TO JUDITH.
In the smugglers' cave were Oliver Menaida and the party of Preventive
men, not under his charge, but under that of Wyvill. This man, though
zealous in the execution of his duty, and not averse, should the
opportunity offer, of paying off a debt in full with a bullet, instead
of committing his adversary to the more lenient hands of the law,
shared in that failing, if it were a failing, of being unable to do
anything without being primed with spirits, a failing that was common
at that period, to coast-guards and smugglers alike. The latter had to
be primed in order to run a cargo, and the former must be in like
condition to catch them at it. It was thought, not unjustly, that the
magistrates before whom, if caught, the smugglers were brought, needed
priming in order to ripen their intellects for pronouncing judgment.
But it was not often that a capture was effected. When it was, priming
was allowed for the due solemnization of the fact by the captors;
failure always entitled them to priming in order to sustain their
disappointment with fortitude. Wyvill had lost a brother in the cause,
and his feelings often overcame him when he considered his loss, and
their poignancy had to be slaked with the usual priming. It served, as
its advocates alleged, as a great stimulant to courage; but it served
also, as its deprecators asserted, as a solvent to discipline.
Now that the party were in possession of the den of their adversaries,
such a success needed, in their eyes, commemoration. They were likely,
speedily, to have a tussle with the smugglers, and to prepare
themselves for that required the priming of their nerves and sinews.
They had had a sharp struggle with the sea in rounding Pentyre Point,
and their unstrung muscles and joints demanded screwing up again by
the same means.
The Black Prince had been discerned through the falling darkness
drawing shoreward with the rising tide; but it was certain that for
another hour or two the men would have to wait before she dropped
anchor, and those ashore came down to the unloading.
A lantern was lighted, and the cave was explored. Certainly
Coppinger's men from the land would arrive before the boats from the
Black Prince, and it was determined to at once arrest them, and then
await the contingent in the boats, and fall on them as they landed.
The party was small, it consisted of but seven men, and it was
advisable to deal with the smugglers piecemeal.
The men, having leisure, brought out their food, and tapped the keg
they had procured at the Rock. It was satisfactory to them that the
Black Prince was apparently bent on discharging the cargo that night
and in that place, thus they would not have to wait in the cave
twenty-four hours, and not, after all, be disappointed.
"All your pistols charged?" asked Wyvill.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Then take your suppers while you may. We shall have hot work
presently. Should a step be heard below, throw a bit o' sailcloth over
the lantern, Samson."
Oliver was neither hungry nor thirsty. He had both eaten and drunk
sufficient when at the station. He therefore left the men to make
their collation, prime their spirits, pluck up their courage, screw up
their nerves, polish their wits, all with the same instrument, and
descended the slope of shingle, stooped under the brow of rock that
divided the lower from the upper cave, and made his way to the
entrance, and thence out over the sands of the cove. He knew that the
shore could be reached only by the donkey-path, or by the dangerous
track down the chimney--a track he had not discovered till he had made
a third exploration of the cave. Down this tortuous and perilous
descent he was convinced the smugglers would not come. It was, he saw,
but rarely used, and designed as a way of escape only on an emergency.
A too-frequent employment of this path would have led to a treading of
the turf on the cliff above, and to a marking of the line of descent,
that would have attracted the attention of the curious, and revealed
to the explorer the place of retreat.
Oliver, therefore, went forward toward the point where the donkey-path
reached the sands, deeming it advisable that a watch should be kept
on this point, so that his party might be forewarned in time of the
approach of the smugglers.
There was much light in the sky, a fantastic, mysterious glow, as
though some great conflagration were taking place and the clouds over
head reflected its flicker.
There passed throbs of shadow from side to side, and as Oliver looked
he could almost believe that the light he saw proceeded from a great
bonfire, such as was kindled on the Cornish Moors on Midsummer's Eve,
and that the shadows were produced by men and women dancing round the
flames and momentarily intercepting the light.
Then ensued a change. The rose hue vanished suddenly, and in its place
shot up three broad ribbons of silver light; and so bright and clear
was the light that the edge of the cliff against it was cut as sharp
as a black silhouette on white paper, and he could see every bush of
gorse there, and a sheep--a solitary sheep.
Suddenly he was startled by seeing a man before him, coming over the
sand.
"Who goes there?"
"What--Oliver! I have found you!" the answer was in his father's
voice. "Oh, well, I got fidgeted, and I thought I would come and see
if you had arrived."
"For heaven's sake, you have told no one of our plans?"
"I--bless you, boy--not I. You know you told me yourself, before going
to the station, what you intended, and I was troubled and anxious, and
I came to see how things were turning out. The Black Prince is coming
in; she will anchor shortly. She can't come beyond the point yonder. I
was sure you would be here. How many have you brought with you?"
"But six."
"Too few. However, now I am with you, that makes eight."
"I wish you had not come, father."
"My boy, I did not come only on your account. I have my poor little Ju
so near my heart that I long to put out if only a finger to liberate
her from that ruffian, whom by the way I have challenged."
"Yes--but I have stepped in as your substitute. I shall, I trust, try
conclusions with Coppinger to-night. Come with me to the cave I told
you of. We will send a man to keep guard at the foot of the donkey
path."
Oliver led the way; the sands reflected the illumination of the sky,
and the foam that swept up the beach had a rosy tinge. The waves
hissed as they rushed up the shore, as though impatient at men
speaking and not listening to the voice of the ocean, that should
subdue all human tongues, and command mute attention. And yet that
roar is inarticulate, it is like the foaming fury of the dumb, that
strives with noise and gesticulation to explain the thoughts that are
working within.
In the cave it was dark, and Oliver lighted a piece of touchwood as a
means of observing the shelving ground, and taking his direction, till
he passed under the brow of rock and entered the upper cavern.
After a short scramble, the dim yellow glow of light from this inner
recess was visible, when Oliver extinguished his touchwood and pushed
on, guided by this light.
On entering the upper cave he was surprised to find the guards lying
about asleep, and snoring. He went at once to Wyvill, seized him by
the arm and shook him, but none of his efforts could rouse him. He lay
as a log, or as one stunned.
"Father! help me with the others," said Oliver in great concern.
Mr. Menaida went from one to the other, spoke to each, shook him, held
the lantern to his eyes; he raised their heads; when he let go his
hold, they fell back.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Oliver.
"Humph!" said old Menaida, "I'll tell you what this means. There is a
rogue among them, and their drink has been drugged with deadly
night-shade. You might be sure of this--that among six coast-guards
one would be in the pay of Coppinger. Which is it? Whoever it is, he
is pretending to be as dead drunk and stupefied as the others, and
which is the man, Noll?"
"I cannot tell. This keg of brandy was got at the Rock Inn."
"It was got there and there drugged, but by one of this company. Who
is it?"
"Yes," said Oliver, waxing wrathful, "and what is more, notice was
sent to Coppinger to be on his guard. I saw the sexton going in the
direction of Pentyre."
"That man is a rascal."
"And now we shall not encounter Coppinger. He will be warned and not
come."
"Trust him to come. He has heard of this. He will come and murder them
all as he did Wyvill."
Oliver felt as though a frost had fallen on him.
"Hah!" said old Menaida. "Never trust anyone in this neighborhood; you
cannot tell who is not in the pay or under the control of Coppinger,
from the magistrate on the bench to the huckster who goes round the
country. Among these six men, one is a spy and a traitor. Which it is
we cannot tell. There is nothing else to be done but to bind them all,
hand and foot. There is plenty of cord here."
"Plenty. But surely not Wyvill."
"Wyvill and all. How can you say that he is not the man who has done
it? Many a fellow has carried his brother in his pocket. What if he
has been bought?"
Old Menaida was right. He had not lived so many years in the midst of
smugglers without having learned something of their ways. His advice
must be taken, for the danger was imminent. If, as he supposed, full
information had been sent to Captain Cruel, then he and his men would
be upon them shortly.
Oliver hastily brought together all the cord of a suitable thickness
he could find, and the old father raised and held each Preventive man,
while Oliver firmly bound him hand and foot. As he did not know which
was shamming sleep, he must bind all. Of the six, five were wholly
unconscious what was being done to them, and the sixth thought it
advisable to pretend to be as the rest, for he was quite aware that
neither Oliver nor his father would scruple to silence him effectually
did he show signs of animation.
When all were made fast, old Mr. Menaida said:
"Now, Noll, my boy, are you armed?"
"No, father. When I went from home I expected to return. I did not
know I should want weapons. But these fellows have their pistols and
cutlasses."
"Try the pistols. There, take that of the man Wyvill. Are you sure
they are loaded?"
"I know they are."
"Well, try."
Oliver took Wyvill's pistol, and put in the ramrod.
"Oh yes, it is loaded."
"Make sure. Draw the loading. You don't know what it is to have to do
with Coppinger."
Oliver drew the charge, and then, as is usual, when the powder has
been removed, blew down the barrel. Then he observed that there was a
choke somewhere. He took the pistol to the lantern, opened the side of
the lantern and examined it. The touch-hole was plugged with wax.
"Humph!" said Mr. Menaida. "The man who drugged the liquor waxed the
touch-holes of the pistols. Try the rest."
Oliver did not now trouble himself to draw the charges; he cocked each
man's pistol and drew the trigger. Not one would discharge. All had
been treated in like manner.
Oliver thought for a moment what was to be done. He dared not leave
the sleeping men unprotected, and he and his father alone were
insufficient to defend them.
"Father," said he, "there is but one thing that can be done now: you
must go at once, fly to the nearest farmhouses and collect men, and,
if possible, hold the donkey path before Coppinger and his men arrive.
If you are too late, pursue them. I will choke the narrow entrance,
and will light a fire. Perhaps they may be afraid when they see a
blaze here, and may hold off. Anyhow, I can defend this place for a
while. But I don't expect that they will attack it."
Mr. Menaida at once saw that his son's judgment was right, and he
hurried out of the cave, Oliver holding the light to assist him to
descend, and then he made his way over the sands to the path, and up
that to the downs.
No sooner was he gone than Oliver collected what wood and straw were
there, sailcloth, oilcloth, everything that was combustible, and piled
them up into a heap, then applied the candle to them, and produced a
flame. The wood was damp and did not burn freely, but he was able to
awake a good fire that filled the cavern with light. He trusted that
when the smugglers saw that their den was in the possession of the
enemy they would not risk the attempt to enter and recover it. They
might not, they probably did not, know to what condition the holders
of the cave were reduced.
The light of the fire roused countless bats that had made the roof of
the cave their resting-place, and they flew wildly to and fro with
whirr of wings and shrill screams.
Oliver set to work with all haste to heap stones so as to choke the
entrance from the lower cave, by which he anticipated that the
smugglers would enter, should they resolve on so desperate a course.
But owing to the rapid inclination, the pebbles yielded, and what he
piled up rolled down. He then, with great effort, got the boat thrust
down to the opening, and by main force drew it partly across. It was
not possible for him completely to block the entrance, but by planting
the boat athwart it, he could prevent several men from entering at
once, and whoever did enter must scramble over the bulwarks of the
boat.
All this took some time, and he was thus engaged, when his attention
was suddenly arrested by the click of a pistol brought to the cock. He
looked hastily about him, and saw Coppinger, who, unobserved, had
descended by the chimney, and now by the light of the fire was taking
deliberate aim at him. Oliver drew back behind a rock.
"You coward!" shouted Captain Cruel. "Come out and be shot."
"I am no coward," answered Oliver. "Let us meet with equal arms. I
have a cutlass." He had taken one from the side of a sleep-drunk
coast-guard.
"I prefer to shoot you down as a dog," said Coppinger.
Then holding his pistol levelled in the direction of Oliver, he
approached the sleeping men. Oliver saw at once his object: he would
liberate the confederate. He stepped out from behind the rock, and
immediately the pistol was discharged. A bat fell at the feet of
Oliver. Had not that bat at the moment whizzed past his head and
received the ball in its soft and yielding body, the young man would
have fallen shot through his head.
Coppinger uttered a curse, and put his hand to his belt and drew forth
his second pistol. But Oliver sprang forward, and with a sweep of his
cutlass caught him on the wrist with the blade as he was about to
touch the trigger. The pistol fell from his hand, and a rush of blood
overflowed the back of the hand.
Coppinger remained for one minute motionless. So did Oliver, who did
not again raise his cutlass.
But at that moment a harsh voice was heard crying, "There he is, my
men, at him; beat his brains out. A guinea for the first man who
knocks him over," and from the further side of the boat, illumined by
the glare from the fire, were seen the faces of Mr. Scantlebray, his
brother, and several men, who began to scramble over the obstruction.
Then, and then only in his life, did Coppinger's heart fail him. His
right hand was powerless; the sharp blade had severed the tendons, and
blood was flowing from his wrist in streams. One pistol was
discharged, the other had fallen. In a minute he would be in the hands
of his deadly enemies.
He turned and fled. The light from the fire, the illumined smoke, rose
through the chimney, and by that he could run up the familiar track,
reach the platform in the face of the cliff, thence make his way by
the path up which he had formerly borne Judith. He did not hesitate,
he fled, and Oliver, also without hesitation, pursued him. As he went
up the narrow track, his feet trod in and were stained with the blood
that had fallen from Coppinger's wounded arm, but he did not notice
it--he was unaware of it till the morrow.
Coppinger reached the summit of the cliffs. His feet were on the down.
He ran at once in the direction of Othello Cottage. His only chance of
safety lay there. There he could hide in the attic, and Judith would
never betray him. In his desperate condition, wounded, his blood
flowing from him in streams, hunted by his foes, that one thought was
in him--Judith--he must go to Judith. She would never betray him, she
would be hacked to death rather than give him up. To Judith as his
last refuge!