I asked myself why should I stay honest when all around me were not? Forty years ago most of the people were involved at some level or other in smuggling and not just those who sailed the seas, but also merchants and farmers, miners and labourers, innkeepers and shopkeepers, even the clergy. They simply called it ‘free trade’. In Penzance the Oxnams, the Branwells and the Carnes presented to the world a face of respectability, attending church regularly, but that did not prevent those families making much of their money by paying farm labourers to carry smuggled goods inland and by providing horses to transport them further afield. It was an accepted part of running your business. What could I do in the face of this? I had no force at my command and, if I tried to prevent the trade, I risked being killed because no Cornish jury would find guilty those who chose to remove me. It was safer and easier to cast in my lot with men like John Carter, the self-styled ‘King of Prussia’. In return for ensuring he faced no hassle, I was amply rewarded. Carter was a rough man but he was good to those who played fair with him.

  My descent into further sin can be traced to the spring of 1782 when I first met a young man called Heathcliff Earnshaw, who had newly arrived in Penzance. The previous year charges had been brought against the Mousehole officials for accepting bribes and I think the authorities foolishly assumed that by bringing in a non-local there was a greater chance of preventing future deals between excise officers and the local populace. Earnshaw was then in his early twenties and he had just newly become an excise officer. He had a strange way of speaking and he told me that he was from Yorkshire, but that his mother was Cornish. He said that his stepbrother had driven him out of the family home after their father’s death and he had joined the excise in Liverpool as an alternative to hard labour. I know it sounds strange that a man so little experienced should be appointed, but few are turned down because hardly any wish to become an excise officer. The decision to send him to work in Penzance had come as a surprise, but he was determined to seize what opportunities this offered, legal and illegal.

  We soon struck up a friendship and it did not take long for him to also join the payroll of one of the smuggling groups. He took service with Mr Thomas Branwell, who imported most of his tea illegally. Some of the smuggled tea was sold in his shop in Market Square and some was passed on to personal contacts and other local shopkeepers, but most was secretly stored in the cellars that he owned at the quayside. From thence it was taken by his agents up-country to the small village of Stockwell on the outskirts of London. Like many tea merchants, he had his own warehouse there and from this the tea was sold direct to various teahouses in the city. Mr Branwell argued that he was doing his fellow man a service by providing tea at less than half the cost of the East India Company. Heathcliff laughed at this attempt to justify smuggling. As far as he was concerned, the only motive was to make money and he felt Mr Branwell should honestly own up to that.

  It was not long before Heathcliff began putting pressure on his new master to take up an even more profitable activity – that of deliberately wrecking ships for plunder. I know some think that wrecking ships was then a commonplace activity but I can assure you this was not the case. Though hundreds happily involved themselves in smuggling, few if any were prepared to engage in drawing ships onto the rocks for plunder. Most Cornish people live so close to the sea that they know of many a relative or friend who has drowned in stormy waters. Such an experience does not lead you to wish to doom innocent people to a similar fate, whatever riches you might acquire from the process. What is true is that when wrecks happen – and that is not an uncommon occurrence on our storm-dashed coastline – people see no reason why they should not benefit and therefore they flock to the shore to seize whatever they can from the wreckage. Heathcliff had witnessed this happen and, coming as he did from up-country, wrongly concluded that the people caused such disasters.

  Mr Branwell was at first utterly contemptuous. He made clear that he would never deliberately wreck a ship because he had no desire to meet his maker with the blood of innocents on his conscience. Heathcliff merely laughed at this, saying it was the first time that he had heard the godforsaken scum who sail in ships referred to as innocents. I backed up Mr Branwell, saying that those who wrecked ships were doing the devil’s work and that the sea claimed enough lives without us desiring to add to their number. Heathcliff damned our consciences and urged us to recognize that it would only take a couple of good wrecks to make us very rich men. He said that we should seize the moment because it would be only a matter of time before His Majesty’s government took more effective steps to patrol our coastline in such a way as to end any profit from smuggling. Mr Branwell responded by saying that Heathcliff could do what he wanted but he must accept that all dealing between them would come to an end if he embarked on such a damnable activity as wrecking.

  This declaration did not go unchallenged. Heathcliff muttered that it would not be difficult in his position to turn informant on those who engaged in smuggling. However, when he faced Mr Branwell’s fury, he asked to be forgiven for his ill-tempered words and attributed them to his deep desire to have enough money to return to his home in Yorkshire. The topic of wrecking was postponed until the day when rumours began that the government was going to slash the high taxes on tea. Mr Branwell knew such a move would sweep away his business virtually overnight and Heathcliff seized the opportunity to reopen talk of obtaining money by wrecking. In a fit of depression, Mr Branwell reluctantly agreed to assist him. He salved his conscience by saying to himself that he was only lending Heathcliff money and providing him with some smuggling contacts in return for a future payment and that how Heathcliff chose to ‘invest’ the money was his decision.

  Heathcliff then persuaded me to assist him because I had far greater local knowledge than him. I do not seek to justify my decision but I think my participation in smuggling made participating in another criminal activity seem less immoral and so helped me crush my conscience. I felt I could not return to living just on the meagre income of an excise officer. I will not bore you with all the details of how Heathcliff and I planned to wreck our first ship. It was easy enough for me to identify a good spot from which we could lead a ship onto the rocks by placing a misleading light. I knew enough also to point out which men he should approach to join us. The latter was important because I knew most would not countenance such an evil act. The contacts provided by Mr Branwell made disposing of what we would acquire by our actions seem a very easy process.

  The events of the stormy night on which the actual wrecking took place are deeply engraved on my mind. As we made our way to the chosen cove, dark angry clouds scurried across the sky and there was a salty tang to the air from the wind-whipped waves that crashed relentlessly on the black rocks below us. As we hurried on, the heavy onslaught of heavy, driving rain seemed to drive away the merriment that our earlier drinking had induced and our party fell silent. The bare cliff side offered no shelter for man nor beast and we were all sodden by the time we reached our destination. From the beach most of us waited for the tide, peering into the semidarkness with an intense watchfulness. After a while the rain eased and it was replaced with a mist that blocked out everything but the sound of the sea breaking upon the shore and crashing upon the rocks. Occasionally the mist would temporarily lift and then the line of breakers would show thin and white against the surrounding darkness.

  I know not what time passed but eventually I saw a small white light come to life on the clifftop to our left. This was our weapon, the means by which we hoped to draw a passing ship into our clutches. I looked at the flickering flame and tried not to think of the ship beyond the breakers and its crew, seeking a symbol of hope amid the turbulent seas, and yet falsely turning to our light for guidance. Suddenly one of our men came rushing down to us, scattering small stones in his descent. From the clifftops he had seen through a gap in the mist a large ship headed for us. We knew then it was only a matter of time before it struck the awaiting rocks. Heathcliff ordered everyone to spread out in a thin line along the shore. Before long we could make out the lights of the ship. They were rising and falling with the waves and drawing ever nearer. Only then did the full enormity of what I was engaged in strike home. I bitterly regretted my decision to join in such an unholy crime. I wanted to shout out and warn the sailors of their danger, but I feared the men we had hired would kill me for such an act of treachery.

  Silent I therefore watched as the unsuspecting ship struck the rocks and there was the sound of splintering wood and voices crying in alarm. The mist lifted sufficiently for me to see its masts and yards snapping as if they were no more than threads. Its rigging tumbled into the sea, trapping many of the crew like some monstrous spider’s web. I watched helpless as some of those on board the ill-fated vessel drowned in the stormy sea. However, others began to make their way to the shore, despite all the raging tempest that surrounded them. Our men moved to stop them, wading out into the sea. I followed suit, feeling the stones beneath my feet move as they followed the powerful drag of the sea. I saw to my left a woman reach where Heathcliff was standing. She was obviously both terrified and exhausted and she struggled to keep her footage, not least because she held to her breast a young infant child. Heathcliff made a gesture as if he was offering her assistance and she, poor wretch, thrust out her child into his arms, thinking first of its safety. He seized the child but then, to my horror, he swung it so its head was shattered against a nearby rock. Then he took a short weighted club from his belt and struck the distraught and traumatized woman. She collapsed into the foaming water and he hit her twice more before holding her head under the waves till she struggled no more.

  I turned from this horrible sight only to find a man emerging from the water before me. I sensed from the shocked look on his face that this might be the woman’s husband, the child’s father. With a savage oath he moved to attack me and, in defence, I struck at him with the knife in my hand. My blade ripped his stomach and even in the gloom I could see the water darken as his blood flowed from the gaping wound I had inflicted. I trembled at what I had done for I had never injured a man like this before. Seeing me hesitate over what to do next, Heathcliff moved rapidly to my side and slit the poor man’s neck from ear to ear in order to finish the task I had started. Whilst he was doing this, I could hear the cries of the other survivors as our fellow wreckers slaughtered them one by one. I cried out that I had never given my assent to such butchery and that we were committing a crime that would stink to highest heaven. Then I vomited, my stomach sick at the sights I had seen.

  Heathcliff told me not to be a fool and think of the wealth that the night’s work would bring. Had I really expected that the sea would do all our dirty work for us? Did I not realize that our safety depended upon there being no witnesses? Did I want to be hung on a gibbet? I made my way back to the beach, screaming that I wanted no blood money. Heathcliff followed me, cursing my stupidity and saying he would happily take my share of the profits. Then he moved off to begin directing the salvaging from the wreck. He ran up and down the beach like a man demented, urging how best to seize the sodden wreckage that was beginning to come ashore on the incoming tide. I watched as the spoils were dragged ashore by those prepared to wade waist-deep into the breakers. Time passed and the tide began to turn. The corpses of those who had been aboard the ship were stripped of any possessions worth having and then the bodies were returned to the sea for burial. I could not help but feel that our shrouded wagons, which we had brought to receive the looted goods, might better have served as hearses. Instead they groaned under the weight of our ill-gotten gains.

  Heathcliff told us it was time we left once the gloom of night began to give way to the grey of dawn. I did as he bid but that night our friendship came to an end. I regretted bitterly the day his path had ever crossed mine. Needless to say, I took no money from the success of the venture. Nor did Mr Branwell when I described to him what had taken place. Fearful that we might betray him, even though that would have cost us dearly, Heathcliff took all the profit from the wreck and headed almost immediately back to Yorkshire. He had heard that his half-sister had married and he told me that he intended to set himself up as a farmer, so he could live near to her again. This appeared an honourable move, but there was something in his face, some wild look in his eyes, that made me question whether he was telling me the entire truth. There was something about his half-sister’s marriage that clearly upset him. Were I her husband, I questioned whether I would want to have as my neighbour someone as ruthlessly cruel as Heathcliff Earnshaw.

  Mr Branwell and I thought we would never see that devil again, but that proved not to be the case. One day in April 1783 I saw Heathcliff emerging from the house of his former employer. On his face was a look of such demonic joy that I shuddered. I confess that I hurriedly entered a shop so that he would not see me. I watched as he headed off up the street and then, re-entering the street, I knocked at Mr Branwell’s door. He opened it. All the colour was drained from his face and he looked like a man who had seen the devil himself. He bade me enter in a grief-stricken voice. I asked what Heathcliff had wanted and was told that he had demanded the Branwells should bring up his child as if it was their own. He said that if they refused he would turn king’s evidence and inform the authorities of their involvement in shipwrecking.

  This seemed to me incredible. How could the man expect anyone to take his hellish brat? It was doubtless the offspring of some lustful dalliance. How was the sudden arrival of a child to be explained? Then I saw Mrs Branwell in the corner of the room, clutching to her breast a red-stained bundle. She was rigidly silent with shock. Her husband’s voice cracked with emotion as he sobbed how Heathcliff had murdered their newborn infant with his knife before they could intervene. Never have I seen a man with such haunted eyes as he turned to me and added how Heathcliff had told them to expect the replacement that afternoon. I know not what other men would have done in this situation, but Mr Branwell took the murder of his daughter as God’s punishment on his sinful decision to provide Heathcliff with the means to wreck the ship. He therefore secretly buried his child and commanded his wife to take Heathcliff ’s child as her own. This was to be their lifelong penance for his sinfulness. He vowed to bring her up in such a way that she would never share her true father’s nature. He said he would make sure she was a truly God-fearing child.

  I alone therefore of all those living in Penzance know that Maria Branwell is actually the daughter of Heathcliff Earnshaw. No one has ever guessed her hellish origin. To my astonishment and their great credit neither Mr or Mrs Branwell ever showed any hostility to the child that had replaced their own daughter. Maria had therefore every reason to believe she was a full member of their family. If anything, she was a favoured child and I watched her grow up to be a fine young woman under their influence and that of the Methodists, with whom the family was increasingly bound up. I hope that their kindness to Maria will count on that day when we are all called to account for our lives. Maybe Mr Branwell has earned forgiveness for his participation in Heathcliff ’s evil scheme. I know I have not.

  The only cloud that hung over the merchant was that he feared one day Heathcliff would return to reclaim his child. He made me vow to look after Maria should that day ever happen and he not be alive to protect her. However, not long after the death of him and his wife, Maria was summoned to Yorkshire. I feared to see her go to the county from which her real father had come, but there was nothing I could do without betraying the family secret. I therefore remained silent and Maria left. I never saw her again. I can only hope that Heathcliff played no part in her life.

  As for me, I never married or had family. I have lived the years since the events I describe in continual penitence. If I had truly listened to the voice of Christ I would never have become a party to Heathcliff ’s foul scheme! How I wish I could give my life to God now, but I find it hard to believe he can offer me forgiveness. It has come to me that perhaps I need to confess publicly not only what I write in this document but all the other crimes in which I have engaged over the years. However, I know there are still some alive who would fear to be named in such revelations and I must first speak with them. Should they silence me, then maybe God will still take pity on my unworthy soul.

  Pray for me and those I have wronged,

  John Reynolds

  I was shocked at the document’s revelation that Cathy’s missing child was Maria Branwell but I doubted not for a moment that Reynolds’ confession was a true one, not least because it explained how Heathcliff had been able to return to Yorkshire as a wealthy man. However, it left many unanswered questions. What had possessed Heathcliff to go back to Cornwall with the stolen daughter of Cathy and pass the child off as his own? Why had he forced Thomas Branwell to take care of her as if she were his own flesh and blood? Was there some conscious aim being pursued or were his actions the product of mounting insanity? And why had his child been so graciously accepted by the merchant and his wife after Heathcliff had murdered their own daughter? Could it truly be explained entirely as an act of penitence on Thomas Branwell’s part? Did Maria Branwell ever discover her true ancestry? Were Emily or Charlotte aware of their mother’s real identity? Had at some stage Heathcliff made himself known to Maria and was that why she came to Yorkshire in 1812?

 

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