This is a short essay by Rev Baring-Gould of the case extenuating the wrongfulness of Cornish smuggling.

there is something to be said in extenuation of the wrongfulness of English smuggling. The customs duties were imposed first in England for the purpose of protecting the coasts against pirates, who made descents on the undefended villages, and kidnapped and carried off children and men to sell as slaves in Africa, or who waylaid merchant vessels and plundered them. But when all danger from pirates ceased, the duties were not only maintained, but made more onerous.

It was consequently felt that there had been a violation of compact on the side of the Crown, and bold spirits entertained no scruple of conscience in carrying on contraband trade. The officers of the Crown no longer proceeded to capture, bring to justice, and hang notorious foreign pirates, but to capture, bring to justice, and hang native seamen and traders. The preventive service became a means of oppression, and not of relief.

That is the light in which the bold men of Cornwall regarded it; that is the way in which it was regarded, not by the ignorant seamen only, but by magistrates, country gentlemen, and parsons alike. As an illustration of this, we may quote the story told by the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, for many years vicar of Morwenstow, on the North Comish coast:—

"It was full six o'clock in the afternoon of an autumn day when a traveller arrived where the road ran along by a sandy beach just above high–water mark.

"The stranger, a native of someinland town, and entirely unacquainted with Cornwall and its ways, had reached the brink of the tide just as a landing was coming off. It was a scene not only to instruct a townsman, but to dazzle and surprise.

"At sea, just beyond the billows, lay a vessel, well moored with anchors at stem and stern. Between the ship and the shore boats laden to the gunwale passed to and fro. Crowds assembled on the beach to help the cargo ashore.

"On the one hand a boisterous group surrounding a keg with the head knocked in, into which they dipped whatsoever vessel came first to hand; one man had filled his shoe. On the other side they fought and wrestled, cursed and swore.

"Horrified at what he saw, the stranger lost all self–command and, oblivious of personal danger, he began to shout: 'What a horrible sight! Have you no shame? Is there no magistrate at hand? Cannot any justice of the peace be found in this fearful country?'

"' No, thanks be,' answered a hoarse, gruff voice; 'none within eight miles.'

"'Well, then,' screamed the stranger, 'is there no clergyman hereabouts? Does no minister of the parish live among you on this coast?'

"'Aye, to be sure there is,' said the same deep voice.

"'Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?'

"'That's he, sir, yonder with the lantern.' And sure enough, there he stood on a rock, and poured,with pastoral diligence, 'the light of other days' on a busy congregation."

It may almost be said that the Government did its best to encourage smuggling by the harsh and vexatious restrictions it put on trade. A prohibitory list of goods which might under no conditions whatever be imported into Great Britain included gold and silver brocade, cocoanut shells, foreign embroidery, manufactures of gold and silver plate, ribbons and laces, chocolate and cocoa, calicoes printed or dyed abroad, gloves and mittens.

Beside these a vast number of goods were charged with heavy duties, as spirits, tea, tobacco. The duties on these were so exorbitant, that it was worth while for men to attempt to run a cargo without paying duty.

To quote a writer in the Edinburgh Review, at the time when smuggling was fairly rife:—

"To create by means of high duties an overwhelming temptation to indulge in crime, and then to punish men for indulging in it, is a proceeding wholly and completely subversive of every principle of justice. It revolts the natural feelings of the people, and teaches them to feel an interest in the worst characters, to espouse their cause and to avenge their wrongs."

The good Reverend Baring–Gould holds up his own lantern and shines his light on the subject of the wrongfulness of the Crown and not so much the Cornish people.

The Light of Other Days reference is probably not to Arthur C Clark or Bob Shaw, writers not yet born in 1899 when Baring–Gould published his book, but perhaps to Thomas Moore. (1779–1852) and his poignant poem:

OFT, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me:
The smiles, the tears
Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm'd and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet–hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me.
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

"What," you might ask, "has this poem have to do with Cornish smuggling?" After all, at first glance, there seems to be little connection between the two.

Baring–Gould knew nothing of the state of mind of the clergyman, so his characterization of him is of his own devising. What is Reverend Baring–Gould telling us by projecting this idea on the clergyman with the lantern overlooking and lighting the activitis of his flock of smugglers?

Reverend Baring–Gould is both a clergyman and a Cornishman. These two are in apparent conflict when is comes to smuggling. Does the clergyman act like the inland stranger? Surely not. And the way Baring–Gould sets up the stranger and the way Baring–Gould portrays the local Cornishman answering the stranger shows us that the stranger plays the outside judgmental role and the other the role of the common–sence Cornishman. If there ever was a country of underdogs, of underprivledged and the wretchedly poor, Cornwall would be it.

Baring–Gould's story has the stranger learn that there is no law keeper at hand. As a last resort, the stranger then asks is there no clergyman present? After all, the clergy is expected to keep the moral law if not the legal one. And, yes there is a clergyman, but instead of stopping the locals, he helps them by lighting their way.

The stranger sees the supremicy of legal law over moral law. Baring–Gould turns that argument on its head. As a clergyman, he answers to a higher, moral law, and accepts the lower, legal law insofar as it is just.

Does Baring–Gould condemn the clergyman? Not at all. Baring–Gould's message is nuanced and not the strict black and white of the stranger, the outsider. Baring–Gould has written that the Crown had gone too far and has become oppresive, and so the moral law no longer resides with the Crown but falls reluctantly to the parishioners. The Crown may be said to have gone from protecting its people to preying on them. Preying, with an e and not an a is not what the Reverend condones.

The tone of Moore's poem is poignant and bittersweet. Baring–Gould, I believe, uses the reference to its 'light of other days' as a way to evoke the sadness of witnessing the decline in moral order to where the law is now so oppresive that the people rebel against a injustice. "The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years' may remind us of an earlier time when the laws were not oppressive, and "the cheerful hearts now broken" may portray the present state of onerous laws.

Baring–Gould begins with "there is something to be said" in the extenuation of the wrongfulness of smuggling. Baring–Gould does not rise to the level of some others who paint the clergy as no better than their smuggler brethren. Baring–Gould does not put down the clergy as greedy and ignorant. Baring–Gould does portray a man of the cloth who watches over his flock and lights their way but who is saddened by the shepherd having gone all wrong, while being mindful of a better time when the shepherd once protected his flock.