The Lost Heir

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  DOWN IN THE MARSHES.

  Comparatively few of those who nowadays run down to Southend for abreath of fresh air give a thought to the fact that the wide stretch oflow country lying between the railroad and the Thames, from Pitsea toLeigh, was at one time, and that not so many centuries back, a mud flat,a continuation of the great line of sand that still, with but a shortbreak here and there, stretches down beyond Yarmouth; still less that,were it not for the watchfulness of those who dwell upon it, it would ina short time revert to its original condition, the country lying belowthe level of higher water.

  Along the whole face of the river run banks--the work, doubtless, ofengineers brought over by Dutch William--strong, massive, andstone-faced, as they need be to withstand the rush and fret of the tideand the action of the waves when, as is often the case, the east windknocks up ridges of short, angry water in Sea Reach. Similarly, thewinding creeks are all embanked, but here dams of earth are sufficientto retain within its bounds the sluggish water as it rises and falls.Standing on any of these, the farmhouses and little homesteads liebelow, their eaves for the most part level with the top of the bank,though there are a few knolls which rise above the level of the tidalwater.

  The most conspicuous objects are the brown sails of the barges, whichseem to stand up in the midst of the brownish-green fields, the hullsbeing invisible. This cannot be called marsh land, for the ground isintersected by ditches, having sluices through which they dischargetheir water at low tide. Very fertile is the land in some spots,notably in Canvey Island, where there are great stretches of wheat andbroad meadows deep with rich waving grass; but there are other placeswhere the grass is brown and coarse, showing that, though the surfacemay be hard and dry, water lies not far below. Here a few cattle gathera scanty living, and the little homesteads are few and far between. Mostof the houses are placed near the banks of the creeks. The barges serveas their wagons, and carry their hay up to London and bring down manureand other things required, or carry coal and lime to the wharves ofPitsea.

  A rare place was this in the old smuggling days, and indeed until quitelately the trade was carried on, though upon a reduced scale. Vesselsdrifting slowly up the river would show a light as they passed a bargeat anchor or a bawley hanging to its trawl, a light would be shown inanswer, and a moment later a boat would row off to the ship, and a scoreof tubs or a dozen bales of tobacco be quickly transferred, and beforemorning the contents would be stowed in underground cellars in some ofthe little farmhouses on the creeks, or be hidden away in the Leighmarshes.

  "Will Bill be in to-night with the barge?" a child asked a woman, as hecame down from the bank to a not uncomfortable-looking homestead tenyards from its foot.

  "I told you that you are to call him uncle," the woman said sharply, butnot unkindly. "I have told you so over and over again, child."

  "I generally do now, but one forgets sometimes."

  "There is never any saying"--the woman went on in reply to hisquestion--"there is never any saying; it all depends on tide and wind.Sometimes they have to anchor and lose a tide, or maybe two. Sometimesthey get a cargo directly they get into the Pool or at Rochester;sometimes they wait two or three days. They have been away four daysnow; they might have been here yesterday, but may not come tillto-morrow. One thing is certain, whenever he do come he will wantsomething to eat, and I hope that they will bring it with them, forthere is nothing here but bread and bacon."

  "And do you think that I shall soon go home again, aunt?"

  "There is no saying," the woman said evasively. "You are verycomfortable here, aint you?"

  "Oh, yes! There are the dogs and the ducks and the chickens, and unclesays that he will take me sometimes for a sail with him in the barge."

  "Yes, I expect it won't be long first. You know, I used to go with himregular till, as I have told you, my little Billy fell overboard onenight, and we knew nothing of it until he was gone, and I have neverliked the barge since. Besides, I have plenty to do here. But I am goingacross to Rochester very soon. It's a good place for shopping, and Iwant groceries and little things for myself and more things for you. Iwill take you with me, but you will have to promise to be very good andcareful."

  "I will be careful," the child said confidently, "and you know thatuncle said that when spring comes he will teach me to swim; and I shalllike that, and if I tumble overboard it won't matter. He says that whenI get a few years older I shall go with him regularly, and learn tosteer and to manage the sails. I shall like that; but I should like togo back sometimes to see Hilda and Netta and my grandpapa."

  "Well, well, my dear, we will see about it; they can't take you atpresent. I think that they have gone away traveling, and may not be backfor a long time. And mind, you know you are not to talk about them. Justwhen you are here with me I don't care; but you know uncle does not likeit, and if anyone asks, you must say just what he told you, that yourfather and mother are dead, and that Uncle Bill has took you."

  "I shan't forget," the boy said. "I never do talk about it before him;it makes him angry. I don't know why, but it does."

  "But he is always kind to you, Jack?"

  "Oh, yes, he is very kind, and he often brings me things when he comesback; he brought me my dear little kitten. Pussy, where have you hiddenyourself? Puss! puss!" And in answer a little ball of white fur boundedout from behind a chair, and the child was soon engaged in a game ofromps with it.

  "It is a shame!" the woman said, as she watched them; "I don't mind theother things, but I never liked this. I wonder who the poor little chapis. By the way he talked when he first came, about his home and hisnurse and horses and carriages, his friends must be rich people. Billhas never understood why they wanted to get rid of him; but I supposethat he was in somebody's way, and, as he never speaks of his father andmother, but only of those two girls and his grandfather, who seems tohave been an invalid, I expect that he must have lost his father andmother before he can remember. Well, he will be right enough here; Ishould miss him dreadful if he were to go away; he seems to have takenthe place of my little Billy. And Bill takes to him, too, wonderfully.He said the other day that when the boy grew up he would buy a barge, anew one of the best kind, and that some day it should be the boy's own.So he won't do so bad, after all."

  A stranger would have wondered at the comfort in the interior of thelittle farmhouse. The land round it was very poor. Three horses--whichseemed as if they had nothing to do but to nibble the coarse grass--anda couple of cows wandered about on a few acres of land, inclosed by deepwater ditches; a score or two of ducks and geese paddled in the mud inthe bottom of the creek at low tide, or swam about in the water when itwas up; and a patch of garden ground, attended to chiefly by the woman,surrounded the cottage. But all this would have afforded a scanty livingindeed, were it not that the master, Bill Nibson, was the owner of the_Mary Ann_ barge, an old craft with a somewhat dilapidated sail, whichjourneyed up and down the river with more or less regularity, laden, forthe most part, with manure, hay, lime, bricks, or coal. This henavigated with the aid of a lad of fourteen, a waif, whose mother, atramp, had died by the roadside one bitter cold night four years before.Bill had been summoned on the coroner's jury and had offered to take theboy.

  "I can do with him on board the barge," he said; "he is only a littlenipper now, but in a year or two he will be useful. The boy I have gotwants to go to sea, and I shan't be sorry to get rid of him; he isgetting too knowing for me altogether."

  As no one else wanted the boy he was handed over to Bill, and was now asharp lad, who, never having been instructed in the niceties of rightand wrong, and being especially ignorant that there was any harm incheating Her Majesty's Customs, was in all things a useful assistant tohis master. He had, indeed, very soon imbibed the spirit, not uncommonamong the dwellers on the marshes, that if managed without detection,the smuggling of tobacco and spirits was a meritorious action,advantageous to the community at large, and hurting no one except thatmysterious a
nd unknown entity, the queen's revenue. He was greatlyattached to Bill, and took an occasional thrashing as a matter ofcourse; regarding him as having saved him from the workhouse and havingput him in a fair way of making a man of himself.

  The next day at twelve o'clock the child, playing on the bank, ran inand reported that Joshua was coming along the bank, and in a few minutesthe boy appeared.

  "Morning, missis," he said. "Master sent me on to say that the barge gotinto the haven this morning, and that she will come on with the eveningtide. He sent me on with this lump of meat, and these rokers he got froma bawley which came in just as we were getting up sail off Grain Spit.He says he has got a barrel of beer on board, that he will land as hepasses. He will be along about nine o'clock. Well, Jack, how are you?"

  "I am all right," the child said, "and so is Kitty. I am glad that youare back. How long are you going to stay?"

  "I suppose that it will take us a couple of days to unload. Master isgoing as usual to hire a couple of men to get the line out, so I shallbe over here by breakfast. He says that I may as well do a job ofdigging in the garden, as he wants to get some things in before we getfrosty nights. Have you any message for him, missis?"

  "You can tell him he may as well get a dish of eels from one of theDutchmen there. I suppose there is one in the haven?"

  "Two of them, missis; he will be able to get them, for one of them isthe _Marden_, and the skipper has always let master have some, though hewon't sell an eel to anyone else."

  "Is there any business to be done?" the woman asked significantly.

  The boy nodded.

  "All right; tell him that I will get the horses in."

  The child was put to bed upstairs at seven o'clock, although he in vainpetitioned to be allowed to stop up until the barge came along. Healready knew, however, by experience, that his request was not likely tobe granted, as when the barge came along after dark he was always put tobed, the woman telling him that Bill didn't like him to be up when hecame in, as he wanted to have a talk with her in quiet, and to eat hissupper in peace.

  An hour after dark the woman went out onto the bank and listened. In aquarter of an hour she heard the rattle of a block in the distance. Shewent down, stirred up the fire, and put on the kettle, and in twentyminutes the barge came along. The boat, instead of towing behind asusual, was alongside.

  "You take her on, Joshua," its owner said, as he quietly got into theboat; "run in where the water is deep alongside, a quarter of a milethis side Pitsea. I will come along and get on board there as soon as Ihave finished this job. Keep a sharp lookout on the banks; some of thecoastguardsmen may be about. If they hail you and ask if I am on board,say I landed as we passed here, to have a cup of tea, and that I shallnot be five minutes."

  Then he pushed the boat to shore. "Well, Betsy, how are you? I have gottwenty kegs here, and five or six hundredweight of tobacco. I will getit up the bank, and you had better stow it away at once; I will lend youa hand as soon as it is all up."

  As fast as he could carry the kegs up the banks she slipped slings roundthem, two at a time, hooked them to a milkmaid's yoke, and went off withthem to a shed which served as a stable and cowhouse in the winter.Against this was a rick of hay. Putting the kegs down she returned formore, and by the time that they were all in the stable her husband hadfinished his share of the work and had carried the heavy bales oftobacco to the shed. The three horses were already there.

  "Are you going to take them out at once?"

  "No, not until I come back. I must get on board the barge as soon aspossible. We will bundle them all in, in case any of those fellowsshould come along."

  Three planks were removed from the side of the shed next to the stack,and an opening was seen. Some turf was taken up and a trapdoor exposed.The kegs and tobacco were speedily carried down into a large cellar, thetrapdoor was closed, and the boards placed securely in position andfastened by six long screws. Then they returned to the house. The teapotand cups were on the table, the kettle was boiling, and in two or threeminutes they were taking tea. Scarcely had they begun their meal whenthere was a knock at the door. Bill got up and opened it, and twocoastguards entered.

  "We saw there was a light burning, and thought that you might be here,Bill. The wind is bitter cold."

  "Come in and have a cup of tea or a glass of rum, whichever you likebest. As you say, the wind is bitter cold, and I thought that I wouldland and have a cup of tea. I shall catch the barge up before she getsto Pitsea."

  The coastguardsmen accepted the offer of a cup of tea, glancingfurtively round the room as they drank it.

  "It is good tea."

  "'Tis that," Bill said, "and it has never paid duty. I got it from anIndiaman that was on the Nore three weeks ago. She transshipped part ofher cargo on my barge and floated next tide. It was one of the best jobsI've had for some time, and stood me in fifty pounds and a pound or twoof tea."

  "Perhaps a chest of it!" one of the men said with a laugh.

  "Well, well, I am not sure that it was not a chest. I like my cup oftea, and so does Betsy; and there is no getting tea like this atStanford."

  They chatted for about ten minutes, when Bill remarked, "I must begoing," and they went out together, and taking his place in his boat herowed up the creek, while the coastguards continued their walk along thebank.

  "He is not a bad 'un, Tom," one of them said. "I guess he is like a goodmany of the others, runs a keg occasionally. However, his place has beensearched half a dozen times, and nothing has been found. We have drunkmany a glass of ale with him at the 'Lobster Smack' at Hole Haven, and Iam sure I don't want to catch him unless there is some information to goon. The barge passed us half an hour ago, and I knew that it was no uselooking in her, but of course when the boatswain said this afternoon,'Just follow that barge when she gets under way, and see if she goes onto Pitsea,' we had to do it; but the boat was late for us where thecreek branches off round the island, and before we were across he musthave got more than half an hour's start of us. And I am not sorry, Tom.We have got to do our duty, but we don't want to be at war with everygood fellow on the marshes."

  "Right you are, Dick; besides, they are as slippery as eels. Who cantell what they have got under their lime or manure? Short of unloadingit to the bottom there would be no finding it, if they had anything;and it is a job that I should not care for. Besides, there aint no placeto empty it on; and we could not go and chuck a cargo overboard unlesswe were quite certain that we should find something underneath. As yousay, I dare say Bill runs a keg or two now and then, but I don't supposethat he is worse than his neighbors; I have always suspected that it washe who left a keg of whisky at our door last Christmas."

  In the meantime Bill had overtaken his barge, and they soon had heralongside of the little wharf at Pitsea.

  "Tide is just turning. She will be aground in half an hour," he said."As soon as you have got these mooring ropes fastened, you had betterfry that steak and have your supper. I shall be over by seven o'clock inthe morning. If Harvey and Wilson come alongside before that, tell themthey can have the job at the usual price, and can set to work withoutwaiting for me. It will be pretty late before I am in bed to-night."

  It was over a mile walk back to his cottage. As soon as he arrived hesat down to a hearty supper which his wife had prepared for him. He thengot three pack-saddles out of the cellar, put them on the horses, andfastened four kegs on each horse. Tying one behind the other, hestarted, and in an hour the kegs were stowed in the cellars of fourfarmers near Stanford. It was midnight before he returned home. Athalf-past six he was down to breakfast.

  "Well, uncle, how are you?" he asked the child, who was already up.

  "I am not your uncle," the boy replied; "you are my uncle."

  "Ah, well, it's a way of speaking down here. It does not mean thatanyone is one's uncle; it is just a way of speaking."

  The child nodded. He was learning many things.

  "Then it is a way of speaking when I call you uncl
e?"

  "No, no! That is different. A child like you would not call anyoneuncle unless he was uncle; while a man my age calls anyone uncle."

  "That is funny, isn't it?"

  "Well, I suppose, when you think of it, it is; but, as I said, it is away we have in this part of the country. Well, mother, have you got thatfish nearly fried?"

  "It will be ready in five minutes. This roker is a very thick one. I putit on as soon as I heard you stirring, and it is not quite ready yet.That was a pretty near escape last night, Bill."

  "Yes; but, you see, they can hardly catch us unless they send men downin the afternoon. They cannot get along from the station without passingtwo or three creeks; and coming along with the tide, especially whenthere is a breath of wind to help her, we can do it in half the time.You see, I always get the things out from under the cargo and into theboat as we come along, so that the barge shall not be stopped."

  "But they might send down a boat from the Thames Haven station, Bill."

  "Yes; but then they don't know when the barge is in, or when it is goingto start. So we get the best of them in that way. Besides, they have agood bit to go along the river face, and they have to cross a dozen deepcuts to get there. No, I have no fear of them, nor of the others either,as far as that goes. I have more than once had a word dropped, meant toput me on my guard, and instead of landing the things here have droppedthem in a deep hole in the creek, where I could pick them up the nextnight I came in. Things have changed with us for the better, lass. Fiveyears ago we had pretty hard work, with the farm and the old boat, tolive at all comfortable; but since I have got into the swim things havechanged with us, and I can tell you that I am making money hand overfist. I allow that there is a certain risk in it, but, after all, onelikes it all the better for that. If the worst came to the worst theycould but confiscate the old barge; if they gave me a heavy fine I couldpay it, and if they gave me six months I could work it out, and buy anew barge and half a dozen farms like this on the day I came out."

  "But the other would be more serious, Bill?"

  "Well, yes; but I don't see any chance of that being found out. A gentcomes to me at a spot we have settled on, say on the road halfwaybetween Pitsea and Stanford; he hands me a box, sometimes two; I putsthem on one of the horses, and rides over here with them; then I stowsthem away in that secret place off the store, where there aint a shadowof a chance of the sharpest-eyed coastguardsman ever finding them. Theywould be too delighted to light on the spirits and bacca to think ofdigging up the floor underneath. There they lie, till I take them downto the _Marden_. They put them into the eel tank, and next morning offshe sails."

  "But you have had heavy cases brought once or twice?"

  "Only once--heavy enough to be troublesome. Ten cases there was then,each as heavy as a man could lift. It took me three journeys with threehorses, and I had to dig a big hole in the garden to bury them till the_Marden_ had got rid of her eels, and was ready to sail again. Yes, thatwas a heavy job, and I got a couple of hundred pounds for my share ofthe business. I should not mind having such a job twice a week. A fewmonths of that, and I could buy the biggest farm on this side ofEssex--that is to say, if I could make up my mind to cut it and settledown as a farmer."

  "You will never do that, Bill; but you might settle down in Rochester,and buy half a dozen barges, with a tip-top one you would sail yourself.You might have a couple of men and a cabin forward, and a nice roomyplace for yourself and me aft; and you could just steer when you liked,or sit down and smoke your pipe and watch her going through the fleet aswe worked through the swatchway. That would be more your sort, Bill, andmine too. I know you have money enough laid by to get such a barge."

  "That is so, Betsy. I allow that I could do that. I have been thinkingof it for some time, but somehow or other one never works one's self upto the right point to give it all up of a sudden and cut the old place.Well, I suppose one of these days I shall do it, if it is only to pleaseyou."

  "It would please me, you know, Bill. I don't see no harm in running thekegs or the bacca--it's what the people about here have been doing forhundreds of years--but I don't like this other business. You don't knowwhat is in the cases, and you don't ask, but there aint much difficultyin guessing. And I don't much like this business of the child. I did notlike it at all at first; but when I found that he had no father normother as he knew of, and so it was certain that no one was breakingtheir heart about him, I did not mind it; and I have taken to him, andhe has pretty nearly forgotten about his home, and is as contented as ifhe had been here all his life. I have nothing more to say about him,though it is as certain as eggs is eggs that it has been a bad business.The boy has been cheated out of his money, and if his friends ever findhim it is a nice row that we shall get into."

  "You need not bother yourself about that," the man said; "he aint morelikely to be found here than if he was across the seas in Ameriky. Wehave had him near nine months now, and in another three months, if youwere to put him down in front of his own house, he would not know it.Everyone about here believes as he is my nevvy, the son of a brother ofyours who died down in the Midlands, and left him motherless. No oneasks any questions about him now, no more than they does about Joshua.No, no; we are all right there, missis; and the hundred pounds that wehad down with him, and fifty pounds a year till he gets big enough toearn his own grub on the barge, all helps. Anyhow, if something shouldhappen to me before I have made up my mind to quit this, you know wherethe pot of money is hidden. You can settle in Rochester, and get himsome schooling, and then apprentice him to a barge-owner and start himwith a barge of his own as soon as he is out of his time. You bear it inmind that is what I should like done."

  "I will mind," she said quietly; "but I am as likely to be carried tothe churchyard as you are, and you remember what I should like, and try,Bill, if you give up the water yourself, to see that he is with a man asdoesn't drink. Most of the things we hears of--of barges being run down,and of men falling overboard on a dark night--are just drink, andnothing else. You are not a man as drinks yourself; you take your glasswhen the barge is in the creek, but I have never seen you the worse forliquor since you courted me fifteen years ago, and I tell you there isnot a night when you are out on the barge as I don't thank God that itis so. I says to myself, when the wind is blowing on a dark night, 'Heis anchored somewheres under a weather shore, and he is snug asleep inhis cabin. There is no fear of his driving along through it and carryingon sail; there is no fear of his stumbling as he goes forward andpitching over'; and no one but myself knows what a comfort it is to me.You bring him up in the same way, Bill. You teach him as it is always agood thing to keep from liquor, though a pint with an old mate aintneither here nor there, but that he might almost as well take poison asto drink down in the cabin."

  "I will mind, missis; I like the child, and have got it in my mind tobring him up straight, so let us have no more words about it."