"Not so," said Coleman with a grin, "he'd see that I'd done it for an object. Long Orrick keeps his weather eye too wide open to be caught so easy as that comes to."

"Well, but come up for half-an-hour, and have a gla.s.s of beer while we talk over the business," said Bax.

Coleman shook his head, "Can't quit my post; besides, I don't drink no beer."

"Brayvo! old feller," cried Bluenose, "give us your flipper. Water, cold, for ever! say I, as the whale remarked to the porpoise. But let's go under the lee o' the boat-'ouse an' talk it out, for we shan't nab Long Orrick this night, if we doesn't go at 'im like a cat at a mouse."

"Just listen to that old codfish," said Tommy Bogey to Peekins, "takin'

credit to his-self for not drinkin', though he smokes like a steam-tug, an' chews like--like--I'm a Dutchman if I know what, unless it be like the bo'sun of a seventy-four gun ship."

"Do bo'suns of seventy-four gun ships chew very bad?" inquired Peekins.

"Oh! don't they!" exclaimed Tommy, opening his eyes very wide, and rounding his mouth so as to express his utter inability to convey any idea of the terrific powers of bo'suns in that particular line. "But Bluenose beats 'em all. He'd chew oak.u.m, I do believe, if he didn't get baccy, and yet he boasts of not drinkin'! Seems to me he's just as bad as the rest of us."

"D'you think so?" said Peekins, with a doubtful look; "don't you think the man who does only two nasty things is better off than the one that does three?"

"Nasty things!" exclaimed Tommy in a tone of amazement. "Don't Bax drink and smoke, and d'ye think _he'd_ do one or t'other if they was nasty? Peekins, you small villian as was a blue spider only a week since, if you ever talks of them things being nasty again, I'll wop you!"

"You hear that, Bax?" said Guy Foster, who, being only a few paces ahead of the boys, had overheard the remark, spoken as it was in rather a loud key.

Bax nodded his head, and smiled, but made no reply.

It is but just to say that Tommy's threat was uttered more than half in jest. He would as soon have thought of "wopping" a little girl as of maltreating his meek companion. But Peekins was uncertain how to take his threat, so, not being desirous of a wopping, he held his tongue and humbly followed his comrades.

The party walked for some time at the foot of the cliffs under the lee of a boat-house, engaged in earnest conversation as to the best mode of proceeding in the meditated enterprise. It was evident to all of them that the hour for action could not now be far distant; for the gale increased every moment; the light on the South Foreland was already sending its warning rays far and wide over the angry sea, whence the floating lights that mark the sands sent back their nightly greeting, while dark thunderous clouds mantled over the sky and deepened the shades of night which, ere long, completely overspread land and sea.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE SMUGGLERS' CAVE--A SURPRISE, A DECEPTION, A FIGHT, AND AN ESCAPE.

The Fiddler's Cave, _alias_ Canterbury Cave, _alias_ the Smugglers'

Cave, is a cavern of unknown extent situated under the high chalk cliffs at the southern extremity of Saint Margaret's Bay.

Tradition informs us that its first appellation was bestowed in consequence of a fiddler having gone into it with his dog many years ago, and never having come out again. Four days afterwards the dog crept out in a dying condition. It is supposed that the man must have wandered too far into the cavern, and been overpowered by foul air.

Tradition also says that there is a pa.s.sage from it, underground, all the way to Canterbury, a distance of eighteen miles; hence its second name. No one, however, seems to have verified this report. The Kentish smugglers, from whom the cave derives its last t.i.tle, have undoubtedly made much use of it in days of old. At the period of our story, the entrance to Fiddler's Cave was so much obstructed by rubbish and sand that a man had to stoop low on entering the pa.s.sage which led to the interior. At the present day the entrance is so nearly closed up that a man could not creep along it even on his hands and knees.

Here, on the threatening night of which we are writing, a boatman stood on the watch, close under the rocks that overhung the entrance to the cavern. The man was habited, like most of his brethren of the coast, in rough garments, with long boots, sou'-wester cap, and oiled, tarred, and greased upper garments, suitable to the stormy night in which he had seen fit to hold his vigil.

A feeble ray of light that struggled in the cavern showed that the man clutched a pistol in his right hand, and with a frown on his brow, glanced alternately out to sea where all was darkness, and along sh.o.r.e where the only visible living object was the figure of old Coleman seated on his "donkey." It need scarcely be added that the sight of the coast-guard-man was the cause of the smuggler's frown.

The gale was now blowing stiffly, and rolling black clouds so covered the sky that the moon was entirely obscured by them, save when an occasional break permitted a few rays to stream down and reveal the elemental strife that was going on below.

Coleman, regardless of the storm, maintained his position on his one-legged companion, and bending his body to the blast, endeavoured to pierce the gloom that enshrouded everything seaward beyond the large breakers that sent their foam hissing up to his very feet. While he sat there he thought, or muttered, thus:--

"It's odd, now, I'd ha' thought he'd have run ash.o.r.e afore this; seein'

that I've sat on this here donkey for more nor an hour, a-purpose to let him see that I'm only watchin' _here_, and nowhere else. He can't but see there's a goodish lump o' the coast free to him so long as I sit here. But he's a sly feller; p'raps he suspects somethin'. An' yet, I'll go bound, he don't guess that there's six or seven of his worst enemies hidin' all along the coast, with eyes like needles, and ears on full c.o.c.k! How'sever, it won't do to sit much longer. If he don't come in five minutes, I'll git up an' walk along in an easy unsuspectin' way.

Dear me, wot a set o' hypocrites we've got to be in the hexecution of our dooty!"

While Coleman moralised thus, in utter ignorance of the near proximity of an eye-witness, the smuggler at the mouth of the cave, who was no other than Orrick's friend, Rodney Nick, muttered some remarks between his teeth which were by no means complimentary to the other.

"What are ye sittin' there for, ye old idiot?" said he savagely. "I do b'lieve ye've larned to sleep on the donkey. Ha! there's two of ye together, an' the wooden one's the best. Wouldn't I just like to be yer leftenant, my boy? an' I'd come to know why you don't go on your beat.

Why, there may be no end o' cats and galleys takin' the beach wi' baccy an' lush enough to smother you up alive, an' you sittin' there snuffin'

the east wind like an old a.s.s, as ye are."

The smuggler uttered the last sentence in deep exasperation, for the time appointed for signalising his comrades at sea had arrived, and yet that stolid coast-guard-man sat there as if he had become fastened to the shingle.

"I've a good mind to run out an' hit ye a crack over yer figure-head,"

he continued, grasping his pistol nervously and taking a step forward.

"Hallo! one would a'most think you'd heard me speak," he added and shrank back, as Coleman rose from his seat (the five minutes having expired), and sauntered with a careless air straight towards the cave.

On reaching it he paused and looked into it. Rodney Nick crouched in the shadow of a projecting rock, and grasped his pistol tightly for a moment, under the impression that he was about to be discovered. He was one of those fierce, angry men who are at all times ready to risk their lives in order to gratify revenge. Old Coleman had more than once thwarted Rodney Nick in his designs, besides having in other ways incurred his dislike, and there is no doubt that had the coast-guard-man discovered him at that moment, he would have paid for the discovery with his life. Fortunately for both of them Coleman turned after standing a few seconds at the mouth of the cave, and retraced his steps along the beach.

He prolonged his walk on this occasion to the extremity of his beat, but, long before reaching that point his figure was lost to the smuggler's view in darkness.

"At last!" exclaimed Rodney Nick, taking a dark lantern from his breast, and peering cautiously in every direction. "Now then, Long Orrick, if ye look sharp we'll cheat 'em again, and chew our quids and drink our grog free of dooty!"

As he muttered his words the smuggler flashed the lantern for an instant, in such a manner that its brilliant bull's-eye was visible far out at sea. Again he let its light shine out for one instant; then he closed the lid and awaited the result.

Out upon the sea, not far from the wild breakers that thundered and burst in foam on the south end of the Goodwin Sands, a boat, of the size and form styled by men of the coast a "cat," was tossing idly on the waves. The men in her were employed in the easy task of keeping her head to the wind, and in the anxious occupation of keeping a "bright look-out" on the sh.o.r.e.

"Time's up," said one of the men, turning suddenly towards his companions, and allowing the light of a dark lantern to fall on the face of a watch which he held in his hand.

"Dowse the glim, you lubber," cried the angry voice of Long Orrick, "and keep a sharp look-out for the signal. If it don't come we'll run for Old Stairs Bay, an' if they're too sharp for us there we'll make for Pegwell Bay, and drop the tubs overboard with sinkers at 'em."

For nearly quarter of an hour the party in the boat watched in silence.

It was evident that Long Orrick was becoming impatient from the way in which he turned, now to windward, to scan the threatening sky, and then to land-ward, to look for the expected signal. He felt, on the one hand, that if the gale continued to increase, it would be necessary to run for the nearest place of safety; and he felt, on the other hand, that if he did not succeed in landing the goods at Fiddler's Cave, there would be small chance of his getting them ash.o.r.e at all.

"There's the glim," cried one of the men.

"All right! up with a bit o' the sail," said Long Orrick, seizing the tiller from the man who held it.

In a second or two they were driving before the wind straight for the sh.o.r.e. With such a stiff breeze the boat was soon close to the breakers, and now the utmost care was necessary in order to prevent it from broaching-to and being capsized. No anxiety was felt, however, by the crew of the little craft. Deal boatmen are noted for their expertness in beaching their boats and in putting off to sea in rough weather, and the man who held the tiller of the little boat which danced on the white crests of the waves that night had many and many a time come through such trifling danger scatheless.

"Look out, Bill," cried Orrick, as the thunder of the waves on the beach sounded in his ears, and the great chalk cliffs rose up, ghostlike and dim, before him. To one unaccustomed to such scenes it might have appeared an act of madness to run ash.o.r.e on such a night. But the danger was not so great as it seemed.

The man at the bow stood ready with a boat-hook. In a moment the keel grated on the shingle. Instantly the men were over the side, and the boat was hauled up the beach.

"Now, then, for the tubs. Make for the cave straight. Rodney Nick will be here in a minute. Ah, here he comes! Well, Rodney, we've done it pretty smart," said Long Orrick, wading with a keg of brandy towards a figure which approached him from the beach. "Here you are! there's lots more of 'em. We're in luck. Look alive. The coast's clear, I suppose?"

"Hall right," said the dark figure in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, which terminated in a low chuckle, as Long Orrick placed the keg innocently in the arms of old Coleman and returned to the boat for more!

It may be as well to remark here--in order to clear up this mystery-- that although Coleman had not observed the flash of Rodney Nick's lantern, his sharp eye had observed the gleam of the light in the boat, when one of the men, as already mentioned, threw it on the face of his timepiece.

Supposing, erroneously, that this latter was a signal to the sh.o.r.e, Coleman, nevertheless, came to the correct conclusion that some one must be awaiting Long Orrick near at hand, and felt convinced that the Smugglers' Cave must needs be the rendezvous.

Hastening cautiously to Bax, whose station was not far distant from the cave, he communicated his suspicions, and they went together towards the place.