Foolishly I’ve been entrusted with developing a game to be played in a few days time in that well known wargamming hostel for ancient gamers, Snapcase Hall. Most of you will know of the Mad Lord Snapcase and he has made the ill judged decision that as Covid cases are rising to an unprecedented level we should spend a few days in each others company. I’m firmly of the opinion that Covid does not attack the inebriated and so I will be fine. So far my philosophy has proven sound and after 19 months I believe I am well and truly pickled in essence of Calvados and Malt Whisky, with a good dose of Red and White wine to cover any exigencies. I worry about the members of the Cabal that have not taken these precautions, but they must look after themselves.
2021 The Beast of Bodmin Moor, a frightening apparition but it’s probably just a story, the local farmers say they regularly lose sheep to it but of course that’s just to encourage the tourist trade, - well maybe.
The big cat stories only go back a few decades to the 1970s, and the ‘Dangerous and Wild Animals Act’. With its introduction, so the legend goes some people just let their animals free into the wild.
Well - maybe the tales are not as spurious as we might have believed.
Today no one is frightened of the Moor but go back to 1760 - 10 years after the Jamaica Inn was built and it was a different and much more dangerous place.
No black cats, but there were large Dark Hounds, huge with red glowing eyes, numerous Demons, Spectres, Witches, Sprites and just plain old Ghosts. Then there were the human dangers, Escaped Convicts, Smugglers, Wreckers, Customs Officials and some notorious Highwaymen, although sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the last two.
Highway Men or Customs men?
Ok Honesty might not qualify as either.
The Notorious John Leadstone, known behind his back as Captain Crackers. Customs Men or Highway Men?
The Moor was largely unexplored, dangerous and due to the endless expanse of exposed boggy ground it was prone to fog. It could be fatal in darkness, and even in daylight it was easy to get lost and disappear up there. Rumour has it, that the bog and marsh are as deep as The Mad Lord Snapcase’s pockets, although that must be considered somewhat of an exaggeration.
Bodmin Jail was located a little way down the road from the moor, there, all manner of debtors, poachers, smugglers, murderers and robbers were incarcerated but many a criminal would escape and attempt to cross the moor. The lucky ones would be recaptured by the warders using tracker dogs but as to the unlucky ones!!
There’s many a tale of Highwaymen who would lie in wait for travellers bold enough to try and journey over the moor! The only place of refuge was Jamaica Inn opened in 1750, but this was more illusory than it seemed because, apart from the welcoming roaring wood fires, it was far from any law or order. Cutthroats, Highwaymen, Smugglers and Wreckers would meet there to trade or tranship their illegal goods. It was a well known fact that Joss the Landlord had a long standing commercial relationship with those outside the law and was not above breaking it himself if the enterprise was lucrative enough.
There was a strong rumour that he was in league with the Local Squire, Samuel Benbow and the even more shadowy, Vicar of Crackington Haven, Lamentation Meynard, but no one mentions that connection out loud. Or if they did it was smothered quickly, along with the originator.
In the 18th century large taxes were levied on imported goods, this meant a lot of the common labourers and fisherman couldn’t survive honestly and so in the dead of the night smuggling became commonplace.
Stories abound of men setting false lights to lure ships onto the rocks, these may be a little fanciful but the reality was probably worse.
When a ship came to grief off the Devon coast the locals would soon appear, removing anything washed ashore before the authorities arrived. There is solid evidence (denied today) that Snapcase Hall was built on the bounty of the sea but the number of ships figureheads in the grounds of the Hall might support the Wrecking assertions.
Of course the occupation was not actually illegal so long as the goods were found washed up on the beach, but entering a stricken ship, and relieving it of its cargo was classified as theft and punishable by law. Indeed if there were any survivors who could claim ownership of the vessel or its cargo then it wasn’t considered salvage but theft. Of course in the desolate, lawless corners of the county, this stipulation was a death sentence for any survivors.
A number of cases on record document how wreck victims managed to get ashore only to be murdered by locals and stripped of all valuables. If the opportunity to wreck a ship arose, they were not inclined to let the presence of a few foreign seamen get in their way.
Well on that happy note, and having set the background it leads neatly into my scenario.
We were too late, the road had been worse than usual due to the heavy rain and we had abandoned the wagon when it got stuck in the morass that was known as a road in these parts. The Customs men had been abroad and stopped us for questioning. We had no contraband or anything incriminating and reluctantly they let us go on our way, but even so we lost more time.
Arriving at Port Kerne or Gaverne as it is sometimes known we could see the wreck of the Francis-Maria lying on the beach, her Spanish flag still fluttering in the breeze but of the crew there was no sign.
The Francis-Maria was carrying lace and brandy from northern Spain, we were due to meet her in the early hours of this morning and take possession of the contraband, moving it to Jamaica Inn for transhipment up country. Our backer, Squire Preston would not be happy, he had paid handsomely in advance for the goods and we had conducted the transaction with the Spanish crew personally, he might even consider we had something to answer for and require compensation.
Making our way across the beach to the church we stopped to question old lady Stanhope who was digging for shell fish, there were only 5 families in the village, about 35 souls although new ones arrived and old ones died so it was always hard to keep count. She told us about the wreck, the Priest had been giving his sermon earlier in the day and looking through the church window he was heard to exclaim “Shipwreck”, the congregation was on their feet in an instant, making their way to the door when he shouted “In the name of God - HALT RIGHT NOW. We all stood as if turned to stone.
Calmly, he stepped down from the pulpit, removed his surplice and joined the crowd by the church door. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now we can all start fair.’ And we all raced across the beach to gather up the sea’s rich bounty with him in the lead.
It was no good though because Captain Black Jack and his men were already there, they slaughtered the last of the crew and threw their bodies into the sea. Jack exclaimed “There, that makes it salvage of a wreck, legal and lawful like, the salvage is mine because I was here first and you can all bugger off back to your church”.
Stanhope continued “There was some grumbling but no one wanted to take issue with that band of cut-throats and thieves so we went back to the Church and damned them fair and square with our Lord as a witness.”
On questioning her further she tells us that there are 5 or 6 Wreckers and they are headed for Bodmin Moor with pack horses and our goods, but they only have about a 3 hour head start.
Of course it’s going to be dark before we catch them and no one wants to be on the Moor in the dark.
Not that anyone’s afraid of the dark, not if you ask them to their face that is.
Our smuggling gang consists of 3 players each with 2 characters and I’ll just introduce them if you have no objection. Not the players, they aren’t as interesting as the characters.
Calico Jack is the leader of our motley crew of Smugglers, he was born John (Jack) Rackham in December 1682 and reputedly hung November 1720, commonly known as Calico Jack, he was an English pirate captain operating in the Bahamas and Cuba during the early 18th century. His nickname was derived from the Calico clothing that he habitually wore; he’s in disguise now, hence the luxurious red coat! You may have heard his name before because he is mostly remembered for having two female crew members: Mary Reed and his lover, Anne Bonny.
The story goes that Rackham was captured by a Royal Navy pirate hunter Jonathan Barnet in 1720, put on trial by Sir Nicholas Lawes, Governor of Jamaica, and was hanged in November of that year in Port Royal, Jamaica. Of course that is pure fantasy Lawes and Rackham were in business together and they shared the proceeds of Jacks nefarious crimes. Lawes would have hanged Jack without a second thought but he didn’t know where the treasure was hidden and Jack didn’t tell him.
There’s a long and rambling story on my Blog detailing some of Jack’s adventures after the hanging when he was in the South China Seas, these stories are not common knowledge so please don’t repeat them.
Jack is sometimes slowed by his bad leg, an old wound that causes him to be slow to run in to a fight, but is not such an impediment when he has to run from one. Incapacity from these old wounds comes and goes he maintains stoutly whenever he is asked about it.
You may think that he’s looking pretty good for a man of 78, he puts it down to the Jamaica Rum, a bottle a day and 2 on Sunday, it’s very good for the complexion he says, and before you ask, he doesn’t rub it over his skin, he believes letting it percolate outwards is the best method of application.
Hellibore Johnson is a man who likes to wave his cutlass around when he’s out on the town and doesn’t seem to realise he’s along way from a town. He’s only recently joined Jacks smuggling crew and is a little reticent about his past history. There’s a rumour that he wears that red scarf to hide a rope scar around his neck but no one has confirmed it yet, probably because he could do with a good wash down in the nearest water butt and the smell keeps folk at a distance.
Jack’s second in command is the black witch Annie Duck, of course she’s no witch but a hardened criminal from London. Having a reputation as a voodoo practitioner helped with her primary occupation which was beating up and robbing wealthy men. They rarely called in the authorities, well you wouldn’t would you. “Please Sir I’ve been beaten up and robbed, - yes, yes, - she was a girl, - well maybe 19 or 20”. That’s not going to give you much credibility next time you’re having a snifter in the Dog and Sprocket Tavern on a Saturday night.
She’s purported to blow a magic dust into the faces of her adversary’s before a fight and this would confuse and disorientate them.
Powdered hashish will do that I believe.
Vanity Dobbs was born Modestine Dobbs but as she grew her friends and acquaintances started to call her Vanity instead. No one was prepared to explain why, just that the name suited her retiring character better.
The wild and brash woman on the left, McLeish, is of Celtic origin, Scots or Irish she doesn’t say but she is fearless and frightening. The sort of person you don’t want to meet in a dark alley, or indeed anywhere, dark or daylight, that is unless you have the Grenadier Guards at your back, or preferably in front of you. I don’t mean a platoon of them I mean the whole damn battalion, in full battle order, bayonet’s fixed, and with a full complement of bullets and cartridges as well, but you probably know women like that so I won’t go into any more detail.
That just leaves Thropett, the lass with purple hair. There is no record if this is her first, or her last name. She is just known as Thropett and is a renowned pistolero, she’s not very good with them which is why she carries a brace of pistols, Murder in her right hand and Death in her left. If the first don’t do get you, the second one will. Not a bad mantra to live your life by.
Well this long preamble gives you some clue what to expect on the moor, the game will involve a party of 6 men and women trying to catch up with the Wreckers and take back their contraband goods.
There are various Encounters to be encountered and as they believed strongly in the supernatural in the 1760’s there might be one or two brushes with the dark forces on the Moor, not to mention the dangers of missing our path and falling into a bottomless bog or bottle.
For any young chaps reading this, I've mentioned drink a couple of times but please drink responsibly (don’t spill any Red wine on the carpet) and all will be well with my conscience.
Of course if you ignore my advice don’t be too surprised if you should meet Samantha Chit Chat on your way home across the Moor tonight.
Gentlemen - Best wishes and good luck, we’re going to need it.
June 29, 2011, 12:04:09 AM