"Save the lamps," was the next command, "and see if there's anything in the fore or hind boot."
Owing to the peculiar character of its passengers, the coach was found to be carrying practically nothing in the way of luggage, except my own trunk and the one large hamper already mentioned, which had been pushed into the boot for conveyance to Castlefield, probably to relieve the mail, which was sure to be heavily laden at this time of the year. From the gruff remarks of the would-be plunderers, it was evident that they were disappointed. It was probably within the knowledge of most of them that a stage coach sometimes carried a valuable cargo; in fact, not more than two years after the date of my story a bank parcel containing notes and gold to the value of £5,700 was stolen from a coach running between Glasgow and Edinburgh—the thieves in this instance travelling as inside passengers, and cutting a hole with brace-bit and saw through the body of the coach into the boot, from which the plunder was then extracted.
However, a basket of provisions was, in a way, a valuable find; for the question of food was likely to become a serious problem before the members of the gang regained their full freedom. Rodwood therefore told off two of his followers to carry the basket, refused to allow the men to drink the other bottle of wine, and bade one of the party unhang the game from the lamp-iron and carry it slung over his shoulder.
My box was forced open and speedily overhauled; but as it contained little besides spare clothing, it was flung back into the coach. It would have been useless for me to expostulate and claim my property—the rascals were not likely to leave such a piece of evidence lying about on the grass—and I held my tongue.
"It's half-tide," I heard Lewis mutter. "There's a ledge of rock she'll land on, but the flood will carry off the wreckage."
The last moments of the True Blue had come.
"Turn her round and back her over," ordered Rodwood.
Awed by the thought of such wanton destruction, I stood with my eyes fixed upon the dark body of the coach, as for half a minute or so it rocked and swayed against the sky-line; then, with a subdued shout from the men, it suddenly disappeared. A moment later, from far beneath came a mighty crash of woodwork and the sharp tinkle of shivered glass.
George Woodley groaned, and ground his teeth with rage. But for the fact that we were still chained together and I held him back, I believe he would have rushed upon the gang and fought them with his bare hands.
"The murderous villains!" he muttered. "Fancy throwing a stage-coach into the sea, as if it were nothing more than an old fish-basket!"