“Here, one of you carry now,” said Hilary’s captor, “and let this joker haul. I found him trying to miche, and nipped him as he was skulking off. Lay hold, you lazy lubber, and haul.”
One of the men left the rope, and assuming a sulky, injured manner, Hilary took his place at the rope, and, upon the signal being given, hauled away with his new companion, who gave a grunt indicative of satisfaction, as he found how well Hilary kept time with him, bringing his strength to bear in unison with the other’s, so that they worked like one man.
“Ah, that’s better!” he said. “I’ve been doing all the work.”
They had brought a keg above the cliff edge, and this being detached, Hilary’s captor mounted it upon his shoulders, and the man who had been hauling in Hilary’s place took up a package and they began to move off.
“Let me know if he don’t work,” said the rough-voiced man.
“I’ll soon be back. Mind he don’t slip off.”
“All right,” said Hilary’s companion.
“Haul,” said a voice, and they pulled up another keg, while the tramping of men could be plainly heard below, telling Hilary of what was going on.
“Why,” he thought, as he worked steadily on, “this is where they hauled me up, the rascals; and now—”
He could not help laughing to himself at the strange trick Fate had played him in setting him, a naval officer, helping a party of smugglers to land their cargo; but all the same, he gloried in the amount of information he was picking up for some future time.