Once more the drunken revels were resumed, and again the rollicking chorus, for the men would sing naught else, echoed through the cave: "He used to laugh a horrible laugh, His fav’rite cry was ’Priddys’!" Gradually the dim light of the cave diminished, and I knew that night was falling. Torches and lanterns were lighted, and still the smugglers kept high carnival. Suddenly, above the noise of the revellers, came a shrill whistle, and as if by magic the din of merrymaking gave place to an almost oppressive silence. Again the whistle was repeated--like the cry of some bird of night--and one of the smugglers replied with a sound like the hooting of an owl. Then came the noise of brushwood being removed, and a block and tackle were lowered through the chimneylike aperture. "Now, my lads, look alive; casks first." The smugglers worked with a will. The casks were rolled under the tackle, and whipped up to the open air. Six in all were sent up, and then the men began to handle the bales. At length two of the rogues laid hands on the box of silks wherein I lay concealed. I had a difficulty in restraining myself from springing up; but with a great effort I remained perfectly quiet, though expecting every moment to find a knife passed through my body, or a dozen rough hands seize me in their merciless grip. "Be this one to go?" "Bide a bit. I’ll ax." The footsteps died away and came again. "Yes, Charlie, up with it!" "What a weight!" muttered one man with an oath. "Here, Dick, come here a moment and bear a hand. Who’d a thought as that silk be so weighty?" "Is the straw agoin’ too?" My heart was literally in my mouth. "No; but stop! P’raps it’ll save questions being axed, and straw’s cheap enow." I felt myself being lifted with my luxurious bed and carried across the floor of the cave. Then slings were fastened round the crate, the tackle creaked, and I was on my way to the open air, the box rubbing and grinding against the sides of the shaft in its ascent. CHAPTER XIII--The Escape Strong hands seized the box and lifted it on to a cart, the rough springs of which shook alarmingly as they felt the weighty load. Then came a hurried discussion as to the destination of the booty, some, including the parish clerk, Fallowfield, who had gained the upper regions by means of the tackle, urging that it had best be taken and placed in the tower of Worth Church, the others insisting that it would be best to make one journey do, and convey it as close to Wareham as possible, where their accomplices could make arrangements for its distribution. The latter argument prevailed; a heavy tarpaulin was thrown over the cart, a whip cracked, and we were off. I could hear the sound of the brushwood being replaced and the rough farewell greetings of the smugglers, and, by the jolting of the cart and the muffled noise of the wheels, I knew that the route lay across a grassy down.