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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Seven.</h3> “Get away, and give the alarm?” How could we? There was no rope and pulley up on the cliff now, and the boat was occupied by the cow; while, even if it had been empty, it would have meant a six mile row to reach a landing-place at that time of the tide, and an eight miles’ walk back. And here was the cutter’s gig close to them, and the lieutenant ready to ask him the meaning of the smuggled spirits being there. For there was no mistaking the fact that the kegs were full of smuggled spirit. The one the king’s men had dragged dripping from the sea, bore certain unmistakable markings, and it was evidently brother to those on the rock. Ram and Jemmy had no time for thinking; the gig was run quickly up alongside of the ledge, and Dick tossed in his oar, sprang out, sending the clear water splashing with his bare feet, as he crossed up to the kegs, and, taking one under each arm, went more slowly and cautiously back to the boat, where his messmates took them carefully, with many a chuckle and grin, to deposit them beside the others. “Now, my lad, run her alongside of the cow—I mean of the other boat,” cried the lieutenant. This was quickly done, and the little officer turned sharply to where Ram and Jemmy Dadd were seated on the rock, looking on as stolidly as if nothing whatever was coming. “Hi! You, sir; come here!” cried the lieutenant. “Me, or him?” replied Ram coolly. “You, sir.” Ram got up, whistled softly, and went down to the boat. “Want some more milk?” he said, with a grin. “Silence, sir! Do you see those?” “What, them tubs?” “Yes, sir.” “Not till you got ’em. Wish I had!” “I dare say you do, sir. Now, then: how did they come there?” “Why, your chaps put ’em there. I see ’em just now.” “No, no; I mean in the sea and on that rock.” “Come there?” said Ram, with a vacant look. “Yes, sir! How did they come there? Now, no trifling; out with it at once.” “Been a wreck, p’r’aps, and they’re washed up.” “Bah!” cried the lieutenant. “Ah, you may say ‘Bah!’ but they might. Why, there was a big ship’s boat and a jib-boom washed up here one day; warn’t there, Jem?” “Yes,” growled the rough-looking fellow, half-fisherman half farm-labourer. “And don’t you ’member the big tub o’ sugar, as was all soaked with water, till she was like treacle?” “Ay, and the—” “That will do—that will do!” cried the lieutenant. “Washed up, eh? What’s in those kegs?” “I know,” cried Ram, showing his teeth, and looking at Archy. “Full o’ hoysters! Give us one!” “Come, sir; this won’t do for me. You know as well as I do what’s in those kegs. Where are the rest?” “Rest?” said Ram, looking round. “Are there any more of ’em?” “Yes, I’ll be bound there are. Now, then, out with it, if you want to save your skin.” “Skin? That’s what father said this morning about the cow; but she wasn’t drowned.” “Look here, boy. All this sham innocency won’t do for me. Now, then, if you will tell me where the other kegs are, you shall have a reward; if you don’t, you’ll go to prison as sure as you’re there. Jump ashore, two of you, and arrest them before they run.” Ram turned, and stared at Jemmy Dadd with an ill-used countenance. “What does he mean, Jemmy?” The man shook his head. “Do you know where the other little barrels are?” “Wish I did,” grumbled Jemmy. “Say, master, what would you give a man if he showed you where they were?” “Ten guineas; perhaps twenty,” said the lieutenant eagerly. “Ten guineas! Twenty pounds!” said Jemmy, taking off his red worsted cap, and rubbing his head. “My! Was they your’n? Did you lose ’em?” “No,” roared the lieutenant; “it’s plain enough, and you know. A cargo has been run here on this ledge. Now, then; it’s no use to try and hide it. You know where it is; so will you gain a reward by giving evidence, or will you go to prison?” Jemmy shook his head, and gave Ram a puzzled look. “We came after our cow, sir, please,” said the latter, looking up at the sailor, who stood with a hand upon his arm, while Jemmy did the same. “Here, boy!” cried the lieutenant. “You know what a lot of money ten guineas would be?” “Yes,” said Ram grinning. “Why, you could buy yourself a watch and chain, and be doing your duty to the king as well. Come, did you see a French boat down here last night?” “No,” said Ram. “It was so foggy.” “You are playing with me, sir. Now then, will you answer?” “I did answer,” said Ram meekly. “Didn’t I, Jemmy?” “Jump ashore, you two,” said the lieutenant, “and have a good search all among those rocks. The cargo’s there for certain. You two others,” he continued, “draw cutlasses, and keep guard over the prisoners.” His orders were obeyed, and the two men stood by guarding Ram, Jemmy, and the cow, who blinked her eyes and smelt at the sea water from time to time, raised her head and uttered a soft low, which was answered from the green top of the cliff two hundred feet above them, where another cow stood gazing down. The lieutenant and Archy stood up in the boat watching and directing as Dick and his companion searched about in all directions along the lower ledge, and then managed to climb up to the one twenty feet above, where the next minute Dick gave a shout. “Hah!” cried the lieutenant joyfully. “He has found them.” Ram shut one of his eyes at Jemmy, who made a rumbling noise, but his face did not change. “What is it, my lad?” “Cave,” cried Dick. “What’s in it?” “Lobster-pots and old sail. All wore out.” “Nothing else?” “No, sir.” “You go and look.” The second man disappeared, but returned directly. “It’s on’y a bit of a hole, sir, and there’s nothin’ else.” The search was continued and ended, for the ledge was shut in by the mighty wall of rock towering above their heads, and the lieutenant was soon convinced that it was impossible for any one to climb that without tackle from above. “Come back aboard,” he said. “You two stop and guard those prisoners.” The sailors stepped back into the boat and resumed their oars, to row steadily east for about half a mile, past several shallow caves, but they could not see one likely to become a hiding-place for smuggled goods, and the rock rose higher and higher above their heads, precluding all ascent. The boat was rowed quickly back past where the prisoners sat contentedly enough; save the cow, which kept making the great rock wall echo with her lowings, while three more of her kind now stood on high, gazing down at her plight. The lieutenant now had himself rowed west for about the same distance, but in this direction they did not pass a crack in the great rock wall, let alone a cave, and once more the gig was rowed back. “Get back into your boat,” said the little officer sharply. “Thank ye, sir,” cried Ram. “Come along, Jemmy. Find your little barrels?” “Come aboard, my lads,” continued the lieutenant, without replying to the question. “Make fast her painter to the ring-bolt here.” This was done, a fresh order given, and, with the rough boat and cow in tow, the gig began to make slowly for the cutter. Ram bent his head down in the boat. “Hist, Jemmy!” he whispered. “Hallo!” “Shall we jump over and swim ashore?” “Nay; what’s the good?—they’d come arter us, and there’s no getting away.” “I say,” shouted Ram, “what are you going to do?” Archy turned to the lieutenant. “Take no notice. A day or two aboard will make him speak.” “The cow wants turning out to grass,” shouted Ram; but no heed being paid to his words, “Oh, very well,” he said, “I don’t care. She’ll die, and you’ll have to pay for her. I wish my father knew.” He need not have troubled himself to wish, for Farmer Shackle was lying down, hidden behind some stones on the top of the cliff, watching what was going on, with his brow rugged. He had heard enough of the conversation, after being attracted to the place by the action of his cows, to know that the kegs had been discovered, and he smiled as he made out that his boy and man were quite staunch, and would not say a word. “Won’t get anything out o’ them,” he muttered, as he watched the returning boats. “Shall I tell old Graeme? No; that would only scare him. They’ll land a party, and come and search; but they won’t dare to go to the Hoze, so I’ll leave the stuff there and chance it.” Having made up his mind to this, he lay behind the stones watching till he had seen Ram, Jemmy, and the cow on board the cutter and the boats made fast; after which, as he could see that the lieutenant was busy with his glass, he waited his opportunity, got a cow between him and the sea, and then with raised stick began to drive the cattle from the neighbourhood of the precipice, his action seeming perfectly natural, and raising no suspicion in the officer’s breast. Farmer Shackle was quite right, for it was not long before a boat, well-filled with men, under the command of the midshipman and the master, put off from the cutter, and began to row west to the little cove, through whose narrow entrance a boat could pass to lie on the surface of a cup-shaped depression, at whose head a limpid stream of water gurgled over the cleanly-washed shingle below the great chalk cliffs. Shackle saw them go, and, guessing their destination, chuckled; for in their ignorance the search party were going to make a journey of twelve or fourteen miles round each way, when any one accustomed to the place would have made the trip in less than two. “Well, let ’em go,” said Shackle; “but if they do find out, I’d better have my two boats out at sea,” and he thought of his luggers lying in the little cup-like cove. “Nay there’s no hurry; people won’t be too eager to tell ’em whose boats they are, and I might want to get away.” He remained thinking about his son for a few minutes and then his countenance lightened. “Tchah!” he said; “they won’t eat him, and they can’t do anything but keep him. They’ve found three kegs—that’s all. Wish I’d been behind the man who forgot ’em! He wouldn’t forget that in a hurry.” Farmer Shackle went home, and was saluted by the question— “Found my Tally?” “Yes, wife.” “Drowned?” “No; all right.” That was sufficient for Mrs Shackle, who had some butter to make. Meanwhile the boat containing Archy Raystoke and Gurr the master, with her crew, was rowed steadily along under the cliffs, the deep water being close up. It was a hot day and hard work, but the men pulled away cheerfully, for a run ashore was a change. The opening into the cove was reached, and the boat run ashore, and one man being left as keeper, the little well-armed party of a dozen men were marched off along the narrow road toward the Hoze. Archy was in the highest of spirits, and meant to search everywhere in the neighbourhood of the ledge, so as to cover himself with glory in the eyes of his superior officer. Old Gurr the master, who had been turned over to the cutter for two reasons, that he was a good officer and a man with a bad temper, found no pleasure in the walk whatever. Now he grumbled about his corns, and said he never saw such a road; worse than an old sea beach. Then he limped with the pain of an old wound; and lastly, he forgot all about his troubles in the solace he found in a huge quid of tobacco, with whose juice he plentifully besprinkled the leaves of the brambles that were spread on either side. The men tramped on, exciting the interest of the people of the little villages that were passed—clusters of white rough stone houses by the roadside, whose occupants looked innocence itself, but there was hardly one among them who could not have told tales about busy work on dark nights, carrying kegs and bales, or packages of tobacco from the cliff, to some hiding-place in barn or cave. Old Gurr knew that, and he winked solemnly at the young midshipman. “Nice chickens, Mr Raystoke,” he said. “Where, Gurr?” cried Archy, who was growing fast, and wanted material to help nature. “Let’s get some eggs to take back.” “Eggs!” grumbled the weather-beaten officer; “I didn’t mean fowls, I meant people.” “Oh!” “Eggs, indeed! Their eggs is kegs o’ brandy. Right Nantes; Hollands gin. I know them. They’re all in the game. Keep on, my lads. Step together like the sogers do. This here road’s not the cutter’s deck.” The last order was not needed, for the men marched on cheerfully and well, till they had passed on the inner side of the high cliff where Ram had displayed his lanthorns, and following the rough road, came at last to the scattered cottages occupied by Shackle’s men, and those who had once been servants at the Hoze, before it had sunk down in the world, consequent upon its master’s having espoused the wrong side, and its servants were reduced to one old woman. As they reached the tiny hamlet, a short conference was held between Archy and the master, the latter, in a surly way, giving the lad a few hints as to his proceedings, every suggestion, though, being full of common sense. “We’ve no right to go searching their places, Mr Raystoke, but I shall make a mistake. They won’t complain. They daren’t.” “Why?” “Hands are too dirty; if not with this job, with some other.” So they halted the men, posted one at each end of the little place, so as to command a good view of any one attempting to carry off contraband goods, and went from house to house, the people readily submitting to the intrusion and search, which in each case was without result. Every one of the cottages being tried, the men were marched down hill after Archy, and stood for a few moments gazing out over the cliff, to where the cutter lay at anchor, with the farmer’s boat trailing out astern, and the air so clear that he could even see the cow tethered to a belaying pin, just in front of the mast. Five minutes after they came upon Fisherman-farmer Shackle himself, leaning over his gate and smoking a pipe, as he apparently contemplated a pig, and wondered whether he ought to make it fatter than it was. “Mornin’, gentlemen,” he said, as Archy and the master came up, and halted their men. “Good morning,” said Archy shortly. “Stand aside, please; we must search all your places.” “Search my places, squire—capt’n, I mean? He aren’t here.” “Who is not here? Are not you the master?” “Ay, my lad, but I mean him you’re searching for. Hi! Missus!” “Yes,” came from within, and Mrs Shackle appeared wiping her hands. “Ain’t seen a deserter, missus, have you? Capt’n here has lost one of his men.” “If you’ll let me speak, I’ll explain,” said Archy sharply. “A cargo of contraband goods was landed on the rocks below the cliff last night, and—” “You don’t say so, master!” said Shackle earnestly. “I do say so,” cried Archy; “and you are suspected of having them concealed here.” “Me!” cried Shackle, bursting into a roar of laughter. “Me, Mr Orficer? Do you know what I am?” “No.” “Why, I’m a farmer. Hi, missus, hear him! Young gent here thinks I’m a smuggler. That is a good un, and no mistake.” Archy was taken aback for the moment, but he caught the eye of the master, who was too old over the business to be easily hoodwinked. “The young gentleman’s made quite a mistake,” said Mrs Shackle demurely. “P’r’aps he’d like a mug of our mead before he goes, and his men a drop of home-brewed.” “Ay, to be sure,” cried Shackle. “Put out the bread and cheese, missus, and I’ll go and draw a drink or two. You’ll take something too, won’t you, master?” “Yes; don’t mind,” said Gurr, “but I’d rather take a tot o’ right Nantes or Hollands.” “Ay, so would I,” said Shackle, with a laugh, as his wife began to bustle about and get knives and plates; “but you’ve come to the wrong place, master. I have heared o’ people getting a drop from ’em, after they’ve used their horses and carts, but that’s never been my luck; has it, missus?” “No, never,” said Mrs Shackle; and to herself,—“That’s quite true.” “You are very hospitable,” said Archy shortly; “but I’ve got my duty to do, sir. It’s an unpleasant one, that we must search your place for contraband goods.” “Sarch? Oh, I give you my word, squire, there’s nothing here.” “We must see about that.” “Well, this here arn’t werry pleasant, Mr Orficer, seeing as I’m a reg’lar loyal servant of the king. But theer, I don’t mind if my missus don’t object. You won’t mind, old gal, so long as they don’t rip open the beds and chuck the furniture all over the place?” “I should like to see any of them doing it, that’s all,” cried Mrs Shackle, ruffling up like a great Dorking hen who saw a hawk. “Nothing about the place shall be injured, madam,” said Archy politely; “but we must search.” “Oh, very well then,” said Mrs Shackle; “but I must say it’s very rude.” “Pray, forgive us,” said Archy, raising his hat; “we are His Majesty’s servants, and we do it in the king’s name.” Mrs Shackle responded with her best curtsey, and a smile came back in her face as the farmer said,— “It’s all right, missus; they’re obliged to do it. Where will you begin first—what are you sarching for?” “Brandy,” said Archy. “Oh, then, down in the cellar’s the place,” said Shackle, laughing, and taking three mugs from where his wife had placed them. “If it had been for silks and laces, I should have said go upstairs.” He led the way to a door at the top of some stone steps. “One moment,” said Archy, and, giving orders to the men to separate, surround the premises, and search the outbuildings, then stationing two more at the doors, and taking one, Gurr, to search upstairs, he followed the farmer into a fairly spacious stone cellar, where there was a cider barrel in company with two of ale, and little kegs of elder wine and mead. “Sarch away, squire,” said Shackle bluffly, as he placed the mugs on the floor and turned the wooden spigots. “That’s elder wine in the little barrel. Say, you haven’t seen anything of a boy of mine in your travels? My lad and one of the men have gone after a stray cow. I’m fear’d she’s gone over the cliff.” “They’re all on board the cutter.” “What? Well, that is good news. Full up here. Done sarching, sir?” “Yes,” replied Archy, who began to feel more and more ashamed of being suspicious of so frank and bluffly hospitable a man. “Come along then. Your lads will be as pleased as can be with a mug of my home-brewed.” As he led the way to the door the midshipman gave another glance round, seeing nothing in the slightest degree suspicious, and, a few minutes after, the whole party was being refreshed, both officers quite convinced that there was nothing contraband on the premises. “What other houses are there near here?” asked Gurr at last. “Only one. The Hoze.” “The Hoze?” “Yes; Sir Risdon Graeme’s. Yonder among the trees. Going up there?” “Yes, of course,” said Archy shortly. “Yes, of course,” said the farmer, in assent. “But I’d be a bit easy with him, sir. Don’t hurt his feelings. Gentleman, you see.” “Don’t be alarmed,” said the midshipman quietly. “I hope we shall not be rude to any one.” He moved towards the door, after saluting Mrs Shackle, the farmer leading the way, and pointing out the nearest path up the steep slope. “’Bout my cow,” he said. “I have no doubt that as soon as the lieutenant in command is satisfied that you had nothing to do with the smuggling, your people will be set at liberty.” “And the cow?” “And the cow of course.” “Thank ye, sir; that’s good news. I’ll go and tell the missus. Straight on, sir; you can’t miss it.” “Ah, my fine fellow,” he continued, as he walked back, “if it hadn’t been for your gang with you, how easily I could have turned the key and kept you down in that cellar, where I wish I had your skipper too.” “Oh, Blenheim!” said his wife, in an excited whisper, “how could you help them to go up to the Hoze? They’ll find out everything now.” “P’r’aps not, missus. I sent ’em, because if I hadn’t they’d have found the way. We may get off yet, and if we do—well, it won’t be the first time; so, here’s to luck.” As he spoke he opened a corner cupboard, took out a bottle of spirits which had never paid duty, poured out and drank a glass. “Thank you,” said a gruff voice. “I think, if you don’t mind, farmer, I’ll have a little taste of that. I came back to tell you that your cider is rather harsh and hard, not to say sour, and I’m a man accustomed to rum.” As he spoke, Gurr the master stepped into the room, took the bottle from the farmer’s hand, helped himself to a glass, and poured out and smelt the spirit. “I say, farmer,” he said, as he tasted, “this is the right sort or the wrong sort, according to which side you are.” “Only a little drop given me by a friend.” “French friend, for any money,” said the master, drinking the glass. “Yes, that’s right Nantes. I thought so from the first, farmer, and I know now I was right.” He went off again, and Shackle stood shaking his fist after him. “And we’d got off so well,” he muttered. “I knew that rascal suspected us.” “Say me, Blenheim,” retorted Mrs Shackle. “I’ve begged you hundreds of times not to meddle with the business, but you would, and I’m your wife and obliged to obey. Isn’t Ram a long time bringing home that cow?” “Yes,” said Shackle drily. “Very.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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