A TRAITOR
The next day, when I woke, a number of smugglers had come back from
their ride. They were sitting about the cave, in their muddy clothes,
in high good spirits. They had been chased by a few preventives as far
as Allington, and there they had had a brisk skirmish with the
Allington police, roused by the preventives' carbine fire. They had
beaten off their opponents, and had reached Dartmoor in safety.
"Yes," said Marah; "all very well. But we have been blabbed on. We had
the cutter on us on our way out, and here we were surprised coming
home. It was the Salcombe cutter chased us, and it was the Salcombe
boys gave the preventives the tip last night. Otherwise they'd have
been in Salcombe all last night, watching Bolt Tail, no less. 'Stead
of that, they came lumbering here, and jolly near nabbed us. Now, it's
one of us. There's no one outside knows anything: and only
half-a-dozen in Salcombe knew our plans. Salcombe district supplies
North Devon; we supply to the east more. Who could it be, boys?"
Some said one thing, some another. And then a man suggested "the
parson"; and when he said that it flashed across my mind that he meant
Mr Cottier, for I knew that sailors always called a schoolmaster a
parson, and I remembered how Mrs Cottier had heard his voice among the
night-riders on the night of the snow-storm just before Christmas.
"No; it couldn't be the parson," said some one. "No one trusts the
parson."
"I don't know as it couldn't be," said the man whom they called
Hankie. "He is a proper cunning one to pry out."
"Ah!" said another smuggler. "And, come to think of it, we passed him
the afternoon afore we sailed. I was driving with the Captain. I was
driving the Captain here from Kingsbridge."
"He knows the Captain," said Marah grimly. "He might have
guessed--seeing him with you--that you were coming to arrange a
run. Now, how would he know where we were bound?"
"Guessed it," said Hankie. "He's been on a run or two with the
Salcombe fellers. Besides, he couldn't be far out."
"No," said Marah, musingly; "he couldn't. And a hint would have been
enough to send the cutter after us."
"But how did he put them on us last night?" said another smuggler. "We
had drawed them out proper to Bolt Tail to look for a cargo there.
Properly we had drawed them. Us had a boat and all, showing lights."
"Well, if it was the parson who done it, he'd easily find a way," said
Marah. "We had better go over and see about it"
Before they went they left me in charge of the old Italian man, who
taught me how to point a rope, which is one of the prettiest kinds of
plaiting ever invented. The day passed slowly--oh! so slowly; for a
day like that, so near home, yet so far away, and with so much misery
in prospect, was agonising. I wondered what they would do to Mr
Cottier; I wondered if ever I should get home again; I wondered
whether the coastguards would have sufficient sense to arrest Marah if
they saw him on the roads. In wondering like this, the day slowly
dragged to an end; and at the end of the day, just before a watery
sunset, Marah and the others returned, leading Mr Cottier as their
prisoner.
It shows you what power the night-riders had in those days. They had
gone to Salcombe to Mr Cottier's lodgings; they had questioned him,
perhaps with threats, till he had confessed that he had betrayed them
to the preventives; then they had gagged him, hustled him downstairs
to a waiting closed carriage, and then they had quietly driven him on,
undisturbed, to their fastness in the cliff. It was sad to see a man
fallen so low, a man who had been at the University, and master of a
school. It was sad to see him, his flabby face all fallen in and white
from excess of fear, and to see his eyes lolling about from one to
another man, trying to find a little hope in the look of the faces in
the fast-darkening cave.
"Well," he said surlily at last; "you have got me. What are you going
to do to me?"
"What d'ye think you deserve?" said Marah. "Eh? You'd have had us all
hanged and glad, too. You'll see soon enough what we're going to do to
you." He struck a light for his pipe, and lit a candle in a corner of
the cave near where I lay. "You'll soon know _your_ fate," he
added. "Meanwhile, here's a friend of yours one--you might like to
talk to. You'll not get another chance."
At this the man grovelled on the cave floor, crying out to them to let
him live, that he would give them all his money, and so on.
"Get up," said Marah; "get up. Try and act like a man, even if you
aren't one."
The man went on wailing, "What are you going to do to me?--what are
you going to do to me?"
"Spike your guns," said Marah, curtly. "There's your friend in the
corner. Talk to him."
He left us together in the cave; an armed smuggler sat at the cave
entrance, turning his quid meditatively.
"Mr Cottier," I said, "do you remember Jim--Jim Davis?"
"Jim!" cried Mr Cottier; "Jim, how did you come here?"
"By accident," I said; "and now I'm a prisoner here, like you."
"Oh, Jim," he cried, "what are they going to do to me? You must have
heard them. What are they going to do to me? Will they kill me, Jim?"
I thought of the two coastguards snugly shut up in France, in one of
the inns near Brest, living at free-quarters, till the smugglers
thought they could be sure of them. When I thought of those two men I
felt that the traitor would not be killed; and yet I was not sure. I
believe they would have killed him if I had not been there. They were
a very rough lot, living rough lives, and a traitor put them all in
peril of the gallows. Smugglers were not merciful to traitors (it is
said that they once tied a traitor to a post at low-water mark, and
let the tide drown him), and Marah's words made me feel that Mr
Cottier would suffer some punishment: not death, perhaps, but
something terrible.
I tried to reassure the man, but I could say very little. And I was
angry with him, for he never asked after his wife, nor after Hugh, his
son: and he asked me nothing of my prospects. The thought of his
possible death by violence within the next few hours kept him from all
thought of other people. Do not blame him. We who have not been tried
do not know how we should behave in similar circumstances.
By-and-by the men came back to us. We were led downstairs, and put
aboard the lugger. Then the boat pushed off silently, sail was
hoisted, and a course was set down channel, under a press of
canvas. Mr Cottier cheered up when we had passed out of the sight of
the lights of the shore, for he knew then that his life was to be
spared. His natural bullying vein came back to him. He sang and joked,
and even threatened his captors. So all that night we sailed, and all
the next day and night--a wild two or three days' sailing, with spray
flying over us, and no really dry or warm place to sleep in, save a
little half-deck which they rigged in the bows.
I should have been very miserable had not Marah made me work with the
men, hauling the ropes, swabbing down the decks, scrubbing the
paintwork, and even bearing a hand at the tiller. The work kept me
from thinking. The watches (four hours on, four hours off), which I
had to keep like the other men, made the time pass rapidly; for the
days slid into each other, and the nights, broken into as they were by
the night-watches, seemed all too short for a sleepy head like mine.
Towards the end of the passage, when the weather had grown brighter
and hotter, I began to wonder how much further we were going. Then,
one morning, I woke up to find the lugger at anchor in one of the
ports of Northern Spain, with dawn just breaking over the olive-trees,
and one or two large, queer-looking, lateen-rigged boats, xebecs from
Africa, lying close to us. One of them was flying a red flag, and I
noticed that our own boat was alongside of her. I thought nothing of
it, but drew a little water from the scuttle-butt, and washed my face
and hands in one of the buckets. One or two of the men were talking at
my side.
"Ah!" said one of them, "that's nine he did that way--nine, counting
him."
"A good job, too," said another man. "It's us or them. I'd rather it
was them."
"Yes," said another fellow; "and I guess they repent."
The others laughed a harsh laugh, turning to the African boat with
curious faces, to watch our boat pulling back, with Marah at her
steering oar.
I noticed, at breakfast (which we all ate together on the deck), that
Mr Cottier was no longer aboard the lugger. I had some queer
misgivings, but said nothing till afterwards, when I found Marah
alone.
"Marah," I said, "where is Mr Cottier? What have you done to him?"
He grinned at me grimly, as though he were going to refuse to tell
me. Then he beckoned me to the side of the boat. "Here," he said,
pointing to the lateen-rigged xebec; "you see that felucca-boat?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, then," Marah continued, "he's aboard her--down in her hold:
tied somewhere on the ballast. That's where Mr Cottier is. Now you
want to know what we have done to him? Hey? Well, we've enlisted him
in the Spanish Navy. That felucca-boat is what they call a tender.
They carry recruits to the Navy in them boats. He will be in a Spanish
man-of-war by this time next week. They give him twenty dollars to buy
a uniform. He's about ripe for the Spanish Navy."
"But, Marah," I cried, "he may have to fight against our ships."
"All the better for us," he answered. "I wish all our enemies were as
easy jobs."
I could not answer for a moment; then I asked if he would ever get
free again.
"I could get free again," said Marah; "but that man isn't like
me. He's enlisted for three years. I doubt the war will last so
long. The free trade will be done by the time he's discharged. You
see, Jim, we free-traders can only make a little while the nations are
fighting. By this time three years Mr Cottier can talk all he's a
mind."
I had never liked Mr Cottier, but I felt a sort of pity for him. Then
I felt that perhaps the discipline would be the making of him, and
that, if he kept steady, he might even rise in the Spanish Navy, since
he was a man of education. Then I thought of poor Mrs Cottier at home,
and I felt that her husband must be saved at all costs.
"Oh, Marah," I cried, "don't let him go like that. Go and buy him
back. He doesn't deserve to end like that."
"Rot!" said Marah, turning on his heel. "Hands up anchor! Forward to
the windlass, Jim. You know your duty."
The men ran to their places. Very soon we were under sail again, out
at sea, with the Spanish coast in the distance astern, a line of
bluish hills, almost like clouds.