The Legend of the Phantom Highwayman

by Tom McCaughren

  It was almost dawn and a cold sea mist curled in around the ship. Now and then a flash of light indicated that somewhere nearby a lighthouse was warning shipping of the danger of rocks. For a moment the mist thinned and they caught a glimpse of a dark blob of land.

  ‘Where do you think we are?’ asked Tapser.

  ‘I don’t know. They must have steamed up the coast.’

  The sound of an engine of a smaller boat came to their ears and two members of the crew dropped a rope ladder over the side. The sound of the engine died away and a few minutes later the crewmen helped two figures aboard.

  ‘It’s Whaler and Scamp!’ whispered Róisín. ‘We must have been going slowly for them to have been able to keep up.’

  ‘So they must have engine trouble.’

  The captain was there now. Whaler pointed towards the land and they heard the words, ‘Church Bay.’

  ‘Did you hear what they said?’ whispered Róisín. ‘Church Bay. That means we’re off Rathlin Island.’

  After further discussion, Whaler and Scamp followed the captain and disappeared from view.

  Róisín shivered and pulled her cardigan tightly around herself. ‘That sea mist is freezing.’

  ‘If only we could get ashore and raise the alarm,’ said Tapser.

  ‘And how are we going to do that?’

  Tapser shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It just seems so near.’

  ‘It’s probably further than you think,’ Róisín told him. ‘Even if we had a boat – which we haven’t – we’d never make it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the currents here can be very strong. This is where the Atlantic meets the North Channel. There are whirlpools and everything. Local people call it the Sound, but I once heard a fisherman call it the Brochan.’

  ‘The Brochan? What does that mean?’

  ‘He was talking to my father, but I think he said it was an Irish word meaning boiling porridge. So you can imagine what it’s like.’

  Conscious now of the rise and fall of the ship on the swell of the sea, Tapser was quiet as he considered their predicament. ‘That means we’ve no hope then,’ he said at last.

  ‘That’s what Robert the Bruce thought,’ said Róisín.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Robert the Bruce. He was a Scottish lord who took refuge on Rathlin after his defeat by the English in 1306, and when he was hiding in a cave he watched a spider trying to climb a thread. It wouldn’t give up, and he decided he wouldn’t give up either. So he went back and fought on and became King of Scotland.’

  ‘I know the story,’ said Tapser, ‘but I didn’t realise it happened on Rathlin.’

  Róisín nodded. ‘So we’d better put our thinking caps on too.’

  ‘But what can we do? It’ll take more than a spider’s thread to get us out of this mess.’

  ‘The rope ladder!’ exclaimed Róisín. ‘It’s still hanging over the side. Maybe we can hide in the lobster boat again.’

  ‘That’s it, the lobster boat,’ said Tapser. ‘They’ll probably have to put ashore at Rathlin.’

  ‘Or Ballycastle. It doesn’t matter where, as long as we get off this ship.’

  ‘Come on so,’ urged Tapser. ‘Better hurry before they come back.’

  Creeping over to the side of the ship, they could just make out the lobster boat lying below them. There was no one around, and without a word they climbed over onto the rope ladder. Gingerly they made their way down.

  The ship itself was fairly steady, but not the lobster boat, and Róisín looked down as Tapser stretched out a leg to try and get a foot on board. ‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘Careful.’

  The lobster boat rose and fell and rose again. Tapser dropped into it, picked himself up and reached for Róisín. The boat pulled away for a moment, and Róisín clung on to the ladder. A second later it was below her again. ‘Now!’ said Tapser and pulled her on board.

  They found that the canvas cover had been put back on board and thrown over some empty crates and lobster pots, with a heap of netting piled on top, presumably to keep it down. Hoping that they wouldn’t be spotted, they crawled in under the canvas once more. After a while, voices and the sharp movement of the boat told them that Whaler and Scamp had followed them down the ladder. The engine burst into life and the boat went racing across the sea.

  Under the canvas, Tapser and Róisín waited for the change of sound and movement that would tell them they had arrived at the pier in Church Bay. But the engine continued at the same pitch as the boat churned its way through the sea, and soon it became obvious that Rathlin wasn’t to be their destination after all.

  ‘I bet we’re going to Ballycastle,’ whispered Róisín.

  ‘How far is that?’

  ‘About eight miles.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m beginning to feel queasy already.’

  ‘Me too,’ whispered Róisín. ‘But we’re going to have to hold on.’

  The sea was becoming rougher now. Up and down, up and down they went, crashing against wave after wave. Grimly they held on, their free hand on their stomach or their mouth. Their stomachs seemed to be moving up and down with each pitch and roll of the boat, and the smell of the diesel and fish added to their nausea. They had an overpowering urge to throw up, but somehow they managed not to. Perhaps it was the fact that they hadn’t eaten for so long, or the fear of being discovered. In any event they held on, and after what seemed like an eternity the sound of the engine died down.

  Cautiously Róisín eased up the edge of the canvas and peeped out. ‘The mist is very thick,’ she whispered to Tapser. ‘I think maybe they’ve lost their bearings.’

  As the boat bobbed about, they waited to see what Whaler and Scamp were going to do. They could hear the two of them talking, probably wondering where they were. The noise of the engine increased slightly and the boat eased its way forward. Somewhere beyond them they could now hear waves breaking on the shore, and suddenly they felt themselves being carried along. A few minutes later the boat scraped aground, and they heard Whaler and Scamp getting out.

  Pulling back the canvas, they gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air. They could see that the mist was blowing in low over the sea and had already enveloped Whaler and Scamp. Hardly able to believe their good fortune, they jumped out and ran across the stony beach. Finding their way blocked by a sea wall, they searched around frantically until they found a way up. If only they could get over the top unseen, they knew they just might get away.

  However, a sudden roar from Whaler brought them to a halt. Turning around, they saw that a gap in the mist had revealed their presence on the wall.

  ‘That’s torn it,’ gasped Tapser. ‘Hurry.’

  Dashing across a narrow road, they climbed over a low ditch and scrambled up a steep grassy slope. Behind them they could hear Whaler and Scamp close on their heels. Fortunately Whaler wasn’t built for climbing steep slopes. A wet patch gave way under his enormous weight, and he went sliding back to the bottom. Scamp, anxious as always to please him, made his way down to help. Panting for breath, Tapser and Róisín reached the top and raced across the fields for dear life.

  ‘Where do you think we are?’ asked Tapser.

  The mist had closed in about them again, and knowing they couldn’t be seen they had slowed down to catch their breath.

  ‘Well, if they were heading for Ballycastle, we’re probably somewhere along the coast from it.’

  Stumbling into a small sandpit, they looked back. There was no sign of Whaler and Scamp, and they walked on across the grass.

  ‘I hope Rachel and Cowlick are all right,’ said Róisín.

  ‘So do I,’ said Tapser. ‘If only we could get to a phone and raise the alarm. Come on, there must be a house around here somewhere.’

  If there was, the mist kept it from their view, but a short time later they came to a road. It was still very early in the morning and there was no sign of any traffic, so they set off down the hill. They cam
e to several houses, and knocked urgently on the doors. There was no reply, and afraid to delay too long they continued on down the road in the hope that it would take them into Ballycastle.

  They were wondering where Whaler and Scamp had got to when they came to a car parked in off the road. It seemed to have broken down and a man was working at the engine. Delighted to have found help at last, they ran over to him.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ panted Róisín. ‘We thought we’d never find anyone. The smugglers. They’re after us. You must help us to raise the alarm.’

  Lifting his head from the engine, the man suddenly turned and grabbed Róisín by the wrist. ‘Now why should I help you to raise the alarm?’ he sneered.

  ‘Whaler!’ cried Tapser.

  Having followed the narrow road up from the seafront to where it joined the main road, Whaler and Scamp had got ahead of them and were now in the act of stealing a car.

  Startled, Róisín struggled to free herself.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ shouted Tapser. Rushing forward, he pounded Whaler with his fists, but the big man just laughed and caught him by the scruff of the neck.

  In desperation, Tapser kicked out. One of his kicks connected. With a howl of pain Whaler released them and grabbed his shin. Out of the corner of his eye, Tapser could see Scamp getting out from behind the steering wheel.

  ‘Run, Róisín,’ he shouted. ‘Run.’

  A few minutes later they flung themselves behind a ditch and listened for sounds of pursuit. There were none, and Tapser peered over the ditch to make sure.

  ‘Look!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Róisín, easing herself up.

  ‘Look,’ he said again, pointing to a spot where the road rose above the mist. ‘Coming over the hill.’

  Róisín could hardly believe her eyes. From the swirling mist a coach drawn by four white horses had emerged. It was gliding down the road towards them, and it was plain to see that even the driver, who sat hunched over the reins, was a ghostly white.

  ‘The phantom highwayman!’ she gasped.

  9. THE SPIDER’S WEB

  Fearing that the phantom highwayman and the poteen smugglers would soon be upon them, Tapser and Róisín ran away from the road and climbed over a stone wall.

  ‘Oh, no,’ cried Róisín, as they found themselves among headstones, ‘we’re in a cemetery. This is like a nightmare.’

  Beyond the graveyard, they came to the ruins of an old church and took refuge behind its walls. Wreaths of mist were still swirling up from the sea and now, as they looked back, they caught another glimpse of the ghostly coach passing down the road. Again, it was only a fleeting glimpse, a shadow, for it quickly merged with the mist and disappeared.

  Róisín shivered, but it wasn’t the wet or the cold or even the thought of being in an old church that sent the shiver through her. It was the thought of the phantom coach. ‘What can it be?’ she wondered. ‘I mean what’s it doing here? We’re miles from the High Road.’

  Tapser frowned. ‘I don’t know, but if somebody’s trying to frighten us, they’re going the right way about it.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Get to the police and raise the alarm. For all we know Cowlick and Rachel are still prisoners at the Castle Spa.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going out on the road again. Wild horses couldn’t drag me.’ Róisín paused as she thought of her unfortunate choice of words. ‘Anyway, Whaler and Scamp will be out there looking for us when they get that car going.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Tapser. ‘If they get their hands on us again we’re finished. We’ll just have to wait here until the mist clears, then go for help.’

  * * *

  A lark sang as it fluttered up to meet the sun. Tapser and Róisín scrambled to their feet and ran outside. They found that the mist had cleared and morning had brought blue sky and sunshine. It had also brought a flow of traffic along the road. They could now see they were on the outskirts of Ballycastle, and realised the reason why they hadn’t come across any houses in their flight across the fields was that they had been on the golf links.

  Crossing the road, they ran up the neatly cut grass and looked out towards Rathlin. The cargo ship was still anchored at Church Bay.

  ‘Hurry,’ urged Róisín. ‘We’ve got to get into Ballycastle and raise the alarm before it gets under way again.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ wondered Tapser. ‘I’ve never seen so much traffic.’

  The vehicles were bumper to bumper now and had slowed to a crawl. As they ran past a lorry loaded with sheep Róisín said, ‘There must be a fair on.’ She stopped and grabbed Tapser’s arm. ‘Of course, it’s the Lammas Fair. Why didn’t I think of it before? Come on. There are bound to be people we know. They’ll help us.’

  Crossing the Margy Bridge, they saw a signpost which told them they had been hiding in the ruins of Bonamargy Franciscan Friary, burial place of the famous chieftain, Sorley Boy MacDonnell. Keeping a sharp lookout for Whaler and Scamp, they hurried along the seafront, and with another anxious glance towards Rathlin, turned up Quay Road.

  There they found that numerous stalls had been erected and traders were selling portable radios, tape recorders, watches and all kinds of knick-knacks.

  Suddenly they heard a voice from the other side of the road shouting, ‘You’re all going to die!’

  Startled, they looked around to see a man in black standing on a corner. A placard hanging from his neck bore the Biblical text, ‘Prepare to meet thy doom.’

  ‘You’re all going to die!’ he declared to all and sundry.

  Relieved that he wasn’t one of their pursuers, but a man proclaiming the word of God, they exchanged a half-hearted smile and hurried on.

  The town was bustling with activity, but there was still no sign of the two smugglers – or a policeman. The Diamond, which forms the town centre, was crowded. Stallholders were shouting about all the bargains they had to offer, and there were cries of ‘Dulse’ and ‘Yellow man’, as they offered bags of edible seaweed and lumps of their famous yellow toffee for sale. Everywhere people were listening, looking, buying or just ambling around.

  ‘There’s a policeman,’ said Tapser. ‘Two of them – over there.’

  Before they could reach them, however, they found their way barred by Whaler and Scamp. Terrified, they turned and ran. Determined not to lose them this time, Whaler and Scamp lunged through the crowd, scattering people in all directions.

  Nipping in here, darting through there, Tapser and Róisín found themselves pushing and shoving in their anxiety to escape.

  ‘Now hold on there,’ said a familiar voice. ‘What’s all the rush about?’

  Looking up they saw to their surprise and great relief that it was none other than Mr Stockman.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Tapser.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you I was coming to the Lammas Fair? Now what’s your hurry? You’d think there was somebody after you.’

  ‘There is,’ cried Tapser. ‘A phantom coach and …’

  ‘A phantom coach?’ smiled Mr Stockman. ‘Sure the only coach I saw was the Londonderry Mail. Sam Stephenson’s after bringing it over to show it off here at the Lammas Fair.’

  Róisín and Tapser looked at each other. The sea mist, they realised, had played tricks on them and given Sam and his coach that ghostly appearance.

  ‘But the smugglers,’ insisted Róisín, throwing an anxious glance over her shoulder. ‘They’re after us. Two of them. Look, that’s them there.’

  Seeing they were with an adult, Whaler and Scamp had stopped. There was a threatening scowl on their faces and their hands lingered close to their knives.

  Mr Stockman didn’t like the look of the two men at all and, taking Tapser and Róisín by the hand, began edging through the crowd. Whaler and Scamp followed. They were so intent in doing so, however, that they failed to notice several policemen making their way through the crowd behind them.

  Mr Stock
man stopped. Suddenly Tapser found Prince beside him, and as he hugged him he spotted Peppi among the police.

  ‘And there’s Rachel and Cowlick,’ cried Róisín, jumping up and down with delight.

  Realising now that the tables had turned, Whaler and Scamp charged through the crowds in a desperate attempt to escape. In doing so they scattered a group of farmers who were admiring a pair of beautiful piebald donkeys. The farmers weren’t amused at the intrusion and made to grab them. Whaler swung around to ward them off and collided with the donkeys. To add to the confusion Prince was now barking and snapping at Whaler’s feet.

  Frightened, one of the donkeys bared its teeth and brayed vigorously. At the same time it swished its tail and lashed out with its hind legs. Both hooves caught Whaler squarely on the seat of his big baggy pants and catapulted him into the arms of the police. Both Whaler and Scamp were promptly relieved of their knives and escorted to the police station, while Tapser and Róisín had a joyful reunion with Cowlick and Rachel, their parents and Peppi.

  * * *

  The Lammas Fair was now in its second day, and down on the seafront the Londonderry Mail was proving to be a big attraction for those who wanted a break from the hustle and bustle of the Diamond. Mr Stephenson was up on the driver’s seat, and inside were Peppi, Mr Stockman, Tapser and his cousins, and, of course, Prince. The ride was Mr Stephenson’s way of saying thanks to them all for helping expose the real smugglers and taking suspicion from him.

  ‘And who’s this fella Max-what’s-his name?’ asked Mr Stockman as he passed around bags of yellow man.

  ‘He’s the only one who can answer that,’ said Peppi. ‘And we have to find him first. The last we heard of him he was heading towards Ballycastle. That’s why we came here.’

  ‘Why do you think he came here?’ asked Tapser.

  ‘Could be he was trying to link up with Whaler and Scamp. Maybe even the cargo ship. We’ve impounded the ship and hopefully it won’t be long before we arrest him too.’