The “Fowey Gallants,” as the townsfolk of that little seaport delighted to call themselves,—the title having descended from Elizabethan and even earlier times, when the “Gallants” in question were, in plain speech, nothing less than turbulent seafaring rowdies and pirates—were not behind other Cornish folk in their smuggling enterprises. That prime authority on this part of the Cornish coast, Jonathan Couch, historian of Polperro, tells us of an exciting incident at Fowey, in the smuggling way. On one occasion, the custom-house officers heard of an important run that had taken place overnight, and accordingly sent out scouts in every direction to locate the stuff, if possible. At Landaviddy one of these parties met a farm-labourer whom they suspected of having taken part in the run. They taxed him with it, and tried him all ways; without effect, until they threatened to impress him for service in the Navy unless he revealed the hiding-place of the cognac. His resolution broke down at that, and he told how the kegs had been hidden in a large cave at Yellow Rock, which the officers then instructed him to mark with a chalk cross.
The revenue men then went off for reinforcements, and, returning, met an armed band of smugglers, who had taken up a strong position at New Quay Head. They were armed with sticks, cutlasses, and muskets, and had brought a loaded gun upon the scene, which they trained upon the cave; while a man with flaring portfire stood by and dared the officers to remove the goods. Official prudence counselled the revenue men to retire for further support; but when they had again returned the smugglers had disappeared, and the kegs with them.
Fowey’s trade in “moonshine,” i.e. contraband spirits, was, like that of the Cornish coast in general, with Roscoff, in Brittany; and a regular service was maintained for years. As late as 1832 the luggers Eagle, thirty-five tons; Rose, eleven tons; and Dove, of the same burthen, were well known in the trade. Among the smuggling craft belonging to Polperro, the Unity was said to have made upwards of five hundred entirely successful trips.
The story of Tom Potter is even yet told by oldsters at Polperro, who, not themselves old enough to recollect the circumstances, have it from their parents and grandparents. Jonathan Couch tells the story, but he forgot the exact year.
It seems, then, that one morning a lugger was observed by a revenue cutter lying becalmed in Whitesand Bay. Through their glasses the revenue men made it out to be the Lottery, of Polperro, well known for her fast-sailing qualities, as well as for the hardihood of her crew. With the springing up of the breeze, there was little doubt but that she would put to sea, and thus add yet another opportunity to the many already existing for sneering at the stupidity of the local preventive force.
Accordingly, the chief officer, with all despatch, manned two or three boats and put off, before a breeze could spring up, making sure of an easy capture. The smugglers, however, observed these movements of their watchful enemies, and commenced to make preparations for resistance, whereupon the revenue boats opened fire; but it was not until they had approached closely that the smugglers returned their volleys, and then the firing grew very heavy, and when within a few yards of the expected prize, Ambrose Bowden, who pulled bow-oar in one of the attacking boats, fell mortally wounded.
It was plain that the Polperro men had come to a determination not to surrender their fine craft, or the valuable cargo it carried; and the commander of the revenue men thought it, under the circumstances, the wisest thing to withdraw and to allow the Lottery to proceed to sea, which she did, at the earliest opportunity. But the names of those who formed the crew were sufficiently well known to the authorities, and the smugglers accordingly found themselves in a very difficult position; not indeed on account of smuggling, but for the resistance they had offered to authority, resulting in what was technically murder. They all scattered and went into hiding, and, secreted by friends, relatives, and sympathisers in out-of-the-way places, long baffled the efforts of the revenue officers, aided by searching parties of dragoons, to find them. The authorities no sooner had learnt, on reliable information, where they lay hidden, than they were found to have been spirited away elsewhere.
But all this skulking about, with its enforced idleness and waste of time, grew wearisome to the skulkers, and at length one of the crew of the Lottery, Roger Toms by name, more weary than his fellows of hiding, and perhaps also thinking that his services would be handsomely rewarded, offered himself as King’s evidence.
According to his showing, it was a man named Tom Potter who fired the shot that killed Bowden. The search then concentrated upon Potter. The fury of Toms’s fellow-smugglers, and the entire population of Polperro, against the informer, Toms, may readily be imagined. To in any way aid these natural enemies of the people was of itself the unforgiveable sin, and to further go and offer evidence that would result in the forfeit of the life of one of his own comrades disclosed an even deeper depth of infamy.
Toms was therefore obliged to go into hiding again, and, this time, from his old associates. It was some considerable time before they captured him, and they did it, even then, only by stratagem. His wife, and others, knowing the intense feeling aroused, not unnaturally supposed his life to be in danger; but the smugglers assured her that they only wanted to secure him and hold him prisoner until after the trial of Bowden, and would not otherwise harm him. They added, mysteriously, that things might go worse with Toms if he continued to hide away; for they would be certain sooner or later to find him. The greatly alarmed woman at last arranged that they should capture him when accompanying her across the moors in the direction of Polruan, and they accordingly seized the informer when in her company, on Lantock Downs. They hid him for awhile close by, and then smuggled him, a close prisoner, over to that then noted smugglers’ Alsatia, Guernsey, with the idea of eventually shipping him to America. But while at Guernsey he escaped and made his way to London.