secure the scalp; the trophy without which a victory was never considered complete. The distance at which the canoes lay probably prevented any attempts to injure the conqueror; the American Indian, like the panther of his own woods, seldom making any effort against his foe, unless tolerably certain it is under circumstances that may be expected to prove effective.

As the young man had no longer any motive to remain near the point, he prepared to collect his canoes, in order to tow them off to the castle. That nearest was soon in tow, when he proceeded in quest of the other, which was all this time floating up the lake. The eye of Deerslayer was no sooner fastened on this last boat than it struck him that it was nearer to the shore than it would have been had it merely followed the course of the gentle current of air. He began to suspect the influence of some unseen current in the water, and he quickened his exertions, in order to regain possession of it before it could drift into a dangerous proximity to the woods. On getting nearer, he thought that the canoe had a perceptible motion through the water, and as it lay broadside to the air, that this motion was taking it towards the land. A few vigorous strokes of the paddle carried him still nearer, when the mystery was explained. Something was evidently in motion on the off-side of the canoe, or that which was furthest from himself, and closer scrutiny showed that it was a naked human arm. An Indian was lying in the bottom of the canoe, and was propelling it slowly but certainly to the shore, using his hand as a paddle. Deerslayer understood the whole artifice at a glance. A savage had swum off to the boat while he was occupied with his enemy on the point, got possession, and was using these means to urge it to the shore.

Satisfied that the man in the canoe could have no arms, Deerslayer did not hesitate to dash close alongside of the retiring boat, without deeming it necessary to raise his own rifle. As soon as the wash of the water, ⚫ which he made in approaching, became audible to the prostrate savage, the latter sprang to his feet, and uttered an exclamation that proved how completely he was taken by surprise.

If you've enj'yed yourself enough in that canoe, red-skin,' Deerslayer coolly observed, stopping his own career in sufficient time to prevent an absolute collision between the two boats- if you've enj'yed yourself enough in that canoe, you'll do a prudent act by taking to the lake ag'in. I'm reasonable in these matters, and don't crave your blood, though there's them about that would look upon you more as a due-bill for the bounty, than a human mortal. Take to the lake this minute, afore we get to hot words.'

The savage was one of those who did not understand a word of English, and he was indebted to the gestures of Deerslayer, and to the expression of an eye that did not often deceive, for an imperfect comprehension of his meaning. Perhaps, too, the sight of the rifle that lay so near the hand of the white man quickened his decision. At all events, he crouched like a tiger about to take his leap, uttered a yell, and the next instant his naked body had disappeared in the water. When he rose to take breath, it was at the distance of several yards from the canoe, and the hasty glance he threw behind him denoted how much he feared the arrival of a fatal messenger from the rifle of his foe. But the young man made no indication of any hostile intention.

Deliberately securing the canoe to the others, he

began to paddle from the shore; and by the time the Indian reached the land, and had shaken himself, like a spaniel on quitting the water, his dreaded enemy was already beyond rifle-shot on his way to the castle. As was so much his practice, Deerslayer did not fail to soliloquize on what had just occurred while steadily pursuing his course towards the point of destination.

'Well-well,' he commenced, ''t would have been wrong to kill a human mortal without an object. Scalps are of no account with me and life is sweet, and ought not to be taken marcilessly by them that have white gifts. The savage was a Mingo, it's true; and I make no doubt he is, and will be as long as he lives, a ra'al riptyle and vagabond; but that's no reason I should forget my gifts and colour. No, no-let him go; if ever we meet ag'in, rifle in hand, why then 'twill be seen which has the stoutest heart and the quickest eye.Hawkeye! That's not a bad name for a warrior; sounding much more manful and valiant than Deerslayer! "Twouldn't be a bad title to begin with, and it has been fairly 'arned. If 'twas Chingachgook, now, he might go home and boast of his deeds, and the chiefs would name him Hawkeye in a minute; but it don't become white blood to brag, and 'tisn't easy to see how the matter can be known, unless I do. Well-well; everything is in the hands of Providence; this affair as well as another; I'll trust to that for getting my desarts in all things.

Having thus betrayed what might be termed his weak spot, the young man continued to paddle in silence, making his way diligently, and as fast as his tows would allow him, towards the castle. By this time the sun had not only risen, but it had appeared over the eastern mountains, and was shedding a flood of glorious light on this as yet unchristened sheet of water. The whole scene was radiant with beauty; and no one unaccustomed to the ordinary history of the woods would fancy it had so lately witnessed incidents so ruthless and barbarous. As he approached the building of old Hutter, Deerslayer thought, or rather felt, that its appearance was in singular harmony with all the rest of the scene. Although nothing had been consulted but strength and security, the rude massive logs, covered with their rough bark, the projecting roof, and the form, would contribute to render the building picturesque in almost any situation, while its actual position added novelty and piquancy to its other points of interest.

When Deerslayer drew nearer to the castle, however, objects of interest presented themselves that at once eclipsed any beauties that might have distinguished the scenery of the lake, and the site of the singular edifice. Judith and Hetty stood on the platform, before the door, Hurry's yard door, awaiting his approach with manifest anxiety; the former from time to time taking a survey of his person and of the canoes through the old ship's spy-glass. Never probably did this girl seem more brilliantly beautiful than at that moment; the flush of anxiety and alarm increasing her colour to its richest tints, while the softness of her eyes, a charm that even poor Hetty shared with her, was deepened by intense concern. Such, at least, without pausing, or pretending to analyse motives, or to draw any other nice distinctions between cause and effect, were the opinions of the young man as his canoes reached the side of the ark, where he carefully fastened all three before he put his foot on the platform.

very

286

THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP.

A TALE OF THANET.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, ESQ.

'Near this hamlet (Acol) is a long-disused chalk-pit of formidable depth, known by the name of "The Smuggler's Leap." The tradition of the parish runs, that a riding-officer from Sandwich. called Anthony Gill, lost his life here in the early part of the present (last) century, while in pursuit of a smuggler. A fog coming on, both parties went over the precipice. The smuggler's horse only, it is said, was found crushed beneath its rider. The spot has, of course, been haunted ever since.'

See Supplement to Lewis's History of Thanet, by the Rev. Samuel Pegge,
A.M., Vicar of Godmersham. W. Bristow, Canterbury, 1796, p. 127.

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 all 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,
Never 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.
Some on the other hand, seek 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
Train'd 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 his 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 his flask, and he sips his fill,
And he laughs Ho! ho!' at Exciseman Gill.

·

Down Chistlett 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 gunHis 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-colour'd hide.
'Devil take me,' again quoth Exciseman Gill,
'If I had but that horse, I'd have Smuggler Bill!'

From his using such shocking expressions, it 's plain
That Exciseman Gill was rather profane.

He was, it is true,

Worse than a Jew,

A sad old scoundrel as ever you knew,

And he rode in his stirrup sixteen stone two.

He 'd just utter'd the words which I've mentioned to you,
When his horse, coming slap on his knees with him, threw
Him head over heels, and away he flew,

And Exciseman Gill was bruised black and blue;
And when he arose

His hands and his clothes

Were as filthy as could be,-he 'd pitch'd on his nose,
And roll'd over and over again in the mud,

And his nose and his chin were all covered with blood;
Yet he scream'd with passion, 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,