fog bank lying low on the
water, but the harbour wall. Why, we should ha' gone smash on it in
another jiffy, stove in, and sunk, for there's no getting up the place
this side."

"Are you sure it was?"

"Sartain. We're all right, though, now, and it's done us good, for I
know where we are, and I think we can get away now unless the boat's
headed us once more."

"Keep her away a little more then. Ah! Hark at Eben! He sounds as if
he's coming to."

The smuggler was very far from being dead, for he muttered a few words,
and then all at once they heard the backs of his hands strike the boat
sharply, while to their horror he yelled out the word "Cowards!"

Tom Bodger was active enough, in spite of his misfortune, as he
abundantly proved--perhaps never more so than on this occasion--when
again, with almost the action of a toad, he leaped right upon the
smuggler, driving him back just as he was trying to rise, and covering
his face with a broad chest and smothering his next cries.

Then Aleck grew more horrified than ever, for a tremendous struggle
began, the smuggler, evidently under the impression that he was in the
hands of the press-gang, fighting hard for his liberty, bending himself
up and calling to his companions for help. But his voice sounded dull
and stifled, and in spite of his strength Tom's position gave him so
great an advantage that he was able to keep him down.

"Mind, mind, Tom," whispered Aleck; "you are smothering him."

"And a precious good thing too, Master Aleck. He'll say thankye when he
knows. Why, if I let him have his own way he'd--lie still, will yer?--
want to have the press-gang down upon us. Lookye here, messmet, if you
don't lie quiet I'll make Master Aleck come and sit on yer too."

"But I'm afraid, Tom."

"So'm I, my lad. Pretty sort o' onreasonable beggar. Asts us to save
him from the King's men, and when we've got him off, kicking up such a
fillaloo as this to show 'em where we are. I arn't got patience with
him, that I arn't."

The man struggled again so violently that he got his hand on one side,
making the boat rock and Tom Bodger grunt in his efforts to keep his
prisoner down.

"It's no good, Master Aleck," he whispered, hoarsely; "if I'd got my
legs I could twist 'em round him and keep him still; but there's no grip
in a pair of wooden pegs. Come and sit on his knees and help keep him
quiet. Lash the helm, sir. She'll run easy enough then."

But at this th