Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 7

The Pressgang



“Uncle Billy, tell us a far-fetched story please”
“I’ve told you before boys, my stories are not far-fetched, they are just fetched from afar!”
“Tonight’s tale has not travelled far in distance, as it is set here in the Isle of Man, very close to this spot. It has, however, travelled a long way in time, for it is over one hundred and fifty years old!”
With this introduction, he began his tale.

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“Keep your eyes fixed on a spot a few inches ahead of you and don’t worry about anything else. Just concentrate on moving forward slowly and carefully!”
The boy heard these works spoken by his older brother in a firm, but not unkind voice.
“I’m frightened!” he replied with his eyes tightly shut. “I can’t move!”
“You must!” said his brother more firmly. “I won’t let you fall!”
With these words, he gently held the younger boy on either side of his hips and carefully eased him forward.
They were on hands and knees, crawling slowly along a very narrow ledge on the face of a cliff. One hundred feet below, the sea frothed at the foot of the cliffs, smashing against the jagged rocks.
The wind felt as if it was trying to pluck them from the ledge, but somehow, the young boy found himself at a point where the ledge widened out into th entrance to a cave.
Gratefully, he scrambled into the mouth of the cave, closely followed by his brother. Now that he was quite a bit away from the cliff face, the younger boy did not feel so afraid. He looked around him at the interior of the cave. It went quite a long way back into the rock and although the roof was quite high and dark immediately above them, from further back, he could see a faint glimmer of light high up in the roof.
“Won’t they follow us, John?” he asked anxiously.
“Only if they are incredibly brave and stupid,” John replied. “The ledge is too narrow for anybody to try to walk along it and they’d know that we could easily push them off if they tried to crawl along it like we did.”
“But what about that hole in the roof of the cave back there? Couldn’t they climb through that?”
“No way!” laughed John. “For a start, it’s too long a drop from there to the floor of the cave and the hole is too small for a man to get through. Anyway, they are very unlikely to know where it is. You know the chasms# around here are very dangerous and as it is getting dark, they’d be afraid of falling down one of them even if they did discover the hole.
Robert, the younger boy, looked apprehensively at John who suddenly held his finger to his lips as a signal to keep very quiet. He then turned to the entrance of the cave and picking up a stout knobbly stick that Robert had not noticed before, he stood ready to swing it at whoever came along the ledge, for he had heard someone approaching and was ready to knock the intruder off into the sea below.

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The year was 1803.
At that time, Purt le Moirrey# was just a small, sleepy little fishing village. (It still is today, over a hundred and fifty years later, but that has nothing to do with my story)
The whole of the continent of Europe was either already under the thumb of France and her leader, Napoleon Bonaparte, or was if fear of becoming so. Napoleon had proclaimed himself Emperor of France and now wished to expand his empire.
Britain was apprehensive that she too might be invaded soon. She relied heavily on her strong navy to protect her against an invasion. The British Navy was lead at that time by such clever and famous men as Admiral Horatio Nelson. To man the ships of the fleet required a very large number of men. Not all of that number were volunteers. Many men were ‘pressed’ into service by ‘pressgangs’. These were groups of armed men from ships, whose job it was to find suitable men to be forced into becoming crewmen on the ships of the line. The pressgang would arrive at a likely place, usually at night, to try to capture as many men as they could. Preferably, these would be young strong men with some knowledge of the sea, but anyone over the age of about twelve years would do. Yes, the ‘pressed men’ could be boys in their teens as well as older men. They did not necessarily have to have knowledge of the sea either. They could be young farmers, or older men, so when the ‘pressgang’ was about, nobody was safe.

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Robert Quirk was just thirteen years of age. He had celebrated his birthday a week ago. He lived with his mother, father and his elder brother, John, in a small thatched cottage near the little harbour that was Purt-le-Moirrey.
Like his brother John, Robert, despite his lack of years, helped his father on their small fishing boat. He was used to rising in the early hours of the morning to catch the tide and go to fish for skeddan#, this being the main fish caught in these waters. Often they would not get home until late at night when Robert would climb gratefully into the bed he shared with his brother and fall asleep straight away, ready to rise again early the next day.
This day, however, was Saturday and the fishing fleet had come home early. Tomorrow, being Sunday, the fishermen would all be going to church, for this was a very religious community. Consequently, Robert would not have to get up so very early in the morning. He liked to climb up to a vantage point on the Cronk# where he could sit and admire the view on a warm summer evening, thinking his own thoughts away from the crowded cottage, his family and neighbours.
He looked out to Scarlett and Langness, the two headlands either side of Castletown, the capital of the island.

Rod interrupted the story.
“I thought that was Douglas,” he stated knowledgeably.
“Douglas is certainly the modern capital of the island,” answered Uncle Billy, “but at the time of this story, Castletown was the capital.”

Between Purt-le-Moirrey and Scarlett Head there was a wide sweeping bay bordered on the landward side by farmland. A well-used cart track followed the coastline as far as a place called Pooilvaaish#. Here, as well as continuing around the coast to a farm, it forked up a hill called Fisher’s Hill and disappeared over the top continuing to Castletown.
As Robert sat looking to see if there were any masts in Castletown Bay indicating the presence of ships, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
“What was that?” he thought. He stared intently in the direction in which he thought he had seen movement.
“Nothing!”
He was just about to dismiss it as being of no importance and go back to looking for ships when he saw it again.
Yes! There it was again!
About half way down Fisher’s Hill, there was a flash of light reflecting off something shiny in the evening sunlight.
There it was yet again!
This time Robert concentrated very hard to see what it was.
Although the hill in question was about four miles away round the coastline, it was less than that ‘as the crow flies’. In a direct line across the bay, by screwing up his eyes a little, Robert was able to make out movement on the hill.
Suddenly, with mounting horror, it dawned on him that this was a column of men marching down the hill. He realised that the only group of men likely to be travelling in this fashion along the track at this time on a Saturday evening would be a pressgang. They must be from the ship whose masts and rigging he could now see above the top of the intervening hill. It must have moored in Castletown Bay earlier that afternoon or evening. The pressgang were now heading for Purt-le-Moirrey, probably expecting to catch the villagers unawares in the late evening.
Robert knew that even at a fast pace, it would still take them at least another hour to reach the village, but there was no time to lose.. He must warn the members of his community. He jumped up and ran as fast as he dared down the rough track towards the village. As he neared the first cottages, he began to shout as loudly as he could:
“The pressgang! The pressgang! The pressgang are coming!”
Anxious faces appeared at cottage doors as men folk ran out to take up the cry, warning the rest of the village and telling the men to meet at the harbour as quickly as possible.
In less than ten minutes, all the men were at the harbour where the elder and wiser among them came to a quick decision.
Those who could were to get into their boats and set sail immediately, making for Bay Fine outside their neighbouring village of Purt Chiarn# just around the headland known as Spanish Head#. There they were to anchor until the danger was over. John and Robert, along with a couple of their friends were to run as fast as they could to Purt Chiarn, which was just over a mile away across the fields. There they were to warn the villagers of the approaching danger. Having done that, they were to join the men of Purt Chiarn on their boats, or if for any reason this were not possible, they were to make their way to the secret hideout above the Sugarloaf Rock#. When the pressgang arrived at the village, the womenfolk were to tell them that the men had put to sea as they were expecting a storm to brew up from the east overnight and they were taking the boats to the sheltered side of the island for safety.
As soon as these instructions were given, the boys set off at a run for Purt Chiarn and the boats with all the rest of the able-bodied men set sail, leaving the harbour as quickly as they could.


The men of the pressgang were trudging along the coastal track. They were just about to investigate a small farmhouse about two miles from Purt-le-Moirrey when one of the men reported to the sergeant-at-arms who was in charge of the party, “Sarn’t, there seems to be some activity in the harbour at Purt-le-Moirrey.”
The sergeant looked to where the man was pointing. Sure enough, all th boats seemed to be leaving the harbour.
“That’s odd,” he said. “They should not sail on the eve of the Sabbath. They are a very religious lot these Manx fisher folk. Dammit! They must somehow have got wind of our coming. If I know them, there won’t be any men worth bothering about by the time we can get there. If we don’t hurry, they’ll warn the people in Purt Chiarn too.
Forget this place! Come on! Quick march! At the double!”
With these orders, the men began to trot apace along the track. A mile or so further on, the track forked. One branch leading on round the coast to Purt-le-Moirrey, the other cutting across country up a small hill towards Purt Chiarn. The sergeant ordered half of his men to follow him to Purt Chiarn. The rest, led by a corporal, were to try to get to Purt-le-Moirrey and see if there were any able-bodied men left there. If they had no luck, they were to continue round the coast and up to the tiny village of Cregneash at the top of the hills overlooking both Purt-le-Moirrey and Purt Chiarn. There they were to capture any able-bodied men they could find. After that they were to take them down the hill into Purt Chiarn where they would join up with the sergeant and the rest of the party.

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Robert, John and the other two boys were quite out of breath by the time they arrived at the small village of Purt Chiarn, but they raised the alarm non-the-less. Like the villagers of their neighbouring port, the men her also quickly prepared to set sail to avoid the clutches of the pressgang.
The four boys had just boarded the last boat when one of the men on it remarked, “Was anyone sent to Cregneash to warn them?”
John realised that in the panic, they had completely forgotten to do this.
“I don’t think so,” he said worriedly. With these words, he jumped back onto the small pier that served as a harbour in the sheltered bay of this port.
“Where are you going?” Robert shouted in fear.
“I must try to warn them,” replied John.
He had a special reason for this, beside his natural concern for his neighbours. He was in love with a girl from that village. She was Peggy Maddrell. She had three brothers, all of an age suitable for the pressgang. John didn’t want anything to happen to her family, so he was determined t warn them if he possibly could, despite the fact that he was already exhausted after the run to Purt Chiarn.
Jumping ashore like his brother, Robert shouted, “I’m coming with you!” and so as to avoid any argument with his brother, he began to run towards the track that led over the steep hill from here to Cregneash.
The hill was indeed very steep. It was not long before the boys were again our of breath. They had to slow down to a walk. Taking the opportunity to look behind them as they struggled up the hill, about half a mile away Robert saw the band of men led by the sergeant, running the last few hundred yards into the village below.
“Quick John!” he urged, “I’m sure there were more of them than that when I first saw them on Fisher’s Hill. The others must have gone to our village! As sure as eggs, they’ll be headed up the track to Cregneash when they find nobody to press there.”
The boys knew that the track from Purt-le-Moirrey to Cregneash was longer than the one they were climbing, but the climb on that side of the hill was far less severe so even if the boys had a start, it would be a close run thing who was to get to Cregneash first.
The boys redoubled their efforts. As the path soon began to level out, they were able to break into a run again. Soon they arrived at the village where once again they raised the alarm an easier task as this village only consisted of three or four thatched cottages nestling in a hollow on the lee side of the hill.
“Thank you boys,” said Ned Maddrell, Peggy’s father. Ned had had an accident some years earlier. This had left him with a badly deformed leg. He was only able t walk with the aid of a pair of crutches. He relied on his three sons to run the farm. Up to a couple of years ago, there had been five boys, but his eldest two had gone to volunteer for the navy and were now somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea with Nelson’s fleet.
“I don’t want to lose any more of my sons,” he said, “no matter how good the cause. Who will run the farm for me if the pressgang were to take the rest of my family?”
“Where are they?” John asked.
“Just down the track towards the Sound,” Ned answered, referring to the stretch of water between the mainland and its adjoining small neighbouring island called The Calf of Man. “But don’t you worry about them. You look done in. Peggy can go and warn her brothers!”
He called for his daughter, who greeted John with a kiss. Then at her father’s bidding, she set off to find her brothers and warn them.
“You two had better head for the cave above Sugarloaf as quickly as you can,” continued the old man. Stay there until we send word that it is safe once more. You do know where it is, don’t you?”
Robert shook his head, but John nodded.
“Yes thanks father showed me last year.” With these words, the brothers set off once more, trotting down hill, following a rough track in the lowering twilight.

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The corporal in charge of the man sent to Purt-le-Moirrey soon realised the village must indeed have got warning of their approach. He didn’t believe for a minute the story the women were telling him that a storm was coming. After all, he was a marine. He had spent the last five years of his life at sea. He knew the signs in the sky that were the indicators of an approaching storm and he had definitely not seen any of them today.
Quickly, he made up his mind. He ordered his men to abandon the search of the village and set out without delay for the village of Cregneash. The track between the two villages first passed over the Cronk, from the top of which Robert had earlier spotted the pressgang. After that it went up the Meayll Hill#. This was the hill on the other side of which the two boys were even now climbing out of Purt Chiarn.
The men in the corporal’s party had been marching at the trot for some two to three miles now, but being marines, they were hard men and didn’t slow down despite the steepness of the climb. As they reached the top of the hill, they sighted the village of Cregneash. Quickly, they spread themselves out so that there was at least two men to each cottage. On the sound of the blast from the corporal’s whistle, they opened the cottage doors unceremoniously. They entered the cottages to look for men they could press.
Once again they had been forestalled.
The only men here were toothless old grandfathers, too old to be of any use to them and one elderly cripple who needed a pair of crutches with which to walk. As they regrouped outside, one of them spotted movement further down the hillside towards the neighbouring island off the south of the mainland. Recognising the figures of two likely looking lads, they set off running after them intent on capturing someone to make up for their frustrations.

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John stood ready at the entrance to the cave, brandishing the knobbly stick. As well as the sound of someone crawling along the ledge, he could now hear the sound of voices shouting a little further away, but could not quite make out what they were saying. Suddenly, with relief, he heard a voice calling: “John? Robert? Are you there?”
He recognised the voice of Raymond Maddrell, one of Peggy’s brothers.
“Yes! We are here!” he called back in reply, the relief sounding in his own voice.
“Well put down that stick and give us a hand,” said Raymond, who had now crawled near enough to the cave entrance to see into it.
“Les fell and twisted his ankle and needs help to get here. When Peggy warned us, Frank was further down towards the Sound, so she went on to tell him to take our oat and row over to the Calf. No one will catch him there! Meanwhile, we let ourselves be seen to draw the pressgang away from there.”
John turned to Robert. “Stay here and don’t make a sound, no matter what happens!” he ordered the younger boy.
“I am not likely to move from here on my own!” thought Robert, who had felt quite sick crawling along that narrow ledge and had no intention of crawling back along it without assistance. Even then he would only go if it were safe to do so.
John made his way carefully after Raymond and on reaching the shoulder of the cliff where the ledge began, saw to his dismay, Les Maddrell dragging himself along on is hands and knees a few yards from them. Less than a hundred yards behind him were two of the pressgang closing in on him.
Raymond and John ran the few yards to les. They each grabbed him unceremoniously by an arm and dragged him back with them to the ledge. With John in the lead and Raymond bringing up the rear, the three young men crawled to the sanctuary of the cave.
The two men following them pulled up quickly when they found themselves at the edge of such a fearsome cliff with its sheer drop to the jagged rocks so far below. They took stock of the narrowness of the ledge and although neither of them was afraid of heights, they had enough sense to realise that they dared not follow their prey, for it would be all too easy for them to be thrown off balance and fall to their deaths down to that rather strange looking rock formation below. (This if course was the Sugarloaf Rock referred to by Ned Maddrell earlier).
They called to the corporal who on assessing the situation ordered a couple of his men to climb further up the headland above the cliff to a point from which they could observe the ledge and see where their prey was skulking. Also they were to ensure that there was no way off the cliff further up.
The climb over the headland here was very steep indeed. It was some half an hour later before one of the men returned to report that there was a cave further along the cliff face into which the three young men must have disappeared. He also reported that he and his partner had nearly come to grief themselves. Further up the headland, there were fearsome chasms in the ground, which seemed to disappear into the very bowels of the earth. His partner had tripped at the edge of one of these chasms and dislodged a stone that had fallen into the gaping hole. To their extreme horror, they had not heard it hit the bottom! They had picked up another stone and deliberately dropped that into the chasm, listening intently. Again, they had not been able to hear it hit bottom. From this they had surmised, (not too inaccurately as it happens), that the chasm must be at least a hundred feet deep, if not more. After this discovery, they had taken great care of where they were walking, which was a good thing, for there seemed to be hundreds of these fearsome gashes in the ground all around them. They were grateful that there was a full moon and a clear sky, both of which helped them to see where they were putting their feet.
The corporal pondered on what to do. Eventually, he ordered two of his men to make their way carefully back to the village to fine the other half of he pressgang. If they had not arrived at Cregneash yet, they were to continue to Purt Chiarn to report to the sergeant all that had happened. The remainder of hi party would remain here on guard at the entrance to the ledge to make sure that the three fugitives could not escape, for while he agreed that his party could not get to the cave safely, neither could the fugitives come back along the ledge without his men catching them!

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The sergeant was in a foul mood. So far, he had been thwarted at every turn. All the able-bodied men in Purt Chiarn had taken to their boats, leaving behind only women, very young children and old or inform men, none of whom were any good to him.
He was now leading his disgruntled party up the steep hill towards the village of Cregneash. They were very tired after all the running they had been doing and were dragging themselves slowly up the hill. As they reached the part of the hill where it began to level out, they were met by the two men from the corporal’s party.
On receiving their report, the sergeant came to the conclusion that these fugitives must have been the ones who had been warning everyone of their coming. He was determined that he would have them and make them pay for the trouble they had caused him.
“Corporal!” said the sergeant when he arrived at the cliff where the rest of his party were standing guard. “Send four more men to relieve the lookout above the cliff. We will wait till morning to see if we can find another way to get at these scoundrels! With all these chasms your men told me about, it is just possible there may be another entrance to the cave. Bearing that in mind, we had better set up a piquet line around this area to make sure they do not slip by us in the dark. Fortunately the moon is full and bright, so we should be able to see anyone moving about. However, to be certain, tell the men to light fires both to keep themselves warm and to make more light to see by.”
So the men of the pressgang were positioned around the immediate area near the cave in a large circle about forty yards separating each man and his own fire. All the fires were soon burning brightly, fuelled by the plentiful supply of gorse and heather to be found all around them.

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The four lads in the cave were able to hear most of what the sergeant was saying to his men, for unbeknown to that man, he was standing very close to the hole in the roof of the cave. He could not see it because the area was so overgrown with gorse and heather that even in daylight, you would have either had to know exactly where it was, of fall into it by accident to find it. As it was right in the middle of a particularly large and prickly gorse bush, that was most unlikely to happen.
“I don’t think there is any danger of them trying to take us by coming along the ledge,” said John quietly so that his voice would not carry to the men above. “Still, we had better take it in turn to keep watch just in case they do try it.”
“How will we know how long to watch for?” asked Robert. He knew that none of them possessed such a luxury as a pocket watch, so how were they to tell the passage of time in the darkness of the cave.
John went to the back of the cave and rummaged about in what seemed to be rotting vegetation. From our of it he produced a tinderbox and some candles.
“This cave has been used quite often as a sanctuary to avoid capture by pressgangs and excise men,” he explained to his astonished brother. “Father showed me round here some time last year. He told me that the cave is always kept stocked up for such emergencies as this.”
He then took out his knife from its sheath attached to his belt and with it, scored lightly equally spaced lines around the candles. He kindled a light from the tinderbox and with this, lit one of the candles.
“Each of us in turn can keep watch until the candle has burned down to the next line,” he said. “When it has done so, wake up the next one. Whoever is on watch when this candle burns out, light the next candle and so on. If you hear or see anyone trying to creep along the ledge, wake the rest of us up with a shout and be ready to hit the intruder with the shillelagh.”

“What’s a shillelagh?” I asked curiously.
“It is a stout stick, often made from heavy briar and quite often very knobbly. It can be used like a club with which to defend yourself yet be carried like a harmless walking stick,” Uncle Billy explained. “Remember? John found one in the cave when they first arrived there.”

Having given his orders, John returned to the back of the cave and spread the vegetation in which he had found the candles, on the floor of the cave to make something more comfortable than the bare rock to sleep on. “I’ll take first watch,” he said, “then Raymond, Robert and Les. By the way, Les, how is your ankle?”
“Not so bad now that the weight is off it. I don’t think I’ve broken it. It is probably just a sprain. I’ve done that before. It doesn’t take long to mend. I’ll be all right in the morning I should think.

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Early next morning, in her cottage up the hill from the cave, Ethel Maddrell, Ned’s wife, was taking a fresh batch of soda bread out of the oven by the fire. She let it cool and then put it with some hard boiled eggs and a large wedge of home-made cheese she had prepared while the soda bread was baking. She wrapped all these items in a large cloth, along with some apples and tied the bundle thus created with string. Then she and Peggy set out with a wicker basket apiece, her one containing the bundle of food, Peggy’s for now, empty.
They made their way down the hill towards where the piquet of armed men were. As they neared this place, the two women began searching among the gorse and heather. They were putting something into their baskets as they slowly neared the men.
The sergeant and his party had been searching themselves since first light. They were looking for another way into the cave, but so far their search had proved to be fruitless. Over one of the smoky fires, around which they were warming themselves, they were discussing what to do next when they saw the women approaching.
“What are you doing?” the sergeant demanded suspiciously.
“Gathering blaeberries#,” replied Peggy innocently showing the contents of her basket to the sergeant.
Sure enough, there were a large number of little bluish coloured berries in it. The sergeant put his hand in the basket to take some of the berries, but as he was about to take it out, Peggy slapped him on th wrist quite firmly, making a loud crack which made him flinch and drop the snaffled fruit.
“If you want any, sergeant, you can pick your own! There’s plenty around you here without robbing me of my hard earned labour!” said the young woman fearlessly with a wicked grin and a glint in her eye.
Neither the sergeant, nor any of his men noticed that while this scene was distracting their attention, the older woman had taken out from under her pinafore, a bundle. This she dropped into the middle of a particularly large and prickly gorse bush while still pretending to pick blaeberries.

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In the cave below, the boys were now awake. They had each managed to get some sleep, but it was not very comfortable lying on the hard floor of the cave, even with a bed of dry vegetation. They were all feeling somewhat sore, miserable, hungry and thirsty.
The sound of raised voices from above attracted their attention.
“That’s our Peggy,” said Les, “and by the sound of it I wouldn’t like to be that sergeant, for she has a nasty punch when she gets riled.” The sound of the smack carried quite clearly down into the cave and made the boys wince.
Raymond nodded in agreement, grinning knowingly. “Thee had better watch out for that if thee intend to marry our Peggy, John,” he joked with his prospective brother-in-law. “She stands no nonsense and has battered us often enough for us to know not to upset her.”
At the same time as they heard the slap, they heard something drop onto the floor of the cave near the back. On investigation, they found the bundle of food that Ethel had cleverly dropped through the gorse into the hole that led to the cave below.
“This will help to beat off the hunger pangs,” said John happily. “And this will quench our thirst!” he continued, producing from a ledge in the cave further back, a bowl full of water.
“Where did that come from?” Robert asked in surprise.
“Look here!” John said pointing to the ledge. Drops of water were falling from the roof of the cave onto the ledge which had been worn smooth by the action of the water over many years.
“This bowl was left here with the candles and dry vegetation we used last night. I put it on the ledge so that the water dropping from the roof would fill it up for us. Your mother must be up there with Peggy,” he continued, speaking to Raymond. “Peggy must have been teasing them while your mum dropped the food bundle down to us. However, they may not fall for the same ruse again, so we had better ration this food in case the pressgang stays a long time.”
“How long do you think they’ll stay?” Les asked anxiously.
“Well, if we’re very unlucky, they could stay all day today. They might even stay tomorrow, but I doubt if their ship will remain at Castletown very long. Hopefully they should be gone by tomorrow night at the latest.”

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In fact, about an hour earlier, in Castletown harbour, the captain of the ship that had sent out the pressgang, was receiving orders to set sail that evening. Another ship had arrived looking for them to inform them that they must join the fleet in two days time at Liverpool, to make ready for a tour of duty in the Caribbean Sea. The captain therefore dispatched a messenger to find the pressgang, who should by now have returned to the ship. They should have brought him more pressed men to supplement the twenty felons already commandeered from the dungeons of Castle Rushen.
When this messenger eventually found the pressgang, not an easy task as the local inhabitants were not very helpful, he told the sergeant of the urgency with which they must return. The sergeant was not pleased. However, he had to obey his orders, so he gathered his men and set off straight away. Not, however before making one quick last search about the area while he waited for the men he had sent up above the cliffs to return.
“If I am ever back this way again, I’ll seek you out and find you, you cowards!” he shouted over the edge of the cliff above the cave. Then he turned and followed his men round the coastal track back towards Purt-le-Moirrey and hence to Castletown.
“Can we leave here now?” Robert asked eagerly.
“Better not just yet,” replied his brother. “It may be a trap to try to get us out of here. We’ll stay here until we get word from Peggy or Frank to say it is safe.”
They did not have long to wait, for Peggy had been watching from further up the hill after she and Ethel had left off blaeberry picking. Ethel had gone home to report to her husband the success of the food drop. Peggy had followed the pressgang down the track to a point from which she could observe then all the way to Purt-le-Moirrey and beyond. She waited there until she was absolutely certain that they were really going. Then she returned to the gorse bush which hid the hole in the roof of the cave and called to the four lads inside to tell them that it was all clear and that they could come out.
They all returned to the Maddrell’s cottage where Ethel insisted on them partaking in a celebratory meal. After partaking of this meal, with a fond kiss from Peggy, John and Robert returned home to Purt-le-Moirrey. There they found the fishing fleet was just arriving home also. It had been signalled the all clear by Ned Maddrell from the hilltop overlooking Bay Fine where the combined fleets from the two villages had taken refuge, just out of sight of Purt Chiarn beach.

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Therefore, it was that the pressgang did not capture any of the residents of the south of the island on that occasion.
A few years later, Robert Quirk, Les Maddrell and a few of their friends, left the island to join the navy as volunteers. They served with distinction in the most famous sea battle of British naval history, namely Trafalgar, where at the very hour of victory, Admiral (now Lord) Nelson died on his flagship HMS Victory.
Therefore, you see the sergeant had been quite wrong to call them cowards when they hid from the pressgang. They were just determined to have the freedom of choice to join when they wanted to as free men, not as ‘pressed men’.
A few months after the incident with the pressgang, John Quirk and Peggy Maddrell were married in the church of St Peter in Cregneash village. It was a wedding to remember, for virtually all the population of the three villages attended the celebration of the nuptials of these local heroes and fun dancing and revelry went on for days.

When I was fourteen, a friend of the family known to me as Uncle Leighton, took me for a walk from my home in Port Erin to the harbour at Port St Mary and then round the coastline to the Chasms and on round Spanish Head to the Sound and back home to Port Erin. When we arrived at the cliff face above Sugarloaf rock, he assisted me to crawl along the narrow ledge to a point where it widened out under an overhang. There is no actual cave there but he said that this was where local fishermen would hide from the pressgangs. I am not sure to this day how I plucked up the courage to crawl along this ledge, as I am decidedly unhappy when I am anywhere high. I am especially unhappy if the place I am at is not surrounded on all four sides by a solid wall, so now, for example, I cannot bring myself to get within less than six feet from the edge above Sugarloaf.