BY NIGHT
On her return to Rattenbury's cottage, Winefred was thrown into a
dubious condition of mind. She had purposed to confide everything to
her mother, to tell her about the present of the watch and of what she
had overheard. But on coming into her mother's presence she saw that
the time was unpropitious.
She knew her mother so intimately that she was aware that the
communication must be deferred. Mrs. Marley was one of those persons
who, when possessed by an idea, and that one of an exciting nature, are
incapable of attending to any other, or on whom the communication of
another of agitating nature completely unhinges the reasoning faculties
and produces an irrational explosion of feeling. Winefred saw at a
glance that something must have occurred during her absence which had
upset her mother.
She therefore merely inquired where Captain Rattenbury was, and was
told curtly that he was out――a fact sufficiently obvious. Job had
informed her mother that he would not be home till the morrow, but Jane
Marley did not think to give this information to Winefred. Not knowing
this, the girl said no more, determined to caution the captain on his
return.
She went into the back kitchen and to the larder cupboard and provided
herself with food, her mother saying nothing nor noticing what she was
about, nor did the ticking of her watch attract attention.
Thus the hours of the short November afternoon slipped away, and Mrs.
Marley seated herself at the side of the fire knitting, with her gown
turned up over her knees lest it should scorch and with her arms still
bare, glancing in the firelight. Winefred occupied a stool, and fell
to studying her mother's countenance and listening for the footfall of
the captain or his hand on the latch. She was in no little anxiety.
The day was Thursday, and the attempt to disperse the goods to their
several destinations would be made that night, and a few hours must
determine the fate of the smugglers.
She saw that a storm was raging in the interior of her mother that
troubled her wild soul and tossed her feverish blood. But Mrs. Marley
was clearly indisposed to allow her daughter to know what had aroused
it.
The expression of the woman's face was now angry, then hard and
remorseless, flushes of passion swept across it, and then all colour
deserted it. At moments her eyes were as though exploding into
fireworks, and at the next were dull and lifeless.
Every word of Dench had been as fulminating powder in her soul. Till
the interview with him she had entertained no suspicion against
Rattenbury; she had recently regarded him with gratitude for having
received her and Winefred into the cottage, and she was an impulsive
woman, strong in her feelings, whether in liking or in hating. But now,
all at once, his conduct appeared to her in a new light. He was no
longer a benefactor, he was an oppressor, who had grievously wronged
her father and procured the death of her brother, and was rendering to
her a tardy and wholly inadequate compensation.
She did not stay to inquire whether the words of the ferryman were
justified, whether the charges he made were founded in fact. It
sufficed her to see that there was probability in the assertions, and
womanlike she accepted them as unassailable. She had been robbed, her
child robbed, and all for the sake of Jack Rattenbury, that he might
be cockered up and transformed into a gentleman. A smouldering fire of
rage against both father and son consumed her heart――a sense of injury
ate into her soul and filled her with gall.
Suddenly she started, turned fiercely on Winefred and said, 'Why do you
stare at me? Go to bed; it is time. Disturb me no further.'
She was a woman that would be obeyed, to be turned from her purpose by
no reasoning, amenable to no persuasion. Of this Winefred was so well
aware that she did not attempt opposition. She at once rose from her
stool and noiselessly crept to the little room that had been arranged
for her under the stair.
But, although, in obedience to her mother, Winefred went to bed, she
could not sleep.
There could exist no doubt that the captain had been betrayed, and
that, unless forewarned, his capture was inevitable. The coastguard
and the military would draw together along every road and lane and
enclose them as in a battue. When he should come in there would still
be time to warn him, unless he arrived very late. Where was he? Who
could say? It was unlikely that he should have told her mother. He
might have gone to Lyme to see after the carts, or to Beer to make
the final arrangements for the transport of the casks from their
hiding-places to Heathfield.
She turned the problem over in her brain and sought a solution. Suppose
that Rattenbury did not return that night, by what means was he to be
communicated with, how was the danger that menaced to be averted?
He had saved her life, he had sheltered her, she was bound to do
everything in her power to save him. Of that she had not the smallest
doubt, and her resolution was formed to do her utmost, even in despite
of her mother, should she offer opposition.
After an hour Jane Marley fastened the house door and retired to her
room.
She would not have run the bolt had she anticipated that Rattenbury
would return that night. Her action convinced Winefred that he had told
her mother not to expect him back.
What could she do?
She listened to the ticking of the clock and awaited the striking of
the hours. When ten o'clock sounded, then she was well aware that not
another minute must be lost.
Noiselessly she crept out of bed and clothed herself; she hearkened
whether her mother stirred, but heard no sound. On tiptoe, her shoes in
her hand, she stole over the kitchen floor, and with caution and slowly
drew the bolt.
The moment the door was open, a rush of cold air fanned the embers on
the hearth into a glow; but she hastily passed outside, shut the door
behind her and breathed freely. She was, at any rate, safe now from
obstruction by her mother. Even if the latter had heard her, pursuit
would be in vain; she could easily elude it among the thickets and in
the dark.
She drew on her shoes. All within was still, she had not been
overheard, her mother had not been roused.
Her heart beat furiously, and she was frightened at her undertaking. It
was not that she was alarmed at being abroad and at night, but she was
well aware of the magnitude of the issues dependent on her action.
If she failed――the goods would be confiscated, the band broken up, and
the captain imprisoned for a lengthy period. At his age he might not
live till his term expired.
The stars twinkled, a crescent moon shone, there was frost in the air.
Winefred had formed her plan, and she knew her way. She had to ascend
from the undercliff to the down, and the chalky path lay before her as
though phosphorescent.
There would have been complete stillness but for the mutter and fret of
the sea and the piping of the wind.
The smugglers would certainly have preferred less light and more noise,
a howling wind, a blinding fog, and a booming sea.
Above every sound Winefred could hear the throbbing of her heart.
She was now upon the down, where the turf was short, strewn with
flints bleached by sun and rain. She crossed it, and descended into
a deep, lateral combe, through which a trickle ran into the river.
Here were trees, but they were bare of leaves. Beyond stood the crest
of Hawksdown with its earthworks thrown up, none knew by whom, but
haunted, in the opinion of the people, by a ghostly warrior with a
fire-breathing dog. She was now among fields, and in a tangle of lanes,
but she knew her direction, and although the ways twisted, she made as
straight as was possible for the crest of the opposite hill, and for a
while skirted a fir plantation that lay like an ink blot on her left.
She was not able wholly to escape the shadows of the pines, for she
was forced to enter by a gate, the hedge being too thick and thorny
for her to scramble over it. In the gloom she became uneasy, alarmed,
thinking that eyes were watching her, and that mysterious beings lurked
among the branches, ready to leap upon her. To her excited imagination
it was as though there came to her whisperings from among the bushes.
She walked faster, turning her head from side to side, and sometimes
looking over her shoulder.
At the beginning of the present century 'free trade' was in repute
among the daring and adventuresome along the coast. Smuggling was a
passion, like poaching. Those who were engaged in it rarely abandoned
it. It was gambling for enormous stakes――the profits were great, but,
on the other hand, so were the risks. If now and then a cargo was
run and sold, and the profits measured out in pint mugs, on another
occasion an entire cargo was confiscated. Not only was freedom
jeopardised, but life as well. Neither 'free trader' nor coastguard was
nice in the matter of shedding blood.
Smuggling methods were infinitely varied. The game was a contest of
wits as well as of pluck, and in that lay much of its charm. The spice
of danger attending it attracted the young men instead of deterring
them from it.
In order to obtain information relative to the trade, so as to be able
to 'nab' those who prosecuted it, the Government had paid spies in the
English and the foreign ports. It sought to undermine the integrity
of those combined together in the trade, and to encourage treachery.
So well aware of this were smugglers that no mercy was shown to the
man who was detected in clandestine communication with the preventive
service men. He was sometimes dashed over the cliffs, sometimes taken
out in a boat and literally beaten to death with a marline-spike before
his body was committed to the waves.
There was something to be urged in extenuation of English smuggling.
Customs-duties were first imposed in England for the purpose of
protecting the coasts against pirates who made descents on unprotected
villages and kidnapped men and children to sell them as slaves in
Africa, or who waylaid merchant vessels, plundered and then scuttled
them.
But when all such danger had ceased, and the pirates had been swept
from the seas, the duties were not only continued to be levied but were
made more onerous.
It was felt that there had been a violation of compact on the side of
the Crown, and bold spirits entertained no conscientious scruples in
setting at naught the law of contraband. The officers of the Crown
instead of pursuing, capturing and hanging Algerine pirates, proceeded
to seize and consign to prison native seamen.
It was in this light that the matter was viewed by the water-dogs
around the coast; nor was this confined to them, the opinion was
shared by magistrates, country gentry, and parsons. Three classes of
men were engaged in the business. First came the 'freighter'――the man
who entered on it as a commercial speculation. He engaged a vessel,
purchased the cargo, and made the requisite arrangements for the
landing. Then came the 'runner,' who conveyed the goods on shore from
the vessels; and lastly the 'tub-carriers,' who transported the kegs on
their backs slung across their shoulders.
Captain Job Rattenbury had at one time been a 'runner,' but he was now
a 'freighter,' and to be that a man must be a capitalist.
Winefred had reached the Roman Road, the Fosse way that ran from one
end of England to the other, and, by the light of the stars, being
chalk-paved, it gleamed like a belt of silver.
But on it was observable something creeping like a slug in the
uncertain light.
The girl watched it as it approached.
That which she saw was a train of tub-carriers. With audacity, and
with a prospect of success due to this very audacity, the train was
advancing along the high road, contrary to the wonted tactics of the
free traders, but in reliance on the guard of the coast watching the
shore, and the lanes leading from it.
There were over a score of men in the line, and all had blackened
their faces. They were moving a large amount of run goods from the
hiding-holes of Beer, for dispersion among the taverns and gentlemen's
houses that were expecting consignments.
Winefred watched the black mass worm itself along uphill. She held
back at first in the darkness of the hedge. It was her purpose to
start forward to arrest Captain Job as soon as he came abreast of her.
Several men went by. Two――four――eight, it was not possible for her in
the feeble light to distinguish one from another, and the faces of all
were black.
'Who goes? Halt!'
Instantly the advancing line stopped, and one stepped forward, strode
towards Winefred, who had moved and attracted attention, and said, 'Who
is there?'
'Captain Rattenbury! O Captain――where is he?'
'Who asks?'
'It is I――Winefred. You have been betrayed.'