“Most certainly, sir. In our line of business Mac has no equal. He has the strength of a giant, while he is a stranger to fear, and fortunately has no conscience. I never heard of his failure in accomplishing his object by fair means or foul. When he fails to thrash a dozen sailors with his fists, and to pitch them into the sea, he resorts to the pistol, which, in his hand, never misses in its aim. In our calling, my lord, I yield to none but Mac. He is my superior in everything, except in this observatory. Oh, were he here to-night! We shall want a man of his metal.”

“This time your wish will be gratified. I expect Mac here every moment. Look, he’s coming down the road from Southerndown, in our direction. * * * Call up the men from the beach, Duncan; I wish them to be present when Mac arrives, so as to inform them of the appointment.”

The men were duly summoned by the head watcher. On arriving at the tower, they stood in a row, in front of the entrance, to await their master’s commands. Presently he appeared, accompanied by Duncan and Mac, and, addressing his men, spoke of their fidelity to his interest, called their attention to the many splendid victories achieved over the enemy, of the rich laurels already reaped from wrecks, and, further, that there was the strongest ground for hoping that their past gains were but as a drop of the bucket to those they might expect to realize hereafter. “But your success,” said Mr. Vaughan, “will depend wholly upon yourselves. You must be united, there must be harmony in your ranks, hearty co-operation; while all must cheerfully bow to the order of the commander-in-chief. To that office I have selected a man after your own heart. You who are in favour of having Mac for your captain, hold up your hands.”

To this request every hand was held up, whereupon Mac took his post at the head of the wreckers. They were then regaled with a liberal supply of whisky, and when each one had taken his fill they repaired again to the beach. No sooner, however, had they departed than there were seen coming down the channel two fine vessels. The wind now blew a frightful gale, raising up the waters into waves like mountains, on whose crests the ships were carried at their mercy. Everything appeared favourable to the wreckers. In the west the sun had declined. The shades of night were falling fast. Every minute the darkness thickened. The tempest increased in fury, while the roar of the ocean and the winds howling in the rocks and caverns around Dunraven Head, were most appalling. Notwithstanding the tempest, neither Mr. Vaughan nor Duncan moved from the spot of observation. As the vessels neared the point, the fatal light was placed in the tower. The captains of both ships now fully realised their danger: that there was no hope of saving either their ships or their own lives. The crews, too, were well aware of being on the enemy’s ground, and, informing their commanders of their apprehension, at once unanimously resolved, if they must perish by treachery so base and devilish, that others should also perish at their hands. On their ships being driven into the bay they heroically prepared themselves for the combat. Each one armed himself with a cutlass, and when the vessels were dashed against the rocks of Dunraven Head, they, as one man, leaped into the boiling surge, and swam for the shore. But in this heroic attempt to save their lives, several received severe injuries, while others sank to rise no more. However, the greater portion of them arrived safely on the beach, but no sooner had they landed than they saw, creeping along the shore, under the shelter of the rocks, a strong body of men well armed. The sailors, however, were in no way alarmed at the appearance of the enemy. Before quitting their vessels they were well aware that the lord of Dunraven was on the alert. Of this the light on the Watch Tower was a sufficient proof. Hence, when they saw the wreckers approaching they placed themselves on the defensive, and patiently awaited the attack. They had not long to wait, for the Dunraven men immediately came up and called upon the sailors to surrender. To that call, however, they paid no heed, but drawing out their daggers, fell with terrible force upon the wreckers, who, however, stood their ground manfully. The battle was a desperate one, while the slaughter was most appalling to witness. Many a brave man on both sides fell, mortally wounded. For a time the sailors had the best of the fray. Their arms were nerved, too, by the consideration that, if beaten, death would be the lot of each. Just, however, when they thought their victory was sure, there came up to the rescue of the wreckers their captain, who, with his own hand, killed six of the sailors. The work of butchery now commenced in earnest. One after another of the sailors fell, never to rise again. Indeed not one single man of their number survived to tell the tale. When the work of slaughter was completed, the captain ordered all the bodies to be carried to the adjoining cavern, where they were buried in a large chasm in the rock. After interring the dead, Mac and the survivors returned to the beach, and watched there for the morning dawn. During the night both vessels were broken to atoms by the fury of the waves, and as daylight appeared, the shore, for half a mile, was literally covered with articles of great value, which on being sold, realised a large sum.

The deeds of that terrible night spread far and wide. The owners of the vessels and merchants pressed the Government to send down a special commission of inquiry. For several weeks these commissioners carried on their investigations; but, while collecting a large amount of evidence, yet in consequence of the absence of one witness, whose evidence was essential to bring the charge home to the lord of Dunraven, they failed in substantiating the case against Mr. Vaughan. A week subsequent to the departure of the commissioners, that witness was found; but he could tell no tale, being a mangled corpse. The body had been washed ashore near Porthcawl. The remains were those of Captain ap William, the father of John. The news of this discovery was at once carried to his widow, who was busily engaged in preparing her son’s wedding dinner when the messenger arrived. After breaking the fatal news to Mrs. ap William, the messenger continued his journey to the little village of St. Bride’s, and, going up to the church, he met at the porch the newly-married pair. To Captain John, as he was generally called, the messenger told his sad tale. Both John and his wife were deeply affected on being apprised of their bereavement. They returned to their home to weep and to mourn; so John’s bridal day, which he hoped would be a day of unclouded joy, proved to be one of sadness, of sorrow, and of death. He thus fully realized, by personal experience, the truth of the inspired saying, that we know not what a day may bring forth.

CHAPTER IV.
THE TERRIBLE DOOM.

During the progress of the inquiry into the circumstances connected with the wreck, every effort was made by the authorities to discover the whereabouts of those who were believed to be engaged in the affair; but those inquiries were, unfortunately, unattended with success. The usual haunts of the wreckers were repeatedly searched, their dwellings were watched, and even guarded night and day. The villages and the neighbouring hamlets were visited on several consecutive days, yet they failed to find a single individual able to afford any intelligence or information as to the hiding-place of the desperadoes. The non-success of these inquiries was considered as most singular, no less than inexplicable. On the morning following the sad occurrence, several of the wreckers, including Mac the Devil, had been seen on the beach below Dunraven Castle, but it appeared that no sooner had they completed the packing and loading of the treasures collected, than they all disappeared in a most sudden manner from view, and that disappearance was effected in a most unaccountable way. Whither they went, or how they left the beach, no one could tell. They were distinctly seen, and in a moment afterwards they were lost to view, as if the earth had opened and swallowed them up.

Owing to their non-discovery, speculation was rife as to their probable hiding-place. Some thought it most likely that they were hidden in the cellars under Dunraven Castle; others contended that Mr. Vaughan was too shrewd a man to place them there, especially as he himself was suspected of participating in the battle, and that that suspicion might lead to an inquiry which might be followed up by a personal search. Others concluded that they had quitted the neighbourhood, and were hiding in the woods about Margam, or up the Ogmore Valley. There was one old gentleman who treated all these opinions with contempt. Every village and parish has its wise man, to whom, in an emergency, an appeal is made, and the old gentleman alluded to was the then wise man of Southerndown, as Hopkin Llewelyn is in our day. He gave it as his opinion, that the wreckers were neither in the woods of Ogmore Valley nor Margam, nor would they be found in the Dunraven cellars, but were still in the neighbourhood, and within the sound of their voices; in short, that they were hid in some subterraneous cavern in the bay, which had hitherto remained undiscovered, and hence was known only to the wreckers. He further predicted that as soon as the storm should blow over, by the departure of the commissioners, and the usual quietude of the locality assume its general aspect, the wreckers would again return to their old haunts, having Mac at their head; and would be then found wandering from point to point, having no special occupation, nor ostensible means of livelihood. The prediction of the village seer was verified to the letter. No sooner had the commissioners left than the wreckers did return, and they appeared at their place of rendezvous, the Cups, as if nothing had happened. Here they spent the morning of each day in drinking beer and whisky; and here they spent their money with as much prodigality as if they were the owners of gold mines. The landlord of the Cups received their money without even asking whether they came to it by honest or lawless means. When asked how he could be so lost to every sense of right as to accept money from men who certainly had earned it by being engaged in a nefarious calling, he replied that he was perfectly indifferent, and that it was no concern of his how they came by their silver and gold, so long as they paid him for what they drank. In this reply we recognise the true philosophy of the trade. Landlords, as a rule, care but little for the sorrows, the poverty, and the wants of their drinking clients and their families. They want to sell drink, and hence never for a moment reflect whether or not their customers can afford to spend a shilling, or as to the manner by means of which it was earned. He, of the Cups, was, in money matters, true to his calling; but we cannot commend the wisdom, or rather unwisdom, of the wreckers in spending their money at the old house, when the children of some of them wanted bread.

On the morning following one of these carouses, Mac paid a visit to the tower to see his cousin Duncan. Though they had met several times since the day on which they came from their hiding-places, yet they had not been fortunate enough to secure an uninterrupted and unobserved conversation. To this both had anxiously looked forward. Fortunately, when Mac entered, ho found his cousin in the observatory alone. Placing his books and instruments on the table, Duncan turned his chair to the fire, and requested his visitor to be seated on the opposite side of the fire. As the kettle was boiling on the hob, the host prepared two pints of excellent whisky toddy, one of which he handed Mac, who, on sipping the mixture remarked that it was “capital stuff,” and moreover inquired of Duncan where he obtained it.

“It came, Mac, from the old country; imported direct from the distiller. This is just the beverage for a stormy night, is it not, Mac?”