The lugger was in undisputed possession of the Revenue men before the boat from the shore reached her. They, too, were quickly disposed of, after a short, angry, though feeble resistance. Stringent precautions were taken to prevent any blowing-up exploits. The whole gang were well secured against that, and any other hostile outbreaks. This having been done to the satisfaction of the officer in charge, the anchor was weighed, a course was shaped towards the south, and the last of the low, black, romantic luggers, with their gallant crews, passed away, never more to be seen on this part of the coast.
Recognition of the deeds done by the dauntless heroes of that age in the Government service was very scanty. It may be they did not expect it. In that case they were rarely disappointed. Thomas Turnbull seems to have got his reward in being allowed to remain on the station until the time came to retire on a pension. He went about his routine work with placid regularity, and devoted what leisure he had to widening his reading, which consisted mainly of history, theology, and Burns's poems. He was never known to miss his class-meeting, and travelled eight miles each way to keep his pulpit appointments on Sundays. He sometimes entertained his family and the young folk that visited them by relating his experiences with the smugglers, but his greatest pleasure was in holding religious meetings in one or other of the fishers' cottages. In this he was gratuitously aided by Jimmy Stone, who entered into his work with energy, zeal, and oftentimes amazing resource. Jimmy had developed a form of religious mania, insisting on the theory that he was, as a preacher, a direct descendant of the Apostles. This assumption severely taxed the Christian virtues of the little society. Turnbull, who had a keen sense of humour, viewed the new situation with intense amusement, and always excused the foibles of his old convert up to the time of leaving the district to end his own eventful career within easy reach of his family, who were all grown-up and doing well. Jimmy did not long survive him, but he lived long enough to see the passing away of that spiritual wave that had changed his whole life.
Many years after, an ugly incident broke the spell of monotony in the village. A hideous-looking creature came to it and addressed himself to a fisherman. His voice was that of a drunkard. He was dirty, his eyes were bleared, and the cunning, shifty look betokened a long life of vicious habits. He wished to know when Mrs. Clarkson died, where all her relations that lived round about her were, to whom the estates were sold, and whom the money they realized went to; what had become of Turnbull and his family, and how long was it since the smugglers were driven off the coast? These questions were only meagrely answered, as the man he inquired of belonged to another generation, and there were only very few left who knew anything of the period or the people that he desired information about. The following day the body of a man, supposed to be a tramp, was found in a barn. He had left evidence of his identity, and when it was discovered that the stranger was Stephen Lawrence, Mrs. Clarkson's nephew, the once flashy young gentleman who controlled her estates, and who had been sent abroad when grave suspicion rested upon him of being seriously involved in pecuniary defalcations, it created a fresh sensation, and revived all the old stories of bygone days. He had come to die within the shadow of the home in which he was so indulgently reared, and his remains were buried by those who knew not of him. It was probably through him and Melbourne that the secret locality of the cave and other valuable information which led up to the final conflict and defeat of the smugglers became known.
The "Mugger's Lonnin," all blazing with red and yellow flowers and long silvery grass growing wild, and covering the mysteries that lie beneath, is still there. The superstitions regarding its history still exist. The sandhills, capped with the rustling, silky bents, looking down into the bay, are still there. The thrilling sea winds come and go, and the music of the shells on the beach is whispering as before, but the shrill wail of the curlew is never sounded from knoll to knoll now. The horn lantern is not seen by the roadsides, nor the quick flashlight that signalled the coast was clear; and the rattle of the horses' hoofs on the stones during the mystic night is never now heard. There is nothing to indicate, in fact, that this lonely, superb piece of England was once (not so long ago) a great centre of illicit trading. The smuggler and Revenue man have disappeared, and the scenes of their successes or failures, daring, comic, and sometimes tragic, are undisturbed save by nature's sights and sounds. Man-o'-war sailors (fine fellows though they be), with ribboned caps, and trousers that flap like sails of a ship tacking, have replaced the trim, gentlemanlike civilian of old. Some of the latter are still remembered with affection, and even veneration, by people who were young when the last of them passed away.
Smugglers of the Rock
Captain S—— was a man of enterprise, and never lost an opportunity of scheming to supplement the freight of the vessel he commanded. His common phrase was, "Look for business, and you'll meet it on the road." He was well known all over the Mediterranean, and had done much trade with the Spanish ports, so that he got to know a good deal about the character and methods of their business. On one occasion, at Gibraltar, a deputation of traders, as they called themselves, made him a proposition that was startling in its remunerative dimensions.
"I presume," said the captain, "this business which you are good enough to put before me is sound; there is no humbug about it?"
"Not one bit, captain. You undertake to do certain work for which we pay you before starting."
It was arranged that he should wire from his last port of call when passing down the Mediterranean. He fixed his mind on the amount he was to receive, and did not inquire too closely into the character of the business. He would have been virtuously indignant if any one had hinted that he was capable of going beyond the limits of stern rectitude, although he admitted the undertaking to be extraordinary, otherwise he would not have been so well paid for it. His knowledge of character told him that he was going to do business with a squad of rascals who knew no moral law, and yet the fascination of exciting enterprise held him in its grip. So it came to pass that he sent his telegram announcing approximately when he might be expected at Gibraltar, and asking them to have all in readiness against his arrival. In the early morning of the eighth day after leaving Malta, the steamer crept from under the Great Rock into the beautiful bay, and was promptly boarded by a few gentlemen of effusive manners who were greatly concerned about the health of Captain S——. The latter requested them to cease their chatter and to get to business.