MISFORTUNES
Well would it have been for the Catchpoles and the Cracknells, had they
burnt every bit of valuable stuff which the smuggler had that day
brought. What years of anguish would it have spared them!--what
miseries! what agonies! Nothing unlawful can long prosper. Sorrow and
bitterness follow the days of unjust gain, and whosoever thinks to be
happy by the sudden influx of ill-gotten wealth, will find himself
grievously mistaken. Wealth gotten by honest industry and fair dealing
may enable a good man to soothe the sufferings of others, but even when
obtained, men find that it is not the being rich, but the regular
employment in a prosperous line of life, that gives the pleasure. Sudden
prosperity is too often destructive of a man's peace of mind; but sudden
prosperity, by evil means, is sure to bring its own ruin. Had but that
first bale of goods been burnt, Margaret might have continued the happy,
cheerful child of Nature, respected and received as the honest,
good-hearted girl she really was.
It may fairly be said of Margaret, that she had no covetous hankering
after any of the goods which were that day presented to her eye. She
told all her friends what they were, and consulted with them what should
be done with them. She would have given them up to the government
officers, but she saw that it would involve her lover. She would have
sent them to Laud's father, but again the idea of causing him distress
deterred her. Oh! that she had cast them upon the broad sea, and let who
would have caught them! But they were goodly things to look upon; they
were costly--too good to throw away. And as Mrs. Cracknell said they
might all be serviceable, and it was a sin to waste them, she persuaded
Margaret to let her have them.
"Let my good man take them home; we may by degrees get rid of them. I
can do the smaller packages up in smaller parcels, in my way; and as to
the silks and lace, I can find perhaps a distant customer to take them
off my hands."
"You may do what you like with them," said Margaret, "only do not let me
know anything more about them."
"You know, Mr. Catchpole," said Mrs. Cracknell, "that we may all want a
little help one day, and these things may provide against a stormy hour.
At all events, you shall lose nothing by them, though they now bring you
no profit."
It did not take much time to persuade these simple-minded people to part
with things for which they had no demand and no taste.
Mrs. Cracknell had them conveyed to her cottage, where she had them
sorted out, and, as prudently as possible, disposed of them according to
the means of her humbler customers.
After a time, she found herself gradually improving in circumstances,
and, had she been content, might have gone on improving for years. Her
profits were too rapid, however, not to excite a stronger mind than she
possessed. She made, of course, handsome presents to the young
Catchpoles, and Margaret had the mortification of seeing a smart pipe,
and of smelling the fumes of rich tobacco, even in her own cottage, well
knowing they were the fruits of her lover's misdoings.
Meantime, that lover's name began to be notorious along the coast.
Margaret heard no good of him. The coastguard had set a mark upon him,
and it became known throughout the country that Will Laud was the
ringleader of as desperate a gang as ever infested the shores of Great
Britain.
So frequent were the inroads made at this period upon the commerce of
the country, that government had to employ a very active force to stay,
though she could not put down, so discreditable a feature upon her
coasts.
At this time the shores of Norfolk and Suffolk were most conspicuous for
contraband trade. Severe and deadly were the continual actions between
the preventive-service men and the smugglers; lives were continually
lost on both sides; and dreadful animosities sprang up between the
parties upon the sea-shore.
Will Laud and his associates had great luck; and Captain Bargood found
in him as bold and profitable a fellow as he could wish. Many were the
hairbreadth escapes, however, which he, in conjunction with his crew,
experienced. Laud was a tool in the hands of his mate, though he himself
was not aware of it; for whilst that fellow had his own way, he always
managed to get it through the medium of the captain's permission. He
would, in his bluff way, suggest, with all becoming subordination, such
and such a scheme, and generally succeeded in the enterprise.
They had observed for a long time a scout upon the beach under Bawdsey
Cliffs, and knew that he was one of the Irish cruisers, who had been
transplanted to watch their craft: Laud proposed to nab him when he
could. He had been ashore one day to meet his employer, and had met this
merry-hearted Irishman at the Sun Inn, in a street of that long, sandy
village of Bawdsey. Pat was a loquacious, whisky-loving, light-hearted
fellow, who, without fear, and with ready wit, made himself agreeable
to everybody. He frequented the various inns along the border, and was
generally liked for his dash of gallantry, his love of drinking, and his
generous spirit; he was a brave fellow, too, and watchful for his
honour. He had seen along the beach a man roaming about, and had
concealed himself, not far from the fisherman's cottage, on purpose to
watch him; but all he could make out was, that the man went to the back
of the cottage, and there he lost him. Pat went to the fisherman's cot,
found the man and his wife at their meals, searched about the premises,
but could spy nothing. Pat had seen this thing several times, and was
fully convinced that the man he saw was a smuggler.
In Bawdsey Cliff the smugglers had a cave of no small dimensions. It had
formerly been a hollow ravine in the earth, formed by the whirling of a
stream of water, which had passed quickly through a gravelly bed, and
met with opposition in this mass of clay. It had made for itself a large
crater, and then had issued again at the same place, and ran through a
sand-gall and gravelly passage down to the sea. This was discovered by a
tenant of the Earl of Dysart, who, in sinking a well near his shepherd's
cottage, suddenly struck into the opening of this cave. As the springs
were low at this season, the cave was almost empty of water, and formed
a most curious appearance. It was even then called the Robbers' Cave,
and curiosity was greatly excited in the country to visit it. It was so
smoothly and regularly formed by the eddies of the whirlpool, that the
nicest art could not have made it so uniform. The proprietor sank his
well some feet lower, until he came to a good stream; but in making the
well, he formed an archway into this curious place, and left it so for
the gratification of public curiosity. Time swept on, and the cave
became less frequented, and at last forgotten.
A few years, however, previously to this narration, some smugglers had
been disappointed of their run, and had thrown their tubs down the well,
with the consent of their agent the fisherman, probably a descendant of
the old shepherd's, who dwelt in the cottage. This led to the
re-discovery and improvement of this famous depot of arms, ammunition,
stock-in-trade, and place of retreat, which was then occupied by Will
Laud and his associates, and to which very spot John Luff was at that
time bound.
These men had contrived to make the cave as comfortable a berth as a
subterraneous place could be. They had ingeniously tapped the land
stream below the cave, and laid it perfectly dry, and with much labour
and ingenuity had contrived to perforate the clay into the very chimney
of the cottage; so that a current of air passed through the archway
directly up the chimney, and carried away the smoke, without the least
suspicion being awakened. This place was furnished with tables, mats,
stools, and every requisite for a place of retreat and rendezvous. The
descent was by a bucket well-rope, which a sailor well knew how to
handle; whilst the bucket itself served to convey provisions or goods of
any kind.
Such was the place into which vanished the choice spirits which poor Pat
had seen, and into which Pat himself, _nolens_, _volens_, was shortly to
be introduced. It would be needless to add, that the fisherman and his
wife were accomplices of the smugglers.
Some short time after, Pat had an opportunity of discovering the use of
the well as an inlet and outlet of the smugglers, and conceived the idea
that contraband goods were stowed away at the bottom of it. He had seen
a man, after talking to the woman at the spot, descend, and then come up
again, and depart.
"Now's my turn," says Pat to himself, as he came out from his
hiding-place, and went to the well. As every sailor could let himself
down by a rope, and ascend by it likewise, Pat was soon at the bottom of
the well, but found nothing. He began his ascent, working away with his
hands and feet in a manner which a sailor only understands. He was
gaining more daylight, and hoping that he should get out before the
woman (whom he concluded had gone for help) should return. He had gained
the very part where the archway into the cave was formed, and there
found a sort of stay, or bar, at the opposite side, to rest his leg
upon. He was taking advantage of this post to get breath, and had just
swung off again to ascend, when he felt his ankles grasped by a powerful
pair of pincers, as it seemed, and in another instant such a jerk as
compelled him instantly to let go the rope, and he came with all his
weight against the side of the well. Stunned he was, but not a bone was
broken, for his tormentors had taken the precaution to have a
well-stuffed hammock ready to break his fall. He was in a moment in the
cave, and when reviving, heard such a burst of unearthly merriment, he
could think of nothing but that he had arrived at that dreaded
purgatory, to escape which he had paid so much to his priest.
In a faint, feeble voice, Pat was heard to exclaim--"O, Father O'Gharty;
O, Father O'Gharty, deliver me!"
This caused such another burst, and such a roar of "O, Father O'Gharty!
O, Father O'Gharty!" from so many voices, that the poor fellow groaned
aloud. But a voice, which he fancied he had heard when on earth,
addressed him, as he lay with his eyes just opening to a red glare of
burning torches.
"Patrick O'Brien! Patrick O'Brien! welcome to the shades below."
Pat blinked a little, and opened his eyes wider, and saw, as he thought,
twenty or thirty ghosts of smugglers, whom he supposed had been shot by
the coastguard, and were answering for their sins in purgatory.
"Come, Pat, take a drop of moonshine, my hearty, to qualify the water
you have taken into your stomach: this liquid flame will warm the cold
draught."
Pat had need of something to warm him, but had no idea of drinking
flame.
"I hope," he said, "your majesty will excuse a poor Irishman."
"No excuse! no excuse! By the saint, your namesake, you shall swallow
this gill, or maybe you'll have a little more water to simmer in."
Pat made no further opposition; and one of the uncouth, black-bearded
demons, handed him a cup of as bright, shining liquid as any which the
sons of whisky ever saw.
"Drink, Pat, drink," said the fellow; "a short life and a merry one."
"Och!" sighed Pat, and the next moment the burning liquid ran down his
throat, warming his inside with such a glow, as made the blood circulate
rapidly through every vein of his body. Whether it was the pure gin he
had drunk, or the naturally aspiring disposition of the man, he began to
look around him, and to note the habitation in which they dwelt. Pikes
and guns were slung here and there; cables and casks lay about the room;
swords and pistols--weapons which seemed more adapted to fleshly men
than disembodied spirits--made the reviving spirit of this son of the
Emerald Isle bethink him that he had fallen into the hands of mortals.
He now looked a little more wise, and began to give a good guess at the
truth, when the one who seemed to be the captain of the band soon
dissipated all his doubts by saying, "Patrick O'Brien, here's to
Lieutenant Barry and the preventive service. Come, Pat, drink to your
commander, 'tis the last time you will ever be in such good company."
These words convinced him that he was in the smugglers' cave; and as he
knew them to be most desperate fellows, his own lot did not appear much
more happy than when he thought himself in the company of evil spirits.
"Come, Pat, drink. You need a little comfort."
Pat drank, and though he foresaw that no good could come to him, yet as
the spirit poured in, and his heart grew warm, he thought he would not
seem afraid, so he drank "Success to Lieutenant Barry and the
coastguard!"
"Now, Pat, one more glass, and we part for ever."
Ominous words--"part for ever!" He heartily wished himself again in his
own dear island, ere he had ventured a peep at the bottom of the well.
The smugglers--for such he found they were--grinned upon him most
unceremoniously, as if they had some horrid purpose in view, and seemed
to enjoy the natural timidity which began to creep over his frame.
Pat drank his last glass: John Luff arose, commanded silence, and, in as
gentle a voice as such a fellow could assume, said, "Mr. Patrick
O'Brien, you are welcome now to your choice of departure."
"Thank ye, gemmen, thank ye, and I shall not forget your hospitality."
Pat rose, as if to depart.
"Mr. Patrick O'Brien, the choice of departure we give you is the choice
of death!"
Pat's heart sank within him, but he did not lose all his courage or
presence of mind; and the latter quality suggested to him that he would
try a little blarney.
"Why, gemmen, you wouldn't kill a poor fellow in cold blood, would you?"
"No, Pat, no; and for that reason we have made you welcome to a drop,
that you may not die a cold-blooded death. Draw swords!"
In an instant twenty sharp blades were unsheathed.
"Now, Mr. O'Brien, take your choice: shall every man have a cut at
you--first a leg, then a hand, then an arm, and so on, until your head
only shall remain--or will you be rolled up in a hammock for a sack, as
your winding-sheet, and, well shotted, sink as a sailor to the bottom of
those waters we have just quitted?"
"Thank your honour," said the poor victim of their cruelty, "thank your
honour; and of the two I had rather have neither."
There was no smile upon any of the ferocious countenances around him,
and Pat's hopes of anything but cruelty forsook him. Just at this moment
the bucket descended the well, and in came Will Laud, or Captain Laud,
as he was called, who, acquainted with the fact of the Irishman's
descent (for he was the very person whom Pat had seen to make his exit,
and had been informed by the woman of his being drowned), was a little
relieved to see the man standing in the midst of his men unscathed.
He soon understood the position in which he was placed, and, after a few
words with his Lieutenant, John Luff, himself repeated the already
determined sentence of his crew.
So calm was his voice, so fixed his manner, that the bold Irishman
perceived at once that his doom was at hand. Assuming, therefore, his
wonted courage, making up his mind to death, he looked the commander in
the face, and with the composure of a mind comparatively at ease, said--
"Since I must die, let me die dacently. My choice is made--the hammock
for my winding-sheet, the water for my grave, and God forgive you all."
Not a word more did the brave fellow utter, but stood like a hero, or a
martyr, ready for execution.
Now to the credit of Laud be it recorded, that in his soul he admired
the intrepidity of the man's spirit; and murder, base murder of a bold
man, never was his intention.
He whispered to his mate, though in a moment after he exclaimed to his
crew, "Do your duty."
Pat was tripped up, rolled up in the hammock, swung upon the chain,
heard the whistle, and in an instant found himself, as he thought,
descending to the shades below. In fact, however, he was ascending,
though consciousness for a time forsook him, and the swoon of
anticipated suffocation bereft him of his senses. When he did recover,
he found himself at the bottom of a boat, bounding over the billows, and
was soon on board a ship. Here he revived, and was treated by the crew
with kindness; but after many days he was put ashore on the eastern
coast of his own dear isle, with this gentle admonition:--
"Patrick O'Brien, 'all's well that ends well.' Let well alone for the
future, and now farewell."
So ended this spree, which may serve to show the mind and habits of
those men with whom Will Laud had to deal.
At times these desperate men would be mutinous, but their common
interest kept them together. The persons of several were known along the
coast, and farmers found it to their interest to wink at their
peccadilloes.
It was no uncommon thing for them to have their horses taken out of the
fields, or even out of their stables, for a run at night; but they were
sure of a handsome present being left upon their premises--casks of gin,
real Hollands, packets of linen; and, sometimes learning the thing most
wanted by a particular farmer, he would be surprised to find it directed
to him by an unknown hand, and delivered, without charge, at his door.
The handsomest saddles and bridles which could be procured, whips,
lamps, lanterns, handsome pairs of candlesticks, guns, pistols,
walking-sticks, pipes, &c., were, at various houses, left as presents.
Such was the state of the traffic, that the best spirits could be always
had at the farm-houses on the coast (for all knew where it might be had
without difficulty), only let the money be left for it with the order.
In this manner was the revenue defrauded; and there were men in high
authority who used to defend the practice by calling it England's best
nursery for seamen. Seldom, however, were good men secured from these
sources. The generality of smugglers were not such as England wanted to
defend her liberty and laws.
About this time so many presents were sent to Margaret, and left in such
a clandestine manner at or near the cottage, that although she herself
was never corrupted by any one of these temptations, yet the effects of
them began to show themselves in her family. Charles, the elder brother,
used to find the presents, and dispose of them to Mrs. Cracknell, and he
found his own gains so rapidly increase that he began to be idle; would
not go to plough; disliked working on the land; took to carpentering at
the old sexton's at Nacton; learned to read and write; and again
encouraged his old _penchant_ for soldiering. At length he left his
parents and friends, and enlisted in the 33rd regiment of foot, under
the fictitious name of Jacob Dedham, at the Black Horse public-house,
St. Mary Elm's, Ipswich. He passed himself off as belonging to that
parish; and but for the accidental circumstance of a Nacton lad, of the
name of Calthorpe, seeing him at the inn, his friends and relatives
would have been ignorant of his departure. His regiment soon after his
enlistment sailed for the East Indies; and the history of Charles
Catchpole, alias Jacob Dedham, would of itself form no uninteresting
narrative. He rose in his regiment by great steadiness and assiduity. He
became a singular adept at learning Eastern languages and customs. He
was taken great notice of by Sir William Jones, the great Oriental
linguist, who recommended him to a very important charge under Lord
Cornwallis, who employed him in a confidential duty, as a spy, upon the
frontiers of Persia. We shall have occasion to contemplate him in a
future part of this history. For the present we pass on to some further
fruits of the smuggler's intimacy with the Catchpoles.
Robert, another son, in consequence of the unwholesome introduction of
rapid profits, took to drinking, smoking, and idle company, and very
soon brought himself to an early grave; giving the deepest pangs to his
parents, and creating sorrow and suffering to all. He died of delirium
tremens, in the year 1791.
James became a poacher, and was shot in a desperate affray with the
gamekeepers of Admiral Vernon. He lingered on his brother's bed until
December 15th, 1792, and expired in deep distress, and with a
declaration to poor Margaret, that it was her acquaintance with Laud
that brought him to ruin. The youngest son alone preserved any steady
fixed principles, and was the prop of his parents' hopes.
The whole family now fell into disrepute, and the bitterest days of
adversity followed. Tales began to be circulated of Margaret's
connexion with the smuggler. Sailors were seen to come and go from the
cottage; and if they went but to ask for information, the lying tongue
of slander was sure to propagate some infamous story. It was true that
presents were left about the cottage, and that agents of the Cracknells
were ready to receive them; but Margaret never touched a single thing
that was so found. She was not insensible to all she saw, and she felt
the full weight of Laud's misconduct; but she never forgot to pray for
him, and hoped, with that fondness which true love only can know, that
he would one day be converted. But she partook of the ignominy which now
visited her family, though she assuredly did not deserve it. She
recommended her father to take another cottage, and even to seek work
under another master. Anything she considered would be better than a
place where he met with such continual misfortunes.
It must not be supposed that Mrs. Denton was unkind to Margaret, though
her own servants took every opportunity to persuade her that she was a
very worthless person--she seemed to think a removal would be best.
Accordingly Jonathan Catchpole changed his abode, and, from a regular
workman on that farm, became a jobbing labourer wherever he could find
employment. He and his family lived at a lone cottage on the borders of
Nacton Heath. Edward became a shepherd's boy, and Margaret had serious
thoughts of once more going out to service; but where? Alas! she
remembered how happy she had been in her first place, and the very
remembrance of that happiness made her shrink from having to relate to
her former benefactor the then miserable consequences of her first
attachment.
Laud's father shared in the general stigma attached to his son's
name--he was accused of conniving at the youth's excesses, and lost his
situation as ferryman of the government packets from Harwich to Languard
Fort. What miseries, heaped one upon the other, now fell with blighting
force upon poor Margaret!
But a greater trial just now awaited her--a dreadful conflict took place
below Felixstowe beach between the coastguard and Laud's crew. A run was
planned and put in execution from the Walton Marshes for
Woodbridge--carts were brought to the cliff, the coastguard, as was
thought, being attracted to Sizewell Gap, and everything being open
before the smugglers. The cargo was landed, and the run began, when the
preventive-service men, who had been secretly informed of the intended
_ruse_ at Sizewell Gap, came out of their hiding-place in a double band,
headed by Lieutenant Edward Barry, a brave young sailor, second son of
Mr. Henry Barry, a miller and farmer, of Levington Hill. The onset was
tremendous, and the resistance deadly; but might and right were on one
side, and bore down the stalwart forms of the violent smugglers.
Three of the crew were killed, and the others, unable to stand against
the assault, fled as well as they were able. Young Barry and Laud had a
severe personal encounter, in which the death of one or the other seemed
the determination of both. Laud was the most powerful man, but Barry was
the most expert swordsman; but what was the experience of the sword-arm
in so dark a night? The two commanders seemed to know each other even in
the darkness, for they fought with voices of encouragement to their men.
The smugglers had fled, and Laud began to fear he was alone; but the
pursuers, too, had gone, and still the two captains were contending. At
this moment the contest was most deadly--Laud had wounded young Barry by
a thrust. Though it was slight it was felt by the officer, and he
determined neither to ask nor to give quarter. Laud had driven him up
the side of a bank, and was in the act of giving a thrust at his heart,
as Barry, with the advantage of his situation, like lightning gave a cut
at his head, which at once went through his hat, and descended upon his
forehead. Down fell the smuggler like a thunderbolt, and another moment
the sword would have been buried in his side, had not Barry been
compelled to act on the defensive by the opposition of John Luff.
Finding a new antagonist, and being himself wounded, this young man
thought best to gather up his strength for a defensive retreat. He was
not pursued. Hearing some of his own men he called to them, and,
recognizing him, they advanced with him to the spot where, as Barry
supposed, Captain Laud lay dead. But Luff had thrown him over his
shoulder, and, being well acquainted with the marshes, had carried him
over some planks, and so escaped.