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."