The "Pretty Polly" was the fastest, the smartest, and the sweetest craft
that sailed out of Fairport; so said Joe Buntin, and nobody had better
right to say it, or better reason to know it, he being part owner of
her, and having been master of her from the day her keel first touched
the water. She was a cutter of no great size, for she measured only
something between thirty and forty tons; she had great beam for her
length, was sharp in the bows, rising slightly forward, and with a clean
run; she was, in fact, a capital sea-boat, fit to go round the world if
needs be--weatherly in a heavy sea, and very fast in smooth water,
though the nautical critics pronounced her counter too short for beauty;
but Joe did not consider that point a defect, as it made her all the
better for running in foul weather, which was what he very frequently
wanted her to do. She carried a whacking big mainsail, with immense
hoist in it, and the boom well over the taffrail. Her big jib was a
whopper with a vengeance, and her foresail hoisted chock up to the
block. She had a swinging gaff-topsail very broad in the head, and a
square-sail to set for running, with prodigious spread in it; so that,
give the "Pretty Polly" a good breeze, few were the craft of anything
like her own size she couldn't walk away from. In fact, anybody might
have taken her for some dandified yacht, rather than for a humble
pilot-boat, which the number on her mainsail proclaimed her to be. Now
the "Pretty Polly," like other beauties, had her fair weather and her
foul weather looks, her winter as well as her summer suit. She had her
second, and third, and storm-jibs, a trysail of heavy canvas, and even a
second mainsail, with a shorter boom to ship at times, while her
standing and running rigging was as good as the best hemp and the
greatest care could keep it, for every inch of it was turned in under
Joe's inspection, if not with his own hand. Joe Buntin loved his craft,
as does every good sailor; she was his care, his pride, his delight,
mistress, wife, and friend. He would talk to her and talk of her by the
hour together; he was never tired of praising her, of expatiating on her
qualities, of boasting of her achievements, how she walked away from
such a cutter--how she weathered such a gale--how she clawed off a
lee-shore on such an occasion; there was no end to what she had done and
was to do. She was, in truth, all in all to Joe; he was worthy of her,
and she was worthy of him, which reminds us that he himself claims a
word or two of description. He had little beauty, nor did he boast of
it, for in figure he was nearly as broad as high, with a short, thick
neck, and a turn-up nose in the centre of his round, fresh-coloured
visage; but he had black, sparkling eyes, full of fun and humour, and a
well-formed mouth, with strong white teeth, which rescued his
countenance from being ugly, while an expression of firmness and
boldness, with great good nature, made him respected by all, and gained
him plenty of friends. Joe sported a love-lock on each side of his
face, with a little tarpaulin hat stuck on the top of his head, a neat
blue jacket, or a simple blue guernsey frock, and an enormously large
pair of flushing trousers, with low shoes; indeed, he was very natty in
his dress, and although many people called him a smuggler--nor is there
any use in denying that he was one--he did not look a bit like those
cut-throat characters represented on the stage or in print-shops, with
high boots, and red caps, and cloaks, and pistols, and hangers. Indeed,
so far from there being any thing of the ruffian about him, he looked
and considered himself a very honest fellow. He cheated nobody, for
though he broke the revenue laws systematically and regularly, he had,
perhaps, persuaded himself, by a course of reasoning not at all peculiar
to himself, that there was no harm in so doing; possibly he had no idea
that those laws were bad laws, and injurious to the country; so out of
the evil, as he could not remedy it, he determined to pluck that
rosebud--profit--to his own pocket. Remember that we are not at all
certain that he actually did reason as we have suggested; we are, we
confess, rather inclined to suspect that he found the occupation
profitable; that he had been engaged in it from his earliest days, and
therefore followed it without further troubling his head about its
lawfulness or unlawfulness. So much for Joe Buntin and his cutter the
"Pretty Polly."
His crew were a bold set of fellows, stanch to him, and true to each
other; indeed, most of them, as is usual, had a share in the vessel, and
all were interested in the success of her undertakings; they were quiet,
peaceable, and orderly men; their rule was never to fight, the times
were too tranquil for such work, and a running noose before their eyes
was not a pleasant prospect. They trusted entirely to their wit and
their heels for success, and provided one cargo in three could be safely
landed, they calculated on making a remunerating profit.
The days when armed smuggling craft, with a hundred hands on board bid
defiance to royal cruisers, had long passed by, for we are referring to
a period within the last six or eight years only, during the last days
of smuggling. Now the contraband trade is chiefly carried on in small
open boats, or fishing craft, affording a very precarious subsistence to
those who still engage in it. After what has been said it may be
confessed that the "Pretty Polly" was chiefly employed in smuggling,
though her ostensible, and, indeed, very frequent occupation, was that
of a pilot-vessel.
Now we must own that in those days we did not feel a proper and correct
hatred of smugglers and their doings; the dangers they experienced, the
daring and talent they displayed in their calling, used, in spite of our
better reason, to attract our admiration, and to raise them to the
dignity of petty heroes in our imagination. The dishonest merchant, the
dealer in contraband goods, the encourager of crime, was the man who
received the full measure of our contempt and dislike--he who, skulking
quietly on shore, without fear or danger, reaped the profits of the bold
seaman's toil.
Fairport, to which the "Pretty Polly" belonged, is a neat little town at
the mouth of a small river on the southern coast of England. The
entrance to the harbour is guarded by an old castle, with a few cannon
on the top of it, and was garrisoned by a superannuated gunner, his old
wife and his pretty grand-daughter, who performed most efficiently all
the duties in the fortress, such as sweeping it clean, mopping out the
guns, and shutting the gates at night. Sergeant Ramrod was a good
specimen of a fine old soldier, and certainly when seeing his portly
figure and upright carriage, and listening to his conversation, one
might suppose that he held a higher rank than it had ever been his fate
to reach. He had seen much service, been engaged in numerous
expeditions in various parts of the world, and went through the whole
Peninsular war; indeed, had merit its due reward, he should, he assured
his friends, be a general instead of a sergeant, and so being rather an
admirer of his, we are also apt to think--but then when has merit its
due reward? What an extraordinary hoisting up and hauling down there
would be to give every man his due! Sergeant Ramrod always went by the
name of the Governor of Fairport Castle, and we suspect rather liked the
title. He was, in truth, much better off than the governors of half the
castles in the world, though he did not think so himself; he had no
troops, certainly, to marshal or drill, but then he had no rounds to
make or complaints to hear, and his little garrison, composed of his
wife and grandchild, never gave him a moment's uneasiness, while he
might consider himself almost an independent ruler, so few and far
between were the visits of his superior officers.
The town of Fairport consists of a long street, with a few offshoots,
containing some sixty houses or so, inhabited by pilots, fishermen, and
other seafaring characters, two or three half-pay naval officers, a few
casual visitors in the summer months, a medical man or two, and a
proportionate number of shopkeepers. The castle stands at one end of
the town, close to the mouth of the river, the tide of which sweeps
round under its walls, where there is always water sufficient to float a
boat even at low tide. In the walls of the castle are a few loopholes
and a small postern-gate or port to hoist in stores, and close to it is
a quay, the chief landing-place of the town. Here a revenue officer is
stationed night and day to prevent smuggling, though there are certain
angles of the castle-wall which he cannot overlook from his post. This
description we must beg our readers to remember.
One fine morning, soon after daybreak in the early part of the year, Joe
Buntin and his crew appeared on Fairport quay with their pea-jackets and
bundles under their arms, and jumping into their boat pulled on board
the "Pretty Polly." Her sails were loosened and hoisted in a trice, the
breeze took her foresail, the mainsail next filled, the jib-sheet was
flattened aft, and slipping from her moorings she slowly glided towards
the mouth of the river. The jib-sheet was, however, immediately after
let go, the helm was put down, and about she came--in half a minute
more, so narrow is the channel, that she was again about, and at least
six tacks had she to make before she could weather the westernmost spit
at the entrance of the harbour, and stand clear out to sea.
"I wonder which of the French ports she's bound to now," observed a
coast-guard man to a companion who had just joined him on the little
quay close to the castle. "After some of her old tricks, I warrant."
"We shall have to keep a sharp look-out after him, or he'll double on
us, you may depend on it," replied the other; "Joe Buntin's a difficult
chap to circumvent, and one needs to be up early in the morning to find
him snoozing."
"More reason we shouldn't go to sleep ourselves, Ben," said the first
speaker; "I must report the sailing of the `Pretty Polly' to the
inspecting commander, that he may send along the coast to give notice
that she's out. Captain Sturney would give not a little to catch the
`Pretty Polly,' and he's told Joe that he'll nab her some day."
"What did Joe say to that?"
"Oh, he laughed and tried to look innocent, and answered that he was
welcome to her if he ever found her with a tub of spirits, or a bale of
tobacco in her."
"I'll tell you, though, who'd give his right hand and something more, to
boot, to catch Master Joe himself, or I'm very much mistaken."
"Who's that?"
"Why, Lieutenant Hogson, to be sure. You see he has set his eyes on
little Margaret Ramrod, the old gunner's grandchild, but she don't like
him, though he is a naval officer, and won't have any thing to say to
him, and he has found out that Joe is sweet in that quarter, and
suspects that if it weren't for him, he himself would have more favour.
Now, if he could get Joe out of the way, the game would be in his own
hands."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Well, I think the little girl is right, for Joe
is a good fellow, though he does smuggle a bit; and as for Lieutenant
Hogson, though he is our officer, the less we say about him the better."
While this conversation was going on, the "Pretty Polly" had reached
down abreast of the quay, when Buntin, who was at the helm, waved his
hand to the coast-guard men, they in return wishing him a pleasant
voyage and a safe return.
"Thank ye," answered Joe, laughing, for he and his opponents were on
excellent terms. "Thank ye, and remember, keep a bright look-out for
me."
The cutter then passed so close to the castle that her boom almost
grazed its time-worn walls. Joe looked up at the battlements, and there
he saw a bright young face, with a pair of sparkling eyes, gazing down
upon him. Joe took off his tarpaulin hat and waved it.
"I'll not forget your commission, Miss Margaret. My respects to your
grandfather," he sang out.
There was not time to say more before the cutter shot out of hearing.
The flutter of a handkerchief was the answer, and as long as a human
figure was visible on the ramparts, Joe saw that Mistress Margaret was
watching him. Now, it must be owned, that it was only of late Joe had
yielded to the tender passion, and it would have puzzled him to say how
it was. He had been accustomed to bring over trifling presents to the
little girl, and had ingratiated himself with the old soldier, by the
gift now and then of a few bottles of real cognac; but he scarcely
suspected that his "Pretty Polly," his fast-sailing craft, had any rival
in his affections.
The day after the "Pretty Polly," sailed, Margaret was seated at her
work, and the old dame sat spinning in their little parlour in the
castle, while Mr Ramrod was taking his usual walk on the quay, when a
loud tap was heard at the door.
"Come in," said the dame, and Lieutenant Hogson made his appearance.
Now, although by no means a favourite guest, he was, from his rank and
office, always welcomed politely, and Margaret jumped up and wiped a
chair, while the dame begged him to be seated. His appearance was not
prepossessing, for his face was pock-marked, his hair was coarse and
scanty, and sundry potations, deep and strong, had added a ruddy hue to
the tip of his nose, while his figure was broad and ungainly. He threw
himself into a chair, as if he felt himself perfectly at home. "Ah,
pretty Margaret! bright and smiling as ever, I see. How I envy your
happy disposition!" he began.
"Yes, sir, I am fond of laughing," said Margaret, demurely.
"So I see. And how's grandfather?"
"Here he comes to answer for himself, sir," said Margaret, as old Ramrod
appeared, and, welcoming his guest, placed a bottle and some glasses
before him, while Margaret brought a jug of hot water and some sugar.
The eyes of the lieutenant twinkled as he saw the preparations.
"Not much duty paid on this, I suspect, Mr Ramrod," he observed, as he
smacked his lips after the first mouthful.
"Can't say, sir. They say that the revenue does not benefit from any
that's drunk in Fairport."
"A gift of our friend Buntin's, probably," hazarded the officer.
"Can't say, sir; several of my friends make me a little present now and
then. I put no mark on them."
"Oh, all right, I don't ask questions," said the lieutenant.
"By the by, I find that the `Pretty Polly' has started on another trip."
"So I hear, sir," said Ramrod.
"Can you guess where she's gone, Miss Margaret?" asked the officer.
"Piloting, I suppose, sir," answered the maiden, blushing.
"Oh, ay, yes, of course; but didn't he talk of going anywhere on the
French coast?"
"Yes, sir," answered Margaret, "he said he thought he might just look in
at Cherbourg."
"And how soon did he say he would be back?" asked the officer.
"In four or five days, sir," said Margaret.
The lieutenant was delighted with the success of his interrogations, and
at finding the maiden in so communicative a mood; so mixing a stiffer
tumbler of grog than before to heighten his own wits, he continued,
"Now, my good girl, I don't ask you to tell me any thing to injure our
friend Buntin, but did he chance to let drop before you where he
proposed to make his land-fall on his return--you understand, where he
intended to touch first before he brings the `Pretty Polly' into
Fairport?"
"Dear me, I did hear him talk of looking into--Bay; and he told Denman,
and Jones, and Tigtop, and several others to be down there," answered
Margaret, with the greatest simplicity.
"I don't think the girl knows what she's talking of, Mr Hogson,"
interposed old Ramrod, endeavouring to silence his grand-daughter. "But
of course any thing she has let drop, you won't make use of, sir."
"Oh, dear, no! of course not, my good friend," answered Mr Hogson. "I
merely asked for curiosity's sake. But I must wish you good afternoon.
I have my duties to attend to--duty before pleasure, you know, Mr
Ramrod. Good-by, Miss Margaret, my ocean lily--a good afternoon to you,
old hero of a hundred fights;" and, gulping down the contents of his
tumbler, with no very steady steps the officer took his leave.
As soon as he was gone, Ramrod scolded his grandchild for her imprudence
in speaking of Buntin's affairs.
"You don't know the injury you may have done him," he added; "but it
never does to trust a female with what you don't want known."
"Perhaps not, grandfather," said Margaret, smiling archly. "But Joe
told me that I might just let it fall, if I had an opportunity, that he
was going to run a crop at--Bay, and I could not resist the temptation
when Mr Hogson asked me, thinking I was so simple all the time. I'm
sure, however, I wish that Joe would give over smuggling altogether.
It's very wrong, I tell him, and very dangerous; but he promises me that
if he can but secure two more cargoes, he'll give it up altogether. I'm
sure I wish he would."
"So do I, girl, with all my heart; for it does not become me, an officer
of the government, to associate with one who constantly breaks the laws;
but yet, I own it, I like the lad, and wish him well."
Margaret did not express her sentiments; but the bright smile on her
lips betrayed feelings which she happily had never been taught the
necessity of controlling.
Mr Hogson esteemed himself a very sharp officer; and, as he quitted the
castle, he congratulated himself on his acuteness in discovering
Buntin's plans. He had spies in various directions, or rather, people
whom he fancied were such, though every one of them was well-known to
the smugglers, and kept in pay by them. By them the information he had
gained from Margaret was fully corroborated, and accordingly he gave the
necessary orders to watch for the cutter at the spot indicated, while he
collected a strong body of men to seize her cargo as soon as the
smugglers attempted to run it. His arrangements were made with
considerable judgment, and could not, he felt certain, fail of success,
having stationed signalmen on every height in the neighbourhood of--Bay,
to give the earliest notice of the smugglers' approach. As soon as it
was dark, he himself, with the main body of coast-guard men, all
well-armed, set off by different routes, to remain in ambush near the
spot. While they lay there, they heard several people pass them on
their way to the shore, whom they rightly conjectured were those whose
business it was to carry the tubs and bales up the cliffs to their
hides, as soon as landed. The night was very dark, for there was no
moon, and the sky was cloudy; and though there was a strong breeze,
there was not sufficient sea on to prevent a landing; in fact, it was
just the night the smugglers would take advantage of. Mr Hogson,
having stationed his men, buttoned up his pea-jacket, and drawing his
south-wester over his ears, set off along the shore to reconnoitre. He
rubbed his hands with satisfaction when he perceived a number of people
collected on the beach, and others approaching from various directions.
"I'm pretty sure of forty or fifty pounds at least," he muttered, "and
if I can but nab Master Joe himself, I'll soon bring his coy sweetheart
to terms, I warrant. Ah! the cutter must be getting in with the land,
or these people would not be assembling yet."
Just then a gleam of bright light shot forth from the cliffs, at no
great distance from where he was standing; it was answered by the gleam
of a lantern from the sea, which was instantly again obscured. He
watched with intense anxiety, without moving for some minutes, when he
thought that he observed two dark objects glancing over the waters
towards the shore. His difficulty was to select the proper moment for
his attack. If he appeared too soon, the people on shore would give
notice, and the boats would return to the cutter; if he did not reach
them directly after they touched the shore, he knew from experience that
he should certainly find them empty, a minute or two sufficing to carry
off the whole cargo. At last he had no doubt that the smugglers were at
hand; and, as fast as his legs could carry him, he hurried back to bring
up his men.
We must now return to the "Pretty Polly." Besides Joe Buntin, the crew
of the cutter consisted of Dick Davis, Tom Figgit, and Jack Calloway, as
thorough seamen as were ever collected together, and all of them
licenced pilots for the Channel, each having a share in the craft; then
there were, besides them, twice this number of men shipped on certain
occasions, who, though they received a share of the profits, had no
property in her. Joe had determined to run great risks this voyage, in
the hopes of making large profits, and had invested a large part of his
property in the venture, which his agent had prepared ready for shipment
at Cherbourg. The wind shifted round to the nor'ard, and the "Pretty
Polly" had a quick run across the Channel. The evening of the day she
left Fairport, she was riding at anchor in the magnificent harbour of
Cherbourg. As soon as they arrived, he and his mates went on shore, and
the agent, not expecting him that evening, being out of the way, they
betook themselves to a _cafe_ on the quay, overlooking the harbour. Joe
always made himself at home wherever he went, and although he had no
particular aptitude for learning languages, he managed, without any
great difficulty, to carry on a conversation in French, and his thorough
good nature and ready fund of humour gained him plenty of friends among
the members of the great nation.
The house of entertainment into which the Englishmen walked, is entitled
"Le Cafe de la Grande Nation." The room was large, and had glass doors
opening on the quay, through which a view of the harbour was obtained.
It was full of little round tables, with marble slabs, surrounded with
chairs, and the walls were ornamented with glowing pictures of naval
engagements, in which the tricolour floated proudly at the mastheads of
most of the ships, while a few crippled barks, with their masts shot
away, and their sails in tatters, had the British ensign trailing in the
water. The prospect before them was highly picturesque. Directly in
front was an old tower, the last remnant of the ancient Walls of
Cherbourg. Beyond, spread out before them, was the broad expanse of its
superb harbour, capable of containing all the fleet of France. In the
centre, where labourers were busily at work, was the breakwater, the
intended rival of Plymouth, one entrance guarded by the Fort of
Querqueville, the other by that of Pelee; and on the western shore,
guarded by numerous ranges of batteries, was the naval arsenal and
dockyard, the pride of the people of Cherbourg, and which, when
finished, is intended to surpass any thing of the kind possessed by the
_perfide Anglais_.
Joe and his friends, having ordered some _eau de vie_ and water, and
lighted their cigars, took their seats near the door. They did not
stand much on ceremony in passing their remarks on all they saw,
particularly at the men-of-war's men who were strolling about the town.
"My eyes, Dick," exclaimed Tom Figgit, "look at them fellows with their
red waistcoats and tight jackets, which look as if they were made for
lads half their size, and their trousers with their sterns in the fore
part. Just fancy them going aloft."
"They are rum enough, but, to my mind, not such queer-looking chaps as
the sodgers," answered Dick.
"Do you know, Dick, that I've often thought that a Frenchman must be
cast out of quite a different mould to an Englishman? The clothes of
one never would fit t'other. It has often puzzled me to account for
it."
"Why, Tom, it would puzzle one if one had to account for all the strange
things in the world," answered the other. "You might just as well ask
why all the women about here wear caps as big as balloons; they couldn't
tell themselves, I warrant."
Just then their conversation was broken off, that they might listen to
Joe, who had entered into a warm discussion with the boatswain, or some
such officer of one of the French ships-of-war, on the relative
qualities of their respective navies. The _salle_ was full at the time
of naval and military officers of inferior grades, douaniers,
gens-d'armes, and worthies of a similar stamp, all smoking, and
spitting, and gesticulating, and talking together.
"Comment, Monsieur Buntin," said the Frenchman; "do you mean to say that
you have got an arsenal as large as le notre de Cherbourg in the whole
of England?"
"I don't know how that may be," answered Joe, quietly; "Portsmouth isn't
small, and Plymouth isn't small, but perhaps we don't require them so
big. We get our enemies to build ships for us."
"Bah," exclaimed the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders; "les perfides!"
Just then a fine frigate was seen rounding Point Querqueville. Like a
stately swan slowly she glided through the water till, when she
approached the town, her rigging was crowded with men, her courses were
clewed up, her topsails and topgallant-sails were furled, and she swung
round to her anchor. She was a model of symmetry and beauty, and the
Frenchmen looked on with admiration.
"There," exclaimed Joe's friend, "n'est-ce pas que c'est belle? Have
you got a ship in the whole English navy like her?"
"I don't know," answered Joe, innocently. "But if there came a war, we
very soon should, I can tell you."
"Comment?" said the Frenchman.
"Why you see, monsieur, we should have she."
"Sare!" exclaimed half a dozen Frenchmen, starting up and drawing their
swords. "Do you mean to insult La Grande Nation?"
Whereupon Tom Figgit and Dick Davis, though they did not exactly
comprehend the cause of offence, jumped up also, and prepared for a
skirmish, which might have ended somewhat seriously for the three
Englishmen, had not Joe's agent at that moment appeared and acted as a
pacificator between them, Joe assuring them that he had no intention of
insulting them or any one of their nation, and that he had merely said
what he thought would be the case.
Joe did not spend a longer time than was absolutely necessary at
Cherbourg, and as soon as he got his cargo on board, the "Pretty Polly"
was once more under way for England. Her hold was stowed with much
valuable merchandise, chiefly silks, laces, and spirits. She had also
on deck a number of empty tubs, and a few bales filled with straw. As
soon as he had got clear of the land, the wind, which had at first been
southerly, shifted to the south-west, and it soon came on to blow very
fresh. This he calculated would bring him upon the English coast at too
early an hour for his purpose, so when he had run about two-thirds of
his distance, he lay to, with his foresail to windward, waiting for the
approach of evening.
As he walked the deck of his little vessel, with Tom Figgit by his side,
he every now and then broke into a low quiet laugh. At last he gave
vent to his thoughts in words.
"If we don't do the revenue this time, Tom, say I'm no better than one
of them big-sterned mounsieurs. What a rage that dirty spy, Hogson,
will be in! Ha, ha, ha! It's a pleasure to think of it."
Tom fully participated in all his leader's sentiments, and by their
light-hearted gaiety one might have supposed that they had some amusing
frolic in view, instead of an undertaking full of peril to their
personal liberty and property. All this time a man was stationed at the
masthead to keep a look-out in every direction, that no revenue-cruiser
should approach them without due notice, to enable them to get out of
her way.
We must now return to Lieutenant Hogson. As soon as he felt certain
that the boats had landed, he hurried down with his men to the beach.
His approach was apparently not perceived, and while the smugglers were
actively engaged in loading themselves with tubs and bales of goods, he
was among them.
"Stand and deliver, in the king's name," he shouted out, collaring the
first smuggler he could lay hands on, his men following his example.
For a moment the smugglers appeared to be panic-struck by the suddenness
of the attack; but soon recovering themselves, as many as were at
liberty threw down their loads and made their escape.
"Seize the boats," he added. "Here, take charge of this prisoner." And
rushing into the water, he endeavoured to capture the boat nearest to
him; but just as he had got his hand on her gunnel, the people in her,
standing up with their oars in their hands, gave her so hearty a shove,
that, lifting on the next wave, she glided out into deep water, while he
fell with his face into the surf, from which he had some difficulty in
recovering himself with a thorough drenching; the other boat getting off
in the same manner. In the mean time, signals had been made by the
revenue-men stationed on the neighbouring heights, that the expected run
had been attempted, and the coast-guard officers and their people from
the nearest stations hurried up to participate in the capture. Some
came by land, while others launched their boats in the hopes of cutting
off the "Pretty Polly" in case she should not have discharged the whole
of her cargo.
With muffled oars and quick strokes they pulled across the bay; but if
they expected to catch Joe Buntin, or the "Pretty Polly," they certainly
were disappointed; for although they pulled about in every direction
till daylight, not a sign or trace of her did they discover. Not so
unfortunate, however, was Lieutenant Hogson, for although he did not
capture his rival, he made a large seizure of tubs, and several bales of
silk, as he supposed, and a considerable number of prisoners, which
would altogether bring him in no small amount of prize-money. One
prisoner he made afforded him considerable satisfaction. It was no
other than Tom Figgit, who, having jumped out of the boat with a tub on
his back, was seized before he had time to disengage himself from his
load, and this, with many a grimace, he was now compelled to carry.
"I hope you've made up your mind for a year in Winchester jail, Master
Tom," said Mr Hogson, holding a lantern up to his face. "It isn't the
first time you've seen its inside, I warrant."
"It would be, though; and what's more, I intend to spend my Christmas
with my wife and family," answered Tom, doggedly.
The prisoners were now collected, and marched up to the nearest
coast-guard station, but there were so many tubs and bales that the
coast-guard men were obliged to load themselves heavily with them; for
it was found that should only a small guard be left to take charge of
them, the smugglers would carry them off. The wind whistled coldly, the
rain came down in torrents, and the revenue people and their prisoners
had a very disagreeable march through the mud up to the station, Tom
Figgit being the only person who retained his spirits and his temper--
though he grumbled in a comical way at being compelled to carry a tub
for other people, and insisted that he should retain it for his trouble
at the end of his journey. When he reached the guard-house, he slyly
tumbled the tub off his shoulders, and down it came on the ground with
so heavy a blow that it was stove in. The names of the prisoners were
now taken down in due form, and they were told they must be locked up
till they could be carried before a magistrate, and be committed to jail
for trial. As soon as the officer had done speaking,--
"Please, sir," said Tom, "there's one of the tubs leaking dreadfully,
and if it isn't looked to, it will all have run out before the morning;
though for the matter of that, it doesn't smell much like spirits."
"Bring me a glass," said the lieutenant, who, wet and cold, was longing
to have a drop of spirits. "I'll soon pass an opinion on your _eau de
vie_, Master Tom."
Tom smiled, but said nothing, while one of the men brought a glass and
broached the leaky tub.
"Show a light here," said Tom. "Well, I can't say as how it's got much
of the smell of spirits--hang me, if I can make it out."
Tom filled the glass, and, with a profound bow, worthy of a Mandarin,
presented it to the officer. Lieutenant Hogson was thirsty, and,
without even smelling the potion, he gulped it down.
"Salt water, by George!" he exclaimed, furiously, spitting and
spluttering it out with all his might, and giving every expression to
his disgust.
Tom, forgetful of the respect due to a king's officer, burst into a fit
of uproarious laughter.
"Well, I warned you, sir. I told you there was something odd about it--
ha, ha, ha--and now you find what I said was true--ha, ha, ha!"
"What do you mean, you scoundrel?" cried the lieutenant, stamping
furiously. "How dare you play such a trick?"
"Nothing, sir, nothing," answered Tom, coolly; "you see I should have
been very much surprised if there had been any thing else but salt
water; for you see we was bringing those tubs on shore, full of
sea-water, for a poor old lady who lives some way inland, and her
doctors ordered her to try sea-bathing on the coast of France; but as
she couldn't go there herself, you see, she has the water carried all
the way from there to here. It's a fancy she has, but it's very natural
and regular, and we get well paid for it, sir."
"Do you, Master Tom, actually expect me to believe such a pack of gross
lies?" stammered out the lieutenant, as well as his rage would let him.
"I don't know, sir," answered the smuggler; "some people believe one
thing, some another, and I hope you won't think of keeping us here any
longer, seeing as how we've done nothing against the law in landing tubs
of salt water for old Missis Grundy up at Snigses Farm, sir. You may
just go and axe her if what I says isn't as true as gospel. It might be
the death of her if she didn't get her salt water to bathe in, you know,
sir."
"Old Missis Grundy! I never heard of her before," exclaimed the
lieutenant, growing every moment more angry; "and Snigses Farm, where's
that, I should like to know?"
"Why, sir, you see it's two or three miles off, and rather a difficult
road to find," answered Tom, winking at his companions. "You first go
up the valley, then you turn down by Waterford Mill, next you keep up by
Dead Man's Lane, and across Carver's Field, and that will bring you
about a quarter of the distance."
"Why, you scoundrel!" exclaimed the lieutenant, who recognised the names
of these places, and knew them to be wide apart, "you impudent rogue,
you--why, you are laughing at me!"
"Oh, no, sir," answered Tom, demurely, pulling a lock which hung from
his bullet-shaped head, "couldn't think of laughing at you; besides,
sir, you knows one can't always make one's face as long as a
grave-digger's apprentice's."
"I'll make it long enough before I've done with you, Master Tom, let me
tell you," exclaimed the officer. "Now let us see what are in those
other casks and bales."
"What, all them that your people have had the trouble of carrying up
here?" cried Tom. "Lord! sir, the tubs, of course, is all full of salt
water, too, for Missis Grundy."
"We shall soon see that, my fine fellow," answered the officer, thinking
Tom had only told the tale to annoy him; but to make sure, seizing a
gimlet, with his own hands he broached tub after tub, his face
elongating as he proceeded, and the visions of his prize-money gradually
vanished from his eyes. Tom and the other smugglers looking on all the
time with a derisive smile curling their lips, though prudence prevented
their saying any thing which might further exasperate the lieutenant.
At last, with an angry oath, he threw down the gimlet. They one and all
contained nothing more potent than salt water. He then, with eager
haste, anticipating disaster, tore open the bales. They were composed
solely of straw and a little packing cloth.
"Them be life-buoys, sir," said Tom, quietly. "We carries them now
always, by the recommendation of the Humane Society."
The smugglers now burst into fits of laughter at the rage and
disappointment of the outwitted officer, and even his own men could
scarcely restrain their tittering at his extravagances. There was,
however, not a shadow of excuse for detaining the smugglers. They had a
full right to land empty tubs and life-buoys at any hour of the night,
and they had not offered the slightest resistance when captured by the
coast-guard. In fact, as Tom expressed it while narrating his
adventures with high glee to Joe Buntin, they "fairly did the revenue."
The next morning, the "Pretty Polly" appeared beating up towards
Fairport, and before noon she was at her moorings, and Joe was
exhibiting a variety of pretty presents to the delighted eyes of Miss
Margaret Ramrod. Rumours were not long in reaching her ears that one of
the largest runs which had been known for ages had been made on the
coast at some little distance from Fairport, the very night Lieutenant
Hogson seized the tubs of salt water; and Joe confessed that he had only
one more trip to make before he settled for life.
We need not detail the events of the next few days in the quiet town of
Fairport. Those we have narrated served for conversation to the good
people for full nine days, and during that time poor Mr Hogson never
once ventured to show his face inside the castle-walls, for he had a
strong suspicion, though an unjust one, that pretty Mistress Margaret
had something to do with his disappointment. For her credit, however,
we are certain that she was innocent of any intentional falsehood. Joe
suspected that Mr Hogson would attempt to pump her; so, as we have seen
the contents of a bucket of water thrown down a ship's pump to make it
suck, Joe took care that the lieutenant should get something for his
pains, by telling the young lady to answer, if she was asked, that she
had heard him say that he intended landing at--Bay.
For the three following weeks Joe Buntin contrived to spend several days
on shore in the society of Sergeant Ramrod's family, though the "Pretty
Polly" during that time made several trips down Channel, and was very
successful in falling in with some large East Indiamen, the pilotage
money of which was considerable; and besides that she landed several
rich passengers who paid well, so that Joe was rapidly becoming a
wealthy man. He would have been wise to stick to his lawful and regular
calling; but there was so much excitement in smuggling, and the profits
of one trip were so much more than he could gain in several winters'
hard toil, that he could not resist the temptation. Had he taken the
trouble of comparing himself with others, he would, we suspect, have
considered himself a more honest man than the railroad speculators of
the present day.
It was again the last quarter of the moon, and the nights were getting
dark, when the "Pretty Polly" once more left her moorings in Fairport
Harbour. Now it must not be supposed that she ran over at once to the
coast of France, and taking in a cargo, returned as fast as she could to
England. Joe was not so green as to do that. He, on the contrary, as
before, cruised about the Channel till he had put two of his pilots on
board different vessels, and, to disarm suspicion, they took very good
care to present themselves at Fairport as soon after their return as
possible; and even Mr Hogson began to fear that there was very little
prospect of making prize-money by capturing the "Pretty Polly," or of
wreaking his vengeance on Joe.
As soon as the last ship into which he had put a pilot was out of sight,
Joe shaped his course for Cherbourg, where he found a cargo of tubs
ready for him, but he this time did not take any silks in his venture.
In a few hours he was again on his way across the Channel. The weather
was very favourable. Now some people would suppose that we mean to say
there was a clear sky, a smooth sea, and a gentle breeze. Far from it.
It blew so fresh that it might almost be called half a gale of wind; the
clouds chased each other over the sky, and threatened to obscure even
the stars, which might shed a tell-tale light on the world, and there
was a heavy sea running; in truth, it gave every promise of being a
dirty night. Nothing, however, in this sublunary world can be depended
upon except woman's love, and that is durable as adamant, true as the
pole-star, and unequalled. The "Pretty Polly" was about fifteen miles
from the land, and Joe and Tom Figgit were congratulating themselves on
the favourable state of the weather, when the breeze began to fall and
veer about, and at last shifted round to about east-south-east.
Gradually the sea went down, the clouds cleared off, and the sun shone
forth from the blue sky bright and warm.
"Now this is what I call a do," exclaimed Tom Figgit, in a tone of
discontent. "Who'd have thought it? Here were we expecting the finest
night Heaven ever made for a run at this time of the year, and now I
shouldn't be surprised that there won't be a cloud in the sky just as we
ought to be putting the things on shore."
"It can't be helped, Tom," answered Joe; "our good-luck has not done
with us yet, depend on it."
"I wish I was sure of it," replied Tom, who was in a desponding mood;--
he had taken too much cognac the night before. "Remember the story
about the pitcher going too often to the well getting a cracked nose.
Now, captain, if I was you I'd just 'bout ship and run back to Cherbourg
till the weather thickens again. We should lay our course."
"Gammon, Tom. What's the matter with you?" exclaimed Joe. "One would
suppose that you had been and borrowed one of your wife's petticoats,
and was going to turn old woman."
"You know, captain, that I've very little of an old woman about me, and
that it's for you I'm afeared more than for myself," replied Tom, in a
reproachful tone. "A year in jail and the loss of a few pounds is the
worst that could happen to me, while you would lose the vessel and
cargo, and something else you lay more value on than either, I suspect."
"Well, well, old boy, we'll be guided by reason," said Joe. "We won't
run any unnecessary risks, depend on it. I'll just take a squint round
with the glass to make sure that no cruiser has crept up to us with this
shift of wind."
Saying this, Joe carefully swept the horizon with his telescope, but for
some time it rested on nothing but the dancing sea and the distant land.
At last, however, his eye caught a glimpse of what, to him, appeared a
very suspicious-looking sail dead to windward.
"What do you make her out to be?" he asked, handing the glass to Tom
Figgit, and pointing towards the sail, which appeared no bigger than a
sea-gull's wing gleaming in the rays of the sun. Tom took a long look
at her.
"She's a big cutter, and no mistake," he answered, still keeping his eye
to the tube. "And what's more, she's standing this way, and coming up
hand over hand with a fresh breeze. I don't like the cut of her jib."
"Let's have another squint at her," said Joe, taking the glass from the
mate's hand: then letting it come down suddenly, and giving a slap on
his thigh, he exclaimed, "You are right, Tom, by George; and what's
more, if I don't mistake by the way her gaff-topsail stands, she's the
`Ranger' cutter which we gave the go-by in the winter, and they've vowed
vengeance against us ever since."
Davis and Calloway then gave their opinion, which coincided with the
rest, nor did there appear to be any doubt that the approaching vessel
was the "Ranger."
The wind, as we said, had fallen, but there was still a considerable
swell, the effects of the past gale, which made the little vessel pitch
and tumble about, and considerably retarded her progress. Joe now
scanned his own sails thoroughly to see that they drew well, and then
glanced his eye over the side of the cutter to judge how fast she was
going through the water. He was far from satisfied with the result of
his observations.
"It won't do," he remarked; "we must be up slick, and run for it, or
she'll be overhauling us before dark. If we was blessed with the breeze
she's got, we wouldn't mind her. Rig out the square-sail boom, bend on
the square-sail. Come, bear a hand my hearties, be quick about it.
None of us have much fancy for a twelvemonth in Winchester jail, I
suppose. That'll do; now hoist away."
And himself setting an example of activity, the helm being put up, the
main-sheet was eased off, a large square-sail set, and the cutter, dead
before the wind, was running away from her supposed enemy. The
square-topsail was next hoisted, and every stitch of canvas she could
carry was clapped on, and under the influence of the returning breeze,
the "Pretty Polly" danced merrily over the waters, though not at all
approaching to the speed her impatient crew desired. Tom Figgit shook
his head.
"I thought it would be so," he muttered. "I knowed it when I seed the
wind dropping. Well, if it weren't for Joe, and to see that blowed
coastguarder, Hogson, a-grinning at us, and rubbing his paws with
delight, I shouldn't care. If we might fight for it it would be a
different thing, but to be caught like mice by a cat, without a squeak
for life, is very aggrawating, every one must allow."
Tom had some reason for his melancholy forebodings, for the "Pretty
Polly" most certainly appeared to be out of luck. Do all she could, the
"Ranger," bringing up a fresh breeze, gained rapidly on her. The people
in the revenue-cruiser had evidently seen her soon after she saw them,
and, suspecting her character, had been using every exertion to come up
with her. They had, in fact, long been on the watch for her, and
quickly recognised her as their old friend. The smugglers walked the
deck, vainly whistling for a wind, but, though they all whistled in
concert, the partial breeze refused to swell their sails till it had
filled those of their enemy. Nothing they could do, either wetting
their sails, or altering her trim by shifting the cargo, would make the
"Pretty Polly" go along faster. One great object was to retain a
considerable distance from her till darkness covered the face of the
deep, when they might hope more easily to make their escape.
As the sun went down the heavens grew most provokingly clear, and the
stars shone forth from the pure sky, so that the smugglers saw and were
seen by the revenue-cutter, and the character of the "Pretty Polly" was
too well-known by every cruiser on the station to allow her to hope to
escape unquestioned. Still Joe boldly held on his course. He never
withdrew his eye from his pursuer, in order to be ready to take
advantage of the slightest change in her proceedings, but he soon saw
that he must make the best use of his heels and his wits, or lose his
cargo. Poor Joe, he thought of his charming Margaret, he thought of his
good resolutions, he thought of Tom's evil prognostications, but he was
not a fellow to be daunted at trifles, and he still trusted that
something in the chapter of accidents would turn up to enable him to
escape.
The breeze at last came up with the "Pretty Polly," but at the same time
the "Ranger" drew still nearer. All their means of expediting her
movements had been exhausted, every inch of canvas she could carry was
spread aloft, and even below the main-boom and square-sail-boom water
sails had been extended, so that the craft looked like a large sea-bird,
with a small black body, skimming, with outspread wings, along the
surface of the deep. The land, at no great distance, laid broad on
their beam to the starboard. With anger and vexation they saw that all
their efforts to save their cargo would probably be fruitless.
"It can't be helped, my lads," cried Joe; "better luck next time. In
with all that light canvas. Be smart about it, stand by the square-sail
halliards--lower away; hoist the foresail again; down with the helm,
Bill, while we get a pull at the main-sheet. We must run into shoal
water and sink the tubs. It will come to that, I see."
As Joe said, there was no time to lose, for the revenue-cruiser was now
a little more than a mile distant, looming large in the fast-increasing
obscurity of night. There promised, however, to be too much light
during the night for them to hope to elude the sharp and practised eyes
of her lookouts. While the smuggler, with the wind nearly abeam, was
running in for the land, her crew were busily employed in getting the
tubs on deck, and slinging them in long lines together, with heavy
weights attached, over the side, so as to be able, by cutting a single
lanyard, to let them all sink at once. No sooner did they alter their
course than their pursuer did the same. They had, at all events, gained
the important advantage of escaping being overhauled in daylight. They
now stood steadily on till they got within a quarter of a mile of the
land, the revenue-cutter not having gained materially on them. By this
time every tub was either on deck or over the side.
"Starboard the helm a little, Tom--steady now!" sung out Joe; "we'll
have the marks on directly; I can just make out Pucknose Knoll and
Farleigh church steeple. Now mind, when I sing out cut, cut all of
you."
It was not without some difficulty that the points he mentioned could be
distinguished, and none but eyes long accustomed to peer through
darkness could have seen objects on the shore at all. His aim was to
bring certain marks on the shore in two lines to bisect each other, at
which point the tubs were to be sunk, thus enabling him to find them
again at a future day.
"Starboard again a little, Tom--steady now--that will do--luff you may,
luff--I have it. Cut now, my hearties, cut!" he exclaimed, and the next
moment a heavy splash told that all the tubs slung outside had been cut
away, and sunk to the bottom. "Stand by to heave the rest overboard,"
he continued, and a minute afterwards, with fresh bearings, the
remainder of the cargo was committed to the deep. "Now let's haul up
for Fairport, and get home to comfort our wives and sweethearts. Better
luck next time."
With this philosophical observation, Joe buttoned up his pea-jacket, and
twisted his red comforter round his neck, determined to make himself
comfortable, and to bear his loss like a man. By the "Pretty Polly's"
change of course she soon drew near the "Ranger," when a shot from one
of the guns of the latter came flying over her masthead. On this
significant notice that the cruiser wished to speak to her, Joe, not
being anxious for a repetition of the message, let fly his jib-sheet,
and his cutter coming round on the other tack, he kept his foresail to
windward and his helm down, thus remaining almost stationary. A boat
soon pulled alongside with the mate of the cruiser, who, with his crew,
each carrying a lantern, overhauled every part of the vessel's hold, but
not even a drop of brandy was to be found, nor a quid of tobacco.
"Sorry, sir, you've taken all this trouble," said Joe, touching his hat
to the officer. "I thought, sir, you know'd we was a temp'rance
vessel."
It was diamond cut diamond. The officer looked at Joe, and burst out
laughing, though disappointed at not making a seizure.
"Tell that to the marines, Mister Buntin," he answered. "If you hadn't,
half an hour ago, enough spirits on board to make the whole ship's
company of a line-of-battle ship as drunk as fiddlers, I'm a Dutchman."
"I can't help, sir, what you thinks," replied Joe, humbly; "but I
suppose you won't detain us? We wants to get to Fairport to-night, to
drink tea with our wives and nurse our babies."
"You may go, my fine fellow, and we will bring in your tubs in the
morning," answered the mate, as he stepped into his boat.
"Thank ye, sir," said Joe, making a polite bow, but looking very much
inclined to expedite his departure with a kick, but discretion withheld
him.
"Let draw!" he sang out in a voice which showed the true state of his
feelings, beneath his assumed composure; "now about with her."
In a short time after, the "Pretty Polly" was safely moored in Fairport
River.
The next morning at daybreak, the "Ranger" was seen hovering in rather
dangerous proximity to the spot where the tubs had been sunk. She was
then observed to get her dredges out, and to be groping evidently for
the hidden treasures. In the course of the day, Joe and his crew had
the mortification to see her come into the harbour with the greater part
of their cargo on board. Of course they all looked as innocent as if
none of them had ever before seen a tub, for there was nothing to betray
them, though it was not pleasant to see their property in the hands of
others. The revenue-cutter then hauling alongside the quay, sent all
the tubs she had on board up to the castle, where they were shut up
securely while she went back to grope for more.
Joe watched all these proceedings with apparently calm indifference,
walking up and down all the time on the quay, with a short pipe in his
mouth, and his hands in his pockets. No sooner, however, had darkness
set in, than he and his companions might have been seen consulting
earnestly together, and going round to the most trustworthy of their
acquaintance. What was the subject of their consultations may hereafter
be guessed at. Their plans, whatever they were, were soon matured, and
then Joe repaired to pay his accustomed visit to Sergeant Ramrod and his
grand-daughter.
Joe Buntin was, as I have hinted, not the only lover Margaret Ramrod
possessed, which was, of course, no fault of hers. One of them, for
there might have been half-a-dozen at least, was James Lawson, a
coast-guard man, belonging to Fairport; and if he was aware that he was
a rival of his superior officer it did not afflict him. As it happened,
he was stationed at the castle to guard the tubs which had been captured
in the morning. Having seen that every thing was safe, he soon grew
tired of watching on the top of the castle, for it was a dark, cold
night, with a thick, driving rain, and a high wind, so he persuaded
himself that there could be no harm looking into Sergeant Ramrod's snug
room, lighted up by pretty Margaret's bright eyes, and warmed by a
blazing fire. The sergeant welcomed him cordially, and Margaret mixed
him a glass of hot brandy and water, while discussing which, a knock was
heard at the castle-gate, on which Mistress Margaret, throwing her apron
over her head, ran out to admit the visitors. She was absent a minute
or more; probably she had some difficulty in again closing the gates on
so windy a night: at last she returned, followed by no less a person
than Joe Buntin, and his shadow, Tom Figgit.
A smile stole over Margaret's pretty mouth as she watched Joe, who
looked as fierce as he could at Lawson, and by Ramrod's invitation, sat
himself down directly opposite the revenue-man. Lawson was not to be
stared out of countenance, so, notwithstanding Joe's angry glances, he
firmly kept his post. Tom Figgit quietly sipped his grog, eyeing Lawson
all the time much in the way that a cat does a mouse she is going to
devour, so that at last the revenue-man, feeling himself rather
uncomfortable, he scarcely knew why, helped himself thoughtlessly to
another stiff glass. Joe laughed and talked for all the party, and told
several capital stories, contriving in the interval to whisper a word
into Margaret's ear, at which she looked down and laughed slyly. She
was soon afterwards seen filling up the coast-guard man's glass, only by
mistake she poured in Hollands instead of water. The error was not
discovered, and Lawson became not only very sagacious, but brave in the
extreme. After some time he recollected that it was his duty to keep a
look-out from the top of the castle, and accordingly rose to resume his
post. Joe on this jumped up also, and wishing the old couple and their
grand-daughter good-night, took his departure, followed by Tom; Sergeant
Ramrod and Lawson closing the gates securely behind them.
No sooner were Joe and his mate outside the walls than they darted down
a small alley which led to the water, and at a little sheltered slip
they found a boat, with a coil of rope and some blocks stowed away in
the stern-sheets. Joe, giving a peculiarly low whistle, two other men
appeared crawling from under a boat, which had been turned with the keel
uppermost on the beach, and then all four jumping in, pulled round
underneath the castle-wall to a nook, where they could not be observed
from the quay even in the daytime.
It was, as we have mentioned, blowing and raining, and as dark as pitch,
so that our friends had no reason to complain of the weather. After
feeling about for some time, Joe discovered a small double line, to
which he fastened one of the stouter ropes, and hauling away on one end
of it, brought it back again into the boat. Who had rove the small line
we cannot say, but we fear that there was a little traitor in the
garrison; perhaps Joe or Tom had contrived to do it before they entered
the sergeant's sitting-room.
"Hold on fast," Joe whispered to his comrades; "I'll be up in a moment."
Saying this, he climbed up the rope, and soon had his face flush with
the summit of the castle-walls. Looking round cautiously, he observed
no one, so he climbed over the parapet, and advanced across the platform
to the top of a flight of steps which communicated with the lower part
of the building. He looked over the railing, but his eyes could not
pierce the gloom, so he descended the steps, and had the satisfaction to
find Lawson fast asleep at the bottom of them, sheltered from the rain
by one of the arches. "All's right: he won't give us much trouble, at
all events," he muttered to himself; and returning to the parapet he
summoned his companions. Two other boats had now joined the first, and,
one after the other, twelve smugglers scaled the walls. Others were, it
must be understood, watching at various points in the neighbourhood, to
give the earliest notice of the approach of the coast-guard. Joe
stationed two men by the side of Lawson to bind and gag him if he awoke,
which he was not likely to do, while the rest proceeded with their work.
They soon contrived to break open the door of the store, opening from
the platform, where the tubs had been deposited; then each man, carrying
one at a time, like ants at their work, they transported them to the
parapet of the castle-wall. From thence, with great rapidity, they were
lowered into the boats, and then conveyed round to the foot of a garden
belonging to an uninhabited house, which, of course, had the character
of being haunted by spirits. Joe and his friends worked with a will, as
much delighted with the thought of doing the revenue as at recovering
their property.
The greater number had been thus secured when the rain ceased, and the
clouds driving away, the smugglers were afraid of being seen by their
opponents. They therefore secured the door of the nearly empty store,
and all descending, unrove the rope from the breech of the gun to which
it had been fastened, so as to leave no trace of their proceedings.
The next morning Lawson, on recovering from his tipsy slumbers, seeing
the door closed, reported that all was right. Mr Hogson was the first
person to make the discovery that all was wrong, and his astonishment
and rage may be more easily imagined than described. Nearly every tub
of the rich prize had disappeared; and the lieutenant swore he was
certain that wicked little vixen, Margaret Ramrod, had something to do
with it.
Neither Sergeant Ramrod nor Lawson could in any way account for it; and
as it would have been a subject of mirth to all their brother-officers,
who would not have shared in the prize, the authorities of Fairport
thought it wiser not to say much on the subject. Several persons were
suspected of having had a hand in the transaction; but the smugglers
were known to be too true to each other to afford the remotest chance of
discovering the culprits.
Soon after this Joe Buntin married Margaret Ramrod; and, wonderful to
relate, forswore smuggling ever after. Whether her persuasions, or from
finding it no longer profitable, had most influence, is not known; at
all events, he is now one of the most successful and active pilots
belonging to Fairport, and though he does not mention names, he is very
fond, among other stories, of telling how a certain friend of his did
the revenue.
As soon as old Sleet had finished his story, which was much more
effective when told by him than as it now stands written down by me, he
scraped his right foot back, made a swing with his hat, and was rolling
forward, when Hearty cried out, "Stop, stop, old friend, your lips want
moistening after that long yarn, I'm sure. What will you have,
champagne, or claret, or sherry, or brandy, or rum, or--"
The honest seaman grinned from ear to ear.
"Grog," he answered, emphatically. "There's nothing like that to my
mind, Mr Hearty. It's better nor all your French washes put together."
Due praise was bestowed on Joe Buntin's history, but he evidently
thought the extra glass of grog he had won of far more value.
"Health to you, gentlemen and ladies all, and may this sweet craft never
want a master nor a mistress either," he rapped out; then fearing he had
said something against propriety, he rolled away to join his messmates
forward.