Christmas Stories

THE SMUGGLER.

ADVERTISEMENT

It is possible that in the following little Tale there may be several inaccuracies with regard to the habits and manners both of seamen, and of smugglers. The residence of the author in an inland county must be his apology.

The similarity in some respects of the offence of smuggling, to the illegal pursuit which forms the subject of the preceding Tale – written two years ago – must be the author's excuse for the recurrence of similar sentiments and expressions.

Jan. 1823.

THE SMUGGLER

It was the latter end of the month of November, when Mary Waldron, having carefully put her two children to bed, sat down with an aching head and a heavy heart, to wait for the return of her husband.

He had sailed from Folkestone in a stiff half-decked vessel, in company with eight or ten of his sea-faring companions, and then told his wife that she might expect him back on the day following. But that day and another had passed away, and he was still absent.

The night was dark and tempestuous. The wind howled mournfully round the house; the rain beat hard against the windows; and whenever the storm seemed lulled for a moment, the continued roar of the waves, as they broke on the shingly beach, came heavily on her ear. She tried to occupy herself in mending one of her husband's fishing jackets; but her hands and the jacket were constantly in her lap, and it was with difficulty that from time to time she was able in some degree to rouse herself.

At length, wearied out with watching and anxiety, and her candle having nearly burnt to the socket, she lay down on the bed in her clothes, and was just falling into an unquiet slumber, when she was waked by a knocking at the door. She hurried down stairs, and let in her husband, who was accompanied by a short stout-built ill-looking man, in a rough seaman's jacket, from one of the pockets of which peeped forth the butt end of a pistol. Both were wet and tired, and both seemed sullen, and out of temper. At their first entrance, Mary eagerly cried out, "Oh! James, I am so glad to have you home again. I have passed a sad wearisome time since you went." But Waldron received his wife's greeting coldly, and almost in silence. He walked up to the fire place, and, stooping over the embers, began drawing them together, at the same time telling his wife to get a bit or two of wood, and then to warm a little beer. His companion had under his arm a large bundle, tied round with a piece of sail-cloth. "At least we've got that safe," said James, placing it in one of the chairs: and he then ordered his wife to put it under the bed for the night, and to carry it early in the morning, before it was quite light, to Mrs. Hawker's shop, near the church. "I," added he, "shall be glad to lie in bed a bit, after being up three nights running." When they had finished their beer, the stranger withdrew; and Mary, after uttering a fervent prayer for all who are in peril by land or by water, and for the bringing back to the right way of those who have strayed from it, retired to rest.

Early the next morning, Mary, in compliance with her husband's directions, carried the sail-cloth bundle to Mrs. Hawker, who received it with one of her most gracious smiles, while her little black eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She immediately took it into a back parlour, and then returning to the shop, pressed Mary Waldron to take a glass of something comfortable. This Mary declined, and immediately hastened home, carrying with her a loaf for her husband's breakfast.

She found him still asleep, and the eldest of the two children trying to keep his little sister quiet, that she might not disturb him. At length, towards eleven o'clock, he got up, and the refreshment of a night's rest, a comfortable breakfast, and the active though quiet assiduity of his wife, seemed to have restored him to good humour. "We'd a roughish time of it last night," said he. "Yes, indeed," replied Mary; "and I wish, my dear James, you did but know a hundredth part of what I have suffered since you took to your present way of life." "Why should you be more uneasy now," said James, "than when I was nothing but a fisherman? We were then often out night after night, and sometimes in rough weather too." "To be sure, I used now and then to be a little anxious," said Mary, "but you were seldom out when it blew hard, and besides" – she hesitated a little – "besides – don't now be angry with me, James, for saying it – I felt then that you were trying to get your living in a lawful and honest way. Now when you are absent, my thoughts run upon all horrible things. I do not think so much of the perils of the wind and the waves, though that is bad enough, as of the chance of your being taken as a smuggler, or of your doing some dreadful deed in order to escape. They tell me, that the preventive-service men keep a sharp look out."

"A pretty deal too sharp," said Waldron, "I can tell you; if it had not been for them, we should have been back to Folkestone the night before last. We were to have landed our tubs just beyond Dimchurch, and had made a signal for the men to be ready with the horses to meet us. There was a thickish fog at the time; but still, these fellows somehow got sight of us, and pulled off in their boat, just as we were nearing the land. Jack Spraggon, the man that was here last night, proposed sinking them; but, though they deserved it, I was not quite bloody-minded enough for that. We had nothing else to do, therefore, but to put about, and as the wind blew off shore, we soon by the help of the fog gave them the slip. As it was of no use to think of landing then, we stood right out to sea. The wind soon after chopped about, and freshened to a gale. When we were nearly off Folkestone, a Dane merchantman had managed to run aground at some distance from the shore. The king's men – I must say that for them – are always ready enough to help any ship in distress, and dashed away to take the poor fellows off the wreck. And while they were busy at this job, two of our boats came out to us, and put us and part of our cargo on shore in East Weare Bay – just under the red and white cliff there, under the signal house. As ill luck would have it, one of the men on the look out saw us, and gave the alarm. We soon knocked him down; but the rest of them got together so fast, that we were forced to run for it, leaving our tubs behind. I kept hold, however, of my bale of silk, and Jack and I scrambled up one of the winding paths in the cliff, and got clear off."

"Oh! James," said Mary, "how many risks do you run since you've taken to this free-trading, as you call it."

"Nonsense," replied Waldron, "a seaman's wife must never talk of danger."

"I feel," replied Mary, "as if I could almost consent to your braving any danger in a good cause; but the cause that you are now engaged in is not a good one."

"Not a good one! Why where's the harm, I should like to know, in buying in France a little brandy, or a few silks, or cambric, or laces, or what not, and selling them cheap in England, without going through all the trouble and expense of the custom-house?"

"There must be harm," said Mary, "in constant opposition to the laws of the land; there must be harm in living with such wicked men, as you now keep company with."

"Why, to be sure," replied Waldron, "the consciences of some of our free-traders are not over-scrupulous, but there are indifferent characters in all professions; and as for breaking the laws, I don't see much harm in that – I'm sure the laws do me no good."

"And what else but the laws," said Mary, "protect your house from plunder, and your wife and children from violence, when you are far away? But I don't pretend to argue the matter, nor is it necessary that I should; you know the word of God."

"Come, come," retorted James, with a good deal of quickness and ill humour, "don't be trying to come over me with your lecturing and cant."

"Oh! my dear, dear James," said Mary, with much earnestness, "if you love me, do not let me again hear you call the mention of the word of God by the name of cant. You used formerly to keep your church, and you still sometimes read your Bible; surely the evil men with whom you have associated lately have not taught you to deny the authority of the Scriptures?"

"Why no," said James, "it's not quite so bad as that; but what do the Scriptures say about the laws, or about smuggling?"

"Why, in one place the Scriptures tell us to submit to the powers that be, that is, to the laws and constitution of the country, not only from fear of punishment, but for conscience sake, and from a sense of the advantage derived from them by society. In another place they bid us to submit to every ordinance of man for the Lord's sake. And with respect to smuggling, they command us to render tribute to whom tribute is due, custom to whom custom. Therefore, whenever you smuggle goods into the country without paying duty at the custom-house, you directly fly in the face of this injunction of the Scriptures. And at the same time that the smuggler thus breaks the laws of God and the laws of his country, he also injures the regular trader by underselling him; for, of course, the man, who conscientiously pays duty, cannot sell so cheap as he who pays no duty at all."

"And that puts me in mind," said Waldron, who wished to put an end to the conversation, "that I shall want a couple of pounds before night. Do, Mary, just step up to Mrs. Hawker's, and ask her to let me have them on account of the silk." Mary was always ready to comply with the wishes of her husband, and putting on her cloak, went to Mrs. Hawker's house.

She found her in her back parlour, shewing the silks to two smartly dressed young ladies. The eldest appeared to be about nineteen, the other two or three years younger. The countenances of both were expressive of good humour and liveliness, without much indication of thought or reflection. Each had selected a sufficient quantity of silk for a gown, and they were in the act of cheapening their purchases, when Mary came in. "No, indeed now, Mrs. Hawker, you must take off a shilling a yard. We really could get it as cheap in London, and, after all, the English silk they make now is quite as good." "That may be true," said Mrs. Hawker, "but you must consider, my dear young ladies, the difficulty I have in getting it, and the risk the poor fellows run." "Yes, indeed," said Mary, with a sigh, "it is the blood of men that you are buying."

The young ladies, who had not before seen Mary, as she was waiting near the door, turned round, and were just going to ask her what she meant, when one or two loud authoritative raps were heard at the outer door. At the same moment the maid servant came running in with every symptom of alarm, saying, in a suppressed voice, "Mistress, Mistress, make haste, the custom-house officers are here." Mrs. Hawker's countenance changed, but she was too much used to such occurrences to lose her presence of mind. "There, ladies, pop the silks under your pelisses – there – quick." The knocking was repeated more loudly than before. "Who's there," said Mrs. Hawker, in a shrill tone. A man's voice replied, "Let us in, we must come in directly." "Coming, sir, coming immediately." then in the same breath turning to the young ladies, "Stay, that will not do. If they find you here, they, perhaps, will search you. There, run into that back pantry, and keep the door tight." Molly, meanwhile, had run off with the bale of silk to a hiding-place prepared for such occasions, and Mrs. Hawker hastened to the door.

Before the officers had time to express their anger at being kept waiting, she put on one of her best smiles, and addressed them with, "Mr. Scroggins, is it you? Well now, I'm so sorry that you've had to wait; but the girl was down at the farther end of the garden, and I happened to be busy with my needle up stairs, and did not come down the first moment, as I did not know but that she was in the house. But pray come in – I'm so sorry that I made you wait."

This speech gave their wrath a little time to cool: but Scroggins answered gravely, "Mrs. Hawker, we are come upon rather an unpleasant piece of business. We have had information that a suspicious looking parcel was brought to your house this morning."

"What, to my house!" said Mrs. Hawker; "well! what will people say next. I'm sure I should never have thought of such a thing; but pray satisfy yourselves – search wherever you please."

The officers looked about the shop and the back parlour, and went up stairs. The place where the silk was concealed was, however, so well contrived, as to escape their observation; and Mrs. Hawker put on the appearance of innocence so completely, that the men began to think that they really had been misinformed. The young ladies trembled with apprehension when they heard them come into the kitchen, and still more, when, as they passed the pantry, one of the men called out, "What door is that?" "O," said Mrs. Hawker, "that is a sort of out building, but it let in so much cold wind to the kitchen, that we had it nailed up before Michaelmas; – but, I dare say, we can get it open, if you wish to see it; – I'm sure I want no concealment; – run, Molly, run down to Mr. Bellows, the blacksmith – you know where he lives – near the pier." – "Why, I believe, we need not give you that trouble," said Scroggins; "I must say that you have been very ready to let us search every where: and, to tell you the truth, we are just now rather in a hurry, and it would be some time before Bellows with his lame leg could hobble here."

"Well, as you please," said Mrs. Hawker, "it's all one to me – I only hope that another time, Mr. Scroggins, you will not be quite so ready to believe idle stories that people make against their neighbours." The officers wished her good day, and walked off.

She watched them to a considerable distance before she ventured to release her prisoners from their confinement. They had been sadly frightened, but could not help laughing when they got out, though the eldest of them had greased the bottom of her pelisse against a flitch of bacon, which was lying on the bricks under the dresser; and the feathers of her sister were not improved by the intercourse which had taken place between them and a bunch of tallow candles, which were suspended from the low ceiling.

Having directed the silks which they had purchased to be wrapped up in a few yards of Manchester cotton and sent after them, and having put half a dozen pair of French gloves in their reticules, they set out on their return to Sandgate, where their father, Admiral Mowbray, had passed the greatest part of the autumn.

Before descending the hill, they stopped, as in their walks back from Folkestone they generally did, to contemplate the scene before them, which though, perhaps, not remarkably striking, has something of a pleasing character. Immediately beneath them was Sandgate, sheltered from the east and north by a range of sand hills of no great height, but presenting considerable variety of form. From the top of this range a nearly level tract of country stretched along to the foot of the chalk ridge, the line of which is here relieved by several singular conical hills, which stand forward as detached outworks of the principal rampart of chalk. Close under them on the left was the castle, the grey tints and roughnesses of which have been smoothed and polished away by modern trowels, till it has acquired the appearance of a cluster of Martello towers. Beyond Sandgate were some traces of the unfinished works, once destined to protect the commencement of the military canal, and the sea, now nearly at high water, almost breaking over the road. The middle distance was formed by the town of Hythe, with its church on the bold rising ground to the north, its lancet-shaped east window peeping through the trees; and far to the left ran the long line of low land terminating in Dunge Ness. The fishing boats of Hythe and Romney, with a revenue cutter and three or four brigs, gave animation to the near sea view; while, at a considerable distance, a couple of Indiamen were majestically making their way down the channel.

After admiring the prospect, the two sisters were slowly descending the hill, when they heard behind them the footsteps of two persons, who seemed to be rapidly approaching. Their imaginations were filled with the idea of custom-house officers, and they immediately concluded that they were pursued. They therefore walked on as fast as they could, being apprehensive that if they ran they should confirm the suspicions of their pursuers. The same apprehension prevented them from looking back. The strangers, however, continued to gain upon them, but when almost ready to sink with alarm, the young ladies found that their fears were groundless. They were overtaken and passed by a remarkably well-made active man, with a stout bludgeon in his hand, in company with a woman of a slight and elegant form, who contrived to keep pace with him, though she had a child in her arms.

They were in earnest conversation; the woman appearing to be using entreaties, to which the man refused to listen. Just after they had passed them, they heard the man say in a voice, at once expressive of determination and of an agitated state of feeling, "Come – there's no use in trying to persuade me; I've told you that I must be in the marsh to-night. Do you go home and mind the children, I shall not be absent long, and shall, most likely, get back to you before to-morrow night." He then seemed to make an effort, disengaged himself from his companion, and went on with a hurried step.

The poor woman gazed after him for some time, and then turned back with an expression of anxiety and woe, which went to the hearts of the two sisters. Their compassion and benevolence prompted them to endeavour to offer some consolation, but delicacy prevented them from intruding on the sorrows of a perfect stranger. Upon looking at her more attentively, they recognized the same woman whom they had seen, not long before, at Mrs. Hawker's, and by whose remark upon their smuggling purchases they had been surprised and shocked. They could not resist bringing it to her recollection, and asking her what she meant. Poor Mary immediately burst into a flood of tears; the violence of her grief affected and alarmed the young ladies; and while they were trying to soothe both her and her child, the eldest of the young ladies exclaimed, "Surely you are – but no, it is not likely: – you cannot be the Mary Allen, who, about ten years since lived as house-maid with Mrs. Stanwick in Hertfordshire?"

Surprise and a sensation of pleasure checked the current of Mary's sorrow. "Yes, indeed, I am," said she; "and is it possible that you young ladies are my dear mistress's nieces, who used so often to be staying with her when your father, the Admiral, was at sea? Oh! how kind you were to me, and how fond I used to be of you both! But then you were both little girls, and I could venture to talk to you with freedom."

"And so you may now," said Emily Mowbray; "you seem to be in some affliction. Before we knew who you were, we longed to comfort you; and now that we find that you are an old acquaintance, we shall have double pleasure in being of any use to you."

The circumstance of having, in early youth, been inmates of the same house, and in habits of frequent and kindly intercourse, leaves generally a lasting impression upon the heart. This is often felt by schoolfellows, who, when they meet, after having been long separated, have a peculiar frankness and warmth of feeling towards each other, which is seldom produced by an acquaintance contracted in maturer years. And something of the same warmth and disposition to freedom of communication is occasionally produced in children – children of the gentler sex particularly – towards the tried and valued servants of the families, in which many of their earliest and happiest days have been passed.

This species of feeling now glowed in full vigour in the bosoms of the two sisters, and of Mary Waldron. Mary had met with sympathizing friends when she most wanted them; and the Miss Mowbrays found the interest, which had been excited by witnessing her grief, increased to a ten-fold degree by this unexpected recognition. They pressed her to accompany them to their father's lodging house. The child, however, which she had left at home under the care of a neighbour, made this impossible. They therefore turned back, and walked slowly with her towards Folkestone, Caroline Mowbray having relieved her, by taking the child out of her arms.

During their walk, Mary told them, that nine years before she had accompanied her mistress to Hastings. They passed the winter there, and during that time, she became acquainted with James Waldron, who frequently came to the house with fish. Every body spoke well of him, as a sober, industrious, good-tempered man; and she became his wife when Mrs. Stanwick returned into Hertfordshire. For about six years they lived happily together at Hastings; they then removed to Folkestone, where a small house had been left to Waldron by a relation. Here he continued for some time to follow his old occupation, but unhappily became acquainted with some notorious smugglers, and was persuaded occasionally to accompany them in their expeditions to the French coast. He was led on step by step, till smuggling had become his principal employment.

"From the time that he took to the smuggling line," continued poor Mary, "my happiness has been at an end. He used to be the kindest of husbands and of fathers. Now he is seldom at home, and when he is, is generally out of temper. Now and then he will play with his children a little, but more frequently complains of their being troublesome. He used to be sobriety itself, but latterly has taken to drinking spirits. His very countenance is changed; it used to be frank and open, but now is apt to have a downcast anxious look, like that of a man who has some sad burden on his mind. And oh! how many fears do I have for him! Sometimes, I think he will be lost at sea, for they are out in all weathers; and sometimes I tremble lest he should be taken on shore, or that to prevent himself from being taken, he should do some dreadful deed that should bring him to the gallows."

"I now too well understand," said Emily Mowbray, "what you meant by what you said to us at Mrs. Hawker's."

"I should not have said it," answered Mary, "had I known who I was speaking to – but still it was nothing but the truth. Little do ladies, who in the lightness of their hearts come to purchase the smuggled silks, and the gloves, and the cambrics, little do they think what a sad business they are encouraging; that they are in fact buying men's blood. And oh! my dear, dear young ladies, would to heaven that were all – I tremble to think how not only the lives, but the souls, of these poor fellows – the soul of" – but here her voice failed, she clapped her hands to her face, and burst into an agony of grief. The two sisters soothed her as well as they could, and when she seemed tolerably composed again, turned their steps towards Sandgate.

The Admiral had been a little uneasy at their long absence. "Well! girls," he exclaimed upon seeing them, "where have you been all this time?" "Why, papa?" – "Well, you must not stop to tell me now, but make haste to get ready for dinner. Your cousin Harry Stanwick has promised to dine with us. We can seldom catch him, you know; but I told him, that coming to us was not being off duty, as he is as handy here as at the castle, in case any of these smuggling fellows should require to be looked after."

The young ladies hurried to their rooms, and when they came down stairs, found their cousin already arrived. The Admiral was eagerly trying to get from him some of the particulars of his saving the poor shipwrecked Danes. "We had some difficulty," said Lieutenant Stanwick, "in launching our boat. The first time, when we had just got her into the water, a heavy wave knocked her clean over. Upon a second attempt we got her afloat, and were just beginning to use our oars, when she was swamped again, and two of the men were nearly lost in trying to get back to the shore. My brave fellows, however, would not give it up: they could not bear, they said, to leave fellow-creatures to perish almost within hale of the land. At the third trial we succeeded. We got under the lee of the ship, and found her fast a-ground, her main-mast and mizen-mast blown away, and a tremendous sea breaking over her. Several of the crew had been already washed off the deck. I never shall forget the joy the poor fellows expressed, when we got them into our boat. There was a black man particularly, whom they had brought with them from the West Indies, and who seemed quite overpowered with gratitude. We brought them all safely on shore, and weary and buffeted as they were, the preventive-service men gave them up their beds, and the greatest part of their rations[h] (#Footnote_H_15)."

[h] (#FNanchor_H_15) Founded on fact.

During dinner the Admiral was continually asking for some particulars respecting the shipwreck, and it was with delight, mixed with a sort of trepidation, that the sisters heard the different instances of intrepidity and considerate kindness of these rough seamen. Emily Mowbray especially, every now and then, could not help betraying, by the animation of her eyes and the glow on her countenance, the deep interest she felt in the display of these qualities in their commander, anxious as he seemed to be in his narrative to keep himself in the back ground.