BEARDED IN HIS DEN
“What do you think of it by this time, Bowler?” Commander Nettlebones
asked his second, who had been left in command afloat, and to whom they
rowed back in a wrathful mood, with a good deal of impression that the
fault was his, “You have been taking it easily out here. What do you
think of the whole of it?”
“I have simply obeyed your orders, sir; and if I am to be blamed for
that, I had better offer no opinion.”
“No, no, I am finding no fault with you. Don't be so tetchy, Bowler. I
seek your opinion, and you are bound to give it.”
“Well, then, sir, my opinion is that they have made fools of the lot of
us, excepting, of course, my superior officer.”
“You think so, Bowler? Well, and so do I--and myself the biggest fool of
any. They have charged our centre with a dummy cargo, while they run the
real stuff far on either flank. Is that your opinion?”
“To a nicety, that is my opinion, now that you put it so clearly, sir.”
“The trick is a clumsy one, and never should succeed. Carroway ought
to catch one lot, if he has a haporth of sense in him. What is the time
now; and how is the wind?”
“I hear a church clock striking twelve; and by the moon it must be that.
The wind is still from the shore, but veering, and I felt a flaw from
the east just now.”
“If the wind works round, our turn will come. Is Donovan fit for duty
yet?”
“Ten times fit, sir--to use his own expression. He is burning to have at
somebody. His eyes work about like the binnacle's card.”
“Then board him, and order him to make all sail for Burlington, and
see what old Carroway is up to. You be off for Whitby, and as far as
Teesmouth, looking into every cove you pass. I shall stand off and on
from this to Scarborough, and as far as Filey. Short measures, mind,
if you come across them. If I nab that fellow Lyth, I shall go near to
hanging him as a felon outlaw. His trick is a little too outrageous.”
“No fear, commander. If it is as we suppose, it is high time to make a
strong example.”
Hours had been lost, as the captains of the cruisers knew too well
by this time. Robin Lyth's stratagem had duped them all, while the
contraband cargoes might be landed safely, at either extremity of their
heat. By the aid of the fishing-boats, he had learned their manoeuvres
clearly, and outmanoeuvred them.
Now it would have been better for him, perhaps, to have been content
with a lesser triumph, and to run his own schooner, the Glimpse, further
south, toward Hornsea, or even Aldbrough. Nothing, however, would
satisfy him but to land his fine cargo at Carroway's own door--a piece
of downright insolence, for which he paid out most bitterly. A man
of his courage and lofty fame should have been above such vindictive
feelings. But, as it was, he cherished and, alas! indulged a certain
small grudge against the bold lieutenant, scarcely so much for
endeavoring to shoot him, as for entrapping him at Byrsa Cottage, during
the very sweetest moment of his life. “You broke in disgracefully,” said
the smuggler to himself, “upon my privacy when it should have been most
sacred. The least thing I can do is to return your visit, and pay my
respects to Mrs. Carroway and your interesting family.”
Little expecting such a courtesy as this, the vigilant officer was
hurrying about, here, there, and almost everywhere (except in the right
direction), at one time by pinnace, at another upon horseback, or on his
unwearied though unequal feet. He carried his sword in one hand, and his
spy-glass in the other, and at every fog he swore so hard that he
seemed to turn it yellow. With his heart worn almost into holes, as
an overmangled quilt is, by burdensome roll of perpetual lies, he
condemned, with a round mouth, smugglers, cutters, the coast-guard and
the coast itself, the weather, and, with a deeper depth of condemnation,
the farmers, landladies, and fishermen. For all of these verily seemed
to be in league to play him the game which school-boys play with a
gentle-faced new-comer--the game of “send the fool further.”
John Gristhorp, of the “Ship Inn,” at Filey, had turned out his
visitors, barred his door, and was counting his money by the fireside,
with his wife grumbling at him for such late hours as half past ten of
the clock in the bar, that night when the poor bilander ended her long
career as aforesaid. Then a thundering knock at the door just fastened
made him upset a little pyramid of pence, and catch up the iron
candlestick.
“None of your roistering here!” cried the lady. “John, you know better
than to let them in, I hope.”
“Copper coomth by daa, goold coomth t'naight-time,” the sturdy publican
answered, though resolved to learn who it was before unbarring.
“In the name of the King, undo this door,” a deep stern voice resounded,
“or by royal command we make splinters of it.”
“It is that horrible Carroway again,” whispered Mrs. Gristhorp. “Much
gold comes of him, I doubt. Let him in if you dare, John.”
“'Keep ma oot, if ye de-arr,' saith he. Ah'll awand here's the tail o'
it.”
While Gristhorp, in wholesome fealty to his wife, was doubting, the door
flew open, and in marched Carroway and all his men, or at least all save
one of his present following. He had ordered his pinnace to meet him
here, himself having ridden from Scarborough, and the pinnace had
brought the jolly-boat in tow, according to his directions. The men had
landed with the jolly-boat, which was handier for beach work, leaving
one of their number to mind the larger craft while they should refresh
themselves. They were nine in all, and Carroway himself the tenth, all
sturdy fellows, and for the main of it tolerably honest; Cadman, Ellis,
and Dick Hackerbody, and one more man from Bridlington, the rest a
re-enforcement from Spurn Head, called up for occasion.
“Landlord, produce your best, and quickly,” the officer said, as he
threw himself into the arm-chair of state, being thoroughly tired. “In
one hour's time we must be off. Therefore, John, bring nothing tough,
for our stomachs are better than our teeth. A shilling per head is his
Majesty's price, and half a crown for officers. Now a gallon of ale, to
begin with.”
Gristhorp, being a prudent man, brought the very toughest parts of
his larder forth, with his wife giving nudge to his elbow. All, and
especially Carroway, too hungry for nice criticism, fell to, by the
light of three tallow candles, and were just getting into the heart of
it, when the rattle of horseshoes on the pitch-stones shook the long
low window, and a little boy came staggering in, with scanty breath, and
dazzled eyes, and a long face pale with hurrying so.
“Why, Tom, my boy!” the lieutenant cried, jumping up so suddenly that
he overturned the little table at which he was feeding by himself, to
preserve the proper discipline. “Tom, my darling, what has brought you
here? Anything wrong with your mother?”
“Nobody wouldn't come, but me,” Carroway's eldest son began to gasp,
with his mouth full of crying; “and I borrowed Butcher Hewson's pony,
and he's going to charge five shillings for it.”
“Never mind that. We shall not have to pay it. But what is it all about,
my son?”
“About the men that are landing the things, just opposite our front
door, father. They have got seven carts, and a wagon with three horses,
and one of the horses is three colors; and ever so many ponies, more
than you could count.”
“Well, then, may I be forever”--here the lieutenant used an expression
which not only was in breach of the third commandment, but might lead
his son to think less of the fifth--“if it isn't more than I can bear!
To be running a cargo at my own hall door!” He had a passage large
enough to hang three hats in, which the lady of the house always called
“the hall.” “Very well, very good, very fine indeed! You sons of”--an
animal that is not yet accounted the mother of the human race--“have you
done guzzling and swizzling?”
The men who were new to his orders jumped up, for they liked his
expressions, by way of a change; but the Bridlington squad stuck to
their trenchers. “Ready in five minutes, sir,” said Cadman, with a
glance neither loving nor respectful.
“If ever there was an old hog for the trough, the name of him is John
Cadman. In ten minutes, lads, we must all be afloat.”
“One more against you,” muttered Cadman; and a shrewd quiet man from
Spurn Head, Adam Andrews, heard him, and took heed of him.
While the men of the coast-guard were hurrying down to make ready the
jolly-boat and hail the pinnace, Carroway stopped to pay the score, and
to give his son some beer and meat. The thirsty little fellow drained
his cup, and filled his mouth and both hands with food, while the
landlady picked out the best bits for him.
“Don't talk, my son--don't try to talk,” said Carroway, looking proudly
at him, while the boy was struggling to tell his adventures, without
loss of feeding-time; “you are a chip of the old block, Tom, for
victualling, and for riding too. Kind madam, you never saw such a boy
before. Mark my words, he will do more in the world than ever his father
did, and his father was pretty well known in his time, in the Royal
Navy, ma'am. To have stuck to his horse all that way in the dark was
wonderful, perfectly wonderful. And the horse blows more than the rider,
ma'am, which is quite beyond my experience. Now, Tom, ride home very
carefully and slowly, if you feel quite equal to it. The Lord has
watched over you, and He will continue, as He does with brave folk that
do their duty. Half a crown you shall have, all for yourself, and the
sixpenny boat that you longed for in the shops. Keep out of the way of
the smugglers, Tom; don't let them even clap eyes on you. Kiss me, my
son; I am proud of you.”
Little Tom long remembered this; and his mother cried over it hundreds
of times.
Although it was getting on for midnight now, Master Gristhorp and his
wife came out into the road before their house, to see the departure of
their guests. And this they could do well, because the moon had cleared
all the fog away, and was standing in a good part of the sky for
throwing clear light upon Filey. Along the uncovered ridge of shore,
which served for a road, and was better than a road, the boy and the
pony grew smaller; while upon the silvery sea the same thing happened to
the pinnace, with her white sails bending, and her six oars glistening.
“The world goeth up, and the world goeth down,” said the lady, with her
arms akimbo; “and the moon goeth over the whole of us, John; but to my
heart I do pity poor folk as canna count the time to have the sniff of
their own blankets.”
“Margery, I loikes the moon, as young as ever ye da. But I sooner see
the snuff of our own taller, a-going out, fra the bed-curtings.”
Shaking their heads with concrete wisdom, they managed to bar the door
again, and blessing their stars that they did not often want them, took
shelter beneath the quiet canopy of bed. And when they heard by-and-by
what had happened, it cost them a week apiece to believe it; because
with their own eyes they had seen everything so peaceable, and had such
a good night afterward.
When a thing is least expected, then it loves to come to pass, and then
it is enjoyed the most, whatever good there is of it. After the fog and
the slur of the day, to see the sky at all was joyful, although there
was but a white moon upon it, and faint stars gliding hazily. And it was
a great point for every man to be satisfied as to where he was; because
that helps him vastly toward being satisfied to be there. The men in the
pinnace could see exactly where they were in this world; and as to the
other world, their place was fixed--if discipline be an abiding gift--by
the stern precision of their commander in ordering the lot of them to
the devil. They carried all sail, and they pulled six oars, and the wind
and sea ran after them.
“Ha! I see something!” Carroway cried, after a league or more of
swearing. “Dick, the night glass; my eyes are sore. What do you make her
out for?”
“Sir, she is the Spurn Head yawl,” answered Dick Hackerbody, who was
famed for long sight, but could see nothing with a telescope. “I can see
the patch of her foresail.”
“She is looking for us. We are the wrong way of the moon. Ship oars,
lads; bear up for her.”
In ten minutes' time the two boats came to speaking distance off Bempton
Cliffs, and the windmill, that vexed Willie Anerley so, looked bare
and black on the highland. There were only two men in the Spurn Head
boat--not half enough to manage her. “Well, what is it?” shouted
Carroway.
“Robin Lyth has made his land-fall on Burlington Sands, opposite your
honor's door, sir. There was only two of us to stop him, and the man as
is deaf and dumb.”
“I know it,” said Carroway, too wroth to swear. “My boy of eight years
old is worth the entire boiling of you. You got into a rabbit-hole, and
ran to tell your mammy.”
“Captain, I never had no mammy,” the other man answered, with his
feelings hurt. “I come to tell you, sir; and something, if you please,
for your own ear, if agreeable.”
“Nothing is agreeable. But let me have it. Hold on; I will come aboard
of you.”
The lieutenant stepped into the Spurn Head boat with confident activity,
and ordered his own to haul off a little, while the stranger bent down
to him in the stern, and whispered.
“Now are you quite certain of this?” asked Carroway, with his grim face
glowing in the moonlight, “I have had such a heap of cock and bulls
about it. Morcom, are you certain?”
“As certain, sir, as that I stand here, and you sit there, commander.
Put me under guard, with a pistol to my ear, and shoot me if it turns
out to be a lie.”
“The Dovecote, you say? You are quite sure of that, and not the Kirk
Cave, or Lyth's Hole?”
“Sir, the Dovecote, and no other. I had it from my own young brother,
who has been cheated of his share. And I know it from my own eyes too.”
“Then, by the Lord in heaven, Morcom, I shall have my revenge at last;
and I shall not stand upon niceties. If I call for the jolly-boat, you
step in. I doubt if either of these will enter.”
It was more than a fortnight since the lieutenant had received the
attentions of a barber, and when he returned to his own boat, and
changed her course inshore, he looked most bristly even in the
moonlight. The sea and the moon between them gave quite light enough to
show how gaunt he was--the aspect of a man who can not thrive without
his children to make play, and his wife to do cookery for him.