WARNING OF DANGER.
Judith, lost for awhile in her dreams, had been brought to a sense of
what was the subject of conversation in the adjoining room by the
mention of Coppinger's name more than once. She heard the desultory
talk for awhile without giving it much attention, but Scantlebray's
voice was of that harsh and penetrating nature that to exclude it the
ears must be treated as Ulysses treated the ears of his mariners as he
passed the rock of the Sirens.
Presently she became alive to the danger in which Coppinger stood.
Scantlebray spoke plainly, and she understood. There could be no doubt
about it. The Black Prince belonged to the Captain, and his dealings
with and through that vessel were betrayed. Not only was Coppinger, as
the head of a gang of smugglers, an object worth capture to the
Preventive men, but the belief that he had caused the death of at
least one of their number had embittered them against him to such an
extent that, when the opportunity presented itself to them of
capturing him red-handed engaged in his smuggling transactions, they
were certain to deal with him in a way much more summary than the
processes of a court of a justice. The brother of the man who had been
murdered was among the coast-guard, and he would not willingly let
slip a chance of avenging the death of Jonas Wyvill. Coppinger was not
in a condition to defend himself effectively. On that day for the
first time, had he left off his bandages, and his muscles were stiff
and the newly set bones still weak.
What was to be done? Could Judith go to bed and let Coppinger run into
the net prepared for his feet--go to his death?
No sooner, however, had Judith realized the danger that menaced
Coppinger than she resolved on doing her utmost to avert it. She, and
she alone, could deliver him from the disgrace, if not the death, that
menaced him.
She stole lightly from the room and got her cloak, drew the hood over
her head, and sallied forth into the night. Heavy clouds rolled over
the sky, driven before a strong gale. Now and then they opened and
disclosed the twilight sky, in which faintly twinkled a few stars, and
at such times a dim light fell over the road, but in another moment
lumbering masses of vapor were carried forward, blotting out the clear
tract of sky, and at the same time blurring all objects on earth with
one enveloping shadow.
Judith's heart beat furiously, and timidity came over her spirit as
she left the cottage, for she was unaccustomed to be outside the house
at such an hour; but the purpose she had before her eyes gave her
strength and courage. It seemed to her that Providence had suddenly
constituted her the guardian angel of Coppinger, and she flattered
herself that, were she to be the means of delivering him from the
threatened danger, she might try to exact of him a promise to
discontinue so dangerous and so questionable a business. If this night
she were able to give him warning in time, it would be some return
made for his kindness to her, and some reparation made for the injury
she had done him. When for an instant there was a rift in the clouds,
and she could look up and see the pure stars, it seemed to her that
they shone down on her like angels' eyes, watching, encouraging, and
promising her protection. She thought of her father--of how his mind
had been set against Coppinger; now, she felt convinced, he saw that
his judgment had been warped, and that he would bless her for doing
that which she had set her mind to accomplish. Her father had been
ever ready frankly to acknowledge himself in the wrong when he had
been convinced that he was mistaken, and now in the light of eternity,
with eyes undarkened by prejudice, he must know that he was in error
in his condemnation of Coppinger, and be glad that his daughter was
doing something to save that man from an untimely and bloody death.
Not a soul did Judith meet or pass on her way. She had determined in
the first case to go to Pentyre Glaze. She would see if Captain Cruel
were there. She trusted he was at his house. If so, her course was
simple; she would warn him and return to Mr. Menaida's cottage as
quickly as her feet would bear her. The wind caught her cloak, and she
turned in alarm, fancying that it was plucked by a human hand. No one,
however, was behind her.
In Pentyre lane it was dark, very dark. The rude half-walls,
half-hedges stood up high, walled toward the lane hedged with earth
and planted with thorns toward the field. The wind hissed through the
bushes; there was an ash tree by a gate. One branch sawed against
another, producing a weird, even shrill sound like a cry.
The way led past a farm, and she stole along before it with the utmost
fear as she heard the dog in the yard begin to bark furiously, and as
she believed that it was not chained up, might rush forth at her. It
might fall upon her, and hold her there till the farmer came forth and
found her, and inquired into the reason of her being there at night.
If found and recognized, what excuse could she give? What explanation
could satisfy the inquisitive?
She did not breathe freely till she had come out on the down; the dog
was still barking, but, as he had not pursued her, she was satisfied
that he was not at large. Her way now lay for a while over open
common, and then again entered a lane between the hedges that enclosed
the fields and meadows of the Glaze.
A dense darkness fell over the down, and Judith for a while was
uncertain of her way, the track being undistinguishable from the short
turf on either side. Suddenly she saw some flashes of light that ran
along the ground and then disappeared.
"This is the road," said a voice.
Judith's heart stood still, and her blood curdled in her veins. If the
cloud were to roll away--and she could see far off its silvery fringe,
she would become visible. The voice was that of a man, but whether
that of a smuggler or of a coast-guard she could not guess. By neither
did she care to be discovered. By the dim, uncertain light she stole
off the path, and sank upon the ground among some masses of gorse that
stood on the common. Between the prickly tufts she might lie, and in
her dark cloak be mistaken for a patch of furze. She drew her feet
under the skirt, that the white stockings might not betray her, and
plucked the hood of her cloak closely round her face. The gorse was
sharp, and the spikes entered her hands and feet, and pricked her as
she turned herself about between the bushes to bring herself deeper
among them.
From where she lay she could see the faintly illumined horizon, and
against that horizon figures were visible, one--then another--a
third--she could not count accurately, for there came several
together; but she was convinced there must have been over a dozen men.
"It's a'most too rough to-night, I reckon," said one of the men.
"No, it is not--the wind is not direct on shore. They'll try it."
"Coppinger and his chaps are down in the cove already," said a third.
"They wouldn't go out if they wasn't expecting the boats from the
Black Prince."
"You are sure they're down, Wyvill?"
"Sure and sartain. I seed 'em pass, and mighty little I liked to let
'em go by--without a pop from my pistol. But I'd my orders. No orders
against the pistol going off of itself, Captain, if I have a chance
presently?"
No answer was given to this; but he who had been addressed as Captain
asked--
"Are the asses out?"
"Yes; a whole score, I reckon."
"Then they'll come up the mule path. We must watch that. Lieutenant
Hanson will be ready with the cutter to run out and stop their way
back by water to the Prince. The Prince's men will take to the sea,
and he'll settle with them; but Coppinger's men will run up the
cliffs, and we must tackle them. Go on."
Several now disappeared into the darkness, moving toward the sea.
"Here, a word with you, Wyvill," said the Captain.
"Right, sir--here I be."
"Dash it!--it is so dark! Here, step back--a word in your ear."
"Right you are, sir."
They came on to the turf close to where Judith crouched.
"What is that?" said the Captain, hastily.
"What, sir?"
"I thought I trod on something like cloth. Have you a light?"
"No, sir! Home has the dark lantern."
"I suppose it is nothing. What is all that dark stuff there?"
"I'll see, sir," said Wyvill, stooping, and with his hand. "By George,
sir! it's naught but fuzz."
"Very well, Wyvill--a word between us. I know that if you have the
chance you intend to send a bullet into Coppinger. I don't blame you.
I won't say I wouldn't do it--unofficially--but looky' here, man, if
you can manage without a bullet--say a blow with the butt-end on his
forehead and a roll over the cliffs--I'd prefer it. In self-defence of
course we must use fire-arms. But there's some squeamish stomachs, you
understand; and if it can come about accidentally, as it were--as if
he'd missed his footing--I'd prefer it. Make it pleasant all around,
if you can."
"Yes, sir; leave it to me."
"It oughtn't to be difficult, you know, Wyvill. I hear he's broke one
arm, so is like to be insecure in his hold climbing the cliffs. Then
no questions asked, and more pleasant, you know. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
Then they went on, and were lost to sight and to hearing. For some
minutes Judith did not stir. She lay, recovering her breath; she had
hardly ventured to breathe while the two men were by her, the Captain
with his foot on her skirt. Now she remained motionless, to consider
what was to be done. It was of no further use her going on to Pentyre
Glaze. Coppinger had left it. Wyvill, who had been planted as spy, had
seen him with his carriers defile out of the lane with the asses that
were to bring up the smuggled goods from the shore.
She dare not take the path by which on the preceding afternoon she had
descended with Jamie to the beach, for it was guarded by the
Preventive men.
There was but one way by which she could reach the shore and warn
Coppinger, and that was by the chimney of the cave--a way dangerous in
daylight, one, moreover, not easy to find at night. The mouth of the
chimney opened upon a ledge that overhung the sea half-way down the
face of the precipice, and this ledge could only be reached by a
narrow track--a track apparently traced by sheep.
Judith thought that she might find her way to that part of the down
from which the descent was to be made; for she had noticed that what
is locally called a "new-take" wall came near it, and if she could hit
this wall, she believed she could trace it up to where it approached
the cliff: and the track descended somewhere thereabouts. She waited
where she lay till the heavy clouds rolled by, and for a brief space
the sky was comparatively clear. Then she rose, and took the direction
in which she ought to go to reach the "new-take" wall. As she went
over the down, she heard the sea roaring threateningly; on her left
hand the glint of the light-house on Trevose Head gave her the
direction she must pursue. But, on a down like that, with a precipice
on one hand, in a light, uncertain at best, often in complete
darkness, it was dangerous to advance except by thrusting the foot
forward tentatively before taking a step. The sea and the gnawing
winds caused the cliffs to crumble; bits were eaten out of the
surface, and in places there were fissures in the turf where a rent
had formed, and where shortly a mass would fall.
It is said that the duties on customs were originally instituted in
order to enable the Crown to afford protection to trade against
pirates. The pirates ceased to infest the seas, but the duties were
not only taken off, but were increased, and became a branch of the
public revenue. Perhaps some consciousness that the profits were not
devoted to the purpose originally intended, bred in the people on the
coast a feeling of resentment against the imposition of duties. There
certainly existed an impression, a conviction rather, that the
violation of a positive law of this nature was in no respect criminal.
Adventurers embarked in the illicit traffic without scruple, as they
did in poaching. The profit was great, and the danger run enhanced the
excitement of the pursuit, and gave a sort of heroic splendor to the
achievements of the successful smuggler.
The Government, to stop a traffic that injured legitimate trade and
affected the revenue, imposed severe penalties. Smuggling was classed
among the felonies, "without benefit of clergy," the punishment for
which was death and confiscation of goods. The consciousness that
they would be dealt with with severity did not deter bold men from
engaging in the traffic, but made them desperate in self-defence when
caught. Conflicts with revenue officers were not uncommon, and lives
were lost on both sides. The smugglers were not bound together by any
link, and sometimes one gang was betrayed by another, so as to divert
suspicion and attention from their own misdeeds, or out of jealousy,
or on account of a quarrel. It was so on this occasion: the success of
Coppinger, the ingenuity with which he had carried on his defiance of
the law, caused envy of him, because he was a foreigner--was, at all
events, not a Cornishman; this had induced a rival to give notice to
the Revenue officers, through Scantlebray--a convenient go-between in
a good many questionable negotiations. The man who betrayed Coppinger
dared not be seen entering into communication with the officers of the
law. He, therefore, employed Scantlebray as the vehicle through whom,
without suspicion resting on himself, his rival might be fallen upon
and his proceedings brought to an end.
It was now very dark. Judith had reached and touched a wall; but in
the darkness lost her bearings. The Trevose light was no longer
visible, and directly she left the wall to strike outward she became
confused as direction, and in the darkness groped along with her feet,
stretching her hands before her. Then the rain came down, lashing in
her face. The wind had shifted somewhat during the evening, and it was
no guidance to Judith to feel from what quarter the rain drove against
her. Moreover, the cove formed a great curve in the coast-line, and
was indented deeply in some places, so that to grope round the edge
without light in quest of a point only seen or noticed once, seemed a
desperate venture. Suddenly Judith's foot caught. It was entangled,
and she could not disengage it. She stooped, and put her hand on a
chain. It was Jamie's steel dog-chain, one link of which had caught in
a tuft of rest-harrow.
She had found the spot she wanted, and now waited only till the rain
had rushed further inland, and a fringe of light appeared in the sky,
to advance to the very edge of the cliff. She found it expedient to
stoop as she proceeded, so as to discover some indications of the
track. There were depressions where feet had worn the turf, and she
set hers therein, and sought the next. Thus, creeping and groping, she
neared the edge.
And now came the moment of supreme peril, when, trusting that she had
found the right path, she must go over the brink. If she were
mistaken, the next step would send her down two hundred feet, to where
she heard the roar, and felt the breath of the sea stream up to her
from the abyss. Here she could distinguish nothing; she must trust to
Providence to guide her steps. She uttered a short and earnest prayer,
and then boldly descended. She could not stoop now. To stoop was to
dive headlong down. She felt her way, however, with her feet, reached
one firm station, then another. Her hands touched the grass and earth
of the ragged margin, then with another step she was below it, and
held to the rain-splashed fangs of rock.
Clinging, with her face inward, feeling with her feet, and never sure
but that the next moment might see her launched into air, she stole
onward, slowly, cautiously, and ever with the gnawing dread in her
heart lest she should be too late. One intense point of consciousness
stood out in her brain--it told her that if, while thus creeping down,
there should come the flash and explosion of fire-arms, her courage
would fail, her head would spin, and she would be lost.
How long she was descending she could not tell, how many steps she
took was unknown to her--she had not counted--but it seemed to her an
entire night that passed, with every change of position an hour was
marked; then, at last, she was conscious that she stood on more level
ground. She had reached the terrace.
A little further, and on her left hand, would open the mouth of the
shaft, and she must descend that, in profoundest darkness. A cry! A
light flashed into her eyes and dazzled her. A hand at the same moment
clutched her, or she would have reeled back and gone over the cliff.
The light was held to pour over her face. Who held it and who grasped
her she could not see; but she knew the moment she heard a voice
exclaim--
"Judith!"
In her terror and exhaustion she could but gasp for breath for a few
moments.
By degrees her firmness and resolution returned, and she exclaimed,
in broken tones, panting between every few words--
"Captain Cruel!--you are betrayed--they are after you!"
He did not press her. He waited till she could speak again, lowering
the lantern.
Then, without the glare in her eyes, she was able to speak more
freely.
"There is a boat--a Revenue cutter--waiting in the
bay--and--above--are the Preventive men--and they will kill you."
"Indeed," said he. "And you have come to warn me?"
"Yes."
"Tell me--are there any above, where you came down!"
"None; they are on the ass-path."
"Can you ascend as you came down?"
"Yes."
He extinguished his lantern, or covered it.
"I must no more show light. I must warn those below." He paused, then
said--
"Dare you mount alone."
"I came down alone."
"Then do this one thing more for me. Mount, and go to Pentyre. Tell
your aunt--three lights--red, white, red; then ten minutes, and then,
red, red, white. Can you remember? Repeat after me: 'Three
lights--red, white, red; then, ten minutes, and next, red, red, and
white.'"
Judith repeated the words.
"That is right. Lose no time. I dare not give you a light. None must
now be shown. The boat from the Black Prince is not in--this lantern
was her guide. Now it is out she will go back. You will remember the
signals? I thank you for what you have done. There is but one woman
would have done it, and that Judith."
He stepped inside the shaft to descend. When hidden, he allowed his
light again to show, to assist him in his way down. Judith only waited
till her eyes, that had been dazzled by the light, were recovered, and
then she braced herself to resume her climb; but now it was to be up
the cliff.