Men were evidently laughing and talking loudly, and the sounds seemed to come round a corner, to become plainer all at once.
"Pity we didn't go on after them?
Nonsense, my lad! They know every hole and corner about here, and there's no knowing where they'd have led us," said a familiar voice.
"Well, it is precious dark," said another.
"Too dark to see what we are about.

But I take you all to witness, my lads, they 'tacked us first." "Ay, ay: they began it," came in chorus.
"And if it happens that they are not smugglers, and there's trouble about it, you know what to say." Archy heard all this, and it seemed to him that the party were about to pass him, when a voice he well knew growled out,-- "Hit me an awful whack with a stick." "Ay, I got one too, my lad; and I didn't like to use my cutlash." "Wish we'd took a prisoner, or knocked one or two down.

Why, here is one." There was a buzz of voices, and Archy felt himself hoisted up.
"Can you stand?
Not wounded, are you?
Who cut him down ?" "Well, I'm 'fraid it was me," said one of the familiar voices.

"Why, he is a prisoner ready made." "What?
Here, cut him loose, lads.

Hullo, my lad, who are you ?" "Take this off," panted Archy in a stifled voice; and then, as the sack was dragged over his head, he uttered a sigh, and staggered, and would have fallen, had not one of the men caught him.
"Hold up, lad.