"Why, you lazy, shuffling, young villain! Sit there and skulk, while
the others do the work, would you? Come on!"
Before the midshipman could recover from his surprise, he felt himself
run forward by the two hands which had been dropped on his shoulders,
thrust through the door, the farmer whispering savagely, "Work, or I'll
break your neck;" and giving him a fierce push and a kick, which drove
him along a passage, where on his left was the open doorway into the
dimly lit cellar.
So great was the impetus given, that but for a desperate effort to keep
his feet, and a bound or two, the lad would have gone down upon his
face.
As it was, the actual first leap took him level with the door of the
cellar, the second right on to a flight of steps beyond in the darkness,
and as he stood panting there, he realised the meaning of the old
smuggler's mistake; for he had forgotten that he was roughly dressed as
a sailor boy, and had a red worsted tasselled cap, well drawn-down over
his besmirched face.
As Archy stood there in the darkness, at the foot of the stair which he
knew must lead up into the house, he looked back to see a man come out
of the cellar, his figure just dimly seen by the light from within and
below, and over the man's shoulders were swung a couple of kegs.
Archy held his breath, and felt that in all probability the farmer had
contented himself with driving him in to work, for he made no further
movement, and the coming out of this man, and another who followed
directly, completely reassured him. It was evident, too, that they did
not know of his presence, and with his heart beating with hopes of
escape, as he more and more understood that he had been taken for one of
the boys of the gang, he backed softly up the steps, more and more into
the darkness, till further progress was stayed by a door.
Here he stopped, panting, and holding his hand upon his throbbing heart.
Then feeling that he would be seen directly if a lanthorn were brought
into the passage, he pressed the lock, it yielded, and he stepped softly
up on to a stone floor.
Here all was blacker than before, but it was a haven of refuge, and he
passed in and softly closed the door behind him, to stand listening.
All was still as death, and he began to ask himself what he should do
next. He dared not stay where he was, for if the smugglers were so much
at home at the Hoze that they could come like this by night, the farmer
or some one else might at any moment come up those steps with a light,
and then discovery was certain.
But what to do? A closet--a room--a staircase--an open window leading
in another direction to that where the men were busy! If he could find
any of these he might be safe, and he was about to try and search for
some means of concealment or escape when a cold shudder of superstitious
dread ran through him, and he began to recall all he had read of haunted
houses, for from somewhere in the darkness in front of him, he heard a
low, piteous cry.
Archy was as courageous as most boys of his age, as he was proving by
his adventurous acts; but this sound, heard by a lad living in a
generation wanting in our modern enlightenment, paralysed him. His
blood seemed to run cold, his lips parted, his throat felt dry, and a
peculiar shiver ran over his skin, accompanied by a sensation as if tiny
fingers, cold as ice, were parting and turning his hair.
Again the sigh came, to be followed by a cold current of air, which
swept across the boy's face, and then there was a low rustling sound,
which hovered in front of him, and went up and up and up, and then
slowly died away.
Archy's first impulse, as he recovered himself a little in the silence
which followed, was to turn, open the door, and flee. But he hesitated.
It would be right into the hands of the enemy. Besides, the terribly
chilling sounds he had heard had ceased, and he felt less cowardly.
"Perhaps," he said to himself, "it was fancy, or nothing to be afraid
of."
A heavy step on the other side of the door alarmed him more, and
stretching out his hands, he stepped forward, went cautiously on and on,
and at the end of a few yards touched what felt like panelling. The
next moment he realised that he had reached a door, which was yielding,
and he passed into a room, to scent the cool night air, and hear subdued
sounds without and below.
He was in a room over the cellar, he was sure, and the window was wide
open. He crept to it, guided by the cold air which came in, and had
just reached it when he heard rapid footsteps, and some one panted,--
"Where's the skipper?"
"Here. What is it?" whispered Shackle, who seemed close to where the
midshipman stood.
"Jemmy Dadd--came from the cove. Boat's crew landed."
"Run down and tell them all to come back," said Shackle hoarsely.
"I did, and they're coming. I met first man."
"Right! Get all back in quick!"
As he finished speaking, Archy could hear the dull, soft steps of laden
men returning, and more and more kept coming, and it was soon evident
that they were quickly and silently replacing the kegs they had been
carrying down hill to where tumbrils were waiting for a load.
The midshipman stood a little way back from the window, seeing nothing,
but drinking all this in, and in imagination grasping the whole scene
which went on for the next quarter of an hour or so, by which time the
last load seemed to have been brought back.
As he listened, he wondered what boat's crew it could be that had
landed, as no arrangement had been made for any help to be sent till he
either signalled from the cliff or went down to the cove at twelve the
next day, where a boat would be about half a mile out, with two men in
her fishing.
He could not understand it; all he could tell for certain was that the
smugglers had been alarmed, and that they would not remove the cargo
that night, for all at once he heard the sharp snap of a great lock
beneath his feet; this was followed by the closing of a door, and
directly after there was the shuffling of feet, and Shackle's voice was
heard in a hoarse whisper,--
"Got the lanthorn, boy?"
"Yes, father."
"Off you go then--all. Scatter!"
"You won't try again to-night?"
"Try? No," said the farmer savagely. "Wish I had some of them here!"
There were retiring steps then, and Archy leaned forward towards the
window, to utter a faint cry of pain, for his head had come in contact
with something, and as he put up his hand he found that the window was
protected by thick iron bars.
He stood listening till not a sound could be heard, and then he drew
back from the window, thinking about his next course, gazing out into
the darkness the while, and wishing he could have stepped out, leaped
down, and fled at once.
"Made our plans badly," he thought to himself. "I can't signal even if
I could find my way to the cliff, and I ought to be able to get back
here at once to seize all this store, and--"
More unpleasant thoughts came back now about how hard it seemed to have
to betray these people.
"Can't help it," he said to himself. "I am a king's officer, and I've
got to do my duty."
Then to keep these thoughts from troubling him, he began to think again
about the cutter.
They never expected that he would get valuable information so soon. He
had been wonderfully fortunate, but what was to be his next course?
Certainly to get back to the ship as soon as possible, but that was not
possible till morning, and he was miles away from the cove.
What should he do? Two hours would be plenty for the work, and as he
guessed it was not much past twelve now. How was he to pass all those
weary hours? If he could find some barn or even a haystack he would not
have cared, but it seemed to him that he would have to pass the
remainder of the night in walking, and watching so that he did not
encounter any of the smuggler gang on his way back and so raise their
suspicions.
Better be off at once. Perhaps, after all, he thought as by an
inspiration, the lieutenant had altered his plans, and was sending men
to look after and protect him.
"Let's see," said Archy to himself. "I must go out of this door, and
keep turning a little to the right till I feel the door at the top of
the stairs."
Suppose any one should hear him, take him for a thief, and fire at him?
Suppose that door at the end of the passage had been locked by the
smugglers?
It seemed so probable, that a nervous feeling attacked the lad. He
would be a prisoner, and discovered by the inmates in the morning.
He would soon put that to the proof, he told himself; and he was about
to step cautiously back toward the door when another thought sent a
shudder through him.
Suppose as soon as he got into the hall, or whatever place it was, he
should hear that sigh again and the rustling sound?
He shrank back as he recalled how it had affected him.
"Oh, what a coward I am!" he said softly; and he took a step forward,
where very faintly, as if far distant, he heard the rustling sound
again. It came nearer and nearer, then there was a low sigh, the door
was pushed open, for the rustling came quite plainly now, accompanied by
a faint breathing.
The door closed with a soft dull sound as Archy stood as if turned into
stone, his hair again feeling as if moved by hands, and he would have
spoken, but no words would come.
At last, as he stood there in front of the window, terrified too much to
stir, he suddenly heard a faint sound as of catching breath, and a voice
said in a hurried, frightened whisper,--
"Who's there? Is that you, Ram?"
Archy tried to speak but could not. Before he could draw a breath of
relief, feeling as he did that this was nothing of which he need feel
such fear, the voice said again,--
"You are trying to frighten me. I can see you plainly there by the
window. How dare you come in here like this, sir? Go back home with
your horrid men."