At length, wearied out with watching and anxiety, and her candle having nearly burnt to the socket, she lay down on the bed in her clothes, and was just falling into an unquiet slumber, when she was waked by a knocking at the door. She hurried down stairs, and let in her husband, who was accompanied by a short stout-built ill-looking man, in a rough seaman's jacket, from one of the pockets of which peeped forth the butt end of a pistol. Both were wet and tired, and both seemed sullen, and out of temper. At their first entrance, Mary eagerly cried out, "Oh! James, I am so glad to have you home again. I have passed a sad wearisome time since you went." But Waldron received his wife's greeting coldly, and almost in silence. He walked up to the fire place, and, stooping over the embers, began drawing them together, at the same time telling his wife to get a bit or two of wood, and then to warm a little beer. His companion had under his arm a large bundle, tied round with a piece of sail-cloth. "At least we've got that safe," said James, placing it in one of the chairs: and he then ordered his wife to put it under the bed for the night, and to carry it early in the morning, before it was quite light, to Mrs. Hawker's shop, near the church. "I," added he, "shall be glad to lie in bed a bit, after being up three nights running." When they had finished their beer, the stranger withdrew; and Mary, after uttering a fervent prayer for all who are in peril by land or by water, and for the bringing back to the right way of those who have strayed from it, retired to rest.
Early the next morning, Mary, in compliance with her husband's directions, carried the sail-cloth bundle to Mrs. Hawker, who received it with one of her most gracious smiles, while her little black eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She immediately took it into a back parlour, and then returning to the shop, pressed Mary Waldron to take a glass of something comfortable. This Mary declined, and immediately hastened home, carrying with her a loaf for her husband's breakfast.
She found him still asleep, and the eldest of the two children trying to keep his little sister quiet, that she might not disturb him. At length, towards eleven o'clock, he got up, and the refreshment of a night's rest, a comfortable breakfast, and the active though quiet assiduity of his wife, seemed to have restored him to good humour. "We'd a roughish time of it last night," said he. "Yes, indeed," replied Mary; "and I wish, my dear James, you did but know a hundredth part of what I have suffered since you took to your present way of life." "Why should you be more uneasy now," said James, "than when I was nothing but a fisherman? We were then often out night after night, and sometimes in rough weather too." "To be sure, I used now and then to be a little anxious," said Mary, "but you were seldom out when it blew hard, and besides"—she hesitated a little—"besides—don't now be angry with me, James, for saying it—I felt then that you were trying to get your living in a lawful and honest way. Now when you are absent, my thoughts run upon all horrible things. I do not think so much of the perils of the wind and the waves, though that is bad enough, as of the chance of your being taken as a smuggler, or of your doing some dreadful deed in order to escape. They tell me, that the preventive-service men keep a sharp look out."
"A pretty deal too sharp," said Waldron, "I can tell you; if it had not been for them, we should have been back to Folkestone the night before last. We were to have landed our tubs just beyond Dimchurch, and had made a signal for the men to be ready with the horses to meet us. There was a thickish fog at the time; but still, these fellows somehow got sight of us, and pulled off in their boat, just as we were nearing the land. Jack Spraggon, the man that was here last night, proposed sinking them; but, though they deserved it, I was not quite bloody-minded enough for that. We had nothing else to do, therefore, but to put about, and as the wind blew off shore, we soon by the help of the fog gave them the slip. As it was of no use to think of landing then, we stood right out to sea. The wind soon after chopped about, and freshened to a gale. When we were nearly off Folkestone, a Dane merchantman had managed to run aground at some distance from the shore. The king's men—I must say that for them—are always ready enough to help any ship in distress, and dashed away to take the poor fellows off the wreck. And while they were busy at this job, two of our boats came out to us, and put us and part of our cargo on shore in East Weare Bay—just under the red and white cliff there, under the signal house. As ill luck would have it, one of the men on the look out saw us, and gave the alarm. We soon knocked him down; but the rest of them got together so fast, that we were forced to run for it, leaving our tubs behind. I kept hold, however, of my bale of silk, and Jack and I scrambled up one of the winding paths in the cliff, and got clear off."
"Oh! James," said Mary, "how many risks do you run since you've taken to this free-trading, as you call it."
"Nonsense," replied Waldron, "a seaman's wife must never talk of danger."
"I feel," replied Mary, "as if I could almost consent to your braving any danger in a good cause; but the cause that you are now engaged in is not a good one."
"Not a good one! Why where's the harm, I should like to know, in buying in France a little brandy, or a few silks, or cambric, or laces, or what not, and selling them cheap in England, without going through all the trouble and expense of the custom-house?"
"There must be harm," said Mary, "in constant opposition to the laws of the land; there must be harm in living with such wicked men, as you now keep company with."
"Why, to be sure," replied Waldron, "the consciences of some of our free-traders are not over-scrupulous, but there are indifferent characters in all professions; and as for breaking the laws, I don't see much harm in that—I'm sure the laws do me no good."