The Lifeboat by Robert Michael Ballantyne (bill gates books recommendations TXT) 📖

we'll nab him to-night with a rich cargo of baccy and brandy a-board. The two B's are too much for him. He'd sell his soul for baccy and brandy."

"That's not such an uncommon weakness as you seem to think," observed Guy. "Every day men sell their souls for more worthless things."

"D'ye think so?" said Bluenose, with a philosophical twist in his eyebrows.

"I know it," returned Guy; "men often sell both body and soul (as far as we can judge) for a mere idea."

Here Bax, who had been examining the lugger in question with a pocket-telescope, said that he had no doubt whatever Bluenose was right, and hastened forward at a smarter pace than before.

In less than two hours they descended the steep cliffs to the shingle of Saint Margaret's Bay; and at the same time the wind began to rise, while the shades of night gradually overspread the scene.

Saint Margaret's Bay is one of those small, quiet, secluded hamlets which are not unfrequently met with along our coasts, and in regard to which the stranger is irresistibly led to ask mentally, if not really, "Why did people ever come to build cottages and dwell here, and what do they do? How do they make a livelihood?"

No stranger ever obtains a satisfactory answer to these questions, for the very good reason that, short though they be, the answers to them would involve almost a volume, or a speech equal in length to that with which the Chancellor of the Exchequer introduces his annual budget. There would be various classes to describe, numerous wants to apprehend, peculiar circumstances and conditions of social life to explain; in short, the thing is a mystery to many, and we merely remark on the fact, without having any intention of attempting to clear the mystery away.

So narrow is the strip of shingle that lies between the sea and the cliffs in Saint Margaret's Bay, that the cottages have been built close up to the latter--much too close, we venture to think, for safety; but perhaps men who live in constant peril of their lives, count the additional risk of being crushed along with their families under twenty or thirty tons of chalk, unworthy of consideration!

On descending to the beach the first thing our party saw was the burly figure of Coleman seated on his "donkey" by the "sad sea waves."

It must not be supposed that the coast-guard-man was literally astride of a live ass! No; his "donkey" was an exceedingly ingenious contrivance invented specially for the use of a class of men who, being human, cannot avoid becoming fatigued--yet who, being sentinels, must not on any account whatever be permitted to encourage sleep.

The men of the coast-guard are subject to prolonged and frequent periods of watching, by night as well as by day, hence they are liable to become wearied. It has been wisely considered that the most self-denying mortal alive will, when hard pressed, sit down on a rock or on the ground, if need be, just to relieve his legs a little. The same wise consideration has recalled the fact that when men do this they become helplessly incapable of resisting the drowsy god, and will assuredly go to sleep, against their will and their judgment.

To meet this case, some truly great mind invented the "donkey." This contrivance is simply a stool with _one_ leg. The top of the stool is not round, but oblong, and very small. A hole in the centre receives the solitary leg, which is attached to it by a piece of cord, and can be pulled out when occasion requires, and the machine thrown over the arm as one would throw a cloak or scarf. The beauty of the donkey is, that it forms an excellent seat on which a man can balance himself and rest with great comfort as long as he keeps awake; but should he fall asleep, even for one instant, he infallibly comes to the ground with a shock so severe that he is quite certain to remain wakeful during the remainder of his vigil!

"What, ho! Coleman," cried Bax, as he and his friends drew near, "have you actually acquired the art of sleeping on a donkey?"

Coleman rose and turned round with a good-humoured smile on his ruddy visage:

"Nay, not quite that," said he, "but the hiss of the waves is apt to dull the hearin' a bit, an' one don't naturally look for enemies from land'ard, d'ye see?"

"Mayhap not," said Bluenose, taking a fresh quid of tobacco out of a brass box which he carried at all times in his waistcoat pocket; "but I expect an enemy from seaward to-night who'll be oncommon glad to make your acquaintance, no doubt!"

Here the Captain chuckled, engulfed his fresh quid, and proceeded to explain the nature of their errand. Having done so, he asked Coleman what he thought of it.

The worthy coast-guard-man scratched his nose and stared at the shingle for some minutes before venturing to reply.

"I think," said he at length, "that we'll cook his goose to-night; that's wot it is."

Coleman paused, and looked thoughtfully at Bluenose. The Captain nodded his head pleasantly, but said nothing, and Coleman proceeded:--

"He'll come in with the flood-tide no doubt, if the gale don't drive him in sooner, an' run ashore as near to the cave as possible; but he'll be scared away if he sees anything like unusual watchin' on the shore, so you'd better get out o' sight as fast as ye can, and keep there."

"Don't you think it would be as well that you also should keep out of sight, and so leave the coast clear for him?" suggested Bax.

"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 glass 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 oakum, 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 passage 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 title, 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 passage 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 shore 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