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JOAN, THE CURATE.

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW BROOM.

It was soon after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1748, had put an inglorious end to an inglorious war, that the Government of the day began to give serious attention to an evil which had been suffered to grow while public attention was absorbed by battles abroad and the doings of the press-gang at home.

It

This was the practise of plundering wrecked vessels, which had been carried on in combination with the smuggler’s daring and dangerous trade, particularly on the wild marsh coast south of Kent, and the equally lonely Sussex cliffs beyond.

So audacious had the doings of these “free-traders” become, that a brigade of cavalry was[8] sent down into the old town of Rye, for the purpose of overawing them, while, at the same time, a smart revenue cutter, under the command of a young lieutenant of noted courage and efficiency, was despatched to cruise about the coast, to act in concert with the soldiers.

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It was on a windy night in early autumn, when the sea was roaring sullenly as it dashed against the sandstone cliffs, and echoed in the caves and hollows worn by the waves, that a sharp knocking at the door of Hurst Parsonage, a mile or two from the sea-coast, made Parson Langney look up from the writing of his Sunday sermon, and glance inquiringly at his daughter.

“Now, who will that be, Joan?” said he as he tilted his wig on to one side of his head, and pursed up his jolly, round, red face with an air of some anxiety.

“Nay, father, you have as many visitors that come for the ills of the body as for the health of the soul!” cried Joan. “I can but hope you han’t another long trudge across the marsh before you, like your journey of a week back.”

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