Smuggler's Moon (29 page)

Mr. Eccles did not respond to that, though it was not for want of trying. He stood rigid and red-faced, stuttering and sputtering, unable to complete or even begin a sentence. Thus did he for a minute, or maybe even two, as Sir John waited most patiently. At last, however, Eccles surrendered to circumstance, turned, and beat a swift retreat down Middle Street. Looking after him, the lieutenant permitted himself a smile. From his men, however, who had listened carefully to all that was said, a few chuckles and snorts were heard.

Sir John listened to Eccles’s footsteps fade, then did he call out to the assemblage: ”Mr. Crawly, will you please come forward?”

And so did the driver of the hackney work his way through the assemblage of men and horses to greet Sir John most respectfully.

“What will you, sir?” he asked. ”Where can I take you?”

“Nowhere for now, though I do have a proper and important journey for you.”

“From here to where?”

“From here to the residence of Sir Simon Grenville. I want you to lead this small troop of mounted Carabineers up there that they may pitch their tents upon his front lawn and water their horses in the brook that runs through it.” He paused to think a moment. ”I did hear a brook up there on our approach to his door, did I not, Jeremy?”

“You did, Sir John,” said I.

“That should do nicely, don’t you think so, lieutenant?” ”Oh, well enough, I’m sure,” responded Lieutenant Tabor.

“Though I must ask you to remain here with me, whilst I explain to you our situation here. You may join your men later. And you, Mr. Crawly—”

“Yes sir?”

”I would have you return here once you have the Carabineers situated in Sir Simon’s great dooryard, for we shall have further need of you, the lieutenant and I. We three have plans to make.”

“Well and good, sir,” said Mr. Crawly. ”I have but one question for you.”

“And what is that?”

“Does Sir Simon know that these army gents will be staying with him as his guests?”

Sir John smiled. ”In all truth, he does not. Still, as the biggest landholder in these parts, he should not be surprised if, from time to time, he has official guests drop in. If he protests vigorously, just tell him that Lord Mansfield sent these troops down to help Sir John Fielding in the discharge of his duties. You may pass that word on to the troops.”

This time I was privy to the plan as it was made. I sat and listened to Sir John outline it. I bent over the map with them as Mr. Crawly chose the best place for a roadblock. I heard Lieutenant Tabor’s comments on the difficulty of following a train of wagons undetected. In short, I saw that as I had suspected, this was very likely the plan that Sir John had worked through with Dick Dickens late into the night before. How Dickens had come by the information upon which it was based I had no idea.

My suspicion that he was co-author and prime mover of the plan was confirmed when, at the end of the afternoon session, Sir John dictated to me a memorandum, giving all details, which was to be delivered into the hands of Dick Dickens only. Thus had I an opportunity to enter Deal Castle, which I had wished to do ever since first I spied it.

It was to my mind no proper castle at all, for it had neither turrets nor towers. It did, however, have a moat with a bridge across it which could be raised to make unwanted entry impossible. The bridge was down, as one might have
expected, and I strode across it in a manner more confident than I felt. At the arched entrance I was challenged and halted by a soldier dressed in odds and ends—or one who was more likely a member of some local militia detailed to guard the castle against unauthorized visitors; he was, in any case, a man with a musket, and I thought it unwise to disobey him. I stopped, as ordered, and gave my name to him and told him whom I wished to visit. This information was passed on to another just inside the castle who ran off to deliver it to the proper place and person. I had no choice but to wait. Upon his return, he invited me to follow him and thus did serve as my guide through the narrow corridors and descending stairs which led ultimately to the office of the Customs Service.

“Why not wait for me?” said I to my guide. ”I cannot suppose this will keep me here long.” He was years younger than I, and appeared sickly. I saw no cause for him to tramp the stairs unneedful.

He nodded and took a place by the door which he had pointed out to me. I knocked upon it, and it was opened by Dick Dickens himself. Saying not a word, he beckoned me inside and closed the heavy oaken door after us.

“You know all about this?” he asked as I passed him the letter from Sir John.

“I do now,” said I. ”I was present while the details of the plan were fixed, and I took in dictation the letter you now hold in your hand.”

“And do you think it will work?”

I was somewhat surprised by the question. What should it matter to him what I thought? Perhaps he was as unsure as I.

“I think it may if the information we’ve been given is correct; if the men in the wagons do not greatly outnumber us; and if Mick Crawly does not betray us.” I said nothing of my uncertainty about Dickens himself.

At that he laughed. ”You need not worry about Mick,”
said he, ”nor about the quality of the information. I stand firmly behind both.”

He then took but a moment to read quickly over the letter; then did he surprise me again by handing it back to me.

“You do not wish to keep it?”

“No, I have the contents firmly in mind. Better that you have the letter. It would not do to have it found here or on my person.”

And so I took it and buried it deep in my pocket. Then did I bow my goodbye to him. I was out the door and, with the aid of my guide, out the castle in not much more than a minute.

We rocked easily in the interior of the hackney coach as the horses proceeded up the hill at a walk. There were five of us. Apart from Sir John and myself, I counted the three constables who had come down from London—Messrs. Perkins, Patley, and Bailey. Earlier in the evening they had made the rounds in Deal, giving special attention to Alfred Square, hoping to give the impression that there was naught different about this night. Now all had gathered together, mounted into the hackney, and rode in silence up through the highlands to the place Mr. Crawly had judged the best to stop the train of wagons on their way to London.

As Sir John had explained earlier that evening: ”Smuggling goods from France—or anywhere else—can only be successful if you get the smuggled goods up to the market. And the best market is not down here in eastern Kent but in London. Whatever has been landed here must be brought up there for the job to be completed. We may either try to cut off the traffic as it is put ashore, or on the road leading to London. We have information of a large shipment—at least three wagons full—to be brought north. The shipment will be made up of the usual luxury goods—wine and brandy from France, and perfume, as well; tobacco from Turkey; and even fine linen and lace from Flanders. If we
can stop the shipment, then we can deal a telling blow to the smuggling trade here—not perhaps the deathblow I would like, but one that will certainly wound.”

And so it was to be a roadblock, one set up at some back-country crossroads of Mick Crawly’s choosing. The idea was to halt them whilst the King’s Carabineers rode up from their rear to cut off a possible retreat. How did we know the owlers’ train of wagons would go up this particular road? And how could we be sure that they would not leave till after midnight? These were essential questions, of course. Yet they were questions I could not answer; nor was I even certain that Sir John could. In short, this seemed to me to be a good enough plan yet one based upon information of questionable worth—a sound structure built upon an uncertain foundation. I had hinted as much to Sir John upon my return from Deal Castle, yet I drew no response from him—no, none at all.

It should be evident from what I have written thus far that I was uneasy and somewhat agitated regarding that which lay ahead. What I felt was not so much fear as it was a heightening of the emotions, a quickening of the pulse, as I prepared myself for battle—or so I told myself. In any case, the slow pace of the horses pulling the hackney in no wise matched the racing of my heart. Oh, how I wished Mr. Crawly would drive the horses faster! Yet he had said as we began our journey that it would be best to go slowly, so as not to attract attention so late at night. All that was understood and agreed upon, yet now that we were beyond the town, must they plod as old plow horses? Unbeknownst to me and unintended, my left foot had been tapping at a quick, steady pace upon the floor of the coach. Indeed I knew not how long it had done so, for it seemed to have a will and a mind of its own. I was only made aware when Sir John placed his hand upon my knee until my foot was still, then put a finger to his lips, asking for silence. The three constables were quiet as could be. Mr. Perkins and Mr. Bailey,
who sat across from us, rode along, bouncing and jostling with the movement of the coach. Their eyes were shut so that I supposed them to be nodding with sleep. But could they be praying?

At last we did reach the crossroads which Mr. Crawly had designated as the most likely spot to halt the owlers’ caravan. I had to admit that it was well chosen. There, two country roads merged into a single high road which led northward to London. We climbed down from the coach, taking with us the musketry and cutlery which had been on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. In addition, each of us, except Sir John, wore a brace of pistols and carried powder and shot enough for a sustained battle. Once the coach was positioned well across the London road, Mr. Crawly, aided by Mr. Perkins, unhitched the team of horses and led them behind a copse of trees, to give them fair protection when the bullets began flying. Mr. Crawly and Sir John would remain there with them. Mr. Bailey took a place in good cover about three or four rods down the road where the owlers were expected to appear. Mr. Perkins took another on the other side of the same road about three rods beyond that. That left Mr. Patley and I to establish our position upon the roof of the coach. In a way, we were quite exposed. Because of that, we prepared a barricade there atop the coach—Sir John’s portmanteau and my valise, each stuffed with bits and pieces of heavy clothing. In addition, there were two cloth bags filled to bursting with sand; these had been supplied by Mr. Crawly. We were to lie behind them. Constable Patley was to do the shooting with the two guns we held between us, and I the loading. I had practiced it in a prone position with him until I managed to do it (an accomplishment in itself, it seemed to me) in about half a minute. Try as I might, I seemed unable to manage it any faster. One of these weapons was his alone—a musket with a rifled barrel, with which, according to Mr. Bailey and others, Patley could hit a target a hundred rods distant.
It took a bit of doing for us to establish ourselves, and for that matter, we two were the last to settle into position, but eventually we were also ready. We had planned for a three-wagon train. Mr. Patley and I would be responsible for the first of them, Mr. Bailey for the second, and Mr. Perkins for the third; if there were a fourth or even a fifth, it would be the responsibility of the King’s Carabineers. We felt we were ready for them.

We waited. Time passed slowly, so slowly that it seemed a very eternity since we had taken our positions. I wondered at that.

“Have you some idea of the time?” I asked Mr. Patley in a whisper.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said he. ”I’d judge it to be about half past midnight, give or take a bit.”

“Only that?”

“Well, let’s see what my timepiece says.” All the Bow Street Runners carried them as necessary equipment.

He rolled over upon his side and fished out of his waistcoat pocket a fat watch of German make. It opened with a button spring. He held it up and looked at it closely by the light of the moon.

“I misjudged by ten minutes,” said he. ”I have it here as twenty minutes to one in the ay-em. Keeps good time. Should be right.”

I nodded, shifted my position, and waited longer. The moon was nearly full and very bright. In the gap between my valise and one of the sandbags, I looked down the road upon which the wagons were expected to come and was surprised at the clear detail I saw in the scene before me. Each bush, rock, and tree stood out as if in the clear light of day. In a sense, there was not much to see, for the road curved out of sight only about ten rods, or perhaps a little less, from where we were positioned.

“You’ll hear them before you see them,” said Patley.

“What will they—”

”Shhh! Listen! Here they come.”

I attended closely but heard nothing—nothing, that is, of hoofbeats and creaking wheels; I caught only the sounds of the night—the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, the call of an owl. Were Mr. Patley’s ears so much sharper than mine?

Evidently they were, for in about a minute’s time there came the sound of voices. I had not expected that. Perhaps I had thought the smugglers would be as silent as we. They were not. There was shouting and raucous laughter coming from beyond the bend in the road. I suspected that they had got at the brandy they were hauling and drunk deep of it. They must have contemplated the journey to London as one long drunken ramble.

Thus did they come. Just as the first wagon appeared, one who rode in it burst into song, and two or three of the celebrants joined him. I did not know the ditty, nor could I quite make out the words to it, but it had the sound of a sea shanty, or some sort of drinking song.

It was remarkable to me how close they came to us before noticing that there was something amiss. The fourth and last of the wagons had just appeared at the bend when the first of them at last pulled up no more than ten yards distant from us. It was close enough, in any case, so that I could tell that indeed there was something out of the ordinary about this wagon and team which led the smugglers’ caravan. It was filled not with goods but with men—armed men, whose assigned task it was to protect the three wagons behind them. This they might have done well enough had they been sober, for indeed they outnumbered us four and were heavily armed. Nevertheless, their condition had the effect of making our respective circumstances even. And after all, we would soon have the cavalry galloping to our aid, would we not?