Here, a bold, artful, surly, savage race--
Who, only skilled to take the finny tribe,
The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe,
Wait on the shore, and as the waves run high,
On the lost vessel bend their eager eye,
Which to their coast directs its venturous way--
Theirs, or the ocean's, miserable prey.
Crabbe.
"Did you hear what they're saying in the village yonder, Master
Randolph?" old Jeffrey asked, as Trevethlan was passing through the
gate, on the day after the party. "All the grand doings at Pendar'l?"
Randolph started a little.
"I saw the light in the sky," the warder continued, "and was thinking
whose stacks had been fired this time, only it didn't last long now. And
they tell me 'twas the squibs and things that were let off to entertain
the company like."
"Then there was a party at Pendarrel last night?" Randolph said, in an
inquiring tone.
"A party! Indeed I should say there was," Jeffrey answered. "Why, sir,
all the country was there from far and wide; all but ours from
Trevethlan! And Squire Melcomb of Tolpeden, over the hill yonder, that
the folks say is to marry Miss Mildred."
Randolph smiled. "What," said he; "is that so publicly known?"
"It seems like it," Jeffrey said. "But there's strife on foot between
our people and Pendar'l. There's a deal of grumbling and threatening
down there on the green. They do say as the wedding is fixed for quite
soon."
Randolph asked no more, but proceeded on his way. He had not got far
from the gates when he met the unrequited lover, Edward Owen. The rustic
seemed desirous to say something, for he lingered after making his
salute.
"What is it, Edward?" his master asked, "what is the matter?"
"Why, sir, then the folks are just wanting to know what this law-suit is
about. You see, sir, we think Pendar'l ha' got quite enough as was ours,
and we ought to have some back, rather than give up any more. And the
country's a little unquiet just now, and there's no saying exactly what
may happen."
"And I am sorry to hear, Edward," Randolph said, "that you have been
concerned in the disquiet. It will lead to no good."
"Sir," answered Owen, colouring, "you do not know how I have been urged
on. And, for the others, there's a deal wrong in the country at this
time."
"But this is not the way to right it, Owen," his master observed. "No
good will be done by these night-meetings, and threats, and violence. It
is not the way to set things right. You cannot frighten people into
doing what you wish. And if you are mixed up with these wrong-doers, you
will get into mischief. You will be led further than you meant to go."
Owen muttered some words, either of contrition or of discontent, and
pursued his way. It was true that the ferment in the country had
considerably increased. The labouring population met almost every night
on some point of the moorlands, and although no outrage of much
consequence had yet been perpetrated by these mobs, they yet kept up a
continual feeling of alarm.
Nor was the danger by any means chimerical. If hitherto no greater
mischief had occurred, it was probably rather from the want of
sufficient daring in a leader, than of any good will among the mass. And
this requisite seemed now likely to be supplied, by an event which
happened on the hill-side between Lelant and St. Ives.
A small river there expands into a creek, the shores of which rise
rapidly from the water's edge, sometimes cultivated, and sometimes
waste, frequently chequered with trees, occasionally broken by masses of
rock--always rugged and picturesque. High upon one of the untilled
portions, under the shelter of a ledge of slate, stood a low, straggling
cottage, constructed of _cob_, and thatched with fern, of which the
whitewashed front by day, and a light in the window by night, were
visible far out at sea. On the over-hanging rock was a spot showing
signs of fire, that commonest and simplest of signals, in by-gone years
too often used in these western districts to lure mariners to their
destruction; when the skipper, navigating by the fallacious beacon, was
startled by the cry of "breakers ahead!" confounded by the crash of his
ship's striking, and overpowered by a horde of lawless depredators,
unaccustomed in their thirst for plunder, to respect life. But the
fierceness of the wreckers, if it still tainted the blood of the
peasantry, quailed under the law; and their organ of acquisitiveness now
led them to the milder occupation of smuggling. If, in these days, a
fire ever burned on the rock in question, it was a friendly warning
concerning the fate of some brandy or Hollands, supposed to lurk under
the broad lug-sails which the telescope had detected in the offing, and
coveted with much zest in many a dwelling on the shore.
This cottage was the abode of Gabriel Denis, a man whose stalwart form
and firm step showed that fifty years sat light upon him; while his
swarthy, weather-beaten visage, grizzled hair, and resolute eye, told of
a life, which hardship and peril had familiarised with endurance and
boldness. Some few years before the opening of this narrative, on a dark
and stormy night, when a rich landing of spirits and tobacco repaid the
country-folks about Zennor for the want of sleep, Denis was found in the
morning to have been left behind by the smart schooner which had run
boldly under the cliffs in the gloom, and which was then almost beyond
the range of glasses. His desertion did not, however, seem to be
unexpected by himself, for there were several chests left with him, and
also an olive-complexioned woman, whom it appeared he called wife, and a
girl about ten years old, whom he styled daughter.
Denis knew very well that there was no danger of a smuggler's being
betrayed by the people, yet for some time he lived with great privacy,
and thereby attracted the attention which he wished to avoid. In the
dusk of evening he used to wander far over the country, and was known
not unfrequently to cross the isthmus from St. Ives to Marazion, and
stroll along the beach, or over the cliffs, in the direction of
Trevethlan Castle. He seemed to listen attentively to the gossip of all
the folks about him, and sometimes let fall a remark which indicated a
previous acquaintance with the locality. And at such times he would
glance round the company as if in search of a recognition.
At length, assured perhaps of his situation, he obtained possession of
the cottage we have described, and retired thither with his wife and
child. He was evidently deeply attached to the dark-featured woman, and
watched all who approached her with extreme jealousy. She was still very
handsome, but passionate in temper to excess, and also quick to take
affront, partly, perhaps, because she was but imperfectly acquainted
with the English language. It required all her husband's watchfulness to
avoid perpetual quarrels.
For it was soon discovered that the whitewashed cottage contained a
store of those liquors which seem to lead mankind into temptation,
universal and irresistible. Now a man, known _sub rosa_ to retail
smuggled spirits, was not likely to enjoy a perfectly quiet life; a
drinking-bout often ends in a battle; Bacchus is the herald of Mars. And
whenever such a tumult arose, Gabriel's wife was sure to be vocal in the
fray. But Denis possessed a right powerful arm, and knew how to use it:
and his customers learned to listen patiently to the strange jargon of
Felipa, in wholesome fear of the iron hand of her spouse.
Gabriel's house had become a rendezvous for some of the agitators of the
district, who were wont to assemble there at nightfall, and discuss
their schemes of outrage under the inspiration of Nantz and Schiedam.
Hitherto, these had proved almost wholly abortive; but, as Owen vaguely
intimated to the owner of Trevethlan, they now assumed a more
threatening aspect, and some inhabitants of that hamlet were foremost
among the violent. There had been much question concerning the law-suit
between their master and the squire of Pendarrel. Its existence had
become generally known, not only by the service of numerous summonses to
attend the trial, but also by placards, offering liberal rewards for any
information respecting the supposed murder of Mr. Ashton, and the
disappearance of Wyley, the missing witness to Margaret Basset's
marriage. The rumours regarding that mysterious union, already revived,
were stimulated anew by these demonstrations: and the agitation and
discontent of the surrounding population were quickened by an indistinct
apprehension of some new calamity impending over the family, to which,
in spite of everything, they were still strongly attached.
Denis himself had kept aloof from the deliberations, usually held on the
turf in front of his dwelling. All he desired was to maintain his wife
and child as quietly as he might, on the proceeds of his illicit
traffic. But at last, on the very eve of the assizes which were to
develope the plot against Trevethlan Castle, the smuggler was doomed to
lose his occupation, under circumstances which might have well nigh
maddened any man, and much more, one whose life had been like that of
Gabriel Denis. Long suspicious, the revenue officers had become at
length certain, and swooped upon their prey. The victim blockaded his
abode, as best he could, and opposed a gallant resistance to the
oppressors. But they were sure of their game, and the defence was
fruitless. Yet Denis struggled with them still, when they had effected
an entrance: and then, overpowered by numbers, he had the mortification
to see the officers, acting evidently on some traitor's information,
immediately detect the secret door which led to a natural cave in the
rock behind the cottage, and haul forth from that receptacle divers kegs
of the precious fluids intended to recreate the lieges of the
neighbourhood, but destined for their sovereign's storehouse at Lelant.
Gabriel, in sulky silence, had given up all resistance. But not so his
wife. Enraged beyond control, and heedless of her husband's
remonstrances, she threw herself furiously upon the captors. It is
always difficult to struggle with a woman. Felipa had snatched a pistol
from the belt of one of the officers, and in the effort to disarm her,
the weapon exploded, and laid her lifeless on the ground. A moment's
pause of sorrow and surprise followed, during which Gabriel's little
girl threw herself, with loud cries, upon her mother's body, and he
himself, after one wild look of despair, flew up the hill-side like the
wind.
The officers recovered, and gave chase, but to no effect. The smuggler
got clear off. There was nothing to be done but to secure the seizure,
and remove the body of the unfortunate victim. The little girl
accompanied the train.
The news of the transaction flew far and fast. But it did not prevent
the conspirators--if the word is not above their deserts--from resorting
to their usual haunt the same evening. They lay, six or seven in number,
in various attitudes on the turf in front of the ruined cottage, in the
irresolute and objectless mood of which many a plot has perished.
Agreeing in a desire, either for wanton mischief or for their
neighbours' goods, they could not make up their minds how to begin. The
cowardice, which always attends the doing of wrong, lay heavy on their
hearts, and made their hands powerless.
But Gabriel Denis came down the hill and joined the criminal divan.
Trained in a lawless life, burning with the desire for revenge, heedless
of the manner, he brought into the assembly the passion and energy for
which it had before sought in vain. He listened awhile to the incoherent
gabble of the agitators, and then startled their indecision by a direct
proposition of his own. His speech was cold, and his words were few; yet
there was not a man who heard him, but knew that he meant what he said.
And when the little party dispersed, it was with a confident feeling,
that the next meeting of their adherents at Castle Dinas would not
terminate in the same inoffensive manner as previous musters of the same
nature.