“Who said it was inland? To a small little cove just this side of Monks Cove; you’ll know it by the waterfall that do come down over cliff there. T’eddn more’n a two-mile pull from here, just round the point.”
“Not yet, but I’ll have en there by dusk. Do you pull your boat up on the little beach and step inside the old tinner’s adit—kind of little cave on the east side—and wait there till he comes. He’s a mighty strong man, I warn ’e, a notable wrestler in these parts, so be careful.”
“I’ll take four of my best and sand-bag him from behind,” said the midshipman, who was an expert in these matters. “Stiffens ’em, but don’t kill. Two pound ain’t enough, though.”
“Four pound or nothing,” said the midshipman firmly.
They compromised at three pounds and Teresa paid cash on the spot. Ortho, the free-handed, kept her in plenty of money—so different from Eli.
The midshipman walked out of the front door, Teresa slipped out of the back and rode away. She had little fear the midshipman would fail her; he had her money, to be sure, but he would also get a bounty on Eli and partly save his face with his captain. He would be there right enough.
She continued her search for a cook in Paul and rode home slowly to gain time, turned her horse, as usual, all standing, into the stable, and then went to look for her younger son.
She was not long in finding him; a noise of hammering disclosed his whereabouts.
She approached in a flutter of well-simulated excitement.
“What is it?” he asked, never pausing in his work.
“I’ve just come round by the cliffs from Mousehole; there’s a good ship’s boat washed up in Zawn-a-Bal. Get you round there quick and take her into Monks Cove; she’m worth five pounds if she’m worth a penny.”
Eli looked up. “Hey! . . . What sort of boat?”
“Gig, I think; she’m lying on the sand by the side of the adit.”
Eli whistled. “Gig—eh! All right, I’ll get down there soon’s I’ve finished this.”
Teresa stamped her foot. “Some o’ they Mousehole or Cove men’ll find her if you don’t stir yourself.”
Eli nodded. “All right, all right, I’m going. I’m not for throwing away a good boat any more’n you are. Just let me finish this gate. I shan’t be a minute.”
Teresa turned away. He would go—and there was over an hour to spare—he would go fast enough, go blindly to his fate. She turned up the valley with a feeling that she would like to be as far from the dark scene of action as possible. But it would not do Eli any harm, she told herself; he was not being murdered; he was going to serve in the Navy for a little while as tens of thousands of men were doing. Every sailor was not killed, only a small percentage. No harm would come to him; good, rather. He would see the world and enlarge his mind. In reality she was doing him a service.