TALES OF THE SMUGGLERS
Stories of Smugglers’ Ways and Smuggling Days have always had a Fascination
ANYTHING more adventurous than the lives of the old smugglers would be hard to find. Nowadays a man seeks to get prohibited goods into the country by using false bottoms to his trunks, or swathing his legs in bandages of rich lace; and maybe a woman smuggler cuddles to her bosom a “baby” of most wonderful make-up—laces, tobacco, scent! But there is little of the adventurous about that smuggling to-day, and we have to hark back to the days when men literally took their lives in their hands in the effort to outwit the Government and to avoid paying the taxes.
The strangest thing about smuggling is that all classes of people were engaged in it—sailors, soldiers, fishermen, justices of the peace, and even clergymen! When a village depended almost entirely for its trade upon the illicit running of goods, perhaps it is not to be wondered at that the parson had his sympathies with his parishioners.
A good instance of this is to be found in the story of the smugglers of Morwenstowe, Cornwall. A visitor from an inland town, strolling along the beach, stumbled upon the scene of a “landing” one evening. The ship lying in the offing, the boats hurrying to the beach laden with kegs of brandy, the people lining the shore, waiting to roll the kegs away to safety, soon made him realise what was afoot; and, being honest, he was staggered. And being also very temperate, he was shocked to see men knocking in the heads of kegs and taking their fill of brandy, and becoming so far intoxicated as to quarrel amongst themselves.
“What a horrible sight! Have you no shame?” he cried, addressing the crowd in general. “Is there no magistrate at hand? Cannot any justice of the peace be found in this fearful country?”
“No, thanks be to God!” came the answer from somewhere amongst the busy crowd. “None within eight miles.”
“Well, then,” exclaimed the visitor, “is there no clergyman hereabout? Does no minister of the parish live among you?”
“Aye, to be sure there is,” was the reply.
“Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?” asked the virtuous gentleman, who next moment received another shock.
“There! That’s he, sir—yonder with the lanthorn,” was the answer that came to him; and looking in the direction indicated, he saw a venerable-looking man, in his parson’s clothes, holding the light while his parishioners worked at robbing the State!
When smuggling began it would be hard to say, except that one would be safe in supposing that as soon as a thing was taxed attempts were made to slip it into the country untaxed. As, however, it is not intended here to try to outline the history of smuggling, we need not worry about that, but content ourselves with picking out here and there some of the choice passages from the history.
Something historical, however, must be allowed to intrude, because it had a great bearing upon smuggling; and that is, that prior to 1816 there were no systematic attempts made to prevent the illicit importation of taxed goods. True, the Government had excise men and revenue cutters on guard; but they were all too few, owing chiefly to the fact that the great wars of the eighteenth century took up most of the men, while the general slackness tended to make it fairly easy for the “free trader,” as he was called, to slip into some cove and unload his illegal cargo. Sometimes, indeed, the revenue men themselves had lapses and “ran” goods in on their own account! In 1816, however, following the conclusion of the great peace, the Government instituted a regular system of smuggling prevention. Kent and Sussex having been the favourite playground of the smugglers, the coasts of these two counties were blockaded. A man-o’-war, the Hyperion, was stationed at Newhaven, in Sussex, and the Ramilles in the Downs, off Kent; and the martello towers which had been erected along the coasts against the coming of Napoleon’s armies were used to house their crews. To all intents and purposes these sailors were the first coastguards, and in due course the system of blockading was carried out all round the coasts of Britain, chiefly by means of the revenue men and cutters. On these the Government drew, and duly formed the “Preventive Water Guard,” whose crews were stationed at certain spots along the coasts to keep watch and ward day and night.
It is true that at the end of the seventeenth century there were Riding Officers, whose work was to patrol the south-east coast on the look-out against wood smugglers. But as there were only about three hundred of them, and these all civilians, they were by no means an effective check to the smugglers. Later on they were permitted the assistance of the dragoons, who naturally resented being placed under the direction of civilians, with the result that there was much friction, and the service, instead of being improved, suffered a great deal, the soldiery incidentally finding it a paying game to keep in with the smugglers.
In 1822 changes were made, and the civilian riding officers disappeared and their places were taken by men from the cavalry regiments, and at the same time the Board of Customs was given sole control of the preventive services, which then consisted, as we have seen, of the revenue cutters, Preventive Water Guard, and Riding Officers. Seven years later something more was done—the coastguard proper was born. No man was eligible for the service unless he was between twenty and thirty years of age and had served six years at sea or seven years’ apprenticeship in fishing-boats. The new force justified its creation, and in a few years took charge of the work that had been done by the revenue men who had been detailed for the blockade system along the east and south coasts; and then, later, the revenue men were made liable to service on board the men-o’-war; so that to-day the coastguard force is a part of the Royal Navy, and has even had its taste of active service, having been found of immense use, for instance, in the Crimean War.
So much for the dry bones of history as seen in the development of the coastguard force, which is bound up with the story of smuggling, from which we will now cull some instances.
The smuggler was honest—in some ways. For instance, away back in the latter half of the eighteenth century there lived a man who, named John Carter, received the sobriquet “The King of Prussia.” Carter’s home was at Porth Leah, in Mount’s Bay, that wonderful place in Cornwall. To Porth Leah was later given the name of Prussia Cove, in honour of the “honest smuggler,” who did things so thoroughly that he erected a battery with which to keep the revenue cutters at bay, cut a road by which he could transport his cargoes from the harbour—which he also built; and out of the many caves along the coast fashioned cellars in which to store his goods. In fact, Porth Leah was what one might call a smugglers’ community.
The “King of Prussia” had a regular trade with regular customers, to whom he would, like any other trader, make definite promises of delivery; and, being a stickler for good business, he never let anything stand in the way of his carrying out his contracts. One day, while he was away, the excise officers found a cargo just arrived at Porth Leah from France. They promptly seized the cargo and carried it off to Penzance, and put it in the Custom House store under guard. Thus it was that Carter, coming back, found his cargo gone—and he had promised to deliver it to his customers on a certain day.
“See here!” he exclaimed to his men. “Whaat be I to do? I be an honest maan, and must keeap me woord. I tell ’ee, men, we be gwine to d’liver they goods ’cordin’ to pledge!”
His men knew that when Carter felt that his reputation as an honest man was at stake he would take strong measures, and got themselves ready against the coming of night. In due course they embarked on their ship, and, armed to the teeth, as becomes men going on a perilous errand, sailed across to Penzance. Arrived here, they fell upon the few Customs officers left in charge, and before they knew what had happened the latter were prisoners and the smugglers were rifling the stores, seeking their confiscated cargo. Not a thing did Carter or his men take away that wasn’t their own. They weren’t out thieving! Away they went with their cargo to Porth Leah, where they quickly stowed it in their cave-cellars, ready to ship again when the time came for Carter to deliver his goods as per contract!
Thus, while saving his reputation the King of Prussia added to it, for when, the next morning, the revenue officers came to the Custom House and found what had happened, they soon made up their minds who had been at work:
“It was Jack Carter,” they said. “He always was honest, and took nothing that wasn’t his own.”
The romantic stories of smugglers abound in incidents connected with the caves they used for hiding their illicit cargoes. All along the coasts may be seen these galleried caves, and if you can get hold of the oldest inhabitant, he will tell you tales of wonder and danger. One oldest inhabitant of a Dorset village told me such a story once.
It would seem that on a certain night a cargo was to be run, and one by one, at this inn and the other, men gathered to await the coming of night. When twilight fell, men were posted at different points of the cliff to keep a look-out for a revenue cutter, and in the event of one coming, to endeavour to warn the men bringing the smuggling vessel in. No cutter appeared, and in due time—almost to the minute arranged—the smugglers came into view. Word was sent to the inns, and the men hurried down to the shore, helped to pull the vessel up, and then began the work of unloading her. Methodically, as though each man had been trained to the work, the smugglers set about the task, getting barrels, casks, and what not ashore in an incredibly short time; and while one batch did this, another hoisted the bales on their own backs or the backs of pack-horses. Then away they went into the night, making for their secret store-house. This was a cave with a small entrance, barely large enough for a man to squeeze through; but inside it opened out into a large, roomy place with niches cut. In these holes the goods were stored as, one by one, men came in with them; and the work was almost done when there came from outside the sounds which told them that trouble was afoot. The revenue men, perhaps warned by some gossiper of what was going on, had dashed round a headland in their cutter and interrupted the work.
Before the smugglers knew what had happened the cutter had swept into the little cove, there was a sharp command of “In the King’s name!” followed by roars from the smugglers, who, thus trapped, began to think of safety. The horses that were at hand were whipped up, men seized whatever lay near them, and before the revenue men could land they were running inland, keeping clear of the cave so that the Government men should not find it. As quickly as possible the Customs men leaped ashore, rushed after the fleeing men, called upon them to surrender, were answered by curses, and immediately opened fire.
It was the signal for a free fight. Armed, all of them, the smugglers dropped their burdens and turned about. Shots rang out, the pistols flashed fire, cries of men arose; revenue men fell to the ground, smugglers bit the dust, but it seemed that the officers must win, when suddenly there was a rush. Under cover of the darkness the men in the cave had slipped out, made a detour, and then, with shouts and shots, fell upon the revenue men, and in a few minutes had put them to flight.
Then, wasting no time on the wounded officers, the smugglers went back; some got into the boat and slipped out with her, while the rest finished the work of hiding the goods.
The “run” was over, and for several weeks the smugglers remained quiet, lest they should be traced as having taken part in the murderous affray.
We have referred above to the smugglers of Kent, and these gentry were by no means the honest kind of folk like the Cornishmen. A typical case of Kentish smugglers’ ways is that of the Hawkhurst gang, who, under their leader, Thomas Kingsmill, earned such a reputation for ruffianism that a special body called the “Goudhurst Militia” was raised to resist them, and many a stiff fight did the two bands have. The most disgraceful happenings in the career of the Hawkhurst gang were those that followed the affair of the Poole Custom House, where an illicit cargo of tea, valued at £500, had been taken into store by the officers. This cargo had been destined for Sussex, and the Hawkhurst gang and the Sussex men made a compact to break open the Custom House and rescue it.
Accordingly, on October 6, 1747, the smugglers set out for Poole, having arranged that thirty of them were to make the attack and thirty were to keep a look-out on the various roads. Arriving at Poole late at night, they sent a couple of men into the town to see if the way was clear.
One of the scouts came back with information that a large sloop lay in the harbour, in such a position that she might easily train her guns on the door of the Custom House and blow them to the winds if they dared to attack. The Sussex men were scared, and, preferring to lose the tea than their lives, turned back as if to go away. But Kingsmill cried:
“If you won’t do it, we’ll go and do it ourselves!”
The result was a consultation, during which another man came from the harbour to say that the tide was low and that the sloop could not bring her guns to bear on the raiders. The consultation came to an end, and the smugglers went forward, riding down a little back lane on the left of the town until they came to the seashore, where they left their horses. Then on to the Custom House, which they soon broke open, and, taking their tea, carried it to their horses, packed it, and rode away mightily pleased with themselves. Next morning they arrived at Fordingbridge. Here they had breakfast and fed their horses, going on afterwards to a place called Brook, where they obtained a pair of steel-yards and weighed the tea, which was then divided amongst the men.
The news of the raid set the Customs folk by the ears, and a reward was offered for the apprehension of the raiders, but months passed by without the Government officials being able to obtain a clue. “A striking commentary, surely,” says Lieutenant H. N. Shore in “Smuggling Days and Smuggling Ways,” “on the state of merry England in the year of grace 1747! Here was a body of thirty armed men riding into a seaport town, storming the ‘King’s warehouse,’ and passing openly and undisguised the following morning with their booty through a portion of the most civilised and thickly populated part of England, and yet not a single individual of the many who witnessed the passage of the strange cavalcade, and were acquainted with many of those composing it, could be induced to come forward and assist the authorities in bringing the offenders to justice.”
Eventually, however, a clue was obtained. In the February following the raid one named Chater, a shoemaker of Fordingbridge, was going, in company with a Customs officer named Galley, to make a call upon Major Batten, J.P. for Sussex. The couple arrived at the small village of Rowland’s Castle, and put up at the “White Hart” for refreshment, and probably, after dining not wisely but too well, they let slip the information that they were bound for Major Batten. Now there were few people in those days who were not hand in glove with the smugglers, and the least suspicious sign was always conveyed to the smugglers to be on their guard. Widow Payne, who kept the inn, had two smuggler sons, and these she at once dispatched to give warning; and in due course men began to drop into the “White Hart.” They chummed up with the strangers, drank and talked with them, and at last Chater, inveigled outside, volunteered the information that he was on his way to swear against one of the men who had taken part in the Poole Custom House affair. Galley, Chater’s companion, began to wonder what was afoot, and came outside to see; and had no sooner shown his face out of the door than he was knocked head over heels.
“I am a King’s officer,” he exclaimed, “and——”
“A King’s officer, are you?” said his assailant. “I’ll make a King’s officer of you; and for a quartern of gin I’ll serve you so again!”
The smuggler’s mates gathered round, and realising that open methods would be rash, succeeded in soothing the irate King’s officer; and the company went back to the inn to drink and feast. Sad to relate, Chater and Galley got drunk, and had to be put to bed; and when they awoke they found themselves on the back of a horse, being carried they knew not whither, but with men slashing at them with whips and crying:
“Whip ’em, cut ’em, slash ’em, curse ’em!”
The smugglers had at first made up their minds to hide them for a while, until the commotion had blown over, and then send them away to France; but the smugglers’ wives had considered this too mild treatment, and had called out for their death. “Hang the dogs!” they cried. “For they came to hang us!”
Eventually, however, gentler measures were suggested, and it was decided that the men were to be secreted until it was discovered what was to be done with the smuggler who had been arrested—the man against whom Chater was going to give evidence. Each of the ruffians had agreed to give threepence a week towards the keep of the two men, but, drink-maddened, they soon forgot this, and set to work to belabour the unfortunate men, who at last rolled under the horse’s belly, and hung thus while the animal was driven like mad, the hoofs striking the men’s heads as they went. Then they were hoisted on to the horse’s back again, and the whipping renewed until the poor fellows were a mass of bruises and weals and too exhausted to keep on the horse’s back. They were then untied, slung across other horses, and carried on through the night, till the men cried out in their agony to be shot through the head.
Presently unconsciousness came to their relief. Arrived at Rake, near Liss, the smugglers drew up at the “Red Lion,” and induced the landlord to admit them. Here they imbibed afresh, and, drink-sodden, no doubt, they took Galley’s body and buried it in a sand-pit—probably while he was alive, for when the corpse was exhumed it was found that his hands were before his face, as though held there to protect it.
Chater, exhausted and running blood, was taken to the village of Trotton and chained to a post in a turf house, with two smugglers to guard him, and with barely enough food to keep him alive, pending the decision of the smugglers as to what to do with him. Next day they spent in revelry, and at night they repaired to the turf house, where one of them, drawing a large clasp knife, went up to Chater and cried:
“Down on your knees and to prayers! I’ll be your butcher!”
Chater, who was frightened almost to death, knelt, and the next instant received a kick in the back. Gasping, he asked tremblingly what had become of Galley.
“We’ve killed him, curse you!” cried one of the ruffians. “And we’ll kill you!” And drawing his clasp knife, slashed it across the man’s eyes and nose, almost cutting out both eyes and slitting the gristle of his nose! A second slash made a terrible gash on Chater’s forehead, and after several other barbarities the unfortunate man was tied on a horse and carried to “Harris’s Well,” in Lady Holt Park, where they thought to drown him. First, however, they tried to hang him; but the rope was too short to admit of a sufficient drop, and he hung over the well. What did the smugglers do but cut the rope and send him hurtling down the well head first; and then, finding that he still lived, they pitched stones down at him until they were absolutely certain that he was dead!
A more revolting case it would be hard to conceive; and as the smugglers took every precaution to hide traces of their crime, they considered themselves safe. They overlooked one thing, however. Galley’s greatcoat had been dropped on the journey from Rowland’s Castle, and it was found later on, bloodstained, and sent to the Customs men, who at once knew that the smugglers had been at work. A large reward was immediately offered, and a free pardon promised to anyone who would “peach”; but as the smugglers had vowed amongst themselves not to “inform,” and had, indeed, been terrified by one of their leaders, who swore to kill any informer, “whether one of themselves or anybody else,” and as even the Custom officers were timid in face of the open threats made by the smuggling community, it did not seem likely that the butchers would ever be brought to justice. It may seem incredible that such should be the case, but the picture painted by a contemporary writer brings the facts home. “The smugglers had reigned a long time uncontrolled,” says this writer. “They rode in troops to fetch their goods, and carried them off in triumph by daylight; nay, so audacious were they grown that they were not afraid of regular troops that were sent against them into the country to keep them in awe.... If any one of them happened to be taken, and the proof ever so clear against him, no magistrate durst commit him to jail. If he did, he was sure to have his house or barns set on fire, or some other mischief done him, if he was so happy as to escape with his life!”
But, Nemesis! What all the efforts of the King’s officers could not accomplish an anonymous letter brought about. This letter, written by someone who was in the know, was sent to the authorities, and it told them of the likely place in which Galley’s body would be discovered. Search was made, and the body found. A second unsigned letter gave the name of a man concerned in the crime. This man was arrested, and, fearing for his life, turned King’s evidence, told everything, and the King issued a proclamation that unless they surrendered themselves to justice at a day appointed the smugglers would be outlawed; and a reward of £500 was promised for the apprehension of everyone who should be convicted.
In the end seven of the murderers were caught and put in prison. A special assize was held at Chichester, January 16, 1749—nearly twelve months after the crime—and the seven were sentenced to death, five of them to be hung in chains as a warning.
Later two more of the gang were captured and executed, and in April of 1749 the Hawkhurst gang came to an end, for the crimes laid to its account roused the Government to vigorous action, the smugglers were caught one by one, and at last Kingsmill, the ringleader, was hanged at Tyburn.