WHO WAS THE GHOST?
IN the course of the next few days, during which Johnnie and Davey
were much thrown together, the former related his story—a story
which explained all that was mysterious about the wandering ghost of
Hoyle's Mouth; a tale so very sad, that Davey ceased to wonder at the
expression of the young man's face.
Johnnie's father—George Grey—had been a bad man, who, after a wild
life, had at last died in prison, leaving nothing but debts behind him.
His widow and son set to work to try to pay these debts, but their
joint earnings hardly did more than enable them to live. Then the poor
woman was taken ill with brain fever and removed to a hospital, where
she remained for many weeks. When she recovered, her mind and body were
alike so sadly weakened, that she was unable any longer to work for a
living.
It was just at this time of trouble that the proprietor and captain
of the schooner "Dart" offered to Johnnie Grey a berth on board his
vessel. And when the young man answered that his object, if he changed
his employment at all, would be only to increase his earnings, and that
his wages as a sailor would be no more than he was making at present,
Captain Smythe (who had known Johnnie for some time, and liked him)
hinted that there was other money coming in, as the sailors, one and
all, were entitled to a percentage on the profits of certain goods. The
captain did not openly speak of smuggling as a part of his business,
but his hints were so broad, that Johnnie could not mistake them.
For a time the youth hesitated to enter upon what he rightly guessed
was an unlawful and a dishonest calling. But at last the thought of
being able to keep his mother in some sort of comfort, and perhaps even
to pay his father's debts, induced him to join the smuggler band. This,
of course, necessitated his separating from his mother, and seeing her
only now and then: and the parting from her son and from the home where
they had lived together, seemed to give the last blow to a mind already
shattered. She became quite crazy, being under the delusion that
Johnnie had been enticed away by the evil companions who had helped to
ruin her husband.
In her madness, she was always looking for him, especially in any
out-of-the-way places, where she thought he might be hiding. And,
indeed, it startled Johnnie sometimes to find that, mad as she was, an
inkling of the truth appeared now and again to flash across her poor,
darkened consciousness. Johnnie had placed her with her brother and his
wife, but she often wandered away in her strange quest, and gave a good
deal of trouble to those in charge of her.
It was in spite of the warnings of his conscience that Johnnie had
joined Captain Smythe's band, and since doing so he had never been able
to regain his peace of mind. He had known well enough that he was doing
wrong, and, though he did evil that good might come, the evil was there
present with him all the time, while the good had proved to be more
than doubtful.
Bound hand and foot by his vows to the smuggler band, he was not able
personally to look after his mother's well-being, and he never was
happy about her, for he could not be sure that his aunt was always
kind to her, or that the poor woman received all the attention and the
little comforts for which he paid.
In the eyes of the world Johnnie was simply one of the sailors
belonging to the schooner "Dart," as smart a little trading vessel
as was ever seen in or out of Carmarthen Bay. The young fellow, too,
was supposed to live on board the ship, unless, indeed, as happened
sometimes, the captain sent him on shore to help Ben Rait in delivering
goods.
As for Ben himself, it was easier for him. He had a home at Penally,
and his wife was in the secret and helped him. Ben was the captain's
oldest hand and confidant, and to him was intrusted the greater portion
of the smuggled goods, which he disposed of in various directions with
much skill and secrecy, handing over the proceeds to Captain Smythe,
who made a fair division of the profits, giving to each man his share.
These, with many other particulars of the smugglers' life and work,
Davey came to know; and the more he heard, the more he felt convinced
that this life was not for him, and that sooner or later he must
separate himself from company and associations so dangerous both to
soul and body.
Meanwhile, however, he was living quietly with Johnnie in the cave,
seeing no one else but Ben, and him only occasionally. He had not once,
so far, been asked to do anything against his sense of right, but had
only helped with the little everyday duties of keeping things clean
in the cave, cooking the simple meals, or in the evenings gathering
drift-wood which was washed up the creek sometimes in considerable
quantities, and when dried made bright fires, and had the advantage of
costing nothing.
Davey was the more restful and content during this quiet time spent in
the cave for the relief of being separated from Tom, whose presence had
become intolerable to him. That wrong-doing brings its own punishment,
Davey had proved to his cost. His wilful and disobedient choice of a
companion when he ran away to the fair at Bristol had become a daily
chastisement to him, and was, moreover, a warning ever before his eyes,
showing him how utterly hateful sin could make a soul and body, and to
what he himself might come if he indulged in wrong-doing.
But an end to the lad's quiet and peace was at hand.
One night Ben came in to say that the "Dart" was riding at anchor just
under Caldy Island, and would be coming up with the tide and unloading
some of her cargo in Tenby harbour next morning. This would not take
long, but she had one or two other places to call at, after which she
was to return to the Caldy anchorage for the night. Thence a boat would
be sent across between ten and twelve, with such contraband goods as
the "Dart" had brought.
Captain Smythe had invited two coastguards-men, whose stations were
on the cliff not far from the creek, to sup with him at the "Family
Coach," just outside Penally, so the coast would be clear, and the boat
might steal up the creek unobserved, and discharge at the platform in
perfect safety.
When the purposes of the captain's hospitality had been served, and
the goods safely stowed in the cave, he said good-night to his guests,
found his way down to the shore, and gave the cry of the night-hawk as
a signal that he was ready for his boat. In a few moments, the boat
appeared round a rocky point, and the men pulled in for him, and then
headed for the creek, landing him at the back door of Hoyle's Mouth.
"I've only a few minutes to stay," said Captain Smythe, as he came upon
Johnnie and Davey, who had been helping Ben to stow away goods, "but I
wanted just to tell you that we're sailing again in a very few days'
time, and that you're both to go with us this voyage. But meanwhile,
Davey, I've a little errand for you."
"Yes, sir," replied Davey; "I'll be very glad indeed, sir, provided—"
"Provided what?" questioned the captain, a little roughly.
Davey made an effort, and spoke out manfully. "Provided, sir, it ain't
anything that will make me wish afterwards I hadn't done it."
"I'm the judge of that," said the captain, curtly. "Now hear what I've
got to say."
[Illustration]