THE "HOVEL" ON DEAL BEACH--A STORM BREWING--PLANS TO CIRCUMVENT THE
SMUGGLERS.
On a calm, soft, beautiful evening, about a week after the events
narrated in the last chapter, Guy Foster issued from Sandhill Cottage,
and took his way towards the beach of Deal.
It was one of those inexpressibly sweet, motionless evenings, in which
one is inclined, if in ordinary health, to rejoice in one's existence;
and in which the Christian is led irresistibly to join with the Psalmist
in praising God, "for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the
children of men."
Young Foster's thoughts ran for a considerable time in this latter
channel; for he was one of those youthful Christians whose love to our
Saviour does not easily grow cold. He was wont to read the Bible as if
he really believed it to be the Word of God, and acted in accordance
with its precepts with a degree of bold simplicity and trustfulness,
that made him a laughing-stock to some, and a subject of surprise and
admiration to others, of his companions and acquaintance. In short, he
was a Christian of a cheerful, straightforward stamp.
Yet Guy's course was not all sunshine, neither was his conduct
altogether immaculate. He was not exempt from the general rule, that
"through much tribulation" men shall enter into the Kingdom. As he
walked along, rejoicing in his existence and in the beauty of that
magnificent evening, a cloud would rise occasionally and call forth a
sigh, as he recollected the polite intimation of his uncle, that he had
extended his leave of absence _ad_ _infinitum_! He could not shut his
eyes to the fact that a brilliant mercantile career on which he had
recently entered, and on which he might naturally look as the course cut
out for him by Providence, was suddenly closed against him for ever. He
knew his uncle's temper too well to expect that he would relent, and he
felt that to retract a statement which he knew to be true, or to express
regret for having boldly told the truth as he had done, was out of the
question. Besides, he was well aware that such a course would not now
avail to restore him to his lost position. It remained, therefore,
that, being without influential friends, he must begin over again and
carve his own way in the world.
But what then? Was this not the lot of hundreds of thousands? Little
time had been lost; he was young, and strong, and hearty. God had
written, "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall
bring it to pass." "Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy
might, as unto the Lord, and not unto men." Under the influence of such
thoughts the clouds cleared away from Guy's brow, and he raised his
eyes, which for some minutes had been cast down, with a hopeful gaze to
the heavens.
There he soon became lost in admiration of the clouds that were floating
in masses of amber and gold; rising over each other--piled up, mass upon
mass--grotesque sometimes in form, solid yet soft in aspect, and
inexpressibly grand, as a whole, in their towering magnificence.
There were signs, however, among the gorgeous beauties of this
cloud-land, that were significant to eyes accustomed to read the face of
the sky. Various lurid and luminous clouds of grey and Indian-red hues
told of approaching storm, and the men of Deal knew that the sea, which
just then pictured every cloud in its glassy depths as clearly as if
there had been another cloud-land below its surface, would, ere long, be
ruffled with a stiffish breeze; perhaps be tossed by a heavy gale.
Men in general are not prone to meditate very deeply on what is going on
around them beyond the reach of their own vision. This is natural and
right to some extent. If we were to be deeply touched by the joys,
sorrows, calamities, and incidents that at all times affect humanity, we
should cease to enjoy existence. Life would become a burden. The end
of our creation would not be attained. Yet there is an evil of an
opposite kind which often mars our usefulness, and makes us
unconsciously participators in acts of injustice. This evil is, partial
ignorance of, and indifference to, much that goes on around us beyond
the range of our vision, but which nevertheless claims our attention and
regard.
Every one who reflects will admit that it is pleasant to think, when we
retire to rest, that a splendid system of police renders our home a
place of safety, and that, although there are villains more than enough
who would do their best to get at our purses and plate, we need not make
ourselves uneasy so long as the stout guardians of the night are on the
beat. Do we not congratulate ourselves on this? and do we not pay the
police-tax without grumbling, or at least with less grumbling than we
vent when paying other taxes?
Should it, good reader, be less a subject of pleasant contemplation
that, when the midnight storm threatens to burst upon our shores, there
are men abroad who are skilled in the perilous work of snatching its
prey from the raging sea; that, when the howling gale rattles our
windows and shakes our very walls, inducing us perchance to utter the
mental prayer, "God have mercy on all who are on the sea this night,"
that then--at that very time--the heroes of our coast are abroad all
round the kingdom; strong in the possession of dauntless hearts and iron
frames, and ready to plunge at any moment into the foaming sea to the
rescue of life or property?
Who can say, during any storm, that he may not be personally interested
in the efforts of those heroes?
We knew a family, the members of which, like those of all the other
families in the land, listened to the howling of that fearful storm
which covered our shores with wrecks on the 25th of November, 1859.
Their thoughts were sad and anxious, as must be the case, more or less,
with all who reflect that in such nights hundreds of human beings are
_certainly_ perishing on our shores. But ah! what would the feelings of
that family have been had they known--as they soon came to know--that
two stalwart brothers of their own went down that night among the 450
human beings who perished in the wreck of the "Royal Charter?"
In regard to the "Royal Charter," it may be truly said that there was no
necessity for the loss of that vessel. God did not send _direct_
destruction upon her. The engines were too weak to work her off the
land in the face of the gale, and the cables could not hold her. These
were among the causes of her loss. And when she did get ashore, every
life might have been saved had there been a lifeboat or rocket apparatus
at hand. We know not why there were neither; but may it not have been
because lifeboats and rockets are not sufficiently numerous all along
our shores? How many bleeding hearts there were that would have given
drops of their life-blood to have provided the means of saving life on
the coast of Anglesea on that terrible night! A few small coins given
at an earlier date might have saved those lives! No individual in the
land, however far removed from the coast, can claim exemption from the
dangers of the sea. His own head may indeed lie safe from the raging
billow, but at any moment the sea may grasp some loved one, and thus
wreck his peace of mind, or engulf his property and wreck his fortune.
Why, then, should not the whole nation take the affairs of the coast
nearer to its heart? The Lifeboat Institution is not supported by
taxation like our police force. It depends on the charity of the
people. Don't you think, reader, that it has a strong claim on the
sympathies, the prayers, and the purse of every living soul in the
kingdom? But to return, with many apologies, from this digression.
Guy Foster noted the peculiar appearance of the clouds, and concluded
that "something was brewing." All along the shores stout men in glazed
and tarry garments noted the same appearances, and also concluded that
it would be dirty weather before long. The lifeboat men, too, were on
the _qui vive_; and, doubtless, the coxswain of each boat, from John o'
Groat's to the Land's-end, was overhauling his charge to see that all
was right and in readiness for instant service.
"It's going to blow to-night, Bax," said Guy, on entering the hovel of
the former.
"So 'tis," replied Bax, who was standing beside his friends Bluenose and
Tommy Bogey, watching old Jeph, as he busied himself with the model of
his lifeboat.
Jeph said that in his opinion it was going to be a regular nor'-easter,
and Bluenose intimated his adherence to the same opinion, with a slap on
his thigh, and a huge puff of smoke.
"You're long about that boat, Jeph," said Bluenose, after a pause,
during which he scanned the horizon with a telescope.
"So I am. It ain't easy to carry out the notion."
"An' wot may the notion be?" inquired Bluenose, sitting down on a coil
of rope, and gazing earnestly at the old man.
"To get lifeboats to right themselves w'en they're upset," replied Jeph,
regarding his model with a look of perplexity. "You see it's all very
well to have 'em filled with air-chambers, which prevents 'em from
sinkin'; but w'en they're upset, d'ye see, they ain't o' no use till
they gets on their keels again; and that ain't easy to manage. Now I've
bin thinkin' that if we wos to give 'em more sheer, and raise the stem
and stern a bit, they'd turn over natural-like, of their own accord."
"I do believe they would," said Bax. "Why, what put that into yer head,
old man?"
"Well, it ain't altogether my own notion," said Jeph, "for I've heard,
when I was in the port o' Leith, many years ago, that a clergyman o' the
name of Bremer had made a boat o' this sort in the year 1792, that
answered very well; but, somehow or other, it never came to anything.
There's nothin' that puzzles me so much as that," said the old man,
looking up with a wondering expression of countenance. "I don't
understand how, w'en a good thing is found out, it ain't made the most
of _at once_! I never could discover exactly what Mr Bremer's plan
was, so I'm tryin' to invent one."
As he said this, Jeph placed the model on which he was engaged in a
small tub of water which stood at his elbow. Guy, who was much
interested in the old man's idea, bent over him to observe the result of
the experiment. Tommy Bogey sat down beside the tub as eagerly as if he
expected some wonderful transformation to take place. Bax and Bluenose
also looked on with unusual interest, as if they felt that a crisis in
the experimental labours of their old comrade had arrived.
"It floats first-rate on an even keel," cried Tommy, with a pleased look
as the miniature boat moved slowly round its little ocean, "now then,
capsize it."
Old Jeph quietly put his finger on the side of the little boat, and
turned it upside down. Instead of remaining in that position it rolled
over on one side so much, that the onlookers fully expected to see it
right itself, and Tommy gave vent to a premature cheer, but he cut it
suddenly short on observing that the boat remained on its side with one
of the gunwales immersed, unable to attain an even keel in consequence
of the weight of water inside of it.
"I tell ye wot it is, Jeph," said Bluenose, with emphasis, "you'll do it
yet; if you don't I'll eat my sou'-wester without sauce, so I will. As
the noospapers says, you'll inaggerate a new era in lifeboats, old boy,
that's a fact, and I'll live to see it too!"
Having delivered himself of this opinion in tones of much fervour, the
captain delivered his mouth of a series of cloudlets, and gazed through
them at his old friend with unfeigned admiration.
Guy and Bax were both impressed with the partial success of the
experiment, as well as with Jeph's idea, and said to him, encouragingly,
that he had very near hit it, but Jeph himself only shook his head and
smiled sadly.
"Lads," said he, "_very near_ is sometimes a long way farther off than
folk suppose. Perpetual motion has bin _very nearly_ discovered ever
since men began to try their hands at engineerin', but it ain't
discovered yet, nor never will be--'cause why? it ain't possible."
"Ain't poss'ble!" echoed Bluenose, "you're out there, old man. I
diskivered it, years ago. Just you go up to Sandhill Cottage, and
inquire for one Mrs Laker, a hupright and justifiable sister o' mine.
Open that 'ooman's mouth an' look in (she won't bite if ye don't bother
her too much), and lyin' in that there cavern ye'll see a thing called a
_tongue_,--if that ain't an engine of perpetooal motion, shiver my
timbers! that's all."
Just as the captain made this reckless offer to sacrifice his timbers,
Peekins--formerly the blue tiger--entered the hovel, and going hastily
to Bluenose, whispered in his ear.
A very remarkable transformation had taken place in the outward man of
poor Peekins. After coming with Bax to Deal he had been adopted, as it
were, by the co-partners of the hovel, and was, so to speak, shared
equally by Bax, Bluenose, old Jeph, and Tommy. The wonderfully thin and
spider-like appearance which he presented in his blue-tights and buttons
on his arrival, created such a howl of derisive astonishment among the
semi-nautical boys of Deal, that his friends became heartily ashamed of
him. Bax, therefore, walked him off at once to a slop-shop, where
sea-stores of every possible or conceivable kind could be purchased at
reasonable prices, from a cotton kerchief, with the Union Jack in the
middle of it, to the old anchor of a seventy-four gun ship, with a
wooden stock big enough to make a canoe.
Here Peekins was disrobed of his old garments, and clad in canvas
trousers, pilot-cloth jacket and vest, with capacious pockets, and a
sou'-wester; all of which fitted him so loosely that he felt persuaded
in his own mind he could easily have jumped out of them with an upward
bound, or have slipped out of them downwards through either leg of the
pantaloons. He went into that store a blue spider, he came out a
reasonable-looking seafaring boy, rather narrow and sloping about the
shoulders, it is true, but smart enough and baggy enough--especially
about the nether garments--to please even Bax, who, in such matters, was
rather fastidious.
The whispered communication, above referred to, had the effect of
causing Bluenose to spring up from the coil of rope, and exclaim--"You
don't say so!"
Then, checking himself, and looking mysterious, he said he wanted to
have a word with Bax in private, and would be obligated if he'd go with
him a bit along shore.
"Well, what's the news?" inquired Bax, when they were alone.
"We've heerd of Long Orrick," said Bluenose, eagerly.
"That's not much news," said Bax; "you told me there wasn't enough
witnesses to swear to him, or something o' that sort, and that it would
be no use attempting to put him in limbo, didn't you?"
"Ay," replied the other, striking his clenched right hand into the palm
of his left, "but the villain don't the less deserve to be tied up, and
get twelve dozen for all that. I'd content myself with knocking out
both his daylights for his cowardly attempt to badger an old man, but
that wouldn't be safe; besides, I know'd well enough he'd take to
smugglin' again, an' soon give us a chance to nab him at his old tricks;
so Coleman and I have been keepin' a look-out on him; and we've found
that small yard o' pump-water, Peekins, oncommon clever in the way o'
watchin'. He's just brought me word that he heard Long Orrick talkin'
with his chum Rodney Nick, an' plannin' to run their lugger to-night
into Pegwell Bay, as the coast at the Fiddler's Cave would be too well
watched; so I'm goin' down to Fiddler's Cave to-night, and I wants you
to go with me. We'll get Coleman to help us, for he's savage to get
hold of Long Orrick ever since the night they put him in a sack, an'
left him to air his timbers in the Great Chapel Field."
"But if," said Bax, "Long Orrick said he would run to Pegwell Bay, which
is three or four miles to the nor'ard o' this, and resolved that he
would _not_ go to Fiddler's Cave, which is six miles to the s'uth'ard,
why should you go to the very place he's not likely to be found at?"
"Because I knows the man," replied Bluenose, with a wink of deep
meaning; "I knows him better than you do. W'en Long Orrick is seen
bearin' away due north with flying colours, you may take your Davy that
his true course lies south, or thereby."
Bax smiled, and suggested that they should take Guy Foster with them,
and when Tommy Bogey heard what they were about he volunteered his
services, which were accepted laughingly. Being of a sociable
disposition, Tommy deemed it prudent to press Peekins into the service,
and Peekins, albeit not pugnacious by nature, was quite willing and
ready to follow wherever his sturdy little friend chose to lead.
So they all set off, along the road that skirts the beach, towards Saint
Margaret's Bay. The sun was just sinking as they started, and the red
clouds were beginning to deepen in their colour and look ominous, though
the sea was still quiet and clear like a sheet of glass.
After following the road for some time, they diverged into the footpath
that leads to, and winds along the giddy edge of, the chalk cliffs which
rise abruptly from the shore at this part of the Kentish coast to the
height of several hundred feet.
The path being narrow, they were obliged to walk in single file, Bax
leading, Bluenose and Guy following, and Tommy with his meek friend
bringing up the rear.
The view seawards was indescribably magnificent from the elevated ridge
along which they hastened. The Downs was crowded with hundreds of
vessels of every form and size, as well as of every country, all waiting
for a favourable breeze to enable them to quit the roadstead and put to
sea. Pilot luggers and other shore-boats of various kinds were moving
about among these; some on the look-out for employment, others intent on
doing a stroke of business in the smuggling way, if convenient. Far
away along the beach men of the coastguard might be seen, like little
black specks, with telescopes actively employed, ready to pounce on and
overhaul (more or less stringently according to circumstances) every
boat that touched the shingle. Everything in nature seemed silent and
motionless, with the exception of the sea-mews that wheeled round the
summits of the cliffs or dived into the glassy sea.
All these things were noted and appreciated in various degrees by the
members of the party who hastened towards Saint Margaret's Bay, but none
of them commented much on the scenery. They were too well accustomed to
the face of nature in every varying mood to be much struck with her face
on the present occasion. Perhaps we may except Guy Foster, who, being
more of a city man than his companions, besides being more highly
educated, was more deeply impressed by what he saw that evening. But
Guy was too much absorbed by the object of the expedition to venture any
remark on the beautiful aspect of nature.
"D'ye see that lugger, Bax?" said Bluenose, pointing to a particular
spot on the sea.
"Between the Yankee and the Frenchman?" said Bax, "I see it well enough.
What then?"
"That's Long Orrick's boat," replied the Captain, "I'd know it among a
thousand. Depend on it we'll nab him to-night with a rich cargo of
baccy and brandy a-board. The two B's are too much for him. He'd sell
his soul for baccy and brandy."
"That's not such an uncommon weakness as you seem to think," observed
Guy. "Every day men sell their souls for more worthless things."
"D'ye think so?" said Bluenose, with a philosophical twist in his
eyebrows.
"I know it," returned Guy; "men often sell both body and soul (as far as
we can judge) for a mere idea."
Here Bax, who had been examining the lugger in question with a
pocket-telescope, said that he had no doubt whatever Bluenose was right,
and hastened forward at a smarter pace than before.
In less than two hours they descended the steep cliffs to the shingle of
Saint Margaret's Bay; and at the same time the wind began to rise, while
the shades of night gradually overspread the scene.
Saint Margaret's Bay is one of those small, quiet, secluded hamlets
which are not unfrequently met with along our coasts, and in regard to
which the stranger is irresistibly led to ask mentally, if not really,
"Why did people ever come to build cottages and dwell here, and what do
they do? How do they make a livelihood?"
No stranger ever obtains a satisfactory answer to these questions, for
the very good reason that, short though they be, the answers to them
would involve almost a volume, or a speech equal in length to that with
which the Chancellor of the Exchequer introduces his annual budget.
There would be various classes to describe, numerous wants to apprehend,
peculiar circumstances and conditions of social life to explain; in
short, the thing is a mystery to many, and we merely remark on the fact,
without having any intention of attempting to clear the mystery away.
So narrow is the strip of shingle that lies between the sea and the
cliffs in Saint Margaret's Bay, that the cottages have been built close
up to the latter--much too close, we venture to think, for safety; but
perhaps men who live in constant peril of their lives, count the
additional risk of being crushed along with their families under twenty
or thirty tons of chalk, unworthy of consideration!
On descending to the beach the first thing our party saw was the burly
figure of Coleman seated on his "donkey" by the "sad sea waves."
It must not be supposed that the coast-guard-man was literally astride
of a live ass! No; his "donkey" was an exceedingly ingenious
contrivance invented specially for the use of a class of men who, being
human, cannot avoid becoming fatigued--yet who, being sentinels, must
not on any account whatever be permitted to encourage sleep.
The men of the coast-guard are subject to prolonged and frequent periods
of watching, by night as well as by day, hence they are liable to become
wearied. It has been wisely considered that the most self-denying
mortal alive will, when hard pressed, sit down on a rock or on the
ground, if need be, just to relieve his legs a little. The same wise
consideration has recalled the fact that when men do this they become
helplessly incapable of resisting the drowsy god, and will assuredly go
to sleep, against their will and their judgment.
To meet this case, some truly great mind invented the "donkey." This
contrivance is simply a stool with _one_ leg. The top of the stool is
not round, but oblong, and very small. A hole in the centre receives
the solitary leg, which is attached to it by a piece of cord, and can be
pulled out when occasion requires, and the machine thrown over the arm
as one would throw a cloak or scarf. The beauty of the donkey is, that
it forms an excellent seat on which a man can balance himself and rest
with great comfort as long as he keeps awake; but should he fall asleep,
even for one instant, he infallibly comes to the ground with a shock so
severe that he is quite certain to remain wakeful during the remainder
of his vigil!
"What, ho! Coleman," cried Bax, as he and his friends drew near, "have
you actually acquired the art of sleeping on a donkey?"
Coleman rose and turned round with a good-humoured smile on his ruddy
visage:
"Nay, not quite that," said he, "but the hiss of the waves is apt to
dull the hearin' a bit, an' one don't naturally look for enemies from
land'ard, d'ye see?"
"Mayhap not," said Bluenose, taking a fresh quid of tobacco out of a
brass box which he carried at all times in his waistcoat pocket; "but I
expect an enemy from seaward to-night who'll be oncommon glad to make
your acquaintance, no doubt!"
Here the Captain chuckled, engulfed his fresh quid, and proceeded to
explain the nature of their errand. Having done so, he asked Coleman
what he thought of it.
The worthy coast-guard-man scratched his nose and stared at the shingle
for some minutes before venturing to reply.
"I think," said he at length, "that we'll cook his goose to-night;
that's wot it is."
Coleman paused, and looked thoughtfully at Bluenose. The Captain nodded
his head pleasantly, but said nothing, and Coleman proceeded:--
"He'll come in with the flood-tide no doubt, if the gale don't drive him
in sooner, an' run ashore as near to the cave as possible; but he'll be
scared away if he sees anything like unusual watchin' on the shore, so
you'd better get out o' sight as fast as ye can, and keep there."
"Don't you think it would be as well that you also should keep out of
sight, and so leave the coast clear for him?" suggested Bax.
"Not so," said Coleman with a grin, "he'd see that I'd done it for an
object. Long Orrick keeps his weather eye too wide open to be caught so
easy as that comes to."
"Well, but come up for half-an-hour, and have a glass of beer while we
talk over the business," said Bax.
Coleman shook his head, "Can't quit my post; besides, I don't drink no
beer."
"Brayvo! old feller," cried Bluenose, "give us your flipper. Water,
cold, for ever! say I, as the whale remarked to the porpoise. But let's
go under the lee o' the boat-'ouse an' talk it out, for we shan't nab
Long Orrick this night, if we doesn't go at 'im like a cat at a mouse."
"Just listen to that old codfish," said Tommy Bogey to Peekins, "takin'
credit to his-self for not drinkin', though he smokes like a steam-tug,
an' chews like--like--I'm a Dutchman if I know what, unless it be like
the bo'sun of a seventy-four gun ship."
"Do bo'suns of seventy-four gun ships chew very bad?" inquired Peekins.
"Oh! don't they!" exclaimed Tommy, opening his eyes very wide, and
rounding his mouth so as to express his utter inability to convey any
idea of the terrific powers of bo'suns in that particular line. "But
Bluenose beats 'em all. He'd chew oakum, I do believe, if he didn't get
baccy, and yet he boasts of not drinkin'! Seems to me he's just as bad
as the rest of us."
"D'you think so?" said Peekins, with a doubtful look; "don't you think
the man who does only two nasty things is better off than the one that
does three?"
"Nasty things!" exclaimed Tommy in a tone of amazement. "Don't Bax
drink and smoke, and d'ye think _he'd_ do one or t'other if they was
nasty? Peekins, you small villian as was a blue spider only a week
since, if you ever talks of them things being nasty again, I'll wop
you!"
"You hear that, Bax?" said Guy Foster, who, being only a few paces ahead
of the boys, had overheard the remark, spoken as it was in rather a loud
key.
Bax nodded his head, and smiled, but made no reply.
It is but just to say that Tommy's threat was uttered more than half in
jest. He would as soon have thought of "wopping" a little girl as of
maltreating his meek companion. But Peekins was uncertain how to take
his threat, so, not being desirous of a wopping, he held his tongue and
humbly followed his comrades.
The party walked for some time at the foot of the cliffs under the lee
of a boat-house, engaged in earnest conversation as to the best mode of
proceeding in the meditated enterprise. It was evident to all of them
that the hour for action could not now be far distant; for the gale
increased every moment; the light on the South Foreland was already
sending its warning rays far and wide over the angry sea, whence the
floating lights that mark the sands sent back their nightly greeting,
while dark thunderous clouds mantled over the sky and deepened the
shades of night which, ere long, completely overspread land and sea.