their accomplices who had smelt the scent of
battle fled behind the hills, and got clean away. One of the carts
attempted to bolt, but a shower of shot targeted into the horses
peremptorily stopped that move, and the drivers were easily captured.
The smugglers fought like polecats, but received no help from the few
accomplices who had not escaped. These, either from fear or policy, or
both, did not attempt to extricate themselves or lend their support to
a lost cause. It was common knowledge that smugglers drew lots as to
who had to escape if severe fighting or capture became inevitable, and
the battle became the more fierce in order to cover the escape of
those few. They did not all succeed in getting off in their boat, but
it was estimated half a dozen might have done so. The rest, something
like a score, were ultimately overpowered, sent to prison and tried in
the good old style, and sentenced to transportation to the criminal
dumping-ground of Western Australia.

The notorious Jimmy Stone on that memorable moaning night was
disguised, but that did not prevent him being detected while rendering
assistance to land and convey the contraband on to the beach and into
the carts. One of the Government men was indiscreet enough to shout
"James Stone, you are my prisoner!" and almost before the words were
out of his mouth Jimmy dropped a keg of gin on to him and fled. The
companions of the stunned man were too busy with the other cut-throats
to follow Jimmy, or to see in what direction he had gone. It was only
after the conflict was over that they were reminded that this lawless
fisherman had escaped, and must at all costs be captured and brought
to justice. A party was selected to search for him. They knew that he
must be hiding in some of the hollows where the thick clusters of
bents and bracken would give him cover. Some of the party had strayed
from the central group, and were talking of Jimmy's prowess and
astuteness, and wondering where he was concealed, when they suddenly
came across a man with his head and part of his body up a rabbit-hole.
He was asking in subdued tones, "Are the ---- gyen yet?" and one of
the party, in the same tone of voice and the same dialect and language
as he had used, cautioned him not to speak too loud, as they were
still hovering about.

"My God!" said he, "when aa get oot o' this mess aa'll hae ma revenge
on that Ranter." And becoming impatient, he began to curse at his
supposed friend