Illustrations of political economy, Volume 6 (of 9)Martineau, Harriet
History
Illustrations of political economy, Volume 6 (of 9)
Martineau, Harriet
Didactic fiction, English; Political fiction, English; Social problems -- Fiction
The procession passed with their load, like a funeral train; and to stop
them would only have occasioned the loss of more lives. There were no
stragglers to be cut off, for they kept their corps as compact as if
they had been drilled into the service, and practised in an enemy's
country. It was, in fact, so. They had been trained to regular defiance
of laws which they had never heard spoken of but in terms of hatred; and
whenever the agents of government were around their steps, they felt
themselves in the midst of enemies.
When the smugglers had proceeded so far inland as to be out of danger,
they made a halt, and gave three cheers,--an exasperating sound to the
baffled guard.
"Let them cheer!" cried the Lieutenant, "our turn will come next. Down
to the beach, my lads, before the tide carries off what belongs to you
there. If any of you can find tracks of blood, it may not be too late
for poor Nicholas, after all. Down to the beach, and seize whatever you
can find."
He remained for a few moments on the steep, ranging the horizon with his
glass, internally cursing the rapid progress that the lugger (which few
but Nicholas would have taken for a sloop, however deep the shadow) was
making in her escape.
"The cutter always contrives to be just in the wrong place," thought he,
"or to arrive too late when called. She will come, as she did before,
full sail, as soon as the smuggler has got out of sight, and changed her
course."
On joining his men, he found they had partly recovered their spirits,
amidst the booty which lay before their eyes. Some few had given their
first attention to searching for the body of their comrade, but the
greater number were insisting on the necessity of removing the seizure
to the Custom-house, before the tide should have risen any higher. It
was already washing up so as to efface any marks of blood which might
have remained on the shingle; and it seemed most probable, in the
absence of any clue, that the body of Nicholas was being dashed in the
surf which sent its spray among those who defied its advances to the
last, before they mounted once more upon the down. They were obliged to
leave a few tubs floating, after they had secured the goods which it was
most important to keep dry. If these kegs could hold together amidst the
dashing of the waves, they would be recoverable in the morning from the
sea, as the law forbade all floating tubs to be picked up by anybody but
the Coast Guard, and the watch on the shore could keep an eye on the
observance of the law, for the short time that would be necessary.
"Brady, post off to the station-house, and let the ladies know we are
all safe but one. Stay! You will not thank me for sending you away from
your booty; and, besides, they will not believe you. I must go myself.
Halt a minute, my lads."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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