But the fatal signal never came. The captain signed for the pistol to be lowered, the bandage was removed, and the culprit, already half-dead with fear, was told that he was pardoned conditionally.
Without waiting to hear the conditions, Crocker lurched forward and fell heavily to the ground in a dead faint.
"Hark ye, George Davies! When yon lubber comes to himself, tell him to make hotfoot for Lyme, and put hundreds of leagues of sea betwixt him and us. If he says nay, keep him safely till we return."
Once more the drunken revels were resumed, and again the rollicking chorus, for the men would sing naught else, echoed through the cave:
"He used to laugh a horrible laugh,
His fav'rite cry was 'Priddys'!"
Gradually the dim light of the cave diminished, and I knew that night was falling. Torches and lanterns were lighted, and still the smugglers kept high carnival.
Suddenly, above the noise of the revellers, came a shrill whistle, and as if by magic the din of merrymaking gave place to an almost oppressive silence.
Again the whistle was repeated--like the cry of some bird of night--and one of the smugglers replied with a sound like the hooting of an owl.
Then came the noise of brushwood being removed, and a block and tackle were lowered through the chimneylike aperture.
"Now, my lads, look alive; casks first."