The Story of Smuggler Bill – Compressed
As mentioned in a previous post, when I was young my family used to go to Birchington in Thanet, Kent to stay with an uncle and aunt during our summer holidays. As we approached the Birchington area by car my father used to point to a chalk pit to the left of the road and say “That is where Smuggler Bill met his end. Smuggler Bill was six feet high with a curling lock and a roving eye”. The story of Smugglers Leap was printed among the Ingoldsby Legends. Many decades later I tracked down a copy of The Ingoldsby legends on eBay.
Wikipedia says “The Ingoldsby Legends is a collection of myths, legends, ghost stories and poetry written supposedly by Thomas Ingoldsby of Tappington Manor, actually a pen-name of an English clergyman named “Richard Harris Barham”.
The legends were first printed during 1837 as a regular series in the magazine and later in . The legends were illustrated by John Leech (caricaturist) and George Cruikshank. They proved immensely popular and were compiled into books published in 1840, 1842 and 1847 by Richard Bentley.
Here is a shortened version of the story of Smuggler Bill by Richard Harris Barham which I intend to use as the basis for the movie.
The fire-flash shines from Reculver cliff, And the answering light burns blue in the skiff, And there they stand, That smuggling band, Some in the water and some on the sand, Ready those contraband goods to land ; The night is dark, they are silent and still, – At the head of the party is Smuggler Bill !
‘ Now lower away ! come, lower away ! We must be far ere the dawn of the day. If Exciseman Gill should get scent of the prey, And should come, and should catch us here, what would he say ? Come, lower away, lads – once on the hill, We’ll laugh, ho ! ho ! at Exciseman Gill ! ‘
The cargo’s lower’d from the dark skiff’s side, And the tow-line drags the tubs through the tide, No trick nor flam, But your real Schiedam. ‘ Now mount, my merry men, mount and ride ! ‘ Three on the crupper and one before, And the led-horse laden with five tubs more ; But the rich point-lace, In the oil-skin case Of proof to guard its contents from ill, The ‘ prime of the swag,’ is with Smuggler Bill !
Merrily now in a goodly row, Away and away those Smugglers go, And they laugh at Exciseman Gill, ho ! ho ! When out from the turn Of the road to Herne, Comes Gill, wide awake to the whole concern ! Exciseman Gill, in all his pride, With his Custom-house officers all at his side ! – They were called Custom-house officers then ; There were no such things as ‘ Preventive men.
Sauve qui peut !
That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! Some dropping one tub, some dropping two;- Some gallop this way, and some gallop that, Through Fordwich Level – o’er Sandwich Flat, Some fly that way, and some fly this, Like a covey of birds when the sportsmen miss, These in their hurry Make for Sturry, With Custom-house officers close in their rear, Down Rushbourne Lane, and so by Westbere, None of them stopping, But shooting and popping, And many a Custom-house bullet goes slap Through many a three-gallon tub like a tap, And the gin spirts out And squirts all about, And many a heart grew sad that day That so much good liquor was so thrown away.
Sauve qui peut !
That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! Some seek Whitstable – some Grove Ferry, Spurring and whipping like madmen – very – For the life! for the life! they ride! they ride ! And the Custom-house officers all divide, And they gallop on after them far and wide ! All, all, save one – Exciseman Gill,- He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill !
Smuggler Bill is six feet high, He has curling locks, and a roving eye, He has a tongue and he has a smile Trained the female heart to beguile, And there is not a farmer’s wife in the Isle, From St. Nicholas quite To the Foreland Light, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will wheedle her To have done with the Grocer and make him her Tea-dealer; There is not a farmer there but he still Buys gin and tobacco from Smuggler Bill.
Smuggler Bill rides gallant and gay On his dapple-grey mare, away, and away, And he pats her neck and he seems to say, ‘ Follow who will, ride after who may, In sooth he had need Fodder his steed, In lieu of Lent-corn, with a Quicksilver feed ; – Nor oats, nor beans, nor the best of old hay, Will make him a match for my own dapple-grey ! Ho ! ho !- ho ! ho ! ‘ says Smuggler Bill – He draws out a flask and he sips his fill, And he laughs ‘ Ho ! ho ! ‘ at Exciseman Gill.
Down Chislett Lane, so free and so fleet Rides Smuggler Bill, and away to Up-street ; Sarre Bridge is won – Bill thinks it fun ; ‘ Ho ! ho! the old tub-gauging son of a gun – His wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin, Ere a race like this he may hope to win ! ‘
Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, Fresh as the breeze and free as the wind, And Exciseman Gill lags far behind. ‘ I would give my soul, ‘ quoth Exciseman Gill, ‘ For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill!- No matter for blood, no matter for bone, No matter for colour, bay, brown or roan, So I had but one ! ‘ A voice cried ‘ Done ! ‘ ‘ Aye, dun, ‘ said Exciseman Gill, and he spied A Custom-house officer close by his side, On a high-trotting horse with a dun-coloured hide.- ‘ Devil take me, ‘ again quoth Exciseman Gill, ‘ If I had but that horse, I’d have Smuggler Bill ! ‘
‘ I’d rather grill Than not come up with that Smuggler Bill ! ‘ -’ Mount ! Mount ! ‘ quoth the Custom-house officer, ‘ get On the back of my Dun, you’ll bother him yet. Your words are plain, though they’re somewhat rough, ‘ Done and Done ‘ between gentlemen’s always enough !- I’ll lend you a lift – there – you’re up on him – so, He’s a rum one to look at – a devil to go!’ Exciseman Gill Dash’d up the hill.
Smuggler Bill rides on amain He slacks not girth and he draws not rein, Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain, For nearer now – and he hears it plain – Sounds the tramp of a horse -’ Tis the Gauger again ! ‘ Smuggler Bill Dashes round by the mill That stands near the road upon Monkton Hill,- ‘Now speed,- now speed, My dapple-grey steed, Thou ever, my dapple, wert good at need ! O’er Monkton Mead, and through Minster Level, We’ll baffle him yet, be he gauger or devil ! For Manston Cave, away ! away ! Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey, It shall never be said that Smuggler Bill Was run down like a hare by Exciseman Gill !’
Manston Cave was Bill’s abode; A mile to the north of the Ramsgate road. Thither he urges his good dapple-grey; And the dapple-grey steed, Still good at need, Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed ; But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill Cries ‘ Yield thee ! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill ! ‘
Smuggler Bill, he looks behind, And he sees a Dun horse come swift as the wind, And his nostrils smoke and his eyes they blaze Like a couple of lamps on a yellow post-chaise ! Every shoe he has got Appears red-hot! And sparks round his ears snap, crackle, and play, And his tail cocks up in a very odd way ; Every hair in his mane seems a porcupine’s quill, And there on his back sits Exciseman Gill, Crying ‘ Yield thee ! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill !’
Smuggler Bill from his holster drew A large horse-pistol, of which he had two ! Made by Nock ; He pull’d back the cock As far as he could to the back of the lock ; The trigger he touch’d, and the welkin rang To the sound of the weapon, it made such a bang ; Smuggler Bill ne’er missed his aim, The shot told true on the Dun – but there came From the hole where it enter’d – not blood,- but flame, – He changed his plan, And fired at the man ; But his second horse-pistol flashed in the pan ! And Exciseman Gill with a hearty good will, Made a grab at the collar of Smuggler Bill.
The dapple-grey mare made a desperate bound When that queer Dun horse on her flank she found, Alack! and alas! on what dangerous ground ! It’s enough to make one’s flesh to creep To stand on that fearful verge, and peep Down the rugged sides so dreadfully steep, Where the chalk-hole yawns full sixty feet deep, O’er which that steed took that desperate leap ! It was so dark then under the trees, No horse in the world could tell chalk from cheese – Down they went – o’er that terrible fall,- Horses, Exciseman, Smuggler, and all ! !
Below were found Next day on the ground By an elderly Gentleman walking his round, (I wouldn’t have seen such a sight for a pound,) All smash’d and dash’d, three mangled corpses, Two of them human,- the third was a horse’s – That good dapple-grey, and Exciseman Gill Yet grasping the collar of Smuggler Bill !
But where was the Dun ? that terrible Dun ? From that terrible night he was seen by none !