"The master is right, as he is a'most times," said Geordie; "an old man had so well keep a clear head upon his shoulders, when he has such a scramble before him a'down over t' crags, with a heavy jar or two upon his back. I'll join Master Wilson in a dry toast."
"But, Mr. Knibb," said Mark, "the spirits are not ours."
"Suppose then we honor the king, and give the cheer without the whiskey. It will be a new sort of toast, but not the worse for that." The exciseman agreed to the proposal and gave the words, "Long live the king;" whereupon arose a cheer from the mouth of that strange hollow, which the mountain echoes took up and repeated, one crag tossing it on: like a bounding ball to the next crag, the ledge taking it up and flinging it on into the hollow, the ridge sharpening it afresh before it could die away in the depths of the gorge, and the ravine sending it softly down in a silvery whisper to the sleepy lake below. The group of mountaineers was almost startled by the marvellous effects of this ebullition of their loyalty; for the excited echoes seemed to go on repeating that hearty cheer as if they would never let it die out—as if determined that it should become a living, abiding voice of the hills.
However, time pressed, and they returned to business. It was no trifling undertaking to remove such cumbrous goods and chattels down the steep sides of a craggy mountain; and more than once a disastrous slip occurred in the experience of the heavy-footed farm servants, which sent a jar bounding, leaping, curveting down the face of the rocks, the liquid contents flying off in sparkling jots as it went, insulting the innocent little juniper bushes which were taking their long winter sleep beneath the snow, and demoralizing the pure and spotless snows themselves.
Mr. Knibb was uncommonly exasperated by these accidents, and was led to waste large stores of the "King's English" on the occasion. "Why, it is direct treason. It is his majesty's property that the fellow is destroying in that reckless way. I declare I will report him—I'll prosecute him. There it goes again. Next time I'll send you after it, and we shall see how you will relish trundling in that fashion from rock to rock, all down the precipice."
At length, the bivouac was reached, the carts were loaded and despatched; and the weary procession again ascended the mountain, to return heavily laden as before. The cavern was at last completely dismantled; and the schoolmaster's pen was speedily employed by Mr. Knibb in drawing up a brilliant narrative of "The remarkable discovery of an illicit still on Coniston Old Man."
A reward was afterwards offered for the apprehension of all the offenders; but Miner Jack and Broom Tim had succeeded in effecting their escape "over sands," though chased by a far more relentless foe than the old exciseman, even by that treacherous tide which walks up so calmly and yet with such rapid steps, taking noiseless possession of the sandy plain.
But to return to The Yews: Miles' lethargy lay so long and so heavily upon him, that his patient mother at last thought it would be desirable to rouse him. One evening, when she had been administering her last resource (a burning hot tea made of Cayenne pepper), which had appeared to stimulate, not to say excite him, more than any previous means that had been tried, she thought she would venture to mention the name of Bella Hartley. But she was not prepared for the suddenness of the effect produced.
Miles started up in bed, exclaiming, "I must go—I must go and save her; no wrong shall ever come to her door through me. The snow is deep, very deep; but nevertheless, I must go, traitor or no traitor, informer or not."
With this he made a feeble effort to spring out of bed; but the widow laid her hand upon his arm, settled his head again on his pillow, and said, "Bella is safe; no harm has come to her; the snow is all gone, and thou art lying quietly in thy own bed with thy old mother sitting beside thee, Miles, my son."