There was a large lugger lying off at no great distance from the
beach, near Sandgate, and a small boat, ready for launching, on the
shore. At the distance of two or three miles out, might be seen a
vessel of considerable size, and of that peculiar rig and build which
denoted, to nautical eyes, that there lay a king's vessel. She was,
indeed, a frigate of inferior class, which had been sent round to
co-operate with the Customs, in the suppression of the daring system
of smuggling, which, as we have shown, was carried on in Romney Marsh,
and the neighbouring country. By the lesser boat, upon the shore,
stood four stout fellows, apparently employed in making ready to put
off; and upon the high ground above, was seen a single officer of
Customs, walking carelessly to and fro, and apparently taking little
heed of the proceedings below. Some movements might be perceived on
board the ship; the sails, which had been furled, now began to flutter
in the wind, which was blowing strong; and it seemed evident that the
little frigate was about to get under weigh. The lugger, however,
remained stationary; and the men near the boat continued their labours
for nearly an hour after they seemed in reality to have nothing more
to do.
At length, however, coming at a furious pace, down one of the narrow
foot-paths from the high ground above, which led away towards Cheriton
and Newington, was seen a horseman, waving his hand to those below,
and passing within fifty yards of the officer of Customs. The sailors,
who were standing by the boat, instantly pushed her down to the very
verge of the water; the officer hallooed after the bold rider, but
without causing him to pause for an instant in his course; and down,
at thundering speed, across the road, and over the sand and shingle,
Harding, the smuggler, dashed on, till the horse that bore him stood
foaming and panting beside the boat. Instantly springing out of the
saddle, he cast the bridle on the tired beasts neck, and jumped into
the skiff, exclaiming, "Shove her off!"
"Arn't there some more, Jack?" asked one of the men.
"None but myself," replied Harding, "and me they shan't catch.--Shove
her off, I say--you'll soon see who are coming after!"
The men obeyed at once; the boat was launched into the water; and
almost at the same instant, the party of dragoons in pursuit appeared
upon the top of the rise, followed, a moment after, by Birchett, and
another officer of the Customs. The vehement and angry gestures of the
riding officer indicated plainly enough that he saw the prey had
escaped him; but while the dragoons and his fellow officer made their
way slowly down the bank, to the narrow road which at that time ran
along the beach, he galloped off towards a signal-post, which then
stood upon an elevated spot, not far from the place where the
turnpike, on the road between Sandgate and Folkestone, now stands. In
a few minutes various small flags were seen rapidly running up to the
top of the staff; and, as speedily as possible afterwards, signals of
the same kind were displayed on board the frigate.
In the meantime, however, Harding and his party had rowed rapidly
towards the lugger, the sails of which were already beginning to fill;
and in less than two minutes she was scudding through the water as
fast as the wind would bear her. But the frigate was also under weigh;
and, to both experienced and inexperienced eyes, it seemed that the
bold smuggler had hardly one chance of escape. Between Dungeness
Point, and the royal vessel, there appeared to be no space for any of
those daring man[oe]uvres by which the small vessels, engaged in the
contraband trade, occasionally eluded the pursuit of their larger and
more formidable opponents; but Harding still pursued his course,
striving to get into the open sea, before the frigate could cut him
off.
Bending under the press of sail, the boat rushed through the waves,
with the uptide running strong against her, and the spray dashing over
her from stem to stern; but still, as she took an angle, though an
acute one, with the course of the frigate, the latter gained upon her
every moment, till at length a shot, whistling across her bows, gave
her the signal to bring to. It is needless to tell the reader, that
signal received no attention; but, still steered with a firm hand, and
carrying every stitch of canvas she could bear, the lugger pursued her
way. A minute had scarcely passed, ere flash and report came again
from the frigate, and once more a ball whistled by. Another and
another followed; but, no longer directed across the lugger's bows,
they were evidently aimed directly at her; and one of them passed
through the foresail, though without doing any farther damage. The
case seemed so hopeless, not only to those who watched the whole
proceeding from the shore, but to most of those who were in the
lugger, that a murmured consultation took place among the men; and
after two or three more shots had been fired, coming each time nearer
and nearer to their flying mark, one of the crew turned to Harding,
who had scarcely uttered a word since he entered the boat, and said,
"Come, sir, I don't think this will do.--We shall only get ourselves
sunk for no good.--We had better douse."
Harding looked sternly at him for a moment without reply; and a
somewhat bitter answer rose to his lips. But he checked himself, and
said, at length, "There's no use sacrificing your lives. You've got
wives and children--fathers and mothers. I have no one to care for
me.--Get into the boat, and be off. Me they shall never catch, dead or
alive; and if I go to the bottom, it's the best berth for me now.
Here, just help me reeve these tiller-ropes that I may take shelter
under the companion; and then be off as fast as you can."
The men would fain have remonstrated; but Harding would hear nothing;
and, covering himself as much as he could from the aim of small arms
from the vessel, he insisted that the whole of his crew should go and
leave him.
A short pause in the lugger's flight was observable from the shore;
and everybody concluded that she had struck. The row-boat, filled with
men, was seen to pull off from her, and the large heavy sails to flap
for an instant in the wind. But then her course was altered in a
moment; the sails filled again with the full breeze; and going like a
swallow over the waves, she dashed on towards the frigate, and,
passing her within pistol-range immediately after, shot across upon
her weather-bow.
A cloud of smoke ran all along the side of the frigate, as this bold
and extraordinary man[oe]uvre was executed. The faint report of small
arms was wafted by the wind to the shore, as well as the sound of
several cannon; but still, whether Harding was wounded or not wounded,
living or dead, his gallant boat dashed steadily on, and left the
frigate far behind, apparently giving up the chase, as no longer
presenting any chance of success. On, on, went the lugger, diminishing
as it flew over the waves, till at length, to the eyes even of those
who watched from the heights, its dark, tanned sails grouped
themselves into one small speck, and were then lost to the sight.
The after-fate of that adventurous man, who thus, single and unaided,
trusted himself to the wide waves, is wrapped in obscurity. The writer
of these pages, indeed, did once see a stern-looking old man of the
same name, who had returned some few years before from distant
lands--no one well knew whence--to spend the last few years of a life,
which had been protracted considerably beyond the ordinary term of
human existence, in a seaport not very far from Folkestone. The
conversation of the people of the place pointed him out as one who had
done extraordinary deeds, and seen strange sights; but whether he was,
indeed, the Harding of this tale or not, I cannot say. Of one thing,
however, the reader may be certain, that in all the statements
regarding the smuggler's marvellous escape, the most scrupulous
accuracy has been observed, and that every fact is as true as any part
of history, and a great deal more so than most.
Having now disposed of one of our principal characters, let me take
the reader gently by the hand, and lead him back to Harbourne House.
The way is somewhat long, but still, not more than a stout man can
walk without fatigue upon a pleasant morning; and it lies, too,
amongst sweet and interesting scenes--which, to you and me, dear
reader, are, I trust, embellished by some of the charms of
association.
It was about six days after the attack, upon the church at Goudhurst,
when a great number of those personages with whom it has been
necessary to make the reader acquainted, were assembled in the
drawing-room of Sir Robert Croyland's mansion. One or two, indeed,
were wanting, even of the party which might have been expected there,
but their absence shall be accounted for hereafter. The baronet
himself was seated in the arm-chair, which he generally occupied more
as a mark of his state and dignity, than for comfort and convenience.
In the present instance, however, he seemed to need support, for he
leaned heavily upon the arm of the chair, and appeared languid and
feeble. His face was very pale, his lips somewhat livid; and yet,
though suffering evidently under considerable corporeal debility,
there was a look of mental relief in his eyes, and a sweet placidity
about his smile, that no one had seen on his countenance for many
years.
Mrs. Barbara was, as usual, seated at her everlasting embroidery; and
here we may as well mention a fact which we omitted to mention before,
but which some persons may look upon as indicative of her mental
character--namely, that the embroidery, though it had gone on all her
life, by no means proceeded in an even course of progression. On the
contrary, to inexperienced eyes, it seemed as if no sooner was a
stitch put in than it was drawn out again, the point of the needle
being gently thrust under the loop of the thread, and then the arm
extended with an even sweep, so as to withdraw the silk from its hole
in the canvas. Penelope's web was nothing to Mrs. Barbary Croyland's
embroidery; for the queen of Ithaca only undid what she had previously
done, every night; and Aunt Bab undid it every minute. On the present
occasion, she was more busy in the retroactive process than ever, not
only pulling out the silk she had just put in, but a great deal more;
so that the work of the last three days, was in imminent danger of
total destruction.
Mr. Zachary Croyland never sat down when he could stand; for there was
about him, a sort of mobility and activity of spirits, which always
inclined him to keep his body ready for action. He so well knew that,
when seated, he was incessantly inclined to start up again, that
probably he thought it of little use to sit down at all; and
consequently he was even now upon his feet, midway between his brother
and his sister, rubbing his hands, and giving a gay, but cynical
glance from one to the other.
In a chair near the window, with his wild, but fine eye gazing over
the pleasant prospect which the terrace commanded, and apparently
altogether absent in mind from the scene in the drawing-room, was
seated Mr. Osborn; and not far from Mr. Croyland stood Sir Henry
Leyton, in an ordinary riding-dress, with his left hand resting on the
hilt of his sword, speaking in an easy, quiet tone to Sir Robert
Croyland; and nearly opposite to him was Edith, with her arm resting
on the table, and her cheek supported on her hand. Her face was still
pale, though the colour had somewhat returned; and the expression was
grave, though calm. Indeed, she never recovered the gay and sparkling
look which had characterized her countenance in early youth; but the
expression had gained in depth and intensity more than it had lost in
brightness; and then, when she did smile, it was with ineffable
sweetness: a gleam of sunshine upon the deep sea. Her eyes were fixed
upon her lover; and those who knew her well could read in them
satisfaction, love, hope--nay, more than hope--a pride, the only pride
that she could know--that he whom she had chosen in her girlhood, to
whom she had remained true and faithful through years of sorrow and
unexampled trial, had proved himself in every way worthy of her first
affection and her long constancy.
But where was Zara?--where Sir Edward Digby? for neither of them were
present at the time. From the laws of attraction between different
terrestrial bodies, we have every reason to infer that Digby and Zara
were not very far apart. However, they had been somewhat eccentric
in their orbits; for Zara had gone out about a couple of hours
before--Digby being then absent, no one knew where--upon a charitable
errand, to carry consolation and sympathy to the cottage of poor Mrs.
Clare, whose daughter had been committed to the earth the day before.
How it happened, Heaven only knows, but certain it is, that at the
moment I now speak of, she and Digby were walking home together,
towards Harbourne House, while his servant led his horse at some
distance behind.
Before they reached the house, however, a long conversation had taken
place between the personages in the drawing-room, of which I shall
only give the last few sentences.
"It is true, Harry, it is true," said Sir Robert Croyland, in reply to
something just spoken by Leyton; "and we have both things to forgive;
but you far more than I have; and as you have set me an example of
doing good for evil, and atoning, by every means, for a slight error,
I will not be backward to do the same, and to acknowledge that I have
acted most wrongly towards you--for which may Heaven forgive me, as
you have done. I have small means of atoning for much that is past;
but to do so, as far as possible: freely, and with my full consent,
take the most valuable thing I have to give--my dear child's
hand,--nay, hear me yet a moment. I wish your marriage to take place
as soon as possible. I have learned to doubt of time, and never to
trust the future. Say a week--a fortnight, Edith; but let it be
speedily. It is my wish--let me say, for the last time, it is my
command."
"But, brother Robert," exclaimed Mrs. Barbara, ruining her embroidery
irretrievably in the agitation of the moment, "you know it can't be so
very soon; for there are all the dresses to get ready, and the
settlements to be drawn up, and a thousand things to buy; and our
cousins in Yorkshire must be informed, and----"
"D--n our cousins in Yorkshire!" exclaimed Mr. Zachary Croyland. "Now,
my dear Bab, tell me candidly, whether you have or have not any nice
little plan ready for spoiling the whole, and throwing us all into
confusion again. Don't you think you could just send Edith to visit
somebody in the small-pox? or get Harry Leyton run through in a duel?
or some other little comfortable consummation, which may make us all
as unhappy as possible?"
"Really, brother Zachary, I don't know what you mean," said Mrs.
Barbara, looking the picture of injured innocence.
"I dare say not, Bab," answered Mr. Croyland; "but I understand what
you mean; and I tell you it shall not be. Edith shall fix the day; and
as a good child, she will obey her father, and fix it as early as
possible. When once fixed, it shall not be changed or put off, on any
account or consideration whatever, if my name's Croyland. As for the
dresses, don't you trouble your head about that; I'll undertake the
dresses, and have them all down from London by the coach. Give me the
size of your waist, Edith, upon a piece of string, and your length
from shoulder to heel, and leave all the rest to me. If I don't dress
her like a Mahommedan princess, may I never hear _Bismillah_ again."
Edith smiled, but answered, "I don't think it will be at all
necessary, my dear uncle, to put you to the trouble; and I do not
think it would answer its purpose if you took it."
"But I will have my own way," said Mr. Croyland--"you are my pet; and
all the matrimonial arrangements shall be mine. If you don't mind, and
say another word, I'll insist upon being bridesmaid too; for I can
encroach in my demands, I can tell you, as well as a lady, or a prime
minister."
As he spoke, the farther progress of the discussion was interrupted by
the entrance of Zara, followed by Sir Edward Digby. Her colour was a
little heightened, and her manner somewhat agitated; but she shook
hands with her uncle and Leyton, neither of whom she had seen before
during that morning; and then passing by her father, in her way
towards Edith, she whispered a word to him as she went.
"What, what!" exclaimed Sir Robert Croyland, turning suddenly round
towards Digby, with a look of alarm, and pressing his left hand upon
his side, "she says you have something important to tell me, Sir
Edward.--Pray speak! I have no secrets from those who are around me."
"I am sure, what I have to say will shock all present!" replied Sir
Edward Digby, gravely; "but the fact is, I heard a report this
morning, from my servant, that Mr. Radford had destroyed himself last
night in prison; and I rode over as fast as I could, to ascertain if
the rumour was correct. I found that it was but too accurate, and that
the unhappy man terminated a career of crime, by the greatest that he
could commit."
"Well, there's one rascal less in the world--that's some comfort,"
said Mr. Zachary Croyland; "I would rather, indeed, he had let some
one else hang him, instead of doing it himself; for I don't approve of
suicide at all--it's foolish, and wicked, and cowardly. Still, nothing
else could be expected from such a man--but what's the matter with
you, Robert? you seem ill--surely, you can't take this man's death
much to heart?"
Sir Robert Croyland did not reply, but made a faint sign to open the
window, which was immediately done; and he revived under the influence
of the air.
"I will go out for a few minutes," he said, rising; and Edith,
instantly starting up, approached to go with him. He would not suffer
her, however--"No, my child," he replied to her offer, "no: you can
understand what I feel; but I shall be better presently. Stay here,
and let all this be settled; and remember, Edith, name the earliest
day possible--arrange with Zara and Digby. Theirs can take place at
the same time."
Thus saying, he went out, and was seen walking slowly to and fro upon
the terrace, for some minutes after. In the meanwhile, the war had
commenced between Mr. Zachary Croyland and his younger niece. "Ah,
Mrs. Madcap!" he exclaimed, "so I hear tales of you. The coquette has
been caught at length! You are going to commit matrimony; and as birds
of a feather flock together, the wild girl and the wild boy must
pair."
With her usual light, graceful step, and with her usual gay and
brilliant smile, Zara left Sir Edward Digby's side, and crossing over
to her uncle, rested both her hands upon his arm, while he stood as
erect and stiff as a finger post, gazing down upon her with a look of
sour fun, But in Zara's eyes, beautiful and beaming as they were,
there was a look of deeper feeling than they usually displayed when
jesting, as was her wont, with Mr. Croyland.
"Well, Chit," he said, "well, what do you want?--a new gown, or a
smart hat, or a riding-whip, with a tiger's head in gold at the top?"
"No, my dear uncle," she answered, "but I want you not to tease me,
nor to laugh at me, nor to abuse me, just now. For once in my life, I
feel that I must be serious; and I think even less teasing than
ordinary might be too much for me. Perhaps, one time or another, you
may find out that poor Zara's coquetry was more apparent than real,
and that though she had an object, it was a better one than you, in
your benevolence, were disposed to think."
An unwonted drop swam in her eyes as she spoke; and Mr. Croyland gazed
down upon her tenderly for a moment. Then throwing his arms round her,
he kissed her cheek--"I know it, my dear," he said--"I know it. Edith
has told me all; and she who has been a kind, good sister, will, I am
sure, be a kind, good wife. Here, take her away, Digby. A better girl
doesn't live, whatever I may have said. The worst of it is, she is a
great deal too good for you, or any other wild, harem-scarem fellow.
But stay--stay," he continued, as Digby came forward, laughing, and
took Zara's hand; "here's something with her; for, as I am sure you
will be a couple of spendthrifts, it is but fit that you should have
something to set out upon."
Mr. Croyland, as he spoke, put his hand into the somewhat wide and
yawning pocket of his broad-tailed coat, and produced his pocket-book,
from which he drew forth a small slip of paper.
Digby took it, and looked at it, but instantly held it out again to
Mr. Croyland, saying, "My dear sir, it is quite unnecessary. I claim
nothing but her hand; and that is mine by promises which I hope will
not be very long ere they are fulfilled."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried Mr. Croyland, putting away the paper with
the back of his hand; "did ever any one see such a fool?--I tell you,
Sir Edward Digby, I'm as proud a man as you are, and you shall not
marry my niece without receiving the same portion as her sister
possesses. I hate all eldest sons, as you well know; and I don't see
why eldest daughters should exist either. I'll have them all equal. No
differences here. I've made up to Zara, the disparity which one fool
of an uncle thought fit to put between her and Edith. Such was always
my intention; and moreover, let it clearly be understood, that when
you have put this old carrion under ground, what I leave is to be
divided between them--all equal, all equal--co-heiresses, of Zachary
Croyland, Esq., surnamed the Nabob, alias the Misanthrope--and then,
if you like it, you may each bear in your arms a crow rampant, on an
escutcheon of pretence."
"Thank you, thank you, my dear uncle," answered Edith Croyland, while
Zara's gay heart was too full to let her speak--"thank you for such
thought of my sweet sister; for, indeed, to me, during long years of
sorrow and trouble, she has been the spirit of consolation, comfort,
strength--even hope."
Poor Zara was overpowered; and she burst into tears. It seemed as if
all the feelings, which for the sake of others she had so long
suppressed--all the emotions, anxieties, and cares which she had
conquered or treated lightly, in order to give aid and support to
Edith, rushed upon her at once in the moment of joy, and overwhelmed
her.
"Why, what's the foolish girl crying about?" exclaimed Mr. Croyland;
but then, drawing her kindly to him, he added, "Come, my dear, we will
make a truce, upon the following conditions--I wont tease you any
more; and you shall do everything I tell you. In the first place,
then, wipe your eyes, and dry up your tears; for if Digby sees how red
your cheeks can look, when you've been crying, he may find out that
you are not quite such a Venus as he fancies just now--There, go
along!" and he pushed her gently away from him.
While this gayer conversation had been going on within, Mr. Osborn had
passed through the glass doors, and was walking slowly up and down
with Sir Robert Croyland. The subject they spoke upon must have been
grave; for there was gloom upon both their faces when they returned.
"I know it," said Sir Robert Croyland to his companion as they entered
the room; "I am quite well aware of it; it is that which makes me urge
speed."
"If such be your view," replied Mr. Osborn, "you are right, Sir
Robert; and Heaven bless those acts, which are done under such
impressions."
The party in the drawing-room heard no more; and, notwithstanding the
kindly efforts of Mrs. Barbara, and a thousand little impediments,
which, "with the very best motives in the world," she created or
discovered, all the arrangements for the double marriage were made
with great promptitude and success. At the end of somewhat less than a
fortnight, without any noise or parade, the two sisters stood together
at the altar, and pledged their troth to those they truly loved. Sir
Robert Croyland seemed well and happy; for during the last few days
previous to the wedding, both his health and spirits had apparently
improved. But, ere a month was over, both his daughters received a
summons to return, as speedily as possible, to Harbourne House. They
found him on the bed of death, with his brother and Mr. Osborn sitting
beside him. But their father greeted them with a well-contented smile,
and reproved their tears in a very different tone from that which he
had been generally accustomed to use.
"My dear children," he said, in a feeble voice, "I have often longed
for this hour; and though life has become happier now, I have, for
many weeks, seen death approaching, and have seen it without regret. I
did not think it would have been so slow; and that was the cause of my
hurrying your marriage; for I longed to witness it with my own eyes,
yet was unwilling to mingle the happiness of such a union, with the
thought that it took place while I was in sickness and danger. My
brother will be a father to you, I am sure, when I am gone; but still
it is some satisfaction to know that you have both better protectors,
even here on earth, than he or I could be. I trust you are happy; and
believe me, I am not otherwise--though lying here with death before
me."
Towards four o'clock on the following day, the windows of Harbourne
House were closed; and, about a week after, the mortal remains of Sir
Robert Croyland were conveyed to the family vault in the village
church. Mr. Croyland succeeded to the estates and title of his
brother; but he would not quit the mansion which he himself had built,
leaving Mrs. Barbara, with a handsome income, which he secured to her,
to act the Lady Bountiful of Harbourne House.
The fate of Edith and Zara we need not farther trace. It was such as
might be expected from the circumstances in which they were now
placed. We will not venture to say that it was purely happy; for when
was ever pure and unalloyed happiness found on earth? There were
cares, there were anxieties, there were griefs, from time to time: for
the splendid visions of young imagination may be prophetic of joys
that shall be ours, if we deserve them in our trial here, but are
never realized within the walls of our mortal prison, and recede
before us, to take their stand for ever beyond the portals of the
tomb. But still they were as happy as human beings, perhaps, ever
were; for no peculiar pangs or sufferings were destined to follow
those which had gone before; and in their domestic life, having chosen
well and wisely, they found--as every one will find, who judges upon
such grounds--that love, when it is pure, and high, and true, is a
possession, to the brightness of which even hope can add no sweetness,
imagination no splendour that it does not in itself possess.
The reader may be inclined to ask the after fate of some of the other
characters mentioned in this work. In regard to many of them, I must
give an unsatisfactory reply. What became of most, indeed, I do not
know. The name of Mowle, the officer of Customs, is still familiar to
the people of Hythe and its neighbourhood. It is certain that Ramley
and one of his sons were hanged; but the rest of the records of that
respectable family are, I fear, lost to the public. Little Starlight
seems to have disappeared from that part of the country, for some
time; and in truth, I have no certainty that the well-known
pickpocket, Night Ray, who was transported to Botany Bay, some
thirty years after the period of this tale, and was shot in an attempt
to escape, was the same person whose early career is here recorded.
But of one thing the reader maybe perfectly certain, that--whatever
was the fortune which attended any of the persons I have
mentioned--whether worldly prosperity, or temporary adversity befel
them--the real, the solid good, the happiness of spirit, was awarded
in exact proportion to each, as their acts were good, and their hearts
were pure.
THE END.
T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos Street, Covent Garden.