entered, and this was through a hole in the floor of a bedroom above.
A plank of the floor could be lifted, when an opening was disclosed
by which any one might pass under the wall through a sort of door and
down steps into this apartment, which was entirely without light. Of
what use was this singular concealed chamber? There could be little
question. It was a place in which formerly kegs of smuggled spirits and
tobacco were hidden. The place lies some fourteen or fifteen miles from
Boscastle, a dangerous little harbour on the North Cornish coast, and
about a mile off the main road from London, by Exeter and Launceston,
to Falmouth. The coach-travellers in old days consumed a good deal of
spirits, and here in a tangle of lanes lay a little emporium always
kept well supplied with a stock of spirits which had not paid duty, and
whence the taverners along the road could derive the contraband liquor,
with which they supplied the travellers. Between this emporium and
the sea, the roads--parish roads--lie over wild moors or creep between
high hedges of earth on which the traveller can step along when the
lane below is converted into the bed of a stream, also on which the
wary smuggler could stride, and keep a look-out whilst his laden mules
and asses stumbled forward in the concealment of the deep-set lane.
[Illustration: JOHN RATTENBURY.
of Beer, Devonshire
“THE ROB ROY of the WEST”]
A very noticeable feature of the Devon and Cornwall coasts is the
trenched and banked-up paths from the little coves. By these paths the
kegs and bales were removed under cover of night.
As an excuse for keeping droves of donkeys, it was pretended that the
sea-sand and the kelp served as admirable dressing for the land; and
no doubt so they did; the trains of asses sometimes came up laden with
sacks of sand, but not infrequently with kegs of brandy.
Now a wary preventive man might watch too narrowly the proceedings of
these trains of asses. Accordingly squires, yeomen, farmers alike set
to work to cut deep ways in the face of the downs, along the slopes of
the hills, and bank them up, so that whole caravans of laden beasts
might travel up and down absolutely unseen from the sea and greatly
screened from the land side.
Undoubtedly the sunken ways and high banks are a great protection
against the weather. So they were represented to be--and no doubt
greatly were the good folks commended for their consideration for the
beasts and their drivers, in thus at great cost shutting them off from
the violence of the gale. Nevertheless, it can hardly be doubted that
concealment from the eye of the coastguard was sought by this means
quite as much as, if not more than the sheltering the beasts of burden
from the weather.
A few years ago, an old church-house in my own parish was demolished.
The church-house was originally the place where the parishioners from
a distance, in a country district, put up between the morning and
afternoon services on the Sunday, and was used for “church ales,” etc.
It was always a long building of two stories; that below served for
the men, that above for the women, and each had its great fireplace.
Here they ate and chattered between services, as already said, and
here were served with ale by the sexton or clerk. In a great many
cases these church-houses have been converted into taverns. Now this
one in the writer’s parish had never been thus altered. When it was
pulled down, it was found that the floor of large slate slabs in the
lower room was undermined with hollows like graves, only of much larger
dimensions--and these had served for the concealment of smuggled
spirits. The clerk had, in fact, dug them out, and did a little trade
on Sundays with selling contraband liquor from these stores.
The story is told of a certain baronet near Dartmouth, now deceased,
who had a handsome house and park near the coast. The preventive men
had long suspected that Sir Thomas had done more than wink at the
proceedings of the receivers of smuggled goods. His park dipped in
graceful undulations to the sea and to a lovely creek, in which was
his boathouse. But they never had been able to establish the fact that
he favoured the smugglers, and allowed them to use his grounds and
outbuildings.
However, at last, one night a party of men with kegs on their shoulders
were seen stealing through the park towards the mansion. They were
observed also leaving without the kegs. Accordingly, next morning
the officer in command called, together with several underlings.
He apologized to the baronet for any inconvenience his visit might
occasion--he was quite sure that Sir Thomas was ignorant of the use
made of his park, his landing-place, even of his house--but there was
evidence that “run” goods had been brought to the mansion the preceding
night, and it was but the duty of the officer to point this out to Sir
Thomas, and ask him to permit a search--which would be conducted with
all the delicacy possible. The baronet, an exceedingly urbane man,
promptly expressed his readiness to allow house, cellar, attic--every
part of his house, and every outbuilding--unreservedly to be searched.
He produced his keys. The cellar was, of course, the place where wine
and spirits were most likely to be found--let that be explored first.
He had a cellar-book, which he produced, and he would be glad if the
officer would compare what he found below with his entries in the book.
The search was made with some zest, for the Government officers had
long looked on Sir Thomas with mistrust; and yet were somewhat disarmed
by the frankness with which he met them. They ransacked the mansion
from garret to cellar, and every part of the outbuildings, and found
nothing. They had omitted to look into the family coach, which was
full of rum kegs, so full that, to prevent the springs being broken or
showing that the carriage was laden, the axle-trees were “trigged up”
below with blocks of wood.
When a train of asses or mules conveyed contraband goods along a road,
it was often customary to put stockings over the hoofs to deaden the
sound of their steps.
One night many years ago, a friend of the writer--a parson on the north
coast of Cornwall--was walking along a lane in his parish at night. It
was near midnight. He had been to see, and had been sitting up with, a
dying person.
As he came to a branch in the lane he saw a man there, and he called
out “Good night.” He then stood still a moment, to consider which lane
he should take. Both led to his rectory, but one was somewhat shorter
than the other. The shorter was, however, stony and very wet. He chose
the longer way, and turned to the right. Thirty years after he was
speaking with a parishioner who was ill, when the man said to him
suddenly: “Do you remember such and such a night, when you came to the
Y? You had been with Nankevill, who was dying.”
“Yes, I do recall something about it.”
“Do you remember you said ‘Good night’ to me?”
“I remember that someone was there; I did not know it was you.”
“And you turned right instead of left?”
“I dare say.”
“If you had taken the left-hand road you would never have seen next
morning.”
“Why so?”
“There was a large cargo of ‘run’ goods being transported that
night--and you would have met it.”
“What of that?”
“What of that? You would have been chucked over the cliffs.”
“But how could they suppose I would peach?”
“Sir! They’d ha’ took good care you shouldn’t ha’ had the chance!”
The principal ports to which the smugglers ran were Cherbourg and
Roscoff; but also to the Channel Islands. During the European War, and
when Napoleon had formed, and forced on the humbled nations of Europe,
his great scheme for the exclusion of English goods from all ports,
our smugglers did a rare business in conveying prohibited English wares
to France and returning with smuggled spirits to our shores, reaping a
harvest both ways. If a revenue cutter hove in sight and gave chase,
they sank their kegs, but with a small buoy above to indicate where
they were, and afterwards they would return and “creep” for them with
grappling irons. But the preventive officers were on the alert, and
although they might find no contraband on the vessel they overhauled,
yet the officers threw out their irons and searched the sea in the wake
of the ship, and kept a sharp look-out for the buoys. If the contraband
articles were brought ashore, and there was no opportunity to remove
them at once, they were buried in the sand, to be exhumed when the
coast was clear.
The smugglers had more enemies to contend with than the preventive men.
As they were known to be daring and experienced sailors, they were in
great request to man the navy, and every crib and den was searched for
them that they might be impressed.
The life was hard, full of risks, and although these men sometimes
made great hauls, yet they as often lost their cargoes and their
vessels. They were very frequently in the pay of merchants in England,
who provided them with their ships and bailed them out when they
were arrested. Rarely did a smuggler realize a competence, he almost
invariably ended his days in poverty. One of the most notorious of the
Devon free-traders was Jack Rattenbury, who was commonly called “The
Rob-Roy of the West.” He wrote his _Memoirs_ when advanced in life,
and when he had given up smuggling, not that the trade had lost its
attraction for him, but because he suffered from gout, and he ended his
days as a contractor for blue-lias lime for the harbour in course of
erection at Sidmouth.
It will not be necessary to give the life of this man in full. It was
divided into two periods--his career on a privateer and his career
as a smuggler--spent partly in fishing, partly as a pilot, mainly in
carrying on free trade in spirits, between Cherbourg, or the Channel
Islands, and Devon. Naturally, Rattenbury speaks of himself and his
comrades as all honourable men, it is the informers who are the spawn
of hell. The record year by year of his exploits as a smuggler,
presents little variety, and the same may be said of his deeds as a
privateer. We shall therefore give but a few instances illustrative of
his career in both epochs of his life.
John Rattenbury was born at Beer in the year 1778. Beer lies in a cleft
of the chalk hills, and consists of one long street of cottages from
the small harbour. His father was a shoemaker, but tired of his awl
and leather apron, he cast both aside and went on board a man-of-war
before John was born, and was never heard of more. It is possible that
Mrs. Rattenbury’s tongue may have been the stimulating cause of his
desertion of the last.
The mother of John, frugal and industrious, sold fish for her support
and that of her child, and contrived to maintain herself and him
without seeking parish relief. The boy naturally took to the water,
as all the men of Beer were fishermen or smugglers, and at the age of
nine he went in the boat with his uncle after fish, but happening one
day when left in charge to lose the rudder of the row-boat, his uncle
gave him the rope’s end so severely that the boy ran away and went as
apprentice to a Brixham fisherman; but this man also beat and otherwise
maltreated him, and again he ran away. As he could get no employment
at Beer, he went to Bridport and engaged on board a vessel in the
coasting trade. But he did not remain long with his master and returned
to Beer, where he found his uncle entering men for privateering, and
this fired John Rattenbury’s ambition and he volunteered.
“About the latter end of March, 1792, we proceeded on our first cruise
off the Western Islands: and even now, notwithstanding the lapse of
years, I can recall the triumph and exultation which rushed through my
veins as I saw the shores of my native land recede, and the vast ocean
opening before me.”
Instead of making prizes, the privateer and her crew were made a
prize of and conveyed to Bordeaux, where the crew were detained as
prisoners. John Rattenbury, however, contrived to make his escape to
an American vessel lying in the harbour, on which, after detention for
twelve months, he sailed to New York. There he entered on an American
vessel bound for Copenhagen, and on reaching that place invested all
the money he had earned and carried away with him from Bordeaux in
fiddles and clothes. Then he sailed in another American vessel for
Guernsey, where he profitably disposed of his fiddles and clothes. He
had engaged with the captain for the whole voyage to New York, but when
at Guernsey at his request the captain allowed him to return to England
to visit his family, on passing his word that he would rejoin the ship
within a specified time. Rattenbury returned to Beer, and broke his
promise, which he regards as a mistake. He remained at home six months
occupied in fishing, “but,” says he, “I found the employment very dull
and tiresome after the roving life I had led; and as the smuggling
trade was then plied very briskly in the neighbourhood, I determined
to try my fortune in it.” Fortune in smuggling as in gambling favours
beginners so as to lure them on. However, after a few months,
Rattenbury had lapses into the paths of honesty. In one of these, soon
after, he did one of the most brilliant achievements of his life. I
will give it in his own words:--
“Being in want of a situation, I applied to Captain Jarvis, and agreed
to go with him in a vessel called the _Friends_, which belonged to
Beer and Seaton. As soon as she was rigged we proceeded to sea, but,
contrary winds coming on, we were obliged to put into Lyme; the next
day, the wind being favourable, we put to sea again, and proceeded to
Tenby, where we were bound for culm. At eight o’clock the captain set
the watch, and it was my turn to remain below; at twelve I went on
deck and counted till four, when I went below again, but was scarcely
dropped asleep, when I was aroused by hearing the captain exclaim,
‘Come on deck, my good fellow! Here is a privateer, and we shall all
be taken.’ When I got up, I found the privateer close alongside of
us. The captain hailed us in English, and asked us from what port we
came and where we were bound. Our captain told the exact truth, and
he then sent a boat with an officer in her to take all hands on board
his own vessel, which he did, except myself and a little boy, who had
never been to sea before. He then sent the prize-master and four men
on board our brig, with orders to take her into the nearest French
port. When the privateer was gone, the prize-master ordered me to go
aloft and loose the maintop-gallant sail. When I came down, I perceived
that he was steering very wildly through ignorance of the coast, and
I offered to take the helm, to which he consented, and directed me to
steer south-east by south. He went below, and was engaged in drinking
and carousing with his companions. They likewise sent me up a glass of
grog occasionally which animated my spirits, and I began to conceive a
hope not only of escaping, but also of being revenged on the enemy. A
fog too came on, which befriended the design I had in view; I therefore
altered the course to east by north, expecting that we might fall
in with some English vessel. As the day advanced the fog gradually
dispersed, and, the sky getting clearer, we could perceive land; the
prize-master and his companions asked me what land it was; I told them
that it was Alderney, which they believed, though at the same time
we were just off Portland. We then hauled our wind more to the south
until we cleared the Bill; soon after we came in sight of land off
St. Alban’s: the prize-master then again asked what land it was which
we saw; I told him it was Cape La Hogue. My companions then became
suspicious and angry, thinking I had deceived them, and they took a dog
that had belonged to our captain, and threw him overboard in a great
rage and knocked down his house. This was done as a caution to intimate
to me what would be my fate if I had deceived them. We were now within
a league of Swanage, and I persuaded them to go on shore to get a
pilot: they then hoisted out a boat, into which I got with three of
them, not without serious apprehension as to what would be the event.
We now came so near the shore that the people hailed us, and told them
to keep further west. My companions began to swear, and said the people
spoke English: this I denied, and urged them to hail again; but as they
were rising to do so, I plunged overboard and came up the other side of
the boat; they then struck at me with their oars, and snapped a pistol
at me, but it missed fire. I still continued swimming, and every time
they attempted to strike me, I made a dive and disappeared. The boat
in which they were now took water, and finding they were engaged in a
vain pursuit, and endangering their own safety, they suddenly turned
round, and rowed away as fast as possible to regain the vessel. Having
got rid of my foes, I put forth all my efforts to get to the shore,
which I at last accomplished. In the meantime, the men in the boat
reached the brig, and spreading all canvas, bore away for the French
coast. Being afraid they would get off with the vessel, I immediately
sent two men, one to the signal-house at St. Alban’s and another to
Swanage, to obtain all the assistance they could to bring her back.
“Fortunately, there was at the time in Swanage Bay a small cutter,
belonging to His Majesty’s customs, called the _Nancy_, commanded by
Captain Willis; and as soon as he had received the information, he
made all sail after them; but I was not on board, not being able to
reach them in time. The cutter came up with the brig, and by retaking,
brought her into Cowes the same night, where the men were put in
prison. Captain Willis then sent me a letter, stating what he had
done, and advising me to go as quickly as possible to the owners, and
inform them of all that had taken place. This I did without delay, and
one of them immediately set off for Cowes, when he got her back by
paying salvage--but I never received any reward for the service I had
rendered, either from the owners or from any other quarter.”
John Rattenbury was then aged sixteen.
As Rattenbury was returning to Devon in a cutter, the vessel was
stopped and overhauled by a lieutenant and his gang seeking able-bodied
seamen to impress them.
“When it came to my turn to be examined, I told him I was an
apprentice, and that my name was German Phillips (that being the
name of a young man whose indenture I had for a protection). This
stratagem was of no avail with the keen-eyed lieutenant, and he took
me immediately on board the _Royal William_, a guard ship, then lying
at Spithead. I remained in close confinement for a month, hoping by
some chance I might be able to effect my escape; but seeing no prospect
of accomplishing my design, I at last volunteered my services for the
Royal Navy; if that can be called a voluntary act, which is the effect
of necessity, not of inclination.
“And here I cannot help making a remark on the common practice of
impressing seamen in time of war. Our country is called the land of
liberty; we possess a just and invincible aversion to slavery at home
and in our foreign colonies, and it is triumphantly said that a slave
cannot breathe in England. Yet how is this to be reconciled with the
practice of tearing men from their weeping and afflicted families, and
from the peaceable and useful pursuits of merchandise and commerce, and
chaining them to a situation which is alike repugnant to their feelings
and their principles?”
At Spithead Rattenbury succeeded in making his escape. But he had left
his pocket-book on board, and by this means the lieutenant found out
what were his real name and abode, and thenceforth he was hunted as a
deserter and put to great shifts to save himself from capture.
In 1800, when he was twenty-one, he was taken in a vessel by a Spanish
privateer and brought to Vigo; but on shore made himself so useful and
was so cheerful that he was given his liberty and travelled on foot to
Oporto, where he found a vessel bound for Guernsey, laden with oranges
and lemons, and worked his way home in her.
“Before I set out on my last voyage, I had fixed my affections on a
young woman in the neighbourhood, and we were married on the 17th of
April, 1801. We then went to reside at Lyme, and finding that I could
not obtain any regular employment at home, I again determined to try my
fortune in privateering, and accordingly engaged myself with Captain
Diamond of the _Alert_.”
But this expedition led to no results. No captures were made, and
Rattenbury returned home as poor as when he started, and almost at
once acted as pilot to foreign vessels. On one occasion a lieutenant
came on board to impress men, and took Rattenbury and put him in
confinement. Next day he told the lieutenant that if he would accompany
him to Lyme, he would show him a public-house where he was sure to
find men whom he could impress. The officer consented and landed with
Jack and some other seamen, and proceeded to the tavern; but finding
none there he ordered Rattenbury back to the boat. At that moment up
came Rattenbury’s wife, and he made a rush to escape whilst she threw
herself upon the lieutenant and had a scuffle with him; and as the
townfolk took her part, Rattenbury managed to escape.
On another occasion he was at Weymouth, and the same lieutenant,
learning this fact, tracked him to the tavern where he slept, and burst
in at 2 a.m. Rattenbury had just time to climb up the chimney before
the officer and his men entered. They searched the house, but could not
find him. When they were gone he descended much bruised, half-stifled,
and covered with soot.
“Wearied out by the incessant pursuit of my enemies, and finding that
I was followed by them from place to place like a hunted stag by the
hounds, I at last determined, with a view to getting rid of them, again
to go privateering.” Accordingly he shipped on board the _Unity_
cutter and cruised about Madeira and Teneriffe, looking out for prizes.
But this expedition was as unsuccessful as the other, and in August,
1805, he returned home; “and I determined never again to engage in
privateering, a resolution which I have ever since kept, and of which I
have never repented.”
We now enter on the second period of Rattenbury’s career.
“On my return home, I engaged ostensibly in the trade of fishing, but
in reality was principally employed in that of smuggling. My first
voyage was to Christchurch, in an open boat, where we took in a cargo
of contraband goods, and, on our return, safely landed the whole.
“Being elated with this success, we immediately proceeded to the same
port again, but on our way we fell in with the _Roebuck_ tender: a
warm chase ensued; and, in firing at us, a man named Slaughter, on
board the tender, had the misfortune to blow his arm off. Eventually,
the enemy came up with and captured us; and, on being taken on board,
found the captain in a great rage in consequence of the accident, and
he swore he would put us all on board a man-of-war. He got his boat out
to take the wounded man on shore; and, while this was going forward, I
watched an opportunity, and stowed myself away in her, unknown to any
person there. I remained without being perceived, amidst the confusion
that prevailed; and when they reached the shore, I left the boat, and
got clear off. The same night, I went in a boat that I had borrowed,
alongside the tender, and rescued all my companions; we likewise
brought three kegs of gin away with us, and landed safe at Weymouth,
from whence we made the best of our way home.
“The same winter I made seven voyages in a smuggling vessel which had
just been built; five of them were attended with success, and two of
them turned out failures.