THE TEMPTATION
Laud reached Felixstowe Ferry: he had seen his parent, and then went to
the shore to meet the captain. There they stand under the cliff, by the
shore, opposite the harbour and town of Harwich, whilst the light gleams
upon the distant beacon of Walton-on-the-Naze. There is a boat a short
distance on the calm wave, and not far ahead a brig is seen standing off
and on. The captain is pointing to the brig, and seems very earnest in
his conversation; whilst a sort of cool composure is settled upon the
firm attitude of Will Laud, as he listens and seems to remain immovable.
Oh! would that he had so remained! Many an afterpang, which the birth of
that day's sorrow occasioned, would have been spared.
"Well, Laud, I make you a fair offer," said this artful captain; "I make
you a fair offer of the command of the brig: there she is, as tight a
vessel as ever cut a wave. I will venture to say, that when you helped
to lay her keel with Turner, you little dreamt of commanding on board of
her."
"I have no objection to the craft, captain; but I do not like the job."
"No: I suppose you would like to live at home along with the old
ferryman, your father; or, perhaps, knock away at boat-building on the
Alde. Pshaw, Will, pshaw! this is a tame kind of life. I took you for a
fellow of more spirit, or I never should have taken you for my
messmate."
"When you took me for such, you took me as an honest man, and all your
dealings were above-board. Now you want to make me a smuggler. This is
the work, captain, I do not like. My father is an honest man, and under
Government--why should I bring disgrace upon him?"
"And does it follow, Will, that I am what you call a smuggler, because I
do a little in a free trade? Where's the disgrace you speak of?--and who
is to bring it upon us? Come, Will, there are two sides of a question,
and we may hit upon the right as well as the wrong."
"But we shall be cheating the Government of our country."
"As to that, Will, look from the highest to the lowest, and see if they
do not all do so as long as they can with impunity."
"I do not see that."
"No, Will, no; because you shut your eyes. But who pays more tax than he
can help, or as much as is strictly due, either for his horses,
servants, powder, malt, hops, windows, silk, woollen, or any commodity
whatever, upon which a wholesale tax is imposed for the good of the
country? Don't talk, then, of cheating Government. I call mine only a
little free trade; and if I choose to employ a few free hands and pay
them well, what is that to anybody?"
"You may employ them with more freedom in an honest way, than running
such risk of life, liberty, and property, as you do. I almost as much
grieve that I ever knew you, captain, as I do now at being compelled to
leave your service. I have been obliged to you hitherto, but you want
now to lay me under an obligation to which I have no stomach."
"This is only since you came to the ferry, and went to the christening.
Go back, my boy, go back and turn ploughman. You will like that better
than ploughing the waves. You will only be, after all, a lubberly
landsman. But I must hail my fellows, and be off. What a pity such a
brig should go a-begging for a captain! Your own work, too, Will. Well,
well, I did not think you such a fool. Here, with a silver spoon in your
mouth, you would throw it away, and take up with a wooden one. Go, eat
your bread sopped in warm water, in a wooden bowl, and leave your old
messmates and friends to good fare, an active life, and cheerful
company. Good-bye, Will; good-bye."
And the captain turned round to give the signal to his boatmen to pull
to shore; but without the least intention of giving up his prey. It was
only as a cat would pretend to let her victim escape to a little
distance, under the idea of having more play.
"Go to your girl, boy; go to your girl," said he, as he took a step
toward the beach. "She will be glad to see you without employment, and
sick of the sea for her sake."
"I'll tell you what, captain, my girl's an honest one, and if you were
to make her a disloyal offer, she would be the first to heave up her
anchor, or cut her cable, and haul to windward and be off."
"I don't make her any offer; I have nothing to do with any of her sex,
and the less you have to do with them the better, Will. But if you must
have her in your eye, why not for her sake try to get a comfortable
berth for her? In a very short time, you will be able to secure enough
to make her happy. After a few runs, you may have a snug cot, near this
very cove, and be as comfortable as you wish to be. But if you have made
up your mind, and are determined not to accept my offer, why then I must
find another who will; and I warrant, that I need not go far before I
meet with one who will jump at the chance."
"I say, captain, how many voyages shall I go, before that time comes you
speak of?"
"That depends upon our luck. The quicker work we make, the sooner we
shall keep our harbour. One year, perhaps two. At all events, three, and
your berth is sure."
"Well, captain, but how shall it be for share?"
"Why, there's the brig, and look ye, Will, she's all right and tight,
and everything well provided aboard her. She is under your command; your
first trip to Holland; your cargo, gin; and as to other goods, snuff,
tobacco, linen, and such things, I let you barter with for yourself.
Only secure me the main chance. As to risk, that's all mine. You shall
receive, say one-sixth of the profit for the first year, one-third for
the second; and an equal share after. Now, my boy, but that I know your
pluck, and your tact, I should never make you such an offer. There you
have it."
"Captain, I'm your man!--I'm your man!"
And so he sold himself to as artful, desperate, and bold a rover, as
ever crossed the Channel. How true were poor Susan's last words to
him--"You want steadiness of principle and stability of purpose!" From
that hour, Will entered upon a course of life which led to his own ruin,
and the ruin of others. He was caught in the toils of a smuggler, from
which, though he once escaped, he never had sufficient stability to
entirely emancipate himself.
Captain Bargood, to whom Will thus sold himself, was a clever as well as
a desperate adventurer. He contrived to keep up appearances as a steady
trader, and had vessels as regularly chartered as any of England's
noblest merchants. His sails visited with proper invoices all the ports
along the coast, and he had connexions in every town of the first class
of dealers. Yet this man managed to have withal an under-current in the
contraband trade, which paid him far greater profits than his regular
account.
So well did he arrange his plans, that if a vessel of his was taken by
the coastguard, he had always a captain or a mate to father her, and as
he always paid them well, his own fair fame was suspected by none but
those who occasionally bought goods of him at a price so far below the
market, that they were content to let their suspicions subside in their
own profits. He was a good judge of men, both of sailors, landsmen,
gentry, and men of business. He knew how far to trust them, and how soon
to shorten his sail. His ships, captains, and crews, were as well known
to him as anything in his own unostentatious cottages at Aldborough,
Hollesley, Harwich, or Ipswich; in which he occasionally took up his
abode, as business or inclination prompted. But he equally well knew
Will Laud, and foresaw in him the very commander who should bring him
in many a good prize in the shape of spirits or tobacco, furs or linen.
He cared for no man's success but his own. He could be rough, smooth,
hot, or cool, just as he thought best to gain his end. Money was his
idol, and, as a quick return and enormous profit for a small outlay, the
smuggler's trade seemed to him the most promising. Laud would, and as
the sequel will show, did prove a valuable servant or slave to him. This
man outlived every one of his captains, and died about four years ago:
namely, in the year 1841.
But the young sailor is arm-in-arm with the captain, the boat is hailed,
the crew, four oars and a steersman, approach the shore, and the captain
calls out--
"Now, Jack, high and dry for your new commander!"
The boat grounds, and Laud and his future master are seated in the
stern.
"Long time bringing-to, captain?" said the gruff and surly-looking John
Luff, a fellow who seemed formed of such materials as compose a
cannon-ball. He looked like what he was, an iron-hearted and iron-fisted
desperado, whose only pleasure was to serve a bad man, and to rule every
one in the ship who had a little more feeling than himself.
They were soon on board the brig, and Laud was duly introduced to the
crew, and appointed their captain.
"Yes, master, yes," said the mate, "we understand. You need not spin us
a long yarn; business, say I, and the sooner the better. I will take
care of him, trust me. He's a smart boy. He'll do, captain, he'll do."
The mate, John Luff, and the master, seemed to understand each other.
The captain shook hands with Laud, and bidding him take care of his own
craft, he left them outward bound, and came ashore at Woodbridge Haven.
Let it suffice, for the reader's information, that Laud was successful
in his new career. He made his voyage pay well, and contrived to send
some handsome presents to Margaret, too handsome to be acceptable. Alas!
how little did that desperate youth think that he was giving pain
instead of pleasure to all those who had any interest in his welfare!
How little did he think he was laying the foundation of misery and woe
to his father, to the Catchpoles, to the Cracknells, and to every one
who knew him!
His first present was received by Margaret at a time when the heart of a
true lover is most open to the kind acts of friendship. Poor Margaret
and the family had just returned from the funeral of Susan, and were
seated in the cottage, talking over the good qualities of their dear
departed and beloved friend. Her sayings and doings, her affectionate
advice, her patience and resignation, were all topics of conversation,
and each had some kind act to record, not one a single fault to mention.
One or two of the Cracknells, and a workman or two on the farm, who
helped to carry the corpse, were all of the party who were not
relatives. The good mother had prepared the mournful meal, some cake,
bread and butter, a cup of tea, and a pint of beer each for the men.
They were partaking of this humble meal in a very subdued and quiet
spirit, as there came a rap at the door, and young Edward opened it.
"Come in," said the father, and in walked a weatherbeaten man, who from
his dress might be taken for some honest ploughman, but whose
countenance betrayed a very different expression--none of that openness
and simplicity which good labourers and countrymen wear, but a shaggy
brow, and matted thick black hair. His eyebrows half covered the sockets
of his eyes, which peeped from under them with an inquisitive glance, to
see if all was safe.
"Does one Margaret Catchpole live here?" said the man.
"Yes, she does," was Margaret's quick reply; "what do you want with her?
I am she."
"Oh! you be she, be you? Then I be commissioned to deliver this here
parcel into your hands;" and, easing his shoulder of a heavy bale of
goods, they came with some weight upon the chair which Edward had
vacated for the guest.
"From whom does this come?" said she.
"I don't know who he is. I was at work on the marshes at Bawdsey Ferry,
when a young sailor came up to me, and asked me if I knew where Nacton
was. I told him I knew whereabouts it was. He then asked me if I would
take this here bundle to one Margaret Catchpole, a labourer's daughter,
living, as he described, in just this place, which I have found."
"Did he give his name?"
"No; he said he couldn't come himself, but that this here would remind
you of him."
All immediately concluded who he was, and Margaret asked Edward to bring
the packet into the sleeping-room, whilst the countryman was asked to
sit down and take a draught of beer.
The parcel was unpacked. There were silks and shawls, caps and lace,
ribbons and stuffs, and gloves; parcels of tea, coffee, tobacco, and
snuff; together with curious-headed and silver-tipped pipes; in short,
enough to stock a small shop. But there was nothing to give pleasure to
Margaret. That poor girl's heart sank within her at a sight which she at
once perceived was far too costly to be honestly procured. She called to
Edward to assist her in tying up the bale again, and removing it into
the room where the pretended countryman was seated. As she entered, the
fellow roughly accosted her--
"Well! you find summut there, I dare say, to tempt you soon to put aside
these dark-looking dresses which you all wear. I must be going: can I
take anything back for you?"
"Yes," said Margaret--"yes; you may take the whole bundle back the same
way you brought it, and tell the young man who gave it you that I should
have valued one single pair of honestly purchased gloves more than all
the valuables he has sent me."
There was a twinkle of that small grey eye, and a twitch of the muscles
of that sun-burnt face, which showed that even the hardy, rough-looking
countryman was startled at such an honest spirit as then addressed him.
This person was none other than John Luff, the mate of the _Alde_, who
had undertaken to perform this duty for Captain Laud, from a motive,
without much love in it, simply because he feared that the captain might
be persuaded by his girl to leave off a smuggler's life. He saw in an
instant that such would have been the case, had young Laud come with
him, or brought the load himself. He had assumed the countryman's dress
to avoid any notice from the coastguard, and, until he came to the lane
leading to the farm, he had brought the bale of goods in a sack slung
over his shoulder, as if it were corn, or chaff, or flour. He was not
very easily put out, nor long in giving his answer.
"No, young woman, I have had lug enough to bring it here, and I got a
crown for my job; mayhap, if I were to take it back to the youngster, I
might lose half my crown, and so be paid for my trouble. I'm not fond of
broken heads for a love-ditty. You may find some one else to take it
back: I've done my duty."
"No, you have not," said Margaret; "you are no landsman, I am sure: your
duty is not that of an honest labourer. You are--I am sure you
are--connected with the smugglers on the coast. You may take this parcel
for yourself. I give it to you, to do what you like with; but do tell
the young man, when you see him, that I hate his presents, though not
himself."
"I won't have anything to do with what's not my own," said the man,
"although you tell me I'm not an honest man. I'm off. I was to meet the
young chap again to-morrow at the same time and place. If you had any
small love-token now, or any words which might not anger the young
fellow, why, I shouldn't mind taking 'em; but if you haven't any, why
then I'll tell him you didn't care anything about him or his present. So
good-bye to you."
The fellow took up his hat and stick to depart.
"Hold!" said Margaret--"hold!" and taking her father's hat down from its
peg, she tore off the crape, and folding it up, she approached the
disguised seaman, saying--"Give him this--do give him this--and tell
him, I'd rather we all wore the like for him, than the rich things he
has sent us. Will you tell him this?"
"No doubt he'll be much obliged to you: but you won't be long in this
mind. So, good-bye to you all." And the man departed, leaving that
spirited girl to think with pain of the dreaded words of
Susan--"Margaret, you will never marry William Laud!"