Cormorant Crag

In this excellent book of smuggling life on the south coast of England, dating about 1830, from some of the passing comments made by the author, we read of the adventures of two boys living on a small off-shore island. One is the son of the local doctor, the other the son of the squire, or owner of the land round about. The boys are friendly with an old fisherman called Daygo. It is thought that he is of Spanish descent, from the Armada, but despite his name and appearance, he denies it. He likes taking the boys out fishing, but feeds then a load of yarns about the safety of a particular part of the cliffs, saying that vessels getting too close to it have been known to disappear. This is actually quite true in a way because there is a huge cave, quite big enough to accommodate a small vessel.

The boys borrow Daygo's boat, without his leave, and explore the forbidden cave. Of course they discover all the recently smuggled goods. But a few days later they are in there, having discovered another way in by land, and are captured by the smugglers, who are French, and kidnapped. After that there are all sorts of exciting and perilous situations, and it looks likely that the boys will not come out of it alive.

But they do, of course! A good read. NH _______________________________________________________________________

CORMORANT CRAG, A TALE OF THE SMUGGLING DAYS, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

CHAPTER ONE.

A HOME AT SEA.

"Here, you, Vince!" cried Doctor Burnet, pausing in his surgery with a bottle in each hand--one large and the other small, the latter about to be filled for the benefit of a patient who believed himself to be very ill and felt aggrieved when his medical adviser told him that he would be quite well if he did not eat so much.

"Yes, father."

The boy walked up to the surgery door at the end of the long, low granite house.

"Upon my word!" cried the Doctor; "it's lucky we have nobody here to see you. No one would ever take you for a gentleman's son."

"Why not, father?"

"Why not, sir! Look at your trousers and your boots."

Vincent Burnet looked down, and then up in his father's face.

"Trousers a bit tight across the knee," he said deprecatingly. "The cloth gave way."

"And were your boots too tight at the toes, sir? Look at them."

"They always wear out there," said Vincent; and he once more looked down, beyond the great tear across the right knee of his trousers, to his boots, whose toes seemed each to have developed a wide mouth, within which appeared something which looked like a great grey tongue.

"I don't think this pair were very good leather, father," he said apologetically.

"Good leather, sir! You'd wear them out it they were cast iron.--Ah, my dear!"

A pleasant, soft face appeared at the door, and looked anxiously from father to son.

"Is anything the matter, Robert?"

"Matter? Look at this fellow's clothes and boots!"

"Oh, Vince, my dear, how you have torn your trousers again!"

"Torn them again!--the boy's a regular scarecrow!" cried the Doctor. "I will not pay for good things for him to go cliff-climbing and wading and burrowing in caves.--Here: what are you going to do?"

"Take him indoors to sew up that slit."

"No!" cried the Doctor, filling up the bottle; and then, making a small cork squeak as he screwed it in, "Take your scissors and cut the legs off four inches above the knees."

"Robert!" cried Mrs Burnet, in a tone of protest.