Before I proceed farther with the events of that morning, I must return for a time to the evening which preceded it. It was a dark and somewhat dreary night, when Mr. Radford, leaving his son stupidly drunk at Sir Robert Croyland's, proceeded to the hall door to mount his horse; and as he pulled his large riding-boots over his shoes and stockings, and looked out, he regretted that he had not ordered his carriage. "Who would have thought," he said, "that such a fine day would have ended in such a dull evening?"
"It often happens, my dear Radford," replied Sir Robert Croyland, who stood beside him, "that everything looks fair and prosperous for a time; then suddenly the wind shifts, and a gloomy night succeeds."
Mr. Radford was not well-pleased with the homily. It touched upon that which was a sore subject with him at that moment; for, to say the truth, he was labouring under no light apprehensions regarding the result of certain speculations of his. He had lately lost a large sum in one of these wild adventures--far more than was agreeable to a man of his money-getting turn of mind; and though he was sanguine enough, from long success, to embark, like a determined gambler, a still larger amount in the same course, yet the first shadow of reverse which had fallen upon him, brought home and applied to his own situation the very commonplace words of Sir Robert Croyland; and he began to fancy that the bright day of his prosperity might be indeed over, and a dark and gloomy night about to succeed.
As we have said, therefore, he did not at all like the baronet's homily; and, as very often happens with men of his disposition, he felt displeased with the person whose words alarmed him. Murmuring something, therefore, about its being "a devilish ordinary circumstance indeed," he strode to the door, scarcely wishing the baronet good night, and mounted a powerful horse, which was held ready for him. He then rode forward, followed by two servants on horseback, proceeding slowly at first, but getting into a quicker pace when he came upon the parish road, and trotting on hard along the edge of Harbourne Wood. He had drunk as much wine as his son; but his hard and well-seasoned head was quite insensible to the effects of strong beverages, and he went on revolving all probable contingencies, somewhat sullen and out of humour with all that had passed during the afternoon, and taking a very unpromising view of everybody and everything.
"I've a notion," he thought, "that old scoundrel Croyland is playing fast and loose about his daughter's marriage with my son. He shall repent it if he do; and if Dick does not make the girl pay for all her airs and coldness when he's got her, he's no son of mine. He seems as great a fool as she is, though, and makes love to her sister without a penny, never saying a word to a girl who has forty thousand pounds. The thing shall soon be settled one way or another, however. I'll have a conference with Sir Robert on Friday, and bring him to book. I'll not be trifled with any longer. Here we have been kept more than four years waiting till the girl chooses to make up her mind, and I'll not stop any longer. It shall be, yes or no, at once."
He was still busy with such thoughts when he reached the angle of Harbourne Wood, and a loud voice exclaimed, "Hi! Mr. Radford!"
"Who the devil are you?" exclaimed that worthy gentleman, pulling in his horse, and at the same time putting his hand upon one of the holsters, which every one at that time carried at his saddle bow.
"Harding, sir," answered the voice--"Jack Harding; and I want to speak a word with you."
At the same time the man walked forward; and Mr. Radford immediately dismounting, gave his horse to the servants, and told them to lead him quietly on till they came to Tiffenden. Then pausing till the sound of the hoofs became somewhat faint, he asked, with a certain degree of alarm, "Well, Harding, what's the matter? What has brought you up in such a hurry to-night?"
"No great hurry, sir," answered the smuggler, "I came up about four o'clock; and finding that you were dining at Sir Robert's, I thought I would look out for you as you went home, having something to tell you. I got an inkling last night, that, some how or another, the people down at Hythe have some suspicion that you are going to try something, and I doubt that boy very much."
"Indeed! indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Radford, evidently under great apprehension. "What have they found out, Harding?"
"Why, not much, I believe," replied the smuggler; "but merely that there's something in the wind, and that you have a hand in it."
"That's bad enough--that's bad enough," repeated Mr. Radford. "We must put it off, Harding. We must delay it, till this has blown by."
"No, I think not, sir," answered the smuggler. "It seems to me, on the contrary, that we ought to hurry it; and I'll tell you why. You see, the wind changed about five, and if I'm not very much mistaken, we shall have a cloudy sky and dirty weather for the next week at least. That's one thing; but then another is this, the Ramleys are going to make a run this very night. Now, I know that the whole affair is blown; and though they may get the goods ashore they wont carry them far. I told them so, just to be friendly; but they wouldn't listen, and you know their rash way. Bill Ramley answered, they would run the goods in broad daylight, if they liked, that there was not an officer in all Kent who would dare to stop them. Now, I know that they will be caught to-morrow morning, somewhere up about your place. I rather think, too, your son has a hand in the venture; and if I were you, I would do nothing to make people believe that it wasn't my own affair altogether. Let them think what they please; and then they are not so likely to be on the look-out."
"I see--I see," cried Mr. Radford. "If they catch these fellows, and think that this is my venture, they will never suspect another. It's a good scheme. We had better set about it to-morrow night."
"I don't know," answered Harding. "That cannot well be done, I should think. First, you must get orders over to the vessel to stand out to sea; then you must get all your people together, and one half of them are busy upon this other scheme, the Ramleys and young Chittenden, and him they call the major, and all their parties. You must see what comes of that first; for one half of them may be locked up before to-morrow night.
"That's unfortunate, indeed!" said Mr. Radford, thoughtfully.
"One must take a little ill luck with plenty of good luck," observed Harding; "and it's fortunate enough for you that these wild fellows will carry through this mad scheme, when they know they are found out before they start. Besides, I'm not sure that it is not best to wait till the night after, or, may be, the night after that. Then the news will have spread, that the goods have been either run and hid away, or seized by the officers. In either case, if you manage well, they will think that it is your venture; and the fellows on the coast will be off their guard--especially Mowle, who's the sharpest of them all."
"Oh, I'll go down to-morrow and talk to Mowle myself," replied Mr. Radford. "It will be well worth my while to give him a hundred guineas to wink a bit."
"Don't try it--don't try it!" exclaimed Harding, quickly. "It will do no good, and a great deal of harm. In the first place, you can do nothing with Mowle. He never took a penny in his life."
"Oh, every man has his price," rejoined Mr. Radford, whose opinion of human nature, as the reader may have perceived, was not particularly high. "It's only because he wants to be bid up to. Mr. Mowle thinks himself above five or ten pounds; but the chink of a hundred guineas is a very pleasant sound."
"He's as honest a fellow as ever lived," answered Harding, "and I tell you plainly, Mr. Radford, that if you offered him ten times the sum, he wouldn't take it. You would only shew him that this venture is not your grand one, without doing yourself the least good. He's a fair, open enemy, and lets every one know that, as long as he's a riding-officer here, he will do all he can against us."
"Then he must be knocked on the head," said Mr. Radford, in a calm and deliberate tone; "and it shall be done, too, if he meddles with my affairs."
"It will not be I who do it," replied Harding; "unless we come hand to hand together. Then, every man must take care of himself; but I should be very sorry, notwithstanding; for he's a straightforward, bold fellow, as brave as a lion, and with a good heart into the bargain. I wonder such an honest man ever went into such a rascally service."
The last observation of our friend Harding may perhaps sound strangely to the reader's ears; but some allowance must be made for professional prejudices, and it is by no means too much to say that the smugglers of those days, and even of a much later period, looked upon their own calling as highly honest, honourable, and respectable, regarding the Customs as a most fraudulent and abominable institution, and all connected with it more or less in the light of a band of swindlers and knaves, leagued together for the purpose of preventing honest men from pursuing their avocations in peace. Such were the feelings which induced Harding to wonder that so good a man as Mowle could have anything to do with the prevention of smuggling; for he was so thoroughly convinced he was in the right himself, that he could not conceive how any one could see the case in any other point of view.
"Ay," answered Mr. Radford, "that is a wonder, if he is such a good sort of man; but that I doubt. However, as you say it would not do to put oneself in his power, I'll have him looked after, and in the meanwhile, let us talk of the rest of the business. You say the night after to-morrow, or the night after that! I must know, however; for the men must be down. How are we to arrange that?"
"Why, I'll see what the weather is like," was Harding's reply. "Then I can easily send up to let you know--or, what will be better still, if you can gather the men together the day after to-morrow, in the different villages not far off the coast, and I should find it the right sort of night, and get out to sea, they shall see a light on the top of Tolsford Hill, as soon as I am near in shore again. That will serve to guide them and puzzle the officers. Then let them gather, and come down towards Dymchurch, where they will find somebody from me to guide them."
"They shall gather first at Saltwood," said Mr. Radford, "and then march down to Dymchurch. But how are we to manage about the ship?"
"Why, you must send an order," answered Harding, "for both days, and let your skipper know that if he does not see us the first, he will see us the second."
"You had better take it down with you at once," replied Mr. Radford, "and get it off early to-morrow. If you'll just come up to my house, I'll write it for you in a minute."
"Ay, but I'm not going home to-night," said the smuggler; "I can have a bed at Mrs. Clare's; and I'm going to sleep there, so you can send it over when you like in the morning, and I'll get it off in time."
"I wish you would not go hanging about after that girl, when we've got such serious business in hand," exclaimed Mr. Radford, in a sharp tone; but the next moment he added, with a sudden change of voice, "It doesn't signify to-night, however. There will be time enough; and they say you are going to marry her, Harding. Is that true?"
"I should say, that's my business," replied Harding, bluntly, "but that I look upon it as an honour, Mr. Radford, that she's going to marry me; for a better girl does not live in the land, and I've known her a long while now, so I'm never likely to think otherwise."
"Ay, I've known her a long time, too," answered Mr. Radford--"ever since her poor father was shot, and before; and a very good girl I believe she is. But now that you are over here, you may as well wait and hear what comes of these goods. Couldn't you just ride over to the Ramleys to-morrow morning--there you'll hear all about it."
Harding laughed, but replied the next moment, in a grave tone, "I don't like the Ramleys, sir, and don't want to have more to do with them than I can help. I shall hear all about it soon enough, without going there."
"But I sha'n't," answered Mr. Radford.
"Then you had better send your son, sir," rejoined Harding. "He's oftener there than I am, a great deal.--Well, the matter is all settled, then. Either the night after to-morrow, or the night after that, if the men keep a good look-out, they'll see a light on Tolsford Hill. Then they must gather as fast as possible at Saltwood, and come on with anybody they may find there. Good night, Mr. Radford."
"Good night, Harding--good night," said Mr. Radford, walking on; and the other turning his steps back towards Harbourne, made his way, by the first road on the right, to the cottage where we have seen him in the earlier part of the day.
It was a pleasant aspect that the cottage presented when he went in, which he did without any of the ceremonies of knocking at the door or ringing the bell; for he was sure of a welcome. There was but one candle lighted on the table, for the dwellers in the place were poor; but the room was small, and that one was quite sufficient to shew the white walls and the neat shelves covered with crockery, and with one or two small prints in black frames. Besides, there was the fire-place, with a bright and cheerful, but not large fire; for though, in the month of September, English nights are frequently cold and sometimes frosty, the weather had been as yet tolerably mild. Nevertheless, the log of fir at the top blazed high, and crackled amidst the white and red embers below, and the flickering flame, as it rose and fell, caused the shadows to fall more vaguely or distinctly upon the walls, with a fanciful uncertainty of outline, that had something cheerful, yet mysterious in it.
The widow was bending over the fire, with her face turned away, and her figure in the shadow. The daughter was busily working with her needle, but her eyes were soon raised--and they were very beautiful eyes--as Harding entered. A smile, too, was upon her lips; and though even tears may be lovely, and a sad look awaken deep and tender emotions, yet the smile of affection on a face we love is the brightest aspect of that bright thing the human countenance. It is what the sunshine is to the landscape, which may be fair in the rain or sublime in the storm, but can never harmonize so fully with the innate longing for happiness which is in the breast of every one, as when lighted up with the rays that call all its excellence and all its powers into life and being.
Harding sat down beside the girl, and took her hand in his, saying, "Well, Kate, this day three weeks, then, remember?"
"My mother says so," answered the girl, with a cheek somewhat glowing, "and then, you know, John, you are to give it up altogether. No more danger--no more secrets?"
"Oh, as for danger," answered Harding, laughing, "I did not say that, love. I don't know what life would be worth without danger. Every man is in danger all day long; and I suppose that we are only given life just to feel the pleasure of it by the chance of losing it. But no dangers but the common ones, Kate. I'll give up the trade, as you have made me promise; and I shall have enough by that time to buy out the whole vessel, in which I've got shares, and what between that and the boats, we shall do very well. You put me in mind, with your fears, of a song that wicked boy, little Starlight, used to sing. I learned it from hearing him: a more mischievous little dog does not live; but he has got a sweet pipe."
"Sing it, John--sing it!" cried Kate; "I love to hear you sing, for it seems as if you sing what you are thinking."
"No, I wont sing it," answered Harding, "for it is a sad sort of song, and that wont do when I am so happy."
"Oh, I like sad songs!" said the girl; "they please me far more than all the merry ones."
"Oh, pray sing it, Harding!" urged the widow; "I am very fond of a song that makes me cry."
"This wont do that," replied the smuggler; "but it is sadder than some that do, I always think. However, I'll sing it, if you like;" and in a fine, mellow, bass voice, to a very simple air, with a flattened third coming in every now and then, like the note of a wintry bird, he went on:--
SONG."Life's like a boat,Rowing--rowingOver a bright sea,On the waves to float,Flowing--flowingAway from her lea."Up goes the sheet!Sailing--sailing,To catch the rising breeze,While the winds fleet,Wailing--wailing,Sigh o'er the seas."She darts through the waves,Gaily--gaily,Scattering the foam.Beneath her, open graves,Daily--daily,The blithest to entomb."Who heeds the deep,Yawning--yawningFor its destined prey,When from night's dark sleep,Dawning--dawning,Wakens the bright day?"Away, o'er the tide!Fearless--fearlessOf all that lies beneath;Let the waves still hide,Cheerless--cheerless,All their stores of death."Stray where we may,Roaming--roamingEither far or near,Death is on the way,Coming--coming--Who's the fool to fear?"
SONG.
"Life's like a boat,
Rowing--rowing
Over a bright sea,On the waves to float,
Flowing--flowing
Away from her lea.
"Up goes the sheet!
Sailing--sailing,
To catch the rising breeze,While the winds fleet,
Wailing--wailing,
Sigh o'er the seas.
"She darts through the waves,
Gaily--gaily,
Scattering the foam.Beneath her, open graves,
Daily--daily,
The blithest to entomb.
"Who heeds the deep,
Yawning--yawning
For its destined prey,When from night's dark sleep,
Dawning--dawning,
Wakens the bright day?
"Away, o'er the tide!
Fearless--fearless
Of all that lies beneath;Let the waves still hide,
Cheerless--cheerless,
All their stores of death.
"Stray where we may,
Roaming--roaming
Either far or near,Death is on the way,
Coming--coming--
Who's the fool to fear?"
The widow did weep, however, not at the rude song, though the voice that sung it was fine, and perfect in the melody, but at the remembrances which it awakened--remembrances on which she loved to dwell, although they were so sad.
"Ay, Harding," she said, "it's very true what your song says. Whatever way one goes, death is near enough; and I don't know that it's a bit nearer on the sea than anywhere else."
"Not a whit," replied Harding; "God's hand is upon the sea as well as upon the land, Mrs. Clare; and if it is his will that we go, why we go; and if it is his will that we stay, he doesn't want strength to protect us."
"No, indeed," answered Mrs. Clare; "and it's that which comforts me, for I think that what is God's will must be good. I'm sure, when my poor husband went out in the morning, six years ago come the tenth of October next, as well and as hearty as a man could be, I never thought to see him brought home a corpse, and I left a lone widow with my poor girl, and not knowing where to look for any help. But God raised me up friends where I least expected them."
"Why you had every right to expect that Sir Robert would be kind to you, Mrs. Clare," rejoined Harding, "when your husband had been in his service for sixteen or seventeen years."
"No, indeed, I hadn't," said the widow; "for Sir Robert was always, we thought, a rough, hard master, grumbling continually, till my poor man could hardly bear it; for he was a free-spoken man, as I dare say you remember, Mr. Harding, and would say his mind to any one, gentle or simple."
"He was as good a soul as ever lived," answered Harding; "a little rash and passionate, but none the worse for that."
"Ay, but it was that which set the head keeper against him," answered the widow, "and he set Sir Robert, making out that Edward was always careless and insolent; but he did his duty as well as any man, and knowing that, he didn't like to be found fault with. However, I don't blame Sir Robert; for since my poor man's death he has found out what he was worth; and very kind he has been to me, to be sure. The cottage, and the garden, and the good bit of ground at the back, and twelve shillings a-week into the bargain, have we had from him ever since."
"Ay, and I am sure nothing can be kinder than the two young ladies," said Kate; "they are always giving me something; and Miss Edith taught me all I know. I should have been sadly ignorant if it had not been for her--and a deal of trouble I gave her."
"God bless her!" cried Harding, heartily. "She's a nice young lady, I believe, though I never saw her but twice, and then she looked very sad."
"Ay, she has cause enough, poor thing!" said Mrs. Clare. "Though I remember her as blithe as the morning lark--a great deal gayer than Miss Zara, gay as she may be."
"Ay, I know--they crossed her love," answered Harding; "and that's enough to make one sad. Though I never heard the rights of the story."
"Oh, it was bad enough to break her heart, poor thing!" replied Mrs. Clare. "You remember young Leyton, the rector's son--a fine, handsome, bold lad as ever lived, and as good as he was handsome. Well, he was quite brought up with these young ladies, you know--always up at the Hall, and Miss Edith always down at the Rectory; and one would have thought Sir Robert blind or foolish, not to fancy that two such young things would fall in love with each other; and so they did, to be sure. Many's the time I've seen them down here, in this very cottage, laughing and talking, and as fond as a pair of doves--for Sir Robert used to let them do just whatever they liked, and many a time used to send young Harry Leyton to take care of Miss Croyland, when she was going out to walk any distance; so, very naturally, they promised themselves to each other; and one day--when he was twenty and she just sixteen--they got a Prayer-Book at the Rectory, and read over the marriage ceremony together, and took all the vows down upon their bended knees. I remember it quite well, for I was down at the Rectory that very day helping the housekeeper; and just as they had done old Mr. Leyton came in, and found them somewhat confused, and the book open between them. He would know what it was all about, and they told him the truth. So then he was in a terrible taking; and he got Miss Croyland under his arm and went away up to Sir Robert directly, and told him the whole story without a minute's delay. Every one thought it would end in being a match; for though Sir Robert was very angry, and insisted that Harry Leyton should be sent to his regiment immediately--for he was then just home for a bit, on leave--he did not show how angry he was at first, but very soon after he turned Mr. Leyton out of the living, and made him pay, I don't know what, for dilapidations; so that he was arrested and put in prison--which broke his heart, poor man, and he died!"
Harding gave Sir Robert Croyland a hearty oath; and Mrs. Clare proceeded to tell her tale, saying--"I did not give much heed to the matter then; for it was just at that time that my husband was killed, and I could think of nothing else; but when I came to hear of what was going on, I found that Sir Robert had promised his daughter to this young Radford----"
"As nasty a vermin as ever lived," said Harding.
"Well, she wont have him, I'm sure," continued the widow, "for it has been hanging off and on for these six years. People at first said it was because they were too young. But I know that she has always refused, and declared that nothing should ever drive her to marry him, or any one else; for the law might say what it liked, but her own heart and her own conscience, told her that she was Harry Leyton's wife, and could not be any other man's, as long as he was living. Susan, her maid, heard her say so to Sir Robert himself; but he still keeps teasing her about it, and tells everybody she's engaged to young Radford."
"He'll go the devil," said Harding; "and I'll go to bed, Mrs. Clare, for I must be up early to-morrow, to get a good many things to rights. God bless you Kate, my love! I dare say I shall see you before I go--for I must measure the dear little finger!" And giving her a hearty kiss, Harding took a candle, and retired to the snug room that had been prepared for him.
We must change the scene for a while, not only to another part of the county of Kent, but to very different people from the worthy Widow Clare and the little party assembled at her cottage. We must pass over the events of the night also, and of the following morning up to the hour of nine, proposing shortly to return to Harbourne House, and trace the course of those assembled there. The dwelling into which we must now introduce the reader, was a large, old-fashioned Kentish farm-house, not many miles on the Sussex side of Ashford. It was built, as many of these farm-houses still are, in the form of a cross, presenting four limbs of strongly constructed masonry, two stories high, with latticed windows divided into three partitions, separated by rather neatly cut divisions of stone. Externally it had a strong Harry-the-Eighth look about it, and probably had been erected in his day, or in that of one of his immediate successors, as the residence of some of the smaller gentry of the time. At the period I speak of, it was tenanted by a family notorious for their daring and licentious life, and still renowned in county tradition for many a fierce and lawless act. Nevertheless, the head of the house, now waxing somewhat in years, carried on, not only ostensibly but really, the peaceable occupation of a Kentish farmer. He had his cows and his cattle, and his sheep and his pigs; he grew wheat and barley, and oats and turnips; had a small portion of hop-ground, and brewed his own beer. But this trade of farming was only a small part of his employment, though, to say the truth, he had given himself up more to it since his bodily powers had declined, and he was no longer able to bear the fatigue and exertion which the great strength of his early years had looked upon as sport. The branch of his business which he was most fond of was now principally entrusted to his two sons; and two strong, handsome daughters, which made the number of his family amount to four, occasionally aided their brothers, dressed in men's clothes, and mounted upon powerful horses, which they managed as well as any grooms in the county.
The reader must not think that, in this description, we are exercising indiscreetly our licence for dealing in fiction. We are painting a true picture of the family of which we speak, as they lived and acted some eighty or eighty-five years ago.
The wife of the farmer had been dead ten or twelve years; and her children had done just what they liked ever since; but it must be admitted, that, even if she had lived to superintend their education, we have no reason to conclude their conduct would have been very different from what it was. We have merely said that they had done as they pleased ever since her death, because during her life she had made them do as she pleased, and beat them, or, as she herself termed it, "basted" them heartily, if they did not. She was quite capable of doing so too, to her own perfect satisfaction, for probably few arms in all Kent were furnished with more sinewy muscles or a stouter fist than hers could boast. It was only upon minor points of difference, however, that she and her children ever quarrelled; for of their general course of conduct she approved most highly; and no one was more ready to receive packets of lace, tea, or other goods under her fostering care, or more apt and skilful in stopping a tub of spirits from "talking," or of puzzling a Custom-House officer when force was not at hand to resist him.
She was naturally of so strong a constitution, and so well built a frame, that it is wonderful she died at all; but having caught cold one night, poor thing!--it is supposed, in setting fire to a neighbouring farm-house, the inmates of which were suspected of having informed against her husband--her very strength and vigour gave a tendency to inflammation, which speedily reduced her very low. A surgeon, who visited the house in fear and trembling, bled her largely, and forbade the use of all that class of liquids which she was accustomed to imbibe in considerable quantities; and for three or four days the fear of death made her follow his injunctions. But at the end of that period, when the crisis of the disease was imminent, finding herself no better, and very weak, she declared that the doctor was a fool, and ought to have his head broken, and directed the maid to bring her the big green bottle out of the corner cupboard. To this she applied more than once, and then beginning to get a little riotous, she sent for her family to witness how soon she had cured herself. Sitting up in her bed, with a yellow dressing-gown over her shoulders, and a gay cap overshadowing her burning face, she sung them a song in praise of good liquor--somewhat panting for breath, it must be owned--and then declaring that she was "devilish thirsty," which was probably accurate to the letter, she poured out a large glass from the big green bottle, which happened to be her bed-fellow for the time, and raised it to her lips. Half the contents went down her throat; but, how it happened I do not know, the rest was spilt upon the bed clothes, and good Mrs. Ramley fell back in a doze, from which nobody could rouse her. Before two hours were over she slept a still sounder sleep, which required the undertaker to provide against its permanence.
The bereaved widower comforted himself after a time. We will not say how many hours it required to effect that process. He was not a drunken man himself; for the passive participle of the verb to "drink" was not often actually applicable to his condition. Nevertheless, there was a great consumption of hollands in the house during the next week; and, if it was a wet funeral that followed, it was not with water, salt or fresh.
There are compensations for all things; and if Ramley had lost his wife, and his children a mother, they all lost also a great number of very good beatings, for, sad to say, he who could thrash all the country round, submitted very often to be thrashed by his better half, or at all events underwent the process of either having his head made closely acquainted with a candlestick, or rendered the means of breaking a platter. After that period the two boys grew up into as fine, tall, handsome, dissolute blackguards as one could wish to look upon; and for the two girls, no term perhaps can be found in the classical authors of our language; but the vernacular supplies an epithet particularly applicable, which we must venture to use. They were twostrapping wenches, nearly as tall as their brothers, full, rounded, and well formed in person, fine and straight cut in features, with large black shining eyes, a well-turned foot and ancle, and, as was generally supposed, the invincible arm of their mother.
We are not here going to investigate or dwell upon the individual morality of the two young ladies. It is generally said to have been better in some respects than either their ordinary habits, their education, or their language would have led one to expect; and, perhaps being very full of the stronger passions, the softer ones had no great dominion over them.
There, however, they sat at breakfast on the morning of which we have spoken, in the kitchen of the farm-house, with their father seated at the head of the table. He was still a great, tall, raw-boned man, with a somewhat ogre-ish expression of countenance, and hair more white than grey. But there were four other men at the table besides himself, two being servants of the farm, and two acknowledged lovers of the young ladies--very bold fellows as may well be supposed; for to marry a she-lion or a demoiselle bear would have been a light undertaking compared to wedding one of the Miss Ramleys. They seemed to be upon very intimate terms with those fair personages, however, and perhaps possessed as much of their affection as could possibly be obtained; but still the love-making seemed rather of a feline character, for the caresses, which were pretty prodigal, were mingled with--we must not say interrupted by--a great deal of grumbling and growling, some scratching, and more than one pat upon the side of the head, which did not come with the gentleness of the western wind. The fare upon the table consisted neither of tea, coffee, cocoa, nor any other kind of weak beverage, but of beef and strong beer, a diet very harmonious with the appearance of the persons who partook thereof. It was seasoned occasionally with roars of laughter, gay and not very delicate jests, various pieces of fun, which on more than one occasion went to the very verge of an angry encounter, together with a good many blasphemous oaths, and those testimonies of affection which I have before spoken of as liberally bestowed by the young ladies upon their lovers in the shape of cuffs and scratches. The principal topic of conversation seemed to be some adventure which was even then going forward, and in which the sons of the house were taking a part. No fear, no anxiety, however, was expressed by any one, though they wondered that Jim and Ned had not yet returned.
"If they don't come soon they won't get much beef, Tom, if you swallow it at that rate," said the youngest Miss Ramley to her sweetheart; "you've eaten two pounds already, I'm sure."
The young gentleman declared that it was all for love of her, but that he hadn't eaten half so much as she had, whereupon the damsel became wroth, and appealed to her father, who, for his part, vowed, that, between them both, they had eaten and swilled enough to fill the big hog-trough. The dispute might have run high, for Miss Ramley was not inclined to submit to such observations, even from her father; but, just as she was beginning in good set terms, which she had learnt from himself, to condemn her parent's eyes, the old man started up, exclaiming, "Hark! there's a shot out there!"
"To be sure," answered one of the lovers. "It's the first of September, and all the people are out shooting."
Even while he was speaking, however, several more shots were heard, apparently too many to proceed from sportsmen in search of game, and the next moment the sound of horses' feet could be heard running quick upon the road, and then turning into the yard which lay before the house.
"There they are!--there they are!" cried half-a-dozen voices; and, all rushing out at the front door, they found the two young men with several companions, and four led horses, heavily laden. Jim, the elder brother, with the assistance of one of those who accompanied him, was busily engaged in shutting the two great wooden gates which had been raised by old Ramley some time before--nobody could tell why--in place of a five-barred gate, which, with the tall stone wall, formerly shut out the yard from the road. The other brother, Edward, or Ned Ramley, as he was called, stood by the side of his horse, holding his head down over a puddle; and, for a moment, no one could make out what he was about. On his sister Jane approaching him, however, she perceived a drop of blood falling every second into the dirty water below, and exclaimed, "How hast thou broken thy noddle, Ned?"
"There, let me alone, Jinny," cried the young man, shaking off the hand she had laid upon his arm, "or I shall bloody my toggery. One of those fellows has nearly cracked my skull, that's all; and he'd have done it, too, if he had but been a bit nearer. This brute shied just as I was firing my pistol at him, or he'd never have got within arm's length. It's nothing--it's but a scratch.--Get the goods away; for they'll be after us quick enough. They are chasing the major and his people, and that's the way we got off."
One of the usual stories of the day was then told by the rest--of how a cargo had been run the night before, and got safe up into the country: how, when they thought all danger over, they had passed before old Bob Croyland's windows, and how Jim had given him a shot as he stood at one of them; and then they went on to say that, whether it was the noise of the gun, or that the old man had sent out to call the officers upon them, they could not tell; but about three miles further on, they saw a largish party of horse upon their right. Flight had then become the order of the day; but, finding that they could not effect it in one body, they were just upon the point of separating, Ned Ramley declared, when two of the riding officers overtook them, supported by a number of dragoons. Some firing took place, without much damage, and, dividing into three bodies, the smugglers scampered off, the Ramleys and their friends taking their way towards their own house, and the others in different directions. The former might have escaped unpursued, it would seem, had not the younger brother, Ned, determined to give one of the dragoons a shot before he went: thus bringing on the encounter in which he had received the wound on his head.
While all this was being told to the father, the two girls, their lovers, the farm-servants, and several of the men, hurried the smuggled goods into the house, and raising a trap in the floor of the kitchen--contrived in such a manner that four whole boards moved up at once on the western side of the room--stowed the different articles away in places of concealment below, so well arranged, that even if the trap was discovered, the officers would find nothing but a vacant space, unless they examined the walls very closely.
The horses were then all led to the stable; and Edward Ramley, having in some degree stopped the bleeding of his wound, moved into the house, with most of the other men. Old Ramley and the two farm-servants, however, remained without, occupying themselves in loading a cart with manure, till the sound of horses galloping down was heard, and somebody shook the gates violently, calling loudly to those within to open "in the King's name."
The farmer instantly mounted upon the cart, and looked over the wall; but the party before the gates consisted only of five or six dragoons, of whom he demanded, in a bold tone, "Who the devil be you, that I should open for you? Go away, go away, and leave a quiet man at peace!"
"If you don't open the gates, we'll break them down," said one of the men.
"Do, if you dare," answered old Ramley, boldly; "and if you do, I'll shoot the best of you dead.--Bring me my gun, Tom.--Where's your warrant, young man? You are not an officer, and you've got none with you, so I shan't let any boiled lobsters enter my yard, I can tell you."
By this time he was provided with the weapon he had sent for; and one of his men, similarly armed, had got into the cart beside him. The appearance of resistance was rather ominous, and the dragoons were well aware that if they did succeed in forcing an entrance, and blood were spilt, the whole responsibility would rest upon themselves, if no smuggled goods should be found, as they had neither warrant nor any officer of the Customs with them.
After a short consultation, then, he who had spoken before, called to old Ramley, saying, "We'll soon bring a warrant. Then look to yourself;" and, thus speaking, he rode off with his party. Old Ramley only laughed, however, and turned back into the house, where he made the party merry at the expense of the dragoons. All the men who had been out upon the expedition were now seated at the table, dividing the beef and bread amongst them, and taking hearty draughts from the tankard. Not the least zealous in this occupation was Edward Ramley, who seemed to consider the deep gash upon his brow as a mere scratch, not worth talking about. He laughed and jested with the rest; and when they had demolished all that the board displayed, he turned to his father, saying, not in the most reverent tone, "Come, old fellow, after bringing our venture home safe, I think you ought to send round the true stuff: we've had beer enough. Let's have some of the Dutchman."
"That you shall, Neddy, my boy," answered the farmer, "only I wish you had shot that rascal you fired at. However, one can't always have a steady aim, especially with a fidgetty brute like that you ride;" and away he went to bring the hollands, which soon circulated very freely amongst the party, producing, in its course, various degrees of mirth and joviality, which speedily deviated into song. Some of the ditties that were sung were good, and some of them very bad; but almost all were coarse, and the one that was least so was the following:--
SONG."It's wonderful, it's wonderful, is famous London town,With its alleysAnd its valleys,And its houses up and down;But I would give fair London town, its court, and all its people,For the little town of Biddenden, with the moon above the steeple."It's wonderful, it's wonderful, to see what pretty facesIn London streetsA person meetsIn very funny places;But I wouldn't give for all the eyes in London town one sees,A pair, that by the moonlight, looks out beneath the trees."It's wonderful, in London town, how soon a man may hold,By art and sleight,Or main and might,A pretty sum of gold;Yet give me but a pistol, and one rich squire or two,A moonlight night, a yellow chaise, and the high road will do."
SONG.
"It's wonderful, it's wonderful, is famous London town,
With its alleysAnd its valleys,
And its houses up and down;
But I would give fair London town, its court, and all its people,
For the little town of Biddenden, with the moon above the steeple.
"It's wonderful, it's wonderful, to see what pretty faces
In London streetsA person meets
In very funny places;
But I wouldn't give for all the eyes in London town one sees,
A pair, that by the moonlight, looks out beneath the trees.
"It's wonderful, in London town, how soon a man may hold,
By art and sleight,Or main and might,
A pretty sum of gold;
Yet give me but a pistol, and one rich squire or two,
A moonlight night, a yellow chaise, and the high road will do."
This was not the last song that was sung; but that which followed was interrupted by one of the pseudo-labourers coming in from the yard, to say that there was a hard knocking at the gate.
"I think it is Mr. Radford's voice," added the man, "but I'm not sure; and I did not like to get up into the cart to look."
"Run up stairs to the window, Jinny!" cried old Ramley, "and you'll soon see."
His daughter did, on this occasion, as she was bid, and soon called down from above, "It's old Radford, sure enough; but he's got two men with him!"
"It's all right, if he's there," said Jim Ramley; and the gates were opened in a minute, to give that excellent gentleman admission.
Now, Mr. Radford, it must be remembered, was a magistrate for the county of Kent; but his presence created neither alarm nor confusion in the house of the Ramleys; and when he entered, leaving his men in the court for a minute, he said, with a laugh, holding the father of that hopeful family by the arm, "I've come to search, and to stop the others. Where are the goods?"
"Safe enough," answered the farmer. "No fear--no fear!"
"But can we look under the trap?" asked Mr. Radford, who seemed as well acquainted with the secrets of the place as the owner thereof.
"Ay, ay!" replied the old man. "Don't leave 'em too long--that's all."
"I'll go down myself," said Radford; "they've got scent of it, or I wouldn't find it out."
"All right--all right!" rejoined the other, in a low voice; and the magistrate, raising his tone, exclaimed, "Here, Clinch and Adams--you two fools! why don't you come in? They say there is nothing here; but we must search. We must not take any man's word; not to say that I doubt yours, Mr. Ramley; but it is necessary, you know."
"Oh, do what you like, sir," replied the farmer. "I don't care!"
A very respectable search was then commenced, and pursued from room to room--one of the men who accompanied Mr. Radford, and who was an officer of the Customs, giving old Ramley a significant wink with his right eye as he passed, at which the other grinned. Indeed, had the whole matter not been very well understood between the great majority of both parties, it would have been no very pleasant or secure task for any three men in England to enter the kitchen of that farm-house on such an errand. At length, however, Mr. Radford and his companions returned to the kitchen, and the magistrate thought fit to walk somewhat out of his way towards the left-hand side of the room, when suddenly stopping, he exclaimed, in a grave tone, "Hallo! Ramley, what's here? These boards seem loose!"
"To be sure they are," answered the farmer; "that's the way to the old beer cellar. But there's nothing in it, upon my honour!"
"But we must look, Ramley, you know," said Mr. Radford. "Come, open it, whatever it is!
"Oh, with all my heart," replied the man; "but you'll perhaps break your head. That's your fault, not mine, however,"--and, advancing to the side of the room, he took a crooked bit of iron from his pocket--not unlike that used for pulling stones out of a horse's hoofs--and insinuating it between the skirting-board and the floor, soon raised the trap-door of which we have spoken before.
A vault of about nine feet deep was now exposed, with the top of a ladder leading into it; and Mr. Radford ordered the men who were with him to go down first. The one who had given old Ramley the wink in passing, descended without ceremony; but the other, who was also an officer, hesitated for a moment.
"Go down--go down, Clinch!" said Mr. Radford. "Youwouldhave a search, and so you shall do it thoroughly."
The man obeyed, and the magistrate paused a moment to speak with the smuggling farmer, saying, in a low voice, "I don't mind their knowing I'm your friend, Ramley. Let them think about that as they like. Indeed, I'd rather that they did see we understand each other; so give me a hint if they go too far; I'll bear it out."
Thus saying, he descended into the cellar, and old Ramley stood gazing down upon the three from above, with his gaunt figure bending over the trap-door. At the end of a minute or two he called down, "There--that ought to do, I'm sure! We can't be kept bothering here all day!"
Something was said in a low tone by one of the men below; but then the voice of Mr. Radford was heard, exclaiming, "No, no; that will do! We've had enough of it! Go up, I say! There's no use of irritating people by unreasonable suspicions, Mr. Clinch. Is it not quite enough, Adams? Are you satisfied!"
"Oh! quite, sir," answered the other officer; "there's nothing but bare walls and an empty beer barrel."
The next moment the party began to reappear from the trap, the officer Clinch coming up first, with a grave look, and Mr. Radford and the other following, with a smile upon their faces.
"There, all is clear enough," said Mr. Radford; "so you, gentlemen, can go and pursue your search elsewhere. I must remain here to wait for my son, whom I sent for to join me with the servants, as you know; not that I feared any resistance from you, Mr. Ramley; but smuggling is so sadly prevalent now-a-days, that one must be on one's guard, you know."
A horse laugh burst from the whole party round the table; and in the midst of it the two officers retired into the yard, where, mounting their horses, they opened the gates and rode away.
As soon as they were gone, Mr. Radford shook old Ramley familiarly by the hand, exclaiming, "This is the luckiest thing in the world, my good fellow! If I can but get them to accuse me of conniving at this job, it will be a piece of good fortune which does not often happen to a man."
Ramley, as well he might, looked a little confounded; but Mr. Radford drew him aside, and spoke to him for a quarter of an hour, in a voice raised hardly above a whisper. Numerous laughs, and nods, and signs of mutual understanding passed between them; and the conversation ended by Mr. Radford saying, aloud, "I wonder what can keep Dick so long; he ought to have been here before now! I sent over to him at eight; and it is past eleven."