As he lay there being untied, though his eyes were blinded, his ears were busy, and he listened to the smothered sounds of the trap being fastened and the stones being drawn over it again.

"Trap-door--door into a trap," he thought. "Where am I going now?

Surely they would not kill me."

A cold chill shot through him, but he mastered the feeling of terror as he felt himself dragged to his feet.

"Now, then, keep step," the same gruff voice said; and, with apparently half a dozen men close by him, as far as he could judge by their mutterings and the dull sound of their feet over the gra.s.s, he was marched on for over an hour--hearing nothing, seeing nothing, but all the while with his ears strained, waiting for an opportunity to appeal for help, in spite of the threats he had heard, as soon as he could tell by the voices that he was near people who were not of the smugglers'

gang.

But no help seemed to be at hand, and, as far as he could judge, he was being taken along the fields and rough ground near the edge of the wild cliffs, now near the sea, now far away. At one time he could hear the dull thud and dash of waves, for a good brisk breeze was blowing, and he fancied that he had a glint of a star through the thick covering, but he was not sure. Then the sound of the waves on the sh.o.r.e was completely hushed, and he felt that they must either be down in a hollow, or going farther and farther away inland.

Twice this happened, and the third time, as all was still, and he could feel a hard road beneath his feet, he became sure. There was an echoing sound from their footsteps, dull to him, but still plain, and it seemed as if they were down in some narrow cutting or rift, when all at once!

Just in front, after the men about him had been talking more loudly, as if clear of danger, there rang out a stern--

"Halt--stand!"

There was a hasty exclamation. Then came in the loud, gruff voice,--

"Back, lads, quick!"

He was seized, and retreat had begun, when again rang out:--

"Halt--stand!"

The smugglers were between two fires.

The midshipman was conscious of a familiar voice crying,--

"No shots, lads. Cutlashes!"

There was a rush; the sound of blows, men swayed and struggled about wildly, and the lad, bound, blindfolded, and helpless, was thrust here and there. Then he received a sharp blow from a cudgel, which sent him staggering forward, and directly after a dull cut from a steel weapon, which, fortunately for him, fell upon and across the rope which bound his arms to his sides. There were oaths, fierce cries, and the struggling grew hotter, till all at once there was a rush, Archy went down like a skittle, men seemed to perform a triumphal war-dance upon his body, and then they pa.s.sed on with the fight, evidently consisting of a retreat and pursuit, till the sounds nearly died away.

A minute later, as Archy lay there perfectly helpless, the noises increased again. Men were evidently laughing and talking loudly, and the sounds seemed to come round a corner, to become plainer all at once.

"Pity we didn't go on after them? Nonsense, my lad! They know every hole and corner about here, and there's no knowing where they'd have led us," said a familiar voice.

"Well, it is precious dark," said another.

"Too dark to see what we are about. But I take you all to witness, my lads, they 'tacked us first."

"Ay, ay: they began it," came in chorus.

"And if it happens that they are not smugglers, and there's trouble about it, you know what to say."

Archy heard all this, and it seemed to him that the party were about to pa.s.s him, when a voice he well knew growled out,--

"Hit me an awful whack with a stick."

"Ay, I got one too, my lad; and I didn't like to use my cutlash."

"Wish we'd took a prisoner, or knocked one or two down. Why, here is one."

There was a buzz of voices, and Archy felt himself hoisted up.

"Can you stand? Not wounded, are you? Who cut him down?"

"Well, I'm 'fraid it was me," said one of the familiar voices. "Why, he is a prisoner ready made."

"What? Here, cut him loose, lads. Hullo, my lad, who are you?"

"Take this off," panted Archy in a stifled voice; and then, as the sack was dragged over his head, he uttered a sigh, and staggered, and would have fallen, had not one of the men caught him.

"Hold up, lad. Not hurt, are you?"

"No," said Archy hoa.r.s.ely.

"Who are you? What were they going to do with you?"

"Don't you know me, Mr Gurr?"

"Mr Raystoke!"

The rest of his speech, if he said anything, was drowned in a hearty cheer as the men pressed round.

"Well, I am glad!" cried the master. "We've been ash.o.r.e a dozen times, my lad, and searched everywhere, till the skipper thought you must have run away."

"Run away!" cried Archy huskily. "I've been a prisoner."

"Those were smugglers, then?"

"Yes," cried Archy; "but they shall smart for all this. I know where all their hiding-places are, and we'll hunt them down."

"Hooray!" shouted the men.

"Were you looking for me?"

"Well, not to-night, my lad. Making a bit of a patrol," said Gurr.

"The skipper thought that perhaps we might run against something or another, and we have and no mistake. But what's the matter? Not hurt, are you?"

"No, not much. I got a blow on the shoulder, and then some one gave me a chop with a cutla.s.s."

"That was you, Dirty d.i.c.k! I did see that," cried one of the men.

"Well, I don't say it warn't me. How was I to know it was a orsifer in the dark, and smothered up like that?"

"Are you wounded, then?" cried the master excitedly.

"No; it felt more like a blow, but people kept trampling on me after I was down."