Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. III, No. XVII, October 1851Various
History
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. III, No. XVII, October 1851
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
his mercy. Besides I might be wrong after all, and I had no right to
presume that the officer who had passed the laths had not made a
sufficient examination of them. The flurry of the young man might arise
from physical weakness and the severe labor he was performing in such
hot weather. These reasons, or more truly these excuses for doing
nothing, were passing through my brain, when I observed the hasty
approach of the collector of customs himself toward the cart, followed
by several of his subordinates. Young Somers saw him as quickly as I
did, and the young man's first impulse, it was quite plain, was flight.
A thought, no doubt, of the hopelessness of such an attempt arrested his
steps, and he stood quaking with terror by the side of the cart, his
right hand grasping for support at one of the wheel-spokes.
"One of you lend me a knife," said the collector, addressing the
officers of customs.
A knife was quickly opened and handed to him: he severed the strong
cords which bound one of the bundles of laths together, and they flew
asunder, disclosing a long tin tube of considerable diameter, closely
rammed with tobacco! All the other bundles contained a similar deposit;
and so large was the quantity of the heavily-taxed weed thus
unexpectedly made lawful prize of, that a profit, I was assured, of not
less than £500 or £600 would have been made by the audacious smuggler
had he succeeded in his bold and ingenious attempt. The ends of the
bundles had been filled up with short pieces of lath, so that, except by
the process now adopted, it was impossible to detect that the cargo was
not _bonâ fide_ what it had been declared to be. The penalties to which
Somers had rendered himself liable were immense, the vessel also was
forfeited, and the unfortunate young man's liberty at the mercy of the
crown. He looked the very picture of despair, and I felt assured that
ruin, utter and complete, had fallen upon him.
He was led off in custody, and had gone some dozen paces when he stopped
shortly, appeared to make some request to the officers by whom he was
escorted, and then turning round, intimated by a supplicatory gesture
that he wished to speak to me. I drew near, and at my request the
officers fell back out of hearing. He was so utterly prostrated by the
calamity by which he had been so suddenly overtaken, that he could not
for several moments speak intelligibly. I felt a good deal concerned for
so mere a boy, and one too so entirely unfitted by temperament and nerve
to carry through such desperate enterprises, or bear up against their
failure.
"This is a bad business," I said; "but the venture has not, I trust,
been made with your own or your father's money?
"Every penny of it," he replied, in a dry, fainting voice, "was our own.
Father lent me all his prize-money, and we are both miserable beggars."
"What in the name of madness could induce you to venture your all upon a
single throw in so hazardous a game?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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