of a local or of a temporary nature, which may make restrictions
expedient. However, you and I Emily are not _legislators_. _Our_
business is to obey the laws of our country, even if they should happen
to be not quite consistent with our own notions of political
[oe]conomy.--But I must just add one or two observations upon the
articles which you ladies are the most fond of smuggling. The
prohibition of French and Italian silks was intended for the
encouragement of our home manufacturers; especially the silk weavers in
Spitalfields. You have often heard of the distress and poverty of those
poor people. By buying foreign silk in preference to British, you, to a
certain degree, add to that distress, and rob them of the encouragement,
which they are entitled to by law. Of late, I believe, that branch of
our manufactures has been in a flourishing state, and that the silk
weavers are not only fully employed, but that they manufacture silks
quite equal to those from abroad. If so, the ladies who smuggle them
have no inducement but the pleasure of doing what is forbidden. The
French and Italians you know, have advantages in the production of the
raw material, which we have not; and it seems reasonable to give our own
countrymen some protection to countervail those advantages.--So again
with respect to gloves, and lace. One of the principal difficulties
which in these times we have to contend with, is the difficulty of
finding employment for our overflowing population. Glove-making and
lace-making furnish employment for our poor women; employment the more
desirable, inasmuch as they follow it at their own homes. If you knew
how eagerly multitudes of your own sex catch at any employment, by which
they can earn but a few shillings a week, both your patriotism and your
benevolence would render you unwilling to deprive them of it. For you,
Emily, with your warm and affectionate heart, are not one of those who
would annihilate all distinctions of kindred and country, in a vague
idea of universal benevolence.
"But, after all," continued the Admiral, "perhaps my principal objection
to your smuggling is the encouragement, which you thereby give to the
poor fellows, who follow this dangerous and illegal occupation. The
habit of living in constant opposition to the laws is not only criminal
in itself, but has a most injurious effect upon the whole of a man's
character. I have just given you credit for some feelings of patriotism,
but you know that these feelings seldom exist in the breast of a
smuggler. We have Buonaparte's testimony, that, during the war, they
were constantly employed in traitorously giving intelligence to the
enemy; and in assisting the escape of the French prisoners of war. This
is bad enough; but we all know how frequently they are guilty of crimes
of a still higher description, of the dreadful crime of murder itself.
And are you lady-smugglers quite sure that you are clear of all
participation in this accumulated guilt? The receiver of stolen goods is
deemed by the law the accessary of the thief: and is not the purchaser
of smuggled goods in some degree an accessary of the smugglers? Besides,
if you knew the distress and misery which smuggling often occasions to
the families of those engaged in it, you could not, I think, encourage
it."
The sisters felt the force of this latter argument more deeply than
their father was aware of. They were both silent. At length Emily said,
"Come, cousin Henry, cannot you put in a word to help us?"
"To help you?" replied he; "no indeed:" and then added gravely, "But I
am sure, that my dear cousins will not continue smuggling, while I and
my brave fellows are daily hazarding our lives for its prevention."
Emily looked down, while her face and neck became scarlet, and a long
pause ensued. The Admiral felt that enough had been said, and was
endeavouring to change the conversation to some other subject, when a
servant opened the door, and said to Henry, "You are wanted, if you
please, Sir."
He went out, and returning in a few minutes, said to his uncle, "I must
be off directly. A large smuggling lugger has been for some time
hovering off the coast, and we have reason to believe, that they mean
to land their cargo to-night in Romney Marsh, in spite of us. One of my
brother officers has sent me word, that a number of men from a
considerable distance inland are getting together with their led horses,
and that he apprehends that they will muster one or two hundred. We, of
course, must join forces to be a match for them; so good night."
He affectionately shook hands with the Admiral and the two sisters, and
went out. The door had hardly closed, when he came back, and a second
time, taking Emily's hand, said, "You are not angry with me for what I
said?" "Angry, oh no!" He pressed her hand in his, and disappeared.
In less than five minutes, he was in his boat. Two of his men waited on
the beach to shove him off, and then jumping in, they pulled stoutly to
the westward. The moon shone brightly, the water sparkled on their oars,
and the clean white sides of the boat were reflected brilliantly on the
waves.
They had passed Hithe, and were nearly off Dimchurch, when they saw the
lugger at some distance from them getting under weigh. By the assistance
of her sweeps, and that of a favourable breeze which had just sprung
up, she was soon out of sight. Five boats had just completed their
second trip, and were beginning to land the remainder of her cargo.
The beach presented an animated scene of activity and bustle. Several
horsemen, each with one or more led horses, were gallopping down the
beach, making the pebbles fly around them in all directions. One of
their light carts was disappearing behind the mound of earth, which at
high water forms a sort of barrier against the sea; a second was
labouring up the steep bank of shingles; and two others were just
quitting the water's edge. A considerable number of men on foot, each
with a tub slung at his back, were hurrying from the shore. The men in
the boats were clearing them of the remainder of their cargo as fast as
possible; while others were loading with tubs the horses which had just
reached them.
At some distance to the right, Lieutenant Stanwick, to his surprise and
indignation, discovered a pretty strong party of king's men in a state
of inaction, and apparently uncertain what to do. The fact was, that the
smugglers had posted behind the sea bank, which served as a breastwork,
two strong parties of sixty or seventy men each, one on each side of the
passage leading to the sea. These parties, being well provided with
fire-arms, rendered any attempt to approach the carrying party extremely
hazardous. Stanwick made his men pull right for the shore; but the
moment the boat touched the ground, they were received with a volley of
musketry, discharged by an invisible enemy. The balls whistled over
their heads, but from the lowness of their position not a man was
touched.
They immediately leaped on shore, and advanced rapidly towards the spot
from which the fire proceeded. A second volley more destructive than the
first arrested their progress. Three of their number fell; one killed on
the spot, and two dangerously wounded. Stanwick himself received a
bullet in his left arm, which shattered the bone a little above the
elbow.
The men for a moment hesitated, and seemed almost disposed to retreat.
Their commander, however, having contrived to support his arm in the
breast of his jacket, again pressed forward, calling to his men, "Come,
my lads, don't let us be beat by a parcel of smugglers!" At the same
moment they were joined by the other party of seamen, and both uniting
together, soon came to close quarters with the motley, but resolute,
band of men, who were opposed to them.
The vigour of their attack made the smugglers give ground; but as they
were almost immediately supported by the party from the other side of
the road, the combat was renewed. The seamen fought with the most
determined gallantry, but were so greatly outnumbered, that they were in
some danger of being overpowered, when they heard the trampling of
horses rapidly approaching, and saw the glittering of arms in the
moon-light. The alarm had been given at the barracks, and a troop of
dragoons had been immediately ordered out, who had been directed by the
firing to the scene of action. The smugglers, who, by this time, had
nearly secured the whole of their cargo, commenced a hasty retreat,
leaving three of their number killed.
For a short distance, they kept the public road; then turning suddenly
to the right, crossed a broad ditch by means of a light wooden bridge,
or pontoon, which was ready prepared for that purpose; and continued
their flight across the marsh. The cavalry came up in time to make
prisoners of two of the gang, who having been slightly wounded, had not
kept up with the rest: but they found the bridge removed.
The three foremost of the dragoons, without hesitation, spurred their
horses at the ditch. One of them swerved to the left; another came
against the opposite bank and fell back upon his rider, who extricated
himself with difficulty from his perilous situation. The third leaped
short, and came into the ditch on his legs: he floundered on for a short
way in the mud, the dragoon preserving his seat as steadily as if he had
been on parade, until a low place in the bank enabled him to scramble
back to his companions. The moon was now setting, and farther pursuit
appeared to be not only useless, but dangerous.
The excitement occasioned by the short but vigorous conflict having
ceased, Henry Stanwick found his strength beginning to fail. Exhausted
by pain and fatigue, and faint from the loss of blood, he sunk down on
the sea bank. One of his men, however, quickly contrived to tap one of
the kegs, which had been dropped in the confusion, and gave him a small
quantity of brandy, by which he was a good deal revived. As his men were
anxiously proffering assistance, "Never mind me," said he, "I am only
hurt in the arm, and shall do well enough; but there's a poor fellow
there, who stands much more in need of assistance than I do." At the
same time, he pointed to a man in a seaman's jacket, who was lying on
the ground at a short distance from him. His hat was off, he had
received a severe gash in the forehead, and a pistol ball had passed
through the upper part of his body near the right shoulder. An old
musket which appeared to have been recently discharged, and the stock of
which was broken, was lying near him. When Stanwick's men approached
him, he was hardly able to articulate. They, however, made out, that he
wished to be conveyed to Folkestone.
They accordingly carried him carefully down the beach, and placed him in
the boat, in the easiest posture they could. Henry Stanwick was able to
get on board without much assistance.
They rowed slowly back to Sandgate, and having landed their Lieutenant,
proceeded on to Folkestone.
It was not without difficulty that the wounded man was lifted from the
boat; and then, some of his brother townsmen having taken a door off the
hinges, and gently laid him on it, set off with slow and heavy steps
towards his house. As Waldron had told his wife not to expect him till
the next day, she had gone to bed, and was quietly asleep with her
children. Hannah Reeves, a poor woman who lived near the pier, had
kindly gone forward to prepare Mary for what she had to go through, and
knocked gently at her door. She started up in her bed immediately, for
the anxious state in which she had been living had accustomed her to
awake at the slightest noise. Having put on a few clothes, and struck a
light, she hurried down stairs. In the countenance and manner of her
kind-hearted neighbour, she immediately saw that she had some sad
intelligence to communicate; but when she heard that her husband had
been brought to Folkestone severely wounded, her eyes grew dizzy, her
head swam, and she would have fallen to the ground had not Hannah
supported her.
It was no time, however, for giving way to grief, and, by a strong
effort, she almost immediately roused herself. Understanding that there
might be some difficulty in getting her husband up the narrow winding
staircase, she set to work, with the assistance of Hannah Reeves, to
bring the matress on which she slept into a little back room, the floor
of which was boarded. She made it as comfortable as she could, and had
hardly completed her preparations, when the heavy tread of a number of
men was heard approaching the door. Mary was unable to speak, but
silently assisted in placing her unhappy husband on the bed, that she
had got ready for him. The rough weather-beaten countenances of the men
who had brought him, were softened to an expression of mournful
sympathy; the eyes of several of them were filled with tears. As soon as
they found they could be of no farther use, they quietly withdrew.
Waldron had hardly shewn any signs of life, excepting by uttering now
and then a deep and heavy groan: but when the men were gone, he
contrived to raise himself a little in the bed; and taking the hand of
his wife, who was hanging over him in speechless agony, said in a voice,
almost inarticulate from weakness and emotion, "Oh! Mary, why did I not
listen to your advice! I might have earned my bread in an honest way,
and been happy with you and the children; but I listened to the
persuasion of evil men, and now, smuggling has brought me to this." He
would have said more, but the effort which he had made was too much for
him--he sank down on the bed, and after one or two deep but feeble
groans, expired.
Mary did not immediately perceive what had happened; but when the
dreadful reality burst upon her, the shock was too powerful for her
frame, exhausted as it was by anxiety and grief. While there was an
immediate call for exertion--while there was any thing to be done for
her husband--the exertion had roused and supported her. That support was
now at an end, and she fell senseless on the floor.
Hannah Reeves was up stairs with the children, one of them having begun
to cry, and she had succeeded in quieting and lulling it asleep. Upon
returning to the back room, she found Mary Waldron extended motionless
by the side of her husband. Gently raising her up, she endeavoured to
restore her to herself by throwing cold water in her face, applying
burnt feathers to her nostrils, and making use of such other remedies,
as either she, or two or three neighbours, who had come in to her
assistance, could think of. For a long time their endeavours were
ineffectual. At length a slight convulsive tremor seemed to pass over
her. Her lips, which had been deadly pale, began to assume something of
their natural colour, and after one or two deep and long drawn sighs,
she appeared to breathe with some degree of freedom. The first care of
her kind attentive neighbours was, to remove her from the sad object
which was stretched out by her side. With difficulty they got her up
stairs, and undressing her, laid her in the same bed with her children.
Hannah Reeves was anxiously watching over her, when she opened her eyes,
and said in a faint voice, "What, is it you, Hannah? What brings you
here so early in the morning? But I suppose it is time for me to think
of getting up.--Oh! Hannah, I have had such a dreadful dream! But it is
all over now, I am so glad that you woke me." And then after a little
pause, added, "How soon do you think James will be home again? He told
me that he should come back before night." Poor Hannah turned away her
head, and seemed to busy herself in another part of the room, and Mary
again fell into an unquiet slumber.
Henry Stanwick had been landed near the castle at Sandgate, supported by
one of his men, he was slowly ascending the beach, when he was met by
the Admiral muffled up in a sea cloak. He had heard of the engagement
with the smugglers, and of his nephew's wounds. "Come along, Harry, with
me," said he, "we must nurse you at my house. I have no doubt that you
would be taken very good care of here: but still there are some little
comforts, which perhaps can be furnished better at a private house; and
we must allow that the women understand these matters better than we
do." Henry yielded to his uncle's persuasions. He found his two cousins
ready to receive him, with looks expressive of tender affection, mixed
with deep anxiety. They had been busily occupied in preparing his room.
As the surgeon was expected every moment, they were fearful of altering
the position of the wounded arm until his arrival.
In the interval Lieutenant Stanwick, though suffering a good deal of
pain, shortly mentioned a few particulars of the conflict; adding, "I
cannot help longing to hear what becomes of the poor fellow, that we
brought away in our boat. He wished to be carried to Folkestone, and
"--"To Folkestone!" exclaimed Emily, "I hope it is not poor Mary's
husband!" "He did not mention his name," said Henry; "indeed he could
hardly speak at all, but he was a remarkably well-made active looking
fellow, and I was vexed to my heart at his having engaged in such a
service." The sisters could not help having some misgivings, but they
had a nearer cause for anxiety in the severe wound of a relation so
deservedly dear to them.
When the surgeon arrived, he found the bone of the arm so much injured,
that immediate amputation was necessary. The operation was successfully
performed, but was followed by a considerable degree of fever, during
which the two sisters nursed him with unremitting assiduity.
The fourth day after the amputation Henry seemed much better, and both
he and the Admiral begged them not to continue to keep themselves such
close prisoners, but to resume their usual exercise. They were the more
ready to comply, as they were very anxious to go themselves to
Folkestone, to enquire after Mary Waldron. They found out the house; but
upon approaching it, observed a degree of bustle, and saw several men in
sailors' jackets--most of them with some symbol of mourning about their
dress--issuing from the door. Presently the coffin was brought out; the
men raised it on their shoulders; the black pall was thrown over it; and
with measured steps they moved towards the church-yard, while the solemn
toll of the bell, being heard at shorter intervals, announced the near
approach of the corpse to its last mansion.
The sisters waited at some little distance, till the melancholy
procession had passed on; and then going up to the door of one of the
neighbouring cottages, enquired with feelings of deep interest after
poor Mary.
She, they found, was perfectly insensible to all that was passing. The
morning after her husband had been brought home, she for sometime
appeared to retain no trace of what had happened. The circumstance of
her being not in her own bed, and the manner of Hannah Reeves, who was
unable to control her feelings, by degrees brought back to her
recollection the dreadful calamity which had befallen her. She uttered
one piercing cry of woe, and then a deadly stupor took possession of her
whole frame. From this she had at last been roused, but it was succeeded
by a wild delirium, and a burning fever, which no skill or attention had
been able in the slightest degree to mitigate.
The sisters went to this house of mourning. The children had been
removed to the cottage of a neighbour, but Hannah Reeves came down to
them. She had hardly ever quitted the bedside of the sufferer, and
attended her with that watchful kindness, which the poor so often shew
to each other when in distress. The Miss Mowbrays begged Hannah to let
nothing be omitted which might contribute to the recovery of poor Mary,
at the same time mentioning their intention to take every expense upon
themselves. They did not know Hannah, but there was something in her
manner which told them that any hint of remuneration to her would be
misplaced.
Upon their return to Sandgate they found sitting with the Admiral the
captain of the troop of dragoons, which had come to the assistance of
the seamen. From him they understood, that of the two smugglers who had
been taken, one was a Folkestone man of the name of Spraggon, a man of
notoriously bad character, and who had behaved in the engagement with
the king's men with a boldness bordering on ferocity. The other prisoner
was a labourer belonging to a village just above the marsh, who had long
been in the practice of assisting in running smuggled goods. He received
high pay--five, eight, ten shillings a night--sometimes even more. Money
obtained by breaking the laws seldom does a man any good. And, in fact,
when he came to deduct the sum which he might have earned by more
creditable work--for a man who had been out all night could not work
the day following--and also the money which went in drink and other
expenses--it was generally found that little came home to his family.
His earnings of all descriptions, however, were now put an end to. He
and Spraggon were convicted at the next assizes of the murder of the
seaman; and two days after were executed.
It was long before Mary Waldron shewed any signs of returning health.
The fever, however, gradually gave way, but it left her in a state of
the most deplorable weakness. Emily and Caroline called at the house
very frequently during the whole progress of her illness, supplying
abundantly whatever they thought likely to contribute to her recovery,
or to her comfort in her present state of suffering. But from the time
that her reason and recollection began to return, their walks to
Folkestone became almost daily. In the gentlest and kindest manner they
said and did all they could, to comfort her, and to assist in directing
her thoughts to the only unfailing source of consolation--to that Being,
who invites the widow to trust in him, and promises to protect and
provide for the fatherless children.
From such considerations as these, and from that aid which was granted
from above in answer to her humble and fervent supplication, Mary
recovered a degree of calm composure almost sooner than the sisters had
anticipated.
Once, when speaking of her future means of subsistence, they hinted the
idea of making up, with the assistance of their friends, an annual sum,
which would be sufficient to keep her from want. But Mary would not hear
of this. "If it please God," said she, "to restore me to health, I have
no doubt, but that by taking in washing and needle work, I shall be able
to get bread for myself and my poor children; and as long as I am able
to work for myself, I could not bear to be a burden to any one." "But it
would be no _burden_ to _us_ at all," said Emily. "Of that," replied
Mary, "I am well assured, from the kindness, which you have already
shewn me; but I feel that I could not be so happy if I depended for my
livelihood, under Providence, upon any one but myself."
In their walks to Folkestone they were often accompanied by their cousin
Harry, who in consequence of his wound had been relieved from the
painful service in which he had been employed, and appointed first
lieutenant to a frigate, which was destined to the Mediterranean, but
was not to sail for some months.
One day, as they were approaching Mary's house, the two little children
came running out, with much glee and animation in their eyes, to thank
them for their nice new frocks. The sisters knew not what they meant.
Upon entering the house, Mary expressed her acknowledgments for what
they had sent the children, as well as for the gown and other clothing
which she had received herself. They looked surprised, and said that
they had sent nothing. The colour of Henry's face soon told Mary who had
been her benefactor.
In their walk they had passed by Mrs. Hawker's shop, and found the
windows shut up. They asked Mary the meaning of this. She told them,
that some time before, the officers had made a large seizure of smuggled
goods in her house, and had sued her for the penalties, which amounted
to so large a sum, that she was utterly ruined.
It is hardly necessary to say, that the Miss Mowbrays had never visited
her house since their purchase of the silks. The many crimes and
calamities which a single day had witnessed, had given them a sufficient
lesson upon the evils of engaging in illicit traffic; and neither the
stump of Henry Stanwick's arm, nor the sight of the widowed Mary and her
fatherless children, were needed to make them resolve, that they would
never again be guilty of _smuggling_.
GOOD-NATURE,
OR
PARISH MATTERS.
[Illustration]
GOOD-NATURE,
OR
PARISH MATTERS.
Mr. Stanley had just reached the last stile in the footpath leading to
Inglewood parsonage, when his progress was for a moment interrupted by
two persons, who were talking so earnestly, that they did not see him.
One of them was a short fat man, in the dress of a farmer. His round and
rosy face seemed to be full of good cheer and good humour; but bore no
great signs of intelligence. He was speaking to an untidy looking woman,
whose manner was expressive of a sort of low familiarity, not however
unmixed with symptoms of servility and cringing.