The Smuggler's Cave

by George A. Birmingham

The day of the performance was singularly fine, which was pure luck, but helped greatly towards its success. Had it been raining or even drizzling the great scene would almost certainly have been a failure. The flare on the church tower might have smoked instead of blazing. The signal lamps on the lugger out at sea would have been invisible on shore. But it was not luck, it was skill, which chose the exact moment for the arrival of the lugger. An hour earlier, when the glow of the setting sun was still strong, the blaze on the tower would have been unimpressive, and the flashing lights at sea would have escaped notice altogether. An hour or two hours later, when the twilight had died away, it would have been impossible for the spectators to see what happened when the lugger reached the cave. But Mrs. Eames—Sir Evelyn got the credit in the newspapers but Mrs. Eames deserved it—chose what Beth in a description of the performance called the psychological moment. It was just dark enough for the signal lights to make a good display, and there was still light enough to allow the operations of landing the cargo to be observed.

It was skill and not luck which selected the day for the performance, and here the credit belongs almost entirely to Lord Colavon. He discovered a day—perhaps the only day during the whole of that summer—when there was nothing else of great importance going on. Ascot was over. The Wimbledon Tennis Tournament had not yet begun. There was a pause between the first and second Test Matches. Yachts had not yet begun to race in popular waters. Interest in the regatta at Henley had died away. The fashionable world and that greater public which amuses itself in fashionable ways had nowhere particular to go on that particular day; no engagements and nothing fresh to talk about. The Hailey Compton Pageant filled a gap.

It had been very well advertised, again a matter of skill, though mingled with luck. It was Beth Appleby who deserved praise for the advertising. She did not, indeed—no single person could—write all the preparatory notes and articles which appeared for weeks beforehand. She did not supply the papers with all the photographs they published. Other journalists, discovering and developing the popularity of the pageant, earned their guineas. But it was Beth who did the spade work and forced the pageant on the attention of editors who might otherwise not have noticed it. Her character sketch of James Hinton—"Valet and Artist"—attracted attention in a popular Sunday paper. A study of Mrs. Eames as an enthusiastic and successful reviver of the best features of mediæval village life, with its apt quotations from Blake's poems—"Dark, satanic mills" and "England's green and pleasant land"—won the sympathy and support of the intellectual neo-Catholics, a school of writers who still possess a great, though diminishing influence among the members of suburban literary societies. Her intimate account of Sir Evelyn's home life—"Studious research and patient pursuits of original sources"—was read, or at all events talked of, all over Oxford. It was she who circulated the first published photograph of the cave, several "camera portraits" of old Bunce, of the mentally deficient Whittle, and of Lord Colavon seated at the steering wheel of the Pallas Athene. Her success stimulated other photographers, and the press was flooded, though by no means sated, with snapshots of every person and place connected with the pageant. There was even, in one paper, a picture of Mr. Linker, standing, with a smile on his face, in front of the door of his shop in Morriton St. James.

The results of all this care, thought and skill, were obvious early on the afternoon of the great day. People had talked to each other about Hailey Compton and wondered where it was. Newspapers found themselves obliged to publish road maps, often very inaccurate, to satisfy this desire for information. Motor-cars of every size and make converged on the stretch of down land above the cliffs, followed each other in a long procession along the road, and plunged, one after another, down the twisting lane. There were no accidents, because it was impossible for any car to break free from control and rush down the hill. When any brakes failed or any driver lost his nerve, his car merely bumped gently into the one in front. There was not room for it to gather dangerous speed before the collision and to produce disaster it would have had to push, not one or two but at least a hundred cars in front of it, a thing impossible for any single car to do.

A little more than half-way down the hill Mr. Linker had established a kind of toll-gate through which no car was allowed to pass without the payment of a fee. Some people resented this interference with the freedom of the King's highway, but their protests were futile. They never had time to say much or express their feelings fully, for the pressure of the cars behind drove theirs forward while they were still arguing about their rights. The takings at this toll-gate were enormous.

The catering for the multitude—preliminary afternoon tea and cold supper afterwards—was managed by James Hinton. There was, late in the evening, a shortage of ham, tongue and lamb, for the numbers exceeded all expectation. But the cold beef held out until the end and there was no failure of salad.

For Mrs. Eames the day was one of unmixed and rapturous delight. Every single part of the performance went without a hitch, exactly as she had planned it. Even the mermaid dance—Mary Lambert and twenty village girls along the margin of the sea—was successful, a surprising thing and highly creditable to every one concerned in it, for it was very difficult to dance gracefully over large, round stones.

Sir Evelyn was well pleased with himself and everyone else. His introductory speech, those few words, without which no function of any sort can get started, were taken down by eager reporters, and cheered by all who could hear them and many who could not. He had on one side of him the Chief of his Party, who shook hands with him in warm congratulation when the performance was over, and on the other side, the bishop, who graciously expressed a wish that the whole thing might be done again in the grounds of his palace, fifty miles inland, for the benefit of the cathedral funds. Other eminent men and women who clustered behind him, were fluent in their compliments, which was easy for them, because each one had come with a neat little speech prepared, in case, as each one hoped, such a thing should be required.

Sir Evelyn felt that he was once more in his proper place, almost as prominent as he had been and hoped to be again when his Party was in power and he was a Cabinet Minister. But though pleased and satisfied, Sir Evelyn was exceedingly tired when the affair was over. His labours had begun long before he arrived at Hailey Compton for the performance, and continued for two whole days after the pageant was over. He entertained for the occasion all the more eminent patrons of the pageant, and they made a difficult party to manage. The bishop was as suave and smiling as a Christian prelate ought to be, and he got on very well with the young actress who talked with him in the latest slang. But he did not get on equally well with the titled doctor who happened to be an anti-Christian by temperament, and wanted to repeat all the witticisms he had ever heard about the Church when he found himself, a little unexpectedly, in distinguished company. There were moments of anxiety when the judge, who was strongly prejudiced against all doctors, insisted on saying what he thought about expert medical witnesses, and the evidence they gave. Beth Appleby and Mary Lambert would, perhaps, have been no great help to Sir Evelyn even if they had been still at the Manor House. They had both gone to the vicarage at Hailey Compton before the important guests arrived. Mary had to be on the spot for rehearsals of the mermaid dance. Beth found it desirable to be at the centre of activity. Both knew that there would be no room for them at the Manor House and had enough tact and good sense to go away, though Sir Evelyn invited them to stay on. Jimmy was with him still, and was really helpful. Having the sort of temperament which is unaffected by the pomposities and vanities of elderly and successful men, he remained infectiously cheerful and often saved an awkward situation by making jokes so silly that everybody, except the actress, united to snub him and felt quite friendly with each other when they had succeeded. But even Jimmy added a little to his uncle's difficulties with the party. He took the ex-Prime Minister out for a drive in the restored Pallas Athene and frightened him so much that for a whole day afterwards he was querulous and captious, the result of a severe nervous shock.

Thus it was that when the pageant was over, and two days later the last eminent guest had gone, Sir Evelyn was thoroughly tired, and glad to sit down quietly in his study. He felt a great yearning for silence and solitude. His surroundings promised him just what he wanted.