"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.