for you all."

"And for you too, sir; officers comes first. But we arn't got the prize
yet, and it's my belief as we shan't get it."

"Why?"

"Because it seems to me as there's something not all right about these
here craft."

"Of course there is, they are smugglers."

"Yes, sir, and worse too. If they was all right, we shouldn't ha' been
cruising 'bout here seven weeks, and never got a sight o' one of 'em,
when we know they've been here all the time."

"I don't understand you, Dick," said the middy, as he watched the going
and coming of the rock pigeons which flew straight for the cliff, seemed
to pass right in, and then dashed out.

"Well, sir, I can't explain it. Them there's things as you can't
explain, nor nobody else can't."

He wrinkled up his face and shook his head, as if there were a great
deal more behind.

"Now, what are you talking about, Dick?" cried the lad. "You don't mean
that the smuggler's a sort of ghost, and his lugger's all fancy?"

"Well, not exactly, sir, because if they was, they couldn't carry real
cargoes, which wouldn't be like the smuggler and his lugger, sir, and,
of course, then the kegs and lace wouldn't be no good. But there's a
bit something wrong about these here people, and all the men thinks so
too."

"More shame for them!" said the middy quickly. "Hi! Look there, Dick;
what's that?"

He seized the sailor by the shoulder, and pointed where, some five
hundred yards away, close under the cliff, but on the rise of the line
of breakers, there was something swimming slowly along.

Dick shaded his eyes, for no reason whatever, the sun being at his back,
and gazed at the object in the water.

"'Tarnt a porpus," he said thoughtfully.

"As if I didn't know that," cried the lad; and, running aft, he
descended into the cabin, and returned with a glass, which he focussed
and gazed through at the object rising steadily and falling with the
heave of the sea.

"See her, sir?"

"Yes," answered the middy, with his glass at his eye. "It's a bullock
or a cow."

"Werry like, sir. There is sea-cows, I've heared."

"Oh, but this isn't one of them. I believe it's a real cow, Dick."

"Not she, sir. Real cows lives in Lincolnshire, and feeds on grass. I
never see 'em go in the sea, only halfway up their legs in ponds, and
stand a-waggin' their tails to keep off the flies. This here's a
sea-cow, sir, sartin."

"It's a cow, Dick; and it has tumbled off the cliff, and