Captain Arbuthnot had dismounted and, advancing with his arm through
his charger's bridle, bent over the cask.

"Devilish queer-smelling brandy!" he observed, drawing back a pace
and sniffing.

"It has been standing in the bilge. These fellows never clean out
their boats from one year's end to another," said Mr. Smellie,
positively. Yet he, too, eyed the cask with momentary suspicion.
In shape, in colour, it resembled the tubs in which Guernsey
ordinarily exported its _eau-de-vie_. It was slung, too, ready for
carriage, and with French left-handed rope, and yet. . . . It seemed
unusually large for a Guernsey tub . . . and unusually light in
scantling. . . .

"Shall I spile en, maister?" asked one of the preventive men,
producing a large auger.

"No, stave its head in. And fetch a pannikin, somebody. There's
good water at the beach-head; and I dare say your men, Captain, won't
despise a tot of French liquor after their ride."

The preventive man set his chisel against the inner rim of the cask,
and dealt it a short sharp blow with his hammer, a sort of trial tap,
to guide his aim. "French liquor?" He sniffed. "Furrin fruit, more
like. Phew! Keep back there, and stand by for lavender!"

Crash! . . .

"Pf--f!"

"Ar-r-r-ugh! Oh, merciful Heaven!" Captain Arbuthnot staggered
back, clapping thumb and forefinger to his nose.

"PILCHARDS!"

"SALT PILCHARDS!"

"ROTTEN PILCHARDS!"

Mr. Smellie opened his mouth, but collapsed in a fit of retching, as
from right and left, and from the darkness all around him, a roar of
Homeric laughter woke the echoes of the Cove. Men rolled about
laughing. Men leaned against one another to laugh.

Already the preventive men on board the luggers--having been rash
enough to prise open some half a dozen casks--had dropped overboard
and were wading ashore, coughing and spitting as they came. Amid the
uproar Major Hymen kept a perfectly grave face.

"You see, sir," he explained to Captain Arbuthnot, "Mr. Smellie is
fond of hunting where there is no fox. So some of my youngsters hit
on the idea of providing him with a drag. They have spent a week at
least in painting these casks to look like the real thing. . . . I am
sorry, sir, that you and your gallant fellows should have been misled
by an officious civilian; but if I might suggest your marching on to
Looe, where a good supper awaits us, to take this taste out of our
mouths--and good liquor too, not contraband,