Cursed be the treasure
desperate smuggling and battles and arrests and rescues. The story, I
remember, was particularly vivid, because it was set locally, and all
the caves and creeks I knew and the old tumble-down jetty became alive
with savage men; and especially I remember how the gate at Ebb-Tide
Cave gave up its secret, swinging away from the wall, and leaving
revealed a passage into the cliff. And one cruel incident dwelt in my
memory for many a day because of my father's vivid description. It was
an old smuggler's vengeance on a traitor, the wretched victim being
torn asunder between earth and sea, with a rope around him from a cave
roof, and a heavy log tied to his feet and floating on the water,
weighing him down to a lingering death as the tide slowly ebbed.
When at last I crept into bed it was a real comfort to me to slip the
knife under my pillow, for the tale had been unusually stirring, and my
mind was in a strange confusion. More than once I awoke startled, and
felt swiftly under the pillow for the reassuring touch of my newly-won
friend; for it may have been the effect of my father's story, or it
may have been an uneasy premonition of coming things, but I seemed to
hear a sort of stifled shuffling through the house, and knockings and
smothered voices; and the trees outside shook unsettled branches, and a
swaying bough kept brushing furtively across the pane.
Once I awoke with a greater start than ever, and sat bolt upright
listening intently, every nerve strained and alert. It was
unmistakable; there was something creeping in the room. For a moment
I thought a hand touched my neck, but it was only my hair stiffening.
I took control of myself, though my heart thumped deafeningly, and
quietly reached a hand out for my father. He wasn't there. At this I
think I broke down, and cried terribly, "Dad, dad, where are you?"
"Heigh, Tommy, what?" he answered quickly, and was at my side.
"Oh, daddy," I said, trying to hold back my tears, "I was frightened."
"Why, you have your knife," he tried to pacify me.
"But where were you?" I asked.
"Why," he answered easily, "I must have fallen asleep in my chair."
It wasn't till morning that I remembered I had already felt him in bed
beside me. Waking with that thought in the grey dawn I told myself he
had been listening through the floor.
CHAPTER VI
THE KING'S MAN
I sprang out of bed feeling very much ashamed of myself for my stupid
terror of the night. Daylight makes our fears seem so foolish that
we wonder how we could ever have been afraid. My head was still a
little dizzy and uncertain, so I scrambled into my clothes and ran
downstairs and into the yard for a cooling drench under the pump. I was
longer than usual, for as a rule I wasn't too attentive to this part
of my toilet; but this morning there was a clinging vapoury hotness
about my brow which wouldn't be readily washed away. When at length,
refreshened, and doubtless with rosy cheeks and dishevelled hair, I
broke back into the kitchen, I stopped short in sudden consternation
to find it full of men. I at once recognized them as Dirk's fellows,
but a quick glance round showed me that Dirk himself wasn't there. Now
I had always thought of these rough strangers as pirates, not in the
least doing them disparagement in my thoughts on that account, rather
in my imagination framing them romantically in adventures on far seas;
but something, I suppose, of last night's story was still beating in
my head, and forgetting utterly my father's warning to steer clear of
these men, I was seized by a stupid madness, and unwittingly blurted
out, "The smugglers!"
I was dumbfounded as soon as the words were out of my mouth, for there
was a sudden stillness in the room. Talk stopped, cannikins were
arrested half-way to the lips and every eye was ferociously bent on me
in a sort of savage questioning.
Then one fierce fellow strode up to me, and taking me by the shoulders
said, "Do'st mind repeating that theer?"
But I had no word to say, and only looked up at him blankly, and shook
my head.
He dug his fingers into my flesh and spoke more harshly, "Come now,
who's been telling ee they tales?"
I had it in my head to explain how I had merely fitted the fellows into
my father's stories, and I began fatally as though in answer to his
question, "My father..."
But he broke in with, "Thy father, eh?"
"No, no, no," I cried in dismay, but a general burst of oaths drowned
my protest. A discussion was raging fiercely, but I could make little
of its drift; I only caught such expressions as "I told thee now,"
and some one answering, "That's ee; that's the cove." More ominously
sounded the grating whisper of one harsh voice, "The King's Man, freeze
un!" and again I heard the same voice muttering, "Spy!"
How all this applied to my father I couldn't guess, but I had sense
enough to realize that he was in danger, and my part was to warn
him. A jerk away from my captor only set me in firmer imprisonment,
with a kick on my shin to put me on my best behaviour. I began to be
frightened.
Soon they had me in the midst of them, and their menacing bloodshot
eyes terrified me more than the fists they held to my face. I was cowed
by their brutality, and gave no thought even to the precious knife
in my belt. I must have whimpered, for some one caught me a buffet
across the face and said, "Here, stop they waterworks, and speak to
what th'art bid." And then came a question to which probably only my
blubbering saved me from betraying the true answer. For a voice was
saying in a husky attempt at a whisper, "Thy father, him be the cove
with the burn accrosst his hand, eh?"
The question startled me, and I heaved out a further burst of tears to
cover my confusion.
"Here, hearken," I was bidden again in the same grating tones, "an'
Gawd help ee if thee don't speak up true. Be thy father the cove with
the burn accrosst his hand?"
"Left hand," somebody added.
I raised my face, biting at my lips to check my tears, and shook my
head as foolishly as I could to express my utter failure to comprehend.
In my mind, bewildered as I was, I was busily wondering how to warn my
father. I felt thankful when I remembered it was only a few days ago
that he had last treated his scar, and it would still be invisible to
these men even if they caught him and examined him. I had no thought to
spare for the mystery which had set them on his track by this tell-tale
sign. So when the question was repeated to me, instead of shaking my
head I stamped my foot in childish petulance, and shouted so that my
father if he were listening above us might hear, "Burn? Haven't I said
there's no burn? Fools!"
I was caught a sounding cuff for my pains and sent reeling, and as a
hand gripped me I cowered, expecting the blow to be repeated; but my
heart gave a strange jump of relief as I heard Dirk's voice above me.
He had entered the kitchen and was cursing volubly. When his oaths were
exhausted he thundered, "What the blazes 're you doing with the kid,
anyway?"
Explanations broke out confusedly, but he cut them short with, "Stow
yer gab, the lot o' you," and when the room was silent he turned to the
ruffian who had first seized me and demanded, "Speak up, Davie; what's
it about?"
Davie explained, and Dirk glowered at me darkly and said, "So that's
it, eh? Told you we were smugglers, eh?"
"No," I cried, "no. Yarns; that's all. I told you...."
But his great hand came slapping over my mouth, and I felt my shoulder
severely wrenched. I had nearly betrayed our earlier meeting.
"Ah," Dirk took me up sarcastically, "he tells yarns, does he? One of
these poetical chaps, I reckon. Heard of poetical license, come to
think of it. Seems like a case of it. Wull," he ended unexpectedly, "we
_are_ smugglers. Now how d'you like it?"
"Really?" I cried with such genuine admiration that there was a general
guffaw, and all at once the strained atmosphere was wonderfully
relieved.
"Yus, really," said Dirk. "Have a good look at us. Handsome lot, aren't
we? An' if you ever write one o' them yarns like what your dad does,
wull, put us all in, an' we'll take it kindly of you; and hang us all
at the end for warnings like, same as they done to Jem an' Roger last
year. Poor devils!"
The grins changed to oaths at the mention of Jem and Roger, and Dirk's
face became hard. But just then my father was heard running down
the stairs singing gaily to himself, and every form froze in rigid
expectation. He was singing a song I delighted in, but I was appalled
to hear it now:
"Dance to your daddy,
My little laddy,
Dance to your daddy,
My little man...."
He had got so far when he swung open the door, and stopped short with
well-feigned surprise to see the kitchen crowded with silent men, all
with eyes fixed intently upon him. His hands were in his pockets, and
I knew how those eyes were waiting for them to be withdrawn.
"Company! Splendid!" cried my father, and called for the mugs to be
filled; and then catching sight of me still struggling against my
tears, "Why, what's this, Tommy?" he said, and laid his hands upon my
shoulders, holding me out at arm's length.
"Nothing, daddy, nothing," I answered, smiling back as well as I might.
But I knew that both his thought and mine was that his hands were free
to the view of all. For a half moment the silence seemed to freeze in
the air; then there was a low muttering, and voices broke out again.
They had looked their fill, and had seen nothing.
My father gave me a little push to hint to me my course, and I slipped
from the room, while the business of drinking was resumed; and before I
left the inn I heard bursts of laughter, and my father's voice raised
above the rest. I understood well enough that he had made all easy
there, and was regaling the company with his racy chaff.
I made for Ebb-Tide Pool, intending to hide before the smugglers should
be back there. I meant to learn the secret of the gate this day.
* * * * *
It was still early morning, and the tide was coming in. There might
just be keel-way for a boat, I thought, to steer in through the
channel. If I were quick I might be in time to see a boat enter or row
away; so I made no circuits in my route this day but took the shortest
path I knew. But I did throw one sop to make-believe, carrying my knife
in my mouth. And the result was, clambering down the cliff with too
little regard to safe footing I slipped on a rock just above the pool,
and being child enough to exclaim at the slight twist it gave to my
ankle, the knife fell from my mouth, and I watched it strike on a ledge
and splash into the water.
I knew it was deep where the knife had fallen, and quickly slipping
off my clothes I dived in to recover it. I thought it would be an easy
matter, but three times I rose unsuccessfully to the surface. I crawled
out to regain my breath, and noticed that the current had carried me
away from the spot close in to the very edge of the cliff. I reasoned
that that explained my failure, and when my breath was sufficiently
restored I plunged in again, but this time farther out to allow for
drift. Even so I had to grope along the bottom of the pool till my
breath was nearly exhausted before my hand touched the knife, buried
in the sand almost up to the hilt. I tugged it free, and made for the
surface, but the water grew strangely dark around me, and my head
came crack against a rock. I struggled desperately, for my lungs were
bursting, but I seemed to be imprisoned beneath an immovable roof. I
tried to reason out my position, how I had come there, and which was
the right way to turn. I remembered how the current had carried me