Smuggling at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and right up to the middle of it, was rampant, and was regarded as a wholesome profession by those who carried it on.  They called it “fair trade,” and looked upon those whose duty it was to destroy it with an aversion that oftentimes culminated in murderous conflict.  The seafaring portion of this strange body of men, in characteristic contrast to their “landlubber” accomplices, never at any time, or under any circumstances, tried to conceal what their profession was.  They were proud to be known as smugglers; whereas their shore colleagues, many of whom were gentry, or offshoots from it, adopted every possible means to turn suspicion from themselves when the preventive men were on the scent.  Smugglers of that day were adroit tacticians; they had their signs just as Freemasons or any other craft have theirs.  The pursuit was exciting, and the romance of it attracted men and women of gentle as well as of humble birth into its ranks.  The men who manned the luggers were sailors who knew every bay and nook round the coast.  They made heroic speeches expressive of their contempt for death.  They talked boldly of powder magazines, and of blowing themselves and any one else up who put them into a tight corner; and there are instances on record that this was actually done.  Be that as it may, they had great organizing skill and not a little business ability, whilst in their combination of strategy and valour they were unsurpassed.  In many ways they were akin to pirates, though it could never be said that they went outside their own particular business-i.e., they were not predatory buccaneers who murdered first and plundered afterwards.  They believed, as I have said, their calling to be as legitimate as any other form of trading.  Their doctrine was that it was the Government that acted illegally, and not themselves.  It was not surprising, therefore, that the system should take so long a time to wipe out, notwithstanding the rigid way in which the whole coastline of the British Isles was guarded.  Much has been written about the desperate ways of these men, but no accurate estimate can be formed by the present generation of the extent of the system, and the methods adopted to carry it on.  Romance has gone far, but rarely too far, in describing it; and to really know it as it was you must have lived in its atmosphere, or have taken part, either for or against, in its attractions.  One of the greatest ambitions of my early boyhood days comes to me now.  I had resolved that when I grew up I would secretly leave my home and join some smuggling lugger.  Happily for me, the luggers had disappeared before I grew up.

Here is an authentic instance of professional attachment and pride.  When I was quite a small boy a brig ran on to the rocks beneath my father’s house.  The captain was a fine, rollicking, sailorly-looking man, with a fascinating manner.  He often came to our house during his stay in the locality, and one of the first things he told my parents was that in his younger days he was a smuggler, and had had many encounters with Deal coastguards.  He spoke sadly of the way the “trade” was ruined by Government intervention, and said that he had never been really settled or happy since he was driven out of the business, and had to take service in the merchant navy for a living.  He was asked if he would like to go back to it again.

“Go back to it again!” said he; “I wish I could!  There is nothing to fill its place in the whole world.  But that is done for now.  Oh! what good money we used to make, and what narrow squeaks we had of being captured or killed.”

It seems incredible that so great a change should have taken place in so short a time, considering that these sea-rovers were so firmly persuaded that their profession was as lawful as any other, and that they were persecuted and hounded to death by a set of whippersnappers who made insufferable laws!  The system became so gigantic in the early part of last century that the Government had to appeal to the Navy, and a large number of officers and men were landed on the coast of Kent and Sussex, where a strict blockade was enforced.  Later, a semi-civilian force under the control of the Customs was formed.  This was called the “Preventive Water Guard,” and subsequently it went under the new title of “Preventive Coastguard.”  The duties were arduous and risky.  The men never went forth unless armed with a big dagger-stick and a flint-lock pistol, both of which were not infrequently used with effect.  Owing to the dangerous character of the occupation, a high wage and pension was offered as an inducement to join the service; at least, the wage and pension were considered very good at the time.  The men, however, rarely had decent houses to live in.  Their uniform was rather like that of a naval officer.  They would have disdained wearing the garb of the present-day coastguard.  Their training in most cases consisted in service aboard a Revenue cutter for a few months before being appointed to a station.  Many of these men were tradesmen who had never been to sea at all, and often were men of education and sterling character.  For the most part these educated men were Wesleyans-or “Ranters,” as they were called-and not a few were local preachers, and some of them were well versed in theology.  They were stationed usually eight miles apart, right along the coast, and their ordinary duty was to meet each other half-way and exchange despatches.  This gave the religious section opportunities of comparing experiences and discussing the faith that was in them.  I knew one who spoke and taught French and Latin, another who could make an accurate abstract of Bishop Butler’s Analogy from cover to cover, and another who became possessed of a small schooner, which made him a fortune while he was still in the service.  The wives of these three coastguardsmen were quite as well informed and as ardent religionists as themselves, and took a common interest in books, educational matters, and in each other’s home affairs.  Their homes were always neat and clean, and the children were disciplined into a rigid, methodical life.  It is a remarkable fact that the sons of each of these men have all risen to high positions in commerce, literature, art, and politics, and those that still survive are proud to acknowledge that they owe their position to the splendid example and beautiful home-life which they were taught to live when children.  Guarding the coast was not the only occupation of the Preventive Coastguard.

There arose in 1848 a manning difficulty in the Navy, which became so grave that the large force of disciplined men employed in protecting the revenue were drilled in gunnery to fit them for sea service.  Many of them were called out to serve aboard ship during the war with Russia in 1854.  One of the grievances in the service was the irritating and unfair policy of the Board of Customs in constantly moving the men from one station to another.  In many instances the hardships constituted a public scandal.  Adequate recompense was never made for this breaking-up of their little homes, and frequently when they arrived at some outlandish coast village there was no provision made for housing them.  I know of several instances where families were beholden to the generosity of the villagers or farmers for lodgings until a house was found.  During the interval their furniture was stored in some dirty stable or store.  It was not an uncommon thing for these poor fellows to be removed, with their families, from one end of England to the other two or three times in a year, at the behest of an uneasy bureaucratic commander-in-chief who knew little, and probably cared less, about the domestic hardships incurred.  From Holy Island or Spital to Deal in those days of transit by sea was a greater and more hazardous voyage than that of Liverpool to New York to-day.  The following story may give some idea of their life as they then lived it.

A group of fishermen stood at the north end of the row, watching a smart cutter that was beating from the north against a strong S.S.E. wind and heavy sea, which broke heavily on the beach and over an outlying reef of rocks which forms a natural breakwater and shelters the fishermen’s cobles from the strong winds that blow in from the sea during the winter months.  The cutter tacked close in to the north end of the ridge several times during the forenoon.  Her appearance was that of a Government vessel, and her commander evidently wished to communicate with the shore.  When the ensign was hoisted to the main gaff, the onlookers knew that she did not belong to the merchant service.  The simple people who inhabited this district were concerned about the intentions of what they regarded as a mysterious visitor, and the firing of a small cannon from the taffrail did not lessen their perplexity.  At last the national flag was hauled up and down, and the squire, who had come from his mansion amongst the woods, told the fishermen that those aboard the cutter were really asking for a boat to be sent to them.

The flood tide had covered the rocks.  A volunteer crew of five fine specimens of English manhood were promptly got together, and a large coble was wheeled down the beach and launched into the breaking sea.  They struggled with accustomed doggedness until they had passed the most critical part of the bay and got safely within speaking distance of the vessel.  Two good-looking fellows in naval uniform stood on the quarter-deck, and one of these, the commander, asked the fishermen to take one of his officers ashore.  To this they readily agreed, though they said it would be most difficult to land, as it was much safer to go off than come in, but they would risk that.  The officer jumped into the boat, the rope was slipped, and then commenced a struggle between the endurance and skill of the hardy fishermen on the one hand and the angry cross seas which threatened to toss the boat and its occupants to destruction on the other.  The officer suggested that the reefs should be let out of the sail to rush her over the dangerous corner of the entrance.

“I have used this plan often,” said he, “and it always succeeded.”

The coxswain demurred, although these men are very skilled in the handling of their boats; but at last he was prevailed upon by his crew to allow the officer to try the experiment.  The latter only agreed to do so on condition that he was in no way interfered with, and his orders were strictly carried out.  Up went the close-reefed lug; the occupants were instructed to lie low to windward, the men at the main sheet were ordered in a quiet, cool manner to ease off and haul in as necessity required.  In a few minutes they had reached the crucial point.  The men began to express anxiety, when amid the shrill song of the wind and the noise of the breaking seas, the man now in charge called out with commanding vigour-

“Steady your nerves, boys!  I know quite well how to handle her.”

The helmsman had barely finished his appeal when the combers began to curl up in rapid succession; the mass of water threatened to overwhelm the rushing craft, but she was manipulated with such fine seamanship that only the spray lashed over her in smothering clouds.  Suddenly orders were given to stand by to lower the sail, and in another minute the helm was put down to bring the boat head to sea and wind.  The sail was lowered, oars shipped, and she was manoeuvred stern on to the beach.  As soon as she struck, a rush to help was made by those who had watched with feverish anxiety the passage through the broken water, lest the frail craft should be overturned and all aboard drowned.  A rope was bent on to the stern, and the crowd quickly hauled the coble away from the heavy surf into safety.  At this point, an elderly gentleman, tall, with a long, shaggy beard and bushy grey hair, which might have been a wig, rode up on a brown mare.  His appearance and demeanour stamped him with the characteristics of a real old country gentleman, who put on what sailors would call an insufferable amount of “side.”  He promptly introduced himself to the officer as the Lord of the Manor, giving his name as Crawshaw.

The naval man gave his as Thomas Turnbull, and explained that he was sent to organize some system of resistance to the smuggling that was being carried on along that part of the coast.  Mr. Crawshaw volunteered assistance, and hinted that the task would be rendered all the more arduous as he would not only have the smugglers to deal with, but their accomplices, the fisher-folk and farmers.  After a few weeks’ experience, it was quite obvious that the squire was right, and in view of this, Thomas Turnbull sent for his wife and six children, and settled down to his work in real earnest.

The intimation that the new-comer was a religious man, and could preach and pray, soon spread through the villages, and large numbers flocked to see and hear him.  Many came out of pure curiosity, and some to mock and jeer, but these seldom succeeded in setting at defiance the great power that was behind the preacher.  He was of commanding presence; his face, as some of the villagers used to say, was good to look at, and the message that he delivered to his audience came with irresistible force, which broke the spirit of some of the most determined obstructers, and turned many into friends, and a few even into saints.  The fisher-folk did not take kindly to him, and so strong was their opposition that they threatened many times to take his life.  Their savage ignorance would have unnerved and discouraged a less powerful personality, but this man seemed to be buoyed up by his belief that it was God’s work and he was only the instrument in carrying it out.  He was often warned of the violence that was threatened towards him, but the intimation never disturbed his inherent belief that no earthly power could break through the cordon that protected him; and so he continued his work, temporal and spiritual, undisturbed by the threats of a class whom he was determined to civilize, and, “with God’s help, Christianize.”  The process was long, the methods of resistance wicked.

Jimmy Stone, one of the worst scoundrels in the district, had laboured to persecute Turnbull, and to break up the meetings for months past.  He tyrannized over men and brutally maltreated women, and his blasphemy was terrible to listen to.  It was during one of his outbursts of wrath against the “Ranter” preacher that he was suddenly staggered by Turnbull going up to him, laying his hand on his shoulder, and admonishing him to refrain from such shocking conduct.  He attempted to seize the preacher by the throat, and I fear at this juncture Turnbull forsook for a little his usual attitude of equanimity, for before the giant knew where he was he lay on the ground, stunned by a left-hander.  The preacher was an awkward customer to deal with, and it would seem as though he did not entirely trust to Divine interposition when hands were laid on him.  His tormentor lay, a humiliated heap, at his feet.  Never in Jimmy’s life had any one dared to resent his attacks in this way.  He could not understand it, and was overcome more by superstition and a fear of Turnbull’s reputed supernatural aids than by real fear of his physical powers.  Turnbull ordered the bully to stand up, and warned him against experimenting on strangers.  He then, in quaint, old-world phraseology, the outcome of much deep reading of Butler, Baxter, and Jeremy Taylor, and wholly without cant or affectation, went on to say-

“I intend to let you off lightly on this occasion, but if I hear of you practising any injustice or in any way giving annoyance to your neighbours again, I shall deem it my duty to teach you a salutary lesson.  Now, bear in mind what I say to you; and remember that the Almighty may visit you with His wrath.  It may be that He will send to your house affliction, and even make it desolate by taking some one from you whom you love.  Or He may see that the only way of checking the course of your wickedness is to have you laid aside with sickness.  It is probable that He will smite you by taking away from your evil influence some of your children.  God is very merciful to little children when they are in the hands of brutes like you.  Go away from me! and ponder over what I have said.”

Jimmy slouched off, muttering vengeance against the Almighty if He dared to interfere with his bairns, and, as an addendum, he vividly portrayed the violent death of Turnbull.  He slunk listlessly into his cottage, tumbled on to a seat, and was lost in meditation.  Jenny, his wife, tremulously asked what ailed him.  She was alarmed at his subdued manner; she had never known him come into the house without bullying and using blasphemous language to her and the children, and oftentimes this was accompanied by blows that well-nigh killed her and them; and yet she stood loyally by him whenever he needed a friend.  Suddenly he jumped to his feet, and as though he had become possessed of an inspiration, broke silence by vigorously exclaiming to his wife that he had settled the manner of the “Ranter” preacher’s death.

“Aa’ll catch him some neet betwixt here and the burn [stream], and finish him.  That’ll stop his taak aboot the Almighty takin’ ma bairns frae me!”

Jimmy’s idea was that Turnbull was in communion with the Almighty for the removal of his children, and if he were put out of the way there would be an end to it.  Jenny was no less ignorant than her husband, and therefore no less superstitious about meddling with this mysterious person who had come amongst them and wrought such extraordinary changes in the lives of many of her class.  She doubted the wisdom of killing the preacher, as she had heard that these people lived after they were killed, and might wreak more terrible vengeance when their lives assumed another form.  She urged her husband to leave well alone; not because she in any way differed from his views in regard to Turnbull’s preaching and his attitude generally towards evil-doers, or objected to his being put to death; but she preferred some person other than her husband should do it.  Hence, she disagreed with his policy, and he in turn raged at her for taking sides against him.

“This interloper’s spyin’ into everythin’ we dee and say,” said he.  “We had nee taak aboot religion afore he cum, and noo there’s nowt but religion spoken, so that we can hardly get a man or a woman t’ dee any trootin’ inside the limit; an’ when we dee get a chance we hev t’ put wor catches into th’ oven, for feor him or his gang gan sneakin’ aboot and faal in wi’ summat they hae nee reet t’ see.  Forbye that, within the last few months he’s driven the smugglers off the coast, and deprived us o’ monny an honest soverin’ in helpin’ them t’ and theor stuff.  And then he’s got the gob t’ tell me that if aa divvent change me ways, the Almighty’ll dee God knaw’s what tiv us!  He’ll myek sickness cum, and mebbies tyek sum o’ th’ bairns frae us.  It’ll be warse for him if harm cums t’ th’ bairns, or me either!  Aa tell’t him that this mornin’, an’ aa said he might tell his Almighty that he taaked see much aboot, if he liked.”

Jenny secretly disapproved of carrying retaliation any further, but dared not openly say another word in favour of her views, for, as she afterwards said, “Aa was afeared ye might kill me afore ye got a chance o’ killin’ the preacher.”

Mr. Turnbull knew what Jimmy’s intentions were, and purposely put himself in his way, so that he might say a cheery word to him in passing; but he never got more than a grunt in response.  He knew that this wild creature was in league with a gang of the most desperate smugglers that the “Preventer men” had to contend with.  No landing, however, had been seriously attempted during the time that Turnbull had been at the station.  Craft had been sighted and signals exchanged, and then the suspected craft disappeared for weeks.  The men who guarded the coast knew these buccaneers had emissaries, and could have laid hands on them, but preferred to catch them red-handed.

After weeks of close watching and waiting, information was passed along the coast that a landing would take place close to the spot where Turnbull now lived with his wife and children.  Men from all the stations extending over a radius of fifty miles were summoned to meet at a certain point at eleven o’clock on a certain night.  Trusted civilians had been drafted into the service for the occasion; and so accurate was the information given, that within a couple of hours of the time several boat-loads of contraband were landed above high-water mark.  Three carts came along, and while the process of transhipping into them was going on, the “Preventer” men, led by Turnbull, quietly came from their concealment, and with a sudden rush surrounded the smugglers.  Those of their accomplices who had smelt the scent of battle fled behind the hills, and got clean away.  One of the carts attempted to bolt, but a shower of shot targeted into the horses peremptorily stopped that move, and the drivers were easily captured.  The smugglers fought like polecats, but received no help from the few accomplices who had not escaped.  These, either from fear or policy, or both, did not attempt to extricate themselves or lend their support to a lost cause.  It was common knowledge that smugglers drew lots as to who had to escape if severe fighting or capture became inevitable, and the battle became the more fierce in order to cover the escape of those few.  They did not all succeed in getting off in their boat, but it was estimated half a dozen might have done so.  The rest, something like a score, were ultimately overpowered, sent to prison and tried in the good old style, and sentenced to transportation to the criminal dumping-ground of Western Australia.

The notorious Jimmy Stone on that memorable moaning night was disguised, but that did not prevent him being detected while rendering assistance to land and convey the contraband on to the beach and into the carts.  One of the Government men was indiscreet enough to shout “James Stone, you are my prisoner!” and almost before the words were out of his mouth Jimmy dropped a keg of gin on to him and fled.  The companions of the stunned man were too busy with the other cut-throats to follow Jimmy, or to see in what direction he had gone.  It was only after the conflict was over that they were reminded that this lawless fisherman had escaped, and must at all costs be captured and brought to justice.  A party was selected to search for him.  They knew that he must be hiding in some of the hollows where the thick clusters of bents and bracken would give him cover.  Some of the party had strayed from the central group, and were talking of Jimmy’s prowess and astuteness, and wondering where he was concealed, when they suddenly came across a man with his head and part of his body up a rabbit-hole.  He was asking in subdued tones, “Are the - gyen yet?” and one of the party, in the same tone of voice and the same dialect and language as he had used, cautioned him not to speak too loud, as they were still hovering about.

“My God!” said he, “when aa get oot o’ this mess aa’ll hae ma revenge on that Ranter.”  And becoming impatient, he began to curse at his supposed friend for advising him to put his head in a rabbit-hole, vigorously announcing that he wished his - head was there instead of his own.  “Aa cud hae run if ye hadn’t persuaded me t’ hide heor.”

“Hae patience!” responded the voice from without.

“Patience be d !” said he; “Aa wish aa had them - Government men heor.  Aa wad make short work o’ them, the - rascals!”

“Whisht,” said his companion; “they’re comin’ this way!”

In a few seconds Jimmy’s posterior became the subject of some vigorous thrashing.  He was dragged, yelling, from his retreat, and confronted with the men he had so recently sworn to murder.  They asked if he was Jimmy Stone.  He replied in the affirmative, and added-

“Aa thowt it was Jack Dent aa was taakin’ tee.  He cum heor wiv us.”

“Where is he now?” inquired the officer.

“Hoo am aa t’ knaa?” said Jimmy; “but the Lord help him when aa dee cum across him.  He’s betrayed me.  Nivvor more will aa put me heed in a rabbit-hole!”

His soliloquy was cut short by his captors putting his hands in irons and conveying him to where their colleagues were; and Jimmy would have been included amongst the convicts but for the magnanimous intercession of Turnbull, who informed his captors that they were to leave Jimmy to him.  He was working out a scheme whereby his knowledge would be invaluable to the Service.  So James was not sent to the Colonies.

A well-known farmer, who was accustomed to make friendly calls on the Turnbull family, was caught in the act of bolting with a cartload of unlawful merchandise.  He was sent to Australia, but not as a convict.  Turnbull had found some useful purpose for him also, and he was advised to get out of the country, lest it became too hot for him.

A couple of ladies had attracted special attention; not that they were bellicose, but because in consequence of their abnormal bulk they created some suspicion that they had concealed beneath their crinolines more than their ordinary form.  They were asked unchivalrously to undo their clothing, and with comic dignity and superb self-possession they defiantly declined.  They were then told in the name of the Queen that if they did not undress voluntarily it would have to be done for them, whereupon they adopted the old dodge of weeping and calling themselves unprotected women, whose characters were being assailed by men whom it was not safe for females to be amongst, making the sandy hollows resound with their artificial shrieks and sobs; but it was all to no purpose.  Their skirts were examined, and there were found boxes of cigars, packets of tobacco, and bottles of gin, all hooked in methodical order to an ingenious arrangement connected with the skirt.  These ladies were proved to be on familiar terms with the red-capped gentlemen who were defrauding the Revenue, and not infrequently shooting down its guardians.

One of these women was the sister of Jimmy Stone, and the other his wife, and it would have gone hard with them had Turnbull not conceived the humane idea of reclaiming and ultimately drafting them into the Service.  He convinced his colleagues that they would be invaluable adjutants.  They would take a deal of taming, as there was little to distinguish them from a species of wild animal.  He requested that they should be handed over to him for the purpose of trying the experiment.  The women and Jimmy were locked up in separate rooms in the Old Tower for a week.  Turnbull visited them daily, and detected on each visit the growth of penitence; his little talks had penetrated their stony, vicious natures, until at last they broke down and humbly solicited pardon and release, which was granted under well-defined conditions.  There was much talk in the village about the leniency extended to the fishers.  Tom Hitchings, the cartman, declared that they should have been sent to the Colonies, the same as the other smugglers; and Ted Robson said transportation was too good a punishment, they ought to have been shot or bayonetted, and had any other person but a ranter preacher been in charge it would have been done.

“How de we knaa, Tom,” said Ted, “that them fiends o’ smugglers winnot rise oot o’ theor beds in the deed hoor o’ the neet and break into wor homes and cut wor throats afore we’re awake?  We helped te catch them, whaat for shouldn’t we hev some say aboot theor punishment?”

“That’s whaat aa says,” replied Tom.  “But ye’ll heor o’ some queer things happenin’ varry syen.  He’ll be hevvin’ his meetin’s in Jenny’s hoose, and Jimmy’ll be preachin’ afore lang.  Ther’ll be fine scenes if it’s not throttled i’ the bud.”

“Get away, man,” said Ned; “they’re the biggest blackguards roond the countryside, and they’ll steal, rob, or morder, whichivver comes handiest.  What d’ye think that fellow Jimmy did once?  A ship was in the offin’.  She had distress signals flyin’.  He could get neebody te man a boat but women; the men wadn’t hev onythin’ te dee wiv him, so his awn wife, Ailsie’s Jenny, Nanny Dent, and Peggy Story went.  They pulled the boat through monster seas, and the brute was cursin’ at the women aal the way until they gat alangside, when the captain said, ’Ma ship’s sinkin’.’  The crew were telled to jump into the boat smart, and as syen as the captain said, ‘We’re aal heor,’ Jimmy sprang aboard like a cat, cast the boat adrift, shooted to his wife, ’She’s mine!  Pull the - ashore, and then come off and we’ll take her in!’ The captain saa the trick and demanded to be taken back, but Jenny felled him with the tiller, and threatened to slay onny of the others.  They were nearly ashore when the captain exclaimed, ’She’s not his; Sancho, the dog, has been left behind!’ The crew were landed, and the boat went back to the ship.  The women gat aboard, and asked Jimmy if he had seen a dog.  He said, ‘There’s nee dog heor; the ship’s wors,’ and they say he fand the dog on the floor and that he put it ower-board.  Now, there’s a born convict for ye!  An’ they tell me, him and his women gat the ship safely into port, and the folk shooted, ‘Bravo, Jimmy Stone!’ They said he was a hard swearer, but a brave, clever fellow, and aa said when aa hard it, ‘Whaat aboot the dog?’ The ship was selled, and Jimmy gat summit-whaat de they caal it-salvage, aa think.  They say he’s worth lots o’ money.”

“But whaat did they say aboot the dog?” said Tom.

“Wey, the captain said the dog was left as a safeguard against bein’ boarded and claimed as a derelict; but Jimmy swore that the dog wasn’t there when he gat aboard, and neebody saa what becam’ on’t, and so the matter rests.  They often say te him, ‘Whe tossed the dog ower board?’ and aa believe he’s nearly mordered half a dozen big men for sayin’ sic things.”

“Eh, man,” said Tom pensively, “what a grand Christian gentleman he’ll make!”

Shortly after Jimmy’s release from the Old Tower, his youngest child succumbed to the ravages of a malignant fever.  He and his wife were distracted, as, in spite of their pagan instincts and habits, their devotion to their offspring was a passion.  They remembered Mr. Turnbull appealing to them to flee from the wrath to come by amending their ways, lest something terrible befell themselves or their children, and instead of the recollection of this warning kindling strong demonstrations of resentment against the lay preacher now, Jenny implored her husband to run over the moor and get Mr. Turnbull to come and administer comfort to them.

“He’ll give us the sacrament, and pray for us at the bedside were the deed bairn lies.”

Jimmy was dazed at the suggestion.  He could not quite bring himself to give up the idea of some day renewing his former habits of aiding the smugglers, and of doing a bit of poaching.  He was quite frank in stating to his wife that he feared if Turnbull came and prayed with them he would get him to join the chapel folk, and there would be no more poaching or smuggling after that.

“And see what a loss it wad be tiv us.  But,” said he, “to tell the truth, aa hev been for prayin’ mesel ever since the bairn tuck bad, but then aa thowt it was cowardly to ask help when aa was in difficulties and nivvor at ony other time.  So I didn’t dee ’t.”

Jenny interjected that at the risk of being led to join the Methodists, and throwing over all thought of joining in any more lawlessness, he must go to the village and ask Mr. Turnbull to come.

“I feel somethin’ forcin’ me to this, Jimmy; so get away and be quick back.”

And as James felt the same throbbing impulse, off he went, and within an hour presented his petition to Mr. Turnbull, who received him in his usual kind way, which caused the redoubtable ruffian to melt into tears, and volubly to confess all his murderous intentions towards the man he now believed to be the only agency on earth that could give him comfort.

The two men started at once for the bereaved home.  The first part of the journey was tramped in solemn meditation.  At last Jimmy broke silence by asking his companion if he thought God had taken his child from him as a punishment for his sins.  Turnbull said-

“Well, James, I believe your heavenly Father has some work for you to do.  He has often warned you of the wrath to come by confronting you with danger at sea; and only a short time since you were caught in the act of committing a crime, and narrowly escaped being banished to a penal settlement, and He mercifully used a friend as an instrument to save you from this degradation.  But you still maintained the spirit of defiance, and were a law unto yourself.  The Almighty saw that drastic measures would have to be taken to break down your wilful opposition.  Your child was stricken with illness, and still you went on cursing God and man; and then in His wondrous compassion for you and hundreds of other men and women to whom I believe He has planned you shall carry the message of peace, He has taken your child in order that you may be saved.  He knew that was the only way of bringing you to see the great plan of salvation, and to save your innocent little girl from growing up in a heathenish home, where there was no beauty, no kindness, no good example, no God.  I beseech you to surrender yourself at once.  Remember, the Spirit will not always strive with you, and if you chase it away now it may never return.”

That night, kneeling by the side of his dead child, Jimmy implored God to be merciful to him, and professed to have experienced the great transition from death unto life.  Now, Jimmy, though quite uneducated, had an intellectual head and great natural gifts, and when he was careful he spoke with amazing correctness.  He commenced to take part in the prayer meetings at once, and having a good memory, he picked up all the stock phrases and used them vigorously.  Being an apt pupil, he soon learned to read, and then commenced one of the most extraordinary religious campaigns that has ever been witnessed in that part of Great Britain.  Hundreds of men and women were led to change their lives by this rugged, uncultured, but natural preacher.  A certain number of his own class viciously persecuted him for years, and none more so than his own wife.  It seemed as though Hell had been let loose on him, and yet he went on undisturbed, steadfastly believing that he was the agent of the living God to carry the message of truth to the heathen.  His old enemy Turnbull had become his fast friend, from whom he sought and received much help and many acts of kindness.  He owed the conversion of his wife and many of his persecutors to this spiritually-minded man, and it was remarkable that nearly all the worst characters who were “brought in” opened their doors whenever he wanted to have a prayer meeting or a preaching service, and the rooms were always packed with people.

Attracted by the originality of the converted fisherman, a few young people belonging to the better families in the locality gathered together to witness what they imagined would be mere burlesque.  There was only standing room behind the kitchen bed for them, and there was anything but an air of sanctity amongst that portion of his congregation.  Jimmy’s pulpit style was peculiar.  He was flashing out eloquent phrases that were not commonly used in the orthodox pulpit.  As he warmed to his work he broke out in rhyme-“Yes, brothers and sisters, there was little brother Paal, the very best of aal, laid down his life,” etc.  His use of biblical names was quite eccentric, which caused the undevotional members of his audience to snigger audibly.  Without seeming to heed the irreverence, Jimmy pursued his impassioned diatribe and smote unbelievers hip and thigh, in language that was not conventional, or even relevant to the subject of his discourse.  The sniggering had developed into suppressed laughter, and James suddenly stopped the even flow of his oratory, brought his giant fist down on the deal table and sent everything flying.  Ladies’ dresses were more or less damaged by candle grease; but the cooler heads prevented an outbreak of panic by getting the candles relighted and put on to the table.  Then in reverent tones they asked the preacher, who stood apparently unmoved, to proceed with the service; so Jimmie gave out the verse of a hymn which he thought would be suitable to the occasion. (Methodists always did that when the lights went out or the preacher stuck.)

In the good old days, when village Methodism was quivering with spiritual life, and pouring its converts into the cities and towns of England to teach the simple gospel of the Founder of our Faith, without any artificial fringes being attached to it, they were too poor, and perhaps too conscious of the superiority of the real God-given vocal capacity, to have anything to do with what many of them believed to be artificial aids to religion.  It was a fine sight to see the leader of the songsters shut his eyes, clap his hands, and with strong nasal blasts-which resembled the drone of the immortal instrument that is the terror of the English and the glory of the Scottish people-“raise the hymn,” while, as the others joined in the singing, the volume of sound swelled louder and louder, until the whole congregation were entranced by the power of their own performance.

I give the words of the verse which Jimmy asked to be sung.  Here they are-

    “Come on, my partners in distress,
     My comrades through the wilderness,
       Who still your bodies feel;
     Awhile forget your griefs and fears,
     And look beyond this vale of tears
       To that celestial hill.”

This was sung with appropriate vigour over and over again.  It is very difficult to stop a real country Methodist when the power of song is on him, and on occasions such as this they generally break off gradually, until only one or two irrepressible enthusiasts are left singing, and these have to be brought to the consciousness of time and the propriety of things by being pulled down into their seats.  Jimmy wished to proceed with his rebuke to the persons who had been the cause of the diversion, so he put a peremptory stop to the vocalists by telling them to “sit doon, and listen to God’s ambassador.”  He then resumed his address by stating that when his fist knocked the candles off the table he was “nearly givin’ way to temptation.  In fact,” said he, “I was just on the point of usin’ profane language to the mockers and scoffers of the sarvent of the livin’ God.  I mean them parvarse lads and lasses aback o’ the bed theor.”

“Amen!” interjected several saintly voices.

“But, hallelujah!” resumed James, “aa felt God was ha’d’en me back!”

“Glory!” shouted Adam Jefferson.

“Yes, ma brethren and sistors.  Aa cum amang ye t’ seek and t’ save sinners that repenteth; rich or poor, it makes nee difference to me nor ma Maister, for hasn’t He said ’where two or three are met tegithor in Ma Name, there am I in the midst’?”

“Bless Him!” cried Nannie Dent, a late accomplice of the smugglers.

Jimmy’s rebuke to the offenders was delivered with boisterous earnestness, but the comic phrasing of it created irrepressible hilarity, and they had to leave the room.  The preacher, in his closing remarks, reminded his hearers that he was once a black-hearted rascal, drinking, swearing, stealing, poaching, smuggling, and but for the mercy of God he might have added to his other crimes that of murder.  A shudder went through the congregation when “murder” was uttered, and their minds were obviously centred on the derelict vessel and the dog, which Jimmy was suspected of doing away with.

“Ah!” whispered Sam Taylor, the butler, “he should never have ventured on that affair.  Folks are varrà queer, and whether it is true or not, they like sensation and scandal.”

As though he had been gifted with prescience, Jimmy continued-“Aa can feel whaat ye are thinking aboot, but it’s not true.  This is the man aa threatened te kill,” pointing at Turnbull.  “And now let us bow oor heads in solemn, silent prayor for a few minutes, and ask forgiveness for oor past and daily sins.  And aa want ye to join with me in asking for pardon and speedy repentance to be sent tiv a porson that belangs te the gentry of this district, but whe hes been, and is noo engaged in trafficking in wickedness.  May the Lord bring him to His footstool of mercy before he is nabbed, as aa was.”

These remarks, with the exhilarating petition, caused an amount of irreverent speculation as to who was the person alluded to.  The service was brought to a close without any evidences of spiritual emotion such as had characterized previous meetings, and the people proceeded in groups to their respective homes filled with fertile curiosity, and a sinister suspicion as to who the sinful person was that Jimmy had so fervently prayed for.  But only one person who heard the rugged deliverance fixed her mind on him that was guilty, and she resolved to keep her thoughts a secret, for reasons that will be explained hereafter.  Meanwhile, many innocent men were suspected, and gossip ran rampant.  Jimmy, when asked whom he meant, was piously reticent, and merely answered-

“That is a matter that concerns God and mysel’!  The time may come when he’ll accuse hissel’.  Aa’m prayin’ mornin’, noon, and night, that the strings of his heart may be broken, and that a penitent condition of mind may take possession of him, and in the fulness of a new borth he may cry aloud, ‘O Lord, once I was blind, noo I see!’”

When Thomas Turnbull and his wife arrived home, they found the younger members of their family in an excited state of hilarity.  The youngest daughter was mimicking Jimmy perfectly, and had her brothers and sister in fits of laughter.  Their father could not refrain from joining in the fun, but the mother was quiet and pensive, and got rather huffed when her husband chided her in his good-humoured way with being indifferent to the happy surroundings.  Poor woman, she was troubled about Jimmy’s prayer, and thought it irreligious to be joyous in the midst of such dark mystery.

The following afternoon, Mrs. Turnbull paid a visit to Mrs. Clarkson, who listened with eager interest to the account of the meeting, and when the words of the closing prayer were conveyed an anxious look came over her countenance, and she made an effort to change the subject, without, however, preventing Mrs. Turnbull from detecting her confusion.

“Let us talk of something else; I do not like,” said she, “conversing about sensational things; it makes me nervous.  And if I were you, I would try to forget what has been said to you about important personages being involved in lawless traffic.  It will only make you unhappy, and serve no good purpose.  If there is anything of the sort going on, it will be discovered, and those that are guilty will be brought to justice.”

Mrs. Turnbull did not pursue the subject any farther, but the sad, pained look of her hostess became fixed in her memory.  She could not shake the conviction from her that Mrs. Clarkson was haunted by the dread of some one belonging to herself having some connection with Jimmy’s prayer.

Mrs. Turnbull paid frequent visits to the farm, and one winter evening she happened to be there when a violent snowstorm made the ground impassable, so she was prevailed upon to stay until the following day.  The household consisted of Mrs. Clarkson, her sister, and two nieces, who were very pleased to have the company of a woman who was so full of information and reminiscence.  Her mother was said to have been the daughter of a Scottish law-lord’s son, who was disinherited because he was thought to have married beneath his station-that is, instead of marrying the lady selected by his father from his own class, who had nothing in common with him, he had chosen and fixed his affections on a lady outside his rank, who was talented, had high intellectual and religious qualities, and good looks, but was financially poor.  Mrs. Turnbull had excited the curiosity of the two young ladies by relating this part of her history, and they were naturally eager to hear more.  With that object in view, they asked their aunt to allow her to sleep in their room, and the request was granted.  The good lady, however, had said all that she intended to say about herself, and notwithstanding the ingenious and persuasive requests of her young friends, she stood steadfastly to her resolve.  She talked to them about the farm and their aunt and cousins, and her own family, and the religious work that was being carried on, but never another word about herself or her ancestry could be drawn from her.  Perhaps it was that she considered it scarcely wise to discuss romance with young girls.  And so they talked themselves out about other things, and then went to sleep.

Early in the morning, Mrs. Turnbull was awakened by what she took to be a door slamming.  She got up with the intention of closing it, and then heard voices talking, sometimes in an ordinary tone, but for the most part in an excited whisper.  She listened, with the bedroom door ajar, and heard the voice of Mrs. Clarkson say-

“If you do not dissociate yourself from these wicked men you will come to grief.  You are supposed to be in Australia.  Indeed, it may be that Mr. Turnbull has his suspicion even now that I am harbouring an accomplice of the men whose trade is smuggling, and who try to get rid of those who prevent them carrying it on.  I beseech you to cut yourself adrift from that other man, who, I believe, has you under his influence, and who, I feel sure, is associated with this gang of lawbreakers.”

At this stage, Mrs. Turnbull could not restrain the desire to cough.  She did try to subdue it, but Mrs. Clarkson’s companion whispered to her-

“Whist!  I hear some one on the landing.”

“Do not fear,” said Mrs. Clarkson; “it is only the wind making noises through the trees.”

But her companion knew better, so not another word was spoken.

The next morning Mrs. Clarkson looked worried, but she was quite affable with her guest, who acted her part without giving the slightest suspicion of having overheard the little nocturnal conversation.

Immediately after breakfast, Mrs. Turnbull bade farewell to the family, and was soon in the thick of domestic matters in her own home.  That night’s experience at the Dean Farm settled the destiny of several families.  The information unwittingly gleaned and discreetly used, led to far-reaching consequences to the district, and to all those involved.

It was well known that the smugglers had places of concealment other than the accommodation gratuitously given them by certain farmers.  The secret of the real cave’s whereabouts was successfully kept, but one of those accidents that often come to disturb the current of human affairs led to an important discovery.

Softly the night wind blew over a glassy sea.  The sound of the rippling water on the reef of rocks and on the sandy beach had a weird, melancholy effect.  Then came the dull noise of muffled oars commingling with the cawing of the gull and hollow surging of the waters into the Fairy Rocks.  There was neither moon nor stars visible, but in the bay the experienced eye could discern the mysterious lugger.  There she lay, hove to, or anchored below the Dean House, which could be seen peeping out between two sandy hills.  A dim light-which, to the uninformed, would have conveyed the impression of a light in a cottage window, but which was really a signal to the smugglers that the coast was clear-flickered in a line with the sandy valley; and, in truth, the quietude of the night betokened all was well.  The landing was successfully made without interruption, and the men gaily entered on the task of transporting the cargo to its destination, believing, as they had a right to believe, that a big haul would be stored without a single hitch in the process.  The accomplices scattered after their work was done, and the sailors returned to their vessel, no doubt well satisfied with the night’s enterprise.  But notwithstanding the many scouts they sent out, they were quite oblivious of the fact that their movements had been closely watched.  Sail was set, and the sneaking craft crept out into the illimitable darkness, having apparently completed its work unseen by unfriendly eyes.  There was not a little talk round the countryside about the landing that had taken place without any one in authority to check its progress.  Wise, knowing people said it was timidity, and others attributed it to indifference to the public service; the truth being, it was neither the one nor the other.  It was, in fact, a carefully-planned scheme to discover exactly where the mysterious cave was situated; and although in spite of exhaustive search the entrance to it could not be found, they had got a clue to its locality.  A vigorous policy of exploration was inaugurated, but after many weeks of toil the operations were abandoned without the mystery having been penetrated.  It was thought that time and opportunity would solve the problem, but how it was to be solved no one knew.  There was, indeed, great speculation as to what might happen should another landing be attempted, but month after month passed without any indication of this, and the little population had settled down to a dull monotony.  Except for a casual reference to the stirring times, the smugglers and their emissaries were apparently all but forgotten.  The Preventive men were secretly as much on the alert as when the smugglers were most active.  They purposely adopted an apparent indifference with the idea of luring the rovers into over-confidence.  Each party took into account the possibility of being betrayed.  In all secretive illegal societies there are suspects.  Jimmy Stone having changed his mode of life, suspicion fell very naturally on him; but though he sometimes darkly hinted at the identity and the secrets of his late allies, he was never known to definitely divulge anything that would incriminate them.  The nephew of Mrs. Clarkson was another marked man, as was also a friend of his.  The former had been very little heard of in those parts since the night that his aunt implored him to give up his associates.  The last that was really seen of Lawrence and his friend, they were drinking together in a public-house, and a few days after some of their torn and blood-stained clothes were found in a lonely hedged-in lane close by the moor.  This dreaded place was called the “Mugger’s Lonnin” by the country-folk, owing to its being a camping-ground for the gipsies, and from end to end it was prolific of bramble-berries and other wild fruit.  When the children went during the summer months to gather these they were always accompanied by a few grown-up people, as it was believed that many terrible tragedies had happened there.  The discovery of the clothes and the patches of blood right in the middle of the lonnin was indicative of a foul murder having taken place, and the bodies dragged along the grass to some place of concealment.  Search parties were formed, bloodhounds were called into requisition, but no trace of the murdered lads’ bodies could be found, and for many months this supposed terrible crime was sealed in mystery.  A few people were callous enough to say that they were convinced that no murder had taken place, but these were very unpopular.  The greater part of the small colony liked sensation, and nursed this one assiduously until an almost greater came to hand by it leaking out that the two men had been expeditiously sent to Australia, and that the blood on their clothes was not their own, but that of a sheep which had been killed for the purpose of misleading.  This exciting revelation lead to important issues.  Were they really alive and in Australia?  Had they been bribed to reveal the secrets of their former friends, or was it dread of capture that caused them to be sent out of the country?  These were some of the outspoken conjectures that flowed with ever-increasing imagination.  The real facts never became known, but the tales of these stirring times have been handed down in more or less hyperbolic form.  It may be fairly assumed that Thomas Turnbull got reliable information from some source which he was never known to disclose, and having got it, he hastened to use it judiciously and to advantage.

The entrance to the cave was at last found at a spot where he and his comrades had many times traversed.  It was so ingeniously concealed that they might have searched until the day of doom, and it could never have been found but for the agency that conveyed him to the spot.  Tradition speaks of it being a long subterranean passage, running east to west, and opening out close to a road that was quite accessible to carts.  It was honeycombed with compartments, and so carefully were they constructed that only the initiated could have discovered their locality.  Some of the cells still contained quantities of contraband, so that the Board of Customs made a good haul.

Turnbull frequently rubbed shoulders with men and women who eloquently declaimed against the smugglers and their allies.  He knew these people were in the inner circle of the traffic.  He realized also that it was not good policy to let them see that he knew that they were merely acting a part.  He might some day have to make use of them.  There was a section who never disguised their antipathy to him.  They saw that through him the day of smuggling on that part of the coast was well-nigh over-if not over altogether.  It was he who had been the instrument of emptying the vaults of treasure which they regarded as legitimately theirs, and closing them to further enterprise.  It was, in fact, the system that he represented that was paralyzing their honest efforts of contributing to their means of subsistence!  These were only some of the many indictments proclaimed against him and his colleagues.  The aggrieved ones strolled about with an air of injured virtue, and their ferocious looks and veiled threats at the intruder as he passed along betokened the belief in their prescriptive right to plunder the Revenue.  I think it is Macaulay who says that “no man is so merciless as he who is under a strong self-delusion.”

The seizure of the storehouse gave a staggering blow to the “fair-traders,” but it did not prevent them from making another desperate attempt to land their wares, and also to have their revenge by destroying a few of her Majesty’s servants.  On dark nights the horn lanterns were seen about the links, the flare-light flashed across the sea, and the curlew’s shrill call was heard.  These signs were now known to the Preventive staff; but they also had their signs and their means of conveying news, so that when the low, sneaking black lugger again appeared, they were ready for the fray.

There she was, snugly anchored in the sleepy bay.  The first boat-load had left her side.  The slow, dull sound of the horses’ hoofs vibrated through the hollows, and the night wind from the fields of sleep blew softly over the rustling bents, causing a weird, peaceful lullaby.  The boat’s bow is run on to the beach, a dozen or more men jump from her into the water and haul her up as far as the weight of the cargo will allow.  They then commence to discharge.  Again the curlew’s call is heard, again the sharp flare-light is seen; but no aid comes.  The cargo is landed at high-water mark; they realize something is wrong, and hesitate whether to re-ship or re-embark without it.  They are soon disillusioned.  A horse gallops madly from the south.  The rider shouts at the top of his voice, “Run, sailors, run!  Treachery!” and then heads his horse full speed in the direction he came from, and is soon lost to view.  The men push their boat into the sea, and row with all their might towards the vessel.  Bullets from a score of muskets whiz over their heads; but they are accustomed to this, and lay their backs into the oars with increased vigour.  Meanwhile, a coble sails almost peacefully alongside their ill-fated craft.  In an instant a crowd of concealed men rush aboard and call out, “Surrender!” But smugglers were not given to surrender when merely requested, so a hand-to-hand fight took place.  The butt-end of muskets were freely used, and to some purpose.  There was no heroic effort to get at the powder magazine, so that they might blow themselves and everybody else up.

The lugger was in undisputed possession of the Revenue men before the boat from the shore reached her.  They, too, were quickly disposed of, after a short, angry, though feeble resistance.  Stringent precautions were taken to prevent any blowing-up exploits.  The whole gang were well secured against that, and any other hostile outbreaks.  This having been done to the satisfaction of the officer in charge, the anchor was weighed, a course was shaped towards the south, and the last of the low, black, romantic luggers, with their gallant crews, passed away, never more to be seen on this part of the coast.

Recognition of the deeds done by the dauntless heroes of that age in the Government service was very scanty.  It may be they did not expect it.  In that case they were rarely disappointed.  Thomas Turnbull seems to have got his reward in being allowed to remain on the station until the time came to retire on a pension.  He went about his routine work with placid regularity, and devoted what leisure he had to widening his reading, which consisted mainly of history, theology, and Burns’s poems.  He was never known to miss his class-meeting, and travelled eight miles each way to keep his pulpit appointments on Sundays.  He sometimes entertained his family and the young folk that visited them by relating his experiences with the smugglers, but his greatest pleasure was in holding religious meetings in one or other of the fishers’ cottages.  In this he was gratuitously aided by Jimmy Stone, who entered into his work with energy, zeal, and oftentimes amazing resource.  Jimmy had developed a form of religious mania, insisting on the theory that he was, as a preacher, a direct descendant of the Apostles.  This assumption severely taxed the Christian virtues of the little society.  Turnbull, who had a keen sense of humour, viewed the new situation with intense amusement, and always excused the foibles of his old convert up to the time of leaving the district to end his own eventful career within easy reach of his family, who were all grown-up and doing well.  Jimmy did not long survive him, but he lived long enough to see the passing away of that spiritual wave that had changed his whole life.

Many years after, an ugly incident broke the spell of monotony in the village.  A hideous-looking creature came to it and addressed himself to a fisherman.  His voice was that of a drunkard.  He was dirty, his eyes were bleared, and the cunning, shifty look betokened a long life of vicious habits.  He wished to know when Mrs. Clarkson died, where all her relations that lived round about her were, to whom the estates were sold, and whom the money they realized went to; what had become of Turnbull and his family, and how long was it since the smugglers were driven off the coast?  These questions were only meagrely answered, as the man he inquired of belonged to another generation, and there were only very few left who knew anything of the period or the people that he desired information about.  The following day the body of a man, supposed to be a tramp, was found in a barn.  He had left evidence of his identity, and when it was discovered that the stranger was Stephen Lawrence, Mrs. Clarkson’s nephew, the once flashy young gentleman who controlled her estates, and who had been sent abroad when grave suspicion rested upon him of being seriously involved in pecuniary défalcations, it created a fresh sensation, and revived all the old stories of bygone days.  He had come to die within the shadow of the home in which he was so indulgently reared, and his remains were buried by those who knew not of him.  It was probably through him and Melbourne that the secret locality of the cave and other valuable information which led up to the final conflict and defeat of the smugglers became known.

The “Mugger’s Lonnin,” all blazing with red and yellow flowers and long silvery grass growing wild, and covering the mysteries that lie beneath, is still there.  The superstitions regarding its history still exist.  The sandhills, capped with the rustling, silky bents, looking down into the bay, are still there.  The thrilling sea winds come and go, and the music of the shells on the beach is whispering as before, but the shrill wail of the curlew is never sounded from knoll to knoll now.  The horn lantern is not seen by the roadsides, nor the quick flashlight that signalled the coast was clear; and the rattle of the horses’ hoofs on the stones during the mystic night is never now heard.  There is nothing to indicate, in fact, that this lonely, superb piece of England was once (not so long ago) a great centre of illicit trading.  The smuggler and Revenue man have disappeared, and the scenes of their successes or failures, daring, comic, and sometimes tragic, are undisturbed save by nature’s sights and sounds.  Man-o’-war sailors (fine fellows though they be), with ribboned caps, and trousers that flap like sails of a ship tacking, have replaced the trim, gentlemanlike civilian of old.  Some of the latter are still remembered with affection, and even veneration, by people who were young when the last of them passed away.