“We can’t prove it, even if he were,” said my father. “He deserves punishment, but the law is expensive and uncertain, and I should prefer letting him alone.”
As far as I could tell the matter was likely to rest here. I lost a jacket and waistcoat, but was not otherwise the worse for my adventure. The next day, however, a letter came by the post addressed to my father, at the top of which was a death’s head and cross-bones, very rudely drawn, and beneath it the words:—
“Informers must look out for what informers deserve. The young master who got off t’other day must look out for squalls. He has been and dug his own grave, and in it he’ll lie before long; so he had better say his prayers. He won’t have long to say them. This comes from one who knows him. John Grimes.”
My father turned pale when he read the letter. Aunt Deb insisted on seeing it, and then my mother wished to read the contents. She almost fainted.
“This is terrible,” she exclaimed. “Yet, surely, the smugglers will not have the barbarity to injure a mere boy like Dick.”
“I’m not so certain of that,” said Aunt Deb. “Warnings ought not to be neglected. I have long been contemplating paying a visit to my second cousin, Godfrey Butterfield, who is now a flourishing merchant at Liverpool. I’ll write and say that I am coming, and bringing with me one of my nephews. I shall not wait for an answer, but will set off immediately; for I’m certain I shall be welcome.”
When Aunt Deb said this I saw a smile on the countenance of my elder sisters and brothers, who had not been so much affected by the threatening letter as the rest of the family.
“I’ll post the letter at once, and we will set off this evening. What do you say, John?”
My father at once agreed to Aunt Deb’s proposal.
“Thank you!” exclaimed my mother. “I shall be much more at my ease when Dick is out of the reach of these terrible men.”