“Nay, not old, your honour,” said Tom. “Thirty-two, all but the legs I lost. They warn’t so old by some years.”
“A joker, eh? Well, look here, my lad. We’re on duty, and it’s yours as an ex-Navy man to help. Where are the fishermen? There seem to be none hanging about the cliff.”
“I d’know, your honour; up at the publics, p’raps, in the town.”
“There’s a party of smugglers here to-night?”
“Is there, sir? Running a cargo?”
“You know they are.”
“That I don’t, your honour. I haven’t seen one.”
Just at that moment there was the sound of yelling, and a couple of shots were fired. Then more shouts arose, and a shrill whistle was heard.
“Answer that, bo’sun,” cried the officer in command of the party, and a shrill chirping sound seemed to cut the night air. “Now, my lads, forward!”
“One minute,” cried Aleck. “We want to get afloat. Tell your men to give my boat a shove off.”