Smuggler's Moon

readers are too lazy.”

“Hmmm,” said she (had she appropriated that from Sir John already?), ”perhaps you’re right.”

We continued to talk, though at some point once more we sought the comfort of the soft, dry sand. I asked a few questions about what, if anything, Sir John might have learned from his interrogations at Deal Castle. From the little she had to tell me, I took it that he had learned little from the prisoners. I felt reassured that I had missed nothing of real importance. He who was captain of the wagon caravan provided Sir John with a list of the London shopkeepers, most of them in Westminster, to whom the contraband goods were to be delivered, thus managing to assure himself of a lighter sentence. Beyond that, there was little. I was, however, relieved to learn that the man whom I had seriously wounded was patched up by Mr. Parker, the surgeon, and it appeared that he would recover as swiftly as Mr. Trotter, the surviving member of Mr. Sarton’s tiny constabulary.

Yet to speak of Mr. Sarton was to be reminded of that terrible night of killing in which I saw our friend Molly wailing and keening over the body of her dead husband. And so I then told Clarissa what I had that morning heard from her. Yet I was in no wise surprised to learn that my companion there on the beach had heard all I had and more from Molly Sarton. She knew not only that Molly was unwilling to stay in Deal, but also that she was so unwilling that she had even turned down an offer from Mrs. Keen to come on as cook at the tearoom that they might make a full eating house of it. Clarissa knew not only that the house was not Molly’s own, but also that the notice to vacate which had been sent her demanded that she leave in five days’ time. And she knew, no doubt, a good deal more things about dear Molly’s plight. After all, why should she not? The two had shared a bed for nearly a week. Between us, indeed, Clarissa and I knew all about Molly’s plight, except how to better it.

“We must do something,” said Clarissa most earnestly.

“But what?” said I.

“Perhaps we should tell Sir John. He may think of something.”

I considered the matter. There was little or nothing that we two could do to help. But there were avenues and opportunities open to him of which we could not even conceive. At the very least, since he was acting magistrate, he could make it possible for Molly Sarton to remain for as long as he were here. Or perhaps he might know some aristocrat or noble in London who badly needed a cook. He was, after all, a very influential man.

“I think you’re right,” said I. ”Sir John should know, and I think you’re the one to tell him.”

“I’ll do it,” said she in a most determined manner, ”just as soon as I can find the right moment.”

So saying, she set her jaw and turned her eyes out to sea. Clarissa had a strong profile, and among women, strong features are thought to be unattractive and undesirable. Yet I recall reflecting at that moment that in a way peculiar to her alone, she was really quite pretty. Then, of a sudden, she became quite animated. She turned to me and at the same time raised her arm and pointed out into the Channel.

“Do look, Jeremy! Is that not the ship we were sent out to look for? Out there! See? Why, it’s positively festooned with green flags.”

I looked where she pointed and saw there could be no doubt of it: it was a sloop of a sort of golden brown hue which flew the Union Jack. What could be more certain? She was Black Jack Bilbo’s Indian Princess. From where we sat, I could even make out figures moving about the ship. One in particular caught my eye: he stood upon the foredeck and jumped up and down, waving both arms for all he was worth. I believed-no, I was certain! — that the figure on the foredeck was my old chum, Jimmie Bunkins.

Then did I stand and wave back. Indeed, I kept right on waving until the sloop was out of sight.

“Come along,” said I to Clarissa, ”we must tell Sir John.”

They would have saved themselves some trouble, thought I, and might even have managed to save themselves altogether, if only they had posted a lookout. Yet so sure were they of the easy success of their enterprise that the smugglers had come in number to Goodwin Sands just a bit before midnight (our lookout told us as much) and left no one to watch behind them. They had gone direct to the beach where one of them fired a flink pistol up into the night sky. We watched the progress of its rocket up and up many, many feet above the beach, until at last it reached its apex and exploded, sending a shower of sparks down on sand and water.

That was a signal to the ship that waited out there, not much more than half a mile into the Channel. And in response, from that darkness beyond, an answering rocket went up into the sky and sent its own fiery explosion out into the night sky. Everything was in place, and all was ready. If the rockets were thus signals from shore to ship and ship to shore, they were also signals to us that we might move up from where we had hidden ourselves into the positions that had been chosen in advance. All that would have stopped us would have been word that a lookout had been left-and that would merely have delayed us, for we were ready and eager to fight that night and would in no wise have been held back by one of their band. We were buoyed by our success of the night before.

On this occasion, Sir John’s plan demanded a more active role of the King’s Carabineers. There would be more for them than pursuing the main body and rounding up the stragglers. Half of them, in fact, were there up above the beach with us, their carabins pointed down alongside our muskets at the smugglers below. The remainder of the mounted troopers, under the command of Lieutenant Tabor, were in the distant dark at the far end of the beach, waiting to ride down upon the owlers. So you see, all was in readiness on our side, as well.

If anything, the moon was even brighter than it had been the night before. Each person, each object, down on the beach-wagons, horses, and men-was clearly outlined before us in the strong moonlight. Mr. Perkins came walking so low on hands and knees that he seemed to be crawling along. He dropped down beside Sir John and gave me a wink as he did so.

“The dragoons is getting uneasy, sir,” said he. ”They want to know when to fire and when not to fire.”

“Well,” said Sir John, ”there’ll certainly be no shooting till boats from the ship out there are on the beach and being unloaded.”

“Right you are.”

“And I must make my speech, as well. They’re not to interrupt that.”

“I understand.”

“And come to think of it, Mr. Perkins, I’ll call out the command to fire good and loud, so none can mistake. Let them hold their fire till then.”

“Yes sir.” Yet Mr. Perkins delayed leaving. ”I wish you could see that moon up there tonight, Sir John-so big and round, so bright. It’s what we used to call, in the old days, a smuggler’s moon.”

“Well,” said Sir John, ”let us hope that after tonight they will call it a ‘magistrate’s moon.’”

Then, chuckling softly, Mr. Perkins did leave us, moving swiftly as he had come. Sir John turned in my direction.

“What do you suppose, Jeremy? Shall we triumph this night?”

”We would not be here if we were not sure of it, sir,” said I.

“True, but our lads are outnumbered.”

“So were we last night, yet we surprised them and took them proper.”

“I like your spirit, lad.”

Sir John’s plan, which he had earlier revealed to all, was simple as could be. As soon as the owlers were down on the beach, we would take positions along the high ground above, behind a natural rampart of sand. Once the boats from the smugglers’ ship, a cutter, had landed and were in process of discharging their cargo, the smugglers would make easy targets for us above. It is true that we were outnumbered, though not by so very many. It was true, too, that in any absolute sense the Carabineers were untried in battle, for according to Mr. Patley their duties in Jamaica had been largely ceremonial, but they had been well drilled and presumably knew how to handle their weapons.

Though I had half expected to load for Mr. Patley, as I had the night before atop the hackney coach, I was not at all surprised when Sir John requested that I remain with him. I knew that he felt I should be protected from possible harm both because of my age and my unofficial status; he may have praised my performance to Clarissa, yet he felt in general that I was too young to be involved in shooting circumstances; he used me only reluctantly.

So here we sat, Sir John and I, behind this low wall of sand, simply awaiting the arrival of a boat or boats from the ship. Though it was out well beyond the sandbar, a good half a mile away from the waterline, I could