THE SMUGGLER.
“It was my fortune, or rather my misfortune,” said my companion, “some forty years ago, to take up my quarters at a fisherman’s hut in the village, who was a widower with one child, a lovely girl of about sixteen years of age. She performed all the household duties for her father with the greatest neatness and cheerfulness, and at evening was looked upon by the youth of the surrounding neighbourhood, as the gayest and handsomest lass that tripped upon the hard sands to the music of a blind harper, who lived in the vicinity. Many a time as I stood and saw her light feet moving in the inspiring dance, have I said to myself, it would be a pity now if so light a foot should ever carry a heavy heart. Poor Jane! she was the sweetest wild flower of the cliff—nursed in storm and tempest, yet in her simplicity more winning to the heart and eye than the proudest exotic luxury could produce. I took a pleasing interest in her; and for the attention she paid me, resolved upon improving her education to the extent of my ability, which I considered an easy task, for the organ of veneration, I observed, was large, which induced me to think she respected those who took an interest in her welfare. Benevolence and hope were equally prominent, and, when this happy association appears, the leading feature of such persons’ characters may be perceived in the religious obedience they pay to all those who are anxious to instruct their minds and purify their thoughts. I felt notwithstanding, considerable anxiety for her future welfare; for at the lower part and back of the head, between the mastoid processes and the occipital bone, I had noticed an enlargement, which I knew, combined as it was with the moral sentiments and the organs of adhesiveness, strongly developed, would either prove the blessing or the bane of her existence, as these opposites depended not only upon the man’s disposition to whom she might yield her affections, but to the destiny of that man, successful or disastrous. And I had frequent opportunities of observing that she had a strong partiality for a youth who was possessed of personal and mental qualifications far beyond those of his associates, but who was wild, with the bump of marvellousness extremely prominent.”
“Zounds,” said I, “if you cover your story with so many excrescences, I shall never be able to remember one half of it.”
My companion smiled benevolently, as he replied, I perceive you lack the organ of individuality; and then resumed the thread of his discourse. After remaining with them nearly three months, during which I may give myself credit for having made good use of my time in improving the manners and intellect of my docile pupil, I took leave of the fisherman and his daughter, promising to pay them a visit in the course of a month, before I returned to merry England. Tears stood in the eyes of poor Jane as I turned to quit the cottage, and the old father squeezed my hand with a cordiality that effectually stopped the circulation of my blood in that extremity. Mark, her lover, seemed neither sorry nor pleased, but leaning his broad back against the white-washed wall of the cottage, whistled with the greatest composure, “The jovial fellow’s farewell.”
After a month’s ramble, I returned to this spot on a dark, stormy day in October;—it was indeed a dreary evening. The rain fell in torrents, and the hoarse sound of the surge came heavily upon my ear as I approached the cottage of my late worthy host; when suddenly, as I lifted my eyes from the ground, I perceived a number of persons walking in slow procession, as from a funeral, and a cold shudder came over me as I recognised the father of Jane; his white locks exposed to the beating rain, his head bent to the ground, and his hands clasped upon his breast, in the action of mental agony.
Thinking my visit would prove ill-timed, I proceeded to a small public-house, and, while my garments were drying at the fire, I managed to extract from the landlord, that the funeral of Jane Morgan had just taken place. Astonishment and sorrow chained my tongue for some time; I shall never forget the sensations I experienced at this mournful relation. I sat motionless in my chair, without uttering a syllable for a full hour, or noticing anything that transpired around me during that time. I could think of nothing but Jane Morgan; I could see nothing but her young blooming face and yellow locks, which used to glitter like threads of gold in the sunbeams, as the fresh sea breeze blew them into a thousand fantastic waves; her airy form, as it flew along the sand on which her light foot scarcely left a print; her simple dress; all this I brought to my “mind’s eye,” and afterwards the church-yard where she was laid a corpse—I burst into tears.
Her lover, Mark Bratts, who had for more than a twelvemonth paid courtship to poor Jane, had obtained her father’s consent to their union, whenever he could realize a sufficient sum to begin the world with in a prudent and respectable way. The precarious life of a fisherman, however, appeared to Mark to hold out but little prospect of wealth enough either to gain or to support a wife; and he resolved upon obtaining the object of his wishes as speedily as possible in some other way.
A man named Simpson, a notorious smuggler in the neighbourhood, was known to have amassed a considerable property, and Mark resolved to offer himself to serve as one of the crew on board his lugger; hoping, that in a trip or two, he might earn sufficient to claim his promised bride. He was accepted aboard; and the day following the little vessel spread her light sails to the breeze, and took her course for Holland. Mark possessed a little money which he laid out in a venture, trusting thereby to clear so much as would enable him to claim as his bride the object of his love.
It was a stormy day when the inhabitants of Llandudno were roused by the report of guns from seaward, the wind blowing furiously right on shore. It was about the time that the smuggler’s vessel was expected, and those interested in her safe arrival hastily ran to this promontory to ascertain if she was in sight, or in danger, for a king’s cutter was known to be cruising on the coast. It was just dawn; the sea was running mountains high; and within a league of the rocks they perceived two vessels within half a mile of each other. The first was a small lugger, carrying a press of canvass that seemed to run her hull under as she made directly for the headland, and her masts bent like reeds to the fury of the tempest. As she approached the headland, a number of kegs piled one upon another on the decks, were observed to vanish into the deep by dozens, being flung overboard by the busy crew. They were within a mile of the shore, when the revenue cutter, hauling her wind, poured a broadside of grape shot into the smuggler, so well directed that several were seen to fall from their stations in various parts of the vessel. Still they carried every stitch of canvass, knowing that there was water enough for the light lugger to cross the bar after they had rounded the point, and that the revenue cutter would be sure to strike upon the sands if she attempted to follow them half a mile further, being of much heavier tonnage. Besides, she was already in some peril, by venturing so far in shore, with a gale blowing heavily from the north east.
She was soon within hail of the head, and the cliffs were covered with human beings, gazing eagerly upon the little craft beneath it, when suddenly, a chain shot from the cutter carried away her mainmast, which fell over the side. To cut away the stays and clear the wreck, was the work of a minute, and the smuggler’s bark swept like a sea bird round the great Ormes head into the Bay of Conway, but not until their pursuers had sent another broadside into her hull as they stood off shore. As the Typhon, the name of the king’s vessel turned from the pursuit; the daring outlaws sent up a shout of triumph, which was echoed from those upon the rocks, and after a slight shock which the lugger received, as she crossed the sand-bank, they floated safely in smooth water.
But where was Jane? Foremost of that crowd which gathered on the rocks, when the firing was first heard, flew the light form of the loving maiden, like a young eagle glaring for its mate. She stood upon the extreme verge of the cliff, unconscious of every thing, save the peril of her lover, her eyes fixed upon the vessels, straining as they would crack their strings, to discover the form of him who had her heart in keeping; and, as the vessel glided under the headland, she hung over the brink of the precipice, gazing upon the dead and dying, with whom the decks were strewed. But she saw him not. With the swiftness of the seamew, she followed the course of the smuggler along the shore; and when at last she saw the white sails gathered to the yards, and the vessel riding safely at anchor in the rocky bay, she leaped into a boat, and rowed herself to its side. A moment, and she jumped upon the deck, calling wildly for poor Mark. But no one answered her. With hair dishevelled, and eyes glancing fire, she turned each dead man’s face up to the sky. At length, a headless trunk met her distracted gaze. A bright gold ringlet of hair, tinged with the smuggler’s blood, and fastened to the breast of his shirt, the blue pea-jacket she gave Mark at his departure, and the brass buckles which her father wore, and presented to him as a pledge of future favour, all flashed conviction on her mind, that it was the mutilated form of her lover. A wild scream, which struck terror into the hearts of the daring crew, proclaimed her heart was broken; and falling on his mangled corse she instantly expired.
This was the melancholy end of the lovers. And you may remember that I said her happiness or misery would depend not only on the disposition of the man she loved, but upon his future destiny; the organs of amativeness and adhesiveness being so largely developed.
Here an object attracted his attention at a short distance, and he suddenly left off speaking to examine the scull of a melancholy donkey, which stood gazing upon the waste of waters.
Having carefully examined the animal’s pericranium, on which he made some scientific remarks, elaborately pointing out the distinguishing characteristics of the quadruped and biped race, I reminded him that it was high time to retrace our steps to Conway, and, as we trudged along, he related a story of rather a whimsical nature, which, as it tended to illustrate his favorite science, afforded me much amusement.