THE SMUGGLER.

Shannon News, 22 August 1922, Page 4

THE SMUGGLER.

AND HIS MODERN IMITATION

In the Dover police court more thah. £3OOO iu fmes has been imposed in the past few months for smuggling. A study of the situation lias led a wellknown writer to observe that smuggling to-day, in spite of its apparent prevalence, is a very different sort of affair from what it was in the good old days. The " difference '' is well shown sordid, miserable, prosaic business is not worthy the name, comments a writer in a contemporary.

The man who walks ashore in broad daylight, in the raiment of respectability, arm in arm with, virtue, with a few dia|iiond-studden watches in his waistbelt, or bottles of perfume in his hat, is but a pitiable traversty on a great calling that made history in the good old days.

Smuggling may be law -breaking, but at its best, it spells bravery, courage, resource. Its very name is redolent of romance and adventure, of murky nights at sea, of the boom of breakers on the beach, of dark figures huddled under the cliff, of revenue cutters in the offing, of 'exchanges witfh. pistols, and of dead men on the beach. There was life and colour and the bright face of danger in these things. The necessity of secrecy was crooned by mothers into the ears of their children whdn the smugglers were heard coming up the street:

'' Smuggling,'' forsooth! The whole in the following article: — Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the park, Brandy for the parson, Bacey for the Clerk. Laces for a lady, Letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, While the gentlemen go by.

This quaint custom, which existed not only on the sea-coast, but at all the villages on the route to London, saved many a trembling housewife a lie when the revenue officer called to inquire which way the smugglers had gone.

FAMOUS GANGS. The golden age of smuggling was in the 18th century, but long before then it had become a serious evil, and in some districts it was conducted on a big scale. A cargo of Lyons silk and Valenciennes lace was landed at Romuey Marsh in 1696, of such proportions * that 30 packhorscs were necessary to convey the contraband to London.

Kent and Sussex boasted several famous gangs of smugglers. One had its centre at Hawkhurst, Ruxley's gang was at Hastings, and the Alfriston gang, the last survivor of which died in Eastbourne "Workhouse within the last 25 years, worked the coast around Seaford, Beachy Head and Cuckmere Haven.

■ Practically every fisherman ; and tradesman in many of the seaport towns and villages took a hand in the game. The revenue officer was the common enemy of all. Even the doctor and the parson tolerated the smuggling habit and participated to a greater or lesser degree in the booty. I knew a medical man oii the Hampshire coast who was knocked up,at midnight by three masked men. They explained that ,a comrade was badly injured. Would the doctor allow j them to blindfold him and take him to where the wounded man was? The doctor went.

He found a man lying in a lonely cottage, with gunshot wounds in the arm. He extracted the bullet and dressed the wound. Then he allowed himself to be blindfolded and led home. No questions were asked or answered. Two mornings later the doctor, found a keg of the finest French brandy on his doorstep. It was payment for services rendered.

Nor was tnc parson immune. A famous story of the smuggling cleric is told by that great West country character, Stephen Hawker, of Morwcnstow. A stranger io the district arrived on

the bench when a cargo of contraband was.being run ashore. The visitor was

horror-stricken at the sight. j "Is there no magistrate here?" he asked. PARSON'S LIGHT. "None within eight miles, thank God!" "Well, then, is there a clergyman hereabout?" "Aye, to be sure there is." "Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?" /'"That's he yonder, ,sor, with the lanthorn.'' And sure enough there he was, standing on a rock pouring with pastoral diligence the light of other days on a busy congregation. But the best story concerns immacu late Hov<y which a recent writer luu described as "Mrs Grundy's seasidi home." On a Sunday morning earlj last century the parish clerk beggec audience of the parson. "It is," he said, "impossible to hoW a service to-day. "Why?" queried the vicar. "Because, sir," replied the clerk, "the pews is full of* tubs and the pulpit is full of tea."