speak of, a great surge in England, not
rolling yet, but seething; and one which a thousand Chief Justices,
and a million Jeremy Stickles, should never be able to stop or turn,
by stringing up men in front of it; any more than a rope of onions can
repulse a volcano. But the worst of it was that this great movement took
a wrong channel at first; not only missing legitimate line, but roaring
out that the back ditchway was the true and established course of it.

Against this rash and random current nearly all the ancient mariners of
the State were set; not to allow the brave ship to drift there, though
some little boats might try it. For the present there seemed to be
a pause, with no open onset, but people on the shore expecting, each
according to his wishes, and the feel of his own finger, whence the rush
of wind should come which might direct the water.

Now,--to reduce high figures of speech into our own little
numerals,--all the towns of Somersetshire and half the towns of
Devonshire were full of pushing eager people, ready to swallow anything,
or to make others swallow it. Whether they believed the folly about the
black box, and all that stuff, is not for me to say; only one thing
I know, they pretended to do so, and persuaded the ignorant rustics.
Taunton, Bridgwater, Minehead, and Dulverton took the lead of the other
towns in utterance of their discontent, and threats of what they meant
to do if ever a Papist dared to climb the Protestant throne of England.
On the other hand, the Tory leaders were not as yet under apprehension
of an immediate outbreak, and feared to damage their own cause by
premature coercion, for the struggle was not very likely to begin in
earnest during the life of the present King; unless he should (as some
people hoped) be so far emboldened as to make public profession of
the faith which he held (if any). So the Tory policy was to watch, not
indeed permitting their opponents to gather strength, and muster in
armed force or with order, but being well apprised of all their schemes
and intended movements, to wait for some bold overt act, and then to
strike severely. And as a Tory watchman--or spy, as the Whigs would call
him--Jeremy Stickles was now among us; and his duty was threefold.

First, and most ostensibly, to see to the levying of poundage in the
little haven of Lynmouth, and farther up the coast, which was now
becoming a place of resort for the folk whom we call smugglers, that is
to