Then, crossing the plank bridge, he gave Tom a heavy kick in the ribs, and placed his lantern on the top of one of the casks.
Tom awoke with a start, and I saw him tremble as in fear. His face was ghastly white.
"Where have ye been all night?" growled his father, without waiting for an answer; "hurry along here and help to get these kegs into the boat."
Young Kinlay rose and staggered after the men. Evidently he had broached one of the whisky kegs.
I drew closer within the shadow of the rock and watched the proceedings. The smugglers carried away one by one as many of the spirit kegs as I believed might lie in the bottom of the St. Magnus. This was done in a great hurry as though much depended upon getting the things cleared away, and Carver was for ever urging his men to "hurry up!"
Then they all set to work, and rolled what remained of the casks into the stream, until, after about an hour's time, there was left no trace of the smuggler's store, excepting only the square box that Tom had slept upon.
Carver Kinlay knelt down beside this chest and unlocked it. He turned over many bundles of papers, and I saw him take out what appeared to be a roll of bank notes and thrust them into his breast pocket. He paused suddenly in his work at the hurried return of his men, and grasped at the box like a miser suddenly surprised.
"The hounds are on us!" exclaimed one excitedly. "They have taken the boat!" And almost immediately there was a tramp of feet coming up the cavern, and a blaze of light from several torches shining on drawn cutlasses.
Kinlay turned with the fury of a wild animal that finds itself trapped, and stood at bay before a company of blue jackets, who were headed by the young officer I had twice before met, Lieutenant Fox of the revenue cutter Clasper.
"In the Queen's name, I arrest you, Carver Kinlay!" said the officer in a firm, loud voice.