Ned's mother and sisters were snoring in
perfect unison. Hawk ewe, hawk ewe hawk eweefffft. His brother slept silently
not yet old enough to have picked up the family snore. Usually Ned's dad would
be drowning the whole family out, but tonight was the one night that Ned's
Father wasn't sleeping. Ned could hear him rustling around in the darkness.
Pulling on his slacks and his boots, and looking behind the chest for his
shotgun. The last embers of the fire were glowing in the hearth and they danced
in the breath of fresh air as Ned's dad slipped out of the door. Sweat formed
on Ned's brow, under the covers he was fully clothed and ready to go. Ned
counted to ten slowly, one... two… three…, and when he was sure his father
wasn’t coming back, he threw off the hessian sack that covered him and quietly
crept down the ladder into the main room. He slipped into his boots and he too
slipped into the cold air carefully closing the door behind him.
The breeze stung the sweat on Ned's head
and his breath formed mist in front of him. A million stars twinkle in the sky
above him and the slither moon was glowing brightly. Despite the darkness, Ned
was surefooted as he followed his father down the steep path towards the bay. Ned
listened for the sound of his father or other men, but he couldn't hear
anything. He couldn't ever remember the silence being so loud. Twit twoo, twit
twoo, an owl hooted over his head making him jump, something rustled through the
undergrowth, he was beginning to wish he was back in bed listening to his
sisters and mother snoring Hawk ewe, hawk ewe hawk eweefffft.
Ned wished he was by his father's side, but
his father had forbidden him from coming. He said he was too young. Too young?
It made him sound like a child. Ned was eleven. How come that was old
enough to work in his father’s inn but not old enough for this.
His knees might have been knocking, but he had to keep going. If he was going to prove to his father he was old enough to be part of this, he couldn't be scared by owls hoots and the odd rabbit or vole, He made his way down, down, down, now he could hear the sea and taste the salt on the breeze. Them there were voices. He could hear his father’s deep mumble above the soft voices of the landers.
Ned could see them now, the figures on the beach ready to bring the cargo ashore. There were twenty or so men. It must be all the men from the village and some of the boys too. Meanwhile about twenty yards out to sea a boat rocked gently on the tide. Ned hid behind the big rock at the back of the beach. When he was younger this had been his stone, his castle and now his trusty friend was the perfect vantage point. He could see clearly from there. The men all watched the boat closely. Ned had never seen a boat so close to shore and it was getting closer, closer. Surely it would run aground. A light flashed from the boat and the men silently went into action. It was well rehearsed, the tallest and strongest waded out to meet e boat, the others formed a line to the beach.
Ned was proud that his father was at the forefront; tall, strong, leader of men, the others were willing to follow. The men worked quickly and quietly, passing barrels, packages and chests down the line. Ned recognised the spindly figure of Reverend Brown, the town priest who shouted at Ned about the perils of in church on a Sunday. He was marching around the beach bossing the workers who were on the shore. They were sorting the goods into piles. brandy, wine, gin, silk, tobacco and tea. Soon the men were wading back in from the sea and the boat drifted silently away. The whole operation had lasted no more than twenty minutes but the beach was full of bounty.
His knees might have been knocking, but he had to keep going. If he was going to prove to his father he was old enough to be part of this, he couldn't be scared by owls hoots and the odd rabbit or vole, He made his way down, down, down, now he could hear the sea and taste the salt on the breeze. Them there were voices. He could hear his father’s deep mumble above the soft voices of the landers.
Ned could see them now, the figures on the beach ready to bring the cargo ashore. There were twenty or so men. It must be all the men from the village and some of the boys too. Meanwhile about twenty yards out to sea a boat rocked gently on the tide. Ned hid behind the big rock at the back of the beach. When he was younger this had been his stone, his castle and now his trusty friend was the perfect vantage point. He could see clearly from there. The men all watched the boat closely. Ned had never seen a boat so close to shore and it was getting closer, closer. Surely it would run aground. A light flashed from the boat and the men silently went into action. It was well rehearsed, the tallest and strongest waded out to meet e boat, the others formed a line to the beach.
Ned was proud that his father was at the forefront; tall, strong, leader of men, the others were willing to follow. The men worked quickly and quietly, passing barrels, packages and chests down the line. Ned recognised the spindly figure of Reverend Brown, the town priest who shouted at Ned about the perils of in church on a Sunday. He was marching around the beach bossing the workers who were on the shore. They were sorting the goods into piles. brandy, wine, gin, silk, tobacco and tea. Soon the men were wading back in from the sea and the boat drifted silently away. The whole operation had lasted no more than twenty minutes but the beach was full of bounty.
It was time for phase two, getting the haul
up the cliff and in to the hiding places. Barrels were strapped to men’s backs,
and ropes wrapped around chests. Ned moved from foot to foot.
Crack.
Ned froze. And so did the men.
Not fair, I was looking forward to the Dungeon part 2
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