fog lifts." And this was done, one and another taking his turn at the big horn until he was tired. Once, about seven o'clock, they heard an answering horn, which seemed to come closer and closer, but just as they felt they had good cause for alarm, the sound began to recede, until it was lost in the distance.
"This is reg'lar smugglers' weather," said old 'Jacob. "They love it, for they can land goods 'most anywhere, without the custom house officials being the wiser."
"Did you ever run across any smugglers?" questioned Don, who stood by.
"I did once—down on the coast o' Maine. They were bringin' in silk from Chiny, and I helped the revenue officers collar six o' 'em—strappin' big fellers, too. Three o' the crowd were shot in the mix-up and one o' 'em died in the hospital from his wounds. It was in that muss that I got that," and the old sailor pointed to a long scar along his neck.
"Excuse me, but I want nothing to do with smugglers," shuddered Don. "They must be a bloodthirsty set."
"Some o' 'em are, lad—yet they ain't half so bad as the wreckers—the chaps as sets up false lights along shore to lure a vessel to her doom, so as they kin loot her. Those are the chaps as ought to be hung, every mother's son on 'em!" and old Jacob shook his head decidedly.
