A NIGHT-RAID ON DONEGAL SMUGGLERS.
On a wild, stormy evening, some years ago, the writer was returning to Ballyroughan, a miserable little town on the bleak coast of Donegal. It had rained heavily all day, but having cleared up a little, I drew rein as I approached the town. On such an evening the scene was far from inspiriting. The road followed the windings of the seashore, here bounded by huge rocks, over which the waves were dashing furiously, like demons storming a fort. About five miles from the mainland lay the little island of Innismurry, almost shrouded in mist, and only discernible by the ring of white foam which marked its coast. Beyond, stretched the Atlantic, raging with all the force and passion of a November storm. I had barely time to take in this scene, when I was accosted by a man, who seemed to rise out of the road at my side.
‘It’s a sevare day, yer honour,’ said he, politely touching his hat. ‘God be good to them that’s at sea on an evening like that.’
‘It is very stormy, indeed; but I think the worst of it is now over.’
‘God sind it, thin, for it’s hard times for the fishermen; though it’s mighty good for the stillin’.’
‘Good for the stilling!’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why, I mane there’s little fear of “the boys” being interrupted in weather like that.’
‘Interrupted at what?’
‘Why, at the stillin’, av coorse; and by the same token, yonder they’re at it;’ and he pointed to the little island already referred to, now partially disrobed of its mist.
‘Do you mean to say that there is illicit distillation now going on at that island?’
‘Faix and you’ve just guessed it; and sure it comes mighty handy, by rayson that the fair is on Monday.’
I need not weary the reader with all that passed between me and my chance companion, whom I recognised as Mickey Mehaffey, a hanger-on about one of the hotels in the town. From Mickey I learned that the inhabitants of Innismurry consisted of about a score of families, who obtained a living by fishing and illicit distillation, and I grieve to say, chiefly by the latter. There were no police on the island, and as in stormy weather it was wholly unapproachable from the mainland, they could carry on their nefarious business without fear of ‘disturbance.’ At other times their scouts could give at least half-an-hour’s warning of approaching danger, and this was sufficient to enable them to secrete their contraband goods before the ‘inimy’ arrived. And when hard pressed, the Atlantic always formed a safe and capacious storehouse. They had also their agents and confederates on the mainland, who assisted them to land and dispose of the poteen prior to fairs, wakes, and marriages, these being the favourite channels of ‘home consumption.’
But to return to Mickey. He still kept a wistful eye on the island, particularly on one little curl of blue smoke that he assured me arose from the identical cabin where the stills were at that moment being ‘fired.’
‘They’ll be sure to land it on Sunday night,’ said he, ‘as Monday is the fair. The new gauger is very sevare, I’m towld, and means to make a raid on them.’
‘Who told you that?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the divil a one; sure, I’ve been dhraming it, or something.’
‘Well, Mickey,’ said I, ‘since you’ve been so very free with your information, I don’t mind telling you that I am the “new gauger” myself, and certainly mean to put a stop to this smuggling, if possible.’
‘Oh, the saints protect us!’ piously ejaculated Mickey. ‘Bad luck to the tongue of me! I’ve been an informer all unknownst to meself; but your honour won’t betray me?’
‘Never fear. I knew already most of what you told me.’
‘Arrah! did you, now? Well, and if you want any more information about them same smugglers, sure Mickey Mehaffey’s the boy that can find it out for ye.’
I was certainly rather amused at Mickey’s sudden change of principles; and telling him to call on me next day, if he had further information to give, I put spurs to my horse and trotted in to town.
I had only been recently appointed to Ballyroughan, with special instructions to do my utmost to suppress smuggling, which was at that time very prevalent in the district. And from all the information I could gather, I came to the conclusion that the most effectual way of doing this was to intercept the landing of the goods from the island. The supply, I reasoned, would soon cease, if I succeeded in cutting off the demand.
Mickey kept his promise about giving me further information. I had just thrown myself on the lounge next evening after dinner, when a fiery altercation broke in upon my rest. It was my landlady and Mickey on the stairs. ‘Ye can’t disturb him now, I’m telling ye; he’s only afther his dinner.’
‘But I want to see him particular,’ persisted Mickey, endeavouring to pass her on the stairs.
‘And it’s want ye’ll meet with, thin; ye can watch for him as he goes out in the mornin’.’
‘It’s a matther of life and death, I’m tellin’ ye; and the mornin’ wouldn’t do at all, at all.’
‘Well, and what if it is a matther of life and death? Sure, he isn’t the docthor.’
I now thought proper to interfere. ‘If that is Mickey Mehaffey,’ I said, ‘you may allow him to come up, Mrs M‘Ketchup.’
‘Very well, sor.—Bad luck to the dirthy boots o’ ye!’ This last to Mickey in an undertone.
‘Well, Mickey, shut the door, and let me hear what you have got to say.’
‘I’ve learned it all, sor. Hugh’s Shan gave me all the news this mornin’ afther chapel. He’s wan of the smugglers, ye know, from the island.’
‘What “news” did he give you?’
‘Why, about the landing of the poteen for the fair. It’s just as I towld ye. They’re to land it to-night about twelve o’clock, as the moon will be dark by that time.’
‘Where do they usually land it?’ I asked.
‘Well, sor, there are only two places where a boat can put in with safety: wan of these, “the Smugglers’ Pier,” is just between the high rocks forninst Ballyroughan; and the other is about a quarter of a mile farther along the shore. It’s not so safe in the dark as the Smugglers’ Pier, and so they never land at it.’
After arranging with Mickey to meet me that night at a certain point, I dismissed him, and proceeded to mature my plan for trapping the smugglers. It was this. I arranged with the coastguard officer to meet me at the Smugglers’ Pier about eleven o’clock. He was to bring two boats and three boatmen with him, and row up silently from the station to the place appointed. Three constables of the ‘Royal Irish’ were also detailed to meet me at the same time and place. Mickey, as previously stated, was to go with myself and act as guide. The rendezvous was about a mile from the town, so I started off about half-past ten on my secret expedition. Fortunately, Ballyroughan retires early to rest, so not a soul was to be seen as I passed through the town. A subdued cough at the outskirts told me that Mickey was true to his appointment.
We walked in silence to the place, and found the ‘palers,’ as Mickey called them, waiting. The coastguard officer and his men had not yet arrived. They came, however, shortly afterwards, and I then gave my final instructions. One boat, manned by the coastguard officer, a boatman, and one of the constables, was to row about four hundred yards out, and lie on its oars, out of the track of the smugglers, but ready to intercept them on their return to the island, if they escaped us. A shot from my revolver was the signal for them to be on the alert. The other boat, I directed to be kept out of sight between the rocks, but ready for action at a moment’s notice. These arrangements completed, every one waited quietly at his post to watch the turn of events. It was now midnight; and though the moon had been down almost half an hour, there was no sign of the smugglers. Could it be that Mickey was playing us false? This thought had just occurred to me, when my ear caught the sound of distant oars.
‘Did you hear anything, sir?’ one of the constables whispered.
‘Hush! Listen,’ I said.
Yes; there was no mistake. Nearer and clearer came the plash of the oars and the creaking of the rowlocks; and in a few minutes afterwards, the boat grated on the gravel within a few yards of where we lay concealed. I saw through the darkness that there were only two men in the boat, with a boy to steer. The former proceeded at once to land the goods. They brought a keg ashore; but before I could give the order for capture, a ludicrous incident betrayed us. Mickey, I noticed, had been nodding with sleep for some time, and at the most critical moment began to snore so loudly, that the men at once dropped the keg and made a rush for the boat.
‘Arrest them!’ I shouted, and one of the policemen succeeded in catching hold of an oar just as the boat was being pushed off; but the smuggler was equal to the occasion. He drew the oar towards the boat, then pushed it rapidly back again, and next moment the unfortunate constable was left sprawling in the water. ‘Man the boat!’ I shouted, as I observed they were about to escape us. ‘You,’ I said to the policeman who got the ducking, ‘will remain on shore to guard the seizure, and Mickey may keep you company.—All ready?’ I asked, stepping into the boat, and at the same time discharging my revolver, as a signal to the coastguard officer in the other boat.
‘All right, sir.’
‘Then pull off;’ and away we went in the wake of the smugglers. The chase was an exciting one. They had got about twenty yards ahead; but our boat was the swifter, and we soon came up with them. ‘Now we have them,’ I exclaimed, as our other boat came into view, intercepting their course to the island. They were not, however, to be caught so easily. Making a rapid double to the left, our boat was shot far ahead of them before we could turn. I now saw that the advantage did not all lie on our side; for although we had greater speed and greater numbers, on the other hand, the smugglers’ boat was so formed as to twist and turn about with the greatest rapidity, rendering it very difficult for us to come into close quarters with them. Again we came up with them, and again they made a double towards the mainland, leaving us still at a distance.
I now adopted a different mode of operations. Both our boats were between the smugglers and Innismurry, and I directed them to separate about twenty yards, and row close behind the enemy, keeping the latter always in front and between the two boats. This plan was perfectly successful. The smugglers were now compelled to ‘move on’ before us towards the mainland, any attempt to turn aside being prevented by either boat. Their only escape now was landward, and they made a spurt to reach the shore before us, heading directly for the Smugglers’ Pier; but their boat had scarcely touched the gravel, when our men, jumping into the water, surrounded it, and took the occupants in charge ere they had time to land.
I now directed my attention to matters on shore. Mickey was still there, but the constable was nowhere to be seen. A feeble groan from behind the rocks led Mickey to explain.
‘It’s the paler, yer honour,’ said he. ‘He tuk mighty bad after you left.’
‘Has he been to the keg?’ I asked.
‘Faix, and he has, thin; and it didn’t agree with him.’
It evidently did not. The ground beside him bore witness to the fact.
‘Confound the stuff!’ growled one of the boatmen, who had taken the opportunity to follow the paler’s example and have a pull at the keg. He was expectorating at a furious rate and making horrible grimaces.
‘Is it poison?’ feebly groaned the policeman.
‘Poison? Confound it!’ said the boatman; ‘it’s water, and as salt as blazes.’
It was indeed water, fresh drawn from the Atlantic. The constable, it seems, feeling cold after his immersion, broached the keg in our absence, and had taken a good pull at it before he discovered that it wasn’t the ‘rale Innishowen.’ It produced such a nausea and sickness of stomach, that the poor fellow thought he was poisoned, and became frightened into the ludicrous state of distress in which we found him.
I now examined the contents of another keg in the boat. Salt water also. Meanwhile, our three prisoners, who understood not a word of English, stood composedly looking on, and seemed quite satisfied with their position. Our own position was certainly a novel one. There we stood, eight men in Her Majesty’s service, with three prisoners in charge, and for what? For having two kegs of salt water in their possession, whilst the broad Atlantic rolled at our feet. No one appeared to be able to give any explanation of our peculiar ‘seizure;’ and we were about to leave the place in disgust, when the coastguard drew my attention to the sound of oars farther up the shore, and we could dimly discern a boat putting off towards the island.
‘Depend upon it,’ said he, ‘that boat has just been landing the poteen; and this has only been a decoy, to divert our attention from the real culprits.’
This indeed was the true explanation of the mystery, so I discharged my prisoners, who coolly tossed the kegs into their boat and pulled off towards Innismurry.
I afterwards learned that Mickey, with all his apparent simplicity, was a shrewd confederate of the smugglers, and that it was really he who planned and set us on this ‘wildgoose chase.’ They expected, it seems, a raid made on them that night; and Mickey was deputed, under cover of giving information, to learn the mode of attack, and, if possible to thwart it. In this he was but too successful. And although, on many subsequent occasions, I had ample revenge for the trick played on me that night, I must confess that these later and more successful experiences appear to me but tame and commonplace, compared with my first encounter with the Donegal smugglers.