At last there was action. A body of men arrived in a boat; one had a muffled face and gave brisk orders to the others. Stirk had no difficulty in recognising Johns's cultivated voice. A young farmhand on a white horse was summoned. "Off you go, lad," he was told and, to subdued cheers from the men, he dismounted and set off for the coast path, leading it self-consciously by the bridle. It was the signal that the coast was clear of the Revenue.
In the gathering gloom the landing party took shape. Stirk and the other man retrieved and lit their spout lanterns, then took up their positions on the hillside. A gruff man claiming to be Stirk's "assistant" stood next to him—he was being watched. Shouts in the twilight directed a stream of new arrivals; a loose chain of men was being formed that stretched down from the woods that lay in a fold in the hills behind the tavern.
Packhorses wound down from the hilltop, and a troop of donkeys gathered on the beach. Then gangs of men with blackened faces set off to either side hefting clubs, and the occasional steel of a weapon could be seen. Heaven help the Revenue or Excise man who stumbled upon them: Stirk calculated there must be more than a hundred and therefore the high stakes of a valuable cargo.
So far he had recognised only Johns. Could he be the leader? Probably locally, but not the evil genius he had been told about who was co-ordinating the whole coast. Doubts crept in. This was a far larger and more detailed operation than he was used to: without asking betraying questions, how would he get to the central figure?
He glanced at the tavern. It was locked and barred; the landlord and tapster would later be able to claim truthfully on oath that they had seen nothing suspicious that night. What was "Harry" doing? If—
"Lights! Get those lights going, damn it!"
Lifting the clumsy lantern he trained the thing out to sea, making sure it lined up with the two sticks he had placed in front of himself now that the approaches were in darkness. The unknown master of the vessel would cast back and forth until he could see the lights, then begin his run into the unknown, being sure to keep the two lights precisely vertical.
Darkness was now nearly complete, the moon not due to rise before midnight, and it was impossible to make out anything to seaward. Stirk kept up his vigil but if they were surprised by tipped off Preventives aided by dragoons he would be taken up with the others and no mercy shown.
His shoulder hurt where the lantern rested but he persevered, keeping the light carefully trained; then a subtle thickening of the darkness ahead became evident. By degrees its form resolved into a large lugger ghosting in. The cargo had arrived.
A rising hubbub was cut short by bellowed orders as the receiving party made ready. Men splashed into the shallows while others drew the packhorses closer. The black shape grew in detail, then slowed and elongated—a kedge had been dropped and the vessel rotated until it lay head to sea.
Stirk lowered his lantern and grinned into the darkness. A successful arrival! It was the feeling he had experienced all those years ago. Now for the landing—a large ship's boat was in the water, loading in minutes, and what looked suspiciously like his volyer had emerged from behind the westward point on its way alongside.
It was matchless organisation; the first boat stroked vigorously ashore and grounded, to be instantly set upon. With not a single light the waiting men were each roped up with a half-anker tub suspended from front and back and sent waddling up the hill in a line. Larger casks were rolled over to the packhorses and heaved into place while the donkeys took two ankers apiece.
The pace quickened. With the tide on the ebb and the moon due to make its appearance there was no time to be lost. Packages— probably tea and silks—were transferred to the saddle panniers of a horse and sent off into the night. Still the casks came ashore. Hundreds were taken steadily into the darkness to some hiding-place in the woods, nearby farms, homes—even church crypts. Holland gin, rum, the finest wines and certainly "Cousin Jack"— the best Cognac.
It was on a breathtaking scale. By now the casks alone would number considerably more than a thousand and the line of human carriers still patiently trudged on. By morning there would be the best part of ten thousand gallons of the finest spirit safely inland for distribution later and not a penny of duty paid.
The stream lessened; by rise of moon the job was safely complete, the line of men dissipating, the lugger slipping out to sea. Shouts of drunken hilarity pierced the night, and Stirk knew that some carriers had broached a cask and were probably at that moment sucking raw spirit through straws.
It was time to be off. With nothing whatsoever gained for Mr Kydd. He knew now how it was done, much the same as it was in Kent, but the times, places—they would change. The figure behind it—well . . .
Down by the beach he could see Johns paying off the volyer crew and he strode down, waiting for the right moment. "Er, Mr Johns. A word wi' ye. This is no work f'r a seaman! I feels ready t' sign f'r a workin' voyage. Can y' arrange it, like?"
"Aren't you concerned you may be seen by a King's ship?"
"Well, sir, a smugglin' voyage is always goin' to be inconspict-able an', b'sides, it's the only trade I knows, Mr Johns."
"I understand. I cannot promise a berth, that is not within my gift, but there may be . . ."
Later the following evening Johns took Stirk up Talland Hill to a modest cottage where a single light showed at a window. Inside they were met by a kindly-looking gentleman, who studied Stirk with keen attention.
"The man Jem, sir," Johns said respectfully, and waited for the inspection to finish.
"Very well," the gentleman said, and returned to sit at his desk. It was scrupulously tidy, papers arranged squarely and a stand of red and black ink with quills set neatly before him. "You are a mariner, I can see that—but have you run cargoes 'cross Channel?" His voice was oddly soft.
"Aye, sir. Roscoff in brandy an' silks afore the last war—I knows th' lay, bless ye, sir."
"And on extended absence from the King's service."
"I'm free t' ship out with ye now, sir."
"If you'll recall, sir," Johns said, "Privaulx of the Flyer is still in Exeter prison."
"Yes, I know. But I mean to make trial of Master Jem here first." He stood up. "My name is Zephaniah Job, you may believe my business interests are . . . many, and I'm sure we can make use of you. Pray wait a moment."
He left the room and returned shortly with a massive ledger. He opened it and ran his finger down the columns. "Umm—I see we have Two Brothers entered for a Guernsey run in spirits not four days hence. You have no objection to shipping as an able seaman? On good report I can promise an advance later."
"It'll answer f'r now."
"By the way, Simon," Job said quietly, looking at an entry, "it seems Mevagissey is down for the next moon. Fowey Revenue are getting uppity and I shall want more men in the shore party. See to it, if you please."
He closed the book and looked mildly at Stirk. "We shall discover how you well you can act, Mr Jem. You'll join Two Brothers in Looe two nights hence. Her skipper will have my instructions before then."
CHAPTER 10
"IS THIS THE MAN I SAW standing with bloody sword at the gates of Acre? Steals into the enemy's midst in Minorca? Who, for the sake of a romantic tryst, dared the wrath of Gibraltar's town major?" Renzi challenged. "For shame, Mr Kydd! In the space of less than a day we shall have returned to Plymouth and come under notice, and the object of your admiration will then be wondering whether your ardour yet burns undimmed in her absence. As ladies set such store on these matters you must therefore indicate in some wise that your interest in her is unabated with some—token of your esteem."