I had not stood there very long before I observed a flickering of
lights, and the sound of men's feet and voices came nearer and
nearer. Then I saw the lights of two lanterns, and distinguished
the figures of five men. Their sea jackets were powdered with snow.
"Now, lads," said a hoarse voice that I recognized as Carver
Kinlay's, "look smart. Get as many as ye can into the boat, then
roll the others into the water."
His eyes rested upon the sleeping form of his son.
"Hullo!" he cried, "why, here is the young devil after all!"
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.
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