It did not take long for the Eagle's commander to guess what was happening, especially when that bay was so notorious, and the cutter began to give chase, the wind being roughly N.W. But as the Eagle pursued, the lugger, as was the approved custom, hauled up and came on a wind, hoping to get away and outpace the cutter. But in this the smugglers were not successful, and eventually the Eagle overhauled her. The cutter's galley was now launched, and after having been for three-quarters of an hour rowed quickly by the aid of her eight men, the lugger was reached and hailed. The usual warning signal was fired from a musket in the boat and colours shown. The lugger, however, declined to heave-to as requested.
"If you don't heave-to," roared the chief mate of the Eagle, as he looked towards the helmsman, "we'll fire right into you." On this the lugger lowered her sails, the galley bumped alongside, and the chief mate and crew, pistols in hand, leapt aboard. "Where are you from?" asked the chief mate. The answer came in French, which the latter did not understand, but he thought they said they were bound from Bordeaux to Calais. If so, it was an obvious and foolish lie. Mr. Gray—for that was the mate's name—then inquired how many men were aboard, and the answer returned that there were seven. Gray then called the lugger's men aft, and separated the English from the foreign, and found there were five French and two English. The two latter, said the Frenchman (who was none other than Albert Hugnet, whom we spoke of just now), were just passengers. A few minutes later, the skipper contradicted himself and said there were not seven but nine, all told. Gray then proceeded to look for the other two, and jumped down forward into the forepeak. As the place was dark he put his cutlass in first and rummaged about. In a moment the cutlass brought up against something soft. Gray had struck a man, hiding there, on the legs and thighs.
He was called upon by the cutter's mate to come out, and instantly obeyed, fearing no doubt that the cutlass would assail him again if he didn't. As he emerged he was followed by another man, and another, and yet another; in fact from that dark hole there came out a procession of seven, all of whom were found to be Englishmen. It was noticeable that most, if not all, were dressed in short jackets and petticoat trousers. They were clearly sailors, and not landsmen—passengers or anything else. In plain language they were out-and-out smugglers. What was especially to be noted was the fact that their trousers were quite wet right up to their middles. In some cases their jackets were also wet up to their elbows. All this clearly pointed to the fact that they had not long since put off from the shore, where they had succeeded in landing a contraband cargo by wading from the lugger to the beach; and such a thick atmosphere as there was on the previous night must have made it highly convenient for them. Nevertheless, even for these weather-hardened seamen, it cannot have been altogether pleasant penned up in sopping clothes in a dark forepeak with an unseen cutlass waving about in their midst and seizure pending.
These men also Gray ordered to go aft, and put them together so that he might see how many altogether were English and how many French. It was found that there were nine of them English and five French. Taking possession of the helm, Gray let the sails draw and ran down to the Eagle, telling his prisoners he was going to get further instructions from his commander. There were no tubs found on the lugger, which was as might be expected, but there was a solitary hoop which had evidently come off whilst these tubs were being hauled out, and there were also found two pairs of slings which were universally employed for getting the half-ankers ashore. These slings were made of small line, and were passed round the circumference of the cask at its "bow" and "stern," sufficient line being left so that there were two lines, one to pass over each of a man's shoulders. These two lines could be joined to other two on another cask, and so each smuggler could land with one tub on his back and another on his chest, in much the same way as you see a sandwich-man carrying boards in the street.
On examining this lugger there was no bilge-water found in the forepeak, so those seven shivering men could not have made the excuse that the vessel was damp in that portion. To cut a long story short, the lugger was eventually taken into Harwich, having been discovered seventeen miles from the French coast and eleven from the English shore. Assuming the lugger had travelled at about four knots an hour, this would mean that she had started off from the English beach on her return journey about 5 A.M., the previous hours of the night having doubtless been spent in unloading the tubs somewhere between Folkestone and Dungeness or perhaps Rye. Thus Hugnet, having at last been caught, had to stand his trial for both this and the occurrence of the previous month. And a verdict in each case having been returned against him, his activities in running backwards and forwards across the English Channel were, for a time at least, considerably modified.
These tub-boats, which we have had cause to mention more than once, were usually not towed but carried on the lugger's deck. A tub-boat got its name from the fact that when the lugger was too big to run her nose on the beach the tubs were landed in these boats. For that reason they were made very deep, with plenty of high freeboard, and were accordingly wonderfully good sea-boats, though they were somewhat heavy to row even without their spirituous cargoes.
As one looks through the gaol-books and other smuggling records, one finds that there was a kind of hereditary custom that this running of contraband goods should pass on from father to son for generations. Thus there are constant repetitions, in different ages, of men bearing the same surname engaged in smuggling and becoming wonderfully notorious in this art. Among such family names must be mentioned that of Rattenbury. The man of whom we are about to speak was flourishing during the second decade of the nineteenth century, and his christian name was John. In November 1820—it is significant how often this dark month crops up in the history of smuggling, when the weather was not likely to tempt those Revenue cruisers' commanders, who preferred the snug shelter of some creek or harbour—John Rattenbury happened to find himself at Weymouth. Into that port also came a vessel named the Lyme Packet, which was accustomed to trade between Lyme and Guernsey. But on this occasion the ship had just received the misfortune of carrying away her bowsprit—possibly in the Portland Race—and her master, John Cawley, decided to run into Weymouth for repairs.
Whilst these were being taken in hand what should be more natural than that the Lyme Packet's master should drift into a local public-house? Having brought up comfortably in that haven of rest, he was promptly discovered by his old friend Rattenbury, who had also made for the same house of refreshment. The usual greetings took place, and Rattenbury inquired how it was that Cawley came to be there, and an explanation of the accident followed. According to the skipper's own version, they got into conversation, and, over a glass of grog, Rattenbury volunteered the remark that if Cawley would be willing to sail across to Cherbourg to fetch a cargo of spirits he would pay him at a rate that would make it much more profitable than trading between Lyme and Guernsey. In fact he was willing to pay Cawley as much as twelve shillings a cask, adding that in one voyage this skipper, who happened also to be owner, would make more money thereby than in the regular course of trade in a twelvemonth.
Such a proposition was more than a tempting one, and Cawley gave the matter his attention. Unable to resist the idea, he acquiesced, it being agreed that Rattenbury should accompany him to France, where they would take in a cargo of spirits, Cawley to be paid his twelve shillings for every cask they were able to bring across. So, as soon as the bowsprit was repaired and set in its place, the Lyme Packet cast off her warps and ran out of Weymouth harbour. She made direct for Cherbourg, where they anchored in the roadstead. Rattenbury now went ashore and returned accompanied by 227 casks of spirits made up in half-ankers. These were put on board and the voyage back to England commenced, the intention being to make for West Bay and land the goods somewhere near Sidmouth. Having arrived off the Devonshire coast, Rattenbury took the Lyme Packet's boat and rowed himself ashore, landing at Beer Head, his object being to get assistance from the men of Sidmouth for landing his goods. It was then about 1 A.M. The captain of the Lyme Packet kept his ship standing off and on during the night, and hovered about that part of the coast till daybreak. But as Rattenbury had not returned by the time the daylight had come back, Cawley became more than a little nervous and feared lest he might be detected. Before very long—the exact time was 6.30 A.M.—Robert Aleward, a mariner on the Revenue cutter Scourge, on turning his eye into a certain direction not more than three miles away, espied this Lyme Packet, informed his commander, and a chase was promptly begun. Cawley, too, saw that the Lyme Packet had been observed, and began to make preparations accordingly.
He let draw his sheets, got the Lyme Packet to foot it as fast as she could, and as the three intervening miles became shorter and shorter he busied himself by throwing his casks of spirits overboard as quickly as he and his crew knew how. The distant sail he had noticed in the early morning had all too truly turned out to be the Revenue cutter, but he hoped yet to escape or at any rate to be found with nothing contraband on board. It was no good, however, for the cruiser soon came up, and as fast as the Lyme Packet had dropped over the half-ankers, so quickly did the Scourge's men pick them up again in the cutter's boats. Having come up alongside, the cutter's commander, Captain M'Lean, went on board, seized Cawley and his ship as prisoners, and eventually took both into Exmouth.