Chapter Eight.
The Living Left Among the Dead—A Wild Chase on a Wild Night Stopped by a Ghost.
On turning the corner of one of those houses on the beach of Deal which stand so close to the sea that in many cases they occupy common ground with the boats, Tommy found himself suddenly close to a group of men, one of whom, a very tall man, was addressing the others in an excited tone.
“I’ll tell ’ee wot it is, lads, let’s put ’im in a sack an’ leave him in the Great Chapel Field to cool hisself.” (The “Great Chapel Field” was the name formerly applied by the boatmen to Saint George’s Churchyard.)
“Sarve him right, the beggar,” said another man, with a low laugh, “he’s spoilt our game many a night. What say, boys? heave ’im shoulder high?”
The proposal was unanimously agreed to, and the party went towards an object which lay recumbent on the ground, near to one of those large capstans which are used on this part of the Kentish coast to haul up the boats. The object turned out to be a man, bound hand and foot, and with a handkerchief tied round the mouth to insure silence. Tommy was so near that he had no difficulty in recognising in this unfortunate the person of old Coleman, the member of the coast-guard who had been most successful in thwarting the plans of the smugglers for some years past. Rendered somewhat desperate by his prying disposition, they had seized him on this particular night, during a scuffle, and were now about to dispose of him in a time-honoured way.
Tommy also discovered that the coast-guard-man’s captors were Long Orrick, Rodney Nick, and a few more of his boatmen acquaintances. He watched them with much interest as they enveloped Coleman’s burly figure in a huge sack, tied it over his head, and, raising him on their shoulders bore him away.
Tommy followed at a safe distance, but he soon stopped, observing that two of the party had fallen behind the rest, engaged apparently in earnest conversation. They stood still a few minutes under the lee of a low-roofed cottage. Tommy crept as close to them as possible and listened.
“Come, Rodney Nick,” said one of the two, whose height proclaimed him to be Long Orrick, “a feller can’t talk in the teeth o’ sich a gale as this. Let’s stand in the lee o’ this old place here, and I’ll tell ye in two minits wot I wants to do. You see that old sinner Jeph refuses pint-blank to let me use his ‘hide;’ he’s become such a hypocrite that he says he won’t encourage smugglin’.”
“Well, wot then?” inquired Rodney Nick.