"Could you have found your way to Lymington?" said Oswald, as the pony
trotted along.
"Yes, I think so," replied Edward; "but I must have first gone to
Arnwood. Indeed, had I been alone, I should have done so; but we have
made a much shorter cut."
"I did not think that you would have liked to have seen the ruins of
Arnwood," replied Oswald.
"Not a day passes without my thinking of them," replied Edward. "I
should like to see them. I should like to see if any one has taken
possession of the property; for they say it is confiscated."
"I heard that it was to be; but not that it was yet," said Oswald: "but
we shall know more when we get to Lymington. I have not seen it for
more than a year. I hardly think that any one will recognise you."
"I should think not; but I care little if they do. Indeed, who is there
to know me?"
"Well, my introduction of you will save some surmises, probably; and I
shall not take you among those who may be inclined to ask questions.
See, there is the steeple; we have not more than a quarter of an hour's
drive."
As soon as they arrived at Lymington, Oswald directed the way to a small
hostelrie, to which the keepers and verderers usually resorted. In
fact, the landlord was the party who took all the venison off their
hands, and disposed of it. They drove into the yard, and, giving the
pony and cart in charge of the hostler, went into the inn, where they
found the landlord, and one or two other people, who were drinking.
"Well, Master Andrew, how fare you?" said Oswald.
"Let me see," said the corpulent landlord, throwing back his head, and
putting out his stomach, as he peered at Oswald; "why, Oswald Partridge,
as I am a born man. Where have you been this many a day?"
"In the forest, Master Andrew, where there are no few chops and
changes."
"Yes, I heard you have a sort of Parliamentary keeper, I'm told; and who
is this with you?"
"The grandson of an old friend of yours, now dead, poor old Jacob
Armitage."
"Jacob dead, poor fellow! As true as flint was Jacob Armitage, as I'm a
born man! And so he is dead! Well, we all owe heaven a death.
Foresters and landlords, as well as kings, all must die!"
"I have brought Edward Armitage over here to introduce him to you,
Master Andrew. Now that the old man is dead, you must look to him for
forest meat."
"Oh, well, well, it is scarce now. I have not had any for some time.
Old Jacob brought me the last. You are not one of the Parliamentary
foresters, then, I presume?" continued the landlord, turning to Edward.
"No," replied Edward, "I kill no venison for Roundheads."
"Right, my sapling; right and well said. The Armitages were all good
men and true, and followed the fortunes of the Beverleys; but there are
no Beverleys to follow now. Cut off root and branch--more's the pity.
That was a sad business. But come in; we must not talk here, for walls
have ears, they say, and one never knows who one dares to speak before
now."
Oswald and Edward then entered with the landlord, and arrangements were
made between Master Andrew and the latter for a regular supply of
venison during the season at a certain price; but as it would now be
dangerous to bring it into the town, it was agreed that when there was
any ready, Edward should come to Lymington and give notice, and the
landlord would send out people to bring it in during the night. This
bargain concluded, they took a glass with the landlord, and then went
into the town to make the necessary purchases. Oswald took Edward to
all the shops where the articles he required were to be purchased; some
they carried away with them; others, which were too heavy, they left, to
be called for with the cart as they went away. Among other articles,
Edward required powder and lead, and they went to a gunsmith's where it
was to be procured. While making his purchases, Edward perceived a
sword, which he thought he had seen before, hanging up against the wall
among other weapons.
"What sword is that?" said he to the man who was measuring out the
powder.
"It's not my sword, exactly," replied the man; "and yet I cannot return
it to its owner or to the family. It was brought me to be cleaned by
one of Colonel Beverley's people, and before it was called for the house
was burnt, and every soul perished. It was one of the colonel's swords,
I am sure, as there is E.B. on a silver plate engraved on it. I have a
bill owing me for work done at Arnwood, and I have no chance of its
being paid now; so, whether I am to sell the sword, or what to do, I
hardly know."
Edward remained silent for some little while, for he could not trust
himself to speak; at last he replied: "To be candid with you, I am, and
all my family have been, followers of the Beverley family, and I should
be sorry if the colonel's sword was to fall into any other hands. I
think, therefore, if I pay the bill which is due, you may safely let me
hold the sword as a security for the money, with the express
understanding that if it is ever claimed by the Beverley family, I am to
give it up."
"Certainly," said Oswald; "nothing can be fairer or more clearly put."
"I think so, too, young man," replied the shopkeeper. "Of course, you
will leave your name and address?"
"Yes; and my friend here will vouch for its being correct," replied
Edward.
The shopkeeper then produced the account, which Edward paid; and giving
on the paper the name of Edward Armitage, he took possession of the
sword. He then paid for the powder and lead, which Oswald took charge
of, and, hardly able to conceal his joy, hastened out of the shop.
"Oswald," cried Edward, "I would not part with it for thousands of
pounds. I never will part with it but with my life."
"I believe so," replied Oswald; "and I believe more, that it will never
be disgraced in your hands; but do not talk so loud, for there are
listeners and spies everywhere. Is there anything else that you
require?"
"No, I think not; the fact is that this sword has put everything out of
my head. If there was anything else I have forgotten it. Let us go
back to the inn, and we will harness the pony, and call for the flour
and oatmeal."
When they arrived at the inn, Oswald went out to the yard to get the
cart ready, while Edward went into the landlord's room to make inquiries
as to the quantity of venison he would be able to take off his hands at
a time. Oswald had taken the sword from Edward, and had put it in the
cart while he was fastening the harness, when a man came up to the cart,
and looked earnestly at the sword. He then examined it, and said to
Oswald:
"Why, that was Colonel Beverley's, my old master's, sword. I knowed it
again directly. I took it to Phillips, the gunmaker, to be cleaned."
"Indeed!" replied Oswald; "I pray what may be your name?"
"Benjamin White," replied the man; "I served at Arnwood till the night
it was burned down; and I have been here ever since."
"And what are you doing now?"
"I'm tapster at the `Commonwealth,' in Fish Street--not much of a
place."
"Well, well, you stand by the pony, and look that nobody takes anything
out of the cart, while I go in for some parcels."
"Yes, to be sure I will; but, I say, forester, how came you by that
sword?"
"I will tell you when I come out again," replied Oswald.
Oswald then went in to Edward, and told him what had occurred.
"He will certainly know you, sir, and you must not come out till I can
get him away," said he.
"You are right, Oswald; but before he goes, ask him what became of my
aunt, and where she was buried, and also ask him where the other
servants are--perhaps they are at Lymington as well as he."
"I will find it all out," replied Oswald, who then left Edward, and
returned to the landlord and recommenced conversation.
Oswald, on his return, told Benjamin in what manner the sword had been
procured from the shopman, by the grandson of old Armitage.
"I never knew that he had one," replied Benjamin; "nor did I know that
old Jacob was dead."
"What became of all the women who were at Arnwood?" inquired Oswald.
"Why, Agatha married one of the troopers, and went away to London."
"And the others?"
"Why, cook went home to her friends, who live about ten miles from here,
and I have never heard of her since."
"But there were three of them," said Oswald. "Oh yes; there was
Phoebe," replied Benjamin, looking rather confused. "She married a
trooper--the jilt!--and went off to London when Agatha did. If I'd have
thought that she would have done so I would not have carried her away
from Arnwood behind me on a pillion, as I did; she might have been burnt
with the poor children, for all as I cared."
"Was not the old lady killed?"
"Yes; that is to say, she killed herself, rather than not kill
Southwold."
"Where was she buried?"
"In the churchyard, at Saint Faith's, by the mayor and corporation; for
there was not money enough found upon her person to pay the expenses of
her burial."
"And so you are tapster at the `Commonwealth.' Is it a good inn?"
"Can't say much for it. I shan't stay longer than I can help, I can
tell you."
"Well, but you must have an easy place, if you can stay away so long as
you do now."
"Won't I be mobbed when I go back! But that's always the case, make
haste or not, so it's all one. However, I do think I must be a-going
now, so good-bye, Mr Forester; and tell Jacob Armitage's grandson that
I shall be glad to see him, for old Jacob's sake; and it's hard but I'll
find him something to drink when he calls."
"I will: I shall see him to-morrow," replied Oswald, getting into the
cart; "so good-bye, Benjamin," much to the satisfaction of Oswald, who
thought that he would never go.
They went away at a rapid pace, to make up for lost time, and soon
disappeared round the corner of the street. Oswald then got out again,
summoned Edward, and having called for the flour and other heavy
articles, they set off on their return.
During the drive Oswald made known to Edward the information which he
had gained from Benjamin, and at a late hour they arrived safely at the
cottage.
They staid up but a short time, as they were tired; and Oswald had
resolved upon setting off before daylight on the following morning,
which he did without disturbing any one; for Humphrey was up and dressed
as soon as Oswald was, and gave him something to eat as he went along.
All the others remained fast asleep. Humphrey walked about a mile with
Oswald, and was returning to the farm, when he thought, as he had not
examined his pit-fall for many days, that he might as well look at it,
before he went back. He therefore struck in the direction in which it
lay, and arrived there just as the day began to dawn.
It was the end of March, and the weather was mild for the season.
Humphrey arrived at the pit, and it was sufficiently light for him to
perceive that the covering had been broken in, and therefore, in all
probability, something must have been trapped. He sat down and waited
for daylight, but at times he thought he heard a heavy breathing, and
once a low groan. This made him more anxious, and he again and again
peered into the pit, but could not for a long while discover anything,
until at last he thought that he could make out a human figure lying at
the bottom. Humphrey called out, asking if there was any one there. A
groan was the reply, and now Humphrey was horrified at the idea that
somebody had fallen into the pit, and had perished, or was perishing for
want of succour. Recollecting that the rough ladder which he had made
to take the soil up out of the pit was against an oak-tree, close at
hand, he ran for it, and put it down the pit, and then cautiously
descended. On his arrival at the bottom, his fears were found to be
verified, for he found the body of a lad half-clothed lying there. He
turned it up, as it was lying with its face to the ground, and attempted
to remove it and to ascertain if there was life in it, which he was
delighted to find was the case. The lad groaned several times, and
opened his eyes. Humphrey was afraid that he was not strong enough to
lift it on his shoulders and carry it up the ladder; but on making the
attempt, he found out, from exhaustion, the poor lad was light enough
for him to carry him, which he did, and safely landed him by the side of
the pit.
Recollecting that the watering-place of the herd of cattle was not far
off, Humphrey then hastened to it, and filled his hat half full of
water. The lad, although he could not speak, drank eagerly, and in a
few minutes appeared much recovered. Humphrey gave him some more, and
bathed his face and temples. The sun had now risen, and it was broad
daylight. The lad attempted to speak, but what he did say was in so low
a tone, and evidently in a foreign language, that Humphrey could not
make him out. He therefore made signs to the lad that he was going
away, and would be back soon; and having, as he thought, made the lad
comprehend this, Humphrey ran away to the cottage as fast as he could;
and as soon as he arrived he called for Edward, who came out, and when
Humphrey told him in few words what had happened, Edward went into the
cottage again for some milk and some cake, while Humphrey put the pony
into the cart.
In a few moments they were off again, and soon arrived at the pit-fall,
where they found the lad still lying where Humphrey had left him. They
soaked the cake in the milk, and, as soon as it was soft, gave him some;
after a time he swallowed pretty freely, and was so much recovered as to
be able to sit up. They then lifted him into the cart, and drove gently
home to their cottage.
"What do you think he is, Edward?" said Humphrey.
"Some poor beggar lad, who has been crossing the forest."
"No, not exactly; he appears to me to be one of the Zingaros or gipsies,
as they call them: he is very dark, and has black eyes and white teeth,
just like those I saw once near Arnwood, when I was out with Jacob.
Jacob said that no one knew where they came from, but that they were all
over the country, and that they were great thieves, and told fortunes,
and played all manner of tricks."
"Perhaps it may be so; I do not think that he can speak English."
"I am most thankful to Heaven that I chanced this morning to visit the
pit-fall. Only suppose that I had found the poor boy starved and dead!
I should have been very unhappy, and never should have had any pleasure
in looking at the cows, as they would always have reminded me of such a
melancholy accident."
"Very true, Humphrey; but you have been saved that misfortune, and ought
to be grateful to Heaven that such is the case. What shall we do with
him now we have him?"
"Why, if he chooses to remain with us, he will be very useful in the
cow-yard," said Humphrey.
"Of course," replied Edward, laughing, "as he was taken in the pit-fall,
he must go into the yard with all he others who were captured in the
same way."
"Well, Edward, let us get him all right again first, and then we will
see what is to be done with him; perhaps he will refuse to remain with
us."
As soon as they arrived at the cottage they lifted the lad out of the
cart, and carried him into Jacob's room, and laid him on the bed, for he
was too weak to stand.
Alice and Edith, who were much surprised at the new visitor, and the way
in which he had been caught, hastened to get some gruel ready for him.
As soon as it was ready they gave it to the boy, who then fell back on
the bed with exhaustion, and was soon in a sound sleep. He slept
soundly all that night; and the next morning, when he awoke, he appeared
much better, although very hungry. This last complaint was easy to
remedy, and then the lad got up and walked into the sitting-room.
"What's your name?" said Humphrey to the lad.
"Pablo," replied the lad.
"Can you speak English?"
"Yes, little," replied he.
"How did you happen to fall into the pit?"
"Not see hole."
"Are you a gipsy?"
"Yes, Gitano--same thing."
Humphrey put a great many more questions to the lad, and elicited from
him, in his imperfect English, the following particulars.
That he was in company with several others of his race, going down to
the sea-coast on one of their usual migrations, and that they had
pitched their tents not far from the pit-fall. That during the night he
had gone out to set some snares for rabbits, and going back to the
tents, it being quite dark, he had fallen into the hole. That he had
remained there three days and nights, having in vain attempted to get
out. His mother was with the party of gipsies to which he belonged; but
he had no father. He did not know where to follow the gang, as they had
not said where they were going, farther than to the sea-coast. That it
was no use looking for them; and that he did not care much about leaving
them, as he was very unkindly treated. In reply to the question as to
whether he would like to remain with them, and work with them on the
farm, he replied that he should like it very much if they would be kind
to him, and not make him work too hard; that he would cook the dinner,
and catch them rabbits and birds, and make a great many things.
"Will you be honest, if we keep you, and not tell lies?" said Edward.
The lad thought a little while, and then nodded his head in the
affirmative.
"Well, Pablo, we will try you, and if you are a good lad, we will do all
we can to make you happy," said Edward; "but if you behave ill, we shall
be obliged to turn you out of doors; do you understand?"
"Be as good as I can," replied Pablo; and here the conversation ended
for the present.
Pablo was a very short-built lad, of apparently fifteen or sixteen years
of age, very dark in complexion, but very handsome in features, with
beautiful white teeth and large dark eyes; and there was certainly
something in his intelligent countenance which recommended him,
independent of his claim to their kindness from his having been left
thus friendless in consequence of his misadventure. Humphrey was
particularly pleased with and interested about him, as the lad had so
nearly lost his life through his means.
"I really think, Edward," said Humphrey, as they were standing outside
of the door of the cottage, "that the lad may be very useful to us, and
I sincerely hope that he may prove honest and true. We must first get
him into health and spirits, and then I will see what he can do."
"The fact is, my dear Humphrey, we can do no otherwise: he is separated
from his friends, and does not know where to go. It would be inhuman,
as we have been the cause of his misfortune, to turn him away; but
although I feel this, I do not feel much security as to his good
behaviour and being very useful. I have always been told that these
gipsies were vagrants, who lived by stealing all they could lay their
hands upon; and, if he has been brought up in that way, I fear that he
will not easily be reformed. However, we can but try, and hope for the
best."
"What you say is very just, Edward; at the same time, there is an honest
look about this lad, although he is a gipsy, that makes me put a sort of
confidence in him. Admitting that he has been taught to do wrong, do
you not think that when told the contrary he may be persuaded to do
right?"
"It is not impossible, certainly," replied Edward; "but, Humphrey, be on
the safe side, and do not trust him too far, until you know more of
him."
"That I most certainly will not," replied Humphrey. "When do you
purpose going over to the keeper's cottage, Edward?"
"In a day or two; but I am not exactly in a humour now to be very civil
to the Roundheads, although the one I have promised to visit is a lady,
and a very amiable, pretty little girl into the bargain."
"Why, Edward, what has made you feel more opposed to them than usual?"
"In the first place, Humphrey, the murder of the king--for it was
murder, and nothing better--I cannot get that out of my head; and
yesterday I obtained what I consider as almost a gift from Heaven; and
if it is so, it was not given but with the intention that I should make
use of it."
"And what was that, Edward?"
"Our gallant father's sword, which he drew so nobly and so well in
defence of his sovereign, Humphrey, and which I trust his son may one
day wield with equal distinction, and, it may be, better fortune. Come
in with me, and I will show it to you."
Edward and Humphrey went into the bedroom, and Edward brought out the
sword, which he had placed by his side on the bed.
"See, Humphrey, this was our father's sword; and," continued Edward,
kissing the weapon, "I trust I may be permitted to draw it to revenge
his death, and the death of one whose life ever should have been
sacred."
"I trust that you will, my dear brother," replied Humphrey; "you will
have a strong arm and a good cause. Heaven grant that both may prosper!
But tell me how you came by it."
Edward then related all that had passed during his visit with Oswald to
Lymington, not forgetting to tell him of Benjamin's appearance, and the
arrangements he had made relative to the sale of the venison.
As soon as dinner was over, Edward and Humphrey took down their guns,
having agreed that they would go and hunt the wild cattle.
"Humphrey, have you any idea where the herd of cattle are feeding at
this time?"
"I know where they were feeding yesterday and the day before, and I do
not think that they will have changed their ground; for the grass is yet
very young, and only grown on the southern aspects. Depend upon it we
shall fall in with them not four miles from where we now are, if not
nearer."
"We must stalk them as we do the deer, must we not? They won't allow us
to approach within shot, Humphrey, will they?" said Edward.
"We have to take our chance, Edward; they will allow us to advance
within shot, but the bulls will then advance upon us, while the herd
increase their distance. On the other hand, if we stalk them, we may
kill one, and then the report of the gun will frighten the others away.
In the first instance there is a risk; in the second there is none, but
there is more fatigue and trouble. Choose as you please, I will act as
you decide."
"Well, Humphrey, since you give me the choice, I think that this time I
shall take the bull by the horns, as the saying is; that is, if there
are any trees near us, for if the herd are in an open place I would not
run such a risk; but if we can fire upon them and fall back upon a tree
in case of a bull charging, I will take them openly."
"With all my heart, Edward: I think it will be very hard, if, with our
two guns and Smoker to back us, we do not manage to be masters of the
field. However, we must survey well before we make our approach; and if
we can get within shot without alarming or irritating them, we of course
will do so."
"The bulls are very savage at this spring-time," observed Edward.
"They are so at all times, as far as I can see of them," replied
Humphrey; "but we are near to them now, I should think--yes, there is
the herd."
"There they are, sure enough," replied Edward: "now we have not to do
with deer, and need not be so very cautious; but still the animals are
wary, and keep a sharp look-out. We must approach them quietly, by
slipping from tree to tree. Smoker, to heel!--down--quiet, Smoker--good
dog!"
Edward and Humphrey stopped to load their guns, and then approached the
herd in the manner which had been proposed, and were very soon within
two hundred yards of the cattle, behind a large oak, when they stopped
to reconnoitre. The herd contained about seventy head of cattle, of
various sizes and ages. They were feeding in all directions, scattered,
as the young grass was very short; but although the herd was spread over
many acres of land, Edward pointed out to Humphrey that all the
full-grown large bulls were on the outside, as if ready to defend the
others in case of attack.
"Humphrey," said Edward, "one thing is clear--as the herd is placed at
present, we must have a bull or nothing. It is impossible to get within
shot of the others without passing a bull, and depend upon it our
passage will be disputed; and moreover, the herd will take to flight,
and we shall get nothing at all."
"Well," replied Humphrey, "beef is beef; and, as they say, beggars must
not be choosers, so let it be a bull, if it must be so."
"Let us get nearer to them, and then we will decide what we shall do.
Steady, Smoker!"
They advanced gradually, hiding from tree to tree, until they were
within eighty yards of one of the bulls. The animal did not perceive
them, and as they were now within range, they again stepped behind the
tree to consult.
"Now, Edward, I think that it would be best to separate. You can fire
from where we are, and I will crawl through the fern, and get behind
another tree."
"Very well, do so," replied Edward: "if you can manage, get to that tree
with the low branches, and then perhaps you will be within shot of the
white bull, which is coming down in this direction. Smoker, lie down!
He cannot go with you, Humphrey; it will not be safe."
The distance of the tree which Humphrey ventured to get to was about one
hundred and fifty yards from where Edward was standing. Humphrey
crawled along for some time in the fern, but at last he came to a bare
spot of about ten yards wide, which they were not aware of, and where he
could not be concealed. Humphrey hesitated, and at last decided upon
attempting to cross it. Edward, who was one moment watching the motions
of Humphrey, and at another that of the two animals nearest to them,
perceived that the white bull farthest from him, but nearest to
Humphrey, threw its head in the air, pawed with his foot, and then
advanced with a roar to where Humphrey was on the ground, still crawling
towards the tree, having passed the open spot, and being now not many
yards from the tree. Perceiving the danger that his brother was in, and
that, moreover, Humphrey himself was not aware of it, he hardly knew how
to act. The bull was too far from him to fire at it with any chance of
success; and how to let Humphrey know that the animal had discovered him
and was making towards him, without calling out, he did not know. All
this was the thought of a moment, and then Edward determined to fire at
the bull nearest to him, which he had promised not to do till Humphrey
was also ready to fire; and after firing to call Humphrey. He,
therefore, for one moment, turned away from his brother, and, taking aim
at the bull, fired his gun; but probably from his nerves being a little
shaken at the idea of Humphrey being in danger, the wound was not
mortal, and the bull galloped back to the herd, which formed a closed
phalanx about a quarter of a mile distant. Edward then turned to where
his brother was, and perceived that the bull had not made off with the
rest of the cattle, but was within thirty yards of Humphrey, and
advancing upon him, and that Humphrey was standing up beside the tree
with his gun ready to fire. Humphrey fired, and, as it appeared, he
also missed his aim; the animal made at him; but Humphrey, with great
quickness, dropped his gun, and, swinging by the lower boughs, was into
the tree, and out of the bull's reach, in a moment. Edward smiled when
he perceived that Humphrey was safe; but still he was a prisoner, for
the bull went round and round the tree roaring and looking up at
Humphrey. Edward thought a minute, then loaded his gun and ordered
Smoker to run in to the bull. The dog, who had only been restrained by
Edward's keeping him down at his feet, sprang forward to the attack.
Edward had intended, by calling to the dog, to induce the bull to follow
it till within gunshot; but before the bull had been attacked, Edward
observed that one or two more of the bulls had left the herd, and were
coming at a rapid pace towards him. Under these circumstances, Edward
perceived that his only chance was to climb into a tree himself, which
he did, taking good care to take his gun and ammunition with him.
Having safely fixed himself in a forked bough, Edward then surveyed the
position of the parties. There was Humphrey in the tree, without his
gun. The bull who had pursued Humphrey was now running at Smoker, who
appeared to be aware that he was to decoy the bull towards Edward, for
he kept retreating towards him. In the meantime the two other bulls
were quite close at hand, mingling their bellowing and roaring with the
first; and one of them as near to Edward as the first bull, which was
engaged with Smoker. At last one of the advancing bulls stood still,
pawing the ground as if disappointed at not finding an enemy, not forty
yards from where Edward was perched. Edward took good aim, and when he
fired the bull fell dead. Edward was reloading his piece when he heard
a howl, and looking round saw Smoker flying up in the air, having been
tossed by the first bull; and at the same time he observed that Humphrey
had descended from the tree, recovered his gun, and was now safe again
upon the lower bough. The first bull was advancing again to attack
Smoker, who appeared incapable of getting away, so much was he injured
by the fall, when the other bull, who apparently must have been an old
antagonist of the first, roared and attacked him; and now the two boys
were up in the tree, the two bulls fighting between them, and Smoker
lying on the ground, panting and exhausted. As the bulls, with locked
horns, were furiously pressing each other, both guns were discharged,
and both animals fell. After waiting a little while to see if they rose
again, or if any more of the herd came up, Edward and Humphrey descended
from the trees and heartily shook hands.