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THE SMUGGLER’S WIFE–HANSON STARTS ON HIS TRIP–HIS WIFE’S ANXIETY–THE REVENUE OFFICERS APPROACH–THE SMUGGLERS TAKE TO THE WATER–THE FIGHT–A FEARFUL END.

“Good-bye, Susan–good-bye, my wife. I’ll bring thee over a silk gown, and such Brussels lace as you’ve never yet set eyes on. It will make a lady of you; and you’re not far off being one now, to my mind, so don’t fret–don’t fret, Susan, dear.”

These words were uttered by Robert Hanson, a fine sailor-like-looking man. And a bold seaman he was, indeed; but was also unhappily known to be one of the most daring smugglers on the coast. Having kissed his wife affectionately, and knelt down by the side of the cradle in which their infant slept, to bestow another kiss on its smiling lips, he hurried from the cottage.

Susan looked after him sorrowfully. She had entreated him, over and over again–not as earnestly as she might, perhaps–to give up his dangerous and lawless occupation, and with a laugh he had told her that each trip should be his last. Did it never occur to him how his promise might be fulfilled? It did to Susan; and often and often she had trembled at the thought. She had been brought up by praying parents, and had been taught from her childhood to pray, but she could not pray now–she dared not–she felt it would be a mockery. She was wrong, though. She could not pray that God would protect her husband in his lawless occupation, but she might have prayed that her merciful Father in heaven would change his heart–would lead him from the paths of sin, and put a right spirit within him, even although he might be brought to poverty, and she might no longer enjoy the luxuries which he allowed her. She was sure, however, that he could make, by a lawful calling, enough for all their wants; whereas a large portion of what he now gained was spent in feasting and treating with open hand his smuggling companions; so at the end of the year, except for the dresses and other articles which were utterly useless to Susan, they were very little the better for all his toil and the many fearful risks he had run. She stood watching him with tearful eyes and a foreboding heart, as he descended the cliff on which their cottage stood.

Bob, as Hanson was called by his companions, looked in at three or four of the huts which formed the fishing village at the foot of the cliff, and gave sundry directions to their inmates. The answer he received from all of them was much the same: “Never fear, captain, we’ll be ready.”

“You understand, Dore,” he said, stopping at one of the huts for some little time, “you’ll be on the look-out for us on Tuesday night at Durlstone Point. Now mind you also tell Green, the landlord of the `Jolly Tar,’ to have the two covered carts there, with his fastest horses and trusty men to drive–Bill Snow and Tom Thatcher–they are true men; but not that fellow Dennis–he’ll bring the Coast Guard down on us one of these days, you’ll see, if we trust him–and take care that we’ve no lack of hands to run the cargo up the cliff.”

Such were some of the directions Hanson gave to his confederates. He then, with active steps, proceeded to a small harbour at a little distance along the shore, where a fast-looking cutter of about forty tons lay at anchor. He hailed her. A preventive man (as the revenue officers are called), with his spyglass under his arm, passed him.

“What, Bob, off again?” he said, in a careless tone; “we’ll be on the look-out for you, if you’ll tell us when you are coming back.”