These tub-boats, which we have had cause to mention more than once, were usually not towed but carried on the lugger’s deck.  A tub-boat got its name from the fact that when the lugger was too big to run her nose on the beach the tubs were landed in these boats.  For that reason they were made very deep, with plenty of high freeboard, and were accordingly wonderfully good sea-boats, though they were somewhat heavy to row even without their spirituous cargoes.

As one looks through the gaol-books and other smuggling records, one finds that there was a kind of hereditary custom that this running of contraband goods should pass on from father to son for generations.  Thus there are constant repetitions, in different ages, of men bearing the same surname engaged in smuggling and becoming wonderfully notorious in this art.  Among such family names must be mentioned that of Rattenbury.  The man of whom we are about to speak was flourishing during the second decade of the nineteenth century, and his christian name was John.  In November 1820—­it is significant how often this dark month crops up in the history of smuggling, when the weather was not likely to tempt those Revenue cruisers’ commanders, who preferred the snug shelter of some creek or harbour—­John Rattenbury happened to find himself at Weymouth.  Into that port also came a vessel named the Lyme Packet, which was accustomed to trade between Lyme and Guernsey.  But on this occasion the ship had just received the misfortune of carrying away her bowsprit—­possibly in the Portland Race—­and her master, John Cawley, decided to run into Weymouth for repairs.

Whilst these were being taken in hand what should be more natural than that the Lyme Packet’s master should drift into a local public-house?  Having brought up comfortably in that haven of rest, he was promptly discovered by his old friend Rattenbury, who had also made for the same house of refreshment.  The usual greetings took place, and Rattenbury inquired how it was that Cawley came to be there, and an explanation of the accident followed.  According to the skipper’s own version, they got into conversation, and, over a glass of grog, Rattenbury volunteered the remark that if Cawley would be willing to sail across to Cherbourg to fetch a cargo of spirits he would pay him at a rate that would make it much more profitable than trading between Lyme and Guernsey.  In fact he was willing to pay Cawley as much as twelve shillings a cask, adding that in one voyage this skipper, who happened also to be owner, would make more money thereby than in the regular course of trade in a twelvemonth.