August 2012
Kate guided the barrel onto the skiff, untied the rope and signalled to the crew of the Dawn who pulled up the rope and waved them off. 'That's the lot.'
Kate waved to the crew men and turned the small vessel to face the shore.
'Another job jobbed,' she laughed and gave her young brother a playful slap on the head.
'Ok Tom? Your first successful trip.'
She sculled effortlessly towards the creek, tide and wind together making her task so much easier. Suddenly out of nowhere loomed another boat. Its shape unmistakable, it had the advantage of speed and was fast approaching. They heard a voice shouting for them to stop.
Kate rowed faster, aiming for the little creeks. Then came great crack and a flash of gunshot. Tom cried out and clutched his arm. Before the second shot rang out Kate had manoeuvred the skiff into the creek. She breathed a sigh of relief, the customs boat was far too big and deep hulled to follow. The captain, loath to give up, forged ahead right onto the rocks where the vessel ground to a standstill. Kate gave a whoop of joy as she heard the shouts of the crew.
When they were at a safe distance Kate looked at her brother's ashen face and bloodstained arm, deftly she tore a strip off her petticoat and bound it tightly round the wound.
She kept up a stream of senseless chatter trying to make her young brother concentrate and stay awake. Following the tiny guide light left in the church tower she finally brought the boat to the little inlet where her friends were waiting to help her ashore with the goods.
They dragged the barrels and parcels into the cellar of the pub. It would be some time before the customs men made port and rode over the fields, but come they surely would.
After a great deal of thought Kate sent the vicar to the nearby village to fetch the undertaker and his cart and a coffin. The vicar hastened to do her bidding. The boy certainly looked bad.
Mr Potts the undertaker arrived with his cart drawn by two heavy horses. Kate and her fellow conspirators stowed the barrels of whiskey and brandy under the coffin, Tom climbed in the coffin and pushed the bundle of silk and the oilskin pouch of baccy down the side of the coffin. By this time it was daylight, sitting next to the driver her face covered in a thick black lacy shawl Kate tried to look the part of a grieving widow.
As they neared the town, the horses slowly plodding along pulling their load, Kate's heart stopped; there by the roadside were the customs men. She bowed her head and held her kerchief to her face. The revenue men stood in silence, carefully removing their hats and respectfully bowing their heads as the coffin passed. Kate breathed a sigh of relief. When they were out of sight she gave a great shout of delight.
Another little battle won.