week, one with each of his enemies, after which the Barnacle lay down as usual, and cried into the sand, which acted, Vince said, like blotting paper.
Tar-pot, suggested by a begrimed appearance, lasted for months, and was succeeded by Doughy, and this again by Puffy, consequent upon the lad’s head having so peculiar a tendency to what home-made bread makers call “rise,” and as there was no baker on Cormorant Crag the term was familiar enough.
A whole string of forgotten names followed, but none of them stuck, for they did not irritate Carnach junior; but the right one in the boys’ eyes was found at last, upon a very hot day, following one upon which Vince and Mike had been prawning with stick and net among the rock pools under the cliffs,—and prawning under difficulties. For as they climbed along over, or waded amongst the fallen rocks detached from the towering heights above, Carnach junior, who had watched them descend, furnished himself with a creel full of heavy pebbles, and, making his way to the top of the cliffs, kept abreast and carefully out of sight, so as to annoy his natural enemies from time to time by dropping a stone into, or as near as he could manage to the little pool they were about to fish.
Words, addressed apparently to space, though really to the invisible foe, were vain, and the boys fished on; but they did not take home many prawns for Mrs Burnet to have cooked for their tea.
The very next day, though, they had their revenge, for they came upon the lad toiling homeward, shouldering a couple of heavy oars, a boat mast and yard, and the lug-sail rolled round them, and lashed so as to form a big bundle, as much as he could carry; and, consequent upon his scarlet face, Vince saluted him with:
“Hullo, Lobster!”
That name went like an arrow to the mark, and pierced right through the armour of dense stupidity in which the boy was clad. Lobster! That fitted with his father’s weakness and the jeering remarks he had often heard made by neighbours; and ever after the name stuck, and irritated him whenever it was used.
It was used on the morning when Vince was thinking deeply of the discovery of the previous day, and going over to Sir Francis Ladelle’s for his lessons with Mike. As we have said, he was saluted with coarse, jeering laughter, and the contemptuous utterance of the words “Going to school?”
Being excited, Vince turned sharply upon the great hulking lad, and his eyes began to blaze war, but with a laugh he only fell back on the nickname.
“Hullo, Lobster!” he cried: “that you?” and went on.
Carnach junior doubled his fists, and looked as if he were going to attack; but Vince, strong in the consciousness that he could at any time thrash the great lad, walked on with his books, heedless of the fact that he was followed at a distance, for his head was full of kegs and bales neatly done up in canvas, standing in good-sized stacks.
“I wonder how many years it has been there,” he kept on saying to himself; and he was still wondering when he reached the old manor gates, went into the study, and there found Mike and their tutor waiting.
Both lads tried very hard to keep their discovery out of their minds that morning, but tried in vain. There it was constantly, and translated itself into Latin, conjugated and declined itself, and then became compound algebraic equations, with both.
Mr Deane bore all very patiently, though, and a reproachful word or two about inattention and condensation of thought upon study was all that escaped him.
At last, to Vince’s horror, things came to a kind of climax, for Mike suddenly looked across the table at the tutor, and said quickly:—
“I say, Mr Deane!”
The tutor looked up at once.
“I want to ask you a question in—in—something—”
“Mathematics?” suggested the tutor.
“N–no,” said Mike: “I think it must be in law or social economy. I don’t know, though, what you would call it.”
“Well: let me hear.”
“Suppose anybody discovered a great store of smuggled goods, hidden in a—some place. Whom would it belong to?”
“To the people who put it there, of course.” Vince’s eyes almost blazed as he turned them upon the questioner.
“Yes,” continued Mike; “but suppose there were no people left who put it there, and they had all died, perhaps a hundred years ago?”
“Oh, then,” said the tutor thoughtfully, “I should think it would belong to the people upon whose ground it was discovered,—or no: I fancy it would be what is called ‘treasure trove,’ and go to the crown.”
“Crown—crown? What, to a public-house?”
“No, no, my dear boy: to the king.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mike thoughtfully. “Is that all?”
“Yes, sir; that’s all.”
“Well, then, wasn’t it rather a foolish question to ask, just in the middle of our morning’s work? There, pray go on: we are losing a great deal of time.”
The boys tried to get on; but they did not, for Mike was conscious of being kicked twice, and Vince was making up a tremendous verbal attack upon his fellow-student for letting out the discovery they had made.
It came to words as soon as the lessons were over, and Mike took his cap to accompany Vince part of the way home, and make their plans for the afternoon.
“I couldn’t help it—’pon my word I couldn’t,” cried Mike. “I felt like that classic chap, who was obliged to whisper secrets to the water, and that I must speak about that stuff there to somebody.”
“And now he’ll go and talk to your father about it, and our secret place will be at an end. Why, we might have kept it all quiet for years!”
“So we can now. I put it so that old Deane shouldn’t understand. I say, if he’s right we can’t claim all that stuff: it’ll belong to the king.”
“I suppose so,” said Vince.
“Never mind: we’ll keep it till he wants it. Hullo! what’s old Lobster doing there?”
Vince turned in the direction pointed out; and, sure enough, there was Carnach junior sunning himself on a block of granite, which just peeped up through the grass.
“Got nothing to do, I suppose,” said Vince. “I saw him when I was coming. But never mind him. And I say, don’t, pray don’t be so stupid again.”
“All right. I’ll try not to be, if it was stupid,” said Mike. “Well, how about this afternoon?”
“I’ll come and meet you at the old place, about half-past two.”
This was agreed to; and, full of anticipations about the examination of the farther cave, they parted, leaving Carnach junior apparently fast asleep upon the grey stone.
Just as Vince reached home he came upon Daygo, who gave him a nod; and the lad flushed as he thought triumphantly of the discoveries they had made, in the face of the old fisherman’s superstitious warnings of terrible dangers.
“Morn’—or art’noon, young gen’leman,” said Daygo, by way of salutation. “Lookye here: I’m going out ’sart’noon to take up my pots and nets, and if you and young squire likes to come, I’ll take you for a sail.”
“Where will you take us?” said Vince eagerly.
“Oh, round and about, and in and out among the rocks.”
“Will you sail right away round by the Black Scraw?”
“No, I just won’t,” growled the old man fiercely. “What do you want to go round about the Scraw for?”
“To see what it’s like, and find some of the terrible currents and things you talked about, Joe.”
“Lookye here, my lad,” growled the old fellow, “as I told you boys afore, I want to live as long as I can, and not come to no end, with the boat bottom uppards and me sucked down by things in the horrid whirlypools out there. Why, what would your mars and pars say to me if I took you into dangers ’orrible and full o’ woe? Nay, nay, I arn’t a young harem-scarem-brained chap, and I shan’t do it: my boat’s too good. So look here, if you two likes to come for a bit o’ fishing, I’ll take the big scrarping spoon with me, and go to a bank I know after we’ve done, and try and fish you up a basket o’ oysters. If you comes you comes, but if you arn’t wi’ me soon arter dinner, why, I hystes my sail and goes by myself. So what do you say?”
“I can’t say anything without seeing Mike Ladelle first. Look here: I’m going to him this afternoon, and if he’ll come, we’ll run over to the little dock where your boat is.”
“Very good, young gen’leman; on’y mind this: if you arn’t there punctooal, as folks call it, I’m off without you, and you’ll be sorry, for there’s a powerful lot o’ fish about these last few days.”
“Don’t wait if we’re not there directly after dinner,” said Vince.
Old Daygo chuckled.
“You needn’t be afraid of that, my lad,” he said; “and mind this,—if you’re late and I’ve started, I’m not coming back, so mind that. D’reckly you’ve had your bit o’ dinner, or I’m gone.”
“All right, Joe,” cried Vince; and he hurried in, feeling pulled both ways, for he could not help nursing the idea that, once out a short distance at sea, he might be able to coax the old fisherman into taking them as close as he could safely get to the ridge of rocks which hid the little rounded cove from passers-by.
Punctual to the time the lads met; and Vince, who was full of old Daygo’s proposal, laid it before his companion.
“What!” cried Mike; “go with him, when we’ve got such an adventure before us! You wouldn’t do that!”
“Why not? We can go to the caverns any day, and this will be a chance to sail round and see what the outside of the Scraw is like.”
“Did he say he would take us there?” cried Mike eagerly.
“No; but we’d persuade him.”
“Persuade him!” cried Mike, bursting into a mocking laugh. “Persuade old Joe! Why, you do know better than that.”
Vince frowned and said nothing, for he did know better, and felt that he had let his desires get the better of his judgment.
“Very well,” he said. “You’d rather not go?”
“Well, wouldn’t you rather go and have a look at those old things than see a few fish in a net?”
“Yes, if Joe wouldn’t sail round where I want to go.”
“Well, he wouldn’t, and you know it. Why, this is a chance. You felt sure he was watching us; and he’ll be off to sea, where he can’t.”
“Off, then!” said Vince; and, full of anticipations, they made for the oak wood, and were soon at the opening, into which, without pausing to look round, they leaped down quickly; and, after lighting the lanthorn, descended as rapidly as they could to the rope.
The place looked as beautiful as ever, as they slid down to the sandy floor of the inner cavern, and more than ever like the interior of some large shell; while the outer cave, with its roof alive, as it were, with the interlacing wavings and quiverings reflected from the sunny surface of the sea, would have made any one pause.
But the boys had no eyes for anything that day but the wonders of their new discovery; and, quickly getting to work with the rope and grapnel, Mike threw it up.
“Got a bite!” he cried. “No: he’s off.”
For, after catching, the grapnel gave way again.
The second time he missed; but the third he got another hold, and told Vince to climb first.
This he did, and in a very few seconds he was two-thirds of the way up, when with a scrape the grapnel gave way, and Vince came down flat on his back in the sand, with the iron upon him.
“Hurt?” cried Mike.
“Not much,” said Vince, rubbing one leg, which the iron had struck. “Try again.”
Mike threw once more, got a hold, and, to prove it, began to climb, and reached the opening safely. Then the lanthorn was drawn up, Vince followed, and this time taking the rope with them, they went along through the peculiar zigzag free from doubts and dread of dangers unknown, so that they could think only of the various difficulties of the climb.
Upon nearing the open end of the fissure they kept back the lanthorn and advanced to peer down cautiously; but, save a few pigeons flying in and out, there was no sign of life. Everything was just as they had seen it before; the footprints all over the trampled sand, which had probably been made ages before, so they thought; the boat mast, sails, and ropes, were at the side, and in the shadowy upper part there were the stacks of bales and the carefully piled-up kegs.
“Well?” said Mike; “shall we go down?”
“Of course.”
“But suppose there is any one there?”
“We’ll soon see,” said Vince; and, placing his hands to his mouth, he gave vent to a hullo! whose effect was startling; for it echoed and vibrated about the great cave, startling a flock of pigeons, which darted out with a loud whistling of wings.
Then the sound came back in a peculiar way from the barrier of rocks across the bay, for there was evidently a fluttering there among the sea-birds, some of which darted down into sight just outside the mouth of the cave.
“Nobody at home,” said Vince merrily, “and hasn’t been lately. Now then: may I go first?”
“If you like,” said Mike; and, after securely hooking the grapnel in a crevice, Vince threw the rope outward from him into the cavern, where it touched the sand some twenty feet below.
“There we are!” he said; “that’s easier than throwing it up.”
“Yes, but look sharp down. I want to have a good look.”
“After me,” said Vince mockingly; and, taking the rope, he lowered himself out of the crack, twisted his leg round the hemp, and quickly dropped hand over hand to the flooring of the cave.
“Ever so much bigger than ours, Mike,” he shouted, and then turned sharply round, for a voice said plainly:
“Ours, Mike.”
“I say, what an echo!”
“Echo!” came back.
“Well, I said so.”
“Said so.”
“Hurrah!” cried Mike, as he too reached the floor, and a soft “Rah” came from the other side.
Their hearts beat fast with excitement as they stood in the middle of the cave, looking round, and pretty well taking in at a glance that it was far larger and more commodious than the one they had just quitted, especially for the purpose of a store, having the hinder part raised, as it were, into a dais or platform, upon which the little barrels and packages were stored; while behind these they were able now to see through the transparent gloom that the place ran back for some distance till flooring and roof met. Instead, too, of the entrance being barred by ridge after ridge of rocks, there was only one some little distance beyond the mouth to act as a breakwater, leaving ample room for a boat to come round at either end and be beached upon the soft sand, which lay perfectly smooth where the water slightly rose and fell.
There was a fine view of the rounded cove from here; and the boys felt that if they were to wade out they would be able to get beyond the archway sufficiently to look up the overhanging face of the cliff; but, with the recollection of the quicksands at the mouth of their own cave, neither of them felt disposed to venture, and they were about to turn back and examine the goods stored behind them, when on their right there was a loud rush and a heavy splash, and Mike seized his companion’s arm just as a head rose out of the water, and for a moment it seemed as if a boy was watching them, the face being only faintly seen, from the head being turned away from the light.
“Seal,” said Vince quietly. “Shows how long it is since any one was here, for things like that to be about!”
He caught up a couple of handfuls of sand and flung it toward the creature, which dived directly, but rose again to watch them, its curiosity being greatly excited.
“Won’t come ashore and attack us, will it?” said Mike.
“No fear. I daresay it would bite, though, if we had it in a corner, and it couldn’t pass. Look! one must have come ashore there.”
He pointed to a smooth channel in the sand, where one of the curious animals had dragged itself a few feet from the water, going back by another way, and so forming a kind of half-moon.
“Let it watch us: it don’t matter,” said Mike. “Come and have a look at the packages.”
They walked up to the pile of kegs, and Vince took one down, to find that it was peculiar in shape and hooped with wood.
“Empty,” he said; “it’s light as can be.”
“Try another,” said Mike; and Vince put the one he held down, and tried one after another—at least a dozen.
“The stuff has all run out or evaporated,” he said. “Hark here!”
He tapped the end of one with his knuckles, but, instead of giving forth a hollow sound, the top sounded dead and dull.
“They’re not empty,” he said, giving one a shake: “they must be packed full of something light. And I say, Mike, they look as if they couldn’t be many years old.”
“That’s because the cavern’s so clean and dry. Let’s look at the packages. I say, smell this one. There’s no mistake about it—cloves!”
Vince nodded, and they tried others, which gave out, some the same unmistakable odour, others those of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Further examination of some small, heavy, solid packets left little doubt in the lads’ minds that they were dealing with closely folded or rolled pieces of silk, and they ended their examination by trying to interpret the brands with which some of the packages were marked.
“One can’t be sure without opening them,” said Vince eagerly; “but I feel certain that these are silk, the other packages spice, and the kegs have got gloves and lace in them. There are two kinds.”
“Yes; some are larger than the others. Shall we open a few of them, to see if they’ve been destroyed by time?”
“No, not yet,” replied Vince thoughtfully. “Let’s go and have a look at that boat sail and the oars. Those oars ought to be old and worm-eaten—ready to tumble to pieces—and the sail-cloth like so much tinder!”
Mike nodded, and followed him rather unwillingly; for the keg nearest to his hand fascinated him, and he longed intensely to force out the head.
It was not many steps to where the boat gear stood and lay, and Vince began to haul it about after the first glance.
“Look here, Ladle!” he cried; “these things are not so very old. The canvas is as strong as can be, and it can’t be so many years since these oars were marked with a hot iron.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Mike, who did not like to give up his cherished ideas; “it’s because they’re so dry and safe here.”
“It isn’t,” said Vince impetuously; “and look here, at all these footmarks!”
“Well, what’s to prevent them from being just the same after a hundred years?”
“The wind,” cried Vince. “If those marks were old the sand would have drifted in and covered them over quite smooth, same as the floor was in our cave before we walked about it. Mike, all these things are quite new, and haven’t been put here long.”
“Nonsense! who could have put them?”
“I don’t know; but here they are, and if we don’t look out some one will come and catch us. This is a smugglers’ cave.”
“But there are no smugglers here. Who ever heard of smugglers at the Crag!”
“I never did; but I’m sure these are smuggled goods.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mike. “It seems very queer. The cave can’t be so dangerous to come to, if boats can land cargoes. Old Daygo’s all wrong, then?”
“Of course he is; so are all the people. Every one has told us that the Black Scraw was a terrible place, and looked as if they thought it was haunted by all kinds of sea goblins. Let’s get away.”
“Think we’d better?”
“Yes; I keep expecting to see a boat come round the corner into sight. I shouldn’t like to be here when they did come.”
“But it’s so disappointing!” cried Mike. “I thought we were going to have all this to ourselves.”
“I don’t think I did,” said Vince thoughtfully.
“But I don’t believe you’re right, Cinder. These things can’t have been put here in our time, or we must have known of it. See what a little place the Crag is.”
“Yes, it’s small enough, but the Scraw has always been as if it were far away, and people could come here and do what they liked.”
“But they wouldn’t be so stupid as to come here and leave things for nobody,” said Mike. “Is there anybody here who would want them?”
“No,” replied Vince; “but smugglers might make this a sort of storehouse, and some bring the things here from France and Holland and others come and fetch them away. There, come on, and let’s get up into the crack. I don’t feel safe. It has regularly spoiled our place, though, for whoever comes here must know of the other cave.”
“Well,” said Mike, as they stood by the rope, and he gazed longingly back at the rich store he was about to leave behind, “I’ll come; but I don’t believe you’re right.”
“You’ll soon see that I am, Ladle; for before long all these things will be taken away—perhaps by the time we come again.”
“If it’s as you say we shan’t be able to come again,” replied Mike rather dolefully; and then, in obedience to an impatient sign from his companion, he took hold of the rope and climbed slowly up, passing in at the opening, and being followed by Vince directly after.
Then the rope was drawn up and coiled, and both took a long and envious look at the cargo that had been landed there at some time or other, before making their way along the fissure to their own place.
“I don’t believe any one would do as we’ve done, and come along there,” said Mike, as soon as they were safely back. “Perhaps, if you’re right about that stuff being new, these smuggling people don’t, after all, know of this cave.”
“They must have seen it when they were going and coming in their boat, and would have been sure to land and come in.”
“Land where?” said Mike scornfully. “No boat could land here, and nobody could wade in, on account of the quicksands. But I’m right, Cinder. These things are awfully old, and they’ll be ours after all.”
“Very well: we shall see,” said Vince. “But I don’t feel disposed to stop here now. Let’s get back home.”
“Yes,” said Mike, with a sigh, “let’s get back home;” and, after setting up a fresh bit of candle, they started for the inner cave, ascended the slope, and made their way along the black passage to the spot where they put out and hid their lanthorn.
This done, with the caution taught by the desire to keep their hiding-place secret, Vince stepped softly on to the opening, and was about to pass along to the end, but he paused to peer out through the briars to see if all was right, and the next moment he stood there as if turned to stone. Mike crept up to him and touched his shoulder, feeling sure from his companion’s fixed attitude that something must be wrong.
The answer to his touch was the extension of Vince’s hand, and he pointed upward and toward the side of the deep rift.
Mike turned his head softly, and gazed in the indicated direction. For some moments he could see nothing for the briars and ferns; but at last he bent a trifle more forward, and his fists clenched, for there, upon one of the stones beside the entrance to their cave, with his hand shading his eyes, and staring upward apparently at the ridge, was Carnach junior.
“Spying after us,” said Mike to himself; “and he does not know that we are close to his feet.”
Certainly Lobster did not know how near the two boys were, and he soon proved it by coming closer, looking down, and then turning to reconnoitre in another direction.
Vince stared at Mike, and their eyes simultaneously said the same thing: “He must have been watching us, and seen us come in this direction.”
It was evident that he had soon lost the clue in following them, although, judging from circumstances, he must have tracked them close to where they were.
They recollected now that they had not exercised their regular caution—though, even if they had, it is very doubtful whether they would have detected a spy who crawled after them, for the cover was too thick—and a feeling of anger troubled both for allowing themselves to be outwitted by a lout they both held in utter contempt.
They stood watching their spy for nearly a quarter of an hour, and were able to judge from his actions that he had seen them disappear somewhere in this direction; and in profound ignorance in this game of hide and seek that he was having, Carnach scanned the high slope and the ridge, and the bottom where the stones lay so thickly again and again, ending by ensconcing himself behind one of them, after plucking some fern fronds, and putting them on the top of his cap to act as a kind of screen in case those he sought should come into sight somewhere overhead.
The two boys hardly dared stir, but at last, with his eyes fixed upon Carnach to see if he heard their movement, Vince pointed softly back into the dark passage, and Mike crept away without making the slightest sound. Then, as soon as he was satisfied of the coast being clear behind him, Vince began to back away till he felt it safe to turn, and followed his companion some fifty yards into the darkness, which now seemed to be quite a refuge to them.
“Where are you?” whispered Vince.
A low cough told him that he was not yet far enough; and, keeping one hand upon the wall, he followed until he felt himself touched.
“I say,” he whispered, “this is nice: smugglers at one end and that miserable Lobster at the other! What are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Mike dolefully. “He must have seen us go out of sight, and feels sure that we shall come back again, and he’ll wait till we do.”
“No, no; he’ll soon get tired.”
“Not he,” said Mike; “he’s just one of those stupid, heavy chaps who will sit or lie down and wait for us for a week.”
“But I want to get home. I’m growing hungry.”
“Let’s go back and fish, and light a fire and cook it.”
“What, for him to smell the frying? He would, as sure as could be. No; we must wait.”
“I say, Cinder,” whispered Mike, “what an unlucky day we are having! Everything seems to go wrong.”
“It’ll go worse still if you whisper so loud,” said Vince; “the sound runs along the walls here, and gets stronger, I believe, as it goes.”
“Well, I can’t help it; I feel so wild. I say, couldn’t we creep out without being seen, and get home?”
“Yes, when it’s dark; not before.”
“But that means waiting here for hours, and I feel as if I can’t settle to anything now. Let’s go back down to the cave. The smugglers can’t come to-day. It would be too bad.”
“Better wait here and watch till Lobster goes,” said Vince; but, yielding at last to his companion’s importunity, he was about to follow him back, when there was a loud rustling, a heavy thud, and then a dismal howl.
The Lobster had slipped and fallen into the rift while backing so as to get a better view of the ridge.
“Oh my! Oh my! Oh, mother! Oh, crikey! Oh my head—my head! Oh, my arm! Oh, it’s broke! And I’m bleeding! Won’t nobody come and help me?”
The above, uttered in a piteous, dismal wail, was too much for Vince’s feelings; and, pushing his companion aside, he was about to hurry to the lad’s help, but Mike seized him by the arm, and at the same moment they heard Carnach junior jump up and begin stamping about.
“Here, who did this?” he roared. “What fool’s been digging stone here and left this hole o’ purpose for any one to fall in? Wish he’d tumbled in himself, and broke his stoopid old head. Yah! Oh my, how it hurts!”
He stamped about in the hollow, and they heard him kick one of the stones with his heavy boots in his rage.
“Wish them two had tumbled in ’stead o’ me. Oh dear, oh! Here’s a mess I’m in! Making a great hole like this, and never leaving no stuff outside. Might ha’ been deep, and killed a chap. It aren’t broke through,” he grumbled, after a pause. “Wonder where they’ve got to. Oh dear! oh dear! what a crack on the head! That comes o’ going backwards. Yah!”
This last ejaculation was accompanied by the rattle of stones, as the great lad evidently kicked another piece that was in his way; and, feeling now that there was nothing serious in the fall, Vince gave Mike’s hand a squeeze as they stood listening and expecting every moment to hear the young fisherman say something in the way of surprise as he saw the dark hole going downward. But they listened in vain,—full of anxiety, though, for it was like a second blow to find that their secret place was becoming very plain, known as it evidently was to people at the sea entrance, and now from the landward side discovered by the greatest enemy they had.
Vince felt this so strongly that, in spite of the risk of being heard, he put his lips to Mike’s ear and whispered: “This spoils all.”
Mike responded in the same way: “I say, what’s he doing? Shall I go and see?”
“No, I will,” whispered back Vince.
“Take care.”
Vince’s answer was a squeeze of the hand. Then, going down upon all fours, he crept silently and slowly up the slope till he could see the lad, expecting to find him peering about the mouth of the passage, and trying to see whether they were there.
But nothing of the kind. There was the young fisherman seated upon a piece of stone, with the light shining down upon him through the brambles, busily tying his neckerchief round his head, making it into a bandage to cover a cut somewhere on the back, and tying it in front over his forehead. Then, picking up his cap, which lay beside him, he drew it on over the handkerchief, having most trouble to cover the knot, but succeeding at last.
Then he stood up and began to examine his hands, which appeared to be scratched and bleeding; and making Vince start and feel that he was seen, for the boy turned in the direction of the dark passage and cried viciously:
“All right, Doctor: I’ll let yer have it next time I ketches yer—and you too, old Squire. Oh my! how it smarts, though! Wonder wherever they got.”
Those last words came like a fillip to Vince’s spirits, for he felt now that there was nothing to mind, as he could not give the Lobster credit for knowing that they were close at hand and acting his part so as to make believe he was in ignorance.
Just then a light touch told Vince that Mike had crawled silently up behind him; and they both crouched there now, in the darkness, watching the lad, till he suddenly seemed to become impressed by the fact that the hole went right in underground, and he stood staring in till the two boys felt that he was looking at them and seeing them plainly.
“Goes right in,” he said aloud—“ever so far, p’r’aps. Well, let it. I aren’t going to get myself all wet and muddy. Oh! how it do hurt!”
He raised his hand to the back of his head; but he remained staring in, the boys hardly daring to breathe, as each doubled his fists, and prepared for an encounter.
“He must see us,” thought Vince; and when he felt most certain, his heart gave a throb of satisfaction, for a slight movement on the lad’s part brought his face more into the light, and Vince could see that there was a vague look in the lad’s eyes, as if he were thinking; and then he turned slowly round and began to look about for the best way out of the trap into which he had fallen, proceeding to drag at the brambles in one spot where an exit seemed easiest; but a sharp prick or two made him snatch away his hands with an angry ejaculation, and, looking about again, he noticed that there was a simpler way out at the end—that used by the two boys for returning, their entries always now being by a sudden jump down through the pendent green shoots.
“I’ll let ’em have it for this when I do find ’em,” grumbled the lad. “Must ha’ gone home’ards some other way.” And they could hear him muttering and grumbling as the twigs and strands rustled where he passed, till they knew that he was well outside, for they heard him give a stamp on one of the blocks of granite.
Vince rose silently.
“Come on,” he said,—“the brambles will screen us;” and he crept forward carefully, till he was close to the hole, and then cautiously advanced his head, to peer upward, raising his hand warningly to Mike, who was just behind. For the lad had not gone away, but was standing at the edge with his back to them, and his eyes sheltered, gazing upward at the ridge.
He remained there watching intently for quite ten minutes without moving, and then went off out of sight, the only guide to the direction he took being the rustling of displaced bushes and the musical clink of a loose block of stone moved by his passing feet.
They did not trust themselves to speak for some time after the last faint sound had died out, and then they began to discuss the question whether they could escape unseen.
“Must chance it,” said Vince at last. “I’m tired of staying here. Come on.”
Mike was evidently quite as weary, for he showed his agreement by following at once. They were both cautious in the extreme, going out on all fours, and then crawling in and out between the blocks of granite—a pleasant enough task so long as the growth between was whortleberry, heath or ferns, but as for the most part it was the long thorny strands of the blackberry, the travelling became more and more painful. At last, after progressing in this way some three hundred yards, a horribly thorny strand hooked Vince in the leg of his trousers and skin as well, with the result that he started to his feet angrily.
“Here, I’ve had enough of this,” he cried. “Hang the old cavern! it isn’t worth the trouble.”
“Hist!” exclaimed Mike, seizing him by the leg and pointing straight away to their right.
Vince dropped forward, with his arms stretched over the nearest block of grey stone, staring at the object pointed out, and seeing Carnach junior right up close to the highest part of the ridge.
For a few moments he could not be sure whether the young fisherman was looking in their direction, or away; from them; but a movement on the part of the lad set this at rest directly after, and they saw him go slowly on, helping himself by clutching at the saw-like row of jagged stones which divided one slope from the other; and, satisfied that they had not been seen, they recommenced their crawl, till they reached the cover of a pile of the loose rocks, which were pretty well covered with growth.
Placing this between them and the lad, now far away upon the ridge, they made for the cover of the stunted oaks, and there breathed freely.
Mike was the first to speak, and he began just as if his companion had the moment before made his impatient remarks about the adventure not being worth the trouble.
“I don’t know,” he said. “This is the first time we have had any bother, and I don’t see why we should give such a jolly place up just because that thick-headed old Lobster came watching us.”
“Ah! but that isn’t all,” said Vince. “We can’t go down there any more, on account of the smugglers.”
“But I don’t believe you are right. Those things looked new, I know; but they must be as old as old, for if any smuggling had been going on here we must have seen or heard of it.”
“But the sand—the sand! Those footprints must be new.”
“I don’t see it,” said Mike, rather stubbornly. “Because the wind blows into one cave and drifts the light sand all over, that’s no reason why it should do so in another cave, which may be regularly sheltered.”
“It’s no good to argue with you,” said Vince sourly, for he was weary and put out. “You can have it your own way, only I tell you this,—smugglers don’t stand any nonsense; they’ll shoot at any one who tries to stop them or find out where they land cargoes, and we should look nice if they suddenly came upon us.”
“People don’t come suddenly on you when they’ve been dead a hundred years,” replied Mike. “Now, just look here: we must do it as if we took no interest in it, but you ask your father to-night, and I’ll ask mine, whether they ever heard of there being smugglers in the Crag.”
“Well, I will,” said Vince; “but you must do the same.”
“Of course I shall; and we shall find that it must have been an enormous time ago, and that we’ve as good a right to those things as anybody, for they were brought there and then forgotten.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Vince; and that night, at their late tea, he started the subject with—
“Have you ever known any smugglers to be here, father?”
“Smugglers? No, Vince,” said the Doctor, smiling. “There’s nothing ever made here that would carry duty, for people to want to get it into England free; and on the other hand, it would not be of any use for smugglers to bring anything here, for there is no one to buy smuggled goods, such as they might bring from Holland or France.”
Somewhere about the same time Mike approached the question at the old manor house.
“Smugglers, Mike?” said Sir Francis. “Oh no, my boy, we’ve never had smugglers here. The place is too dangerous, and perfectly useless to such people, for they land contraband goods only where they can find a good market for them. Now, if you had said pirates, I could tell you something different.”
“Were there ever pirates, then?” cried Mike excitedly. Sir Francis laughed.
“It’s strange,” he said, “what interest boys always have taken in smugglers, pirates, and brigand stories. Why, you’re as bad as the rest, boy! But there, I’m running away from your question. Yes, I believe there were pirates here at one time; but it is over a hundred years ago, and they were a crew of low, ruffianly scoundrels, who got possession of a vessel and lived for years by plundering the outward and inward bound merchantmen; and being on a fast sailing vessel they always escaped by running for shore, and from their knowledge of the rocks and currents they could sail where strangers dared not follow. But the whole history has been dressed up tremendously, and made romantic. It was said that they brought supernatural aid to bear in navigating their craft, and that they would sail right up to the Crag and then become invisible: people would see them one minute and they’d be gone the next.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Mike, and his father smiled. “All superstitious nonsense, of course, my boy; but the ignorant people get hold of these traditions and believe in them. Mr Deane here will soon tell you how in history molehills got stretched up into mountains.”
“Or snowballs grew into historical avalanches,” said the tutor.
“Exactly,” said Sir Francis. “I fancy, Mike, that those people may have had a nest here. One of the men—Carnach I think it was—told me that they had a cave, and only sailed from it at night.”
“Did he know where it was, father?”
“I remember now he said it was ‘sumwers about,’ which is rather vague; but still there are several holes on the west coast which might have been made habitable; though I have never seen such a cave on the island, nor even one that could have been serviceable as a store.”
Mike winced a little, for he fully expected to hear his father say “Have you?” But then Sir Francis went off to another subject, and the boy nursed up his ideas ready for his next meeting with Vince, which was on the following day.
“Pirates, Cinder!”
Mike was down at the gate waiting for Vince to come with his roll of exercises, ready for the morning’s work; and as soon as Vince came within earshot he fired off the word that he had been dreaming about all night—
“Pirates!”
“Where?” cried Vince, looking sharply round and out to sea.
“Get out! You know what I mean. It’s pirates, not smugglers.”
Vince stared at him for a few moments, and then burst out laughing.
“Well, you’ve got it this time,” he said, “if you mean the cave.”
“And I do,” said Mike quietly. “Pirates; and that’s some of the plunder and booty they took from a ship over a hundred years ago. So now whose will it be?”
“Stop a moment,” said Vince, looking preternaturally serious; “let’s be certain who it was. Let me see: there was Paul Jones, and Blackbeard, and the Buccaneers. What do you say to its having belonged to the Buccaneers?”
“Ah! you may laugh, but my father said last night that he never knew of smugglers being on the island, but that there was a story about pirates having a cave here, and going out in their vessel to plunder the outward and homeward bound merchantmen.”
“Humph!” grunted Vince, with a sceptical look.
“And look here: he said the people had a superstitious belief that the pirates used to sail towards the Crag, and then disappear.”
“What!” cried Vince eagerly.
“Disappear quite suddenly.”
“Behind that line of rocks when they sailed into the little cove, Mike?”
“To be sure. Now, then, why don’t you laugh and sneer?” cried Mike. “Does it sound so stupid now?”
“I don’t know,” said Vince, beginning to be dubious again.
“Then I do,” said Mike warmly. “I never knew of such an unbelieving sort of chap as you are. There’s the cave, and there’s all the plunder in it—just such stuff as the pirates would get out of a ship homeward bound.”
“Yes; but why did they leave it there and not sell it?”
“I know,” cried Mike excitedly: “because one day they went out and attacked a ship so as to plunder her, and found out all at once that it was a man-o’-war; and as soon as the man-o’-war’s captain found out that they were pirates he had all the guns double-shotted, and gave the order to fire a broadside, and sank the pirate.”
“That’s the way,” said Vince, laughing; “and the pirate captain ran up the rigging with a hammer and some tin-tacks, and nailed the colours to the mast.”
“Ah! you may laugh,” said Mike. “You’re disappointed because you didn’t find it out first. There it all is, as plain as plain. The people used to think the pirate vessel disappeared, because she sailed out of sight and used to lie in hiding till they wanted to attack another ship. Well, I shan’t say any more about it if you are going to laugh, but there’s the treasure in the cave: we found it; and half’s yours and half’s mine. Now then, what did the Doctor say?”
“That he never heard of any smugglers ever being here.”
“There!” cried Mike triumphantly.
“He said there was no one here to buy smuggled goods, and nothing here to smuggle.”
“Of course not: the other’s the idea, and I vote we go down and properly examine our treasure after dinner.”
“That is curious,” said Vince, “about the tradition of the pirate ship disappearing, because it proves that there is a channel big enough for a small ship.”
“Oh you’re beginning to believe, then, now?”
“No, I’m not; for I feel sure those are smuggled goods. But, Mike, we must get old Joe to lend us his boat, and sail along there ourselves.”
“He wouldn’t lend it to us.”
“Then I know what we’ll do—”
“Now, gentlemen, I’m waiting,” said a familiar voice.
“All right, Mr Deane; we’re coming,” cried Mike. “Now, Cinder, what shall we do?”
“Go and ask the old chap to lend us his boat, and if he won’t we’ll come back disappointed.”
“And what’s the good of that?”
“Slip round another way and borrow her. You and I could manage her, couldn’t we?”
“Why, I could manage her myself.”
“Of course you could. We shouldn’t hurt the boat; and we could feel our way in, and see from outside whether it has been a smugglers’ place or no.”
“That’s it,” said Mike; and five minutes after they were working hard with the tutor, as if they had nothing on their minds.
That afternoon, with the sun brighter and the sea and sky looking bluer than ever, the two boys were off for their afternoon expedition, making their way along a rough lane that was very beautiful and very bad. It was bad from the point of view that the fisher-farmers of the island looked upon it as a sort of “no man’s land,” and never favoured it by spreading donkey-cart loads of pebbles or broken granite to fill up the holes trodden in by cows in wet weather, or the tracks made by carts laden with vraick, the sea-weed they collected for manuring their potato and parsnep fields. Consequently, in bad seasons Vince said it was “squishy,” and Mike that it was “squashy.” But in fine summer weather it was beautiful indeed, for Nature seemed to have made up her mind that it was nonsense for a roadway to be made there to act like a scar on the landscape, just to accommodate a few people who wanted to bring up sea-weed, sand and fish from the shore, and harness donkeys to rough carts to do the work when they might more easily have done it themselves by making a rough windlass, such as they had over their wells, and dragging all they wanted directly up the cliff face to the top—a plan which would have done in fifty yards what the donkeys had to go round nearly half a mile to achieve. As to the road being kept up solely because old Joe Daygo had a cottage down in a notch in the granite walls overlooking the sea, that seemed to be absurd.
Consequently, Nature went to work regularly every year to do away with that road, and she set all her children to help. The gorse bushes hung from the sides, thrusting out their prickly sprays covered with orange and yellow blossom and encroached all they could; the heather sprouted and slowly crept here and there, in company with a lovely fine grass that would have made a lover of smooth lawns frantic with envy. Over the heath, ling, and furze the dodder wreathed and wove its delicate tangle, and the thrift raised its lavender heads to nod with satisfaction at the way in which all the plants and wild shrubs were doing their work.
But there were two things which left all the rest behind, and did by far the most to bring the crooked lane back to beauty. They laughed at the two brionies, black and white; for though they made a glorious show, with their convolvulus and deeply cut leaves, and sent forth strands of wonderfully rapid growth to run over the sturdy blackthorn, which produced such splendid sloes, and then hung down festoons of glossy leaves into the lane that quite put the more slow-growing ivy to the blush, still these lovely trailing festoons died back in the winter, while their rival growths kept on. These rivals were the brambles and the wild clematis, which grew and grew in friendly emulation, and ended, in spite of many rebuffs from trampling feet, by shaking hands across the road; the clematis, not content with that, going farther and embracing and tangling themselves up till rudely broken apart by the passers-by—notably by old Joe Daygo, when he went that way home to his solitary cot, instead of walking, out of sheer awkwardness, across somebody’s field or patch.
“I wish father would buy old Joe’s cottage,” said Vince, as the two lads trudged down the lane that afternoon. “We could make it such a lovely place.”
“Yours is right enough,” said Mike, pausing in whistling an old French air a good deal affected by the people.
“Oh yes, and I shouldn’t like to leave it; but I always like this bit down here; the lane is so jolly. Look.”
“What at?”
“Two swallow-tail butterflies. Let’s have them.”
“Shan’t. I’m not going to make myself red-hot running after them if we’re going out in the boat. Besides, we haven’t got any of your father’s pill boxes to put ’em in. I say, how the things do grow down here! Look at that fern and the bracken.”
“Yes, and the old foxgloves. They are a height!”
“It’s so warm and sheltered. What’s that?”
They stopped, for there was a quick, rushing sound amongst the herbage.
“Snake,” said Vince, after a pause; “and we’ve no sticks to hunt him out.”
“Down his hole by this time. Come along. What a fellow you are! You always want to be off after something. Why can’t you keep to one purpose at a time, as Mr Deane says, so as to master it?”
“Hark at old Ladle beginning to lay down the law,” cried Vince merrily. “You’re just as bad. I say, shall we stop about here this afternoon? Look at that gull—how it seems to watch us.”
Vince threw back his head to gaze up at the beautiful, white-breasted bird, which was keeping them company, and sailing about here and there some twenty feet overhead, watching them all the time.
“Bother the gull!” said Mike. “Let’s go on and speak to old Joe about the boat.”
“Oh, very well,” said Vince; “but what’s the hurry? I hate racing along when there’s so much to see. Here, Ladle: look—look! My! what a chance for a seine!”
They had just reached a turn in the lane where they could look down at an embayed portion of the deep blue sea, in which a wide patch was sparkling and flashing in the most dazzling way, and literally seeming to boil as if some large volcanic fire were at work below.
“Mackerel,” said Vince.
“Pilchards,” said Mike.
“’Taint: it’s too soon. It’s mackerel. What a chance!”
“Have it your own way,” said Mike; “but a nice chance! Ha! ha! Why, if they surrounded them they’d get their nets all torn to pieces. There’s sand all round, but the middle there is full of the worst rocks off the coast.”
“Yes I s’pose it would be rocky,” said Vince thoughtfully. “Well, do come on.”
Mike turned upon him to resent the order, feeling that it was nice to be accused of delaying their progress; but the mirthful look on Vince’s face disarmed him, and after a skirmish and spar to get rid of a little of their effervescing vitality, consequent upon the stimulating effects of the glorious air, they broke into a trot and went past a large patch where a man was busy hoeing away at a grand crop of carrots, destined for winter food for his soft-eyed cow, tethered close at hand; and soon after came in sight of a massive, rough chimney-stack of granite, apparently level with the road. But this latter made a sudden dip down into a steep hollow, and there stood the comfortable-looking cottage inhabited by the old fisherman, with its goodly garden, cow-shed, and many little additions which betokened prosperity.
The door was open, and, quite at home, the boys walked into the half parlour, half kitchen-like place, with its walls decorated with fishing-gear and dried fish, with various shells, spars, and minerals, which the old man called his “koorosseties,” some native, but many obtained from men who had made long voyages in ocean-going ships.
“Hi, Joe! where are you?” cried Vince, hammering on the open door. But there was not a sound to be heard; and they came out, climbed up the rocks at the back till they were above the chimneys, and looked round, expecting to find that he had gone off to the granite-hedged field where he tethered his cows.
But the two sleek creatures were browsing away, and no one was in sight but the man, some hundred yards or so distant, hoeing the weeds from his carrots.
“How tiresome!” said Mike.
“All right: he’ll know,” cried Vince; and they trotted to where the man was very slowly freeing his vegetables from intruders.
“Hi, Jemmy Carnach!” shouted the lad, “seen Joe Daygo?”
“Ay,—hour ago,” said the man, straightening himself slowly, and passing one hand behind him to begin softly rubbing his back: “he’ve gone yonder to do somethin’ to his boat.”
“Come on, Mike; we’ll cut straight across here and catch him. It’s much nearer.”
“Going fishing, young sirs?” said the man.
“Yes, and for a sail.”
“If you see that boy o’ mine—”
“What, Lobster?” said Vince.
“Eh? lobster?” said the man eagerly. “Ay, if you ketch any, you might leave us one as you come back. I arn’t seen one for a week.”
“All right,” said Mike, after a merry glance at Vince; “if we get any we’ll leave you one.”
“Ay, do, lad,” said the man. “Good for them as has to tyle all day. If you see my boy, tell him I want him. I’m not going to do all the work and him nothing.”
“We’ll tell him,” said Vince.
“And if he says he won’t come, you lick him, mind. Don’t you be feared.”
The boys were pretty well out of hearing when the last words were spoken; and after a sharp trot, along by the side of the cliff where it was possible, they came to the rugged descent leading to old Daygo’s tiny port.
This time they were not disappointed, for they caught sight of the old man’s cap as he stood below with his back to them, driving a wooden peg into a crack in the rock with a rounded boulder, ready for hanging up some article of fishing-gear.
“You ask him,” said Mike: “he likes you best.”
“All right,” said Vince; and, putting his hands to his lips, he shouted out, “Daygo, ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” cried the old man, without turning his head; and he kept on thumping away till the boys had reached him, when he slowly turned to face them, and threw down the great pebble.
Vince was too thorough to hesitate, and he opened the business at once, in his outspoken way:
“Here, Joe!” he cried; “we want you to lend us your boat to go for a sail.”
“To lend you my boat to go for a sail?” said the old man, nodding his head softly.
“Yes; and we shan’t be very long, because we must be back to tea.”
“And you won’t be very long, because you must be back to tea?”
“Yes; and we won’t trouble you. We can get it out ourselves.”
“And you won’t trouble me, because you can get it out yourselves?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, that’s right, is it, Master Vince? That’s what you thinks,” said the old fisherman.
“But you’ll lend it to us, won’t you?”
“Nay, my lad—I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Why?” said Daygo, beginning to rasp his nose, according to custom, with his rough forefinger. “He says why? Mebbe you’d lose her.”
“No, we wouldn’t, Joe.”
“Mebbe you’d run her on the rocks.”
“Nonsense!—just as if we don’t know where the rocks are. Know ’em nearly as well as you do.”
Daygo chuckled.
“Oh, come, Joe, don’t be disagreeable. We’ll take plenty of care of it, and pay you what you like.”
“Your fathers tell you to come to me?”
“No.”
“Thought not. Nay, my lads, I won’t lend you my boat, and there’s an end on it. I’m not going to have your two fathers coming to ask me why I sent you both to the bottom.”
“Such stuff!” cried Vince angrily. “Just as if we could come to harm on a day like this.”
“Ah! you don’t know, lad; I do. Never can tell when a squall’s coming off the land.”
“Well, I do call it disagreeable,” said Vince. “Will you take us out?”
“Nay, not to-day.”
“Oh, very well. Never mind, but I shan’t forget it. Did think you’d have done that, Joe. Come on, Mike; let’s go and get some lines and fish off the rocks.”
“Ay, that’s the best game for boys like you,” said the old man; and, stooping down, he picked up the boulder and began to knock again at the wooden peg without taking any notice of his visitors.
“Come on, Vince,” said Mike; and they walked back up the cliff, climbing slowly, but as soon as they were out of the old man’s sight starting off quickly to gain a clump of rocks, which they placed between them and the way down. Here they began to climb carefully till they had reached a spot from whence they could look down upon the little winding channel leading from the tunnel to Daygo’s natural dock.
They could see the old man, too, moving about far below, evidently fetching something to hang upon the great peg he had finished driving in; and, after disappearing for a few minutes, he came into sight again, and they saw him hang the something up—but what, at that distance, they could not make out.
At the end of a few minutes the old man went down to his boat, stayed with it another five minutes or so, and then stood looking about him.
“It’s no go, Cinder,” said Mike, in a disappointed tone; “we shan’t get off to-day, and perhaps it’s best. We oughtn’t to take his boat.”
“Why not? It’s only like borrowing anything of a neighbour. He was sour to-day, or else he’d have lent it.”
“But suppose he finds out?”
“Well, then he’ll only laugh. You’ll see: he’ll be off directly.”
Mike shook his head as they lay there upon their breasts, with their heads hidden behind tufts of heather; but Vince was right as to the old man soon going, for directly after they saw him begin to climb deliberately up to the level, look cautiously round, and then, bent of back, trudge slowly off in the direction of his home; while, as soon as he was well on his way, the boys crept downward till they were at the foot of the rocks, when Vince cried:
“Now then: lizards!” and began to crawl at a pretty good rate towards the way down to the natural dock, quite out of sight of the old man if he had looked back.
The rugged way down was reached, and here they were able to rise erect and begin to descend in the normal way, Vince starting off rapidly.
“Come on!” he cried; “old Joe will never know. I say, we have ‘sarcumwented’ him, as he’d call it.”
“Yes, it’s all very well,” said Mike, whose conscience was pricking him, “but it always seems so precious easy to do what you oughtn’t to.”
“Pooh!” cried Vince; “this is nothing.”
“Some one is sure to say he has seen the boat out.”
“Well, I don’t care if he does. Joe ought to have lent us the boat; I’m sure we’ve done things enough for him. There, don’t talk; let’s get her. He might come back for something, and stop us.”