“It would only be hindering her too. No, Mr Raystoke, it’s only our old bad luck, and common sense says it’s of no use to fight again it.”
“Mr Gurr,” said Archy excitedly, speaking with his eyes fixed on the sailing-boat.
“Yes, my lad, what is it?”
“Do you think it possible that yonder boat has had anything to do with the lugger?”
“Eh? What?” cried the master sharply. “Haven’t got a glass. I dunno. They’re such a set of foxes about here that she might.”
He shaded his eyes with his hand, and took a long look at her, and once more a puff of wind caught her sail and heeled her over, so that he could get a good look over her side.
She was about a mile away, and well in toward the shore, keeping far enough from the cliffs to catch the land breeze, and now, as the task of catching up the cutter was given up as impossible, the boat took the attention of all.
“Why, she’s got a lot of men in her,” cried Gurr excitedly; “nine or ten lying down in her bottom.”
“Yes,” cried Archy; “and it doesn’t take ten men to catch a lobster.”
“Ahoy, bo’s’n!” cried Gurr; “pull off to the west’ard sharp, and cut off that boat if she makes for that way. Try and head her in under the cliff where there’s no wind, if she tries to pass you. Look out! She has a lot of men on board.”