Lyle at once sent off to the relief of the wounded man, but made him prisoner, for the letter he held was the emissary’s instructions.
He was back again next day at Berwick. There he heard that the Firefly was in harbour, but had discovered no trace of the smuggling lugger, though she had been south as far as the Humber.
“No,” cried Lyle, exultingly showing the papers, “because the villain Bland has gone north, and my children are captive on an island on the west coast of Scotland.”
A council of war was held that evening, and it was determined that the sloop-of-war should sail in search of the smuggler on the very next day.
“She may not be there yet,” said the bold, outspoken commander of the Firefly. “We may overhaul her, or meet her on her way back. And it will be best, I think, for you to come with us.”
And so it was agreed.
The capture or destruction of the smuggler and Bland had for years defied both custom and cruisers in his fleet lugger, but if Captain Pim of His Majesty’s sloop-of-war was to be believed, the Sea-horse lugger’s days were numbered, and those of her captain as well.
Away went the Firefly, but long before she had ever left harbour the smuggler had left his prizes—viz, Leonard and Effie, on Lighthouse Island, and gone on a cruise on his own account, his object being to complete his cargo from among the western islands, where smuggling was rife in those days, and at once make sail for France, going round by Cape Wrath for safety’s sake, as was his wont.
As for the result of the visit of his emissary to Grayling House he had not the slightest fear.
The Firefly encountered fearful weather. Summer though it was, she took nearly a fortnight to reach Wick, and then had to lie in for repairs for days. After sailing she was overtaken by a gale of wind from the south, which blew her far into the North Sea.