feline namesake, and the soldiers believed his ability to see in the dark had saved them from destruction on several occasions.
The first sound came about an hour later when Lord Cheriton had manoeuvred himself into position among some bushes above the creek.
He looked below him and saw that there was a well-worn path winding up from sea level, a path that had been trodden many times by men carrying heavy loads upon their shoulders.
There were hundreds of creeks like this one all along the South Coast, and it was not surprising, Lord Cheriton thought, that on nights like this the Riding Officers and the Coast Guards preferred to be conspicuous by their absence.
The sound that he had heard came from the land, but he was not so foolish as to raise his head, knowing that as he was high above the creek, to someone below he might be silhouetted against the sky.
He just lay quiet and listened and after a few moments he realised there were horses or ponies approaching over the grassland.
The sound came again but nearer and now he knew it was a hoof striking a stone or perhaps a dry stick.
But the silence was almost complete and it said a lot for the discipline under which they worked that the men who accompanied the animals did not speak – indeed, unless someone had been listening as intently as Lord Cheriton had, he would not even have known they were there.
Then there was the soft whinny of a pony and the shaking of another animal’s head, and Lord Cheriton realised that he had been right in thinking there would be a run this evening and that the goods brought into the creek would be carried immediately to the markets.
Keeping his head down under the bushes, he remembered that it was the invariable practice of the French merchants to oblige their customers by shipping spirits in handy four-gallon casks or half-casks.
They roped them in pairs to go across a tugman’s shoulders or a horse’s pack saddle.
Lace, tobacco, and tea were wrapped in oil skin and tied with spun yam.
It was not known in London exactly what the smugglers were paid, but the Surveyor General of Customs had thought it was about two guineas a trip.
The men they hired, whom they called their “riders,” were allowed a guinea a journey and all their expenses for eating and drinking besides enough tea on which they could make a further guinea or perhaps more.
“It is hard work getting down to the creek to fetch the goods,” the Surveyor General had said, “and they, like the smugglers themselves, run a considerable hazard if they are found with the contraband actually on them.”
“But the profit is large,” Lord Cheriton remarked dryly.
“Very large!” the Surveyor General agreed. “Nevertheless, I am told that because the smugglers – the oarsmen, the masters, and the riders – are frightened, they drink to great excess.”
He sighed as he added,
“It is that which is responsible for the terrible outrages they commit and the manner in which they will torture unmercifully anyone they think to be an informer.”
“Fear combined with drink can drive a man to behave like a beast,” Lord Cheriton remarked, thinking of how the French troops had run riot when they captured a town.
He knew that if he was caught spying on the smugglers he would not live to see the dawn.
Listening, he was now sure that there were a number of ponies, perhaps a dozen, below him in the little valley into which the creek ran.
He heard a man cough and another man sneeze, but he did not look up, since he knew that while they were silent it would be a mistake for him to make any movement at all.
An hour must have passed, perhaps more, when suddenly he heard the faint sound of a muffled voice.
Immediately the waiting men began to move, hurrying, Lord Cheriton knew, down the path to the water’s edge.
Then very cautiously, moving so slowly that he hardly disturbed the bushes through which he passed, Lord Cheriton crawled a little nearer.
Now, although it
The first sound came about an hour later when Lord Cheriton had manoeuvred himself into position among some bushes above the creek.
He looked below him and saw that there was a well-worn path winding up from sea level, a path that had been trodden many times by men carrying heavy loads upon their shoulders.
There were hundreds of creeks like this one all along the South Coast, and it was not surprising, Lord Cheriton thought, that on nights like this the Riding Officers and the Coast Guards preferred to be conspicuous by their absence.
The sound that he had heard came from the land, but he was not so foolish as to raise his head, knowing that as he was high above the creek, to someone below he might be silhouetted against the sky.
He just lay quiet and listened and after a few moments he realised there were horses or ponies approaching over the grassland.
The sound came again but nearer and now he knew it was a hoof striking a stone or perhaps a dry stick.
But the silence was almost complete and it said a lot for the discipline under which they worked that the men who accompanied the animals did not speak – indeed, unless someone had been listening as intently as Lord Cheriton had, he would not even have known they were there.
Then there was the soft whinny of a pony and the shaking of another animal’s head, and Lord Cheriton realised that he had been right in thinking there would be a run this evening and that the goods brought into the creek would be carried immediately to the markets.
Keeping his head down under the bushes, he remembered that it was the invariable practice of the French merchants to oblige their customers by shipping spirits in handy four-gallon casks or half-casks.
They roped them in pairs to go across a tugman’s shoulders or a horse’s pack saddle.
Lace, tobacco, and tea were wrapped in oil skin and tied with spun yam.
It was not known in London exactly what the smugglers were paid, but the Surveyor General of Customs had thought it was about two guineas a trip.
The men they hired, whom they called their “riders,” were allowed a guinea a journey and all their expenses for eating and drinking besides enough tea on which they could make a further guinea or perhaps more.
“It is hard work getting down to the creek to fetch the goods,” the Surveyor General had said, “and they, like the smugglers themselves, run a considerable hazard if they are found with the contraband actually on them.”
“But the profit is large,” Lord Cheriton remarked dryly.
“Very large!” the Surveyor General agreed. “Nevertheless, I am told that because the smugglers – the oarsmen, the masters, and the riders – are frightened, they drink to great excess.”
He sighed as he added,
“It is that which is responsible for the terrible outrages they commit and the manner in which they will torture unmercifully anyone they think to be an informer.”
“Fear combined with drink can drive a man to behave like a beast,” Lord Cheriton remarked, thinking of how the French troops had run riot when they captured a town.
He knew that if he was caught spying on the smugglers he would not live to see the dawn.
Listening, he was now sure that there were a number of ponies, perhaps a dozen, below him in the little valley into which the creek ran.
He heard a man cough and another man sneeze, but he did not look up, since he knew that while they were silent it would be a mistake for him to make any movement at all.
An hour must have passed, perhaps more, when suddenly he heard the faint sound of a muffled voice.
Immediately the waiting men began to move, hurrying, Lord Cheriton knew, down the path to the water’s edge.
Then very cautiously, moving so slowly that he hardly disturbed the bushes through which he passed, Lord Cheriton crawled a little nearer.
Now, although it
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