Here is an authentic instance of professional attachment and pride.  When I was quite a small boy a brig ran on to the rocks beneath my father’s house.  The captain was a fine, rollicking, sailorly-looking man, with a fascinating manner.  He often came to our house during his stay in the locality, and one of the first things he told my parents was that in his younger days he was a smuggler, and had had many encounters with Deal coastguards.  He spoke sadly of the way the “trade” was ruined by Government intervention, and said that he had never been really settled or happy since he was driven out of the business, and had to take service in the merchant navy for a living.  He was asked if he would like to go back to it again.

“Go back to it again!” said he; “I wish I could!  There is nothing to fill its place in the whole world.  But that is done for now.  Oh! what good money we used to make, and what narrow squeaks we had of being captured or killed.”

It seems incredible that so great a change should have taken place in so short a time, considering that these sea-rovers were so firmly persuaded that their profession was as lawful as any other, and that they were persecuted and hounded to death by a set of whippersnappers who made insufferable laws!  The system became so gigantic in the early part of last century that the Government had to appeal to the Navy, and a large number of officers and men were landed on the coast of Kent and Sussex, where a strict blockade was enforced.  Later, a semi-civilian force under the control of the Customs was formed.  This was called the “Preventive Water Guard,” and subsequently it went under the new title of “Preventive Coastguard.”  The duties were arduous and risky.  The men never went forth unless armed with a big dagger-stick and a flint-lock pistol, both of which were not infrequently used with effect.  Owing to the dangerous character of the occupation, a high wage and pension was offered as an inducement to join the service; at least, the wage and pension were considered very good at the time.  The men, however, rarely had decent houses to live in.  Their uniform was rather like that of a naval officer.  They would have disdained wearing the garb of the present-day coastguard.  Their training in most cases consisted in service aboard a Revenue cutter for a few months before being appointed to a station.  Many of these men were tradesmen who had never been to sea at all, and often were men of education and sterling character.  For the most part these educated men were Wesleyans—­or “Ranters,” as they were called—­and not a few were local preachers, and some of them were well versed in theology.  They were stationed usually eight miles apart, right along the coast, and their ordinary duty was to meet each other half-way and exchange despatches.  This gave the religious section opportunities of comparing experiences and discussing the faith that was in them.  I knew one who spoke and taught French and Latin, another