Captain Mugford: Our Salt and Fresh Water Tutors

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Jan Johnson, The Smuggler.”

Some forty years ago, ay, more than that, I belonged for a few months to a revenue cruiser, on board which I volunteered, soon after my return from my second voyage, I think it was, or about that time. The cutter was stationed off this coast, and a hard life we had of it, for in those days the smuggling craft were large armed vessels, full of desperate men, who, when they could not outsail, more than once beat off the cruisers of the king. Among the most daring of his class was a fellow called Jan Johnson, though from having at different times many other names, it was difficult from them to determine to what nation he belonged; indeed, it was suspected that he was an Englishman born on this very coast, with every inch of which he was intimately acquainted.

He seemed to take absolute delight in setting at defiance all laws of God and man, and, among many other acts of atrocity, he was strongly suspected of the murder of a revenue officer. The officer had, it appears, been the means of taking a valuable cargo of goods belonging to Johnson, who some time after encountered him, when in discharge of his duty, near this place. It is supposed that the smuggler had attacked the unfortunate man, and, being by far the more powerful of the two, had grappled with him, and, plunging a long knife into his bosom, had thrown him over the cliffs. The next morning the body was discovered above high-water mark, with a knife known to belong to Johnson close to it, and on the top of the cliffs were seen the impressions of men’s feet, as if engaged in a fierce struggle. A handkerchief, similar to one the smuggler had been observed to wear, was found in the dead man’s grasp, and at a late hour of the night he had been met without one round his throat. A reward was therefore offered for his apprehension, but notwithstanding the sharp lookout we kept for his craft at sea, and the vigilance of the revenue people on shore, he had hitherto escaped capture.

He commanded at this time a large lugger, called the Polly, a fast-sailing boat, which could almost eat into the wind’s eye, and when going free nothing could hope to come up with her; so that our only chance of capturing her was to jam her in with the shore, or to find ourselves near her in a calm, when we might get alongside her in our boats.

So daring was the smuggler that, though he well knew his life was at stake, he still continued to carry on his free trade with the coast, where he had many friends; yet, notwithstanding that his vessel was constantly seen, she was never approached except by those he trusted.

It was towards the end of October—I remember the time well—the days were growing shorter, and the night-watches darker and colder, when, after cruising up and down a week or so at sea, in hopes of falling in with a prize, it came on to blow very hard from the south-west. Our skipper was not a man to be frightened by a capful of wind, so, setting our storm sails, we stood off shore and faced the gale like men; for, do ye see, it is just such weather as this was that the smugglers choose to run across the channel, when they think no one will be on the lookout for them. Towards evening, however, it came on to blow harder than ever, so that at last we were obliged to up with the helm, and run for shelter into harbour; but just as we were keeping away, a sea struck the cutter, carried away our stern boat, and stove in one of our quarter boats. In this squall the wind seemed to have worn itself out, for before we made the land it suddenly fell, and by daylight a dead calm came on, followed by a dense fog. Our soundings told us that we were within a short distance of the coast, so that our eyes were busily employed in trying to get, through the mist, a sight of it, or of any strange sail which might be in the neighbourhood. At last, for an instant the fog lifted towards the north, like when the curtain of a theatre is drawn up, exposing close in with the land the white sails of a lugger, on which, as she rose and fell on the heavy swell remaining after the storm of the previous night, were now glancing the bright beams of the morning sun, exposing her thus more clearly to our view.

Before we could bring our glasses to bear, the fog again closed in, but every eye was turned in that direction to get another sight of her; we, doubtless, from our position, and the greater thickness of the mist round us, remaining hid from her view.

“What think you, Davis? which way shall we have the breeze when it does come?” asked our skipper of the old quartermaster, who was the oracle on such occasions.

“Why, sir, I should say, off the land; it looks clearer there away than it is out here.”

As the old man delivered himself of this opinion, he turned his one open eye towards the point he indicated: for, though he had two orbs, and they were piercers, he never used more than one at a time—we youngsters used to suppose, to give each alternately a rest.