"But it is so dark," said Aleck, hesitating.

"The breaking water makes it lighter, sir, and the sea brimes to-night
out yonder. Look, we're getting to where it flashes, where it breaks!"

"To be sure; it's beginning, too, where the boat cuts the water. Come
and take the helm then. But, stop; what about the wind?"

"Westerly, sir, and blowing astern of us all the way through."

"Then we will go, Tom. Why, no man-o'-war boat dare follow us there."

"That they won't, sir," said Tom, decidedly. "I say, messmet, what do
you say to a couple o' reefs in the sail?"

"Let her be," said the smuggler, taking his seat by Aleck, who handed
him the little tiller. "There, sir, you may say good-bye to the
press-gang boats now. I daresay they'll be hanging about on their way
to their ship, but we shall hug the rocks in and out all along."

All talking ceased now, and in his new-found confidence in and
admiration of the smuggler's knowledge of the intricate ways between the
huge rocks that had from time to time become detached from the
tremendous cliffs, and stood up forming the stacks and towers frequented
by the myriads of sea-birds, the lad sat in silence watching the anchor
lights of the men-o'-war, which came into sight and then disappeared
again and again. Then, as they approached the wall-like cliffs, it
seemed to grow lighter low down where the tide rushed and broke in foam,
shedding a pale lambent glow, while deep down beneath them tiny points
of light were gliding along as if the whole universe of stars had fallen
into the sea and were illumining the dark depths below the boat.

There was a strange fascination, too, in the ride, as without hesitation
the smuggler turned the boat's head into channels where the tide rushed
like a mill-race close up to towering masses, and round and in and out,
threading the smaller skittle-like pieces, whose lower parts had been
fretting away beneath the action of the sea till the bottom was not a
third of the distance through near the top.

Tom, too, sat very silent for a long time, chewing a piece of pigtail
tobacco, evidently feeling perfectly comfortable about the smuggler's
knowledge of the coast.

At last, though, he found his tongue:

"I say, messmet, how's that head o' yourn?"

"Very sore, Tommy."

"Ay, it will be. Dessay you lost a lot o' blood."

"I believe I did," said the steersman.

"Well, you're a big, strong fellow, and it'll do you good. But, I say,
mi