The Smuggler Part 27

"Well, sir, you have made a glorious day's work of it," answered Mowle, "that I must say; and I'm sure if you like to establish your quarters, for the morning, at Mr. Croyland's there, on just before, he will make you heartily welcome; for he hates smugglers as much as any one."

The young officer shook his head, saying, "No, I will go to Woodchurch."

But he gazed earnestly at the house for several minutes, before he turned his horse towards the village; and then, leaving the minor arrangements to be made by the inferior officers, he rode slowly and silently away.

CHAPTER IX.

We must turn, dear reader, to other persons and to other scenes, but still keep to that eventful day when the smugglers, who had almost fancied themselves lords of Kent, first met severe discomfiture at the hands of those sent to suppress their illicit traffic. Many small parties had before been defeated, it is true; many a cargo of great value, insufficiently protected, had been seized. Such, indeed, had been the case with the preceding venture of Richard Radford; and such had been, several times, the result of overweening confidence; but the free-traders of Kent had still, more frequently, been successful in their resistance of the law; and they had never dreamed that in great numbers, and with every precaution and care to boot, they could be hemmed in and overpowered, in a country with every step of which they were well acquainted. They had now, however, been defeated, as I have said, for the first time, in a complete and conclusive manner, after every precaution had been taken, and when every opportunity had been afforded them of trying their strength with the dragoons, as they had often boastfully expressed a wish to do.

But we must now leave them, and turn to the interior of the house near which the strife took place. Nay, more, we must enter a fair lady's chamber, and watch her as she lies, during the night of which we have already given so many scenes, looking for awhile into her waking thoughts and slumbering dreams; for that night pa.s.sed in a strange mingling of sleepless fancies and of drowsy visions.

Far from me to encourage weak and morbid sensibilities, or to represent life as a dream of sickly feelings, or a stage for the action of ill-regulated pa.s.sions;--it is a place of duty and of action, of obedience to the rule of the one great guide, of endeavour, and, alas, of trial!--But still human beings are not mere machines: there is still something within this frame-work of dust and ashes, besides, and very different from, the bones and muscles, the veins and nerves, of which it is composed; and Heaven forbid that it should not be so! There are still loves and affections, sympathies and regards, a.s.sociations and memories, and all the linked sweetness of that strange harmonious whole, where the spirit and the matter, the soul and the body, blended in mysterious union, act on each other, and reciprocate, by every sense and every perception, new sources of pain or of delight. The forms and conventionalities of society, the habits of the age in which we live, the force of education, habit, example, may, in very many cases, check the outward show of feeling, and in some, perhaps, wear down to nothing the reality. But still how many a bitter heart-ache lies concealed beneath the polished brow and smiling lip; how many a bright aspiration, how many a tender hope, how many a pa.s.sionate throb, hides itself from the eyes of others--from the foreigners of the heart--under an aspect of gay merriment or of cold indifference. The silver services of the world are all, believe me, but of plated goods, and the brightest ornaments that deck the table or adorn the saloon but of silver-gilt.

Could we--as angels may be supposed to do--stand by the bed-side of many a fair girl who has been laughing through an evening of apparent merriment, and look through the fair bosom into the heart beneath, see all the feelings that thrill therein, or trace even the visions that chequer slumber, what should we behold? Alas! how strange a contrast to the beaming looks and gladsome smiles which have marked the course of the day. How often would be seen the bitter repining; the weary sickness of the heart; the calm, stern grief; the desolation; the despair--forming a black and gloomy background to the bright seeming of the hours of light. How often, in the dream, should we behold "the lost, the loved, the dead, too many, yet how few," rise up before memory in those moments, when not only the shackles and the handcuffs of the mind, imposed by the tyrant uses of society, are cast off, but also when the softer bands are loosened, which the waking spirit places upon unavailing regrets and aspirations all in vain--in those hours, when memory, and imagination, and feeling are awake, and when judgment, and reason, and resolution are all buried in slumber. Can it be well for us thus to check the expression of all the deeper feelings of the heart--to shut out all external sympathies--to lock within the prison of the heart its brightest treasures like the miser's gold, and only to give up to them the hours of solitude and of slumber?--I know not; and the question, perhaps, is a difficult one to solve: but such, however, are the general rules of society; and to its rules we are slaves and bondsmen.

It was to her own chamber that Edith Croyland usually carried her griefs and memories; and even in the house of her uncle, though she was aware how deeply he loved her, she could not, or she would not, venture to speak of her sensations as they really arose.

On the eventful day of young Radford's quarrel with Sir Edward Digby, Edith retired at the sober hour at which the whole household of Mr.

Croyland usually sought repose; but there, for a considerable time, she meditated as she had often meditated before, on the brief intelligence she had received on the preceding day. "He is living,"

she said to herself: "he is in England, and yet he seeks me not! But my sister says he loves me still!--It is strange, it is very strange.

He must have greatly changed. So eager, so impetuous as he used to be, to become timid, cautious, reserved,--never to write, never to send.--And yet why should I blame him? What has he not met with from mine, if not from me? What has his love brought upon himself and his?

The ruin of his father--a parent's suffering and death--the destruction of his own best prospects--a life of toil and danger, and expulsion from the scenes in which his bright and early days were spent!--Why should I wonder that he does not come back to a spot where every object must be hateful to him?--why should I wonder that he does not seek me, whose image can never be separated from all that is painful and distressing to him in memory? Poor Henry! Oh, that I could cheer him, and wipe away the dark and gloomy recollections of the past."

Such were some of her thoughts ere she lay down to rest; and they pursued her still, long after she had sought her pillow, keeping her waking for some hours. At length, not long before daybreak, sleep took possession of her brain; but it was not untroubled sleep. Wild and whirling images for some time supplied the place of thought; but they were all vague, and confused, and undefined for a considerable length of time after sleep had closed her eyes, and she forgot them as soon as she awoke. But at length a vision of more tangible form presented itself, which remained impressed upon her memory. In it, the events of the day mingled with those both of the former and the latter years, undoubtedly in strange and disorderly shape, but still bearing a sufficient resemblance to reality to show whence they were derived.

The form of young Radford, bleeding and wounded, seemed before her eyes; and with one hand clasped tightly round her wrist, he seemed to drag her down into a grave prepared for himself. Then she saw Sir Edward Digby with a naked sword in his hand, striving in vain to cut off the arm that held her, the keen blade pa.s.sing through and through the limb of the phantom without dissevering it from the body, or relaxing its hold upon herself. Then the figure of her father stood before her, clad in a long mourning cloak, and she heard his voice crying, in a dark and solemn tone, "Down, down, both of you, to the grave that you have dug for me!" The next instant the scene was crowded with figures, both on horseback and on foot. Many a countenance which she had seen and known at different times was amongst them; and all seemed urging her on down into the gulf before her; till suddenly appeared, at the head of a bright and glittering troop, he whom she had so long and deeply loved, as if advancing at full speed to her rescue. She called loudly to him; she stretched out her hand towards him, and onward he came through the throng till he nearly reached her. Then in an instant her father interposed again and pushed him back. All became a scene of disarray and confusion, as if a general battle had been taking place around her. Swords were drawn, shots were fired, wounds were given and received; there were cries of agony and loud words of command, till at length, in the midst, her lover reached her; his arms were cast round her; she was pressed to his bosom; and with a start, and mingled feelings of joy and terror, Edith's dream came to an end.

Daylight was pouring into her room through the tall window; but yet she could hardly persuade herself that she was not dreaming still; for many of the sounds which had transmitted such strange impressions to her mind, still rang in her ears. She heard shots and galloping horse, and the loud word of command; and after pausing for an instant or two, she sprang up, cast something over her, and ran to the window.

It was a bright and beautiful morning; and the room which she occupied looked over Mr. Croyland's garden wall to the country beyond. But underneath that garden wall was presented a scene, such as Edith had never before witnessed. Before her eyes, mingled in strange confusion with a group of men who, from their appearance, she judged to be smugglers, were a number of the royal dragoons; and, though pistols were discharged on both sides, and even long guns on the part of the smugglers, the use of fire-arms was too limited to produce sufficient smoke to obscure the view. Swords were out, and used vehemently; and on running her eye over the ma.s.s before her, she saw a figure that strongly brought back her thoughts to former days. Directing the operations of the troops, seldom using the sword which he carried in his own hand, yet mingling in the thickest of the fray, appeared a tall and powerful young man, mounted on a splendid charger, but only covered with a plain grey cloak.

The features she could scarcely discern; but there was something in the form and in the bearing, that made Edith's heart beat vehemently, and caused her to raise her voice to Heaven in murmured prayer. The shots were flying thick: one of them struck the sun-dial in the garden, and knocked a fragment off; but still she could not withdraw herself from the window; and with eager and anxious eyes she continued to watch the fight, till another body of dragoons swept up, and the smugglers, apparently struck with panic, abandoned resistance, and were soon seen flying in every direction over the ground.

One man, mounted on a strong grey horse, pa.s.sed close beneath the garden wall; and in him Edith instantly recognised young Richard Radford. That sight made her draw back again for a moment from the window, lest he should recognise her; but the next instant she looked out again, and then beheld the officer whom she had seen commanding the dragoons, stretching out his hand and arm in the direction which the fugitive had taken, as if giving orders for his pursuit. She watched him with feelings indescribable, and saw him more than once turn his eyes towards the house where she was, and gaze on it long and thoughtfully.

"Can he know whose dwelling this is?" she asked herself; "can he know who is in it, and yet ride away?" But so it was. After he had remained on the ground for about half an hour, she saw him depart, turning his horse's head slowly towards Woodchurch; and Edith withdrew from the window, and wept.

Her eyes were dry, however, and her manner calm, when she went down to breakfast; and she heard unmoved, from her uncle, the details of the skirmish which had taken place between the smugglers and the military.

"This must be a tremendous blow to them," said Mr. Croyland; "the goods are reported to be of immense value, and the whole of them are stated to have been run by that old infernal villain, Radford. I am glad that this has happened, trebly--_felix ter et amplius_, my dear Edith; first, that a trade which enriches scoundrels to the detriment of the fair and lawful merchant, has received nearly its death-blow; secondly, that these audacious vagabonds, who fancied they had all the world at their command, and that they could do as they pleased in Kent, have been taught how impotent they are against a powerful hand and a clear head; and, thirdly, that the most audacious vagabond of them all, who has ama.s.sed a large fortune by defiance of the law, and by a system which embodies cheatery with robbery--I mean robbery of the revenue with cheatery of the lawful merchant--has been the person to suffer. I have heard a great deal of forcing nations to abate their Customs dues, by smuggling in despite of them; but depend upon it, whoever advocates such a system is--I will not say, either a rogue or a fool, as some rash and intemperate persons might say--but a man with very queer notions of morals, my dear. I dare say, the fellows firing awoke you, my love. You look pale, as if you had been disturbed."

Edith replied, simply, that she had been roused by the noise, but did not enter into any particulars, though she saw, or fancied she saw, an inquiring look upon her uncle's face as he spoke.

During the morning many were the reports and anecdotes brought in by the servants, regarding the encounter, which had taken place so close to the house; and all agreed that never had so terrible a disaster befallen the smugglers. Their bands were quite broken up, it was said, their princ.i.p.al leaders taken or killed, and the amount of the smuggled goods which--with the usual exaggeration of rumour--was raised to three or four hundred thousand pounds, was universally reported to be the loss of Mr. Radford. His son had been seen by many in command of the party of contraband traders; and it was clear that he had fled to conceal himself, in fear of the very serious consequences which were likely to ensue.

Mr. Croyland rubbed his hands: "I will mark this day in the calendar with a white stone!" he said. "Seldom, my dear Edith, very seldom, do so many fortunate circ.u.mstances happen together; a party of atrocious vagabonds discomfited and punished as they deserve; the most audacious rogue of the whole stripped of his ill-gotten wealth; and a young ruffian, who has long bullied and abused the whole county, driven from that society in which he never had any business. This young officer, this Captain Osborn, must be a very clever, as well as a very gallant fellow."

"Captain Osborn!" murmured Edith; "were they commanded by Captain Osborn?"

"Yes, my dear," answered the old gentleman; "I saw him myself over the garden wall. I know him, my love; I have been introduced to him.

Didn't you hear me say, he is coming to spend a few days with me?"

Edith made no reply; but somewhat to her surprise, she heard her uncle, shortly after, order his carriage to be at the door at half-past twelve. He gave his fair niece no invitation to accompany him; and Edith prepared to amuse herself during his absence as best she might. She calculated, indeed, upon that which, to a well-regulated mind, is almost always either a relief or a pleasure, though too often a sad one: the spending of an hour or two in solitary thought. But all human calculations are vain; and so were those of poor Edith Croyland. For the present, however, we must leave her to her fate, and follow her good uncle, Zachary, on his expedition to Woodchurch, whither, as doubtless the reader has antic.i.p.ated, his steps, or rather those of his coach horses, were turned, just as the hands of the clock in the vestibule pointed to a quarter to one.

CHAPTER X.

During the whole forenoon of the 3rd of September, the little village of Woodchurch presented a busy and bustling, though, in truth, it could not be called a gay scene. The smart dresses of the dragoons, the number of men and horses, the soldiers riding quickly along the road from time to time, the occasional sound of the trumpet, the groups of villagers and gaping children, all had an animating effect; but there was, mingled with the other sights which the place presented, quite a sufficient portion of human misery, in various forms, to sadden any but a very unfeeling heart. For some time after the affray was over, every ten minutes, was seen to roll in one of the small, narrow carts of the country, half filled with straw, and bearing a wounded man, or at most, two. In the same manner, several corpses, also, were carried in; and the number of at least fifty prisoners, in separate detachments, with hanging hands and pinioned arms, were marched slowly through the street to the houses which had been marked out as affording the greatest security.

The good people of Woodchurch laughed and talked freely with the dragoons, made many inquiries concerning the events of the skirmish, and gave every a.s.sistance to the wounded soldiers; but it was remarked with surprise, by several of the officers, that they showed no great sympathy with the smugglers, either prisoners or wounded--gazed upon the parties who were brought in with an unfriendly air, and turning round to each other, commented, in low tones, with very little appearance of compa.s.sion.

"Ay, that's one of the Ramleys' gang," said the stout blacksmith of the place, to his friend and neighbour, the wheelwright, as some ten or twelve men pa.s.sed before them with their wrists tied.

"And that fellow in the smart green coat is another," rejoined the wheelwright; "he's the man who, I dare say, ham-stringed my mare, because I wouldn't let them have her for the last run."

"That's Tom Angel," observed the blacksmith; "he's to be married to Jinny Ramley, they say."

"He'll be married to a halter first, I've a notion," answered the wheelwright, "and then instead of an angel he'll make a devil! He's one of the worst of them, bad as they all are. A pretty gaol delivery we shall have at the next 'Sizes!"

"A good county delivery, too," replied the blacksmith; "as men have been killed, it's felony, that's clear: so hemp will be dear, Mr.

Slatterly."

By the above conversation the feelings of the people of Woodchurch towards the smugglers, at that particular time, may be easily divined; but the reader must not suppose that they were influenced alone by the very common tendency of men's nature to side with the winning party; for such was not altogether the case, though, perhaps, they would not have ventured to show their dislike to the smugglers so strongly, had they been more successful. As long as the worthy gentlemen, who had now met with so severe a reverse, had contented themselves with merely running contraband articles--even as long as they had done nothing more than take a man's horse for their own purposes, without his leave, or use his premises, whether he liked it or not, as a place of concealment for their smuggled goods, they were not only indifferent, but even friendly; for man has always a sufficient portion of the adventurer at his heart to have a fellow feeling for all his brethren engaged in rash and perilous enterprises. But the smugglers had grown insolent and domineering from long success; they had not only felt themselves lords of the county, but had made others feel it often in an insulting, and often in a cruel and brutal manner. Crimes of a very serious character had been lately committed by the Ramleys and others, which, though not traced home by sufficient evidence to satisfy the law, were fixed upon them by the general voice of the people; and the threats of terrible vengeance which they sometimes uttered against all who opposed them, and the boastful tone in which they indulged, when speaking of their most criminal exploits, probably gained them credit for much more wickedness than they really committed.

Thus their credit with the country people was certainly on the decline when they met with the disaster which has been lately recorded; and their defeat and dispersion was held by the inhabitants of Woodchurch as an augury of better times, when their women would be able to pa.s.s from village to village, even after dusk, in safety and free from insult, and their cattle might be left out in the fields all night, without being injured, either by wantonness, or in lawless uses. It will be understood, that in thus speaking, I allude alone to the land smugglers, a race altogether different from their fellow labourers of the sea, whom the people looked upon with a much more favourable eye, and who, though rash and daring men enough, were generally a good humoured free-hearted body, spending the money that they had gained at the peril of their lives or their freedom, with a liberal hand and in a kindly spirit.

Almost every inhabitant of Woodchurch had some cause of complaint against the Ramleys' gang; and, to say the truth, Mr. Radford himself was by no means popular in the county. A selfish and a cunning man is almost always speedily found out by the lower cla.s.ses, even when he makes an effort to conceal it. But Mr. Radford took no such trouble; for he gloried in his acuteness; and if he had chosen a motto, it probably would have been "Every man for himself." His selfishness, too, took several of the most offensive forms. He was ostentatious; he was haughty; and, on the strength of riches acquired, every one knew how, he looked upon himself as a very great man, and treated all the inferior cla.s.ses, except those of whom he had need, to use their own expression, "as dirt under his feet." All the villagers, therefore, were well satisfied to think that he had met with a check at last; and many of the good folks of Woodchurch speculated upon the probability of two or three, out of so great a number of prisoners, giving such evidence as would bring that worthy gentleman within the gripe of the law.

Such were the feelings of the people of that place, as well as those of many a neighbouring village; and the scene presented by the captive and wounded smugglers, as they were led along, was viewed with indifference by some, and with pleasure by others. Two or three of the women, indeed, bestowed kindly attention upon the wounded men, moved by that beautiful compa.s.sion which is rarely if ever wanting, in a female heart; but the male part of the population took little share, if any, in such things, and were quite willing to aid the soldiers in securing the prisoners, till they could be marched off to prison.

The first excitement had subsided before noon, but still, from time to time, some little bustle took place--a prisoner was caught and brought in, and carried to the public house where the colonel had established himself--an orderly galloped through the street--messengers came and went; and four or five soldiers, with their horses ready saddled, remained before the door of the inn, ready, at a moment's notice, for any event. The commanding officer did not appear at all beyond the doors of his temporary abode; but continued writing, giving orders, examining the prisoners, and those who brought them, in the same room which he had entered when first he arrived. As few of the people of the place had seen him, a good deal of curiosity was excited by his quietness and reserve. It was whispered amongst the women, that he was the handsomest man ever seen; and the men said he was a very fine fellow, and ought to be made a general of. The barmaid communicated to her intimate friends, that when he took off his cloak, she had seen a star upon the breast of his coat; and that her master seemed to know more of him, if he liked to tell; but the landlord was as silent as a mouse.

These circ.u.mstances, however, kept up a little crowd before the entrance of the inn, consisting of persons anxious to behold the hero of the day; and just at the hour of two, the carriage of Mr. Croyland rolled in, through the people, at the usual slow and deliberate pace to which that gentleman accustomed his carriage horses.

The large heavy door of the large heavy vehicle, was opened by the two servants who accompanied it; and out stepped Mr. Croyland, with his back as straight and stiff as a poker, and his gold-headed cane in his hand. The landlord, at the sight of an equipage, which he well knew, came out in haste, bowing low, and welcoming Mr. Croyland in the hearty good old style. The nabob himself unbent a little to his friend of the inn, and after asking him how he did, and bestowing a word or two on the state of the weather, proceeded to say, "And now, Miles, I wish to speak a word or two with Captain Osborn, who is in your house, I believe."

"No, Mr. Croyland," replied the landlord, looking at the visitor with some surprise, "the captain is not here. He is down at Nelly South's, and his name's not Osborn, either, but Irby."

"Then, who the deuce have you got here, with all these soldiers about the door?" demanded Mr. Croyland.

"The colonel of the regiment, sir," answered Miles; "there has only been one captain here all day; and that's Captain Irby."

"Not right of the lad--not right of the lad!" exclaimed Mr. Croyland, rather testily; "no one should keep a man waiting, especially an old man, and more especially still, a cross old man. But I'll come in and stop a bit; for I want to see the young gentleman. Where the devil did he go to, I wonder, after the skirmish?--Halloo, you sir, corporal!