An interesting light is thrown, by the following recorded incident, upon the life of the revenue men of the district, and the rivalry which existed between them in the period which immediately preceded the decline of the smuggling industry. During February, 1827, “the commander of the Lion, revenue cutter, was reprimanded for allowing his boat’s crew to take by force part of a ‘seizure’ made by the coastguard boats of the Looe and Polperro stations.” The Lion’s men, either for gain or glory, the historian does not state definitely which, upon coming up with the Polperro revenue boat, which was towing a string of tubs, set to work to detach some of the latter from the sinking rope. This attempt of the Lion’s men to take possession of spoil belonging by right of capture to the Polperro “preventives” was stoutly resisted, and during the struggle the knives used by the aggressors to sever the tubs came in contact with the fingers of the commander of the Polperro boat, who appears to have suffered considerably in consequence.
In the records of the coastguard service are many entries which show how busy a part the “two Looes” played in the hazardous enterprises of voyages to and from Roscoff, or Rusco as most smugglers called it, in those distant times. In August, 1833, there were taken “One hundred and fifteen tubs belonging to the Dove (a rather favourite name, by the way, amongst smugglers) by the Looe coastguard.” Then in the following month there is an entry which conjures up visions of an only partially successful “run,” for we find “Five tubs washed ashore at Looe, and a boat marked Fox (a much more suitable name than Dove for smuggling craft one would think) of Plymouth found on the beach a mile or so west, and another tub in the cliff hard by.”
Then in the same month the Elizabeth, forced to drop some of her cargo overboard when pressed by a revenue cutter off Seaton, just across the bay, lost fifty-seven of her tubs to the Looe boat, which fished up the line to which they were attached.
And a year or so later one reads of “the Looe lugger, Morning Star, being chased off the Lizard by the Plymouth revenue cutter and lost sight of in a fog.... Next day being again sighted and boarded but found empty.” What a world of romance is to be found hidden in that entry? A vision of an exciting chase, with the smugglers aboard the Morning Star doing all they knew (and that was much one may rest assured) to give the cutter the slip. Perhaps even seeing to the priming of pistols and muskets lest their attempt to escape should not prove successful. And then the coming on of the merciful fog, the dark night off Looe, the lowering of the boats, loading of the tubs, the cautious rowing ashore towards the signal lights of those who waited anxiously to assist at the run. Then the putting again to sea, the falling in with the revenue cutter, and the innocent and doubtless conciliatory interview when the Morning Star, after heaving to, was boarded and searched and found—empty!
Looe must have been a busy place in those days, and many prosperous folk, who though nominally fishermen seldom shot a net, there undoubtedly were. It was no uncommon thing for a £1,000 cargo to be brought safely across from Roscoff, and on a suitable night (a winter’s night for choice with not much moon) landed and dispersed through the usual channels on the shore a few miles east or west of Looe.
Those were rough times, too, ashore, when occasionally a coastguard would disappear if found too successful or energetic in frustrating the smugglers’ doings; but although tradition speaks of several such disappearances details are wanting, and one can only hope for the credit of the Cornish smuggler—who generally seems to have taken rough luck with the smooth without the exercise of undue violence—that these traditions have little foundation upon fact.
Looe, like Plymouth and other west country ports and places, in the olden times possessed “instruments in the shape of a cage and ducking stool or chair for the proper subjugation of women addicted to overmuch exercise of their tongues,” and that these somewhat barbarous methods were at least occasionally put into practice and to good and even humorous account the following anecdote will show:
Bessy Niles and Hannah White, two women of East Looe, “having quarrelled and exerted all their powers of oratory on each other,” at last decided to appeal to the Mayor, a Mr John Chubb, for the settlement of their dispute.
Each naturally wished to be first in the field, and thus lay her case before his worship without interruption, and make the most favourable impression. The first to arrive, however, was not long left in possession of the mayoral ear, and so incensed was the other on her arrival that she commenced to abuse the first comer with all the eloquence of an unbridled tongue. His worship called the town constable in self-defence, and when the latter arrived ordered him promptly to “Take these two women to the cage, and there keep them till they have settled their dispute.”
A decision, we think, that would have done credit to Solomon himself. We are told by Mr Bond, the historian of this exciting event in the history of East Looe, “They were immediately conveyed thither, and after a few hours’ confinement became as quiet and inoffensive beings as ever breathed!” If the “cage” of East Looe was anything like those of other places we know of we can well believe that peace reigned after but a short incarceration.