“D’ye see that lugger, Bax?” said Bluenose, pointing to a particular spot on the sea.
“Between the Yankee and the Frenchman?” said Bax, “I see it well enough. What then?”
“That’s Long Orrick’s boat,” replied the Captain, “I’d know it among a thousand. Depend on it we’ll nab him to-night with a rich cargo of baccy and brandy a-board. The two B’s are too much for him. He’d sell his soul for baccy and brandy.”
“That’s not such an uncommon weakness as you seem to think,” observed Guy. “Every day men sell their souls for more worthless things.”
“D’ye think so?” said Bluenose, with a philosophical twist in his eyebrows.
“I know it,” returned Guy; “men often sell both body and soul (as far as we can judge) for a mere idea.”
Here Bax, who had been examining the lugger in question with a pocket-telescope, said that he had no doubt whatever Bluenose was right, and hastened forward at a smarter pace than before.
In less than two hours they descended the steep cliffs to the shingle of Saint Margaret’s Bay; and at the same time the wind began to rise, while the shades of night gradually overspread the scene.
Saint Margaret’s Bay is one of those small, quiet, secluded hamlets which are not unfrequently met with along our coasts, and in regard to which the stranger is irresistibly led to ask mentally, if not really, “Why did people ever come to build cottages and dwell here, and what do they do? How do they make a livelihood?”
No stranger ever obtains a satisfactory answer to these questions, for the very good reason that, short though they be, the answers to them would involve almost a volume, or a speech equal in length to that with which the Chancellor of the Exchequer introduces his annual budget. There would be various classes to describe, numerous wants to apprehend, peculiar circumstances and conditions of social life to explain; in short, the thing is a mystery to many, and we merely remark on the fact, without having any intention of attempting to clear the mystery away.