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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Thirty Three.</h3> Archy Raystoke was fast asleep, dreaming about being once more on board the cutter, with the sun shining full in his eyes, because he was lying on the deck, right in everybody’s road, and Gurr the master was scolding him for it in a way which was very disrespectful to an officer and a gentleman, while the men grouped around grinned. He was not surprised, for somehow Mr Brough was not there, and Gurr had assumed the command of the cutter, and was playing the part of smuggler and pirate, and insulting him, whom he addressed again: “Get up!” Archy leaped to his feet, and saw at a glance that it was not the sun, but the light of a lanthorn shining in his eyes, while, before he could do more than realise that several men were standing close to him, half of a sack was drawn-down over his head and shoulders, and a thin rope was twisted round and round his arms, fastening him securely, and only leaving his hands free. “What are you going to do?” he shouted, after a vain struggle to free himself, and his voice sounded muffled and thick through the heavy sack. “Pitch you off the cliff if you make so much as a sound,” said a gruff voice by his car. “Keep quiet, and you won’t be hurt.” The lad’s heart beat heavily, and he felt hot and half suffocated. “Do you want to smother me?” he said. “Can’t breathe.” “Slit the back of the sack, lad,” said the same gruff voice, and there was a sharp cutting noise heard, as a breathing-hole was cut right up behind his head. “Now, then, bring him along.” His hand was grasped, and, as he felt himself led over ground that was quite familiar now, he knew that he was on the way to the entrance. Were they going to take him out, and set him free? No; if they had been going to do that, they would not have blindfolded his eyes. Yes, they would, for, if they were going to set him free, they would do so in a way that would place it beyond his power to betray their secret store. Quick immatured thoughts which shot through him as he was led along, and he knew directly after that it was only fancy. Of course. He could show the lieutenant where the opening was in the cliff, and by knowing that it would be easy to track out the land entrance. “No,” said the midshipman to himself sadly; “they are going to take me and imprison me somewhere else, for they must now know that I was holding communications with that girl.” “Now then, steady!” said a voice, as he felt that the cool air was coming down on to his head, and he breathed it through the thick sacking. “Make a rope fast round him.” “I must be at the foot of the way in,” thought Archy, as he felt a rope passed round him, and the next minute it tightened, he was raised from his feet, and the rope cut into him painfully as he felt himself hauled up. Then hands seized him, and he was thrown down on the grass, while the last rope was cast off. As he lay there being untied, though his eyes were blinded, his ears were busy, and he listened to the smothered sounds of the trap being fastened and the stones being drawn over it again. “Trap-door—door into a trap,” he thought. “Where am I going now? Surely they would not kill me.” A cold chill shot through him, but he mastered the feeling of terror as he felt himself dragged to his feet. “Now, then, keep step,” the same gruff voice said; and, with apparently half a dozen men close by him, as far as he could judge by their mutterings and the dull sound of their feet over the grass, he was marched on for over an hour—hearing nothing, seeing nothing, but all the while with his ears strained, waiting for an opportunity to appeal for help, in spite of the threats he had heard, as soon as he could tell by the voices that he was near people who were not of the smugglers’ gang. But no help seemed to be at hand, and, as far as he could judge, he was being taken along the fields and rough ground near the edge of the wild cliffs, now near the sea, now far away. At one time he could hear the dull thud and dash of waves, for a good brisk breeze was blowing, and he fancied that he had a glint of a star through the thick covering, but he was not sure. Then the sound of the waves on the shore was completely hushed, and he felt that they must either be down in a hollow, or going farther and farther away inland. Twice this happened, and the third time, as all was still, and he could feel a hard road beneath his feet, he became sure. There was an echoing sound from their footsteps, dull to him, but still plain, and it seemed as if they were down in some narrow cutting or rift, when all at once! Just in front, after the men about him had been talking more loudly, as if clear of danger, there rang out a stern— “Halt—stand!” There was a hasty exclamation. Then came in the loud, gruff voice,— “Back, lads, quick!” He was seized, and retreat had begun, when again rang out:— “Halt—stand!” The smugglers were between two fires. The midshipman was conscious of a familiar voice crying,— “No shots, lads. Cutlashes!” There was a rush; the sound of blows, men swayed and struggled about wildly, and the lad, bound, blindfolded, and helpless, was thrust here and there. Then he received a sharp blow from a cudgel, which sent him staggering forward, and directly after a dull cut from a steel weapon, which, fortunately for him, fell upon and across the rope which bound his arms to his sides. There were oaths, fierce cries, and the struggling grew hotter, till all at once there was a rush, Archy went down like a skittle, men seemed to perform a triumphal war-dance upon his body, and then they passed on with the fight, evidently consisting of a retreat and pursuit, till the sounds nearly died away. A minute later, as Archy lay there perfectly helpless, the noises increased again. Men were evidently laughing and talking loudly, and the sounds seemed to come round a corner, to become plainer all at once. “Pity we didn’t go on after them? Nonsense, my lad! They know every hole and corner about here, and there’s no knowing where they’d have led us,” said a familiar voice. “Well, it is precious dark,” said another. “Too dark to see what we are about. But I take you all to witness, my lads, they ’tacked us first.” “Ay, ay: they began it,” came in chorus. “And if it happens that they are not smugglers, and there’s trouble about it, you know what to say.” Archy heard all this, and it seemed to him that the party were about to pass him, when a voice he well knew growled out,— “Hit me an awful whack with a stick.” “Ay, I got one too, my lad; and I didn’t like to use my cutlash.” “Wish we’d took a prisoner, or knocked one or two down. Why, here is one.” There was a buzz of voices, and Archy felt himself hoisted up. “Can you stand? Not wounded, are you? Who cut him down?” “Well, I’m ’fraid it was me,” said one of the familiar voices. “Why, he is a prisoner ready made.” “What? Here, cut him loose, lads. Hullo, my lad, who are you?” “Take this off,” panted Archy in a stifled voice; and then, as the sack was dragged over his head, he uttered a sigh, and staggered, and would have fallen, had not one of the men caught him. “Hold up, lad. Not hurt, are you?” “No,” said Archy hoarsely. “Who are you? What were they going to do with you?” “Don’t you know me, Mr Gurr?” “Mr Raystoke!” The rest of his speech, if he said anything, was drowned in a hearty cheer as the men pressed round. “Well, I am glad!” cried the master. “We’ve been ashore a dozen times, my lad, and searched everywhere, till the skipper thought you must have run away.” “Run away!” cried Archy huskily. “I’ve been a prisoner.” “Those were smugglers, then?” “Yes,” cried Archy; “but they shall smart for all this. I know where all their hiding-places are, and we’ll hunt them down.” “Hooray!” shouted the men. “Were you looking for me?” “Well, not to-night, my lad. Making a bit of a patrol,” said Gurr. “The skipper thought that perhaps we might run against something or another, and we have and no mistake. But what’s the matter? Not hurt, are you?” “No, not much. I got a blow on the shoulder, and then some one gave me a chop with a cutlass.” “That was you, Dirty Dick! I did see that,” cried one of the men. “Well, I don’t say it warn’t me. How was I to know it was a orsifer in the dark, and smothered up like that?” “Are you wounded, then?” cried the master excitedly. “No; it felt more like a blow, but people kept trampling on me after I was down.” “That’s bad,” said Gurr, giving vent to a low whistle. “Here, lads, let’s carry him to the boat.” “No, no!” cried the midshipman. “I think I can walk. I could hardly breathe.” “Well, go steady, then. It’s on’y ’bout half a mile to the cove. Where did they mean to take you, lad?” “I don’t know. Perhaps on board some ship to get me out of the way;” and he briefly explained his late position, as they walked steadily on, the men listening eagerly the while. “Then you can take me right to the place, Mr Raystoke?” said Gurr. Archy hesitated. “I can point it out from the sea, but it will be all guess-work from the shore.” “Never mind; we’ll find it. But you can’t think about where they were taking you to-night?” “I have no idea. Of course they blindfolded me, so that I should not see the way out of the place I left, nor the way into the other.” “Ah, well, come on, and the skipper will talk to you. He has been fine and mad about it, and I ’most think he’s turned a bit thinner, eh, Dick?” “Ay, that he have,” said the latter. “Leastwise you might think so.” “One day he’s been all in a fret, saying you’ve run away, and that you’d be dismissed the service, and it was what he quite expected; and then, so as not to put him out, when you agreed with him, he flew out at you, and called you a fool, and said he was sure the smugglers had murdered his officer, or else tumbled him off the cliff.” Archy was too weary with excitement to care to talk much, and he tramped on with the men, hardly able to realise the truth of his escape, and half expecting to wake up in the darkness and find it all a dream. But he was reminded that it was no dream, from time to time, by feeling a hand laid deprecatingly upon his bruised arm, and starting round to see in the darkness that it was Dirty Dick, who patted his injury gently, and then uttered a satisfied “Hah!” “Pleased to see me back,” thought the midshipman, “but I wish he wouldn’t pat me as if I were a dog.” “Hullo!” exclaimed the master just then, as they came opposite a depression in the cliff which gave them a view out to sea. “What’s going on? Forrard, my lads. Smart!” The pace was increased, for away in the darkness there hung out a bright signal which all knew meant recall, and the midshipman’s heart throbbed as he felt that before long he would be in a boat dancing over the waves, and soon after treading the deck of the smart little cutter. “No,” he said to himself, as after a hail a boat came out of the darkness, its keel grating on the pebbly shore, and he uttered a sigh of content on sinking back in the stern-sheets; “it isn’t a dream.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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