‘Watch the Wall my Darling, While the Gentlemen Go By…’

by Helen Hollick

Gentleman - or smuggler?

image purchased from ©Adobe Stock

 A Smuggler's Song by Rudyard Kipling

IF you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,

Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.

Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.

Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.

Five and twenty ponies,

Trotting through the dark –

Brandy for the parson, 'baccy for the clerk.

Laces for a lady; letters for a spy,

Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find

Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,

Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play.

Put the brishwood back again –  and they'll be gone next day!

If you see the stable-door setting open wide,

If you see a tired horse lying down inside;

If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore,

If the lining's wet and warm –  don't you ask no more!

If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red,

You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.

If they call you ‘pretty maid,’ and chuck you 'neath the chin,

Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been!

Knocks and footsteps round the house –  whistles after dark –

You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.

Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie

They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!

'If you do as you've been told, likely there's a chance,

You'll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,

With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –

A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!

Five and twenty ponies,

Trotting through the dark –

Brandy for the parson, 'baccy for the clerk.

Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie –

Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!

                       Copyright permission by courtesy United Artists, London

Joseph Rudyard Kipling was born in India on the 30th December 1865. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907 and died in London at the age of seventy on the 18th January 1936. He is buried in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey. Initially, he was a journalist but his penchant for storytelling and evocative poetry is what we remember him for – who does not love Mowgli’s adventures in the Jungle Book, chuckle at the Just So stories, recite lines such as “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…” or quote the final line of Gunga Din: "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din"?

Rudyard Kipling, by Elliott & Fry
(Wikimedia Commons media repository)

Kipling’s children’s book, Puck of Pook’s Hill is a collection of short stories set in varying periods of English history and narrated by two children and an elf, Puck. One of the items included is the above poem, A Smuggler’s Song.

Written as a smuggler issuing a warning to curious children to keep what they have seen secret, the poem uses different rhythms and rhymes to enhance the feeling of mystery and imminent danger: “Knocks and footsteps round the house - whistles after dark…”. It conjures the atmosphere and detail of a smuggling run by using stanzas with each concentrating on a particular topic, which in turn emphasises the need for secretiveness. “If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red, you be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.” The repetitive chorus highlights the emphasis of the poem: keep quiet when the smugglers are about their business.

Smuggling. The word conjures an image of a moonlit night, a tall ship rocking gently at anchor in a wind-ruffled bay, and men wearing three-cornered hats making their swift, but silent, way along remote West Country lanes that zigzag between high banks and thick, foxglove and cow parsley-strewn hedgerows. The men are leading a string of pack ponies tied nose-to-tail, their hooves muffled by rough sacking. On their backs, casks of brandy or kegs of tobacco… 

But is that how smuggling really happened? Is Kipling's poem nothing but fancy romance? 

Exmoor ponies were used
as smugglers' pack ponies in Devon
photo © Kathy Hollick-Blee 

Contraband goods were brought in on moonless nights and taken away as swiftly as possible via pack pony or ‘tubmen’ who carried small kegs on chest and back strapped together across the shoulders. A cargo could be landed and on its way within the space of a few hours – secretively and in the dark. Or if it could not be moved quickly it was hidden safely until the next night - church crypts made a good hiding place ('brandy for the parson...') or in the hayloft above the stables where tired horses dozed, or in the wood pile... Thomas Hardy, as a boy, recalled his grandfather stowing mysterious kegs in the cupboard under the stairs, and hearing muffled calls and whistles.

image purchased from © Adobe Stock

Smuggling, however, despite the romance, is the illegal importation of goods to avoid paying tax and, ultimately, to make a decent profit. The smugglers of the past would argue a different way to look at things. They bought and paid for the goods, so these were not stolen items. The contraband was transported, carried and delivered at the smugglers’ own expense so there was nothing illegal there. The items were in high demand by the majority of the population, many of whom could not afford the legal cost of purchase. The smugglers’ conviction was that to refuse to pay government duties on prohibited goods such as fine French lace, tea, tobacco and brandy, (or wool in the Medieval period,) was justified because of the right to buy or sell with the freedom of choice, unrestricted by laws, and that ‘freedom of choice’ should not be a crime. After all, the only ones who suffered from the effects of smuggling (leaving aside the aspect of violence where organised gangs were concerned,) was the government who did not collect the required taxes. Few of us, I think, would lose much sleep about that small fact!

But were smugglers ‘Gentlemen’? Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language describes the smuggler as: ‘A wretch who, in defiance of justice and the laws, imports or exports goods as either contraband or without payment of the customs.’ It seems he was not impressed by the Gentlemen Free Traders. On the other hand, the eighteenth-century economist and supporter of Free Trade, Adam Smith, proclaimed: ‘The smuggler is a person who … would have been in every respect an excellent citizen had not the laws of his country made that a crime which nature never meant to be so.’

We tend to ignore the fact that the smugglers of the past were, from fisherman to country gent, lawbreakers. Except, how many of us occasionally break the law by speeding, or paying the gardener or handyman in cash to avoid paying V.A.T? Minor things, but to many a historical smuggler bringing in a few kegs of brandy, or packets of tobacco, was equally as minor. All well and good, except, unfortunately, rogues and ruffians often corrupt the subtle bending of the law to new extremes of outright criminality to suit their own mind. What started with the relatively harmless smuggling of everyday items by a small group of villagers and quiet-minded fisher-folk was soon swept aside by ‘big business’ and the greed of making money.

The smuggling business was not just a few men out for a lark after an inebriating tot or two at the local pub, with a sudden fancy to row across to France, pick up a couple of half-ankers of grog and row back again. Smuggling was highly organised and many of the men thought nothing of violence to gain that essential profit. When one of King George's men came sniffing round, one gang member from East Sussex, without any hesitation, calmly sent the customs official to his death over a cliff… So, alas, derring-do romantic rebels and ‘gentlemen’, most smugglers were not. So take Mr Kipling's advice - best to watch the wall, m'dears, and not look out of the windows... just in case.

‘Baccy: short for tobacco

Brishwood: Sussex dialect for brushwood

Laces: this can either mean French Lace, or silk threads for tying stays

Woodlump: a woodpile

Valenciennes: French lace from the town of the same name

Next time: Some of the more notorious smuggling gangs.

Bibliography

Smuggling In The British Isles by Richard Platt

Smuggling: A History 1700-1970 David Phillipson

Smuggling In Fact and Fiction Helen Hollick (not yet published)

The Kipling Society http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/

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Helen Hollick lives on a thirteen-acre farm in Devon, England. Born in London, she wrote pony stories as a teenager, moved to science-fiction and fantasy, and then discovered historical fiction. Published for over twenty years with her Arthurian Trilogy, and the 1066 era, she became a USA Today bestseller with her novel about Queen Emma The Forever Queen (UK title A Hollow Crown.) She also writes the Sea Witch Voyages, pirate-based nautical adventures with a touch of fantasy. She has written a non-fiction about pirates and one about smugglers in fact and fiction which is due to be published in 2018.

Website: www.helenhollick.net

Newsletter Subscription: http://tinyletter.com/HelenHollick

Main Blog: www.ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com

Twitter: @HelenHollick

Amazon Author Page (Universal Link) viewAuthor.at/HelenHollick

Helen is also the founder of Discovering Diamonds, a review blog for historical fiction

Fictional 18th Century Inns and their Real-Life Inspirations

By Chris Thorndycroft

There's something about a good pub scene in an English historical novel that strikes a cosy chord with most readers. Perhaps it is because England's old inns and coaching houses have remained largely unchanged through the ages that the atmosphere is instantly identifiable. The low, smoke-stained ceilings, the glint of light on dark bottles, the smell of home cooked food and the crackle of the open hearth are recognisable to just about every English person and have been so for centuries. This post will take a look at several inns in historical novels and their real life inspirations.    

The Why Not

From: Moonfleet by J. M. Falkner
Based on: The Lugger Inn (Chickerell, Weymouth)

The Why Not lies at the bottom of J. M Falkner's fictional village of Moonfleet. It's real name is the Mohune Arms. The Mohunes were once a powerful family that owned all of Moonfleet, but have since fallen into ruin. Their shield is white with a black 'Y' (in fact a cross-pall) which inspires the humorous local name of the inn where young hero John Trenchard comes to live after being thrown out by his stern old aunt. The owner of the Why Not is Elzevir Block, a shady character at odds with the local Customs Officers and John Trenchard quickly learns about the mysterious nighttime activities of his new master.

"On singing nights the room grew hot, and the steam stood so thick on the glass inside that one could not see in; but at other times, when there was no company, I have peeped through the red curtains and watched Elzevir Block and Ratsey playing backgammon at the trestle table by the fire."

The Why Not is widely believed to have been based on the Lugger Inn at Chickerell, Weymouth. The photo on the right is an old family picture (my dad used to live nearby) from about 1959. It has been extensively expanded in recent years.

You can visit its website here.

The Admiral Benbow

From: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
Based on: Various inns

Any number of inns on the North Devon and Somerset coast could have inspired the home of Jim Hawkins and his recently widowed mother. This is the 'handy cove' that retired buccaneer Billy Bones washes up in before drinking himself to death and leaving young Jim in the possession of a treasure map to pirate gold.

"The man who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at the Royal George, that he had inquired what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence."

While the inn itself may not be based on any real establishment, its namesake was certainly a real fellow.

Admiral John Benbow is something of a naval legend. Born in 1653, he entered the navy at 25 and fought Barbary pirates before becoming a merchant trader. He again encountered pirates (reportedly cutting off the heads of his Moorish attackers, salting them and taking them to Spain for a reward).

Benbow returned to the navy in 1689 and took part in bomb flotillas against France. His fearlessness (which his peers often disputed) earned him a promotion to admiral and his commission in the Caribbean saw perhaps his greatest exploit.

Spotting several French ships off Santa Marta in 1702, Benbow pursued them for five days while four of his captains lagged behind (earning two of them court martials and executions). His leg shattered by French fire, Admiral Benbow remained on deck but later died of his wounds in Jamaica.

His courageous exploits earned him fame and three ships of the Royal Navy have been named HMS Benbow in his honour as well as the shanty 'Brave Benbow' which you can listen to here.

The Spyglass

From: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
Based on: The Llandoger Trow (Bristol)

For a novel about pirate treasure buried on a desert island, there are a large amount of English pub scenes in Treasure Island. The second inn from that novel is the Bristol tavern and place of business for the wily seacook Long John Silver.

"It was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly painted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly sanded. There was a street on each side and an open door on both, which made large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of tobacco smoke."

Source: Swamp Dragon

Some say the Hole in the Wall is the inspiration for the Spyglass and that the Llandoger Trow is actually the Admiral Benbow. Its city location makes that a little unlikely and, having spent more than a couple of evenings in its crowded, cheerful rooms myself, I can see the Llandoger Trow as a better candidate for Silver's haven.

It was built as early as 1664, its name coming from the flat-bottomed barges that came across the Severn Estuary from the Welsh village of Llandogo. Only three of its five original gables remain, the other two being bombed during the Second World War.

Robert Louis Stevenson wasn't the only writer who knew those low ceilings and black beams. Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe allegedly met Alexander Selkirk there - the real life castaway who inspired the novel. The Llandoger Trow now trades as a Brewers Fayre and you can visit their website here.

Jamaica Inn

From: Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier
Based on: Jamaica Inn (Bodmin Moor, Cornwall)

Although set in 1820, du Maurier's gothic romance features a real inn built in 1750 which has since become a tourist attraction. The lonely, windswept inn on Bodmin Moor receives orphaned farm girl Mary Yellan, come to live with her aunt; the long-suffering Patience. Patience's husband, Joss Merlyn is the owner of the inn and a gargantuan monster of a man with a violent temper. By falling in with Joss's younger brother, Jem, Mary learns the sinister truth behind Jamaica Inn and its odious owner.

"She could see tall chimneys, murky dim in the darkness. There was no other house, no other cottage. If this was Jamaica, it stood alone in glory, four-square to the winds."

Jamaica Inn allegedly derives its name from the nearby Trelawney family (take note, Treasure Island fans), of which two members were governors of Jamaica. It was extended into a coach house in 1778.

Cornwall and Devon were rife with smuggling in the 18th century and Jamaica Inn has more than its share of legends concerning smugglers and wreckers that inspired du Maurier's novel. Due to the novel's success and the resulting Hitchcock film, the inn is now a popular tourist attraction and even has a smuggling museum attached.

You can take a look here. In another literary link, author Alistair MacLean owned the inn in the early seventies.

The White Hart

The Rebel and the Runaway

From: The Rebel and the Runaway, by Chris Thorndycroft
Based on: The White Hart (Rowlands Castle, Hampshire)

A bit cheeky, including one from my own novel, but there you go.

The White Hart is the inn that the protagonist Alice Sinclair takes up work in after running away from home. On the border between Hampshire and West Sussex, the White Hart is a meeting point for members of the Hawkhurst Gang; the most feared and violent gang of smugglers in all England.

Dark events unfold in the autumn of 1748 when revenue officer William Galley and his charge, Daniel Chater (a witness he is escorting to trial to testify against the smugglers), stop by the White Hart for refreshment. Alice watches in horror as the two men are plied with drink and spirited off into the night, never to be heard from again.

"The common room had a low ceiling stained with tobacco smoke. Rows of mugs, jugs and bottles were lined up on the other side of a vast oak bar the surface of which was greatly marked and stained. A huge fireplace dominated the far side of the room and the wall above it was decorated with a variety of villainous looking implements; pistols, pikes and rusty farming tools. The chairs and tables that dotted the room were rough, crude and mismatched."

The White Hart is mentioned in several contemporary sources pertaining to the murders of Galley and Chater.

Little further is known about it as the inn was torn down around 1859 to make room for the railway. A new inn was constructed on the site (purportedly using the same materials) and still stands today as the Castle Inn. Visit it here.

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Chris Thorndycroft is the author of The Rebel and the Runaway as well as the Hengest and Horsa Trilogy and the ghost story novella The Visitor at Anningley Hall (a prequel to M. R. James’s ‘The Mezzotint’). He also writes Steampunk and Retropulp under the pseudonym P. J. Thorndyke.

Barbarous Usage – A Murder Case that Shocked the Nation

By Chris Thorndycroft

In February of 1748, an elderly customs official named William Galley was escorting a witness called Daniel Chater from Southampton to Chichester to testify against a gang of smugglers who had broken into the customs house at Poole earlier that year. The pair stopped at the White Hart in Rowlands Castle for refreshment before the final leg of their journey. Unfortunately for them, the inn was a regular meeting point for members of the Hawkhurst Gang; the very smugglers whom the witness was to testify against. Once aware of the mission of the two men, the smugglers plied them with drink and spirited them away into the night. 

Galley’s body was later found shoved inside an enlarged foxhole at Harting Coombe. His arms were raised upwards as if shielding himself from being buried alive. Chater was found at the bottom of a well in Lady Holt Park, his body crushed by debris that had been pelted down on him. Both men had been cruelly tortured. The hunt for their killers began in earnest and the village of Rowlands Castle became the centre of a criminal investigation that shocked the nation. 

This was the village I was born to. 

The smugglers finish off Daniel Chater after throwing him
down a well at Lady Holt Park.

For the first eight years of my life I lived in a little cottage a mile down the road from where the White Hart once stood (it was torn down around 1853 to make room for the railway). Other than an old rumour that the track way past my terrace was once used by smugglers in the 18th century, this colourful chapter in the village’s history was wholly unknown to me until much later.

The gruesome events of February, 1748 were first described to me simply as a violent altercation between smugglers and customs men. Imagining some sort of Wild West gunfight occurring in my local village pub, I did a bit of digging. The truth was not hard to find. As well as the Old Bailey records and an entry in the Newgate Calendar, the whole nasty affair was recorded in a series of illustrated pamphlets entitled The Genuine History of the Inhuman and Unparalleled Murders of Mr. William Galley, a Custom-House Officer, and Mr. Daniel Chater, a Shoemaker. 

Written by ‘a gentleman of Chichester’, the pamphlets were published in 1758 and began by outlining the background to these appalling crimes. In September of 1747, a smuggling run organised by the notorious Hawkhurst Gang went awry when their cutter, the Three Brothers and its cargo of two tons of tea and thirty casks of spirits was seized by a revenue ship. The cargo was stored at the customs house at Poole. 

Incensed by this, the Hawkhurst Gang held council in Charlton Forest and, on the 6th of October, they raided the customs house and stole back the tea and spirits. Making their way back east, they passed through the village of Fordingbridge where a crowd tuned out to greet them as heroes. One of the smugglers - John ‘Dimer’ Diamond - shared a few words with Daniel Chater (an old acquaintance) and passed him a small bag of tea. This exchange did not go unnoticed. 

Frontispiece for the collected pamphlets
that sensationalised the case

Soon Dimer was arrested and put in irons at Chichester jail. The rest of the Hawkhurst Gang were thrown into a panic. If Dimer turned king’s evidence, he could name every last one of them. Fortune favoured the gang and, on the 14th February, customs officer William Galley and his charge Daniel Chater, wandered into the yard of the White Hart. 

The smugglers’ decision to remove this threat to them was unanimous although the means were a matter of heated debate. Should they kill them? Kidnap them and hold them until the trial had been held? Ship them to France? 

Whatever their decision it was clear that the two strangers had to be made as drunk as possible. Round after round of drinks was bought and, as the two inebriated men were escorted to their beds, a letter was pilfered from the pocket of William Galley. The contents of the letter – a request to the local Justice Battine to examine the witness – emphasised the danger to the smugglers. The most senior of them – William Jackson and his accomplice, William Carter – seized the men in their beds and dragged them out into the yard where they were put on horses, their legs tied underneath. 

The unfortunate men were horsewhipped for five miles in the direction of Lady Holt Park where the smugglers intended to dispatch them and toss their bodies down a well. William Galley begged for his life which drove Jackson (a sadistic villain even in these circles) to further savagery. 

The gang made a detour for Rake where Daniel Chater was chained up in a turf hut to await further punishment. William Galley, who was now presumed dead after sliding off his horse and having his skull kicked in by its hoof, was taken to Harting Coombe and buried, although not before regaining consciousness it seems.

After showing their faces at their respective employments the following week, the smugglers returned to the turf hut to finish off Chater. Ben Tapner, a smuggler who showed a nasty streak almost the equal of Jackson’s, slashed Chater twice across the face with his knife, severing his nose and nearly blinding him. The wretch was then taken to the well at Lady Holt Park where, after failing to hang him (the rope was too short) the gang threw him into the well and hurled rocks and bits of timber down on him until his screaming stopped. 

William Galley’s coat was found on the road, torn and bloody, but of the two unfortunate men, no further trace could be found.

Charles Lennox, the 2nd Duke of
Richmond was instrumental in
bringing the smugglers to heel.

Enter Charles Lennox, the second Duke of Richmond. This local aristocrat, whose seat was Goodwood House (now famous for its racetracks), hated smugglers with a passion. He was a staunch anti-Jacobite (he served under the king’s son against the ’45 rebellion) and the support smugglers often lent the Catholic cause only fuelled his wish to see them destroyed. The mysterious disappearance of a customs official and his witness while travelling through the duke’s domain would likely have roused his personal interest. 

Somebody clearly counted on this for an anonymous letter was sent to the duke, telling where Galley’s body was buried. A second letter even named one of the smugglers – William Steele – as an accomplice in the murders and he quickly joined his comrade Dimer at Chichester jail. A confession was wrung out of him along with thirteen other names. The manhunt began and in January, 1749, the villains went on trial for the murders of Galley and Chater.

The case was sensational for its time, no doubt helped by the series of illustrated pamphlets written by our anonymous ‘gentleman of Chichester’ (widely believed to have been the Duke of Richmond himself). The sadistic violence of the smugglers shocked the public and dispelled the belief that smuggling was a harmless crime committed by heroic types brave enough to flaunt King George’s harsh tax laws. The trial and media coverage turned the public’s opinion against smuggling and the days of its golden age were numbered. 

The Duke of Richmond died the following year and is perhaps better remembered for his patronage of cricket, but his contributions to stamping out smuggling in Hampshire and Sussex cannot be ignored. The trial effectively broke up the Hawkhurst Gang and various other leaders of the group were apprehended, tried and executed shortly after. The life of the duke and his relationship with his four rebellious daughters formed the basis of Stella Tillyard’s book Aristocrats and the 1999 BBC miniseries of the same name. 

The Castle Inn at Rowlands Castle stands on the same site
the White Hart once did.

Having learned the details of what I had previously thought of as a quick battle between smugglers and excise men in my local area, I knew that I had to work them into a novel somehow. The Hawkhurst Gang and its practice of murdering witnesses and intimidating judges smacked of an 18th century English mafia that extended from Kent to Dorset and was a thrilling piece of local history I had been wholly unaware of before my investigations. 

The White Hart, sadly gone, is remembered in the bricks and mortar of the Castle Inn which was built very nearby purportedly using the same materials. Rowlands Castle now has a railway station, at least three other pubs, countless shops and small businesses and a housing estate. It looks little different from any other village in the south of England but it will always have this dark chapter in its history that recalls casks of brandy deposited on shingle beaches, shadowed types leading packhorses down moonlit country lanes, and murder, torture and violence employed to ensure that people kept their mouths shut.  

Chris Thorndycroft’s new novel The Rebel and the Runaway is told from the point of view of Alice Sinclair; a young girl who runs away from home and winds up as a barmaid at the White Hart. In love with one of the smugglers, she becomes embroiled in the dreadful events surrounding the murders of Galley and Chater. On the run, in peril and torn between family and love, Alice’s story is one of passion and defiance, entwined with one of England’s most shocking murder cases.

Chris Thorndycroft is also the author of the Hengest and Horsa Trilogy and the ghost story novella The Visitor at Anningley Hall (a prequel to M. R. James’s ‘The Mezzotint’). He also writes Steampunk and Retropulp under the pseudonym P. J. Thorndyke.

Visit his blog here.  

Smuggling Made Easy in the 1760s

by Allen Woods

As I worked through the initial research and plot ideas for The Sword and Scabbard: Thieves and Thugs and the Bloody Massacre in Boston, I was stunned at how common and easy it was to smuggle goods into the Colonies before the Revolutionary War. Some of the great American fortunes (including that of John Hancock) were founded on the profits from smuggled goods. Later, Customs disputes offered sparks that were fanned into blazing conflicts during the Stamp Act riots, the Bloody Massacre (the name happily used by Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty), and eventually the Revolutionary War itself.

How could a lower-level property crime like smuggling grow into a conflict that became a turning point in world history? My research essentially reinforced a suspicion I have held for decades. Although the technologies, fashions, and culture continue to change so quickly that many of us can't keep up, human nature–in its criminal and bureaucratic aspects–maintains a consistent thread throughout our societies. I found two basic reasons that smuggling played such a central role in colonial history: government officials susceptible to bribes and misguided government strategy in addressing the problem.

Bribing Officials was Business as Usual

John Hancock was just one of the American merchants whose fortune was partially a result of smuggling.

As the colonies became a market for English and international goods through the early 1700s, the English government looked to control imports and make a profit from them. Because they were still such a distance from the mother country and an unsavory place to live for most of the lords that might be appointed to a post, they turned to those already in residence there. Many were friends of the colonial merchant class and were unwilling to enforce duties on molasses and other imported goods.

One of the most notorious was Benjamin Barons, who actually led Boston merchants in opposition to Customs officials in several court actions. It was common knowledge that in Boston (and probably throughout the colonies) that an unwritten agreement allowed merchants to declare one-third of their goods and pay the import duty for that portion while Barons looked the other way.

After a full board of Custom Commissioners arrived in Boston in 1767 to try to fully enforce the laws, firebrand Captain Malcom boldly offered to file his manifest and willingly pay duty using the "customary indulgences." When the Commissioners indignantly refused, he came back a few days later announcing that he had arrived with an empty ship and that Customs was free to search it, since he had offloaded the cargo at a site unknown to Customs.

Although there are no records of it, it is hard to believe that Barons took these illegal actions without some type of payments from the merchants who were his friends and turned a handsome profit from this international trade. Bribing government officials was business as usual throughout the colonies at the time, and almost certainly in England and Europe as well. It is a criminal practice that continues today in ports and entries around the world and allows the flow of everything from illegal drugs to immigrants and slaves to counterfeit goods.

New Rules Promote Competition among Officials, Not Better Enforcement

After the French and Indian War in the colonies ended in 1763, British officials noted how much money they had spent defending the colonies and how little they got back in import duties. Customs revenues were only a fraction of the actual trade and barely enough to pay the salaries of the appointed officials, let alone offset military costs from the war. Prime Minister George Grenville moved to enforce colonial Customs law by sending Royal Navy ships to patrol coastal waters and giving them the power to seize and sell ships involved in smuggling.

Unfortunately, this move promoted competition between the Navy and Customs officials. Instead of watching for smugglers, the two groups spent much of their energy watching their bureaucratic rivals. (Today, there are multiple stories in the U.S. and around the world where competition among law enforcement agencies, such as the FBI and local officials, prevents efficient law enforcement.)

The heart of the dispute, as is so often the case, was money. Customs officials themselves could make a huge profit if they seized a ship and sold it and its illegal cargo. The Commissioner responsible would personally get one third of the proceeds, hundreds of pounds from a single ship, about as much as their yearly salary. Grenville made this the reward for naval captains as well, whose compensation was small enough to motivate them to seek the "prize money" offered for successful battles during a war or seizure of illegal ships and merchandise during peace.

The unfortunate result was that the two groups didn't pool their resources. Customs officials in the colonies had no ships or troops to seize ships outside of a harbor, while naval captains had no access to the network of Customs informers that could have pointed them at likely targets. In some cases, a dispute over which group had rights to a seized ship landed in court. The end result was that the new rules designed to enforce Customs duties after 1763 probably hindered Royal efforts as much as it enhanced them. The Navy kept an eye on Customs agents and Customs agents kept an eye on the Navy–and neither kept a closer watch on American smugglers.

Smuggling: An American Tradition

After Customs seized John
Hancock's sloop Liberty
(similar to the above)
and turned it into a Royal
Navy vessel, colonists
in Rhode Island took
it back and burned it.

By the time John Hancock publicly declared he wouldn't pay the new Customs duties on his ships in 1768 and arranged for Customs officials to be held while a ship filled with Madeira wine was illegally unloaded in Boston Harbor, he was simply following an American tradition that had been established over several decades of trade in the colonies. It was a tradition that was supported by British actions during the period, sometimes intentionally but more often inadvertently. When a British ship of the line seized Hancock's Liberty, the colonists responded with direct attacks on some Customs officials and their property. The occupation of Boston by British troops followed soon afterward, setting the stage for the Boston Massacre and the string of events that ultimately led to the Revolutionary War. It was this economic struggle over taxes in the form of import duties that resulted in the War of Independence and the call for freedom in the colonies.

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Allen Woods has been a full-time freelance writer and editor for almost 30 years, writing everything from magazine and newspaper features to sales training for corporate clients. Recently he has specialized in social studies and reading textbooks for all ages. The spark for The Sword and Scabbard came while doing research for an American history text. He lives 100 miles from the site of the Boston Massacre and plans a series which will follow Nicholas and Maggie through the Tea Party, Lexington and Concord, the Revolutionary War, and beyond. He welcomes comments at the Blog or Events pages of the book web site www.theswordandscabbard.com.

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The Lesser Known Smugglers of the North

by Nick Smith

The very image of smugglers is an evocative one. A complex network of sailors, riders, merchants and more, working beneath the very nose of the dreaded excise. Illegal landings at night, secreting away goods by starlight, hiding in caves, crossing lonely moors, for the contraband to end up in the heart of vast port cities like London, only to be sold side by side with goods that have had their tax paid.

Britain in the eighteenth century was rife with smuggling, and even though the South coast is notorious for the exploits of these criminals, the North East and Yorkshire were far from innocent… But why did smuggling exist? And why was it so prolific for well over a hundred years?

Whitby in the 18th Century, Watercolour. By John Bird.

Smuggling was not new. As long as any government has enforced some sort of import duty, people have tried to avoid it with varying levels of success. During the English Civil War parliament introduced further import duties in the form of excise (on top of the normal customs). As the seventeenth century progressed, customs and excise duties increased massively.

On top of this, in 1699 the English parliament created the Wool Act. Amongst other things, it prevented farmers from exporting their wool to the continent. This was a loss to many farmers and wool merchants, as prices in Britain were lower than those over the water in Holland.

You might ask what the reasoning for these laws were, but you can probably guess already. Money. England (and later Britain) needed lots of money, because it had a rather expensive pastime to fund: War. Successive wars throughout the world had taken their toll on the national treasury, so to top it up taxes were increased.

However, when you take a glance at the following examples, one must wonder if they lost more money than they ever gained:

It is estimated that eighty percent of all tea imported to Britain during the eighteenth century was smuggled ashore! And smuggled gin from Holland became so common that there are references of people using it to clean their windows! In one seizure at Whitby by the revenue over six thousand gallons of rum, brandy, and gin were confiscated!

Many goods that were landed in Yorkshire and the North East – fabrics, spirits, tea – came from daring Dutch sailors. The smugglers in return would provide the Dutch with precious English wool. Sounds like a bargain to me.

The activities of smugglers in Yorkshire and the North East are far less documented than those of the South coast, but it was still very much a problem, and the government measures to reduce smuggling were simply ineffective. A new Customs Officer called John Beckett – on a salary of forty pound a year – was appointed in the early eighteenth century, along with a land waiter in Whitby called John Brown who inspected cargoes at unlading, and one Thomas Long as boatman to inspect the holds of ships. A Mister Sedgewick was made surveyor of Robin Hood’s Bay. Another Mister Standridge became riding officer at Filey and new horse officers were appointed at Hayburn Wyke and Reighton.

This small handful of men were given no support, a small salary, and very few powers. The fact that they made very few seizures over a whole century says a lot, and who can blame their ineffectiveness?

These agents were up against whole villages of organised smugglers – literally whole gangs of locals, forming vast transport networks across the parishes and counties, and in some instances they even had the local parson joining in! There are references and lists of arrested smugglers, their occupations are beekeepers to washerwomen. Everyone seemed to be in on it. Those who weren’t involved would turn the other eye as a smuggler passed by, and it is said that in return for saying nothing they were given a quill of spirit from an open anker.

It’s probably no surprise then that these men of the law would frequently become a part of the operations they were paid to stop. They would gladly take a small share to turn a blind eye. Those who didn’t could very well end up dead…

Like all aspects of maritime lore, I find smugglers fascinating, and I am just about to launch a novella in my BUCCANEER series based on their activities in North Yorkshire. I have glorified and romanticised the landings of smugglers in my new work, but I’m an author, and I can do what I like!

And for the very first time in public, I am proud to present my brand new book cover...

SMUGGLER'S HILL - To be released soon...

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Nick Smith is a twenty-nine year old Northumbrian in exile, currently living on a small rock in the Channel Sea where he teaches science. He has a love for all things of a nautical and historical nature.

He is the author of the gritty swashbuckling adventures Rogues’ Nest, Gentleman of Fortune, and the soon to be released Smuggler's Hill. All explore the reality of buccaneers, smugglers, and pirates at the start of the 1700s.

Find out more about his work at roguesnest.com  

Polly put the Kettle On

by Maria Grace

"Polly put the kettle on, we'll all have tea." ~ Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Barnaby Rudge.

Since its popular introduction into English society, by Catherine of Braganza, in 1662, tea was an expensive commodity. At the beginning of the 1800’s over eleven thousand tons were imported, compared with just six tons a hundred years before. It was so expensive it was usually kept under lock and key, protected from pilfering by the servants. Both the cupboards and the tea caddies were locked to keep their tea safe.
 
Two primary types of tea were available, green and black. Black teas included bohea, souchong, congo (or congou) and pekoe, bohea being the cheapest, pekoe the most expensive. Of the green teas, single was the cheapest. Other varieties included hyson, caper, and bloom.   

Both forms of tea began with the same leaves, but they were processed differently. Green tea leaves are roasted as soon as they are gathered to prevent fermentation. Black tea leaves are allowed to ferment for some time. The brown/black color and flavor developed during fermentation. Roasting stopped the process. Typically different types of tea leaves would be combined to produce tasty blends for consumers.

The tea trade recognized nine different grades of quality in both green and brown/black teas. The cheapest might be found for 5-6 shillings per pound. The best grades could cost as much as 20 shillings or more a pound. In 1800 a year’s supply of tea and sugar could cost a family of six nearly as much as their yearly rent.  

Why was tea so expensive?
Two major factors contributed to the cost of tea: cost of import and taxes.

In the Regency era, tea had not yet been cultivated in India, so all supplies had to be shipped in from China. The journey from China to Britain could take more than a year to complete. In China, foreign traders were confined to trading in Canton. Trade was strictly regulated by Chinese officials with only the Hong guild licensed to deal with foreign traders. These merchants were taxed heavily by their own officials and in turn passed their expenses off to the traders, thus increasing the cost of exported goods.

Once the tea entered Britain, the local government would add their own taxes which further increased the cost. In 1784, dry leaf tea was taxed at a shilling a pound. By 1801, tax rates increased to 2 shilling, 6 pence a pound.

 Smuggling

 Richard Twinning, of Twinning Tea company, estimated at least half of the tea drunk in England was smuggled. Even in 1820 tea was one of the two most smuggled commodities, the other being liquor.

Smuggled tea often came from Holland where it might be purchased for as little as 7 pence per pound. This tea was then transported to England by ship and sold at 2 shillings a pound, a third of what legally procured teas sold for.

Gunsgreen House where smugglers hid tea

The smugglers, who often were local fishermen, snuck the tea from offshore ships to smaller vessels which brought it to land in oilskin bags. On land, the tea was repacked in sacks to minimize the off taste from the oilskin and taken by horse to various hiding places. Parish churches often were used to stash the ill-gotten goods.
  
To make the smuggled tea even more lucrative, many smugglers adulterated the tea with other substances, until the Food and Drug Act of 1875 brought in stiff penalties for the practice.  

Adulterated tea 

Prepacked tea was not produced until 1826 making it very susceptible to contamination. Moreover, tea was never sold in outdoor public markets, but in smaller shops, like chandler’s shops, further increasing its vulnerability. Loose tea, sometimes called gunpowder was more difficult to successfully adulterate and was thus more expensive than dried and ground versions.

Green teas were generally thought easier to adulterate, so public preference shifted to black tea. Not to be outdone by wary consumers, unscrupulous merchants stretched black tea supplies with both used tea leaves, colorants and other contaminants.

Used teas leaves were in ready supply. In wealthy households, it passed through the household hierarchy. First the family brewed and drank of it. Then the used leaves would the given to the servants to brew and drink. Finally, they would end in the hands of a high ranking servant, cook or housekeeper, who, as part of her contract would be entitled to the used leaves. She would then dry and sell them to a char woman or directly to poorer families for as much as a shilling a pound.

Charwomen might resell the used leaves to a slop shop that would then process them for reuse. The leaves were stiffened with a solution of gum, colored with green vitriol (iron sulfate) or black lead or log wood and combined with fresh tea leaves. Willow, licorice and sloe leaves  might also be added to further extend the mixture.

Sloe leaves

Fake tea called ‘smouch’ or sometimes ‘British tea’ was also widely available. Counterfeit green tea could be produced from thorn or ash leaves, steeped in green vitriol or verdigris (copper acetate) and dried. These dyes were toxic and could produce a variety of symptoms including constipation.

Imitation black tea often contained the same hawthorn, ash and sloe leaves. It might also be a mixture of bran and animal dung or ‘chamber lye’ (the contents of a chamber pot). Dried and ground these were said to strongly resemble fashionable bohea tea in appearance if not in flavor.

Some estimates suggested up to three million pounds (weight) of these mixtures were produced a year. So while most of the nation drank ‘tea’, the contents of many tea cups might not have been as pleasant as the drinker might have wished. A great irony in this is, for the laboring class, even these adulterated teas were the safest way of taking in water because of the poor sanitary conditions of the water supply.

Resources 
http://www.bl.uk/reshelp/findhelpregion/asia/china/guidesources/chinatrade/index.html
http://www.britainexpress.com/History/tea-in-britain.htm
Fullerton, Susannah and Hill, Reginald. Jane Austen & Crime. Jones Books. (2006)
Horn, Pamela. Flunkeys and Scullions, Life Below Stairs in Georgian England . Sutton Publishing (2004)
Murray, Venetia. An Elegant Madness. Penguin Books (1998)
Olsen, Kirstin. Cooking with Jane Austen. Greenwood Press (2005)
Wilson, Kim. Tea with Jane Austen. Jones Books (2004)

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Maria Grace is the author of Darcy's Decision,  The Future Mrs. Darcy and All the Appearance of Goodness.  Click here to find her books on Amazon. For more on her writing and other Random Bits of Fascination, visit her website. You can also like her on Facebook, follow on Twitter or email her.