Having made up his mind to this, he lay behind the stones watching till he had seen Ram, Jemmy, and the cow on board the cutter and the boats made fast; after which, as he could see that the lieutenant was busy with his glass, he waited his opportunity, got a cow between him and the sea, and then with raised stick began to drive the cattle from the neighbourhood of the precipice, his action seeming perfectly natural, and raising no suspicion in the officer’s breast.
Farmer Shackle was quite right, for it was not long before a boat, well-filled with men, under the command of the midshipman and the master, put off from the cutter, and began to row west to the little cove, through whose narrow entrance a boat could pass to lie on the surface of a cup-shaped depression, at whose head a limpid stream of water gurgled over the cleanly-washed shingle below the great chalk cliffs.
Shackle saw them go, and, guessing their destination, chuckled; for in their ignorance the search party were going to make a journey of twelve or fourteen miles round each way, when any one accustomed to the place would have made the trip in less than two.
“Well, let ’em go,” said Shackle; “but if they do find out, I’d better have my two boats out at sea,” and he thought of his luggers lying in the little cup-like cove. “Nay there’s no hurry; people won’t be too eager to tell ’em whose boats they are, and I might want to get away.”
He remained thinking about his son for a few minutes and then his countenance lightened.
“Tchah!” he said; “they won’t eat him, and they can’t do anything but keep him. They’ve found three kegs—that’s all. Wish I’d been behind the man who forgot ’em! He wouldn’t forget that in a hurry.”
Farmer Shackle went home, and was saluted by the question—
“Found my Tally?”
“Yes, wife.”
“Drowned?”