Garge jumped at the suggestion. His home was at Newlyn. It was an easy walk from Mousehole. Young Bill, Garge's nephew, could go with him.
Accordingly the anchor was let go and the sails loosely stowed. The Fairy, being one of a type common to Mounts Bay, would excite no curiosity. She was registered as a fishing craft and, in fact, was one except when Captain Silas had undertakings of a more hazardous and withal more profitable nature in hand.
The mate hailed a passing boat, and uncle and nephew were readily given a passage ashore.
Left to himself, Cap'n Silas paced the deck till nightfall, relieving the monotony by exchanging bantering speech with the crews of the outward-bound Mousehole fishing fleet, most of whom he knew.
After sunset he hoisted the riding-light, went below, and prepared and ate supper.
Shortly after midnight Silas went on deck. Everything was quiet. Softly he brought the dinghy alongside, muffled the rowlocks with cotton waste and then proceeded to load up with the precious cargo received from the Alerte.
Deeply laden, the dinghy was rowed shorewards, right into a small cave about a mile to the southward of Mousehole village. Here the cargo was unloaded and buried in the firm white sand forming the floor of the cave, at fifty yards from its mouth.
Silas, when he worked, did work. Normally easy-going and of a lazy disposition, he had the gift of toiling with almost superhuman energy when circumstances required. And this was one of them.
Ten times during the long December night did the dinghy, well down in the water, make the double passage between the Fairy and the cave.
At a quarter to eight, Silas, looking fresh as paint, rowed ashore, this time to Mousehole to pick up his crew. Two hours later the Fairy entered Newlyn harbour, where her captain received the condolences of the fisher-folk on the news that his trip had proved to be singularly unfortunate. The Fairy had not brought back so much as a solitary fish.