Cutlass and Cudgel | Page 3

course, sir, they can go up the cliffs, and over 'em like flies in sugar basins. They get a spar over the edge, with a reg'lar pulley, and lets down over the boats, and then up the kegs and bales comes."
"Ah, well, we must catch them at it some day, Dick, and then there'll be lots o' prize-money for you all."
"And for you too, sir; officers comes first. But we arn't got the prize yet, and it's my belief as we shan't get it."
"Why?"
"Because it seems to me as there's something not all right about these here craft."
"Of course there is, they are smugglers."
"Yes, sir, and worse too. If they was all right, we shouldn't ha' been cruising 'bout here seven weeks, and never got a sight o' one of 'em, when we know they've been here all the time."
"I don't understand you, Dick," said the middy, as he watched the going and coming of the rock pigeons which flew straight for the cliff, seemed to pass right in, and then dashed out.
"Well, sir, I can't explain it. Them there's things as you can't explain, nor nobody else can't."
He wrinkled up his face and shook his head, as if there were a great deal more behind.
"Now, what are you talking about, Dick?" cried the lad. "You don't mean that the smuggler's a sort of ghost, and his lugger's all fancy?"
"Well, not exactly, sir, because if they was, they couldn't carry real cargoes, which wouldn't be like the smuggler and his lugger, sir, and, of course, then the kegs and lace wouldn't be no good. But there's a bit something wrong about these here people, and all the men thinks so too."
"More shame for them!" said the middy quickly. "Hi! Look there, Dick; what's that?"
He seized the sailor by the shoulder, and pointed where, some five hundred yards away, close under the cliff, but on the rise of the line of breakers, there was something swimming slowly along.
Dick shaded his eyes, for no reason whatever, the sun being at his back, and gazed at the object in the water.
"'Tarnt a porpus," he said thoughtfully.
"As if I didn't know that," cried the lad; and, running aft, he descended into the cabin, and returned with a glass, which he focussed and gazed through at the object rising steadily and falling with the heave of the sea.
"See her, sir?"
"Yes," answered the middy, with his glass at his eye. "It's a bullock or a cow."
"Werry like, sir. There is sea-cows, I've heared."
"Oh, but this isn't one of them. I believe it's a real cow, Dick."
"Not she, sir. Real cows lives in Lincolnshire, and feeds on grass. I never see 'em go in the sea, only halfway up their legs in ponds, and stand a-waggin' their tails to keep off the flies. This here's a sea-cow, sir, sartin."
"It's a cow, Dick; and it has tumbled off the cliff, and is swimming for its life," said the lad, closing the glass.
The sailor chuckled.
"What are you laughing at?"
"At you, sir, beggin' your pardon. But you don't think as how a cow would be such a fool as to tumble off a cliff. Humans might, but cows is too cunning."
"I don't believe you would be," cried the lad smartly. "Put you up there in such a fog as we've had, and where would you be?"
"Fast asleep in the first snug corner I could find," said the sailor, as the midshipman ran aft, and descended into the cabin, to go to the end and tap on a door.
There was no answer, and he tapped again.
"Hullo!"
"Beg pardon, sir," began the midshipman.
"Granted! Be off, and don't bother me again."
There was a rustling sound, and a deep-toned breathing, that some rude people would have called a snore. The midshipman looked puzzled, hesitated, and then knocked again.
There came a smothered roar, like that of an angry beast.
"Beg pardon, sir."
"Who's that?"
"Raystoke, sir."
"What do you want? Am I never to have a night's rest again?"
All this in smothered tones, as if the speaker was shut up in a cupboard with a blanket over his head.
"Wouldn't have troubled you, sir, but--"
"Smugglers in sight?"
"No, sir; it's a cow."
"A what?"
"Cow, sir, overboard."
"Quite right. Milk and water," came in muffled tones.
"Beg pardon, sir, what shall I do?"
"Go and milk her, and don't bother me."
"But she's swimming under the cliff, sir."
"Go and ask her on board, then. Be off!"
Archy Raystoke knew his commanding officer's ways, and after waiting a few moments, he said softly, after giving a tap or two on the panel--
"Shall I take the boat and get her aboard?"
There was a loud rustle; a bang as if some one had struck the bulkhead with his elbow, and then a voice roared--
"Look here, sir, if you don't be off and let me finish my sleep, I'll let go at you