“And your father and your brother?”
“Why, when I met them, which I did about six years afterwards, I found that they had been in much the same predicament, having lost the coble, and the weather being so bad that they could not get on shore again. As there was no help for it, they took their first voyage to the West Indies; so there was a dispersion of an united family—two went west, one went east, coble went down, and mother, after waiting a month or two, and supposing father dead, went off with a soldier. All dispersed by one confounded gale of wind from the northward and eastward, so that’s the way that I went to sea, Bob. And now it’s time that Moonshine was back.”
But Moonshine kept us waiting for some time: when he returned it was then quite dark, and we had lighted candles, anxiously waiting for him; for not only was the bottle empty, but we were very hungry. At last we heard a conversation at the gate, and Moonshine made his appearance with the two bottles of spirits, and appeared himself to be also in high spirits. The pork and peas-pudding soon were on the table. We dined heartily, and were sitting over the latter part of the first bottle in conversation, it being near upon the eleventh hour, when we heard a noise, at the gate—observed some figures of men, who stayed a short time and then disappeared. The door opened, and Moonshine went out. In a few seconds he returned, bringing in his arms an anker of spirits, which he laid on the floor, grinning so wide that his head appeared half off. Without saying a word, he left the room and returned with another.
“Why, what the devil’s this?” cried Cockle.
Moonshine made no answer, but went out and in until he had brought six ankers in, one after another, which he placed in a row on the floor. He then shut the outside door, bolted it, came in, and seating himself on one of the tubs, laughed to an excess which compelled him to hold his sides; Cockle and I looking on in a state of astonishment.
“Where the devil did all this come from?” cried Cockle, getting out of his easy chair. “Tell me, sir, or by—”
“I tell you all, Massa Cockle:– you find me better friend dan Missy O’Bottom. Now you hab plenty, and neber need scold Moonshine ’pose he take lilly drap. I get all dis present to you, Massa Cockle.”
Feeling anxious, I pressed Moonshine to tell his story.
“I tell you all, sar. When I come back wid de two bottle I meet plenty men wid de tubs: dey say, ‘Hollo there, who be you?’ I say, ‘I come from station: bring massa two bottel, and I show um.’ Den dey say, ‘Where you massa?’ and I say, ‘At um house at Ryde’—(den dey tink dat you my massa, Massa Farren)—so dey say, ‘Yes, we know dat, we watch him dere, but now you tell, so we beat you dead.’ Den I say, ‘What for dat; massa like drink, why you no gib massa some tub, and den he neber say noting, only make fuss some time, ’cause of Admirality.’ Den dey say, ‘You sure of dat?’ and I say, ‘Quite sure massa neber say one word.’ Den dey talk long while; last, dey come and say, ‘You come wid us and show massa house.’ So two men come wid me, and when dey come to gate I say, ‘Dis massa house when he live at Ryde, and dere you see massa;’—and I point to Massa Cockle, but dey see Massa Ferran—so dey say. ‘All very good; tree, four hour more, you find six tub here; tell you massa dat every time run tub, he alway hab six;’ den dey go way, den dey come back, leave tub; dat all, massa.”
“You rascal!” exclaimed I, rising up, “so you have compromised me; why I shall lose my commission if found out.”
“No, sar; nobody wrong but de smuggler; dey make a lilly mistake; case you brought to court-martial, I give evidence, and den I clear you.”
“But what must we do with the tubs, Cockle?” said I, appealing to him.
“Do Bob?—why they are a present—a very welcome one, and a very handsome one into the bargain. I shall not keep them, I pledge you my word; let that satisfy you—they shall be fairly entered.”
“Upon that condition, Cockle,” I replied, “I shall of course not give information against you.” (I knew full well what he meant by saying he would not keep them.)
“How I do, Massa Cockle,” said Moonshine, with a grave face; “I take um to the Custom-house to-night or to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow, Moonshine,” replied Cockle; “at present just put them out of sight.”
I did not think it prudent to make any further inquiries; but I afterwards discovered that the smugglers, true to their word, and still in error, continued to leave six tubs in old Cockle’s garden whenever they succeeded in running a cargo, which, notwithstanding all our endeavours, they constantly did. One piece of information I gained from this affair, I found that the numbers of the cargoes which were run compared to those which were seized during the remainder of the time I was on that station, was in the proportion of ten to one. The cargoes run were calculated by the observations of old Cockle, who, when I called upon him, used to say very quietly, “I shouldn’t wonder if they did not run a cargo last night, Bob, in spite of all your vigilance—was it very dark?”
“On the contrary,” replied I, looking at the demure face of the negro; “I suspect it was Moonshine.”