Contraband: A Tale of Modern Smugglers

by Erle Spencer

"Put a sock in his mouth!" Pierre could be heard exclaiming. "Take him below and lock him up." Then the Mary began to move ahead once again.

Dare, satisfied of the success of his ruse, began to swim shorewards with a steady stroke. The water was smooth under the land and there was no wind, but the sea was terribly cold and he began to fear that he would have a real attack of cramp if he remained in for long.

He had never swum at night before, and at first he felt overwhelmed by the tremendous isolation bred by the darkness. He felt pressed down by it also, and began to realize for the first time what a puny force was his, as he lay in the arms of the eternal mother. Would she bear him up or would she smother him in her embrace?

His imagination began to exaggerate the dangers before him, and suddenly he began to lose confidence. Was he swimming in the right direction? How was he to know? He had dived, and while under water might have turned seawards instead of landwards. It was with great relief that he heard the sound of the breakers ahead of him.

Then he began to be haunted by a fear that he would not find a beach. Suppose he found the land guarded by an unscalable mountain of rock? But the beach was there. He had seen its white fringe of breakers. He might be able to see it now. He stood upright, treading water, and raised himself as high as possible, but could see nothing but the cliff-head looming repellently in the gloom high up above him. However, it was something to see even that. At least he was sure now he was swimming in the right direction. He must go on. He swam forward, vigorously at first, then less so as the long minutes passed. The surf was near enough now to deafen him to other sounds, and the sea rose in waves which rolled landward and broke, not against a wall of rock, but on a beach. To his great joy and thankfulness, he had found his landing—a narrow strip of shingle between two upright cliffs.

Dare put extra energy into his enfeebled stroke, warmed and strengthened by his success. The last few yards were the most difficult. He was thrown shorewards in headlong manner, then sucked back yards more than he had gained. Eventually, however, he got near enough the shore to touch the shingle. He stood erect and began to run forward. A sea caught him, knocked him off his feet, and threw him high and dry on the beach.

He lay panting there just long enough to recover his breath, then he began to eye the cliff before him. Was it scalable? It did not rise precipitously, like the cliffs which had their base in deep water. This much he could see In those moments when the young moon peeped from behind a cloud. It sloped back until it merged almost imperceptibly with the grassy headland. Once within reach of that upper incline and he had as good as won through. But before that could be gained the rocky base, steep enough to daunt even the boldest climber, had to be negotiated.

Every moment was of value now, and as soon as he had recovered his breath he set about exploring. The stones cut his feet cruelly. He felt his way along the base of the cliff until he came to a declivity. Water ran down it in the wet season, but now it was dry and filled with stones, dead twigs, and other rubbish. He felt that this would be a good take-off for his climb. He might even follow it to the top, if the loose rubble in it did not betray his footing.

He made a light leap, and using hands and feet, managed to secure a hold. He straddled his legs as much as possible, and pressing his body well forward so as to maintain his balance, made a move upwards.

The headland seemed an immense distance away. The rock cut his feet more cruelly than the beach and made his hold precarious. But he held firmly to his endeavour. There was no going back now. He had to go upwards or fall. So he went upwards. Step by step, feeling his way, testing every hold, he mounted towards the cliff-top. It was slow, agonizing work, and the concentration needed very fortunately prevented him from thinking overmuch of the peril of his position. Once, about half-way up, he had a sudden vision of the cliff and himself, hanging like a fly to its walls, suspended over the waiting beach below. And suddenly he looked down. The sea lay like a lake of ink, washing the beach with a white cloth. He grew dizzy at the thought of falling. Then, fearing the panic which gripped his vitals, he put all idea of falling from him and held tenaciously to his purpose.