“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?”