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The Smuggler’s Fate
by
“May be next week, or the week after, or a month from this; but thank you all the same,” answered Bob, laughing, as he stepped into the punt which came for him. As soon as he was on board, the Saucy Sue made sail for the French shore, and, under a crowd of canvas, was soon out of sight.
It was soon known at each preventive station along the coast that Bob Hanson was away in the Saucy Sue, and might ere long be expected back with a cargo of contraband. A sharp look-out was accordingly kept for him. Often and often before this, however, he had been expected, but the goods had been run, notwithstanding, and the Saucy Sue having appeared in the offing, had come into the harbour without an article of contraband on board, Bob and his crew looking innocent as lambs.
Tuesday came. Susan knew that on that night the attempt to run the cargo was to be made. There was no moon. The sun set red and lowering over Durlstone Point, and dark clouds were seen chasing each other rapidly across the sky, rising from a dark bank which rested on the western horizon, while white-crested seas began to rise up out of the sombre green ocean, every instant increasing in number. The wind whistled mournfully among the bushes and the few stunted trees, with tops bending inland, which fringed the cliffs, and the murmur of the waves on the beach below changed ere long into a ceaseless roar.
Susan sat in her cottage, watching the last rays of the setting sun as her foot rocked her baby’s cradle. She knew well the path to Durlstone Point along the cliffs. No longer able to restrain her anxiety (why more excited than usual on that evening, she could not have told), she left her child in charge of her young sister, who had come in to see her, and hurried out. The clouds came up thicker and thicker from the south-west, and the darkness rapidly increased. She had good reason to dread falling over the cliff. Several times she contemplated turning back; but the thought of her husband’s danger urged her on. “If I could find the spotsman, Ned Dore, I would beseech him to warn the cutter off,” she said to herself; “it can never be done on a night like this.” She went on till she came to a dip, or gulley, when a break in the cliff occurred. A steep path led down the centre to the beach. She heard the sound of wheels, with the stamp of horses’ feet, as if the animals had started forward impatiently and been checked, and there was also the murmur of several voices. Suddenly a light flashed close to her.
“Oh, Ned Dore, is that you?” she exclaimed. “Don’t let them land to-night; there’ll be harm come of it.”
“No fear, Mrs Hanson,” said Dore, recognising her voice. “All’s right–the cutter has made her signal, and I have answered it. Couldn’t have a better time. The revenue men are all on the wrong scent, and we’ll have every cask a dozen miles from this before they are back. Just you go home, good woman, and your husband will be there before long.”
Susan, however, had no intention of leaving the spot. Again she entreated Dore, almost with tears, to warn off the cutter, alleging that there was already too much surf on the beach to allow the boats to land with safety. Dore almost angrily again refused, declaring that the cutter had already begun to unload, and that the boats would soon be in. Seeing that her entreaties were useless, she sat herself down on a rock jutting out of the cliff, and tried to peer into the darkness. She waited for some time, when footsteps were heard, and one of the men posted to watch, came running in with the information that a party of the revenue were approaching. Dore, coming up to her, pulled her by force below the rock on which she had been sitting. The other men concealed themselves under the bushes–among other rocks and in holes in the cliff–the lights were extinguished, and the carts were heard moving rapidly away. Not a word was spoken–the men held in their breath as the revenue officers approached. Poor Susan almost fainted with dread– not for herself, but for her husband. Where was he all the time? She knew too well the smugglers’ mode of proceeding not to have good cause for fear.