The golden days of the smuggler are gone by; his hiding-places are
empty; and, like Othello, he finds his "occupation gone." Our
neighbours on the other side of the herring-pond now bring us _dry
bones_, according to the law, instead of _spirits_, contrary to the
law. Cutters, preventive-boats, and border-rangers, have destroyed the
_trade_--it is becoming as a tale that was told. From Spittal to
Blyth--yea, from the Firth of Forth to the Tyne--brandy is no longer
to be purchased for a trifle; the kilderkin of Holland gin is no
longer placed at the door in the dead of night; nor is a yard of
tobacco to be purchased for a penny. The smuggler's phrase, that the
"_cow has calved_,"[D] is becoming obsolete. Now, smuggling is almost
confined to crossing "the river," here and there, the "ideal line by
fancy drawn;" to Scotland saying unto England, "Will you taste?" and
to England replying, "Cheerfully, sister." There was a time, however,
when the clincher-built lugger plied her trade as boldly, and almost
as regularly, as the regular coaster; and that period is within the
memory of those who are yet young. It was an evil and a dangerous
trade; and it gave a character to the villagers on the sea-coasts
which, even unto this day, is not wholly effaced. But in the character
of the smuggler there was much that was interesting--there were many
bold and redeeming points. I have known many; but I prefer, at
present, giving a few passages from the history of one who lived
before my time, and who was noted in his day as an extraordinary
character.
Harry Teasdale was a native of Embleton, near Bamborough. He was the
sole owner of a herring-boat and a fishing-cobble; he was also the
proprietor of the house in which he lived, and was reputed to be worth
money--nor was it any secret that he had obtained his property by
other means than those of the haddock hand-line and the herring-net.
Harry, at the period we take up his history, was between forty and
fifty years of age. He was a tall thin man, with long sandy hair
falling over his shoulders, and the colour of his countenance was
nearly as rosy as the brandy in which he dealt. But, if there was the
secrecy of midnight in his calling, his heart and his hand were open
as mid-day. It is too true that money always begets the outward show
of respect for him who possesses it, though in conduct he may be a
tyrant, and in capacity a fool; but Harry Teasdale was respected, not
because he was reputed to be rich, but because of the boldness and
warmness of his heart, the readiness of his hand, and the clearness of
his head. He was the king of fishermen, and the prince of smugglers,
from Holy Island to Hartlepool. Nevertheless, there was nothing
unusual in his appearance. Harry looked like his occupation. His dress
(save where disguise was necessary) consisted in a rudely-glazed
sou'-wester, the flap of which came over his shoulders, half covering
his long sandy hair. Around him was a coarse and open _monkey_ or
_pea_-jacket, with a Guernsey frock beneath, and a sort of canvas kilt
descending below the knee; and his feet were cased in a pair of
sea-boots. When not dressing his hand-lines or sorting his nets, he
might generally be seen upon the beach, with a long telescope under
his arm. As Harry was possessed of more of this world's substance than
his brother fishermen, so also was there a character of greater
comfort and neatness about his house. It consisted of three rooms; but
it also bore the distinguishing marks of a smuggler's habitation. At
the door hung the hand-line, the hooks, and the creel; and in a
corner of Harry's sleeping-room a "_keg_" was occasionally visible;
while over the chimneypiece hung a cutlass and four horse-pistols; and
in a cupboard there were more packages of powder and pistol-bullets
than it became a man of peace to have in his possession. But the third
room, which he called his daughter's, contained emblems of peace and
happiness. Around the walls were specimens of curious needlework, the
basket of fruit and of flowers, and the landscape--the "_sampler_,"
setting forth the genealogy of the family for three generations, and
the age of her whose fair hands wrought it. Around the window, also,
carefully trained, were varieties of the geranium, and the rose, the
bigonia, and cressula, the aloe, and the ice-plant, with others of
strange leaf and lovely covering. This Harry called his daughter's
room--and he was proud of her: she was his sole thought, his only
boast. His weatherbeaten countenance always glowed, and there was
something like a tear in his eyes, when he spoke of "my Fanny." She
had little in common with the daughter of a fisherman; for his
neighbours said that her mother had made her unfit for anything, and
that Harry was worse than her mother had been. But that mother was no
more, and she had left their only child to her widowed husband's care;
and, rough as he appeared, never was there a more tender or a more
anxious parent--never had there been a more affectionate husband. But
I may here briefly notice the wife of Harry Teasdale, and his first
acquaintance with her.
When Harry was a youth of one-and-twenty, and as he and others of his
comrades were one day preparing their nets upon the sea-banks for the
north herring-fishing, a bitter hurricane came suddenly away, and they
observed that the mast of a Scotch smack, which was then near the
Ferne Isles, was carried overboard. The sea was breaking over her, and
the vessel was unmanageable; but the wind being from the north-east,
she was driving towards the shore. Harry and his friends ran to get
their boats in readiness, to render assistance if possible. The smack
struck the ground between Embleton and North Sunderland, and being
driven side-on by the force of the billows, which were dashing over
her, formed a sort of break-water, which rendered it less dangerous
for a boat to put off to the assistance of the passengers and crew,
who were seen clinging in despair to the flapping ropes and sides of
the vessel. Harry's cobble was launched along the beach to where the
vessel was stranded, and he and six others attempted to reach her.
After many ineffectual efforts, and much danger, they gained her side,
and a rope was thrown on board. Amongst the smack's passengers was a
Scottish gentleman, with his family, and their governess. She was a
beautiful creature, apparently not exceeding nineteen; and as she
stood upon the deck, with one hand clinging to a rope, and in the
other clasping a child to her side, her countenance alone, of all on
board, did not betoken terror. In the midst of the storm, and through
the raging of the sea, Harry was struck with her appearance. She was
one of the last to leave the vessel; and when she had handed the child
into the arms of a fisherman, and was herself in the act of stepping
into the boat, it lurched, the vessel rocked, a sea broke over it, she
missed her footing, and was carried away upon the wave. Assistance
appeared impossible. The spectators on the shore and the people in the
boat uttered a scream. Harry dropped the helm, he sprung from the
boat, he buffeted the boiling surge, and, after a hopeless struggle,
he clutched the hand of the sinking girl. He bore her to the boat;
they were lifted into it.
"Keep the helm, Ned," said he, addressing one of his comrades who had
taken his place; "I must look after this poor girl--one of the seamen
will take your oar." And she lay insensible, with her head upon his
bosom, and his arm around her waist.
Consciousness returned before they reached the shore, and Harry had
her conveyed to his mother's house. It is difficult for a sensitive
girl of nineteen to look with indifference upon a man who has saved
her life, and who risked his in doing so; and Eleanor Macdonald (for
such was the name of the young governess) did not look with
indifference upon Harry Teasdale. I might tell you how the shipwrecked
party remained for five days at Embleton, and how, during that period,
love rose in the heart of the young fisherman, and gratitude warmed
into affection in the breast of Eleanor--how he discovered that she
was an orphan, with no friend, save the education which her parents
had conferred on her, and how he loved her the more, when he heard
that she was friendless and alone in the world--how the tear was on
his hardy cheek when they parted--how more than once he went many
miles to visit her--and how Eleanor Macdonald, forsaking the
refinements of the society of which she was a dependant, became the
wife of the Northumbrian fisherman. But it is not of Harry's younger
days that I am now about to write. Throughout sixteen happy years they
lived together; and though, when the tempests blew and the storms
raged, while his skiff was on the waves, she often shed tears for his
sake, yet, though her education was superior to his, his conduct and
conversation never raised a blush to her cheeks. Harry was also proud
of his wife, and he showed his pride, by spending every moment he
could command at her side, by listening to her words, and gazing on
her face with delight. But she died, leaving him an only daughter as
the remembrancer of their loves; and to that daughter she had imparted
all that she herself knew.
Besides his calling as a fisherman, and his adventures as a smuggler
on sea, Harry also made frequent inland excursions. These were
generally performed by night, across the wild muir, and by the most
unfrequented paths. A strong black horse, remarkable for its swiftness
of foot, was the constant companion of his midnight journeys. A
canvas bag, fastened at both ends, and resembling a wallet, was
invariably placed across the back of the animal, and at each end of
the bag was a keg of brandy or Hollands, while the rider sat over
these; and behind him was a large and rude portmanteau, containing
packages of tea and tobacco. In his hand he carried a strong
riding-whip, and in the breast-pocket of his greatcoat two
horse-pistols, always loaded and ready for extremities. These journeys
frequently required several days, or rather nights, for their
performance; for he carried his contraband goods to towns fifty miles
distant, and on both sides of the Border. The darker the night was,
and the more tempestuous, the more welcome it was to Harry. He saw
none of the beauties in the moon on which poets dwell with admiration.
Its light may have charms for the lover, but it has none for the
smuggler. For twenty years he had carried on this mode of traffic with
uninterrupted success. He had been frequently pursued; but his good
steed, aided by his knowledge of localities, had ever carried him
beyond the reach of danger; and his _stow-holes_ had been so secretly
and so cunningly designed, that no one but himself was able to
discover them, and informations against him always fell to the ground.
Emboldened by long success, he had ceased to be a mere purchaser of
contraband goods upon the sea, and the story became current that he
had bought a share of a lugger, in conjunction with an Englishman then
resident at Cuxhaven. His brother-fishermen were not all men of
honour; for you will find black sheep in every society, and amongst
all ranks of life. Some of them had looked with an envious eye upon
Harry's run of good fortune, and they bore it with impatience; but
now, when he fairly, boldly, and proudly stepped out of their walk,
and seemed to rise head and shoulders above them, it was more than
they could stand. It was the lugger's first trip, and they, having
managed to obtain intelligence of the day on which she was to sail
with a rich cargo, gave information of the fact to the commander of a
revenue-cutter then cruising upon the coast.
I have mentioned that Harry was in the habit of wandering along the
coast with a telescope under his arm. From the period of his wife's
death, he had not gone regularly to sea, but let others have a share
of his boats for a stipulated portion of the fish they caught. Now, it
was about daybreak, on a morning in the middle of September, that he
was on the beach as I have described him, and perceiving the figure of
the cutter on the water, he raised his glass to his eye, to examine it
more minutely. He expected the lugger on the following night, and the
cutter was an object of interest to Harry. As day began to brighten,
he knelt down behind a sand-bank, in order that he might take his
observations, without the chance of being discovered; and while he yet
knelt, he perceived a boat pulled from the side of the cutter towards
the shore. At the first glance, he descried it to be an Embleton
cobble, and before it proceeded far, he discovered to whom it
belonged. He knew that the owner was his enemy, though he had not the
courage openly to acknowledge it, and in a moment the nature of his
errand to the cutter flashed through Harry's brain.
"I see it! I see it all!" said the smuggler, dashing the telescope
back into its case; "the low, the skulking coward, to go blab upon a
neighbour! But Ise have the weather-gauge o' both o' them, or my
name's not Harry Teasdale."
So saying, he hastened home to his house--he examined his cutlass, his
pistols, the bullets, and the powder. "All's right," said the
smuggler, and he entered the room where his daughter slept. He laid
his rough hand gently upon hers.
"Fanny, love," said he, "thou knowest that I expect the lugger
to-night, and I don't think I shall be at home, and I mayn't be all
to-morrow; but you won't fret, like a good girl, I know you won't.
Keep all right, love, till I be back; and say nothing."
"Dear father," returned Fanny, who was now a lovely girl of eighteen,
"I tremble for this life which we lead--as my poor mother said, it
adds the punishment of the law to the dangers of the sea."
"Oh, don't mention thy mother, dearest!" said the smuggler, "or thou
wilt make a child of thy father, when he should be thinking of other
things. Ah, Fanny! when I lost thy mother, I lost everything that gave
delight to my heart. Since then, the fairest fields are to me no
better than a bare muir, and I have only thee, my love--only my Fanny,
to comfort me. So, thou wilt not cry now--thou wilt not distress thy
father, wilt thou? No, no! I know thou wilt not. I shall be back to
thee to-morrow, love."
More passed between the smuggler and his daughter--words of
remonstrance, of tenderness, and assurance; and when he had left her,
he again went to the beach, to where his boat had just landed from the
night's fishing. None of the other boats had yet arrived. As he
approached, the crew said they "saw by his face there was something
unpleasant in the wind," and others added--
"Something's vexed Skipper Harry this morning, and that's a shame, for
a better soul never lived."
"Well, mates," said he, as he approached them, "have you seen a shark
cruising off the coast this morning?"
"No," was the reply.
"But I have," said Harry, "though she is making off to keep out of
sight now; and, more than that, I have seen a cut-throat lubber that I
would not set my foot upon--I mean the old Beelzebub imp, with the
white and yellow stripe on his yawl, pull from her side. And what was
he doing there? Was it not telling them to look out for the lugger?"
Some of the boat's crew uttered sudden and bitter imprecations.
"Let us go and sink the old rascal before he reach the shore," said
one.
"With all my heart," cried another; for they were all interested in
the landing of the lugger, and in the excitement of the moment they
wist not what they said.
"Softly, softly, my lads," returned Harry; "we must think now what we
can do for the cargo and ourselves, and not of him."
"Right, master," replied another; "that is what I am thinking."
"Now, look ye," continued Harry, "I believe we shall have a squall
before night, and a pretty sharp one, too; but we mustn't mind that
when our fortunes are at stake. Hang all black-hearted knaves that
would peach on a neighbour, say I; but it is done in our case, and we
must only do our best to make the rascal's story stick in his throat,
or be the same as if it had; and I think it may be done yet. I know,
but the peachers can't, that the lugger is to deliver a few score kegs
at Blyth before she run down here. We must off and meet her, and give
warning."
"Ay, ay, Master Teasdale, thou'rt right; but, now that the thing has
got wind, the sharks will keep a hawk's eye on us, and how we are to
do it, I can't see."
"Why, because thou'rt blind," said Harry.
"No, hang it, and if I be, master," replied the other; "I can see as
far as most o' folks, as ye can testify; and I dow see plain enough,
that if we put to sea now, we shall hae the cutter after us; and that
would be what I call only leading the shark to where the salmon lay."
"Man, I wonder to hear thee," said Harry; "folk wad say thou hadst nae
mair gumption than a born fool. Do ye think I wad be such an ass as
to send out spies in the face o' the enemy? Hae I had a run o' gud
luck for twenty years, and yet ye think me nae better general than
that comes to? I said, nae doubt, that we should gang to sea to meet
the lugger, though there will be a squall, and a heavy one, too,
before night, as sure as I'm telling ye; but I didna say that we
should dow sae under the bows o' the cutter, in our awn boat, or out
o' Embleton."
"Right, right, master," said another, "no more you did. Ned isn't half
awake."
The name of the fisherman alluded to was Ned Thomson.
"Well, Ned, my lad," continued Harry, "I tell thee what must be done:
I shall go saddle my old nag, get thou a horse from thy wife's
father--he has two, and can spare one--and let us jog on as fast as we
can for Blyth; but we mustn't keep by the coast, lest the king's folk
get their eyes upon us. So away, get ready, lad, set out as quick as
thee can--few are astir yet. I won't wait on thee, and thou won't wait
on me; but whoever comes first to Felton Brig shall just place two
bits o' stones about the middle--on the parapet I think they ca' it;
but it is the dyke on each side o' the brig I mean, ye knaw. Put them
on the left-hand side in gaun alang, down the water; or if they're
there when ye come up, ye'll ken that I'm afore ye. So get ready,
lad--quick as ever ye can. Tell the awd man naething about what ye
want wi' the horse--the fewer that knaw onything about thir things the
better. And ye, lads, will be upon the look-out; and, if we can get
the lugger run in here, have a'thing in readiness."
"No fear o' that, master," said they.
"Well, sir," said Ned, "I'll be ready in a trap-stick, but I knaw the
awd chap will kick up a sang about lendin his horse."
"Tell him I'll pay for it, if ye break its legs," said Harry.
The crew of the boat laughed, and some of them said--"Nobody will
doubt that, master--you are able enough to do it."
It must be observed that, since Harry had ceased to go regularly to
sea, and when he was really considered to be a rich man, the crew of
his boat began to call him _master_, notwithstanding his sou'-wester
and canvas kilt. And now that it was known to them, and currently
rumoured in Embleton, that he was part proprietor of a lugger, many of
the villagers began to call Fanny Miss Teasdale; and it must be said,
that in her dress and conversation she much nearer approximated to one
that might be styled _Miss_, than to a fisherman's daughter. But, when
the character and education of her mother are taken into account, this
will not be wondered at.
It would be uninteresting to the reader to describe the journey of
Harry and Ned Thomson to Blyth; before they arrived at Felton, Harry
had overtaken Ned, and they rode on together.
On arriving at Blyth, they stopped at the door of an individual who
was to receive forty kilderkins of Hollands from the lugger, and a
quantity of tobacco. It is well known to be the first duty of an
equestrian traveller to look after his horse, and to see that it is
fed; but, in this instance, Harry forgot the established rule--the
horses were given in charge of a girl to take them to a stable, to see
them fed, or otherwise, and Harry hastened into the house, and
breathlessly inquired of its owner--"I hope to heaven, sir, ye have
heard nothing of the Swallow?"
[The lugger was called the "Swallow," from the carpenter in Cuxhaven,
who built her, having warranted that she "would _fly_ through the
water."]
"Why, nothing," replied Harry's brother smuggler; "but we shall be on
the look-out for her to-night."
"So far well," said Harry; "but I hope you have no fear of any king's
lobsters being upon the coast, or rats ashore?"
"I don't think we have anything to fear from the cutters," said the
other; "but I won't answer for the spies on shore; there are folk wi'
us here, as weel as wi' ye, that canna see their neighbours thrive and
haud their tongue; and I think some o' them hae been gaun owre aften
about wi' the spy-glass this day or two."
"Then," said Harry, "the lugger doesna break bulk here, nor at
Embleton outher--that's flat. Get ye a boat ready, neighbour, and we
maun off and meet her, or ye may drink sma' yill to your venture and
mine."
"It is growing too stormy for a boat to venture out," answered the
other.
"Smash, man!" rejoined Harry; "wad you sit here on your hunkers, while
your capital is in danger o' being robbed frae ye as simply as ye
would snuff out a candle, and a' to escape a night's doukin! Get up,
man--get a boat--we maun to sea--we maun meet the lugger, or you and I
are done men--clean ruined a'thegither. I hae risked the better part
o' my bit Fanny's fortune upon this venture, and, Heaven! I'll suffer
death ten thousand-fold afore I see her brought to poverty; sae get a
boat--get it--and if ye daurna gang out, and if nane o' your folk daur
gang, Ned and me will gang our tow sels."
"Surely ye wad be mad, Harry, to attempt such a thing in an open boat
to-night," said the Blyth merchant.
"Mad or no mad," answered Harry, "I hae said it, and I am determined.
There is nae danger yet wi' a man that knaws how to manage a boat. If
ye gang pullin through thick and thin, through main strength and for
bare life, as many of the folk upon our coast dee, then there is
danger--but there is nae use for the like o' that. It isna enough to
manage an oar; you must knaw how to humour the sea, and to manage a
wave. Dinna think I've been at sea mair than thirty years without
knawing something about the matter. But I tell you what it is,
friend--ye knaw what the Bible says--'The race is not to the swift,
nor the battle to the strong;' now, the way to face breakers, or a
storm at sea, is not to pull through desperation, as if your life
depended on the pulling; but when you see a wave coming, ye must
backwater and backwater, and not pull again until ye see an
opportunity of gauin forward. It is the trusting to mere pulling, sir,
that makes our life-boats useless. The rowers in a life-boat should
study the sea as well as their oars. They should consider that they
save life by watching the wave that breaks over the vessel, as well as
by straining every nerve to reach her. Now, this is a stormy night,
nae doubt, but we maun just consider ourselves gaun off to the lugger
in the situation o' folk gaun off in a life-boat. We maun work cannily
and warily, and I'll tak the management o' the boat mysel."
"If ye dow that, master," said Ned Thomson, "then I gang wi' ye to a
dead certainty."
"Well, Harry," replied the merchant, "if it maun be sae, it just maun
be sae; but I think it a rash and a dangerous undertaking. I wad
sooner risk a' that I have on board."
"Why, man, I really wonder to hear ye," said Harry; "folk wad say that
ye had been swaddled in lambs' wool a' your life, and nursed on your
mother's knee. Get a boat, and let us off to the lugger, and nae mair
about it."
His orders were obeyed; and, about an hour after sunset, himself, with
Ned Thomson, the merchant, and four others, put off to sea. They had
indeed embarked upon a perilous voyage--before they were a mile from
the shore, the wind blew a perfect hurricane, and the waves chased
each other in circles, like monsters at play. Still Harry guided the
boat with unerring skill. He ordered them to draw back from the
bursting wave--they rose over it--he rendered it subservient to his
purpose. Within two hours he descried the lights of the lugger. He
knew them, for he had given directions for their use, and similar
lights were hoisted from the cobble which he steered.
"All's well!" said Harry, and in his momentary joy he forgot the
tempestuous sea in which they laboured. They reached the lugger--they
gained the deck.
"Put back, friend--put back," was the first salutation of Harry to the
skipper; "the camp is blown, and there are sharks along shore."
"The devil!" replied the captain, who was an Englishman; "and what
shall we do?"
"Back, back," answered Harry; "that is all in the meantime."
But the storm now raged with more fierceness--it was impossible for
the boat to return to the shore, and Harry and his comrades were
compelled to put to sea with the lugger. Even she became in danger,
and it required the exertions of all hands to manage her.
The storm continued until near daybreak, and the vessel had plied many
miles from the shore; but as day began to dawn, and the storm abated,
an enemy that they feared more appeared within a quarter-of-a-mile
from them, in the shape of a cutter-brig. A gun was fired from the
latter, as a signal for the lugger to lie to. Consternation seized the
crew, and they hurried to and fro upon the deck in confusion.
"Clear the decks!" cried the skipper; "they shan't get all without
paying for it. Look to the guns, my hearties."
"Avast! Master Skipper," said Harry; "though my property be in danger,
I see no cause why I should put my neck in danger too. It will be time
enough to fight when we canna better dow; and if we can keep them in
play a' day there will be sma' danger in wur gi'en them the slip at
night."
"As you like, Mr Teasdale," said the skipper; "all's one to me. Helm
about, my lad," added he, addressing the steersman, and away went the
lugger, as an arrow, scudding before the wind.
The cutter made all sail, and gave chase, firing shot after shot. She
was considered one of the fastest vessels in the service; and though,
on the part of Harry and his friends, every nerve was strained, every
sail hoisted, and every manoeuvre used, they could not keep the
lugger out of harm's way. Every half-hour he looked at his watch, and
wished for night, and his friend, the skipper, followed his example.
There was a hot chase for several hours; and, though tubs of brandy
were thrown overboard by the dozen, still the whizzing bullets from
the cutter passed over the heads of the smugglers. It ought to be
mentioned, also, that the rigging of the lugger had early sustained
damage, and her speed was checked. About sunset a shot injured her
rudder, and she became for a time, as Harry described her, "as
helpless as a child." The cutter instantly bore down upon her.
"Now for it, my lads!" cried the skipper; "there is nothing for it but
fighting now--I suppose that is what you mean, Master Teasdale?"
Harry nodded his head, and quietly drew his pistols from the
breast-pocket of his greatcoat; and then added--
"Now, lads, this is a bad job, but we must try to make the best on't,
and, as we hae gone thus far" (and he discharged a pistol at the
cutter as he spoke), "ye knaw it is o' nae use to think o'
yielding--it is better to be shot than hanged."
In a few minutes the firing of the cutter was returned by the lugger,
from two large guns and a number of small-arms. Harry, in the midst of
the smoke and flame of the action, and the havoc of the bullets, was
as cool and collected as if smoking his pipe upon the beach at
Embleton.
"See to get the helm repaired, lad, as fast as ye can," said he to the
carpenter, while in the act of reloading his pistols. "Let us fight
away, but mind ye your awn wark."
Harry's was the philosophy of courage, mingled with the calculations
of worldly wisdom.
The firing had been kept up on both sides for the space of
half-an-hour, and the decks of both were stained with the blood of the
wounded, when a party from the brig, headed by her first mate,
succeeded in boarding the lugger. Harry seized a cutlass which lay
unsheathed by the side of the companion, and was the first who rushed
forward to repel them.
"Out o' my ship, ye thieves!" cried he, while, with his long arm, he
brandished the deadly weapon, and for a moment forgot his habitual
discretion.
Others of the crew instantly sprang to the assistance of Harry; and,
after a short but desperate encounter, the invaders were driven from
the deck, leaving their chief mate, insensible from wounds, behind
them.
The rudder being repaired so as to render her manageable, the lugger
kept up a sort of retreating fight until night set in, when, as Harry
said, "she gave the cutter the slip like a knotless thread."
But now a disagreeable question arose amongst them, and that was, what
they should do with the wounded officer, who had been left as a prize
in their hands--though a prize that they would much rather have been
without. Some wished that he might die of his wounds, and so they
would get rid of him; for they were puzzled how to dispose of him in
such a way as not to lead to their detection, and place their lives in
jeopardy. Harry was on his knees by the side of the officer, washing
his wounds with Riga balsam, of which they had a store on board, and
binding them up, when one desperate fellow cut short the perplexity
and discussion of the crew, by proposing to fling their _prize_
overboard.
On hearing the brutal proposal, Harry sprang to his feet, and hurling
out his long bony arm, he exclaimed, "Ye savage!" and, dashing his
fist in the face of the ruffian, felled him to the deck.
The man (if we may call one who could entertain so inhuman an idea by
the name of man) rose, bleeding, growling, and muttering threats of
revenge.
"Ye'll blab, will ye?" said Harry, eyeing him fiercely; "threaten to
dow it again, and there's the portion that's waiting for yur neck!"
and, as he spoke, he pointed with his finger to the cross-tree of
the lugger, and added, "and ye knaw that the same reward awaits ye
if ye set yur weel-faur'd face ashore! Out o' my sight, ye
'scape-the-gallows!"
For three days and nights, after her encounter with the brig, the
lugger kept out to sea; and on the fourth night, which was thick,
dark, and starless, Harry resolved to risk all; and, desiring the
skipper to stand for the shore, all but run her aground on Embleton
beach. No light was hoisted, no signal given. Harry held up his
finger, and every soul in the lugger was mute as death. A boat was
lowered in silence, and four of the crew being placed under the
command of Ned Thomson, pulled ashore. The boat flew quickly, but the
oars seemed only to kiss the water, and no sound audible at the
distance of five yards proceeded from their stroke.
"Now, pull back quietly, mates," said Ned, "and I'll be aboard wi'
some o' wur awn folks in a twinkling."
It was between one and two in the morning, and there was no outward
sign amongst the fishermen of Embleton that they were on the alert for
the arrival of a smuggler. The party who gave information to the
cutter having missed Harry for a few days, justly imagined that he had
obtained notice of what they had done; and also believed that he had
ordered the cargo to be delivered on some other part of the coast, and
they therefore were off their guard. Ned, therefore, proceeded to the
village; and, at the houses of certain friends, merely gave three
distinct and peculiar taps with his fingers upon their shutterless
windows, from none of which, if I may use the expression, proceeded
even the _shadow_ of light; but no sooner was the last tap given upon
each, than it was responded to by a low cough from within. No words
passed; and at one window only was Ned detained for a space exceeding
ten seconds, and that was at the house of his master, Harry Teasdale.
Fanny had slept but little since her father left; when she sought rest
for an hour, it was during the day, and she now sat anxiously watching
every sound. On hearing the understood signal, she sprang to the door.
"Edward!" she whispered, eagerly, "is it you?--where is my
father?--what has detained him?"
"Don't be asking questions now, Miss Fanny--sure it is very foolish,"
replied Ned, in the same tone; "Master will be here by and by; but ye
knaw we have bonny wark to dow afore daylight yet. Gud-nicht, hinny."
So saying, Ned stole softly along the village; and, within
half-an-hour, half-a-dozen boats were alongside the lugger; and, an
hour before daybreak, every tub and every bale on board was safely
landed and stowed away.
Yet, after she was a clean ship, there was one awkward business that
still remained to be settled, and that was how they were to dispose of
the wounded officer of the cutter-brig. A consultation was held--many
opinions were given.
"At ony rate we must act like Christians," said Harry.
Some proposed that he should be taken over to Holland and landed
there; but this the skipper positively refused to do, swearing that
the sooner he could get rid of such a customer the better.
"Why, I canna tell," said Ned Thomson; "but what dow ye say, if we
just take him ashore, and lay him at the door o' the awd rascal that
gied information on us?"
"Capital!" cried two or three of the conclave; "that's just the
ticket, Ned!"
"Nonsense!" interrupted Harry, "it's nae such thing. Man, Ned, I
wonder that sic a clever chap as ye aye talks like a fool. Why, ye
might as weel go and ask them to tak you and me off to Morpeth before
dinner-time, as to lay him at their door this morning."
"Well, Master Teasdale," said the skipper, who was becoming impatient,
"what would you have us to do with him?"
"Why, I see there's naething for it," answered Harry, "but I maun tak
the burden o' him upon my awn shouthers. Get the boat ready." So
saying, and while it was yet dark, he entered the cabin where the
wounded officer lay, but who was now conscious of his situation.
"I say, my canny lad," said Harry, approaching his bedside, and
addressing him, "ye maun allow me to tie a bit handkerchur owre yur
een for a quarter-of-an-hour or sae.--Ye needna be feared, for there's
naething shall happen ye--but only, in looking after yur gud, I maunna
lose sight o' my awn. You shall be ta'en ashore as gently as we can."
The wounded man was too feeble to offer any resistance, and Harry,
binding up his eyes, wrapped the clothes on the bed around him, and
carried him in his arms upon deck. In the same manner he placed him in
the boat, supporting him with his arm, and, on reaching the shore, he
bore him on his shoulders to his house.
"Now, sir," said he, as he set him down from his shoulders on an
arm-chair, "ye needna be under the smallest apprehension, for every
attention shall be paid ye here; and, as soon as ye are better, ye
shall be at liberty to return, safe and sound, to your friends, your
ship, or wherever ye like." Harry then turned to his daughter, and
continued--"Now, my bird, come awa in by wi' me, and I will let ye
knaw what ye have to dow."
Fanny wondered at the unusual burden which her father had brought
upon his shoulders into the house; and at his request she anxiously
accompanied him into her own apartment. When they had entered, and he
had shut the door behind them, he took her hand affectionately, and,
addressing her in a sort of whisper, said--
"Now, Fanny, love, ye maun be very cautious--as I knaw ye will be--and
mind what I am telling ye to dow." He then made her acquainted with
the rank of their inmate, and the manner in which he had fallen into
their hands, and added--"Now, darling, ye see we maun be very
circumspect, and keep his being here a secret frae everybody: he maun
remain ignorant o' his awn situation, nowther knawing where he is, nor
in whose hands he is; for if it were found out, it wad be as much as
your father's life is worth. Now he maun stop in this room, as it
looks into the garden, and he can see naething frae it, nor will
onybody be able to see him. Ye maun sleep wi' the lass in the kitchen,
and yur '_sampler_,' and every book, or onything that has a name on't,
maun be taken out o' the room. It winna dow for onybody but you and me
ever to see him, or to wait on him; and, when we dow, he maunna be
allowed to see either yur face or mine; but I will put my awd mask on,
that I used to wear at night sometimes when there was onything
particular to dow, and I thought there wad be danger in the way; and,"
continued he, as the doating parent rose in his bosom, "it wadna be
_chancy_ for him to see my Fanny's face at ony rate; and when ye dow
see him, ye maun have your features so concealed, that, if he met you
again, he wadna knaw ye. Now, hinny, ye'll attend to a' that I've
said--for ye remember your father's life depends on it--and we maun be
as kind to the lad as we can, and try to bring him about as soon as
possible, to get clear on him."
Fanny promised to obey her father's injunctions; but fears for his
safety, and the danger in which he was placed, banished every other
thought. The books, the "_sampler_," everything that could lead the
stranger to a knowledge of the name of his keepers, or of the place
where he was, was taken out of the room.
Harry, muffling up his face, returned to the apartment where the
wounded man was, and, supporting him on his arm, he led him to that
which he was to occupy. He then took the bandage from his eyes, and,
placing him on the bed, again desired him to keep himself easy, and
wished him "good-morning," for day was now beginning to dawn.
The name of our smuggler's wounded prisoner was Augustus Hartley. He
was about twenty-four years of age, and the son of a gentleman of
considerable property in Devonshire; and, at the period we speak of,
he was in expectation of being removed from his situation as second
officer of the brig, and promoted to the command of a revenue-cutter.
The wounds which he had received on the deck of the lugger were
severe, and had reduced him to a state of extreme feebleness; but they
were not dangerous. He knew not where he was, and he marvelled at the
treatment he experienced; for it was kind, yea, even roughly
courteous, and unlike what he might have expected from the hands of
such men as those into whose power he had fallen. Anxiety banished
sleep; and when the risen sun lighted up the chamber where he lay, he
stretched forth his hand and drew aside the curtains, to ascertain
whether the appearance of the apartment would in any way reveal the
mystery which surrounded his situation. But it rather increased it. In
the window were the flowers--around the walls the curious needlework;
the furniture was neatly arranged--there was an elegance over all;
and, to increase his wonder, in a corner by the window was a small
harp, and a few pages of music lay on a table near him.
"Surely," thought Augustus, "this cannot be the habitation of a
half-uncivilised smuggler; and yet the man who brought me here seemed
such."
He drew back his head upon his pillow, to seek the explanation in
conjectures which he could not otherwise obtain; and while he lay
conjuring up strange fancies, Harry, with the mask upon his face, his
hair tied up and concealed, and his body wrapped in a greatcoat,
entered the room.
"Well, how art thou now, lad?" said the smuggler, approaching the bed;
"dost think ye could take breakfast yet?"
Augustus thanked him; but the appearance of Harry in his strange
disguise increased his curiosity and anxiety.
Harry withdrew, and again returned with the breakfast; and though an
awkward waiter, he was an attentive one. Few words passed between
them, for the questions which Augustus felt desirous to ask were
checked by the smuggler saying--"Now, my canny lad, while ye are here
I maun lay an embargo on your asking ony questions, either at me or
onybody else. Ye shall be taken gud care on--if ye want onything, just
tak that bit stick at your bedside, and gie a rap on the floor, and
I'll come to ye. Ye shall want for naething; and, as soon as ye are
better, ye shall be at liberty to gang where ye like. But I maun
caution ye again, that ye are to ask nae questions."
Augustus again thanked him, and was silent.
At the end of eight days, he was able to rise from his bed, and to sit
up for a few hours. Harry now said to him--
"As thou wilt be dull, belike thou wilt have nae objections to a
little music to cheer thee."
Thus saying, he left the room, and, in a few minutes, returned with
Fanny. He was disguised as before, and her features were concealed by
several folds of black crape, which covered her head and face, after
the fashion of a nun. She curtsied with a modest grace to the
stranger as she entered.
"That cannot be the daughter of a rude and ignorant smuggler," thought
Augustus; "and how should such a creature be connected with them?" He
noted the elegance of her form, and his imagination again began to
dream. The mystery of his situation deepened around him, and he gazed
anxiously on the thick and folded veil that concealed her features.
"Wilt thou amuse the poor gentleman with a song, love," said Harry,
"for I fear he has but a dull time on't?"
Fanny took the harp which stood in the corner--she touched the
trembling cords--she commenced a Scottish melody; and, as Augustus
listened to the music of her clear and silvery voice, blending with
the tones of the instrument, it
"Came o'er the ear like the sweet south
Breathing upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour."
It seemed the sweetest strain to which he had ever listened; and
romance and mystery lent it their magic. His eyes kindled at the
sounds; and when Harry saw the change that was produced on him, he was
well pleased to observe it, and he was proud also of his daughter's
performance, and in the simplicity and fulness of his heart he said--
"Thou mayest amuse the gentleman with thy music every day, child, or
thou mayest read to him, to mak him as comfortable as we can; only he
must ask thee no questions, and thou must answer him none. But I can
trust to thee."
From that moment Augustus no longer wearied for the days of his
captivity to pass away; and he retired to rest, or rather to dream of
the veiled songstress, and to conjure up a thousand faces of youth and
beauty which might be like her face--for he doubted not but her
countenance was lovely as her form was handsome; and he pictured dark
eyes where the soul beamed, and the raven hair waved on the snowy
temples, with the soft blue eyes where affection smiled, and the
flaxen tresses were parted on the brow; but he knew not which might be
like hers on whom his imagination dwelt.
Many days passed; and, during a part of each, Fanny sat beside him to
beguile his solitude. She read to him; they conversed together; and
the words which fell from her lips surprised and delighted him. She
also taught him the use of the harp, and he was enabled to play a few
tunes. He regarded her as a veiled angel, and his desire to look upon
her features each day became more difficult to control. He argued that
it was impossible to love one whose face he had never seen--yet, when
she was absent from his side, he was unhappy until her return; she had
become the one idea of his thoughts--the spirit of his fancies; he
watched her fair fingers as they glided on the harp--his hand shook
when he touched them, and more than once he half raised it to untie
the thick veil which hid her features from him.
But, while such feelings passed through his mind, others of a kindred
character had crept into the bosom of Fanny, and she sighed when she
thought that, in a few weeks, she would see him no more, that even her
face he might not see, and that her name he must never know; and fears
for her father's safety mingled with the feelings which the stranger
had awakened in her bosom. She had beheld the anxiety that glowed in
his dark eyes--she had listened to his impassioned words--she felt
their influence: but duty forbade her to acknowledge that she felt it.
Eight weeks had passed; the wounds of Augustus were nearly healed; his
health was restored, and his strength returned, and Harry said that in
another week he might depart; but the announcement gave no joy to him
to whom it was addressed. His confinement had been robbed of its
solitariness, it had become as a dream in which he delighted, and he
could have asked but permission to gaze upon the face of his
companion, to endure it for ever. About an hour after he received this
intelligence, Fanny entered the apartment. He rose to meet her--he
took her hand, and they sat down together. But her harp lay
untouched--she spoke little--he thought she sighed, and he, too, was
silent.
"Lady," said he, anxiously, still holding her hand in his, "I know not
where I am, nor by whom I am surrounded--this only I know, that you,
with an angel's care, have watched over me, that you have restored me
to health, and rendered confinement more grateful than liberty; but,
in a few days, we must part--part, perhaps, for ever; then, before I
go, grant me but one request--let me look upon the face of her whose
remembrance will dwell in my heart as its dearest thought, while the
pulse of life throbs within it."
"I must not, I dare not," said Fanny, and she paused and sighed; "'tis
not worth looking on," she added.
"Nay, dearest," continued he, "deny me not--it is a small request.
Fear nothing--never shall danger fall upon any connected with you
through me. I will swear to you----"
"Swear not!" interrupted Fanny--"I dare not!--no!--no!" and she again
sighed.
He pressed her hand more closely within his. A breathless silence
followed, and a tear glistened in his eyes. Her bosom heaved--her
countenance bespoke the struggle that warred in her breast.
"Do I look as one who would betray your friends--if they be your
friends?" said he, with emotion.
"No," she faltered, and her head fell on her bosom.
He placed his hand across her shoulders--it touched the riband by
which the deep folds of the veil were fastened over her head--it was
the impulse of a moment--he unloosed it, the veil fell upon the floor,
and the flaxen locks and the lovely features of Fanny Teasdale were
revealed. Augustus started in admiration; for weeks he had conjured up
phantoms of ideal beauty, but the fair face before him exceeded them
all. She blushed--her countenance bespoke anxiety rather than
anger--tears fell down her cheeks, and he kissed them away. He sat,
silently gazing on her features, drawing happiness from her eyes.
Again ten days had passed, and, during each of them, Fanny, in the
absence of her father, sat unveiled by his side. Still he knew not her
name, and, when he entreated her to pronounce it, she wept, and
replied, "I dare not."
He had told her his. "Call me _your_ Augustus," said he, "and tell me
by what name I shall call _you_, my own. Come, dearest, do you doubt
me still? Do you still think me capable of the part of an informer?"
But she wept the more, for she knew that to tell her name was to make
known her father's also--to betray him, and to place his life in
jeopardy. He urged her yet more earnestly, and he had sunk upon his
knee, and was pressing her hand to his lips, when Harry, in the
disguise in which he had always seen him, entered the room. The
smuggler started back.
"What!" cried he, sternly, "what hast thou done, girl?--shown thy face
and betrayed me?--and told thy name, and mine, too, I suppose?"
"Oh no! no! dear father!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around him;
"I have not--indeed I have not. Do not be angry with your Fanny."
"Fanny!" hastily exclaimed Augustus--"Fanny! Bless thee for that
word!"
"That thou mayest make it the clue to destroy her father!" returned
the smuggler.
"No, sir," answered Augustus, proudly, "but that I may treasure it up
in my heart, as the name of one who is dearer to me than the life
which thou hast preserved."
"Ay! ay!" replied Harry, "thou talkest like every hot-headed youth;
but it was an ungrateful return in thee, for preserving thy life, to
destroy my peace. Get thee ben to the other room, Fanny, for thou'st
been a silly girl."
She rose weeping, and withdrew.
"Now, sir," continued Harry, "thou must remain nae langer under this
roof. This very hour will I get a horse ready, and conduct thee to
where ye can go to your friends, or wherever ye like; and as ye were
brought blindfolded here, ye maun consent to be taken blindfolded
away."
"Nay, trust to my honour, sir," said Augustus--"I am incapable of
betraying you."
"I'm no sae sure about that," returned the smuggler, "and it's best to
be sure. I trusted to your honour that ye wad ask no questions while
here--and how have you kept your honour? Na, lad, na!--what ye dinna
see ye winna be able to swear to. So make ready." Thus saying, Harry
left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
It was about an hour after nightfall, and within ten minutes the
smuggler again entered the room. He carried a pistol in one hand, and
a silk handkerchief in the other. He placed the pistol upon the table,
and said, "I have no time to argue--allow me to tie thy eyes up, lest
worse follow."
Augustus requested that he might see Fanny but for a few minutes, and
he would comply without a murmur.
"No," said Harry, sternly; "wouldst tamper with my child's heart, when
her trusting in thee would place my life in thy power? Say no more--I
won't hear thee," he continued, again raising the pistol in his hand.
Augustus, finding expostulation vain, submitted to have his eyes bound
up; and as the smuggler was leading him from the house, the bitter
sobs of Fanny reached his ear: he was almost tempted to burst from the
grasp of his conductor, and rush towards her; but, endeavouring to
suppress the tumult of his feelings, he exclaimed aloud--
"Forget me not, dear Fanny!--we shall meet again."
"Never!" whispered Harry in his ear.
The smuggler's horse stood ready at the door. In a moment he sprang
upon the saddle (if saddle it could be called), and, taking Augustus
by the hand, placed him behind him; and at a word spoken the
well-trained animal started off, as though spurs had been dashed into
its sides. For several hours they galloped on, but in what direction
Augustus knew not, nor wist he from whence he had been brought. At
length the smuggler suddenly drew up his horse, and exclaimed,
"Dismount!"
Augustus obeyed, but scarce had his feet touched the ground, when
Harry, crying "Farewell!" dashed away as an arrow shot from a bow; and
before the other could unfasten the handkerchief with which his eyes
were bound up, the horse and its rider were invisible.
It was drawing towards grey dawn, and he knew neither where he was nor
in what direction to proceed. He remembered, also, that he was without
money; but there was something heavy tied in a corner of the
handkerchief, which he yet held in his hand. He examined it, and found
ten guineas, wrapped in a scrap of paper, on which some words seemed
to be written. He longed for day, that he might be enabled to read
them, and, as the light increased, he deciphered, written with a
trembling hand--
"You may need money.--Think sometimes of me!"
"Heaven bless thee, my unknown Fanny!" cried he, "whoever thou art;
never will I think of any but thee."
I need not tell about his discovering in what part of the country the
smuggler had left him; of his journey to his father's house in
Devonshire, or his relation of what had befallen him; nor how he dwelt
upon the remembrance of Fanny, and vainly endeavoured to trace where
her residence was, or to discover what was her name beyond Fanny.
He was appointed to the command of a cutter, and four years passed
from the period of the scenes that had been described, when, following
in pursuit of a smuggling vessel, he again arrived upon the coast of
Northumberland. Some of his crew, who had been on shore, brought him
information that the vessel was delivering her cargo near Embleton;
and, ordering two boats to be manned, he instantly proceeded to the
land. They came upon the smuggler; a scuffle ensued, and one of
Captain Hartley's men was stabbed by his side with a clasp-knife, and
fell dead at his feet; and he wrenched the knife from the hand of the
murderer, who with his companions, effected his escape without being
discovered.
But day had not yet broken when two constables knocked at the door of
Harry Teasdale, and demanded admission. The servant-girl opened the
door--they rushed into the house, and to the side of the bed where he
slept. They grasped him by the shoulder, and exclaimed--
"You are our prisoner."
"Your prisoner!" replied Harry; "for what, neighbours?"
"Weel dow ye knaw for what," was the answer.
Harry sprang upon the floor, and, in the excitement of the moment, he
raised his hand to strike the officers of the law.
"You are only making things worse," said one of them; and he submitted
to have handcuffs placed upon his wrists.