The Voyage of the Hoppergrass Part 10

"Wet," said Ed Mason.

"Hungry," I added.

"Tired," said Jimmy.

"With no money," remarked Mr. Daddles.

"And nothing that we could do with it, if we had it," Jimmy Toppan gloomily reflected, shoving his hands deep into his trousers pockets.

"And it's ten o'clock," I suggested.

"Eleven," said Jimmy.

"Twelve," thought Ed Mason.

"Our case is desperate," said Mr. Daddles, "but we'll pull through, somehow. Perhaps the Captain went treasure-hunting himself, and has got lost in the fog. This has been a busy little day. Now, let's see. I think I remember a woman up the road here, who used to let rooms, or--"

He broke off, and slapped the back which was nearest him,--it was mine.

"Well, Great Scott! That echo was right!"

"Why? What's the matter?"

"The idea of our standing here for a second, when there is a house, and maybe things to eat, and beds to sleep in, anyhow,--all waiting for us!"

"Where?"

"My uncle's, of course!"

"That's so!"

"That's bully! Come on!"

"And that's not the best of it, either," he said. "We can make an attack on that house like a real gang of burglars, and enter it in true burglar style. I've always wanted to have a chance to commit a burglary. There's nothing so exciting in the world as a burglar's life,--but what chance do you get to lead one? None at all. I was brought up to believe that it's all wrong,--many's the time my poor old grandmother told me: 'Never be a burglar.' And the effect of that teaching has not worn off. I still believe that it's wrong to be a burglar. Besides, they put you in jail for it.

But this,--they can't object to our breaking into my own uncle's.

Even my grandmother would approve, I'm sure. Of course, there won't be as much plunder as if Aunt f.a.n.n.y were at home,--she's probably taken all the pie away with her. But there'll be something in the pantry, even if it's only pickles. What do you say,--shall we burglarize the house in style?"

We all agreed in delight. Mr. Daddles's enthusiasm, and his curious ideas made us quite forget how tired and wet and hungry we had felt. The fog had settled down thick again, and the air and earth were damp with it. Great drops of moisture gathered on the wood-work of the wharf, and on the burdock leaves that grew between gaps in the planking. High overhead the sky must have been cloudless, for we could see the moon, now and then, like a dim dinner-plate, when there was a moment's rift in the fog.

"Just the night for a deed like this," said Mr. Daddles; "come on!

But wait a minute--there's no sense in being burglars way off at this distance, we'll be,--let's see,--we'll be smugglers, first, --a gang of smugglers."

He insisted on forming us in single file. He led, followed by Jimmy, then I came, and Ed Mason brought up the rear.

"Remember!" whispered our leader, "we are smugglers till we get to the top of the hill. After that,--burglars."

We started up the wharf on tip-toes. This was rather unnecessary, for as we all had on rubber-soled shoes we could walk very quietly even if we went in the usual manner. Besides, it gets tiresome to walk on your tip-toes after a few minutes. But Mr. Daddles kept on that way almost to the end of the journey. When we reached the head of the wharf he turned around, and spoke again, with one hand held mysteriously at the side of his mouth, so not to be overheard.

"Now, boys," said he, "if we meet any King's officers,--GIVE 'EM THE COLD STEEL! If you haven't got any cold steel, give it to 'em luke warm. Give it to 'em somehow, anyhow. Remember, it's them as try to keep us honest fellows from a livelihood, just because we run a few casks of brandy and some French laces without paying anything to King Jarge,--bless him!"

And Mr. Daddles solemnly took off his hat.

"Now, are you ready, boys?"

"Yes," we all whispered.

"No, no! Not 'yes'," returned Mr. Daddles, with an agonized expression; "you must say 'Ay, ay,--heave ahead,' and you must GROWL it."

We all tried to growl: "Ay, ay,--heave ahead," but we didn't make much of a success of it.

"That's fair," said Mr. Daddles, "only fair. You need lots of practice. We ought to have rehea.r.s.ed this before we started. It's embarra.s.sing to do it here, with the eyes of the world upon us, so to speak. Now try again."

We tried again, and our leader said we had done much better.

"Ed," he said, "walk with more of a roll in your gait,--a deep-sea roll. See--this way. And pull your hats down low over your eyes, and glance furtively from right to left."

"I can't roll, nor anything else," Ed remarked, "until I get this pebble out of my shoe."

And he sat down on the door-step of a house, and took off one shoe. As he did so, the clock in a church belfry struck eleven.

"Eleven," reflected Mr. Daddles. "I mean: 'tis the signal, men! If the Cap'n has not failed us the lugger should be in the cove at this hour,--and we coves should be in the lugger, too. Ha! how like ye the pleasantry? 'Tis a pretty wit I have, as no less a man than Mr. Pope himself told me at the Coca Tree--No; I don't believe Mr. Pope would know the mate of a gang of smugglers,--do you?"

Jimmy Toppan and I a.s.sured him that the only Mr. Pope we knew was librarian of the Sunday School at home, and that if he knew any smugglers he had kept it a secret. Ed Mason had got rid of his pebble, and he now joined us again.

"Are you ready, men?"

"Ay, ay,--heave ahead!"

So we started once more. The streets were black as ink. They were paved with cobblestones, and there did not seem to be any side- walks. The buildings were fishermen's and clammers' huts, boat- houses, and small shops,--all dark and deserted. The fog shut out everything at a short distance. At the top of the hill there was one dim light in the rear of a little shanty.

"Hist!"

Mr. Daddles stopped us.

"It's the lair of the old fox himself!"

"Who?"

"None but black-hearted Gregory the Gauger. Him it was--or one of his minions--that killed old Diccon, our messmate, but a hundred paces from the cave, last Michaelmas. Shall we go in and slit his weazand?"

We crept up to the window and looked in. A little man, with chin- whiskers like a paintbrush, sat inside, shucking clams by the light of a lantern. We decided not to go in and slit his weazand.

Suddenly he looked up, as if he had heard us, and then rising, started for the door. We all darted back hastily, and hid in the shadow of the next building. He came out, emptied the pail of clam-sh.e.l.ls, looked toward the sky, yawned, and went in again.

As soon as he had closed the door, we were on the march. We turned the corner and took the road to the right. The walking was smoother here, and the street broader. We were soon past most of the shanties, and following a country road, where the buildings were far apart. They seemed to be large houses, set back from the road, with carefully kept lawns. Mr. Daddles stopped and peered at one of them through the fog.

"Here it is, I think. This one--or the next. No; it's this one, I remember the fence. It would never do to walk right up the front path when you're going to crack a crib. We'll have to get in a back window, anyway, so we'd better go a little farther down the road, get over the wall, circle round, and come up from the rear."

We carried out this plan, so far as getting over the wall, and then set out across a field. This was high ground, but the village behind us was still covered with the fog, and all we could see in its direction was a white cloud of vapor. The road we had just left wound on, down the hill again, and toward what might have been a dark clump of trees. The gra.s.s in the field was short and scrubby, and worn quite bare in places. There was a path which Mr.