When night came on, therefore, a couple of boats, with Tregenna in one of them, left the cutter and cruised about, the one on the Hastings side, the other in the direction of the marshes.
Tregenna was in the former boat; but it had not got very far when one of the men at the oars raised his head, as if listening intently.
“Did you hear that, sir?” asked he, in a low voice.
“What? I heard nothing.”
The man rested on his oar, and his example was followed by the others. There was a moment of dead silence, no sounds reaching their straining ears but the cry of a sea-bird and the soft plash of the calm water as it lapped the sides of the boat. It was a beautiful night, the sea as smooth as a lake, and the moon, which was almost at the full, making a bright path of silvery yellow on the still water. There was nothing to tell of early winter save for a touch of frost in the air, and a thin line of November fog along the shore.
Suddenly there rang out in the keen night air the sharp report of a pistol, followed by a cry, which sounded shrill in the distance.
“Turn,” said Tregenna, “and row hard for the other boat.”
As they went, pulling with all their strength, they heard nothing more for some time. It was not until they had come in sight of their second boat that they perceived that a stern chase was in progress.
Well out to sea, and rowing out at a rapid rate, was a long, low craft which was painted a light color, and which it was easy to guess was the property of the “free-traders.” It was much longer than either of the pursuing craft, lightly built, and well manned. So that singly one of the cutter’s boats and its small crew would have had little chance with it, had the two come to close quarters.
Nevertheless, the revenue-men were giving chase with a will, and at sight of their comrades on the way to join them they gave forth a cheer which rang out over the water, putting spirit into the heart of their comrades, and vigor into their strokes.