NOTHING LIKE GROG.
The Black Prince had been observed by Oliver Menaida. He did not know
for certain that the vessel he saw in the offing was the smuggler's
ship, but he suspected it, as he knew that Coppinger was in daily
expectation of her arrival. He brought his father to the cliffs, and
the old man at once identified her.
Oliver considered what was to be done.
A feint was to be made at a point lower down the coast so as to
attract the coast-guard in that direction; whereas, she was to run for
Pentyre as soon as night fell, with all lights hidden, and to
discharge her cargo in the little cove.
Oliver knew pretty well who was confederate with Coppinger, or were in
his employ. His father was able to furnish him with a good deal of
information, not perhaps very well authenticated, all resting on
gossip. He resolved to have a look at these men, and observe whether
they were making preparations to assist Coppinger in clearing the
Black Prince the moment she arrived off the cove. But he found that he
had not far to look. They were drawn to the cliffs one after another
to observe the distant vessel.
Oliver now made his way to the coast-guard station, and to reach it
went round by Wadebridge, and this he did because he wished to avoid
being noticed going to the Preventive Station across the estuary at
the Doom Bar above St. Enodoc. On reaching his destination he was
shown into an ante-room, where he had to wait some minutes, because
the captain happened to be engaged. He had plenty to occupy his mind.
There was that mysterious confession of Judith that she had tried to
poison the man who persisted in considering himself as her husband, in
spite of her resistance, and who was holding her in a condition of
bondage in his house. Oliver did not for a moment believe that she
had intentionally sought his life. He had seen enough of her to gauge
her character, and he knew that she was incapable of committing a
crime. That she might have given poison in ignorance and by accident
was possible; how this had happened it was in vain for him to attempt
to conjecture; he could, however, quite believe that an innocent and
sensitive conscience like that of Judith might feel the pangs of
self-reproach when hurt had come to Coppinger through her negligence.
Oliver could also believe that the smuggler captain attributed her act
to an evil motive. He was not the man to believe in guilelessness, and
when he found that he had been partly poisoned by the woman whom he
daily tortured almost to madness, he would at once conclude that a
premeditated attempt had been made on his life. What course would he
pursue? Would he make this wretched business public and bring a
criminal action against the unfortunate and unhappy girl who was
linked to him against her will?
Oliver saw that if he could obtain Coppinger's arrest on some such a
charge as smuggling, he might prevent this scandal, and save Judith
from much humiliation and misery. He was therefore most desirous to
effect the capture of Coppinger at once and _flagrante delicto_.
As he waited in the ante-room a harsh voice within was audible which
he recognized as that of Mr. Scantlebray. Presently the door was half
opened, and he heard the coast-guard captain say:
"I trust you rewarded the fellow for his information. You may apply to
me----"
"O royally, royally."
"And for furnishing you with the code of signals?"
"Imperially--imperially."
"That is well--never underpay in these matters."
"Do not fear! I emptied my pockets. And as to the information you have
received through me--rely on it as you would on the Bank of England."
"You have been deceived and befooled," said Oliver, unable to resist
the chance of delivering a slap at a man for whom he entertained a
peculiar aversion, having heard much concerning him from his father.
"What do you mean?"
"That the shilling you gave the clerk for his information, and the
half-crown for his signal table were worth what you got--the
information was false, and was intended to mislead."
Scantlebray colored purple. "What do you know? You know nothing. You
are in league with them."
"Take care what you say," said Oliver.
"I maintain," said Scantlebray, somewhat cowed by his demeanor, "that
what I have said to the captain here is something of which you know
nothing--and which is of importance to him to know."
"And I maintain that you have been hoodwinked," answered Oliver. "But
it matters not. The event will prove which of us is on the right
track."
"Yes," laughed Scantlebray, "so be it; and let me bet you, Captain,
and you Mr. Oliver Menaida--that I am on the scent of something else.
I believe I know where Coppinger keeps his stores, and--but you shall
see, and Captain Cruel also, ha, ha!"
Rubbing his hands he went out.
Then Oliver begged a word with the Preventive captain, and told him
what he had overheard, and also that he knew where was the cave in
which the smugglers had their boat and to which they ran the cargo
first, before removing it to their inland stores.
"I'm not so certain the Black Prince dare venture nigh the coast
to-night," said the Captain, "because of the sea and the on-shore
wind. But the glass is rising and the wind may change. Then she'll
risk it for certain. Now, look you here. I can't go with you myself
to-night, because I must be here; and I can only let you have six
men."
"That will suffice."
"Under Wyvill. I cannot, of course, put them under you, but Wyvill
shall command. He bears a grudge against Coppinger, and will be
rejoiced to have the chance of paying it out. But, mind you, it is
possible that the Black Prince dare not run in, because of the
weather, at Pentyre Cove, she may run somewhere else, either down the
coast or higher up. Coppinger has other ovens than one. You know the
term. His store-places are ovens. We can't find them, but we know that
there are several of them along the coast, just as there are a score
of landing-places. When one is watched, then another is used, and
that is how we are thrown out. There are plenty of folk interested in
defrauding the revenue in every parish between Hartland and Land's
End, and let the Black Prince, or any other smuggling vessel appear
where she will, there she has ready helpers to shore her cargo, and
convey it to the ovens. When we appear it is signalled at once to the
vessel, and she runs away up or down the coast, and discharges
somewhere else, before we can reach the point. Now, I do not say that
what you tell me is not true, and that it is not Coppinger's intent to
land the goods in the Pentyre Cove, but if we are smelt, or if the
wind or sea forbid a landing there, away goes the Black Prince and
runs her cargo somewhere else. That is why I cannot accompany you, nor
can I send you with more than half a dozen men. I must be on the look
out, and I must be prepared in the event of her coming suddenly back
and attempting to land her goods at Porth-leze, or Constantine, or
Harlyn. What you shall do is--remain here with me till near dusk, and
then you shall have a boat and my men and get round Pentyre, and you
shall take possession of that cave. You shall take with you provisions
for twenty-four hours. If the Black Prince intends to make that bay
and discharge there, then she will wait her opportunity. If she cannot
to-night, she will to-morrow night. Now, seize every man who comes
into that cave, and don't let him out. You see?"
"Perfectly."
"Very well. Wyvill shall be in command, and you shall be the guide,
and I will speak to him to pay proper attention to what you recommend.
You see?"
"Exactly."
"Very well--now we shall have something to eat and to drink, which is
better, and drink that is worth the drinking, which is best of all.
Here is some cognac, it was run goods that we captured and
confiscated. Look at it. I wish there were artificial light and you
would see, it is liquid amber--a liqueur. When you've tasted that,
ah-ha! you will say, 'Glad I lived to this moment.' There is all the
difference, my boy, between your best cognac and common brandy--the
one, the condensed sunshine in the queen of fruit sublimed to an
essence; the other, coarse, raw fire--all the difference that there is
between a princess of blood royal and a gypsy wench. Drink and do not
fear. This is not the stuff to smoke the head and clog the stomach."
When Oliver Menaida finally started, he left the first officer of the
coast-guard, in spite of his assurances, somewhat smoky in brain, and
not in the condition to form the clearest estimate of what should be
done in a contingency. The boat was laden with provisions for
twenty-four hours, and placed under the command of Wyvill.
The crew had not rowed far before one of them sang out:
"Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, mate!" responded Wyvill.
"I say, Gearge. Be us a going round Pentyre?"
"I reckon we be."
"And wet to the marrowbone we shall be."
"I reckon we shall."
Then a pause in the conversation. Presently from another, "Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, Will!"
"I say Gearge! where be the spirits to? There's a keg o' water, but
sure alive the spirits be forgotten."
"Bless my body!" exclaimed Wyvill, "I reckon you're right. Here's a
go."
"It will never do for us to be twenty-four hours wi' salt water
outside of us and fresh wi'in," said Will. "What's a hat wi'out a head
in it, or boots wi'out feet in 'em, or a man wi'out spirits in his
in'ard parts?"
"Dear, alive! 'Tis a nuisance," said Wyvill. "Who's been the idiot to
forget the spirits?"
"Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, Samson!"
"I say, Gearge! hadn't us better run over to the Rock and get a little
anker there?"
"I reckon it wouldn't be amiss, mate," responded Wyvill. To Oliver's
astonishment and annoyance, the boat was turned to run across to a
little tavern, at what was called "The Rock."
He remonstrated. This was injudicious and unnecessary.
"Onnecessary," said Wyvill. "Why, you don't suppose fire-arms will go
off wi'out a charge? It's the same wi' men. What's the good of a human
being unless he be loaded--and what's his proper load but a drop o'
spirits."
Then one of the rowers sang out:
"Water-drinkers are dull asses
When they're met together.
Milk is meat for infancy;
Ladies like to sip Bohea;
Not such stuff for you and me,
When we're met together."
Oliver was not surprised that so few captures were effected on the
coast, when those set to watch it loved so dearly the very goods they
were to watch against being imported untaxed.
On reaching the shore, the man Samson and another were left in charge
of the boat, while Wyvill, Will, and the rest went up to the Rock Inn
to have a glass for the good of the house, and to lade themselves with
an anker of brandy which, during their wait in the cave, was to be
distributed among them. Oliver thought it well to go to the tavern as
well. He was impatient and thought they would dawdle there, and,
perhaps, take more than the nip to which they professed themselves
content to limit themselves. Pentyre Point had to be rounded in rough
water, and they must be primed to enable them to round Pentyre.
"You see," said Wyvill, who seemed to suppose that some sort of an
explanation of his conduct was due. "When ropes be dry they be
terrible slack. Wet 'em and they are taut. It is the same wi' men's
muscles. We've Pentyre Point to get round. Very strainin' to the arms,
and I reckon it couldn't be done unless we wetted the muscles. That's
reason. That's convincin'."
At the Rock Tavern the Preventive men found the clerk of S. Enodoc,
with his hands in his pockets, on the settle, his legs stretched out
before him, considering one of his knees that was threadbare, and
trying to make up his mind whether the trouser would hold out another
day without a thread being run through the thin portion, and whether
if a day, then perhaps two days, and if perchance for two days, then
for three. But if for three, then why not for four! And if for four,
then possibly for five--anyhow, as far as he could judge, there was no
immediate call for him to have the right knee of his trouser repaired
that day.
The sexton-clerk looked up when the party entered, and greeted them
each man by name, and a conversation ensued relative to the weather.
Each described his own impressions as to what the weather had been,
and his anticipations as to what it would be.
"And how's your missus?"
"Middlin'--and yours?"
"Same, thanky'. A little troubled wi' the rheumatics."
"Tell her to take a lump o' sugar wi' five drops o' turpentine."
"I will, thanky"--and so on for half an hour, at the end of which time
the party thought it time to rise, wipe their mouths, shoulder the
anker, and return to the boat.
No sooner were they in it, and had thrust off from shore, and prepared
to make a second start, than Oliver touched Wyvill and said, pointing
to the land, "Look yonder."
"What!"
"There is that clerk. Running, actually running."
"I reckon he be."
"And in the direction of Pentyre."
"So he be, I reckon."
"And what do you think of that?"
"Nothing," answered Wyvill, confusedly. "Why should I? He can't say
nothing about where we be going. Not a word of that was said while us
was there. I don't put no store on his running."
"I do," said Oliver, unable to smother his annoyance. "This folly will
spoil our game."
Wyvill muttered, "I reckon I'm head of the consarn and not you."
Oliver deemed it advisable, as the words were said low, to pretend
that he did not hear them.
The wind had somewhat abated, but the sea was running furiously round
Pentyre. Happily the tide was going out, so that tide and wind were
conflicting, and this enabled the rowers to get round Pentyre between
the Point and the Newland Isle, that broke the force of the seas. But
when past the shelter of Newland, doubling a spur of Pentyre that ran
to the north, the rowers had to use their utmost endeavors, and had
not their muscles been moistened they might possibly have declared it
impossible to proceed. It was advisable to run into the cove just
after dark, and before the turn of the tide, as, in the event of the
Black Prince attempting to land her cargo there, it would be made with
the flow of the tide, and in the darkness.
The cove was reached and found to be deserted. Oliver showed the way,
and the boat was driven up on the shingle and conveyed into the
smugglers' cave behind the rock curtain. No one was there. Evidently,
from the preparations made, the smugglers were ready for the run of
the cargo that night.
"Now," said Will, one of the Preventive men, "us hev' a' labored
uncommon. What say you, mates? Does us desarve a drop of refreshment
or does us not? Every man as does his dooty by his country and his
king should be paid for 't, is my doctrine. What do y' say, Gearge?
Sarve out the grog?"
"I reckon yes. Sarve out the grog. There's nothing like grog--I think
it was Solomon said that, and he was the wisest of men."
"For sure; he made a song about it," said one of the coast-guard. "It
begins:
"'A plague of those musty old lubbers,
Who tell us to fast and to think.
And patient fall in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink.'"
"To be sure," responded Wyvill, "never was a truer word said than when
Solomon was called the wisest o' men."