“Who tied my head up with a hankychy?”
“I did,” growled Tom, surlily, “and just you mind as your missus washes it out and irons it flat for you to give it me agen next time you comes to Rockabie.”
“I will, mate,” said the smuggler, quietly. “There,” he added, after drawing a long, deep breath, “I’m beginning to come right again. Yes, it is a bit dark to-night,” he added, after staring about him for a minute or two. Then, uttering a sharp ejaculation, “Here, quick, put your helm hard up, Master Aleck. Quick, my lad; can’t you see where you’re going?”
“No,” said Aleck, obeying the order quickly, with the result that the sail began to flap, while, as it filled again and the boat careened in the opposite direction, there was a dull, hissing, washing sound, followed by a slap and a hollow thud, as if a quantity of water had been thrown into a rift.
“Where are we?” said Aleck, who felt startled.
“Running clear now, sir; but in another moment you’d ha’ been right on the East Skerries.”
“What!” cried Tom.
“Don’t holler, mate,” said the smuggler, drily. “Mebbe there’s one o’ the man-o’-war’s boats.”
“Running right on the East Skerries! Right you are, messmet. That was the tide going into the Marmaid’s Kitchen. Here, I feel as if I’d never been to sea and took bearings in my life, Master Aleck!”
“Yes; what is it?”