don't believe Eben Megg would be such a wretch," said Aleck, stoutly.

"What, not a smuggler? They're the greatest villains under the sun."

"Are they?" said Aleck, drily.

"Yes, I know that," cried the middy angrily; "but I'll let the brute
see. I'll have him hung at the yard-arm for this. He shall find out he
made a mistake."

"When we get out," said Aleck, smiling in spite of their trouble, for
his companion's peppery way of expressing himself was amusing.

"Yes, when we get out, of course. You don't suppose I'm going to settle
myself quietly down here, do you?"

"Of course not," said Aleck; and then an idea occurred to him which made
him check his companion just as he was about to burst into a tirade
about what he would do.

"I say," cried Aleck, "it must be easy to get out of this if we wait
till the time when the boats can come in."

"But do they ever come in?"

"Of course. How else could the smugglers have landed all this stuff?"

"It must be at a spring tide then," said the middy.

"To be sure. When's the next?"

"I don't know," said the middy. "You do, of course?"

"Not I. You're a pretty sort of a sailor not to know when the next
spring tide is."

"And you're a pretty sort of a fellow who lives by the shore and don't
know. You seem to know nothing."

"Bother the spring tides," said Aleck, testily. "I know there are
spring tides, and that sometimes you can walk dry-shod half way down our
gully; but I can't tell the times. Tom Bodger would know."

"What, that wooden-legged sailor?"

"Yes."

"Then you'd better go and fetch him here."

"I wish I could," said Aleck, sadly. "What's the good of wishing?
Here, I'm hungry. Let's have something to eat."

"No, we mustn't do that," said Aleck. "We had better eat as little as
we can so as to make the food last as long as possible."

"No, we hadn't," replied the middy, roughly. "We may just as well eat
while we can. There's plenty to keep us alive; but if we can't get out
we shan't be able to live all the same."

"Why?"

The middy was silent for a few moments before he could master himself
sufficiently, the horror that he as a sailor foresaw not having been
grasped by his shore-going companion.

"You haven't been to sea?" he said, at last, in quite a different tone.

"Only about in my boat."

"In sight of land, when you could put ashore at any time."

"Yes; but what do you mean?"

"I mean, the first thing a sailor, thinks