The farmer instantly mounted upon the cart, and looked over the wall; but the party before the gates consisted only of five or six dragoons, of whom he demanded, in a bold tone, "Who the devil be you, that I should open for you? Go away, go away, and leave a quiet man at peace!"
"If you don't open the gates, we'll break them down," said one of the men.
"Do, if you dare," answered old Ramley, boldly; "and if you do, I'll shoot the best of you dead.--Bring me my gun, Tom.--Where's your warrant, young man? You are not an officer, and you've got none with you, so I shan't let any boiled lobsters enter my yard, I can tell you."
By this time he was provided with the weapon he had sent for; and one of his men, similarly armed, had got into the cart beside him. The appearance of resistance was rather ominous, and the dragoons were well aware that if they did succeed in forcing an entrance, and blood were spilt, the whole responsibility would rest upon themselves, if no smuggled goods should be found, as they had neither warrant nor any officer of the Customs with them.
After a short consultation, then, he who had spoken before, called to old Ramley, saying, "We'll soon bring a warrant. Then look to yourself;" and, thus speaking, he rode off with his party. Old Ramley only laughed, however, and turned back into the house, where he made the party merry at the expense of the dragoons. All the men who had been out upon the expedition were now seated at the table, dividing the beef and bread amongst them, and taking hearty draughts from the tankard. Not the least zealous in this occupation was Edward Ramley, who seemed to consider the deep gash upon his brow as a mere scratch, not worth talking about. He laughed and jested with the rest; and when they had demolished all that the board displayed, he turned to his father, saying, not in the most reverent tone, "Come, old fellow, after bringing our venture home safe, I think you ought to send round the true stuff: we've had beer enough. Let's have some of the Dutchman."
"That you shall, Neddy, my boy," answered the farmer, "only I wish you had shot that rascal you fired at. However, one can't always have a steady aim, especially with a fidgetty brute like that you ride;" and away he went to bring the hollands, which soon circulated very freely amongst the party, producing, in its course, various degrees of mirth and joviality, which speedily deviated into song. Some of the ditties that were sung were good, and some of them very bad; but almost all were coarse, and the one that was least so was the following:--
SONG.
"It's wonderful, it's wonderful, is famous London town,
With its alleys
And its valleys,
And its houses up and down;