Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of StoriesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
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Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of Stories
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
Well, the result was that I went. My father's lugger carried twelve
hands--I counted myself, of course; and indeed my father did the same
when it came to charging for the crew. Still, twelve was not an
out-of-the-way number, since in these _chasse-marees_ one must lower and
rehoist the big sails at every fresh tack. As it happened, however, we
had a fair wind right across from Roscoff, and made a good landfall of
the Dodman at four in the afternoon, just twenty hours after starting.
This was a trifle too early for us; so we dowsed sail, to escape notice,
and waited for nightfall. As soon as it grew dark, we lowered the two
tub-boats we carried--one on davits and the other inboard--and loaded
them up and started to pull for shore, leaving two men behind on the
lugger. My father steered the first boat, and I the other, keeping
close in his wake--and a proud night that was for me! We had three good
miles between us and shore; but the boats were mere shells and pulled
light even with the tubs in them. So the men took it easy. I reckon
that it was well past midnight before we saw the two lights which the
letter had promised.
After this everything went easily. The beach at Rope Hauen is
steep-to; and with the light breeze there was hardly a ripple on it.
On a rising tide we ran the boats in straight upon the shingle; and in
less than a minute the kegs were being hove out. By the light of the
lantern on the beach I could see the shifting faces of the crowd, and
the troop of horses standing behind, quite quiet, shoulder to shoulder,
shaved from forelock to tail, all smooth and shining with grease. I had
heard of these Cornish horses, and how closely they were clipped; but
these beat all I had ever imagined. I could see no hair on them; and I
saw them quite close; for in the hurry each horse, as his turn came, was
run out alongside the boat; the man who led him standing knee-deep until
the kegs were slung across by the single girth. As soon as this was
done, a slap on the rump sent the beast shoreward, and the man scrambled
out after him. There was scarcely any talk, and no noise except that
caused by the wading of men and horses.
Now all this time I carried my parcel of little dolls in a satchel slung
at my shoulder, and was wondering to whom I ought to deliver it. I knew
a word or two of English, picked up from the smugglers that used to be
common as skate at Roscoff in those days; so I made shift to ask one of
the men alongside where the freighter might be. As well as I could make
out, he said that the freighter was not on the beach; but he pointed to
a tall man standing beside the lantern and gave me to understand that
this was the "deputy." So I slipped over the gunwale and waded ashore
towards him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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