Chapters (50)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- The Pengarron Sagas
- The Harvey Family Sagas
Twenty minutes went by. A certain place was reached in the curve of the cliff. Not far below, hewn out by nature, was the chief hide. In daylight it would be in view as a small black indeterminate shape, the favoured spot where a privileged young gentleman sat and scribbled away, supposedly creating a form of entertainment. A coddled life, some folk do lead, Hal thought fleetingly. Cecil Doble had charged fifty pounds from the smuggling operator, a wine merchant who resided at a secret location, each time he shut his curtains and kept indoors on nights like this, and then a steep one hundred and fifty pounds when his fortunes deserted him. The new master of Polgissey seemed uninterested in making such profits.
The train was brought closer to the long drop. The mens’ concentration was so intense they did not hear the forbidding boom of the breakers whipping into the aptly named Hell’s Mouth, a little further down the coast. Sharp winds snatched at their bodies. The lookouts took up their stations and became even more vigilant. Now the group was at its most vulnerable.
A long stout rope was already tied round Hal’s broad waist, so he could act as anchorman. He let the other end tumble over the cliff-face. One of his brothers, Morgan, vigorous and wiry, climbed down, soon out of sight. Reaching the deep opening in the rock he swung himself into it, then tugged on the rope. Another man braved the perilous descent. The smuggled goods were lowered down one by one and they stowed them well back in the hollow, covering them with oiled tarpaulins weighed down with lumps of rock.
So practised were the free traders that only half an hour had passed before they were all away, disappearing into the night.
In the Crabber’s Port, Porthcarne’s shanty of an alehouse, situated at a right angle across a narrow thoroughfare to Minnie Drew’s home, six men assembled around an upturned, empty ale barrel that served as a table.
Hal Kinver, a tankard of ale in a meaty paw, grinned at his brothers with double meaning. ‘Nice t’ be sitting here, eh?’
‘Aye,’ said Malachi, next to him. ‘A toast to a good job done!’
All the Kinvers had the same fine bearing, deep-set grey eyes and thick coal-black hair inherited from their mother. Hal wasn’t the eldest, but his build and greater intelligence made him the undisputed leader.