"Just the night for a deed like this," said Mr. Daddles; "come on! But wait a minute--there's no sense in being burglars way off at this distance, we'll be,--let's see,--we'll be smugglers, first, --a gang of smugglers." He insisted on forming us in single file. He led, followed by Jimmy, then I came, and Ed Mason brought up the rear. "Remember!" whispered our leader, "we are smugglers till we get to the top of the hill. After that,--burglars." We started up the wharf on tip-toes. This was rather unnecessary, for as we all had on rubber-soled shoes we could walk very quietly even if we went in the usual manner. Besides, it gets tiresome to walk on your tip-toes after a few minutes. But Mr. Daddles kept on that way almost to the end of the journey. When we reached the head of the wharf he turned around, and spoke again, with one hand held mysteriously at the side of his mouth, so not to be overheard. "Now, boys," said he, "if we meet any King's officers,--GIVE 'EM THE COLD STEEL! If you haven't got any cold steel, give it to 'em luke warm. Give it to 'em somehow, anyhow. Remember, it's them as try to keep us honest fellows from a livelihood, just because we run a few casks of brandy and some French laces without paying anything to King Jarge,--bless him!" And Mr. Daddles solemnly took off his hat. "Now, are you ready, boys?" "Yes," we all whispered. "No, no! Not 'yes'," returned Mr. Daddles, with an agonized expression; "you must say 'Ay, ay,--heave ahead,' and you must GROWL it." We all tried to growl: "Ay, ay,--heave ahead," but we didn't make much of a success of it. "That's fair," said Mr. Daddles, "only fair. You need lots of practice. We ought to have rehearsed this before we started. It's embarrassing to do it here, with the eyes of the world upon us, so to speak. Now try again." We tried again, and our leader said we had done much better. "Ed," he said, "walk with more of a roll in your gait,--a deep-sea roll. See--this way. And pull your hats down low over your eyes, and glance furtively from right to left." "I can't roll, nor anything else," Ed remarked, "until I get this pebble out of my shoe." And he sat down on the door-step of a house, and took off one shoe. As he did so, the clock in a church belfry struck eleven. "Eleven," reflected Mr. Daddles. "I mean: 'tis the signal, men! If the Cap'n has not failed us the lugger should be in the cove at this hour,--and we coves should be in the lugger, too. Ha! how like ye the pleasantry? 'Tis a pretty wit I have, as no less a man than Mr. Pope himself told me at the Coca Tree--No; I don't believe Mr. Pope would know the mate of a gang of smugglers,--do you?" Jimmy Toppan and I assured him that the only Mr. Pope we knew was librarian of the Sunday School at home, and that if he knew any smugglers he had kept it a secret. Ed Mason had got rid of his pebble, and he now joined us again. "Are you ready, men?" "Ay, ay,--heave ahead!"