"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."