I did not answer and say it was, but a silent monitor gave me a hint that he was quite correct, and so we went to the cottage, and Mother Bonnet gave us quite a feast of bread and butter and fried fish, which form no bad refreshment for two hungry boys.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

DRILLING OUR MEN.

My father's armoury was a good deal talked about, but when regular drilling was commenced at the Gap it excited no surprise. The grey-beards of Ripplemouth talked it over, and said they were glad that Captain Duncan had woke up and was ready to defend the Gap when the French came to our part of the coast, and they said they expected great things of him.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bob Chowne one day, as he came over; "heard the news?"

"No," I said; "have the French come?"

"No, not yet; but the Ripplemouth people are going to ask your father to help them make a fort on the cliff over the harbour, and they're going to get some guns from Bristol."

"What nonsense!" I said. "Here, I'm going over to the Gap; will you come?"

"No, I don't want to come to the old lead pump and see your father's people make the water muddy. What are you going to do?"

"Sword drill."

"Oh! I don't care for sword drill."

"Bigley's coming too," I said; "and we're going through it all."

"It's stupid work standing all in a row swinging your arms about like windmills, chopping nothing, and poking at the air, and pretending that someone's trying to stab you. I wouldn't mind if it was real fighting, but yours is all sham."

"Then we're going to do some pistol-shooting at a mark with ball-cartridge."

"Pooh! It's all fudge!" said Bob yawning. "I wouldn't mind coming if you were going to do something with real guns."

"Why, they're real pistols."

"Pistols! Yes—pop-guns. I mean big cannons."

"Ah, well," I said, "I'm sorry you will not come, but I must go."

"That's always the way when a fellow comes away from our old physic-shop and takes the trouble to walk all these miles. You're always either out or going out."

"I can't help it, Bob," I replied, feeling rather ill-used. "My father expects me. I have to help him now. You know I like a game as well as ever I did."

"Ah, well, it don't matter. Be off."

"I'm very sorry," I said, glancing at the old eight-day clock; "but I must go now."

"Well, didn't I say, Be off?" cried Bob.

"Good-bye, then!"

I offered him my hand, but he did not take it.

"If you'll walk round by the cliff I'll come part of the way with you," he said ill-humouredly.

"Will you?" I cried. "Come along, then."

I did not let him see it, but I had felt all the time that Master Bob meant to come. He had played that game so many times that I knew him by heart. I knew, too, that he was wonderfully fond of the sword practice, in which he had taken part whenever he could, and to get a shot with a pistol or a gun gave him the greatest pleasure.

"He won't come away till it's all over," I said to myself; and we walked on round by the high track watching the ships going up to Bristol, till all at once, as we rounded the corner leading into the Gap, Bob exclaimed:

"Why, there's old Jonas's boat coming in!"

"Where?" I said dubiously.

"Why, out there, stupid!" cried Bob, pointing north-west.

"What! That lugger?" I said. "No, that's not his. He went out four days ago, and isn't expected back yet. That's more like the French lugger we rode in—Captain Gualtiere's."

"Yah! Nonsense!"

"Well, but it is," I said. "That has three masts; it's a chasse maree. Jonas's boat has only two masts—a regular lugger."

"You've got sand in your left eye and an old limpet-shell over the other," grumbled Bob. "French boat, indeed! Why, no French boat like that would dare to come near England now. I s'pose that's a French boat too!"

He pointed to another about a mile behind.

"No," I said; "that looks like a big yacht or a cutter. I shouldn't wonder if it's a revenue cutter."

"Well, you are a clever chap," said Bob mockingly—"setting up for a sailor, and don't know any more about it than an old cuckoo."

"I know what our old Sam and my father and Binnacle Bill have taught me," I said quietly.

"No, you don't—you don't know anything only how to be surly and disagreeable to your visitors."

"I say, Bob," I said, "is it true what people say?"

"I don't care what people say."

"Why, that your father gives you so much physic that it makes you sour?"

I repented saying it directly, for Bob stopped short. "Want me to chuck you off the cliff?" he said fiercely.

"No, that I don't," I said, pretending to be horribly frightened.

"Because, just you look here—"

"Ahoy—oy!"

"Ahoy—oy! Ahoy—oy!" I shouted back in answer to the faint cry that came from below, where we could see Bigley waving his hat.

It was easier work for us to go down the precipitous slope than for him to climb up; but he did not seem to study that for he came eagerly towards us, while we slipped and scrambled down, ignoring the path, which was a quarter of a mile away.

Bob did not speak as we were scrambling down, and the exertion made him forget his ill-temper, so that he was a little more amiable when we came within speaking distance of Bigley.

"Going to the drill?" he shouted; and then without waiting for an answer, "So am I. Has your father come back, Sep?"

"Come back!" I said. "What do you mean? He came on here."

"Yes," said Bigley; "and then he got our boat and went off in her—so Mother Bonnet said. I was not here."

"Why, where has he gone?" I asked.

"I don't know. I thought he had rowed round to the Bay."

I shook my head and began to wonder what it meant.

"Father has been round to Penzance or Plymouth, I think," said Bigley. "He'll be back soon, I expect."

"What's he gone after?" said Bob shortly.

"I don't know," said Bigley, colouring a little. "Fishing or trading or carrying something, I expect."

"I don't!" sneered Bob. "I know."

"That you don't," said Bigley quietly; "even I don't."

"No!" sneered Bob; "you never know anything. People at Ripplemouth do. He has gone on a jolly good smuggling trip, I know."

I saw Bigley's eyes flash, and for a moment I thought that he was going to say something harsh, and that we were going to have a quarrel through Bob Chowne's propensity for saying disagreeable things; but just then I happened to turn my head and saw a boat coming round the western corner of the entrance to the Gap.

"Why, there's father!" I cried. "Where can he have been!"

That exclamation changed the conversation from what was a terribly touchy point with Bigley, who always felt it acutely if anyone hinted that his father indulged in smuggling.

"I know," said Bob Chowne, changing his attack so that it was directed upon me. "Well, if my father was so precious selfish as to get a boat and go out fishing without me, I should kick up a row."

"Why, you are always making rows without," I said testily. "My father has not been fishing, I'm sure."

"There he goes again," cried Bob in an ill-used tone. "That's Sep Duncan all over. I say, Big, he was trying to pick a quarrel with me up on the cliff when you came, and I wouldn't. Now he's at it again."

"Well, I sha'n't stop to quarrel now," I replied. "Come on down and meet father."

We were a good three hundred feet above the shore when I spoke, and starting off the others joined me, and we went down over the crumbling slates and then past the pebble ridge to where the little river bubbled up again through the stones before it reached the sea, and then in and out among the rocks, to stand and wait till my father rowed in.

"Ah, boys," he cried, as the boat grounded, and we dragged it up over a smooth patch of sand, "you are just in time to help."

"Been fishing, father?" I said.

"No; only on a little bit of investigation along the coast; but I found I had not time as it was drill day. There, make the boat fast to the buoy line, and let's get up to the mine, and we'll all go this afternoon when the drill's over."

"This afternoon?" I said eagerly.

"Yes; the weather's lovely and warm, and you fellows can row me."

I felt ready to toss up my hat and cheer, and I saw that Bigley was ready to do the same; but we both felt that we were getting too old, so we refrained.

"I'm afraid I can't go, Captain Duncan," said Bob in an ill-used way. "My father will be at home expecting me."

"No, he will not, Bob," said my father smiling; "he will not be back from Barnstaple till quite late. Come along, my lad, and we'll have some lunch, and then begin drill. Had Sam started with the basket, Sep?"

"No, father," I replied; "but I saw Kicksey packing it when I came away."

"Sure to be there," said my father; and he led the way up the Gap with Bigley, to whom he always made a great point of being kind, partly because he was my old companion, and partly, as I thought, because he wanted to smooth away any ill feeling, and to make up for the break between us that kept threatening to come.

This upset Bob, who hung back and began to growl about not being sure he could stop to drill, and thought that, as we reached the end of the cliff path, he ought to go now, and altogether he required a great deal of coaxing to get him along, or rather he professed to want a great deal, till we reached the mine, where all was going on just as of old, the wheel turning, the water splashing, furnace roaring, and the pump keeping on its regular thump.

Old Sam was standing at the counting-house door with a big basket, the one he always brought over, filled with provisions for our use, as so much time was spent at the mine; and as my father pulled out a big key, Sam took in the basket, cleared the table, and threw over it a white cloth, upon which he spread the provisions.

For a few minutes after we had sat down—Bob Chowne having to be fetched in, after sliding off so that he might be fetched back—we could not eat much for feasting our eyes on the bright swords and pistols; but young appetites would have their way, and we were soon eating heartily till the meat pasty and custard and cream were completely destroyed.

"A very bold attack," said my father smiling. "Now that ought to make muscle. Off with your coats, my lads, and roll up your sleeves."

As he spoke he went to the door, and blew an old silver boatswain's whistle, when work was dropped, and the men came running up quickly from furnace, and out of the pit and stone-breaking sheds, till ten stout work-stained fellows stood in a row, showing the effect of the drill and discipline already brought to bear.

"Like the old days on the quarter-deck," said my father to Bob Chowne. "Now, Sep, serve out the arms."

I had done this several times before, and rapidly handed to each man his cutlass and belt, which was as quickly buckled on. Then one each was given to Bob Chowne and Bigley, and I was left without.

"Humph, twelve," said my father counting, as he saw me unarmed. "You can take that new sword, Sep."

I could not help feeling pleased, for this was the officer's sword which had come down with the others; and as I buckled on the lion-headed belt I had hard work to keep from glancing at Bob Chowne, who, I knew, would feel disgusted.

There was no time wasted, for my father at these drills kept up his old sea-going officer ways; and in a few minutes we were formed into two lines before him, opened out, proved distance with our swords, so as to have plenty of room, and not be likely to cut each other; and there for a good hour the sun flashed on the blades, as the sword exercise was gone through, with its cuts, points, and guards, the men taking to it eagerly as a pleasant change from the drudgery of the mine, and showing no little proficiency already.

"There," said my father at last, after the final order to sheathe swords had been given. "Break off. No pistol practice to-day. Your hands will be unsteady."

"Always the way!" I heard Bob Chowne grumble. "I stopped on purpose to have a bit of pistol-shooting, and now there's none. See if I'd have stayed if I had known."

I had to run to the door of the great stone-built counting-house and receive the swords as the men filed up, and for the next ten minutes I was busy hanging all in their places.

When I had finished the men had all gone back to their work, and after a look round, my father said a few words to a big black-looking Cornishman, who had lately been selected as foreman from his experience about mines, locked up the counting-house, and turned to us.

"Now, boys," he said, "we'll go back to the boat."

Bob Chowne's lips parted to say that he could not stop; but he had not the heart to speak the words, and we went back to the beach, to enter upon an adventure that proved rather startling to us all, and had a sequel that was more startling, and perhaps more unpleasant still.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

WE LOSE OUR BOAT.

"We're going to take the boat again, Mrs Bonnet," said my father, as we passed Uggleston's cottage.

"Oh, I'm sure master would say you're welcome, sir," said the rosy-faced old lady. "It's a beautiful afternoon for a row."

Ten minutes after we were well afloat, and Bigley and I were pulling, making the water patter under the prow of the boat, as it rose and fell on the beautiful clear sea. Below us were the rocks, which could be seen far enough down, all draped with the brown and golden-looking weed; and we felt as if it was a shame not to have a line over the side for pollack or mackerel on such a lovely afternoon. But there was to be no fishing, for my father evidently had some serious object in hand, telling us how to pull so as to keep regularly along at a certain distance from the mighty wall of rock that was on our left till, about a mile from the Gap, where there were a great deal of piled-up stone in huge fragments that had fallen from the cliff, he suddenly told Bigley to easy, and me to row. Then both together, with the result that we pulled right into a little bay where the cliff not only seemed to go up perpendicularly, but to overhang, while in one place at the bottom a dark patch or two showed where caves ran right in.

As we neared the shore he bade us cease rowing, and taking one of the oars he threw it over the stern, and sculled the boat in and out among the rocks that were half covered by the sea, threading his way carefully, and finally beaching her on a soft patch of sand.

We all leaped out, and the little anchor was thrown ashore to keep the boat safe while we went away.

"For neither of you will care to be boat-keeper," said my father smiling.

"What are you going to do?" I asked as we walked up together.

"Don't ask questions, my boy," he replied quietly. "If I tell you, of course you cannot, without seeming mysterious, refuse to tell your companions, and I do not care to say much at present. It does not matter, but I prefer not to talk."

We walked up straight to the caves, which were very beautiful, covered as their mouths were with ivy and ferns, while over each a perfect sheet of dripping rain fell like a screen and threatened to soak anyone who attempted to enter.

We did not attempt it, for my father led us away to the west, and soon after, hammer in hand, he was examining the cliff-face and the various blocks of stone that had fallen down in days gone by.

We walked on for a time, but it soon became too monotonous, and we took to something to amuse ourselves, to my father's great satisfaction, for he evidently now preferred to be alone.

We did not watch him, but to me it seemed evident enough that he was searching for minerals, of which he believed that he had seen some trace.

As for us, we rather enjoyed our ramble, for this was a part of the shore that we had not explored for some time, and the number of pools and hollows among the stones were almost countless, while at every turn we had to lament the absence of our baskets and nets.

Sometimes we climbed on to some difficult-looking pile, at other times we crept in under the cavernous-looking places, where, at high tide, the sea rushed and roared. Wearying of this, we explored the edge where high-water left its marks, to examine the curious shells washed up, and the varieties of sea-weed driven right under the perpendicular wall of rock, that towered up above us fully two hundred feet before it began to slope upwards as a hill.

Then after laughingly saying that if the French came, they would have to bring very long ladders and use them at low tide if they wanted to get into England, we sauntered back towards where we had left my father, but chose our path as nearly as we could close down by the edge of the water.

The tide was coming up fast, but this was all the better, as it was likely to bring in objects worthy of notice; but we found nothing, and at last the time had so rapidly glided away that evening was coming in as it were on the tide.

We looked about us, and found that we were well inside the little bay where we had first landed, its two arms stretching well out as jagged points on either side, among whose rocks the sea was foaming and plashing, although it was quite calm a little way out.

"No getting back, boys, now," said Bigley, "if it wasn't for the boat."

"Yah! Nonsense!" cried Bob. "If the tide was to catch me in a bay like this, I should make a run and a jump at the cliff, catch hold of the first piece of ivy I could see, and then go up like a squirrel."

"Without a tail," I added laughing.

"Hark at clever old Sep Duncan," sneered Bob. "He'd walk up the cliff without touching. It's a strange thing that we can't come out without your saying something disagreeable, Sep."

"I'm very sorry," I said with mock humility, for I had just caught sight of Bigley's face, and he was grinning.

"Well, don't do it again, then," said Bob pompously, and then we listened, for a voice hailed us from somewhere among the wilderness of piled-up rocks.

"Ahoy, there! Ahoy!"

"Here we are, father!" I shouted, and trudging on we met him coming down from a place where he had evidently been sitting smoking his pipe.

"Didn't you hear me hail before?" he said as we met.

"No, father."

"Why, I've been shouting at intervals for this last hour, and I should have been uncomfortable if I had not thought you had common sense enough to take care of yourselves."

"Oh! We minded that, sir," said Bob importantly. "We are older now than we used to be."

"Yes," said my father dryly, "so I supposed. Well, let's be off; we've a long row, and then a walk, and it's time to feed the animals, eh, Bob Chowne?"

"Yes, sir," said Bob; "but I've got ever so much farther to go before I can get anything to eat."

"No, you have not," said my father in his driest way. "I should think there will be enough for us all at the Bay."

"I—I didn't mean," said Bob in a stammering way; but he had turned very red in the face, and then he quite broke down and could get no further, being evidently thoroughly ashamed of the way in which he had spoken.

My father noticed it, and changed the conversation directly. "Found anything very interesting?" he said; "anything good among the rocks?"

"No, father," I said; "nothing much."

"Why, you blind puppy!" cried my father; "nothing? Don't you know that every pool and rock hole teems with wonders that you go by without noticing. Ah! I shall have to go with you, boys, some day, and show you a few of the grand sights you pass over because they are so small, and which you call nothing. Why, how high the tide has risen!"

"Didn't we leave the boat just beyond those rocks, sir?" said Bigley.

"Yes," said my father. "One of you will be obliged to strip and wade out to it. No, it couldn't have been those rocks."

"No, sir," said Bob Chowne; "it was round on the other side of this heap."

He pointed to a mass of rock lying right in the centre of the embayment, a heap which cut off our view on one side.

"I suppose you must be right, Chowne," said my father; "come along."

"I feel sure it was here, father," I said; "just out here."

"No it wasn't," cried Bob pettishly. "I remember coming round here after we left the boat."

Bigley and I looked at each other, but we said nothing, only followed my father and Bob Chowne as they went round to the other side of the pile of rock, and there lay the sea before us with the tide racing in, and sweeping over the rocks, but no boat.

"It's very strange," said my father; "we must have left it in one of these places."

"Perhaps it was behind the other heap, sir," said Bob eagerly.

"What heap?" said my father.

"That one, sir," said Bob, pointing towards the west.

"Impossible!" cried my father, and then he stopped and waited, while Bigley, who had, by getting on my back and shoulders, managed to climb up the highest part of the mass which stood like an island out of the stones and sand, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked all round.

It was so still that the lapping of the evening tide sounded quite loud, and the querulous call of a gull that swept by was quite startling.

"Well," said my father, "can you see the boat? No no, don't look out there, my lad, look in here close."

"She isn't in here close," said Bigley quietly.

"She must be, Big," cried Bob. "Here, let me come."

"I see her!" cried Bigley just then. "No. Yes. There she is, sir!" he said, pointing to the east. "She's broke adrift, and is floating yonder half a mile away towards the Gap."

"Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated my father. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir," said Bigley, "I'm quite sure. I was quite sure before that we left her where we looked first, but I didn't like to say so."

"Here, give me your hand," said my father. "You, Sep, let me try and get up over you. Bob Chowne, you had better stand by him to strengthen him. I'm heavy. Reach down, Bigley, and give me your hand."

My father was active enough, and with our help scrambled up on to the top of the rock, where he gave one glance at the speck Bigley pointed out, and then uttered an impatient ejaculation.

"Come down," he said. "You're quite right, my lad. But how can that boat have got away? The grapnel was good."

"I'm afraid I know," said Bigley sadly. "I don't think anyone looked to see if the painter was made fast to the ring. I didn't."

"And as I'm an old sailor, who ought to have known better, I confess that I did not," said my father. "Well, boys, it's of no use to cry over spilt milk. If the boat is not recovered unhurt, Mr Jonas Uggleston will have a new one, and I must apologise for my carelessness. Now, then, we must walk home."

Bigley looked at him in rather a curious way; and as I divined what he meant I glanced at the two points which projected and formed the bay, and saw that they were being swept by the waves to such an extent that it would have been madness to attempt to get round either wading or swimming.

"Yes," said my father, speaking as if someone had made this remark to him, "it would be impossible to get round there. Come along, boys, help me down; I can't jump. Let's see for a place to climb the cliff."

We helped him down by standing with our heads bent upon our arms, as if we were playing at "Saddle my nag," then he lowered himself till he could rest his feet upon our shoulders, and the rest was easy.

"We mustn't lose time," he said, as he stood on the rough shingle; "the tide is running in very fast."

It was quite true, and before long it would certainly completely fill the bay.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A NIGHT ON THE ROCKS.

It was very satisfying in a case of emergency to have with us some one so old and staid and full of authority as my father, who set the example to us lads of hurrying close up to the cliff right at the head where the caverns ran in, and the rain-like water streamed down from the ferns and saxifrages to form a veil that now looked golden in the glow from the west.

"Hah!" said my father decisively, "no standing here; and it would not be safe to go into the cave, the water rises six or seven feet here right up the cliff."

It was so all round, as we plainly saw by the sea-weed that clung in the crevices, and the limpets and barnacles on the smooth places right above the heads of us boys, while every here and there at our feet we could see the common red sea creatures, which look like red jelly when the tide is down, and like daisyfied flowers when it is up.

"No stopping down here, boys," cried my father. "Now, then, where's the best place to climb the cliff? You two try one way, Chowne and I will go the other."

We separated, and Bigley and I ran right round the steep wall, looking eagerly for a spot where foothold could be obtained, but it was generally overhanging, while elsewhere it rose up perfectly straight, so that a cat could not have run up it. Only in one place where there was a great crack did it seem possible to climb up any distance, and that crack seemed to afford the means of getting to a shelf of rock just beneath a tremendous overhanging mass, some fifty feet above where we stood.

This was very near the eastern arm of the little bay, where the tide was fretting and splashing and gurgling among the rocks, and threatening every minute to come right up amongst the stones that filled the foot of the crack.

"Let's look more carefully as we go back," said Bigley; and we did, but our only discovery was the entrance to another cave, which seemed to be quite a narrow doorway or slit behind some tall stones piled right above it, and shutting it from the sight of anyone walking by. In fact, we had missed it as we came.

"That might be a good place," said Bigley; "but it wouldn't be safe to try, for perhaps the sea fills it right up every tide."

We went on back, looking eagerly upwards, and stumbling over the stones that strewed our path, till we met my father and Bob Chowne.

"Well," said my father, in his short stern way, as if he were addressing his sailors on board ship. "Report!"

"No way up to the top, sir," said Bigley.

"No, father, none," I said.

"No way?" said my father, and he frowned severely; "and there is no way up whatever at our end. Boys, we shall have to venture out, and swim round the point."

Bob Chowne shuddered, and I felt a curious sensation of dread creeping over me which I tried to shake off.

"But there seems to be a way up to a shelf of rock, father," I said; "close there by the point."

"Ah!" he cried.

"But no higher."

"Never mind," he said sharply. "Go on first. Quick!"

It was quite necessary to be quick, for the water was already lapping among the stones at the foot of the chink and mounting fast.

"Yes, I see," said my father. "There! Lose no time. Up with you, Uggleston. You next, Chowne. Climb your best, boys, and help one another."

The climb was awkward and steep, but possible, and by one giving another a back and then crouching on some ledge and holding down his hand to the others, we got on up and up, till the big ledge was reached, and proved to be some twenty feet long by about nine broad in the middle, but going off to nothing at either end, while it went in right under a tremendous projecting portion of the cliff, that looked as if it would crumble down and crush us at any moment.

"Hah!" ejaculated my father breathlessly, as he partly dragged himself up, and was partly dragged by us on to the shelf. "What a place! Why, we must be at least eighty feet above the shingle."

"As much as that, father?"

"Yes, my boy; so mind all of you. No rolling off. Now, then, is there any other way of getting higher, and so on to the slope?"

A very few minutes' examination satisfied him that there was none.

"No; only a fly could get up there, boys," he said merrily. "Well, we are safe and quite comfortable. This will be another adventure for you. Why, my lads, I shall never have the heart to scold you for getting into scrapes after leading you into this one. It is easier to get into trouble than out."

"Shall we have to stay here very long, father?" I said.

"Only all night, my boys, so we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can. We shall have to divide ourselves into two watches and make the best of it. Certainly we shall not be able to climb down till daylight to-morrow morning."

"What! Do you mean for us to go to sleep in turns?"

"Or sit up, which you like, my boys," he said quietly. "And no very great hardship either. You have not touched upon our greatest difficulty."

"What's that, sir?" said Bob.

"Nothing to eat, my boy, and we are all very hungry."

"Oh!" groaned Bob; and if ever the face of boy suggested that he had just taken medicine, it was Bob Chowne's then.

"Worse disasters at sea, my lads; we shall not hurt. The worst is that people at our homes will not know what we know, and be very much troubled about us. If the boat is picked up they will fear the worst. For my part, I hope it will not be found."

"But are we safe, sir?" said Bob, with tribulation in his voice.

"Perfectly, my lad, so long as you don't roll off the ledge, which, of course, you will not do. There, boys, let's look on the bright side of it all, and be very thankful that we have reached so comfortable a haven. Make the best of it, and think you are on an uninhabited island waiting for rescue to come, with the pleasant knowledge that it won't be long."

"Oh, I don't mind," I said.

"Nor I," cried Bigley.

"I rather like it," said Bob, with a very physicky face.

"Then, choose your places, boys," said my father, "and we'll sit and sing and tell stories, after we have grown tired of watching the glorious sunset; for, my lads, while we are talking see what a magnificent sea and sky are spread before you."

We looked out from our niche under the stony canopy, to see that the sky was one blaze of orange, and gold, and fiery red, which in turn seemed to stain the sea, as if it was all liquid topaz, and sapphire, and amethyst, like the old jewels that had belonged to my mother, and which I had sometimes seen in my father's desk. Nothing, I suppose, could have been more lovely, nothing more grand. If we looked to the left, the rocky cliff was all glow hero, all dark purple shadow there, and the clustering oaks that ran right up to the top were as if they were golden green. If we looked to the right, the cliffs seemed as if on fire where the rock was bare, and as our eyes fell to where the tide was coming in, the waves, as they curled over, were burnished, and flashed and glowed like liquid fire.

It was all grand in the extreme, but somehow I felt, as did Bob and Bigley, that a well-spread tea-table with some hot fried ham and some eggs, with new bread, would have been worth it all.

I am almost ashamed to put this down, but my companions confided their feelings to me afterwards, and it is perfectly true.

By degrees the bright colours on the sea and overspreading the sky faded out, and all grew dark, save where there was a glow in the north. The stars had come out bright and clear, and covered the sky like so many points of light looking down at themselves in the mirror-like sea. The tide came up fast, and as the waves heaved and swayed and ran in, it seemed as if they were sweeping before them myriads and myriads of stars, for the water was covered with light, some being the reflections from the sky, others the curious little specks that we used to see in the water in warm weather.

We sat and talked and lay close to the edge to watch the waves come sweeping in more and more, till the little bay was covered and the tide rose over the outlying rock, the water sounding wild and strange as it washed, and splashed, and sighed, and sucked in amongst the stones. Then, by slow degrees, as we gazed down we found how necessary it had been for us to climb up to our perch, for the tide rose and rose, higher and higher, till it must have been seven or eight feet up the rocks below us; and now it was that we listened with a peculiar creeping sensation to the swell, as it rolled in and evidently right up into the caves which we had seen.

"Why, those places must go a long way into the cliffs," said my father as we listened. "Hark at that."

It was a curious creepy sound of hissing and roaring, as if there were strange wild beasts right in amongst the windings of the cave, and they had become angry with the sea for intruding in their domain.

"Seals!" said Bob Chowne decisively.

"No," said my father, "it is only the imprisoned air escaping from some of the cracks and crevices into which it is driven by the sea. Why, boys, those caves must be very large, or at all events they go in a long way. You ought to explore them some day at low water. Warm enough?"

We all declared that we were, and sat gazing out at the soft transparent darkness overhanging the sea, which was wonderfully smooth now, in spite of the soft western breeze that was blowing; and at last the silence seemed to have become perfectly profound. So silent were we that every one started as my father said suddenly:

"Look here, boys, suppose I tell you a story."

The proposal was received with acclamation, and he lay back against the cliff and related to us one of his old sea-going experiences, to the very great delight of all.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE SMUGGLERS' LANDING.

After my father had finished his story it was arranged that watch should be set, and the arrangement made was that Bob Chowne and I should take the first spell, and it was to last as long as we liked—that is to say, we were to watch until we were tired, and then call my father and Bigley, who would watch for the rest of the night.

Bigley said he should not sleep, but he followed my father's example and lay down, while in a few minutes his regular breathing told that he had gone off; and before long, as Bob Chowne and I sat talking in a low tone, we knew that my father was asleep as well.

And there we two lads sat on the shelf of rock listening to the sobbing and sighing of the tide, and staring out to sea. Sometimes we talked in a low voice about how uncomfortable some people would be about us, and Bob said it was like my luck—that I had my father with me, while his and Bigley Uggleston's would be in a terrible way.

"And a nice row there'll be about it," he said dolefully. "There never was such an unlucky chap as I am."

"And Big?"

"Oh, Big! Pooh! His father never takes any notice about him."

Then we talked about the drilling, and the silver mine and my father's success, and what a fine thing it was for me; and about school-days, and what it would cost to get a new boat for old Jonas, and about Bob going up to London to be a doctor; and we were prosing on, but this gave him a chance to become a little animated.

"I don't want to be a doctor," he said fiercely; "but I'll serve some of 'em out if I'm obliged to be. I'll let them know!"

"What stuff!" I said. "Why, I should like to be a doctor, and if I was I'd go in for being surgeon on board a ship."

"Why?" said Bob.

"So as to go all round the world, and see what there is to see."

"Ah!" said Bob, "I hadn't thought about that; but it isn't half so good as having a mine of your own, as you'll have some day. I wish we could change fathers, but I suppose we couldn't do that."

We did not argue out that question, but went on talking in a low prosy tone, as we sat there with our backs supported against the cliff; and I suppose it must have been Bob's low muttering voice, mingled with the darkness, the natural hour for sleep, and the murmuring of the waves, that had so curious and lulling an effect upon me, for all at once it seemed that the water was running down from the mine shaft where it was being pumped up, the big pump giving its peculiar beats as it worked, and the splash and rush of the water sounding very soft and clear.

Then I seemed to be down in the mine, and it was very dark and cold, and I climbed up again and sat down on the ground to listen to the washing of the water, the hurrying of the stream, and the regular beat of the pump; and then I was awake again, staring out into the darkness that hung over the sea. For a few minutes I was so confused that I could not make out where I was. It was cold and I was shivering, and the rushing of the water and the beat of the pump was going on still.

No, it was not; for I was up there on the shelf of rock miles away from our mine, and I had been set to keep watch with Bob Chowne; and here was he, close by me, breathing heavily, fast asleep.

I felt miserable and disgraced to think that I should have been so wanting in my sense of duty as to have slept, and Bob was no better.

"Bob! Bob!" I whispered, shaking him.

"Yes," he said with a start; "I know—I wasn't asleep."

"Hush! Listen!" I said. "What's that noise?"

We both listened, and my heart throbbed as I heard a regular plash and thud from off the sea.

"Boat," said Bob decidedly. "Shall I hail it?"

"No," I replied quickly.

"Why not? It's a boat coming to fetch us."

I could not think that it was, and creeping to where my father lay I shook him.

"Yes. Time to watch?" he said quietly.

"Hush! Listen!" I said.

He sat up:

"Boat," he said, "close in."

"Is it coming to fetch us, father?" I whispered.

"No, boy; if it were, those on board would hail."

"What shall we do—shout?" I asked him.

"Certainly not. Here, Bigley, sit up, my lad! All keep perfectly still and wait. We do not know whose boat it may be."

He was our leader, and we neither of us thought of saying a word, but sat and listened to the low plash and roll of the oars of some big boat that seemed to be very close in; and so it proved, for at the end of a few minutes we could distinctly see something large and black looming up out of the darkness, and before long make out that it was quite a large vessel that was being worked with sweeps or large oars till it was close in; and then there was the noise of the oars being laid inboard, and the sound of orders being given in a low firm voice.

"Keep perfectly still," my father whispered to us; but it was unnecessary, and we sat together there on the rock shelf, the projecting portion making our resting-place quite black, as we watched and listened to what was going on.

Then for about three hours there was a busy scene below us. Men seemed to have dropped down into the water from both sides of the vessel. Some went up to the cliff-face away to our left where the caverns lay, and at the end of a minute the light of a couple of lanthorns gleamed out and then disappeared in the cave.

Hardly a word was spoken save on board the vessel, where those upon deck seemed from time to time to be doing something with poles to keep her from getting aground as the tide fell.

It must, I say, have been for nearly three hours that the busy scene lasted, and a large body of men kept on plashing to and fro with loads from the vessel to the cavern and back empty-handed. Everything seemed to be done as quietly as if the men were well accustomed to the task. Not a word was spoken, except by one who seemed to be leader, and the only sounds we heard were the tramping upon the slate-sprinkled sand and the splashing as they waded in to reach the vessel's side.

It was evident enough that they were landing quite a store of something of another from the vessel, and I knew enough of such matters to be sure that it was a smuggler running a cargo. For the first few minutes I felt that it must be the French coming to take us unawares; but the French would have landed men, not packages and little barrels.

It was a smuggler sure enough, and hence my father's strict order to be silent, for the smugglers had not a very good character in our parts, and ugly tales were told of how they had not scrupled to kill people who had interfered with them when busy over their dangerous work.

I was watching them eagerly, when, all at once, I turned cold and shivered, for it had suddenly struck me that old Jonas was away with his lugger, and that this must be it landing its cargo, while all the time, so close to me that I could have stretched out my hand and touched him, there lay my school-fellow—the old smuggler's son.

"He must suspect him," I said to myself; and then, "What must he feel?"

And all the while there below us was the busy scene—the men coming and going and the cargo being landed, till all at once there was a cessation. Those who returned from the cave stayed about the vessel, and seemed, as far as we could make out, to be climbing on board, and as I suddenly seemed to be making out their figures a little more clearly, my father whispered, "Lie down, boys, or you will be seen. The day is beginning to dawn."

We obeyed him silently, and lay watching, seeing every minute more clearly that the dark-looking vessel, which loomed up very big, was being thrust out with long oars, and beginning to glide slowly away in a thick mist which hung over the sea a hundred yards or so from shore. Then as it reached and began to fade, as it were, into the mist, first one then another dark patch rose from the deck.

"Hoisting sail," I said to myself. "Two big lug-sails. It is the Saucy Lass—old Jonas's lugger, and it looks big through the fog."

Just then in the coming grey dawn I saw another patch rise up, following a creaking noise, and I could make out that it was a third sail, when I knew that it could not be the Saucy Lass, but must be a stranger.

I was so glad, for Bigley's sake, that my heart gave quite a heavy throb; and, unless I was very much deceived, I heard my father draw a long breath like a sigh of relief.

As we gazed at the sails and the dark hull in the increasing light, everything looked so strange and indistinct that it seemed impossible for it all to be real. The sails began to fill, and the vessel glided silently away without a voice on board being heard, till it was so far-off that my father said:

"I think we may begin to talk, my lads, now."

"I say, sir," cried Bob excitedly, "weren't those smugglers?"

"I cannot say," replied my father coldly.

"Let's get down now and look," said Bob.

"I think," said my father, "that we had better leave everything alone, and, as soon as the tide will allow us, get home to breakfast. You, Bob Chowne, if I were you, I should keep my own counsel about this, and you too, Sep."

I noticed that he did not say anything to Bigley, who was kneeling down gazing after the vessel in the mist which was dying away about the land, and appeared to be going off with the vessel, surrounding it and trying to hide it from those on shore, as with the faint breeze and the swift tide it glided rapidly away.

Soon after there was a warm glow high up in the east. Then hundreds of tiny clouds began to fleck the sky with orange, the sea became glorious with gold and blue, the sun peeped above the edge, and it was day once more, with the vessel a couple of miles away going due west.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

DOING ONE'S DUTY.

We did not have to stay very long before we descended. My father said it would be better to stop, and while we were waiting Bob Chowne asked whether we were going to search the cave and see what was there.

"No!" said my father in very decisive tones.

"But you said something about us lads exploring it, sir, yesterday—I mean last night."

"Yes, my lad, I did," replied my father so sternly that Bob Chowne was quite silenced; "but I have changed my mind."

I noticed that he still did not say anything to Bigley, and that my old school-fellow was very silent, in fact we were none of us in a conversational frame of mind, but every now and then the idea kept creeping in that old Jonas must know about that cave, and the purpose for which it was used; and then I seemed to understand my father's thoughtful manner, for it was as though this discovery was likely to widen the breach between them.

In about an hour's time my father proposed that we should climb down, and feeling very stiff and cold we began to descend.

I went first, lowering myself from ledge to ledge, with my father lying down and holding my hands, and then following me, though really it was not very difficult, for we boys had been up and down far more dangerous places after gulls' eggs in our earlier days.

But, though we could go down in the bay, we could not get out of it as yet, for the tide was some distance up the point we wanted to pass. The eastern one was clear, and we could have gone that way, and, after two miles' walk and scramble along the beach, have found a place where we could climb up, but that was not our object, and we waited about looking at the falling tide, and watching the rapidly disappearing three masts of the lugger. Then, too, we noted the tracks on the beach, some of which were quite plain, but they did not show higher up by the cavern, and we knew that they would all disappear with, the next tide.

The temptation was very strong to go in and explore the place, but neither Bob nor I hinted at it, and Bigley was exceedingly quiet and dull. In fact he went away from us after a time and sat down on the top of a rock close to the eastern point, a rock to which he had to leap, for it was still in the water, and there he sat waiting till he could get to another and another, and at last waved his hand to us, when we followed him and got round on to the shore on the other side.

It was no easy task even there, for the beach was terribly encumbered with rocks, but by creeping in and out, and by dint of some climbing, we managed to get along, and at last reached the Gap just as Doctor Chowne was about setting off back to get a boat at Ripplemouth and come in search of us, after having been up all night waiting for Bob's return, and then riding over to the Bay to hear from Kicksey that we had not been back, and then on to the Gap, to find that we had all gone out in Jonas Uggleston's boat, and not been heard of since.

"Well," said the doctor, after hearing a part of our adventure, "I suppose I must not thank Bob for this job, eh, Duncan? It was your fault, you see. My word, sir, you did give me a fright."

"I'll take all the blame, Chowne," said my father; "but let me tell Mrs Bonnet that we're all right, poor woman, and then let's walk across to my place to breakfast."

There was no need to go and tell Mother Bonnet, for she had caught sight of us, and came at a heavy trot over the pebbles to display a face and eyes red with weeping, and to burst forth into quite a wail as she flung her arms about Bigley, and hugged and kissed him.

"Oh, my dear child! My dear child!" she cried, "I've been up and down here all night afraid that you was drowned."

Just then I noticed that Bob Chowne was backing behind his father, and feeling moved by the same impulse, I backed behind mine, for we were both in a state of alarm for fear that the good-hearted old woman should want to hug and kiss us too. Fortunately, however, she did not, for all her attention was taken up by Bigley, and we soon after parted, Bigley going with Mother Bonnet towards old Jonas's cottage, and we boys following our fathers to reach the cliff path and get home.

"You will not come along here on the pony," said my father as the doctor mounted his sturdy little Exmoor-bred animal.

"Indeed but I shall," replied the doctor. "Why not?"

"It will be so dangerous for a mounted man."

"Tchah!" exclaimed the doctor, "my pony's too fond of himself to tumble us down the cliff; but there, as you are so nervous about me I will not ride. Here, Bob, you ride the pony home, and I'll walk."

"Ride him home along the cliff path, father?" said Bob, looking rather white.

"Yes, of course. Captain Duncan is afraid of losing his doctor, and you are not so much consequence as I. Here, jump up, and ride on first. Then we shall see where you fall."

Bob looked at me wildly.

"Not afraid, are you?"

"N-no, father," cried Bob desperately; and setting his teeth, he put his foot in the stirrup, mounted, and rode on along the high path with the rock on one side and the steep slope on the other, which ran down to where the perpendicular cliff edge began, with the sea a couple of hundred feet below.

"I don't think I'd do that, Chowne," I heard my father say in remonstrance.

"Bah, sir! Give the boy self-reliance. See how bravely he got over his scare. Haven't liked him so well for a week. Do you think I should have let him get up if there had been any danger?"

"But there is danger," said my father.

"Not a bit, sir. The pony's as sure-footed as a mule. He won't slip."

No more was said, and in this fashion we walked home, with Bob in front on the pony and me by his side, for I ran on to join him, my father and Doctor Chowne coming behind.

Old Sam was outside as we came in sight of the cottage, and the old fellow threw his hat in the air as he caught sight of us, and then came to meet us at a trot, after disappearing for a moment in the house.

"I said you'd come back all right. I know'd it when they telled me about the boat," he cried to me as he came up.

"Boat! What about the boat?" I said.

"One o' the fishermen picked her up, and as soon as I heered as her oars and hitcher were all right, I said there was no accident. The rope had loosed and she'd drifted away."

"But how did you know we had gone off in the boat, Sam?" I said eagerly.

"How did I know?" he said. "Think when you didn't come back a man was going to bed and forget you all?"

"Well, I hardly thought that, Sam," I said.

"Because I didn't, and I went right over to the mine and asked, and you weren't there, and then I went to Uggleston's and heerd you'd gone out in the boat, and that's how I know'd, Mast' Sep, sir."

"Here, Sam, run back and tell Kicksey to hurry on the breakfast," said my father.

"Hurry on the braxfass, captain," said Sam grinning, "why, I told Kicksey to put the ham in the pan as soon as I see you a-coming."

The result was that we were soon all seated at a capital breakfast and ready to forget the troubles of the night, only that every now and then the recollection of the smuggling scene came in like a cloud, and I could not help seeing that my father was a good deal troubled in his mind.

Nothing, however, was said, and soon after breakfast the doctor went off with Bob Chowne.

As soon as we were alone my father began to walk up and down the room in a very anxious manner, and once or twice he turned towards me as if about to speak, but he checked himself and went on with his walk.

At last the silence became so irksome that I took upon myself to speak first.

"Are you going over to the mine, father?" I said.

"Yes, my boy," he replied. "But you had better go and lie down for an hour or two."

"Oh, no, father," I said. "I'm not tired. Let me go with you."

He nodded, and then stood thoughtful, and tapping the ground with his foot.

All at once he seemed to have made up his mind.

"Look here, Sep," he said; "you are growing a great fellow now. I've been helping you all these years; now you must help me."

"Tell me how, father, and I will," I said eagerly.

"I know you will, my boy," he replied, "and I'm going to treat you now as I would a counsellor. This is a very unfortunate business, my boy."

"What, our seeing the smugglers last night?"

He nodded.

"Did you think, then, like I did, that it was Jonas Uggleston's boat?"

"I did, my boy."

"But it was not, father."

"No, my boy; but—"

"You think Jonas Uggleston knew the boat was coming, and he knows all about that hiding-place, father?"

"Is that what you have been thinking, Sep?"

"Yes, father."

"And so have I, my lad. Now, though I am, as I may say, still in the king's service, and I feel it my duty to go and inform the officers of what I have seen, on the other hand there is a horrible feeling of self-interest keeps tugging at me, and saying, 'mind your own business. You are bad friends enough with Jonas Uggleston as it is, so let matters rest for your own sake and for your son's.'"

"Oh, father!" I exclaimed.

"Then this feeling hints to me that I am not sure of anything, and that I have no business to interfere, and so on. Among other things it seems to whisper to me that old Jonas will not know, when all the time he must. Now come, Sep, as a thoughtful boy, what should you recommend me to do?"

"It's very queer, father," I said rather dolefully; "but how often one is obliged to do and say things one way, when it would be so easy and comfortable to do and say things the other way."

"Yes, Sep," he replied, turning away his face; "it is so all through life, and one is always finding that there is an easy way out of a difficulty. What should you do here?"

"What's right, father," I said boldly. "What's right."

He turned upon me in an instant, and grasped my hand with his eyes flashing, and he gripped me so hard that he hurt me.

As we stood looking in each other's eyes, a strange feeling of misery came over me.

"What shall you do, father?" I said.

"I don't quite know, Sep," he replied thoughtfully. "I think I shall wait till Jonas Uggleston gets home, and then tell him all I have seen."

"But it seems so hard on poor Bigley," I said dolefully.

"Ah!" shouted my father. "Stamp on it, Sep; stamp it down, boy. Crush out that feeling, for it is like a temptation. Duty, honesty, first; friends later on. It is hard, my boy, but recollect you are an officer's son, and officer and gentleman are two words that must always be bracketed together in the king's service. There's that one word, boy, for you to always keep in your heart, where it must shine like a jewel—duty—duty. It is the compass, my lad, that points always—not to the north, but to the end of a just man's life—duty, Sep, duty."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

OLD UGGLESTON IS TOO SHARP FOR THE REVENUE.

We did not go over that afternoon till it was growing late, for my father had a number of letters to write, and when we did go along the cliff, and reached the descent to the Gap, to our surprise there lay Jonas Uggleston's lugger, and we knew he had come home.

"Hah!" ejaculated my father after drawing a long breath. "I shall have to speak at once. He does not seem to have landed yet."

For the lugger was swinging to the buoy that lay about a hundred yards out, and we could see figures on board.

There was a brisk breeze blowing down the Gap, and the lugger was end-on towards us, rising and falling on the swell, while the sea was all rippled by the wind.

"Look, father," I said, as we went on down, seeing each moment more and more of the opening to the sea; "there's a boat coming ashore."

"Man-o'-war's," cried my father excitedly. "Look at the way the oars dip, Sep. Hah, it's a treat to see the lads handle them again. There she is!" he cried. "Look! Why, it's the revenue cutter."

She had just rounded a bend as he spoke, and there, sure enough, was a large cutter with snow-white sails lying off the point that formed the east side of the Gap, head to wind, and waiting evidently for the return of the boat that had come ashore.

My father walked rapidly on, and we reached the shore nearly at the same time as the boat, from which sprang an officer, and to our surprise Jonas Uggleston stepped out more slowly.

Just then Bigley appeared, I never knew where from; but I think he must have been watching from among the rocks, and in a quick husky voice he said to my father:

"Captain Duncan, please, pray don't say that you saw that cargo landed last night."

"My poor lad!" said my father kindly. "But tell me; have the cutter's men been aboard the lugger?"

"Yes, sir, searching her, I think; and you see they chased her in, and now they're bringing father ashore a prisoner."

He could say no more, for the cutter's officer came up.

"You are Captain Duncan, I think?" he said.

"Yes," said my father, returning his salute. "Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

"Lieutenant Melton, His Majesty's cutter Flying Fish."

They both saluted again, and old Jonas, who looked curiously yellow, and with his eyes seeming to search the officer's, drew nearer.

"Look here, Captain Duncan, I have been for some time on the look-out for this man."

"Well, sir, you have caught him," said my father coldly.

"Yes, sir, I have, and I have overhauled the lugger, but without success."

Old Jonas glanced at me and then at my father, who did not speak, only bowed, and the officer went on.

"Now, then, Captain Duncan; you know this man to be a notorious smuggler, do you not?"

"I have heard him called so."

"And you know it, sir."

"I never detected Mr Uggleston in any act of smuggling," replied my father more coldly, for the officer's hectoring manner offended him, and I felt that if he told what he knew, it would be to someone more in authority.

I glanced at old Jonas, and his eyes twinkled with satisfaction.

"This is prevarication, sir," cried the lieutenant; "but I am not to be put off like this. Come, sir, I received information about a very valuable contraband cargo that has been run from Dunquerque. It has been landed here successfully during the past night or the night before. Now, sir, if you please, where was that cargo landed?"

My father was silent, but his face was flushed, and I saw Jonas Uggleston dart a curious look at him as he screwed up his face, and at the same moment Bigley grasped my hand.

"I see," said the officer, "I shall have to question the boys. Once more, sir, I ask you as an officer and a gentleman, do you not know where that cargo was landed?"

"Sir," said my father, "your manner is dictatorial and offensive to a man of higher rank than yourself; but you ask me this question as one of his majesty's servants, and I am bound to reply. I do know where a cargo was landed, but it was not from this man's boat."

"But he was in the business, captain," said the lieutenant with a laugh. "Now, sir, if you please, where was it?"

"In the second bay to the westward, sir," said my father coldly; and Jonas Uggleston gave his foot a stamp, and uttered a fierce oath.

"You see, he is in the business," said the lieutenant laughing. "There, Uggleston, you have betrayed yourself."

I heard Bigley utter a piteous sigh, and I looked round at him to see the great drops standing on his forehead.

"I am so sorry, Big," I whispered; but he did not reply. He went and took hold of his father's arm.

Old Jonas turned round fiercely, but he smiled directly, and whispered something to Bigley, who fell back with his head drooping, and in a dejected way.

"Now, Captain Duncan, if you please, you will come with us on board the lugger, and we'll run along to the second bay," said the lieutenant; "it will not take long."

"Sir," said my father, "I have replied to your questions as I was bound, but I am not bound to act as your pilot."

"Sir," said the lieutenant, "I demand this service of you as his majesty's servant. Kindly step on board the boat. Now, Uggleston."

I shall never forget old Jonas's fierce scowl as he walked down to the boat, into which he stepped, and remained in the bows, while my father went into the stern-sheets, and was followed by the lieutenant. The bare-legged sailors ran the light gig out, and sprang over the side, seized their oars and backed water, turned her, and began to row with a light springy stroke for the lugger.

"Big, old mate," I said, "I am so, so sorry."

"Don't talk to me," he groaned. "I never said anything: but I was always afraid of this."

"Don't be angry with father," I said appealingly. "He was obliged to speak."

"I can't talk to you now—I can't talk to you now," the poor lad groaned more than spoke, as we stood there close to where the waves came running in.

The lugger had a good many men on board as she lay out there, quite three hundred yards away, though it had seemed only one from high up in the Gap, and the cutter was quite half a mile from where we stood, and more to the east.

All at once Bigley lifted up both his arms, and stood with them outstretched for quite a minute.

"What are you doing that for?" I said.

He made no answer but remained in the same position, and kept so while I watched the boat rising and falling on the heaving tide, with every one distinctly visible in the evening sun.

As I have said the lugger lay with her bows straight towards the Gap; but all of a sudden she began to change her position, the bows swinging slowly round, and I realised that the rope by which she had swung had been cast off, for the buoy was plainly to be seen now several fathoms away.

Just then I saw old Jonas start up in the bows of the boat and clap his hands to his mouth, his voice coming clearly to us over the wave.

"You, Bill! You're adrift! Lower down that foresail, you swab, lower down that foresail! Throw her up in the wind!"

This sail had begun to fill, but a man ran to the tiller, and the lugger's position changed slowly, the sails flapping and the bows pointing gradually in our direction again.

All this while the men in the cutter's gig were pulling with all their might, and rapidly shortened the distance, till the bow man picked up a boat-hook, and stood ready to hold on.

It was all so clear against the black side of the lugger, that we missed nothing, and to my surprise, I saw old Jonas draw back as if to let the bow man pass him, and then there was a tremendous splash, the bow man was overboard, and old Jonas had made a leap driving the light gig away with his feet, catching the side of the lugger, and swinging himself aboard.

It was so quickly and deftly done that the cutter's gig was driven yards away, and Jonas was aboard before the lieutenant had recovered from his surprise.

Then the men pulled their hardest, and the distance between lugger and boat diminished fast, but as it did the sails began to fill, and the position altered, for a man had run to the tiller, while half a dozen more stood at the side, one of whom was old Jonas.

Bigley uttered a curious hissing noise as he caught my hand, while we stood straining our eyes, and as we stared wildly there was a cheer, and we saw the boat touch the lugger's side, the sailors and the lieutenant spring up, and they made a dash to leap on board.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

I SEEM TO BE AN ENEMY TO AN OLD FRIEND.

I don't know which of us lads gripped his companion's hand the harder as we saw the struggle begin.

"They'll half kill him," groaned Bigley; and then he remained panting there with his eyes starting as we saw the men on the lugger, headed by old Jonas, make a brave defence of their deck, being armed with capstan-bars and cudgels, while the revenue cutter's men had cutlasses which flashed in the evening sunshine as if they had been made of gold.

We could hear the sound of the blows, some sounding sharp, which we knew to be when the bars struck on the sides of the lugger; some dull, when they struck upon the men; while others made a peculiarly strange chopping noise, which was of course when sword encountered cudgel.

"It's all over," groaned Bigley at last, as the sailors seemed for the moment to have mastered the lugger; but just then I saw old Jonas tumble one man over the side into the boat, and another over the bulwark into the water with a great splash, and all the while the sails of the lugger were full, and the little vessel was beginning to move faster and faster through the water.

One of the men in the gig was still holding on by the bulwark as the struggle went on, but I suddenly saw old Jonas bring down a cudgel smartly upon his head, the blow sounding like a sharp rap, when the man fell back, and my father caught and saved him from going overboard.

The next moment there seemed to be a gap between the lugger and the gig, and we could see the heads of three men in the water swimming, and the next minute or two were occupied in dragging them in, two being sailors, and the other the lieutenant, who stood up in the stern-sheets and shook himself.

"Heave to!" he roared after the lugger; "heave to, or we'll sink you!"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha!" came in a mocking laugh, that from its hoarse harshness was evidently old Jonas's, and the lugger heeled over now and began to skim through the water.

"Why, they're going to run for it," I cried excitedly.

"But the cutter will sink them," panted Bigley. "Oh, father, father, why didn't you take me too?"

"Never mind that, Big," I cried. "Look, they're going to row to the cutter."

For the oars were dipping regularly now as the gig was turned towards the cutter, aboard which there was an evident change. Her main-sail, which had been shaking in the breeze, gradually filled; we saw the stay-sail run up, and the beautiful boat came gliding towards the gig so as to pick her up with her crew before going in pursuit.

"How quickly she sails!" cried Bigley. "Once they've got their men on board they'll go like the wind."

"But they haven't got them on board yet," I said, unable in spite of myself to help feeling a little sympathy for the man who was making such a bold effort to escape. "Why, they're taking my father prisoner instead of yours, Bigley. I hope they'll bring him back."

"Look!" cried Bigley; "father's getting up a topsail, and that'll help them along wonderfully."

"Look!" I cried; "the cutter's close up to the gig now."

"Hurrah!" cried Bigley; "there goes the topsail. Look how tight they've hauled the sheets, and how the lugger heels over."

"The cutter has the gig alongside," I cried as excitedly, for, though I did not want old Jonas caught, my father was there.

"Why, they're running out another spar," cried Bigley, "so as to hoist more sail. Look at the lugger, how she is spinning along!"

"Yes," I said; "but look at the cutter now!"

Bigley drew a long breath as he saw with me that the gig's crew were on board the cutter, and that the boat was being hoisted up, while, at the same time, with the speed to be seen on a man-of-war, even if it be so insignificant a vessel as a revenue cutter, sail was being hoisted, and she was off full chase.

First we saw the jib-sail run up and fill. Then up went the gaff topsail, and as it filled the cutter seemed to lie over, so that we could not see her deck, while the white water foamed away from her bows, and she left a long streak behind.

She was now well opposite to the Gap, down which the breeze blew straight. In fact the cutter seemed to have too much sail up, and rushed through the water at a tremendous rate.

"She'll soon catch the lugger going like that, Big," I said. "Look! Your father's not going straight away; he's going more off the land."

"Yes, because he knows what he's doing. He wants to get more out so as to catch the wind. You'll see in a few minutes the cutter won't go half so fast. Hah! I was afraid of that."

For just then there was a puff of smoke from the cutter, and we could just make out, by the way it dipped, the round shot that went ricochetting over the sea.

"That will stop him," I said gloomily.

"No, it will not," said Bigley angrily. "You don't know my father. He'll keep on as long as the lugger will swim."

I shook my head as I strained my eyes at the exciting chase going on before me.

Bigley was right, for in place of lowering sails in token of submission, the lugger ran out another from her bows, and kept on her rapid flight, altering her course though, so as not to offer so fair a mark to the cutter, and the cutter seemed to spit out viciously another puff of white smoke, and then there was a dull thud and an echo among the rocks.

We could not trace the course of the shot, but it evidently did not hit its mark, the first having probably been aimed ahead.

"They can't hit her," cried Bigley, clapping his hands. "Oh, I wish I was aboard."

"What, to be shot at?" I said.

"Let them shoot!" he cried. "I should like to be there. Now, then, what did I tell you? The cutter is not going half so fast now."

He was quite right, for, as the white-sailed vessel got beyond the entrance to the Gap, she was more and more under the shelter of the huge headland and the mighty cliffs that ran on for miles, and instead of lying over so that we half expected to see her keel, she rode more steadily and upright in the water, and her speed was evidently far less.

Another white puff of smoke, and another shot sent skipping after the lugger, but with what result we could not see. The firing made no difference, though, to the lugger, which continued its course towards the west, and Bigley gave me a triumphant look from time to time.

The firing had now become regular, and had brought down all the miners from the pit, and Mother Bonnet, to see the exciting chase. One climbed up the side of the Gap here, another there, and then higher and higher, and seeing the advantageous position they occupied I turned quickly to Bigley.

"Run and get the glass, Big," I said, "and then we'll climb right up to the top of the head."

Big shook his head.

"Father has it in the lugger," he said; "but let's climb up all the same."

We knew the ways of the great headland better than the people, and were about to start upon our climb when Mother Bonnet came up and caught Bigley's arm.

"Think they'll get away, Master Big?" she whispered with her face mottled with white blotches.

"I'm sure of it," he cried triumphantly. "It will soon be dark, too, and father will run in and out among the rocks where the cutter daren't follow."

"To be sure he will," said the old woman with a nod and a smile. "They will get away if—if—Oh! There goes that horrible gun again!"

The poor creature turned white and hurried away from us to get a better view of the chase, while Bigley and I climbed right up by degrees to the very highest point of the headland and sat upon the rocks watching the long chase, with the cutter, in spite of her superior rig and sailing powers, seeming to get no nearer to her prey, while the evening shadows were descending, and the two vessels kept growing more distant from the Gap.

The cutter continued firing at regular intervals, and once we thought that the lugger was hit. But if she was the shot made no difference to her attempts at escape; and though we stayed up there in our windy look-out, fully expecting to see her lying like a wounded bird upon the water with broken wing, no spar came down, and at last the fugitive and the pursuer had become specks in the distance, fading completely from our sight.

"It's no use to stay any longer," I said. "Let's go down now."

Bigley strained his eyes westward and seemed unwilling to stir.

"It will be so dark directly we shall have a job to get down," I said. "Your father's sure to get away."

"Yes," said Bigley; "they'll never catch him now. He'll get right away in the darkness."

Just then there was a familiar hail from below.

"Chowne, ahoy!" I responded; and as we reached to about half-way down we encountered Bob coming up panting and excited.

"You are a nice couple!" he began to grumble. "I do call it mean."

"What is mean?" I said.

"Why, to have all the fun to yourselves and never send for a fellow. If it hadn't been for the firing I shouldn't have known anything about it. I wouldn't have been so shabby to you."

"Why, I didn't think about you, Bob," I said.

"That's just like you, Sep Duncan. But I say, what a game!"

"I don't see much game in it," I said sadly. "Big's father is in the lugger, and mine—"

"In the cutter trying to catch him," cried Bob. "Oh, I say, what a game!"

"Look here!" said Bigley in a deep husky voice, "come down along with me, Sep, and take hold of my arm. I feel as if I wanted to fight."

I did as he asked me and we went down, with Bob very silent coming behind, evidently feeling that he had said too much.

Bigley went straight to the cottage, where Mother Bonnet was waiting for him and ready to catch him by the shoulder.

"There now, my dear! It's of no use for you to hang away," said the old woman. "I've got a nice supper ready, and you must eat or else you won't be able to help your poor father if he should come back."

"But he won't come back," said Bigley. "He will not dare."

"I don't know what he may not do when it's quite dark," said the old woman. "There! You come and sit down, and you too, my dears, for you must be famished."

Bigley yielded, and Bob and I were going away, but Bigley jumped up and stopped us.

"I'm not bad friends, Bob," he said, holding out his hand. "You didn't mean what you said, only when a fellow speaks against my father it hurts me, and—"

"I'm so sorry, Big," exclaimed Bob eagerly, and they shook hands.

I was glad, but still I was going away. Bigley stopped me though.

"I sha'n't eat if you don't," he said.

"But I can't now after what has happened," I said.

"It wasn't your fault," replied Bigley gloomily. "Your father was obliged to speak. Come and sit down."

I was so faint and exhausted that I yielded, and we three lads made a tremendous meal, to Mother Bonnet's great delight.

This ended, the inclination was upon us all to go fast asleep after the broken night we had passed; but Bigley jumped up and led the way to the door.

"Come along," he said. "The cutter will be back soon to clear off the cargo, and I want to hear what they say."

He walked out and we followed him to the beach, which was quite deserted; and we three lads began to walk up and down, too much excited to feel sleepy now, and kept on gazing out to sea for the returning cutter.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

BIGLEY DOES NOT THINK HIS FATHER IS A DOG.

We went up to the cottage two or three times, to find Mother Bonnet keeping up the fire and the table laid for a second supper; and then we went back to the beach.

Everything was perfectly still. The mine people had long before gone to bed, but we watched on, feeling sure that something was going to happen; and so it was that about half-past twelve we heard oars, and soon after made out a boat which was being pulled by four men, while as soon as we were seen a voice cried from the boat:

"Ahoy! Who's there?"

"Father!" cried Bigley excitedly.

"Hush! Who's there?" said old Jonas as we felt quite stunned with surprise.

"Only Bob Chowne and Sep Duncan, father."

"No one else?"

"No one."

"Pull, my lads!" cried old Jonas; and as the boat grated on the beach he leaped ashore.

"I shall not be a quarter of an hour," he said. "Keep her afloat. Here, Bigley."

He caught his son's arm and they went up to the cottage together at a trot, and in less than a quarter of an hour they were back again, and old Jonas clapped me on the shoulder.

"Look here, Duncan," he said, "I always liked you, my boy, because you and Bigley were such mates."

"Are you going to take Big away, sir?" I said.

"No, boy, but I'm going to ask you to be a true mate to him still. He's going to stay with Mother Bonnet."

"I will, sir," I said.

"That you will, my lad," he cried, shaking hands. "Now, Bigley, no snivelling—be a man! Good-bye! I'll write."

He shook hands with his son, seized a bag they had brought down between them, and the next minute he was on board the boat and they disappeared into the darkness.

"How came he back again, Big?" I whispered as we listened to the beat of the oars which came from out of the gloom.

"Doubled back along with the French boat La Belle Hirondelle. They saw her about ten miles away."

"Was it the Hirondelle we saw last night!" I said.

"Yes," said Bigley shortly. "Be quiet."

"I think your father might have said good-bye to me, Bigley Uggleston," said Bob Chowne shortly. "I've done nothing to offend him. But it don't matter. Never mind."

There seemed to be nothing to wait for, but we hung about the beach till daylight, and then went in and had some breakfast, which Mother Bonnet, who was red-eyed with weeping, had ready for us, and then we went down to the beach again.

By this time the mine people were out once more, and they came and had a look, but there was nothing to see, and no one told the sturdy fellows or their families that Jonas Uggleston had been back. As for me, I only meant to tell my father when he returned.

So the mining people went to work, and we lads stood gazing out to sea, till suddenly Bob Chowne shouted:

"I can see the cutter."

He was quite right, for it proved to be the cutter, but there was no prize coming slowly behind; and when at last she came close in, the boat was lowered, and we saw my father step in and come ashore with the lieutenant, we were ready to meet them.

I wanted to speak to my father about what had happened in the night, but I had no opportunity, and it seemed that he had only been brought ashore so that he could go up to the mine, give some orders, and then return, when he was to show the lieutenant where the cave lay to which the smugglers had taken their cargo of contraband goods.

The lieutenant walked up to the mine works with my father, and as he evidently wished me to stop, I remained by the cutter's boat with my companions, and, boy-like, we began to joke the sailors for not catching the lugger.

They took it very good-temperedly, and laughed and said no one had been much hurt.

"He was too sharp for us," the coxswain said grinning; "and—my! How he did do the skipper over getting away. He's a cunning old fox, and no mistake."

"How did you lose the lugger?" I said.

"Oh, it was too dark to do any more, and she went right in among the rocks about Stinchcombe, where we were obliged to lie to and wait for daylight. He's a fine sailor, I will say that of him."

"What, your lieutenant?" I said.

"Oh, he's right enough. I meant smuggler Uggleston. He's got away, and it don't matter; we're bound to have a lot o' prize-money out of the cargo we're going to seize."

"Are you going to seize it this morning?" I asked.

"Yes, my lad; and here comes the skipper back along o' the old cappen."

They were close upon us already, and we boys looked eagerly at the lieutenant, longing to go with them, but not being invited of course.

It was too much for Bob Chowne though, who spoke out.

"I say, officer," he cried, "we three saw the cargo landed night before last."

"You three boys?"

"Yes," said Bob, "we were all there."

"Jump in then, all of you," said the lieutenant.

We wanted no further asking, and the men pushed off and rowed straight for the little bay, where in due time we arrived in face of the caves.

"And a good snug place too," said the lieutenant. "Good sandy bottom for running the lugger ashore. Nice game must have been carried on here. Come, Captain Duncan," he continued in a jocular tone, "you knew of this place years ago."

"I give you my word of honour, sir," replied my father coldly, "that I was quite unaware of even the existence of the caverns till a few days ago; and even then I did not know that they were applied to this purpose."

"Humph! And you so near!"

"You forget, sir, that my house is two miles and a half along the coast, and I have only lately purchased the Gap."

My father was evidently very much annoyed, but as a brother officer he felt himself bound in duty to put up with his visitor's impertinences, and accordingly he said very little that was resentful.

The men rowed on steadily, and as my father grew more reserved in his answers the officer turned to Bob Chowne.

"So you were there when the cargo was landed, were you?" he said.

"Yes," replied Bob coolly.

"Yes, sir," said the lieutenant sharply, "recollect that you are addressing an officer."

"Doctors don't say sir to everybody they meet," retorted Bob quickly.

"Doctors?"

"Well, my father's a doctor, and I'm going to be one, so it's all the same. I can make pills."

The lieutenant frowned and looked terribly fierce; but his men had burst into a hearty laugh at the idea of Bob making pills, so he turned it off with a contemptuous "Pooh!"

"Well," he said, "how came you to be there when the cargo was landed?"

"Thought you knew," said Bob; "we were shut in by the tide. Our boat had drifted away."

"You three boys?"

"Yes, and Captain Duncan," replied Bob.

"And what did the smuggler say to you?" said the lieutenant, turning sharply on me.

"Say to us, sir?" I replied.

"Yes, answer quickly, and don't repeat my words."

"I didn't know smugglers spoke to people they could not see. Hasn't my father told you that we were in hiding?"

The lieutenant was about to say something angry; but we were coming alongside of the bay, and my father stood up, very unwillingly as I could see by his manner, and guided the men so that they might avoid the rocks.

"I suppose we could almost run the cutter in here, Captain Duncan, eh?"

"Oh, yes, I think so," said my father, "on a very calm day. There is deep water all along, and a way could be found with ease."

"Such as the lugger people knew, of course. Steady, my lads, steady; that's it, on that wave."

The men followed his instructions, and the boat was beached pretty close to the entrance to one cavern, the water being high, and we all jumped out.

"Get the lantern!" cried the lieutenant; "and light it now, coxswain."

This was done, and two men being left in charge, the officer gave the order, swords were drawn, and he led the way in.

As he reached the mouth he placed two men as sentries at the entrance of the other hole where the water rained down, and turned to my father.

"You need not enter unless you like, captain. We may have a brush, for some of the scoundrels are perhaps still here. By the way, where's the ledge where you people were hidden?"

"Up there," said Bob promptly, and I saw the officer scan the place.

"What, coming?" said the lieutenant.

"Yes," replied my father; "but I think these lads ought to stand aside in case of danger."

"Yes," was the short response. "Here, boys, you stop here. You are not armed," he added with a sneering laugh.

"I only wish we had your father's cutlasses here, Sep," whispered Bob, "and we'd show them."

We stood back as the man went first with the lantern, closely followed by the lieutenant with his drawn sword; and we waited as the last disappeared in the opening, fully expecting to hear shots fired.

But all was perfectly still, and Bigley was creeping slowly nearer and nearer to the opening when Bob Chowne made a rush.

"Here, you chaps get all the fun," he exclaimed. "I shall go in and see."

The two sentries laughed, for they were big brown good-tempered looking fellows, and in we all three went, to find ourselves in quite a long rugged passage, running upward and opening into a big hollow at the end, where the lantern was being used to peer in all directions, till it was evident that nothing was there.

"We're in the wrong hole," said the officer. "Now, my lads, forward!"

He went sharply out into the daylight again, to where the two sentries were on guard, and entered quickly, passing through the dripping water closely followed by his men.

But there was not room for all, and he backed out directly.

"There's nothing here," he cried angrily.

"Try the other hole," said Bob, running to where we had found the narrow opening behind an outlying buttress of rock.

Bob stepped in first this time, the lieutenant following, and then the man with the lantern.

"Bravo, boy!" cried the lieutenant; "this is the place. Rather awkward, but here we are. Come along, my lads."

The sailors scrambled in as quickly as they could, and we all followed rather slowly down what was a jagged crack in the rock about two feet wide and sloping, so that one had to walk with the body inclined to the right.

This at the end of about twenty feet opened out into quite a large rough place, which contained some old nets and tins, along with about a dozen half rotten lobster-pots, but nothing more.

"There must be another place somewhere," cried the lieutenant after convincing himself that there was no inner chamber. "Lead on, coxswain, with the light."

The man went on, and we were left to the last, hearing one of them whisper to his mate:

"This here's a rum game, Jemmy; don't look like much prize-money after all."

By the time we boys were out the lieutenant had disappeared with the coxswain in the first cavern, and his men followed, leaving my father outside.

"Sep," he said, as I joined him, "where do you think the men went in?"

"That first place," I said decisively.

"Yes," said Bob Chowne; "that's the hole."

"So I felt certain," said my father; and Bigley stood aside looking on, with his forehead full of wrinkles.

Another minute and the lieutenant was out with his men, the officer furious with rage.

"Captain Duncan, are you in league with these smuggling dogs, or are you not?"

"What do you mean, sir?" cried my father haughtily.

"Well, look here, sir," cried the officer moderating his tone. "You've brought us here on a fool's errand. Where's this cargo that you saw landed?"

"How can I tell, sir? You appealed to me as an officer to show you where it was landed. It was here. The men were going in and out of that cave for two or three hours."

"Then there must be an inner place," cried the lieutenant, stamping his foot with rage. "Come and search again, my lads."

They disappeared for another ten minutes or so, and then came back with the officer fuming with passion.

"Fooled!" he exclaimed aloud, "fooled! Here, back to the boat."

Everybody embarked again, and the boat was rowed back in silence to the Gap, where we landed, and the lieutenant stepped out afterwards leaving his men afloat.

"Now, then, Captain Duncan," he said, "before I go let me tell you that I shall report your conduct at headquarters. I consider that I have been fooled, sir, fooled."

"I had thought of doing the same by you, sir," retorted my father coldly; "but I do not think it worth while to quarrel with an angry disappointed man, nor yet to take further notice of your hasty words."

"What do you mean, sir? What do you mean?" blustered the lieutenant.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I see! Here's a game!" roared Bob Chowne, dancing about in the exuberance of his delight.

"What do you mean, sir? How dare you!" roared the officer turning upon Bob.

"Why, I know," cried Bob. "What a game! Don't you see how it was?"

"Will you say what you mean, you young idiot?" cried the lieutenant.

"Oh, I say, it wasn't me who was the idiot," cried Bob bluntly. "Why, you let smuggler Uggleston dodge back in the night. He was here about twelve or one, and he and his men must have been and fetched all the stuff away again, while you and your sailors were miles away in the dark."

"Sep," cried my father, as the lieutenant stood staring with wrath, "was Jonas Uggleston back here in the night?"

"Yes, father," I replied.

"And you did not tell me?"

"I have had no opportunity, father; and I did not think anything of it. He was here about one."

"That's it, then," cried my father. "Lieutenant, he has been too sharp for you. I noted that the sand was a good deal trampled. He has been back with his men and cleared out the place in your absence."

The lieutenant stood staring as if he could not comprehend it all for a minute or two, and then flushing with rage he stamped about.

"The scoundrel! The hound! The thief!" he roared. "I'll have him yet, though, and when I do catch him I'll hang him to the yard-arm, like the dog he is."

"Dog yourself," cried a fierce voice that we did not recognise, it was so changed; and Bigley struck the lieutenant full in the face with the back of his hand. "My father is a better man than you."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE LUGGER'S RETURN.

The lieutenant staggered back from the effects of the blow. But recovering, he whipped out his sword and made at Bigley, who hesitated for a moment and then dashed up the cliff-side, dodging in and out among the rocks, and he was twenty yards away before the lieutenant had gone ten, and gaining at every leap.

Seeing that he could not catch him, the lieutenant drew a pistol from his belt and would have fired, but my father caught his arm.

"Stop, sir," he cried; "he is but a boy."

By this time the coxswain and four men had leaped ashore and run to their leader's side.

"Up and bring him back," shouted the lieutenant fiercely, and wresting his arm free he fired at Bigley, but where the bullet went nobody could say, it certainly did not go very near Bigley, who knew every rock and crevice on the side of the headland, and wound his way in and out, and higher and higher, leaving his pursuers far behind.

"Forward! Quick!" roared the lieutenant; but it did not seem to me that the sailors got on very quickly, for they kept on losing ground, and it was so hopeless an affair at last that they were called off, and descended to follow their officer to the boat.

He did not come near us where we stood in a group, and we saw him spring into the gig; but all at once he leapt out again and walked swiftly to us.

"Here," he said authoritatively, as if he had forgotten something, and he pointed to the cottage. "Whose house is that?"

"Mine," said my father promptly.

The lieutenant looked disappointed, and turned sharply back again.

"It is my house," said my father as soon as the officer was out of hearing, and as if speaking to himself. "If he had said, 'who lives there?' it would have been a different thing. He would have burnt and destroyed everything."

We stood watching the gig as the lieutenant returned and it was pushed off. It was not long reaching the cutter, whose sails were hoisted rapidly, and, filling as they were sheeted home, the graceful vessel began to glide away from the shore, and soon afterwards was careening over and heading for the west in pursuit of the lugger or luggers, whichever it might be.

"There, my lads," said my father, "you may go and look for your companion. He can come down safely now."

"Will the cutter come back, father?" I said.

"I daresay it will, to see if Uggleston's lugger returns; but I don't think the lugger will, and certainly Uggleston will not dare to return here to live for some time to come."

"Then what's to become of Bigley?" cried Bob Chowne.

"His father must settle that, my lad."

"But till he does, father?" I said. "Will he stay here?"

"Certainly, my boy. Why not? His father rents the cottage, and his son has a perfect right there."

"You will not turn him out, then, because his father is a smuggler?"

"I always try to be a just man, Sep," replied my father quietly.

"Ahoy!" came from high up over our heads, and, looking up there, we could see Bigley standing on the highest part of the headland waving his cap.

"Come down!" shouted Bob and I in a breath, and he heard us, gave his cap another wave, and disappeared.

He was not long in scrambling down to us, my father stopping till he came up looking very much abashed.

"Well, sir," said my father sternly. "What have you to say for yourself for striking one of his majesty's officers?"

Bigley's manner changed directly, his face flushed and he set his teeth as he raised his head boldly.

"He called my father a dog and a thief," cried Bigley fiercely, "and— and—I don't want to offend you, Captain Duncan, but I couldn't stand by and hear him without doing something."

"And you did do something, my lad," said my father, holding out his hand—"a very risky something. But there, I'm not going to say any more about it. Now, tell me; your father has given you some instructions, I suppose?"