night wind from the fields of sleep blew
softly over the rustling bents, causing a weird, peaceful lullaby. The
boat's bow is run on to the beach, a dozen or more men jump from her
into the water and haul her up as far as the weight of the cargo will
allow. They then commence to discharge. Again the curlew's call is
heard, again the sharp flare-light is seen; but no aid comes. The
cargo is landed at high-water mark; they realize something is wrong,
and hesitate whether to re-ship or re-embark without it. They are soon
disillusioned. A horse gallops madly from the south. The rider shouts
at the top of his voice, "Run, sailors, run! Treachery!" and then
heads his horse full speed in the direction he came from, and is soon
lost to view. The men push their boat into the sea, and row with all
their might towards the vessel. Bullets from a score of muskets whiz
over their heads; but they are accustomed to this, and lay their backs
into the oars with increased vigour. Meanwhile, a coble sails almost
peacefully alongside their ill-fated craft. In an instant a crowd of
concealed men rush aboard and call out, "Surrender!" But smugglers
were not given to surrender when merely requested, so a hand-to-hand
fight took place. The butt-end of muskets were freely used, and to
some purpose. There was no heroic effort to get at the powder
magazine, so that they might blow themselves and everybody else up.

The lugger was in undisputed possession of the Revenue men before the
boat from the shore reached her. They, too, were quickly disposed of,
after a short, angry, though feeble resistance. Stringent precautions
were taken to prevent any blowing-up exploits. The whole gang were
well secured against that, and any other hostile outbreaks. This
having been done to the satisfaction of the officer in charge, the
anchor was weighed, a course was shaped towards the south, and the
last of the low, black, romantic luggers, with their gallant crews,
passed away, never more to be seen on this part of the coast.

Recognition of the deeds done by the dauntless heroes of that age in
the Government service was very scanty. It may be they did not expect
it. In that case they were rarely disappointed. Thomas Turnbull seems
to have got his reward in being allowed to remain on the station until
the time came to retire on a pension. He went about his routine work
with placid regularity, and devoted what leisure he had to widening
his reading, which consist