He checked himself, however, in the mad idea, and lay thinking. There was the old Kestrel, and the idea of getting back to his stuffy quarters and the ill-temper of Lieutenant Lipscombe seemed delightful; but he knew that the greatest caution was needed, or he would fail in his attempt.
Then, again, he thought it impossible that it could be the Kestrel, for the smugglers would never have the hardihood to run a cargo just under the very nose of a king’s ship; but directly afterwards he was obliged to own that it was by these very acts of daring that they were able to carry on with such success; and the more he gazed out at those lights, the more certain he felt that they belonged to his vessel.
“Yes,” he thought, “it’s the old lass sure enough, and the lads will be as glad as can be to see me back. I know they will. Oh, if I could only signal to them and bring a boat’s crew ashore.”
He lay thinking, and then, with beating heart, began to crawl cautiously along close to the edge of the cliff till he was abreast of the lanterns, which, as he had half suspected, lay in a depression, with a high bank of rush and bushes between them and the sea. There was no one with them, and all was very silent.
Where were the smugglers, then?
That was soon solved; for on crawling a little farther he found his hands go down suddenly where the cliff made a rapid slope, and as he lay upon his chest he could hear the hum of voices, the trampling of feet upon the shingle, and though he could hardly distinguish moving figures, his imagination supplied the rest; and, as plainly as if he could see it all, there, he knew, was a large lugger ashore and a party of men landing her cargo, carrying it up the beach and among the rocks, where it was being drawn up by a rough pulley, and yonder, all the while, lay the king’s ship in utter ignorance of what was going on.
There it all was, the soft murmur of the sea—he could almost fancy he heard it lap the lugger’s sides; and certainly as he gazed more intently down, there was a dark break in the line of foam. That, then, must be the lugger.
If it had only been a little lighter he could have seen all—the busy party like so many ants running to and fro with their loads, while others were drawing them up the rocks ready for the loading of the carts. Yes, there was the creak of a pulley from a heavier load than usual; and this was the way it was done on these dark fine nights. Perhaps in another hour the whole cargo would be drawn up on the cliff, the carts would be loaded at their leisure, and as the tide rose the lugger would push off once more, and all, as he had before said, just under the nose of his majesty’s cutter.
“No wonder,” thought Hilary, “that we are so often unsuccessful; but we’ll checkmate them now! What can I do?”
He lay thus thinking and listening, and then an idea came to him. The men were all busy down below, and they had left their lanterns in that hollow.