“Ay, ay,” Blunt answered. “Young Craike.”
“Howe’s his name,” Martin asserted. “We’ve kept him safe for you. So don’t let your men get too drunk!”
“Oh, they’ll be sober enough by dawn,” Blunt answered easily. “If not, you and Bart can give me a hand down to the ship with him. Galt’s very drunk.”
“He’s always drunk nowadays,” said Martin. “Don’t trouble about him. But Mr. Craike surely gave you to understand that the lad was to be got aboard in the dark. He must have told you of the old fool Bradbury, and the hunt he’s making. Gavin Masters is backing him. There’s talk over at the Haven of runners down from London. We’ll be having ’em here, if Masters sets his wits to work. We’ll get the lad away now, if you’re wise and willing, Blunt.”
“I’m not willing,” Blunt answered angrily. “I’m weary to death. I’ll have supper and a bottle or more from old Mag’s cupboard, before I stir this night. Damn Craike! What’s Craike to me?”
“Your master,” Martin snarled; then, as though apprehensive of my listening, he lowered his voice; Blunt following suit, I heard them muttering together; and, drearily, I rose and sat down on the bed. I was to be taken out of the Stone House that night, and be set aboard Blunt’s ship, Black Wasp, and that under the very nose of Mr. Bradbury and his folk. Unless they came that night! I lifted my hands to heaven then, and prayed that they might come to the house in time, or intercept my captors on the way down to the sea. But I sat in the dark for hours, and none came nigh me; below, the carousal rose to tumult.
I heard their voices roaring a chanty; I heard drunken laughter; once I heard the sounds of strife, smash of bottles, clash of steel, fierce cries; this uproar ceasing presently, the uproar and the singing continued far into the night. All the while the wind rolled about the Stone House; when I peered out, I saw the moon, now at the full, cloud-chased; the light alternated swiftly with dark in the room, as the wind blew the sacking to and fro. Ever the smugglers rioted within, and the wind was riotous without.
Other folk came to the house in the night; at every cry at the gate I would leap to my feet, hoping against hope that Mr. Bradbury and the searchers after me were there; peering out, I saw in the moonlight only seamen come, bringing still the smuggled cargo from the ship, and country folk with teams to carry it away for distribution; the sounds of discharge and loading from the courtyard were added to the sounds of carousal in the house itself.
Not till long after moonrise did Mother Mag bring me my supper; this night, she brought a mug of steaming spirits with bread and meat; when she had set it down, she giggled shrilly at me; caught at my sleeve with her skinny claw, and cried, “Eat and drink, young master,—drink while your grog’s hot! You’re to travel far this night, and it’s bitter cold. Drink!”
Her eagerness warned me, of course, against the grog. I answered, “I’m not thirsty. I’ll not drink. Leave it there!”