by William H.G. Kingston, Esq.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.11 #1 (1847).
Billy Combe was as bold and dashing a fellow, as gay and handsome, as fearless and as careless, as ever wore a pig-tail, chewed tobacco, swore an oath, or kissed a pretty girl without first asking her leave. He figured upon the earth and sea, for on either element he was equally at home, somewhere about sixty years ago, more or less. There is no necessity to be very exact about dates.
It must not be supposed from any thing I may say that Billy Combe was an immoral character; he at least considered himself the very pink of correctness when judged by his own code of morality, though it must be acknowledged by his warmest admirers, that the said code was a very lax one, according to the notions generally held by the stricter portions of society at the present day. Billy argued that if no laws existed, there could be no crime; and that of all laws, strict revenue laws and high duties being most detrimental to the state, he not only did not feel himself called upon to subscribe to them, but to oppose them to the utmost of his power. This he did most effectually—in truth, he was one of the most daring and successful smugglers on the coast of Hampshire.
"These laws make smugglers just as game-laws make poachers. Do away with one, and the other—why, Lord bless ye, the smuggler in the turn of a marlin-spike, becomes an honest trader, and the poacher a free sportsman," Billy used to say. "Ruby lips are made to be kissed, just as ripe fruit is intended to be eaten. Whoever asks a juicy peach whether it would like to be picked, and I sees no reason why I should ask a buxom girl whether she'd like a buss. Bless her pretty eyes, it's her natur—she can't help liking it—I knows that well enough. If she says any thing, I always gives her another, just to make her accustomed to it, and she soon comes round—ha ! ha! ha!"
And he used to chuckle at the thoughts of his past performances in that line.
If Billy Combe had, like other men, his faults and failings, he had, which is all that can be said for the best of us, his good qualities also. He was generous in the extreme; he never turned a beggar away with a surly frown and without a groat, and while he had a shot in the locker it was at the service of a shipmate. His word was as good as his bond, which is as much as the proudest merchant can say; in some cases, among that class, one is worth as much as the other, namely, nothing; but Billy's word was never broken, and of bonds he knew nothing. Staunch to his friends, and to those who put confidence in his honour, he would rather have died like the Indian at the fiery stake than have betrayed one who trusted him. Honest in all his dealings, when he made a bargain, it was a fair one. He would have disdained to take advantage of another man's embarrassments, and scorned the thought of doing any one.
"Oh ye high and mighty ones, ye wealthy merchants revelling in luxury, ye lawyers with your flowing wigs ye doctors with your long faces, ye jockeys whose conversation is of horse-flesh, ye rulers of the land, foreign ministers, home ministers, and would-be ministers, can ye say as much for yourselves?"
Thus used Billy occasionally to exclaim when, during his moments of relaxation, with pipe in his mouth, he indulged, like other great heroes, in the pleasure of boasting of himself and his deeds.
The only people he did were the revenue officers, and them he did with a vengeance; but at the same time, he considered such doing all fair and above board.
He acknowledged himself to be a smuggler; he never concealed the fact from any one; he gloried in smuggling, it was his profession, his business, his delight, his amusement; he gave full notice that he should smuggle on to the end of his days, or till the revenue laws were abolished, and even in that respect he kept his word. They might catch him if they could, but that was not so easy a matter. If caught, he was ready to undergo the penalty.
This once happened. Billy, clever as he knew himself to be, once, as other clever people had done before, made a mistake. His mistake was supposing that there were no revenue boats near, when there were two, well armed, close at hand; and he was caught napping in consequence on board a lugger, with a full cargo of tubs in her. His day was come—there was no help for it—he was a prisoner, but like a man, he was not cast down, not he; he laughed and joked, and sang as stoutly as ever. He was taken on board a man-of-war, and offered his choice, to go to gaol for a year with hard labour, or to serve his majesty for the same period. Billy was a sailor, every inch of him.
"Serve his majesty—of course I will—God bless him," he exclaimed, and he thus became a man-of-war's-man, But now arrived the most cruel cut of all.
"I admire your spirit, my man," said the officer. "You promise to serve his majesty, and you shall forthwith do so. As a reward for your willingness, you are appointed first mate of his majesty's cutter, Scourge, employed in the revenue service. Here is your warrant."
"I would rather go to prison," said Billy.
"You have promised to serve his majesty," answered the officer.
"Oh, if that was understood," cried Billy, "so I will. Look out for squalls, my hearties," he exclaimed, turning round to where he saw several of his friends standing who had come to attend his trial. "I have promised to serve his majesty, and I intend to do my duty. You knows me. Remember, too, I knows you, and all your dodges, but don't expect any favour from me—so I says, look out for squalls."
Having delivered himself of this harangue, Billy went on shore to make some necessary arrangements, and soon afterwards trod the deck of of the Scourge as an officer. He was as good as his word. The cutter went to sea that afternoon, and the very next night made a rich capture of tubs of spirits and bales of silks. She soon became noted for being the most successful cruiser on the station, and at the end of the year had made more captures than she had done during all her previous career. So delighted was the commander of the Scourge with his success, owing to the large amount of prize-money he received, that he did his utmost to persuade Combe to remain with him; but to this none of his arguments could induce his first-mate to consent.
"I promised to serve King George for a year, and to assist in collecting his revenue for him," said Billy. "I have done so faithfully, as you know. I am now free to go where I will."
The following day the Scourge put into Portsmouth harbour. Billy took his traps, went on shore, claimed his discharge, received it and his prize-money, and forthwith started for his native place, Hamble, a village on a stream of the same name, close to the mouth of the Southampton Water.
He was cordially welcomed on his arrival by his old friends, particularly by the fairer portion of them, among whom he was a great favourite, but more especially by Mary Dawson, the prettiest girl in the village. What his kissing theory, and I may as well say practice, had to do with this predilection of the women, I do not know, but I only state the fact, so it was. Billy found himself in clover, for he had had much hard work in the cutter, constantly at sea, and seldom on shore, and he now the more felt inclined to enjoy himself to the utmost.
Mary sat by his side and filled his pipe when it was out, and replenished his glass when it was empty. He warbled forth his best songs with a joyous voice, and afterwards danced his best hornpipe with Mary, bounding about and shrieking with glee. He vowed that though it might be a very fine thing to be a king's officer, and wear a uniform, for his part he was heartily glad to be free of it, and would be at the old work as soon as he could. He wound up his exploits of the evening by vowing to Mary, that after he had made a few successful trips, he would come back and marry her if she would have him, which, with many a blush, she promised to do, and the compact was sealed with the like number of kisses.
Some days after the evening when Billy made his vows to Mary Dawson, a large cutter might have been seen steering through the Needles passage between the isle of Wight and the main, with a fresh breeze from the north-east. She was a remarkably fine vessel, of great beam and power, and carried four long guns of heavy metal upon her decks, so that whatever work her crew might have in hand, they would be able to fight about it, if any one attempted to impede them. She might have measured eighty tons, or rather more, perhaps, I am not sure, but certainly not less, and carried an enormous spread of canvass, new and white as the driven snow. Some twenty stout fellows walked her decks, with a strong spice of reckless daring in their countenances, and a costume which had no pretensions to uniformity though affecting a considerable degree of nautical dandyism. Though the craft was built for speed and fitted for fighting, she certainly did not look like a king's ship, nor were her crew like man-o'-war's men. What she was her deeds will hereafter show.
On one side lay the coast of Hampshire, with its richly-cultivated fields, its ancient forest renowned in history, and its numerous country mansions; on the other the lofty cliffs and sunny downs of the beautiful Isle of Wight. The long outstretching beach of Hurst, with its sturdy round castle, was on her weather-quarter, and broad on her beam lay the shingles, their small, yellow head just showing above water, and the wide expanse of foaming broken waves which surrounded them, warning the mariner against a too near approach. On her weather or starboard-bow might be seen in the distance the high sandy cliffs of Hradle, and almost ahead the more elevated headland of Christchurch, with its town and the spire of its cathedral a little way inland. The cutter clove her way rapidly through the water. The dancing waves sparkled brightly in the rays of the rising sun, which threw a ruddy glow over the topmost pinnacles of the Needle rocks then close on her lee-bow. In those days they consisted of three lofty chalk rocks, two of them joined together at their summits, but time, which spares so little, has spared not them, and the fragment which connected them has long since been precipitated into the depths below, though they still proudly rear their heads, towering above the latte billows which rage during the storms of Winter at their base. The cutter had just passed them, and had opened Scratchell's Bay to the south-west of them, when she might be said to be fairly in the British Channel.
"Now I feel myself once more a man," exclaimed, in a joyous tone, a fine active-looking fellow, who had been for some time walking the deck in silence, now gazing aloft with a satisfied eye at the trim of the sails, now casting a glance over the side, or watching the passing cliffs to see how fast the cutter slipped through the water. "Isn't she a darling, Jim?" he continued, turning to a man who stood near him, "what a clean run she has, and her bows—don't they just cut like a knife? Look at her canvass, what a spread of it she has—why there's enough there to carry you to Heaven, Jim. I should like to have a spanking breeze to try her, and then if she just don't go along to astonish them my name isn't Billy Combe."
The speaker was in truth the famed Billy Combe and no other; now master and part owner of the Rapid cutter, just launched, and as fast a craft as ever sailed from Hamble Creek. I have not yet described Billy. His good looks did not consist so much in his height or size, as in his active figure, his florid complexion, his clear, open blue eye, his light curling locks, and his well-formed mouth and white teeth. Jim Dore was his first mate, and, if unlike him in some respects, he resembled him strongly in his attachment to smuggling.
"Keep her up a little bit, Tom," said the captain, turning to the man at the helm. "Here, my boys, take a pull of the main-sheet, and she'll lay well into Christchurch Bay; an inch or two of the jib-sheet now—there, that will do."
The cutter, hauled closer on a wind, heeled slightly over, and darted like an arrow with her head towards the shore.
"I'll tell ye what I'll do, Jim," observed the captain, as he walked the deck with his mate, every step showing the elasticity of his spirits, "we'll just heave the cutter to while I go on shore for an hour or so, see Tom Doxton and the other spotsmen, arrange about collecting the people, and settle the time for running the crop, look in at the Haven House, get a swig of Betsy Sellers' ale, and then away for Cherbourg—eh, Jim? I should like to see the pretty craft with a full cargo in her; why she'll be as stiff as a house. Bless her, she is a beauty."
And with an eye of pride ow 4 surveyed over and over again every portion of his newly-purchased vessel—partly purchased, by-the-by, with the prize-money he had gained while doing duty in the revenue service.
The town of Christchurch is situated on a shallow arm of the sea, or lagoon, about three miles from the coast, and at the entrance of this lagoon, on the west side, is a sandy spot on which still stands a public-house called the Haven House, then kept by a buxom widow, a Mrs. Sellers, and the resort of seafaring men, boatsmen, and fishermen, but more especially of smugglers. To the east, along the coast, Hardle Cliff extends towards Lymington, with the small villages of Ashe and Barton on its summit, and to the west and south rises the high rugged promontory called Christchurch Head, while the coast, then trending to the south, is indented with the bays of Poole, Studland, and Swanwich. In less than an hour the Rapid lay with her foresheet to windward, hove-to in Christchurch Bay, while Combe went on shore. After calling at several cottages, and speaking to several people, Billy took his way to the Haven House, a dark red-brick building, with narrow gable ends, and outhouses of lower proportions behind it. On one side was the bar-room and kitchen all in one; on the other, a little parlour with sanded floor, for the accommodation of those who wished for privacy. Billy Combe entered the bar-room with the independent air of a man who knows that he is welcome, and the first person he encountered was the landlady, the buxom widow Sellers. She uttered a faint scream of surprise as she beheld him, and a ruddy hue overspread her well-filled neck and cheeks.
"Ah, Mr. Combe, is that you, indeed?" she exclaimed, "I thought you had forgotten me now you have turned king's officer."
"Forgotten you, Betsy! not I, forsooth. Give us a buss, girl, for old friendship's sake."
A loud smack sounded through the room.
"Well, widow," continued Billy, seating himself on a bench at no great distance, it must be owned, from the landlady, "1'm no longer a king's officer, but am about the old work again, and, by-the-by, Betsy, what do you think? I'm going to be spliced at last—hard and fast."
"Spliced!" ejaculated the widow, gasping for breath, "to whom?"
"Ah, that I shan't say, just to tease you," answered Billy, laughing; "a pretty girl, you may be sure."
"A mere girl! and is she better than a —. Has all you said come to this—after what you have done—oh Billy, Billy, how could you?" and the widow burst into tears.
Billy Combe was astonished, confounded. What had he done to make the widow weep? He did all he could to dry her tears and to sooth her spirits, but in vain. She ended by being in a violent rage with him, and might have proceeded to extremities had not the arrival of some other persons put an end to this interview. With one of the strangers Billy retired into the parlour, to hold a conference of some importance, while the widow dried her tears, and put on a smiling countenance to receive her guests, but she nevertheless treasured up her feelings in her heart, and vowed deadly vengeance against the betrayer of her happiness.
The rollicking captain of the Rapid having finally concluded all his arrangements in the private parlour of the Haven House, swallowed a tankard of the hostess's best ale, and giving her a parting salute, which she took with a bad grace, hurried down to his boat, and was quickly on board. The cutter's sails were immediately filled on the larboard tack, and with a flowing sheet she ran across channel towards Cherbourg.
"Billy Combe, Billy Combe, you had better not have meddled with the widow," observed Jim Dore, with a laughing countenance, when his captain told him the story of the landlady's love. "Them widows is ticklish creatures, depend on it."
I have not time to describe how Billy Combe met a number of friends at Cherbourg, how he purchased a valuable cargo of brandy and silks, and how without loss of time he again got under weigh for the English coast. Scarcely had the Rapid put to sea than it came on to blow very hard from the north-east, with frequent squalls of rain and hail, so that Billy had as good an opportunity as his heart could desire of trying the weatherly qualities of his new craft.
"She behaves like a duck, that she does, the beauty," he exclaimed, wiping the salt spray from his eyes with the back of his rough hand. "Wouldn't she go along just, if we had to run for it from a king's cruiser. I wouldn't give her up as long as I'd a stick standing or a keel to run on that I know."
As night approached the wind increased, blowing dead on end from the Needles. but Combe still cracked on sail in the cutter; for he was not the man to miss being up to his time, and not having expected a foul wind he had spent a longer period at Cherbourg than he ought to have done. During the first part of the night they had an increasing moon, which as the rapidly passing clouds ever and anon left it unobscured, afforded them just sufficient light to see the huge waves which came tumbling towards them, and enabled them to luff up in time to avoid their breaking on board, as also to steer clear of any vessel which might be standing across their course. When however, towards the morning, the moon sunk beneath the horizon, and the clouds thickened in the sky, the darkness became so intense that they could scarcely see the noses on each other's faces, much more a fathom beyond the bowsprit. The captain now thought it better to shorten sail, so they got the storm-jib on her, and set the trisail, when away she went as merrily again as before.
"If this weather holds all to-morrow night, we are in high luck," observed Billy, "for the revenue cruisers will never think of coming out to look for us, and we shall have plenty of time to run all our cargo comfortably, except the red-coats on the shore take it into their heads to trouble us, but if Doxton manages properly they will all be off at Keyhaven, while we are getting the things on shore."
While he was speaking a sudden squall, stronger than before had blown, laid the vessel completely on her beam ends. Combe ran to the helm, for the man who was steering was thrown with violence on the deck, and seizing the tiller put up the helm.
"Lower away with the trisail—up with the jib," he sung out. Before any damage was done the vessel righted, and ran off before the wind.
The jib was then hauled down, and the trisail being again set, a lull was watched for, and the cutter brought gradually up with her head to the wind, and her fore-sheet to windward. There she lay, bobbing away like a duck upon the waves, but without taking a drop of water over her decks. Thus passed the night, during which the captain, who was naturally rather anxious, was, like a good seaman, constantly on deck.
The morning was approaching, but the thick, misty atmosphere retarded the appearance of day, when just as he began to see rather more than an inch or so beyond his nose, as he was casting a glance of his weather eye to windward, he fancied he discerned through the darkness towering mass bearing down towards him. At that moment the clouds breaking away in the east a gleam of pale light was shed over the face of the deep. He looked again, the dark mass he had seen was the hull and sails of a ship running down Channel.
"A sail close on the weather-bow," cried the look-out forward.
"Hard up with the helm," sung out Billy, "let draw the fore-sheet—keep her away, or the ship will be into us."
The cutter's sails were filled, and away she darted through the foaming waves, her main boom almost grazing the sides of a sloop of war, which came rolling down past her before the gale.
"What cutter is that?" cried a voice through a speaking-trumpet from the deck of the ship.
"The Bow-wow-wow," responded Billy.
"What do you say?" cried the same voice.
"The ha! ha! ha!" replied Billy, and the ship was out of hearing. "I knows her," he observed, with a nod of the head, "she's the Orestes brig, and a fast craft she is, with a man who knows how to handle her as skipper. We must not show that we have reason to shun her though."
Billy kept his eye upon her movements. His answers did not appear to have been satisfactory, for presently she was seen to bring her broadside to the wind, the after yards were braced sharp up on the larboard tack, the head yards followed, and she stood away on a bowline, ready to tack back towards the cutter.
"Is that your dodge, my lad?" said Billy, on the first indications of what she was about. "Lower away the trisail, my boys; set the main-sail; two reefs in it will do; out with the second jib. Bear a hand, my hearties, that ship is sent to look after us, so we've no time to lose. We shouldn't find her company pleasant, I can tell you."
The men scarcely needed any advice to stimulate them to exertion, for they one and all at once comprehended the dangerous position in which they were placed. The cutter's best point of sailing was close hauled on a wind, and this Combe well knew was the Orestes' worst, though going free or before the wind she was a remarkably fast ship. His aim, therefore, since she had fortunately run past him, was to keep to windward of her, and as from her square rig she took a long time going about, to induce her to make as many tacks as possible; thus to gain another advantage of her. The Orestes was now standing a little to the southward of east, close hauled on the larboard tack, while the Rapid was lying well up to the northward, on the other tack. As soon as the king's ship had hauled to the wind she let fly one of her after guns as a signal for Billy to heave-to.
"Talk away, old girl," said Billy, laughing, "you may shout loud enough before I heed you"
Seeing that the cutter held on her course regardless of his signal, the Orestes fired shot after shot, the balls flying wide of their mark, for with the heavy sea running there was much difficulty in taking aim, and naval gunnery was not in those days brought to the perfection it is at present. Combe was aware that the captain of the Orestes well knew that the Rapid would not attempt to run before the wind, as his square-rigged ship would then have the decided advantage of her, and that he therefore hoped to capture her by jamming her in with the land if he could not succeed in winging her with his shot. The Rapid consequently steadily kept on her course to the northward, quickly increasing her distance from the king's ship.
"She will be about soon, or she will be afraid of missing us," observed Combe, "and then, my lads, it's our turn. Ready about when you see her tack."
Scarcely had he spoken when the Orestes came slowly up to the wind, her main yards were braced round, the head sails followed, and away she dashed after her tiny chase.
"Now, my lads, look out for a lull," cried the captain of the Rapid. "Let fly the jib sheet, down with the helm, Jim. That's it, beautifully. Let draw the foresail. Oh, she's a darling."
And the cutter coming round in a third of the time the ship had taken, bounded away over the foaming waves with her head to the eastward, the sea breaking over her bows, and deluging her decks fore and aft; but her hatches were securely battened down, and not a drop got below. The people in the Orestes, enraged at the obstinacy and daring of the cutter's crew, redoubled their efforts to hit her, some of their shot passing very close, but none had yet come on board. At last one passed right through her mainsail.
"If it comes to that," exclaimed Combe, with an expression of anger his countenance seldom wore, "I'll show you that two can play at that game." On this he beckoned his crew aft. "Now, my lads, I've just this to say to you," he began; "all I am worth in the world floats in this craft. It's hanging work to fire into a king's ship, you know; but, for my part I'd sooner sink than be taken or lose my vessel; will you stand me?"
"Never fear, Combe, we'll stand by you to a man," cried Jim Dore and the rest of the crew. "We are ready to fight if you like it."
"Well then, my fine lads, let's train our lee guns aft, and try to knock some of the feathers out of yon fine bird."
No sooner proposed than done. The two starboard guns were loaded, and run out at the ports, and as the Orestes offered a better mark for their aim than they had done for hers, several of their shot took effect. Combe watched them with an anxious eye, for it was a hazardous game he was playing.
"I'll just take a shot and see what I can do," he said, and watching till he brought his gun well on with her foremast, he fired. The sea at that moment lifted the stern of the cutter, and the shot flew higher than he intended, though not than he wished, for it knocked away the foretopmast staysail sheet close at the clew of the sail, which fluttering wildly in the gale was almost torn to shreds before it could be hauled down, while the ship, deprived of her head sail, flew up into the wind. "Ha! ha!" exclaimed Combe, clapping his hands with glee, "another shot like that and we shall soon part company."
It was some time before a new sail could be bent, and the delay enabled the Rapid to work considerably ahead of her pursuer, but her position was still very critical A shot might carry away her mast or spars, the wind might shift and throw her into the jaws of the enemy, or it might drop altogether, and then the boats would capture her to a certainty. The smugglers, however, had now made their choice, and fighting was to be the order of the day. In those good old times they never thought of throwing the cargo overboard or abandoning it to the enemy, as was done in late degenerate days, and, in the present instance, had they wished it, they could not have done so without being seen. In consequence of the damage she had received the Orestes was obliged to keep a little off the wind, to run no risk of getting into it, and being compelled to box off again, by which she would have lost still more way, but as the cutter crossed her on the opposite tack, she revenged herself by letting fly her whole broadside at her. The shot fell thick round the Rapid. One ball was more fatally directed than the rest. It struck one of the smuggler's crew, carrying away his arm, and dreadfully lacerating his breast. A cry of agony escaped him as he fell bleeding on the deck. His comrades attempted to raise him and carry him below, but he entreated to be left on deck.
"It's all up with me," he ejaculated, faintly; "but I'd like to see what happens. Here, Joe, just pass a handkerchief round my shoulder, and then let me be; there's no use doing more."
The smugglers brought up a mattrass from below and placed their dying shipmate on it against the companion hatch, so that he could have a view of the enemy, as he desired. No one else was hurt, and the shot passing through the weather bulwarks, did no further damage.
As soon as the Orestes had hoisted a new fore-topmast staysail, she tacked, on which the cutter did the same, compelling the former soon afterwards to follow her example. This, however, was not the tack on which Combe wished to be, but he knew that the oftener he went about the oftener the brig of war would be obliged to do the same, as by standing on long on opposite tacks they would soon lose sight of each other, which with the thick weather there was would be quickly done. Thus they continued ploughing their way through the deep green froth-combed waves, tack and tack for some time, the smaller vessel evidently distancing her pursuer.
"We've got out of range of her guns, captain, at all events," said Jim Dore. "That was an unlucky shot for poor Jack Martin.—Well, Jack, how do you get on, my man?"
But the wounded seaman returned no answer. He went up to him; his eyes were glazed and staring. He knelt down by his side and took his hand; it was cold and clammy, and fell powerless on the deck. The poor fellow was dead. His last gaze had been one of defiance on those his lawless following had made his foes. His shipmates laying his body at the foot of the mast, covered it up with a sail till they had time to give it a sailor's simple burial. The sun was now high up in the heavens, though vainly attempting to break through the thick masses of dark clouds which floated rapidly past it, heavy showers of hail and rain eve now and then continued falling, while the spray like a sheet covered the foaming waves.
The cutter, like a sea-bird, stemmed buoyantly over it, dipping her bows now and then, as it were in sport, into the white-crested billows, and heeling over till her lee bulwarks were almost under water; while the heavier ship seemed, compared to her, to be labouring onwards through the stormy sea with pain and difficulty. Hour after hour passed thus away, and the day was drawing to a close, but still the king's cruiser continued the chase. At last, as the thick mist cleared away to windward for an instant the high chalk cliffs of the west end of the Isle of Wight appeared in sight.
"Huzza! my boys," exclaimed the captain, as the view welcomed his eyes, "let us once get well in with the land, and then good-bye to the Orestes. We shall get the young flood making up close in shore round the island, with smooth water, while she still has a tumbling sea, and an hour more of the ebb."
The cutter now made a long reach, standing on till she was close under the cliffs of a beautiful part of the coast, some way to the eastward of Freshwater Bay, where she was in comparatively smooth water. She held her course till she looked as if she were about to rush upon the sandy beach, when her helm was put down, and away she went upon the other tack.
"There's less wind in here," observed Combe, whose complacency had considerably returned, "let's shake another reef out of the mainsail and see if we can't jog her on a little faster. We must be off Christchurch to-night, somehow. Luff her up a bit, Joe; see how she shoots a-head; so—steady—that will do."
The smugglers, who had for some time past been standing with their hands in their pea-coat pockets, without employment, were now all upon the alert. The reef was shaken out and the sail hoisted up in a moment. It was now tack and tack every instant, the cutter standing on till she seemed almost upon the rocks; but Combe knew every inch of the coast, and took advantage of every little bay and each channel between the rocks to make good his way out of the strength of the ebb. Often it appeared impossible that the cutter could escape from the dark rocks above water, and the hidden rocks covered with foaming breakers by which she was surrounded, but with wonderful sagacity Combe steered the cutter amid the dangers, and was soon again in the open sea. By the time the rays of the setting sun, which for an instant burst forth from amid the dark clouds cast a ruddy glow upon the white summits of the Culver cliffs at the east end of the island, the sloop of war, as seen from the cutter's decks, was hull down to leeward. Again the opaque clouds closed in, the thick mist came down over the land and sea, and darkness rapidly approached. Less and less distinct appeared the lofty sails of the king's cruiser, till at last the sharpest eye on board could no longer discern them.
"Huzza! my leds, we've shown a clean pair of heels this time, and now we must see about getting the things on shore. I promised to be off Christchurch Head by twelve to-night. It's a long way from this, but it must be done. We'll see if the Rapid can't go as fast through the water before the wind as she has done close hauled. What say you, Jim, shall we run through the Needles, or round by the back of the Wight again?"
"I should say through the Needles," answered the mate. "We shall have smooth water and the best part of the ebb, and there's no cruiser will ever think of looking out for us in this weather."
The cutter was accordingly kept close hauled, and after numerous tacks she weathered St. Helens, and easing off her mainsheet stood away with a flowing sail through the passage between the island and Spithead. Dark as it was the smuggler's keen eyes, sharpened by long practice, could sufficiently discern the shores on either side of the Solent to enable them to hold their course down the centre of the channel. Having made Cowes Point, the remaining reefs were shaken out of the mainsail, the squaresail was set, and keeping before the wind the Rapid was steering directly for the Needles passage, where I first introduced her to my readers.
How changed now was the scene from what it was on that morning. Then it was a view of calm beauty and sunshine, now all was darkness and tempest. The wind whistled loudly, the wild waves foamed and fretted, the lightning flashed, but the smugglers' hearts were undaunted. The lights on Hurst beach enabled them to steer clear through the dangerous passage, their ears deafened with the loud roar of the surges as they dashed furiously against the Needle rocks, but they threaded their way in safety, and were once more in the open sea. It wanted still an hour to midnight. Taking in her squaresail and two reefs in the mainsail, for it was still blowing almost as hard as ever, the cutter hauled up a little for Christchurch Bay. At last the dark outline of Christchurch Head appeared on the larboard bow, the cutter was rounded to, and a lantern hoisted three times to the mast-head. To those not watching for it, it might have appeared like some meteor or a deception of the sight. The signal was speedily answered from the shore, to the no small satisfaction of the smugglers. The goods were now quickly got up on deck ready for landing. A quarter of an hour had passed when several boats were seen pulling towards them. A light was shown from the headmost one, and a pistol flashed directly after it.
"Boat ahoy!" hailed the captain of the Rapid, "who are you looking for?"
"A friend, a pipe, and a glass of grog," answered a voice from the boat.
"All's right, come on board," responded Combe.
On this the boats pulled alongside, when a few words served to explain the occurrences of the day, though little time was expended in conversation.
The crew of the cutter now set to work to load the boats, which, however, being of small size, for the sake of running into shallow water, could venture, with the heavy sea there was running, only to carry a small portion of the goods at a time. They had already made several trips, when, from information Combe received from the shore, he determined to land himself in order to superintend the transportation of the goods further inland. Leaving, therefore, the cutter in charge of Jim Dore, with directions, should an enemy appear, to stand out to sea and to try the swiftness of his heels, he leapt into one of the laden boats and steered for the beach. The wind had by this time considerably abated, the rain ceased, the clouds cleared away, and the moon shed a bright light upon the waters. This was what those engaged in their lawless occupation would particularly have avoided. The darker the night and the worse the weather the better they were pleased. Combe, however, ascertained, much to his satisfaction, that the dragoons stationed in the neighbourhood had gone off towards Milford, so there was little chance of interruption from them, and for other enemies he cared little.
The spot where the run was made was a narrow, shingly beath, at the foot of the long range of high cliffs I have already described as extending between Christchurch and Lymington. As Combe stepped on shore, he found a number of people collected; some were employed in unloading the boats, while others were carrying the things up the cliffs, where carts were ready to convey them to the depôts far inland. The greater portion was still piled up upon the beach, above high-water mark, for so steep and difficult was the path up the cliff that one man could convey only a single tub or a small case of silks at a time. They appeared like ants as they wound their way in a long line along the narrow path up the cliff, where, having deposited their loads, they returned by an almost perpendicular descent to the beach.
There might have been sixty persons, or more, engaged in the work, besides the crew of the Rapid, every one of them armed to the teeth with pistols, blunderbusses, and swords, or pikes, Some were in the dress of countrymen, with smock-frocks or velveteen jackets, others were evidently seamen, and some few, who appeared to be directing the rest, were, by the tones of their voices, belonging to a higher station in society. The presence of Combe among them reanimated them all to greater exertions, for already a valuable portion of the night had been spent, and much remained to be done. At last it was found impossible to convey all the goods away into the interior of the country before daybreak, when Combe, consulting with the man called Doxton and others of his chief assistants, it was determined to stow them away in the vault often used for that purpose, beneath some ruins situated on the side of a ravine which ran up from the shore a short distance to the eastward. The party accordingly divided, Doxton with one gang of armed men mounted the cliffs to escort the carts to a place of safety, while Combe remained to superintend the removal of the remainder of the goods into the vault. The ruin had in the olden days of Rome's supremacy been a chapel dedicated to the Holy Virgin, the protector of mariners, and has long since totally disappeared, although the vault probably still remains covered up by rubbish and overgrown by the green herbage. Combe had about ten of his own crew with him and twenty landsmen, so that in a couple of trips the whole of the goods on shore were conveyed out of sight, and, as he judged, the hold of the Rapid was almost cleared, when, as he was standing in front of the ruins telling off the people as they came in, he was startled by several flashes to seaward and the report of fire-arms. He rushed to the edge of the cliff, whence, through his night-glass, he could better observe what was going forward. The moon sinking low towards the horizon cast her light upon the white sails of a tall ship in the offing, while the Rapid, with every stitch of canvass she could carry, was standing away to the westward, returning the fire, from what he judged from the flashes of the guns to be one or more boats chasing her, though the darkness prevented their movements being clearly seen. Combe watched the scene with intense interest, his hands almost crushing the spy-glass he held in his grasp.
"I would give a thousand pounds to be on board now," he exclaimed to himself; "but Dore is a man, and will fight the vessel to the last. If he can get round St, Alban's Head by the time the moon goes down, it's hard if he don't manage to weather on the revenue cruiser, whoever she may be, in the dark, and be off to the coast of France. Bravo, Jim! fire away, my lad. Ah, the Rapid shows her heels, and the boats may catch her if they can. Now she has only got the big one to deal with, and with this leading wind, if she keeps well in shore, where the other can't follow, she's safe."
While he was speaking, the flashes from the guns appeared to be growing further and further apart, and it was evident that the revenue boats had been discovered by the cutter before they were alongside in time for them to fill her sails and stand away from them, and Combe judged rightly that Dore had fired at them merely to draw them on and attract their attention from the shore.
Combe was soon joined by some of the smugglers, who had likewise been startled by the firing, while others came hurrying up from the beach with the same intelligence. A large band were thus soon collected, endeavouring to discern through the darkness the manœuvres of the vessels, making their observations with violent oaths and exclamations, and vowing vengeance against those who dared to interfere with their proceedings. While thus occupied, they were suddenly aroused by loud shouts, cries, and execrations, the report of pistols, and the tramping of feet. Combe, followed by the rest of the men, rushed down the cliff, where they were met by several of their people, laden with goods, and pursued by a strong party of seamen, led on by an officer in naval uniform. The two parties met at the entrance of the ravine, and so impetuous was the charge of the king's seamen, that the smugglers were driven back several paces before they were able to make a stand; pistol-shots were rapidly exchanged, their flashes lighting up the scene, the clash of cutlasses mingling with the shouts and fierce execrations of the combatants. Combe, rallying his people, who were soon joined by the remainder of their friends, again led them on, when he encountered the royal officer at the head of his men.
"Yield, you rascal, yield," cried the officer, aiming a blow with his cutlass at Combe's head, "some of you fellows have given us trouble enough to-night, and you shall pay for it."
"I never give in while I can fight," returned the smuggler, as he parried the blow and drew a pistol from his belt.
His anger was up, for he guessed by these words that it was one of the officers of the Orestes opposed to him. He fired—the officer, with a groan, staggered and fell, and the smugglers at the same time making a desperate rush drove back the seamen, disheartened by the loss of their leader, to the beach. Another officer in vain endeavoured to urge them on; the smugglers, grown desperate, were too many for them. The king's seamen fought well and kept their enemies at bay, but at last were driven back and compelled to save their lives in the boats. This was all Combe required to enable his friends to carry off the remainder of the goods, and as soon as this was accomplished he sounded a retreat, on which the smugglers instantly dispersed with such rapidity up the cliffs that by the time the man-of-war's men again landed not one of them was to be seen.
The next morning the dead body of the officer, who proved to be the master of the Orestes, was found, but none of the crew could swear to the person who fired the shot which killed him, nor were any hopes entertained by the authorities of discovering the guilty man. The commander of the Orestes, it appeared, had from the first received information of the run intended to be made near Christchurch, and was on the look-out for the smuggler when the gale I have described came on. When on losing sight of her at the east end of the island, after beating some hours more to windward in the vain hope of falling in with her, he put the ship about and stood back for Christchurch Bay. He arrived, as we have seen, just in time to be too late. The master, with two boats, was accordingly despatched to surprise the cutter, but Jim Dore was too wide awake to be taken at advantage. The result of the attempt has already been shown.
We must now change the scene to the private parlour of the Haven House, on the evening after the run. Before a table, on which stood sundry bottles, jugs, glasses, and meerschaums, with tobacco-boxes and other apparatus for smoking, sat three men, with one of whom the reader is well acquainted, being no other than the redoubted Billy Combe; another was a man of whom I have spoken, Doxton by name; and the third was a person of greater pretensions, though of his respectability others may think differently, as he was a partner of the London house on whose account the silks and laces had been bought. Business had been got over and their glasses replenished.
"This is a bad affair, the death of the master of the Orestes," observed the respectable merchant; "it will make the officers of revenue more on the alert."
"It couldn't be helped," answered Combe, in a careless tone. "If I had not shot him he would have shot me or some better man."
"What, it was you who shot him!" said the merchant; "I thought you had more discretion."
"I did shoot him, and I scorn to deny it," answered Combe, boldly; "I was defending my right, and would do the same again to any one who interfered with me."
"But you may get yourself into trouble if you run such risks, and then who shall we employ to bring over our silks?" argued the merchant. "My advice, Combe, to you, is, that you should get quietly over to the coast of France, till all inquiries about the death of the officer are at rest," observed Doxton; "it will be known to a certainty that you were the leader of the party, and you will be made answerable."
"Do, my good friend, do take care of yourself; we cannot afford to lose you," added the merchant.
While this discussion was going forward, Mrs. Sellers knocked at the door, and being told to enter, placed in Billy's hand a note, which ran thus:
"Dear Captain,
"I write this, which a French lugger will carry over to you, from Cherbourg. We had a sharp run, but doubled on the big one, and stole away to windward of her, while she thought she had run us on shore dead to leeward. We want you over here, and no one more so than
"Yours,
"Jim Dore."
"Huzza!" exclaimed Combe; "the cutter's safe, and now I care for nothing. I say, Betsy, just bring in some paper and ink, not forgetting a pen. I want to write a letter home, just to tell them I shall not be back for some time, and then I'm off for France."
He accordingly set to work, and wrote several letters, rather laconic they certainly were, which he committed to the care of Mrs, Sellers. On the superscription of one of them was Mary Dawson's name. When the widow saw it, her eye kindled and her lips curled with anger, and poor Mary never received his letter.
When Combe received his note, the lugger was employed in running her cargo, and by daybreak she was again to sail. Combe had made his arrangements, and was walking down to the beach, where a boat was waiting to convey him on board the Frenchman, when he found himself on a sudden surrounded by a number of armed men, and before he had time to make any resistance, his hands were bound behind him, he was lifted on horseback, and carried off far inland, escorted by a party of dragoons.
Combe was a bold fellow, and could look at things on their black side without trembling, but he at once saw the critical position in which he was placed. For two days the party travelled on, stopping only a sufficient time to rest their horses; when at length they reached London, and the smuggler found himself the inmate of a prison, without a soul to speak to or advise with. He had been a prisoner for some days, and even his buoyant spirits were at a low ebb, when, as he was seated in his cell, resting his head upon his hands, and giving way to melancholy reflections, the door opened, and a person entered. He looked up, and beheld, by the dim light of the lamp, the girl he loved, his own Mary Dawson. Springing on his feet, he clasped her in his arms. She sobbed on his bosom; and even his stout heart was moved almost to tears. She told him that it was reported that affairs would go hard with him on his trial, but that Jim Dore had come over from France, and had collected plenty of money to employ the best counsel for his defence. Combe, in return, endeavoured to cheer her spirits, and to assure her that all would go well.
"But you did not murder the officer?" said Mary; "surely you could not kill any body?"
"Murder! no," answered Combe, proudly; "cowards only murder. But don't ask me, Mary—what is done, I cannot now undo. Thank you, my own Mary, for all you have done for me; and tell Dore, if he can get leave to see me, to come without delay."
The gaoler now came in to tell Mary she must quit her lover.
The next day Dore arrived with a lawyer, and Combe's defence was drawn out with considerable ability, though, as the accuser was unknown, there was some difficulty in doing so. At last the trial came on: Combe was placed in the dock, and in the witness-box appeared a female—she turned her head towards the prisoner, and he beheld the vindictive features of Widow Sellers. Several of Combe's friends had come up to London to attend the trial. The business of the day commenced; the witnesses were examined. Mrs. Sellers swore that she had heard him acknowledge that he had killed the master of the Orestes; Doxton was brought forward, and compelled to confirm the statement; and then two of the seamen of the Orestes swore that they saw him fire the fatal shot; one of the smugglers being brought forward to prove that he was one of those engaged, and at the head of the party. Against this mass of evidence it was impossible to contend successfully. The jury returned a verdict of guilty, and the judge, putting on the black cap, pronounced his sentence. He was condemned to be hung, as a pirate, in chains, on the banks of the Thames. Combe heard his doom, like a brave man, without trembling, though he afterwards entreated that Mary might be conveyed home without being told of his condemnation, observing, "It would break my heart to see her in tears, poor girl, and could do her no good. But, Jim, if you could manage it, though I was not given much to church-going, I should like to rest quietly in our own churchyard, and then mayhap she would come sometimes and watch over me."
Dore, as he wrung his comrade's hand, promised to obey his wishes.
In those days, the bank of the Thames, near Blackwall, was adorned with a row of lofty gibbets, on which hung the ghastly remains of several pirates and murderers on the high seas, as a warning to all the passers-by to avoid a similar destiny.
I am not fond of describing horrors, and shall therefore not detail the execution of my hero. The sun went down and rose again, and men and boys were hawking about the streets of London, "A full and particular Account of the Life and Adventures, and the last dying Speech and Execution of the bold Smuggler, William Combe, who murdered the Master of his majesty's Sloop Orestes."
That might was one of storm and rain, and the bodies of the malefactors swayed to and fro in the gale, while the creaking of the gibbets and the clanking of the chains, added their mournful music to the howling of the wind. Just after nightfall, while the tempest was at its height, two men approached the gibbet whereon hung the body of the smuggler, and, climbing to the top, set to work with files and chisels to free it from its chains. So well did they ply their instruments, that in a short time their work was accomplished, when, lowering the body to the ground, they bore it to a light cart waiting at hand. As soon as it was stowed within, and carefully covered up, they drove off at a rapid rate towards the south. Several times they changed horses, which were standing out in readiness for them, and long before the morning dawned, they stopped at the entrance of Hamble churchyard.
The curate of Hamble was a worthy good man, of even temper and peaceable disposition, seeking to live in charity with all men, though rather afraid of his lawless and unruly parishioners. He had long retired to rest, when he was aroused by a loud knocking at the door of the parsonage, and a voice, summoning him to dress and come down with his prayer-book in hand. Half asleep, he did as he was desired, supposing some dying person required the consolations of religion; but no sooner did he open his door, than he found himself surrounded by several men, who gently led him forward.
"No harm is intended, sir," said one, in a respectful tone, "but we have no time to lose. All we wish you to do is to perform the funeral service over the body of a parishioner, and to ask no questions."
The good curate felt that he had no resource but to consent, and soon entering the churchyard, he found himself standing at the head of a newly-opened grave, at the other end of which he saw the old sexton, with the implements of his calling, while around stood a number of persons, chiefly in the rough dresses of seamen, a lantern here and there held by some of them, throwing a pale uncertain light over the ghastly scene. He had scarcely been there a minute, when wheels were heard rapidly approaching, and soon afterwards several men appeared, bearing in their arms a human body, wrapped up in a large sea-coat, which they placed carefully on the ground by the side of the newly-made grave, exposing the features to view. The people crowded round it, when a young woman who had been before standing aloof with two or three other females, rushed forward, and threw herself by the side of the corpse, exclaiming,
"Let me see him! let me see him!—they could not have been so barbarous as to murder him!"
But when the poor girl beheld the pallid and distorted features of her dead lover, uttering a loud shriek, she fell back fainting into the arms of her friends. It is extraordinary with what care and forethought the smugglers had made arrangements for fulfilling their friend's dying request. A coffin was brought forward, into which the body was placed, and the lid being fastened down, the curate was requested to read the funeral service, which he did in a solemn, serious tone, in which a slight agitation might now and then have been perceptible. As the coffin was lowered into the grave, on the lid appeared, in brass letters, the name of "William Combe."
"There," exclaimed Jim Dore, with an unusual tremulousness in his voice, as the earth closed over the grave, "I've done my duty to the poor fellow, and a braver man, or a better messmate, than he who sleeps under that sod, I never hope to break biscuit with again."
Soon afterwards, a simple grave-stone was erected, on which was inscribed the name of "William Combe; Died a.d, 178-, Aged 30;" and every day, while flowers bloomed, was it encircled with a fresh wreath by the hand of love. Poor Mary remained faithful to her first affection, and even honest Jim Dore could not move her heart. Mrs. Sellers was ever afterwards pointed at, as an example of the extremes to which a widow's vengeance might go when she is crossed in love. The smugglers deserted her inn, though it was still patronised by the revenue-men, but they only spent a quarter of what her former customers did, and she at length quitted the place, to avoid the sight of objects which recalled to her memory the loves she had so barbarously destroyed, though the Haven House remains to this day in much the same state as it then existed, and many a time is the tale told within its snug bar, by its sea-faring occupants, of how the bold smuggler, Billy Combe, was hung near Blackwall, on the Thames, for shooting the master of the Orestes, and buried, the same night, in Hamble Churchyard, on the coast of Hampshire.