Cutlass and Cudgel Part 3

d.i.c.k rose unwillingly, planted the upturned bucket once more in its place, and took the milking bucket from one of the men who had picked it up. Then, sitting down again rather nervously, he once more placed the vessel between his legs, stuck his head against the cow's side, and prepared to milk.

_Whack_!

The bucket flew along the deck again, and d.i.c.k bounded away, saving himself from falling this time as he was prepared, and made a sudden leap backwards to stand wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

There was another roar of laughter, and the lieutenant bade d.i.c.k try again.

The man gave his officer an appealing look which seemed to say, "Tell me to board the enemy, sir, and I'll go, but don't ask me to do this."

"Come; be smart!"

d.i.c.k turned, glanced wistfully at Archy, shaking his head at him reproachfully, sighed, and, taking the bucket again, he looked into it with his rugged brown face full of despair.

"It's quite empty, d.i.c.k," said the middy, laughing.

"Yes, sir; there's nowt in it, and," he added to himself, "not like to be."

Again he settled himself into his place in as businesslike a way as a farm lad would who was accustomed to the cow-shed, but the moment he began the cow gave her tail a swing, lifted her leg, and planted it in the bucket, holding it down on the deck.

"Pail's full," cried Archy; and the men yelled with delight, their officer vainly trying to control his own mirth as d.i.c.k began to pat and apostrophise the cow.

"Coom, coom! Coosh, cow, then," he said soothingly. "Tak' thy leg oot o' the boocket, my bairn;" and to the astonishment of all present the cow lifted her leg and set it down again on deck.

"Well done, my lad," cried the lieutenant. "Now, then, look sharp with the milk."

d.i.c.k sighed, wiped his hands down the sides of his breeches, and began once more, but at the first touch of the big strong hands accustomed to handle capstan-bars and haul ropes, the cow gave a more vigorous kick than ever; away flew the bucket, and over went d.i.c.k on his back.

He sprung up angrily now in the midst of the laughter, and touched his forehead to his commanding officer.

"It arn't no good, sir; she's a beef cow, and not a milker."

"You don't know your business, my lad," said the lieutenant.

"But she's such a savage one, sir. Don't go anigh her, sir."

"Nonsense!" said the lieutenant, going up to the cow, patting her and handling her ears and horns; to all of which attentions the animal submitted calmly enough, blinking her eyes, and gently swinging her tail.

"I think I could milk her, sir," said Archy.

"Think so, Raystoke?" said the lieutenant. "I was just thinking I should have liked some new milk."

"So was I, sir. Shall I try?"

"Yes," said the lieutenant. "I believe I could do it myself. It always looks so easy. But no; won't do," he said firmly, as he drew himself up and tried to look stern and tall and big, an impossibility with a man of five feet two inches in height, and whose physique had always been against his advance in the profession. For as a short energetic little man he might have gained promotion; as a little fat rosy fellow the Lords of the Admiralty thought not; and so, after endless disappointments regarding better things, he had been appointed commander of the little _White Hawk_, and sent to cruise off the south coast and about the Channel, to catch the smugglers who were always too clever to be caught.

"No," he said shortly, as he drew himself up; "won't do, Raystoke, though you and I are condemned to live in this miserable little cutter, and on a contemptible kind of duty, we must not forget that we are officers and gentlemen in His Majesty's service. Milking cows won't do.

No; we must draw the line at milking cows. But I should have liked a drop for my breakfast."

"Ahoy!" cried one of the men loudly.

"Ahoy yourself!" cried a voice from off the sea on the sh.o.r.e side, and all turned to see a boat approaching rowed by a rough-looking fisherman, and with a lad of about sixteen sitting astern, who now rose up to answer the man who shouted.

"Where did he come from?" said the lieutenant. "Anybody see him put off?"

"No, sir! No, sir!" came from all directions; and the lieutenant raised his gla.s.s to sweep the coast.

"What do you want?" cried the man at the side as the boat came on, and the lieutenant bade the man ask.

"Want?" shouted the lad, a st.u.r.dy-looking fellow with keen grey eyes and fair close curly hair all about his sunburned forehead. "I've come after our cow!"

CHAPTER THREE.

"How do, Sir Risdon?"

The speaker was a curious-looking man of fifty, rough, sunburned, and evidently as keen as a well-worn knife. He was dressed like a farmer who had taken to fis.h.i.+ng or like a fisherman who had taken to farming, and his nautical appearance seemed strange to a man who was leading a very meditative grey horse attached to a heavy cart, made more weighty by the greatcoat of caked mud the vehicle wore.

He had been leading the horse along what was called in Freestone a road, though its only pretensions to being a road was that it led from Shackle's farm to the fields which bordered the cliff, and consisted of two deep channels made by the farm tumbril wheels, and a shallow track formed by horses' hoofs, the said channels being more often full of water than of mud, and boasting the quality of never even in the hottest weather being dry.

The person Blenheim Shackle--farmer and fisher, in his canvas sailor's breeches, big boots, striped s.h.i.+rt, and red ta.s.sel cap--had accosted, was a tall, thin, aristocratic-looking gentleman, in a broad-skirted, shabby brown velvet coat, who was daintily picking his way, cane in hand, over the soft turf of the field, evidently deep in thought, but sufficiently awake to what was around to make him stoop from time to time to pick up a glistening white-topped mushroom, and transfer it to one of his pockets with a satisfied smile.

"Ah, Master Shackle," he said, starting slightly on being addressed.

"Well, thank you. A lovely morning, indeed."

"Ay, the morning's right enough, Sir Risdon. Picking a few mushrooms, sir?"

"I--er--yes, Master Shackle. I have picked a few," said the tall thin gentleman, colouring slightly. "I--beg your pardon, Master Shackle, for doing so. I ought to have asked your leave."

"Bah! Not a bit," said the fisher-farmer, with a chuckle. "You're welcome, squire."

"I thank you, Master Shackle--I thank you warmly. You see her ladys.h.i.+p is very fond of the taste of a fresh gathered mushroom, and if I see a few I like to take them to the Hoze."

"Ay, to be sure," said Shackle, as he thought to himself "And precious glad to get them, you two poor half-starved creatures, with your show and sham, and t.i.tles and keep up appearances."

"I--er--I have not got many, Master Shackle. Would you like to see?"

continued the tall thin gentleman, raising the flap of one of his salt-box pockets.

"I don't want to see," growled the other, as he stood patting the neck of his old grey horse. "Been to the cliff edge?"

"I--yes, Master Shackle."

"See the cutter?"

"I think I saw a small vessel lying some distance off, with white sails."

"That's the _White Hawk_, Luff Brough. And I wanted to speak to you, Sir Risdon."

The gentleman started.