Cutlass and Cudgel Part 1

Cutla.s.s and Cudgel.

by George Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

"Heigh-Ho-Ha-Hum! Oh dear me!"

"What's matter, sir?"

"Matter, Dirty d.i.c.k? Nothing; only, heigh-ho-ha! Oh dear me, how sleepy I am!"

"Well, sir, I wouldn't open my mouth like that 'ere, 'fore the sun's up."

"Why not?"

"No knowing what you might swallow off this here nasty, cold, foggy, stony coast."

"There you go again, d.i.c.k; not so good as Lincolnshire coast, I suppose?"

"As good, sir? Why, how can it be?" said the broad, st.u.r.dy sailor addressed. "Nothin' but great high stony rocks, full o' beds of great flat periwinkles and whelks; nowhere to land, nothin' to see. I am surprised at you, sir. Why, there arn't a morsel o' sand."

"For not praising your nasty old flat sandy sh.o.r.e, with its marsh beyond, and its ague and bogs and fens."

"Wish I was 'mong 'em now, sir. Wild ducks there, as is fit to eat, not iley fishy things like these here."

"Oh, bother! Wish I could have had another hour or two's sleep. I say, Dirty d.i.c.k, are you sure the watch wasn't called too soon?"

"Nay, sir, not a bit; and, beggin' your pardon, sir, if you wouldn't mind easin' off the Dirty--d.i.c.k's much easier to say."

"Oh, very well, d.i.c.k. Don't be so thin-skinned about a nickname."

"That's it, sir. I arn't a bit thin-skinned. Why, my skin's as thick as one of our beasts. I can't help it lookin' brown. Washes myself deal more than some o' my mates as calls me dirty. Strange and curious how a name o' that kind sticks."

"Oh, I say, don't talk so," said the lad by the rough sailor's side; and after another yawn he began to stride up and down the deck of His Majesty's cutter _White Hawk_, lying about a mile from the Freestone coast of Wess.e.x.

It was soon after daybreak, the sea was perfectly calm and a thick grey mist hung around, making the deck and cordage wet and the air chilly, while the coast, with its vast walls of perpendicular rocks, looked weird and distant where a peep could be obtained amongst the wreaths of vapour.

"Don't know when I felt so hungry," muttered the lad, as he thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, and stopped near the sailor, who smiled in the lad's frank-looking, handsome face.

"Ah, you always were a one to yeat, sir, ever since you first came aboard."

"You're a noodle, d.i.c.k. Who wouldn't be hungry, fetched out of his cot at this time of the morning to take the watch. Hang the watch! Bother the watch! Go and get me a biscuit, d.i.c.k, there's a good fellow."

The sailor showed his white teeth, and took out a bra.s.s box.

"Can't get no biscuit yet, sir. Have a bit o' this. Keeps off the gnawin's wonderful."

"Yah! Who's going to chew tobacco!" cried the lad with a look of disgust, as he b.u.t.toned up his uniform jacket. "Oh, hang it all, I wish the sun would come out!"

"Won't be long, sir; and then all this sea-haar will go."

"Why don't you say mist?" cried the lad contemptuously.

"'Acause it's sea-haar, and you can't make nowt else on it, sir!"

"They haven't seen anything of them in the night, I suppose?"

"No, sir; nowt. It scars me sometimes, the way they dodges us, and gets away. Don't think theer's anything queer about 'em, do you?"

"Queer? Yes, of course. They're smugglers, and as artful as can be."

"Nay, sir, bad, I mean--you know, sir."

"No, I don't, d.i.c.k," cried the young officer pettishly. "How can I know? Speak out."

"Nay, I wean't say a word, sir; I don't want to get more scarred than I am sometimes now."

"Get out! What do you mean? That old Bogey helps them to run their cargoes?"

"Nay, sir, I wean't say a word. It's all werry well for you to laugh, now it's daylight, and the sun coming out. It's when it's all black as pitch, as it takes howd on you worst."

"You're a great baby, d.i.c.k," cried the midshipman, as he went to the side of the cutter and looked over the low bulwark toward the east.

"Hah! Here comes the sun."

His eyes brightened as he welcomed the coming of the bright orb, invisible yet from where he stood; but the cold grey mist that hung around was becoming here and there, in patches, shot with a soft delicious rosy hue, which made the grey around turn opalescent rapidly, beginning to flash out pale yellow, which, as the middy watched, deepened into orange and gold.

"Lovely!" he said aloud, as he forgot in the glory of the scene the discomfort he had felt.

"Tidy, sir, pooty tidy," said the sailor, who had come slowly up to where he stood. "And you should see the morning come over our coast, sir. Call this lovely? Why, if you'd sin the sun rise there, it would mak' you stand on your head."

"Rather see this on my feet, d.i.c.k," cried the lad. "Look at that!

Hurrah! Up she comes!"

Up "she"--otherwise the sun--did come, rolling slowly above the mist-covered sea, red, swollen, huge, and sending blood-tinted rays through and through the haze to glorify the hull, sails, and rigging of the smart cutter, and make the faces of the man at the helm and the other watchers glow as with new health.

The effect was magical. Just before all was cold and grey, and the clinging mist sent a shiver through those on deck; now, their eyes brightened with pleasure, as the very sight of the glowing orb seemed to have a warming--as it certainly had an enlivening--effect.

The great wreaths of mist yielded rapidly as the sun rose higher, the rays shooting through and through, making clear roads which flashed with light, and, as the clouds rolled away like the grey smoke of the sun's fire, the distant cliffs, which towered up steep and straight, like some t.i.tanic wall, came peering out now in patches bright with green and golden grey.

Archibald Raystoke--midshipman aboard His Majesty the king's cutter, stationed off the Freestone coast, to put a stop to the doings of a smuggler whose career the Government had thought it high time to notice--drew in a long breath, and forgot all about hunger and cold in the promise of a glorious day.

It was impossible to think of such trifling things in the full burst of so much beauty, for, as the sun rose higher, the sea, which had been blood-red and golden, began to turn of a vivid blue deeper than the clear sky overhead; the mist wreaths grew thinner and more transparent, and the pearly glistening foam, which followed the breaking of each wave at the foot of the mighty cliffs, added fresh beauty to the glorious scene.

"Look here, Dirty d.i.c.k," began the middy, who burst out into a hearty fit of laughter as he saw the broad-shouldered sailor give his face a rub with the back of his hands, and look at them one after the other.

"Does it come off, d.i.c.k?" he said.

"Nay, sir; nothin' comes off," said the man dolefully. "'Tis my natur too, but it seems werry hard to be called dirty, when you arn't."