A SMUGGLER'S LAIR.

(first published in The Romance of Jenny Harlow and Sketches of Maritime Life
Chatto & Windus, London, 1889)

by W. Clark Russell
(1844-1911)

  

I WAS lately taking a walk under some high white cliffs along a broad platform of brown sand in company with an old nautical friend. We were full of talk, chatting away over past times, of changes that had happened in the merchant service and the like, when he came to a halt abreast of a flat front of rock striking giddily down betwixt two groin-like spires of cliff, as if this formation had been artificially buttressed up, though it was as purely a bit of nature as any other part of the coast.    "Look at those holes," he exclaimed, pointing to three or four apertures yawning black to the strong white light in the atmosphere.    "Aged warrens for the running of goods," said I.    "I wish they were not out of reach," he exclaimed. "I have sometimes thought that holes and corridors in cliffs, like those yonder, should be worth exploring. Lengths of the coast all round England are honeycombed. Surely there must be a deal worth finding still hidden in some of those black silent recesses."    I shook my head. "What is to be met with?" said I. "Any overlooked contraband stuff will have rotted ages ago out of all value. How would a bale of silk, for instance, look, after a century of storage in the heart of a cliff? How would tea taste, how would tobacco relish, after a hundred years?"    "Well now," said he, passing his arm through mine, and marching me forwards, "instead of falling into an argument on a groundwork of pure speculations, I'll spin you an A1 copper-bottom smuggling yarn, as true as that sky over our head is blue, or call it mottled for the sake of accuracy. It'll do something to discredit that shake of the head of yours. Depend upon it, my friend, there are more things under earth and hidden in the black heart of such old nodding terraces as these here than are dreamt of in any sort of philosophy short of what goes to the manufacture of fiction for boys.    "It will have happened seven years ago come the fifteenth of next month. My poor wife had been dead a year; my son Tom — my only child, you know — was at sea on a two years' voyage, and I was living alone in London. My income was small — as it still is, worse luck! — but I had made up my mind to quit the sea once and for ever, and I could find nothing that pleased me to do ashore to enable me to add to the interest I obtained out of my slender investments. Well, there came a loathing for London upon me. I sickened of the ceaseless roaring of the streets, the selfish shoving and shouldering of crowds, and seemed to draw my breath with difficulty for the want of an horizon. A sailor is a duck in more than the sweet sense which the ladies have in mind when they apply the term to him. He must live near some sort of water, if it be only a Ball's Pond.    "A hankering after old Ocean took possession of me; I felt that in a house atop of a cliff, a good telescope within reach of my hand, plenty of baccy in the locker, regular processions of ships right abreast of my front windows, and a 'longshore Jack or two to spin a yarn with, life would pass more merrily with me than ever it could at Lower Clapton.    "So one morning I weighed, and started to look for a house on the coast. No matter the name of the district: you are just the man to go and print what I'm telling you, spite of your sleepy look, as though you were keeping one ear for yourself, giving me the other; and you'll find out why caution has to be the word with me by the time I'm through, as Jonathan says. It was a bold sea coast, a range of cliff higher than these by twenty or thirty feet; desolate and wild for miles, with gaps and chasms through which you could see the ocean like a bit of a great lidless eye peering through as though to get a view of the land beyond; flocks of grey and white gulls fetching odd human echoes out of the rocks with their puppy-dogs' saw-like cries, and a big surf with the weight of a large sea in it rolling in like clouds of steam and dissolving in thunder. There was a very little town of houses, scarce more than a village, hanging in a queer sort of huddle to the eye on a slope in a bight of the coast, with a ravine smooth as a carriage-drive, but mighty steep, coming on down out of the main street to the sands at the base.    "To the right of this place — call it to the north, rather — something a little within a mile of the town, stood a small house, a kind of cottage, stoutly built of greystone, with a roof and chimney-stack fit to outlive a century of gales. It was to let. The owner was a cobbler, a little withered man in horn-rimmed spectacles, whose broken-down shop hardly suggested the occupant as a house owner. He seemed astonished when I asked to look at the house, and then grew very nimble and eager, bustling about for the keys, whilst he praised the magnificence of the view the building commanded.    "'Is it an old house?' said I, as we walked towards it.    "'Old enough to be seasoned,' said he; 'old enough to be able to keep its legs when the wind blows. No rattling of vindies in that house; no smoking of chimbleys. Ne'er a better house in the United Kingdom. My precious eyes! what money's been put into it.'    "'Long unlet?' said I.    "'Well, not long enough to hurt,' said he.    "'Who last occupied it?' I inquired.    "'Why, Admiral Trunnel,' says he; 'he used to say the house kept him alive. He'd ha' died long afore but for his being so partial to the building.'    "We arrived at the house, and I inspected it. It was built like a line-of-battle ship, as weather-tight a structure as heart could desire. The rooms were small, but they yielded me all the accommodation I required. At the back was a kitchen, a bit of a wing, as strong as a fragment of fortress.    "'If you've got any wines to stow,' said the cobbler, 'there's a regular vault downstairs.'    "'Let's have a look at it,' said I.    "He lifted the latch of a strong, thick, wooden door at the extremity of the passage, and I saw a flight of stone steps sinking into darkness.    "'Got e'er a lucifer about ye?' said the cobbler; 'I fear you won't be able to see without a light.'    "I had a box of wax matches in my pocket, one of which I struck. The cobbler led the way. I held the little flame above my head, and by the feeble light of it witnessed a large; low-pitched, cavernous chamber, with walls that had long ago been whitewashed, but were now grimy with the soiling fingers of Time. There were many huge cobwebs clustered about the corners and ceiling, like curls and feathers of tobacco smoke hovering in the stagnant atmosphere. The earthy smell of the interior satisfied me that it was dry.    "'This vault will be of no use to me,' said I; 'but it is out of the road and not damp, and it is effectually shut off.'    "I inquired the rent as we mounted the stone steps. The price he named was absurdly small; and, as the building perfectly accommodated itself to my wants in every respect, I arranged with him then and there to take it, and returned with him to his shop to sign an agreement.    "I got my furniture from London, and it was not long before I had settled down in my new home. One servant sufficed to attend to my wants. She had been in my service two years, and was very well content to leave London to live by the sea, but she winced when she first saw the house, and when she sent a look along the desolate line of coast to right and left. I slept at an inn at the adjacent town whilst my furniture was on the road, and had asked questions about my new home, but those of whom I inquired had nothing to tell me beyond that there was a tradition in the neighbourhood that the house had been built in the beginning of the century by a man who had grown rich as a receiver of contraband goods, and that for a long while there was a deal of smuggling done through him, and those who followed him, down to the time when the contraband business pretty nigh died out, thanks to a wiser policy of Customs dues, backed by the steadfast patrolling of the Preventive men. That was pretty well all I gathered, and there was nothing in it to make anything of.    "It was late in October when I occupied the house for the first time, and it blew half a gale of wind that night. Heaven bless me, it was like being at sea again, what with the roar of the wind all that way up, the shriek of it down the wide chimneys, the groaning of the breakers away down a hundred feet deep, and the dim warring noise of sea hurling against sea coming for leagues off the dark wild surface of the ocean! However, I slept like a top, but my servant, a Londoner, was a good deal scared, and scarcely closed her eyes. Next day she came to me with a face as long as a wet hammock, and told me that the grocer's assistant who had called for orders had told her to mind her eye, for the house was haunted.    "'With what?' said I.    "'He didn't know,' she answered.    "'What does the fool want to stuff such rubbish as that into your head for?' said I.    "'He said an old admiral lived here about four years ago, and died in the room you hoccupies, sir — he pointed to the windows — and that the cobbler that owns the property sent his darter, who is since gone dead, to sleep in the house for a week, in order to hair it after the admiral's body had been carried away; and she slep' two nights in the house, and then went home an took ill, saying that she'd received a fright; but what it was the cobbler kept locked up in his own bosom.'    "'Tush!' cried I, 'get about your work, now, Martha. There's nothing worse haunts this house than a grocer's assistant, I dare say.'    "Well, all went smoothly for a week. Already I was feeling twice as hearty as ever I did in London. The cobbler came up to see how I got on, and I told him I was very well satisfied, as, indeed, I had reason to be for I don't mind telling you I only paid eighteen pounds a year rent for a house worth every penny of fifty as I should have thought.    "Then came a Sunday night. I had walked over to church in the morning, and the doctor of the village, a smartish young fellow, who hadn't been there very long, looked in in the evening, and between us we killed a couple of hours very agreeably, helped by a whisky bottle and a pipe of tobacco. He left me at ten, and half an hour later I went to bed, after, according to my custom, seeing the doors and windows secured and the fires out.    "It was a middling quiet night, clear, with stars to the horizon, and a gust of wind now and again coming over the edge of the cliff, in a sort of wailing noise, to my windows. All, saving that noise, was of a death-like stillness, as you may believe, not even the crawl of the surf vexing the quiet of that lonely stretch of coast. I got into bed, read for half an hour, then blew out the light and fell asleep.    "I was awakened by a tapping on the door. It was pitch-dark, with just a spot of yellow light abreast of my bed, the reflection through the keyhole of a candle shining outside.    "'Who's there?' I sung out.    "'Me, sir, Martha,' answered my servant.    "'What's the matter?' I inquired.    "'There's a bell a-ringing somewhere in this house, sir. It's a fearfully scaring sound. I'm awfully frightened, sir.'    "'Wait a minute,' I called, struck a light, drew on some clothes, and opened the door. 'Let's hear this bell now,' said I.    "She was as white as a ghost, and her candlestick shook in her hand. I strained my ear, but could catch nothing resembling the sound of a bell. I listened for five minutes with the utmost patience; nothing was audible but the muffled crying of the wind about the house.    "'You're in a dream, Martha,' said I.    "'There — there it is now, sir! D'ye hear it? Listen!' she cried.    "Sure enough, as she spoke, I distinctly heard a dull smothered sound as of the clang of a bell, whence proceeding it was impossible to conjecture, save that the note made one think of it as tolling underground. For the matter of that it might have passed for the rattle of a chain dragged over a stone floor.    "'Deuced odd!' I exclaimed, not liking it at all. 'But it is no house-bell.'    "We had but two, in short — one for the house-door and one for the parlour, and both were hung in the kitchen, and rang clearly enough when pulled. Is this the ghost they talk about, I thought!    "'Get you back to bed, Martha,' said I, 'I'll see to this. There's nothing to frighten one in the sound of a bell. Away with you, now; leave your door open, and when I've discovered the cause of the noise, I'll sing out to you.'    "The only weapon I owned in the wide world was an old sword that had belonged to my father, a formidable-looking bit of iron when unsheathed, with a life coming into one out of the grip of the hilt of it that made one feel about a foot taller. A pistol is very well, but I would rather face a difficulty with a weapon of this kind than with a firearm, though as big as a blunderbuss, and full of slugs at that. As a man might swallow a dram for the Dutch courage it yields him, so I grasped my great sword for such animation as I could obtain out of it, and holding the candle over my head I made my way downstairs.    "I halted in the passage, and listened. All remained still for some minutes; then I caught the faint tones of a bell, muffled as before, but audible enough. I was now cocksure, however, that the sound rose from the bottom of the house, underground, and at a little distance away, too; whereupon I lifted the latch of the door that led to the big vault or cellar below, and descended the steps, holding the candle high, peering with all my eyes, with the point of my sword in advance of me, ready to run amuck and tilt at the first shadow that should flit in front of me. The bell ceased; but whilst I stood listening and gazing round at the gloomy walls, with their hideous tapestry of cobwebs, I was sensible of a low vibratory stir in the atmosphere that I instinctively set down as the tremble or echoing of the cliff to the beat of the breakers at their base. The bell chimed again, dull, sluggish, muffled, a most funeral note.    "Where on earth did the sound arise from? It seemed as though it were tolled in some next room. I tried the right wall with my sword, and found it as hard as cement; then the left — it was equally impenetrable. I advanced to the wall directly fronting the stone steps, and jobbed it. The blade penetrated here! I put the candle down and scraped a bit, and discovered that there was either a door let into the wall or that an aperture had been sealed up with timber; but whitewash and dirt and cobwebs made it look all one with the other walls. Whilst I paused the bell tolled once more. I was now positive that the sound proceeded from the compartment beyond this wooden barrier; but, to make quite sure, I scraped a small portion of it clean with the sword and laid my ear flat against it, and then most unmistakably I heard the bell ringing within very slowly, with a stoppage of some minutes, then swaying again.    "I stood considering. The conclusion I arrived at was that there was a vault similar to the one I was in just beyond, that it probably sloped in a smuggler's corridor to an outlet in the cliff, and that the wind, blowing in uncertain gusts through this tunnel, swung some small bell, that had been suspended for a purpose that can only be conjectured. This theory fully satisfied me. I lingered, nevertheless, another ten minutes, but the bell rang no more. I then returned to my bedroom, calling, as I passed, to Martha that I had ascertained the cause of the sound, and that I would put an end to it in the morning.    "Before breakfast next day I shouldered a chopper, armed myself with a candle, and descended into the vault without saying a word to the servant. I closed the staircase door after me to stifle the sound of the blows I should be presently dealing. A night fear, as a rule, cuts an insignificant figure by daylight; but there was no daylight down here — the darkness was, indeed, as at midnight, and I must own to feeling a bit nervous, though I found some comfort in the chopper. I felt about over the wall with the edge of it, and having distinguished the timber from the solid part, I let fly.    "I am strong in the arms, and the chopper was a heavy one, and, after I had struck eight or ten times, crash flew a board as thick as a plank, followed by a sweep of ice cold air that extinguished the candle. This I relighted, and applied myself afresh to what I now easily made out to be a row of stout planks nailed to crosswise beams above and below, coming out flush with the walls of the cavern in which I stood, and hermetically closing a small arched doorway, the keystone of which, to call it so, came a little below my chin. In a very short time I had knocked as much of the plank away as enabled me to enter; then, sheltering the flame of the candle from the strong ice-cold draught, I passed into this outer room.    "You may imagine the momentary terror, however, that possessed me on my witnessing, in the corner of the cave, the figure of a man completely dressed, with his arm raised. I thought he was alive, but he remained so stirless that I took heart and approached him by a few strides, when I perceived that he was a skeleton. The skull grinned at me under what was apparently a fur cap. His coat came to his knees, to the height of which were drawn a pair of great jack-boots. He was in a squatting posture, with his back to the wall, and his lifted left arm I perceived was supported by its clutch of the handle at the extremity of a chain attached to a small bell that hung very nearly over his head. As I stood gazing at the ghastly object in silent horror, a gust of cold wind came in a loud melancholy moan through a black orifice that was undoubtedly a secret avenue through the cliff to the beach; the rush of air caused the skeleton's arm to sway and the chain to vibrate, though not sufficient motion was imparted to make the bell ring.    "However, I could now see how it was, so, to put an end to the unholy midnight sound, I released the bell-handle from the grip of the skeleton hand, and the arm dropped to the figure's side with a slow settling down that was infinitely terrifying."    My companion paused.    "Well?" said I, "I suppose you reported the discovery, and the skeleton was carried away?"    "Nothing of the sort," said he. "I went upstairs, ate my breakfast, and fell into a train of reflection. How was I to know but that there was a good booty to come at in that cave by hunting for it? I took a lantern with me downstairs after breakfast, and a couple of candles as well, so as to obtain a good light, and passed an hour in a keen, thirsty search, striking every inch of the wall in the dream of obtaining a hollow echo, carefully examining the floor and ceiling, and penetrating the black corridor by a few feet, though I dared not go further for fear of a hole. My friend in the corner watched me with a mocking grin.    "Well, the place was as empty as old Mother Hubbard's cupboard, and I was about to withdraw, much disgusted by disappointment, for my secret hopes had been very considerable, when I thought I would overhaul the pockets of my silent companion. It was an ugly job, but that was all. I very gingerly felt his coat, which had a great pocket on each side, protected by a flap. The feel of the cloth sent a shudder through me. In the right-hand pocket I found a tobacco-box, a tobacco-pipe of a very singular pattern, a greasy pack of cards, and a leather flask; but on dipping into the left-hand pocket I pulled out a bag so heavy that I guessed in an instant what I held. The mouth of it was secured by a rope yarn. This I cut with a trembling hand, and found the bag full of guineas. Here is one of them," said he, showing me a coin that dangled at his watch-chain.    "Of course, you stuck to the money?" said I.    "Indeed I did then," said he. "I took the bag upstairs, locked the parlour door to keep friend Martha away, and counted out two hundred and eighty-seven guineas, in guinea and half-guinea pieces, all of them of George III.'s time, clean and most agreeable to handle."    "Did you remain in the house?"    "No," he answered. "I took a sudden dislike to it. I knew I should never be able to keep a servant if the news of the discovery got abroad; and then, between ourselves, I rather dreaded the approach of the long winter's nights and their howling winds with such a memory as that of the skeleton in the vault to carry to bed with me. So next day I told Martha that we were going; and having arranged with a man in the adjacent town for the removal of my furniture to a lodging that I took until I could find another house, I called upon the cobbler and put down a year's rent. 'I'm off,' said I. 'Why so?' cried the shrivelled little fellow. 'Go into the cellar,' said I, 'with a lighted candle, and you will find out. I'll look in again here in the course of a few hours.' I did so, and found him at work. 'Well?' said I. 'Well,' he answered, 'you're quite right to go.' And so the matter ended."    "Is not that a sort of story," said I, "which you would tell to the marines; but which you would not get the sailors to believe?"    "Pray accept it as a twister," said he, with a sly look and a dry smile, "for then you won't think it worth printing."    W. CLARK RUSSELL.