“He’s daft on it,” she said, turning to address us. “’Tis our little Martha, gentlemen, took at the fair before her going. I tell him he needn’t look to join her where she sings among the angels. He should have thought about it earlier, if he wanted to curry favour. Better to pass on what he can get from you, if so be as you’re agreeable.”
I felt a sudden thickness in my throat.
“We forgive you, Mr. Rampick!” I cried out, and hung my head, and turned in dumb entreaty to Mr. Sant. He hurried to the bed-head, and put a gentle manly arm about the dying sinner.
“Do you hear, Rampick?” he said. “As God witnesses, they forgive you.”
The smuggler moved his exhausted hands. Mr. Sant, understanding, lifted them both for him in an attitude of prayer.
“Mr. Pilbrow,” he said softly, “he wants you to hear the truth, if possible, from his own lips. Will you come?”
Joshua moved up, and knelt by the bed. We all heard the broken, gasping confession—
“Tuk you—fur him, I did. ’Twas in the days—afore the—’arthquake. We had our store—where you know, in the underground vaults of th’ old abbey. Over above, in the hopen, was a knot of arches—running together, like the bow ribs of a ship; and—set in the pavement under—in a dark corner behind ruins, were a stone moving on a pivot—what let down him—as knew the trick—by a flight of steps, to the crypts. The powder—was kep’ handy—just below; and beyond—in th’ old cellars running seaward—till they bruk off—in a choke of ruin, behind the cliff face—lay the tea and brandy.
“At that time we was a good deal chafed—as one might call it. What with a revenue cutter—and a sloop of war to back it—our last run had been a run fur life—and—at the end it were touch and go to get—the stuff housed. And in the thick, of the excitement, who should be sprung—upon us—as we thought, but a spy. He come from nowhere—it seemed. He was just up there one day poking—and prying—among the ruins—and I see him. For hours he went—sniffing round—while I watched secret. He squinted, and he tapped, and he went—in and out—cautious; and sometimes, he’d stamp on the ground, and listen—fur the holler echer—with his ear down like a dog. Then—by-and-by—off he went, on tiptoe, and I follered, tracken en—to the Flask. They could tell me nothing—about en there; save as he’d walked over—by his own statement—from Yokestone. The thing looked as black as hell; and what we done—we done—in justice to ourselves as we thought—because we was druv, to it. I had no hand in what follered. I wouldn’t have: I never—could abide—the sight of death.
“We was stowing—the last of the cargo—by starlight, when I see—the man agen. He was setting, behind a stone, his eyes shining—like a cat’s—upon each of us—tradesmen—as we disappeared, down the hole. We was druv to it—as we thought—and tuk our plans—cautious and seized en. He was a cat—he was. We bled, a few on us. But we got en down, he screeching—all the time—about some treasure, he was come arter,—and then I left en, and went up—to keep watch. I couldn’t stand—what I knew was to foller. I’m a peaceable man—by disposition, I am. It was a providence—arter all. Fur I hadn’t abin—there not a minute—when all hell bruk—underneath me, and went out with a roar. The blessed ground—heaved itself—like so much bed-clothes; the arches—come thumping down, and all—in a noise—as if, the Almighty was a tearing—of His world—to tatters. I were spilt on my face—lucky, fur me, I’d moved away to git—out o’ earshot—of the thing, under—and when I come—to my senses, I didn’t know myself—or the place. I crep’ home—dazed-like—to bed; and kep’ it—fur a week—hearing of the ’arthquake. But I knew, in my heart, what had happened. Some fool had fired—the powder—and closed up, the hill. It were so—I was sure—when I come at last—to look. It seemed all fallen, in upon itself. Where the passage—had been—were just, a shipload, of ruin, the half of it turned over—and sunk, into the herth. I never believed—from that moment—till the day I seen it, proved otherwise—that so much—as a babby—could find its way agen—into them shattered vaults. But the Lord—has His way.”