Many years ago, while King George the Third sat on the tranquil throne
of England, and before the First Napoleon became Emperor of France,
Gilbert Maitland, the youngest of Farmer Maitland's three sons, was one
autumn evening, mounted on his shaggy pony, riding through the New
Forest. He had set out from the town of Christchurch to return to his
father's house, which was situated between it and Lymington. The
shadows of the trees grew longer and longer, till they disappeared
altogether in the general gloom, as the sun sank, into the
leaden-coloured foam-topped waves of the English Channel, which could
here and there be seen from the higher ground through the openings of
the trees on his right. The wind howled and whistled, and the dry
leaves and twigs, blown off by the south-westerly gale, came flying by
even faster than he galloped, while the clouds gathering thickly
overhead increased the darkness.
Gilbert was not altogether comfortable in his mind. He had gone,
contrary to his father's wish, to pay a visit to Dick Hockley, whose
acquaintance he had formed while at school at Christchurch, and whom Mr
Maitland considered an unfit companion for one of his boys. Mr Hockley
held a small farm, and though it was badly cultivated, he had become
wealthy, and had built a good house, and rode a fine horse, and lived in
a style much above his position. He was, indeed, more than suspected of
being connected with one of the many gangs of daring smugglers who at
that time carried on their illicit traffic on the coast of Hampshire and
Dorsetshire. Dick, a bold, rough fellow, two or three years older than
Gilbert, boasted openly that he had already engaged in several smuggling
enterprises.
Gilbert was fascinated by the accounts his acquaintance gave him of the
risks he had run, the excitement of being chased, and the triumphant
satisfaction of landing a valuable cargo, and conveying it, escorted by
a large body of armed men, under the very noses of the Revenue officers,
into the interior. Gilbert's great ambition was to join in one of these
expeditions; whenever he could get an opportunity, he rode over to see
his friend, and to listen to his long yams.
His father had at first cautioned him against any intimacy with a person
of so doubtful a character as young Hockley, and then, finding that his
warnings were of no avail, had positively prohibited Gilbert from
associating with him.
He had grumbled greatly at this, when one day, Mr Maitland being away
from home, in the hearing of his sister Mary and his two elder brothers
Hugh and Arthur, he declared that he would go, notwithstanding what his
father said.
"Dick is an honest fellow, and he has asked me to come, and I don't see
why father has a right to stop me," he exclaimed.
"Father has forbid you to go, as he does not approve of young Hockley,
and at all events it is your duty to obey him," said Mary. "Pray,
Gilbert, do not go; it will vex father so much."
"I will tell you what, Gilbert," exclaimed Hugh, "if you are going to
play any tricks of the sort, I will lash your hands behind you, and shut
you up in your room till father comes back. I am the eldest, and it is
my business to keep order while he is away."
"You had better not try to lay hands on me, or it will be the worse for
you," exclaimed Gilbert, dashing out of the room.
"I don't think he will dare to go," said Hugh, resuming his studies,
which had thus been interrupted.
Arthur, who was also sitting with his books before him, had not spoken.
They were both reading hard. Hugh had sometime before left school with
great credit, having gained numerous prizes, and an exhibition which
would enable him at his own earnest desire to go to college, where he
hoped that with the talents he was supposed to possess he should make
his way to a good position in life. He had a fine constitution, was
strongly built, and neither study nor bodily exercise ever seemed to
fatigue him; so that with the resolution and clear intellect he
possessed, he had every prospect of succeeding.
Arthur, though studious, was delicate, and had been kept back somewhat
by ill health. Neither of them had any taste for farming pursuits, and
their father, who was proud of their talents, was anxious, as far as he
was able, to give them the means of following the course in life they
had marked out for themselves. He and his ancestors, sturdy yeomen of
the upper class, the pith and marrow of the English population, for many
generations had held the farm he occupied; and as he wished it to
continue in his family, he had determined that his younger son Gilbert
should become a farmer. Gilbert was what is often called a
fine-spirited lad, but unfortunately he had been allowed to have his own
way, and in consequence, frequently exhibited a determination not to
submit to control. He had also never known a mother's tender and
watchful care, for Mr Maitland had been deprived of his wife soon after
Gilbert's birth, and perhaps this circumstance may have prevented him
from restraining the child's temper, or punishing him when guilty of
faults, as strictly as his better judgment would have prompted him to
do.
Mr Maitland, an upright man, proud of his old family, and satisfied with
his position, did not wish to rise out of it, though he was ready to
allow his sons to run forward as far as they could in the race of life.
He held the laws in respect, and, an exception to many around him, was
strongly opposed to the smugglers and their illicit traffic. He would
never allow them to deposit any of their goods on his property, and the
active part he took in assisting the Revenue officers gained him much
ill-will from the contraband traders.
Gilbert had scarcely left the room when Arthur got up, saying in his
gentle way--
"I will try and persuade him to obey father, and not to go off to
Christchurch. If he wants a ride, I will accompany him to Lymington,
where there is to be a review of the Foreign Legion; or if he has a
fancy for fishing, we will take our rods, and try and get some tench for
father's supper."
"Oh, do get him to do that!" said Mary. "Father likes them better than
anything else, and I will try and cook them nicely for him."
Arthur, leaving his darling books, hastened out after Gilbert. Mary
hoped he might find him, and prevent him committing the act of
disobedience he threatened. She loved all her brothers, and the two
elder treated her with tenderness and respect. She was a kind-hearted,
good-tempered, and intelligent girl, in every way worthy of their love,
and possessed of a considerable amount of beauty. She came next to Hugh
in age, but she and Arthur were more generally companions, as they
agreed in most of their tastes. Hugh was already a young man, and
though he had no objection to a gallop through the forest, he devoted
the greater part of his time, even when at home, to study. He had
determined to make his way in the world, and he knew that only by steady
application could he hope to do so.
Mary now sat at the window, busily plying her needle, and refraining
from speaking lest she might interrupt him, though she wanted to talk to
him about Gilbert, whose general conduct had of late given her great
anxiety. She could not help thinking that it would be better if he were
to be sent to a distance, and thus be separated from his present
companions. Neither she nor Arthur liked to tell their father what they
knew about him, but she thought that Hugh might do so, and might suggest
the plan which had occurred to her.
Arthur, after some time, came back. He had searched everywhere for
Gilbert, but had been unable to find him, his saddle was not in the
harness-room, nor his pony in the stable; it was evident that he had
ridden off somewhere.
In the evening Mr Maitland came back, and inquired for Gilbert. His
other children were unwilling to say that they feared he had gone to
Christchurch, for they hoped he might have taken a ride in some other
direction. Night came on, and still he did not appear. Mr Maitland
inquired whether any of them could tell where Gilbert had gone. At last
Mary confessed that he had said he should ride over to see Dick Hockley;
but that she hoped, from her and his brothers' remonstrances, that he
would have refrained from doing so.
Hour after hour passed away, and Mr Maitland, at first angry, became
anxious about him. The night was too dark to permit of any one going
out to search for him; indeed, as there were numerous ways through the
forest by which he could come, he might be easily missed. Midnight
arrived, and he was still absent Mr Maitland now became seriously
alarmed, and he, with Hugh and Arthur, went out in different directions
from the house, listening anxiously, in the hopes of hearing the sound
of his pony's footsteps, but the roaring and whistling of the wind in
the trees drowned all other noises. At length they re-entered the
house, Mr Maitland sent the rest of the family to bed, but sat up
himself watching for Gilbert's return.
CHAPTER TWO.
Gilbert knew his way, and that he could trust his little forest-bred
pony to carry him safe home; so he gave it the rein, and let it gallop
along the open glade, though the gloom was often so dense that he could
not see a yard beyond the animal's head. He had got some distance, and
had just crossed another road, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs
behind him. There were several. They came on at a rapid rate. Who the
horsemen were he could not tell. The sounds increased. He put his
little forester at its swiftest gallop, but his pursuers were soon at
his heels, and a stentorian voice shouted to him to stop, with the
threat of a pistol-bullet through his head. He pulled up, feeling that
all hopes of escape were vain.
"Who are you? what are you after here?" shouted the same voice, and two
men galloping up seized his rein. "What business takes you out at this
time of night, youngster?" asked one of the men.
"I am going home," answered Gilbert.
"Where is your home?" said one of the men, drawing a pistol from his
belt; "answer truly, or I will send a bullet through you!"
"I am going to the house of Mr Maitland, my father," answered Gilbert,
more frightened than he had ever before been in his life.
"Mr Maitland! you will not go there to-night!" exclaimed the man, with a
loud curse. "Why, he is the fellow who before brought the soldiers down
upon us, and this youngster has been sent out to learn where we are
going, and will be setting the dragoons from Lymington on our heels. If
Mr Maitland ever falls into our hands, he will find we have a heavy
score to settle with him."
These remarks were interlarded with numerous fierce oaths, which need
not be repeated.
The men now turning round the pony's head, led Gilbert back, swearing at
him in a way which made his blood curdle, and fancy that they intended
to shoot him or knock his brains out.
They had not got far when Gilbert saw a long line of horsemen riding two
and two, in close order, crossing the road. They appeared to have heavy
packages on their saddles, and were armed with blunderbusses and swords.
Gilbert's conductors seemed to be watching for some one to come up.
After the horsemen came a line of waggons, with an armed man sitting in
front of each and another behind, while a horseman rode on either side.
There seemed to be no end of them, one following close upon the other.
Gilbert counted a hundred or more. At last another band of horsemen
appeared. One of Gilbert's captors called to a man riding among them
whom he addressed as "Captain," and told him of the way they had found
Gilbert, and their suspicions.
"Bring him along with you," was the answer, "we will have a talk by and
by with him."
Gilbert's captors joined the ranks, and the party of smugglers continued
to make their way by unfrequented paths through the forest. He now
recollected hearing that a strong force of military had been sent down
to Lymington to assist the Revenue officers, and every moment he
expected to see the smugglers attacked. They, however, seemed to have
no dread of being interfered with, but rode on, laughing and joking with
the utmost indifference. From the remarks Gilbert overheard, he found
that they had taken good care to mislead the military, who were waiting
far behind them, near the coast, under the belief that the intended run
of contraband goods had not yet been landed. At length the smugglers
reached a spot where their large band was to break up into separate
parties who were to branch off in various directions, some with silks
and ribbons to go even as far as London, others to different towns,
while a portion of the goods were to be stored in hiding-places in the
forest. A large party of mounted men still remained after the waggons
had gone off. Among them were those who had seized Gilbert.
"Well, Captain, what shall we do with this young viper; he is a son of
old Maitland's, and there is no doubt has been after mischief."
"Do?" answered the person addressed, a big dark-bearded man, clothed
like his companions in rough seafaring costume. "The easiest way would
be to leave him here to frighten the crows," and he looked up at the
overhanging branch of a tree.
Gilbert felt ready to drop from his pony with terror.
"Oh, don't, don't hang me!" he cried out; "I did not want to do you any
harm. If you will let me go, I will not say a word about what I have
seen."
"Very likely?" growled the Captain, "but you knew that a cargo was to be
run, and were galloping off to bring the dragoons down on us."
"I knew that a cargo was to be run, because Dick Hockley told me so; but
I was not going to fetch the dragoons, for I did not even know where
they were."
"A very likely story; and if Dick Hockley has been chattering to you, he
will have to answer for it," observed the Captain. "However, bring the
lad along. We will hear what Master Dick has to say for himself."
The troop, with Gilbert in their midst, now rode back by the way they
had come towards the coast.
Gilbert supposed that they were about three miles from Christchurch,
when, turning to the left, they came in sight of one of the numerous
small farms which existed in those days in the forest, consisting of
several straw-thatched mud buildings. Here he was told to tumble off
his pony, which was led away, while he was conducted into a small inner
room in the cottage. The window, high up near the roof, was closed by a
shutter from the outside. The only furniture was a truckle-bed and a
stool. The cottage apparently belonged to one of the men who had
captured him, for Gilbert heard him inviting the rest to partake of the
provisions he placed before them. They were all engaged in eating and
drinking and talking loudly for some time. He heard the Captain at last
say--
"We will now go and hear what account Master Dick has to give us about
this youngster, and if he has been trying to play us a trick, he must be
shipped off out of the way."
Gilbert could not tell whether the smuggler referred to Dick or to
himself, though as it was very evident they would not scruple to use
violence if they thought it necessary for their own safety, he felt very
uncomfortable.
At last, from the sounds he had heard, he supposed that most of the men
had mounted their horses and ridden off. Feeling tired, he groped his
way to the bed, on which he threw himself, and in spite of his anxiety,
was soon asleep.
He was awakened by the entrance of his host, bringing him some bread and
cheese, and a jug of milk.
"There," he said, "you must be hungry by this time, youngster. It's
more than you deserve, though."
"How long am I to be kept here?" asked Gilbert.
"I again tell you I did not want to do any one harm; on the contrary, I
think you smugglers very fine fellows."
The man laughed.
"It does not matter what you think; if Dick cannot give a good account
of you, you will be sent across the seas, that I can tell you."
Saying this, the man left the room. Gilbert was very hungry, so he ate
the bread and cheese, and drank up the milk. By the light which came
through a small chink in the shutter and under the door he saw that it
was daytime; but hour after hour passed on, and he was still a prisoner.
CHAPTER THREE.
Mr Maitland became seriously anxious when morning dawned and Gilbert did
not return. Calling up Hugh and Arthur, he told them to mount their
ponies, and ride in the direction Gilbert was most likely to have taken;
and as soon as the farm servants arrived, he sent them out to search the
forest far and near. He himself, after consulting Mary, mounted his
horse, and rode off to Christchurch, to ascertain from Dick Hockley
whether Gilbert had paid him a visit.
He found the young man lolling over a gate smoking.
"Your son, Mr Maitland? what, has not he got home?" he exclaimed in
unfeigned surprise. "Yes, he paid me a visit yesterday. He is an old
schoolfellow, you know, and I am always happy to see him. He and I are
very good friends, and there is no reason we should not be that I know
of."
"That is not to the point," said Mr Maitland, sternly. "You acknowledge
that he paid you a visit. I wish to know when he left you."
"Somewhere about five o'clock, as far as I recollect," answered young
Hockley; "and as he was as sober as a judge, I should think his forester
ought to have carried him home in a couple of hours at the outside."
Mr Maitland continued to cross-question Dick.
"I tell you he left me at five o'clock, and I know nothing more about
him," was the only answer he could obtain. Mr Maitland was at length
convinced that young Hockley knew nothing more than he said about his
son. He made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and ascertained from two
or three people that they had seen a lad resembling Gilbert in
appearance riding towards the forest. He gained, however, a piece of
information; it was that a large cargo of goods had been run that
evening from the well-known lugger, the _Saucy Sally_, and had been
conveyed with a strong escort inland, under the command of her daring
captain, Slippery Rogers, who was so called from the way in which he
managed on all occasions to elude the Revenue cruisers afloat, and the
Government officers and soldiers sent in pursuit of him on shore.
"It's lucky you did not fall in with them, Mr Maitland," observed his
informant. "They have vowed vengeance against you; and it would fare
ill with you if they were to get you into their power."
"I am not afraid of them, or any ruffians like them!" said Mr Maitland.
"I shall do what I consider right; and try to rid the country of such
pests as these outlaws have long been to it. It is a disgrace to those
who should know better, and who yet encourage them by buying their
goods, and refusing to give evidence when they are caught. They not
only deprive the king of his just dues, but injure legitimate trade, and
encourage a general lawlessness among the whole population of the coast.
However, I must hasten off, and try and find out what has become of my
poor boy."
On making further inquiries, Mr Maitland ascertained the route the
smugglers had taken, and became convinced that Gilbert must have crossed
their path, and probably fallen into their hands. He accordingly called
on the two neighbouring magistrates, and deposed, to his belief, that
violence had been offered to his son by the smugglers. He gave
information also to the Revenue officers, who promised all the
assistance they could afford.
Having done all he could, hoping that Gilbert might in the meantime have
arrived there, he set off home. Mary met him at the gate. Gilbert had
not been seen. Hugh and Arthur had come back, and had gone out again to
renew the search. The whole day was spent in searching for the missing
one, but no trace of him could be discovered.
Day after day passed by, and Mr Maitland could gain no tidings of the
son, who, notwithstanding his disobedience, he loved truly, as the last
gift of his affectionate wife.
Many weeks afterwards Gilbert's pony was found in the neighbourhood of
the farm with its saddle on its back.
Arthur, from overstudy, it was supposed, fell ill, and his life was
despaired of. Poor Mr Maitland feared he should lose him also. He had
not unhappily the consolation of true religion. He was a just and
upright man in his own sight, and in that of his neighbours, and fully
believed that he deserved the favours of God on earth, and merited
heaven when he should be called hence. When the time of trial came,
there was something wanting. He could not look up to God as his loving,
tender Father, and go confidently to Him in prayer for support, or say
truly, "Thy will be done."
Hugh had gone to college, where from the first he exhibited the talents
which had gained him credit during his school career, and his tutor
wrote word that he was among the most promising young men in the
University. He avoided all unnecessary expenses, and being of a
thoroughly independent spirit, kept aloof from those who would have
drawn him away from his studies. His aims were, however, worldly; the
human intellect he held in the highest estimation, and was satisfied
that by his unaided efforts he could do as he desired. He was sober,
moral, and economical, because he was convinced that should he be
otherwise he would injure his prospects. Hugh Maitland was therefore
looked upon as an excellent young man, and perhaps few were more
convinced that such was the case than himself. He wrote home deeply
regretting Arthur's illness, hoping that the doctor's skill and Mary's
watchful care would bring him round, and sympathising with his father in
his grief that no tidings had been received of Gilbert.
"I am still convinced, however," he observed, "that had he met with foul
play, or by any accident lost his life, his body would have been found,
and I have hopes that he will still turn up. Perhaps, as he had been
reading Robinson Crusoe, he may have taken it into his wise head to run
off to sea, though I should have supposed that he would have sent a line
to inform us of his romantic proceeding. Tell Arthur to keep up his
spirits, and not to say die."
Mary watched over Arthur with the most loving care, and through God's
mercy he gradually recovered his strength, and was able to resume his
studies. The doctor warned him, however, that he must not slick to them
too closely, and advised him to take constant rides with his sister, and
be in the open air as much as possible.
"If you will be guided by me, my young friend, you will give up your
intention of going to college, and assist your father on his farm," he
observed. "You will find it a more healthy life than the one you
propose, and probably get as strong as you can wish." Arthur began to
consider whether it was not his duty to follow the doctor's advice.
Mary hoped that he would do so, as he would then live at home with her.
Mr Maitland promised every encouragement, remarking--
"Now I have lost poor Gilbert, there is no one else to keep on the farm
when I am gone, or to afford a home to Mary."
This latter argument weighed greatly with Arthur. He had had indeed no
definite aim in his wish to go to college; he might perhaps become a
master in a school, or take pupils at the university, or should he get a
fellowship, obtain a living, but he had never thought even in that case
of the duty of striving to win souls for Christ. Of the gospel and its
requirements he had a very imperfect knowledge. Possessing a more
gentle and loving spirit than Hugh, he thought it would be pleasant to
go about among the poor, to try and make them moral and good, and
relieve them in distress. There were very few cottagers in their
neighbourhood who required much assistance. When any of them were sick,
he and Mary had found much satisfaction in carrying them food and
delicacies which they were unable to procure, and in helping them
sometimes with money from their own scanty means.
During the summer long vacation Hugh did not come home, having gone with
some young men who had engaged him to read with them. When he returned
at Christmas, Arthur's resolution of becoming a farmer was somewhat
shaken. Hugh put before him so many of the advantages a hard-working
man with good talents might obtain at the university, that his desire to
try his fortune there revived. He had continued his studies for several
hours every day, and now Hugh being able to assist him, he set to work
with renewed vigour during the long winter evenings.
CHAPTER FOUR.
Gilbert scarcely knew how long he had been a prisoner when he heard a
voice which he recognised as Dick's. For some time he could not make
out what was said.
"I will have a talk with him," he at length heard Dick observe.
Some more remarks were made when the door opened, and he found Dick
standing outside.
"Why, Gilbert, they have treated you somewhat scurvily; but it was for
your good, lad, and no one is more anxious about that than I am," said
Dick. "Come along, and have some dinner, and we will talk matters
over."
They repaired to the kitchen, where an ample meal, with no lack of
spirits, was placed on the table. Gilbert did justice to it, and Dick
plied him with liquor, which he drank off without considering its
strength.
"I must tell you, Gilbert, that your father is in a tremendous taking
about you," continued Dick. "If you were to go back, I should not be
surprised if you found yourself turned out of house and home. He came
to me this morning, and accused me of spiriting you away. I told him
that I knew nothing about you, which was the fact. Now as matters have
come to the worst, you are not likely to have a pleasant home even if
you do go back, let me advise you to put the plan we have often talked
about into execution, and come and have a trip with me to sea. Captain
Rogers sails in the _Saucy Sally_ to-night, and I promised to go along
with him. We will have a jolly time of it; you will only have to swear
that you will never reveal anything you see or hear about the doings of
the smugglers. I told him that you were as true as steel, and that I
would answer for you."
Dick said much more to the same effect. At another time Gilbert might
have refused to leave his kind father and sister and brothers, even with
only the intention of making a pleasure-trip, for he was not yet
hardened in vice, but the spirits he had drunk had taken effect. He had
committed the sin of wilful disobedience to his father's commands, and
was thus easily deceived by his treacherous companion, who persuaded him
that that kind father was too angry to forgive him, and that he would be
henceforth an outcast from home. Such is the way Satan always tries to
deceive erring people, both young and old, and to persuade them that
their heavenly Father is not at all times ready to blot out their
offences if they come to Him seeking forgiveness according to the way He
has appointed through the all-sufficient atonement of His Son.
His false friend had fully calculated on gaining over the unhappy
Gilbert, and had told his host to get a pony ready for him. As soon as
evening approached they mounted and rode to the banks of the
Christchurch river, near which the _Saucy Sally_ lay moored. Though a
notorious smuggler, as she had then no contraband in her, she could not
be touched by the Revenue officers. Most of her numerous crew were
already on board; Others were preparing to go off.
"Come!" said Dick, "we will soon be among the fine fellows," and sending
back their ponies by a lad who came for the purpose, he and Gilbert
jumped into a punt, and paddled alongside.
Gilbert was welcomed by Captain Rogers, who had been expecting him.
"Glad to see you, lad!" he said, shaking him by the hand, "and hope we
shall have a pleasant cruise together."
Gilbert did not suspect that that slippery fellow had an object in
getting him to join his gang. It was that he might revenge himself on
Mr Maitland, whom he hated heartily. Rogers thought also that by
getting Gilbert among them it might prevent him for the future from
interfering in their illegal traffic as he had hitherto done.
The _Saucy Sally_ was the longest boat of her class ever built--so it
was said--measuring one hundred and twenty feet from her bowsprit end to
the extremity of her outrigger. She had a large cuddy forward, and
another aft, while the whole of the midship portion was open for the
stowage of casks, of which she could carry from between two and three
thousand. She pulled forty oars, and carried an enormous spread of
canvas; so that in calms, light winds, or gales she could easily give
the go-bye to any of the king's cruisers who might chase her.
The _Saucy Sally_ was soon gliding swiftly out to sea. She had got some
distance from the land, when a light breeze springing up, her sails were
hoisted, and away she sped at a rate no ordinary vessel could equal
towards the French coast. Gilbert, who had often longed to take a trip
in the craft he had so much admired, was delighted with the way in which
she sailed, and Dick took care to keep him amused, getting several of
the men to recount some of the daring and hazardous adventures in which
they had been engaged. Gilbert thought the life of a bold smuggler
about the finest and most exciting he could wish for.
They soon reached the French coast. Dick invited Gilbert to go on
shore, and introduced him into scenes of vice of which before he had had
no experience. The _Saucy Sally_ was detained some days taking in her
cargo. The whole of this time was spent by Dick and Gilbert on shore,
in company with several other profligate young men.
"Well, you have seen something of life," observed Dick, as they were
once more on board. "You will find it somewhat slow work when you go
back to help your father on his farm--eh, lad?"
"I cannot go back," answered Gilbert gloomily; "I should like to assist
in running our cargo. There is excitement in that sort of work which
suits my fancy."
"I admire your spirit, lad!" exclaimed Captain Rogers, who overheard
him. "If you stick by us, we will stick by you, and you shall have a
share in the profits of our Venture; I know I can trust you, from what I
have seen of you. Wherever there is danger, I shall expect you to be
near to help me," and Slippery Rogers shook Gilbert's hand warmly.
On the voyage back to England a bright look-out was kept for any Revenue
cruisers which might be on the watch. Twice the _Saucy Sally_ was
chased. Once, as a thick fog lifted, she found herself close to a
Revenue bruiser, from which several shots struck her, killing one man
and wounding two; but notwithstanding, with the help of oars and sails,
she managed to get away. The _Saucy Sally_ reached the English coast at
night, and Captain Rogers threw up a signal, to let his friends on shore
know of his arrival. A signal, to show that all was right, was
returned. The _Saucy Sally_ ran in, and boats coming to her, in a
wonderfully short time the whole of her cargo was landed.
"Come!" said Dick to Gilbert, "if you wish to see all the fun, you must
assist in conveying our cargo inland," and he gave him a brace of
pistols and a short gun, such as the rest were armed with.
Dick then told Gilbert to mount a horse, over the back of which a couple
of ankers were slung, and he found himself riding along in company with
a large gang of smugglers similar to those he had met with a short time
before. He was now thoroughly involved with the smugglers, and less
than ever could he venture, so he thought, to go home. Captain Rogers
and Dick felt that they had got him securely in their toils, and that
they could make use of him as an instrument to do whatever they might
require.
They had got some distance inland when a halt was called, a scout having
come back with the information that danger was ahead. A consultation
was held among the leaders, who determined to push on, and if necessary,
to fight their way. Dick and Gilbert, and others on horseback, were
summoned to the front. Advancing for half a mile, they saw drawn up a
strong body of mounted Revenue officers. The smugglers with oaths
ordered them to get out of their way, and on their refusing, rode boldly
forward, firing as they advanced. The Revenue officers fired in return.
"Make use of your weapon, Gilbert!" cried Dick, seeing that his
companion hesitated to attempt killing his fellow-countrymen engaged in
the performance of their duty. "Are you chicken-hearted, lad? I
thought better of you."
Thus taunted, Gilbert raised his piece. One of the officers was seen to
fall from his saddle. More smugglers coming up, the Revenue men,
finding themselves far outnumbered, retreated, carrying off two or three
wounded companions. One smuggler had been killed, and several slightly
wounded. The smugglers dashed on, the dead man being put into one of
the waggons, and without further hindrance reached their destination.
"You did that well," said Dick to Gilbert; "I saw you bring the fellow
down; should not be surprised that you killed him."
Gilbert shuddered. Had he really been guilty of the death of a
fellow-creature? if so, all hope of ever returning home was gone; he
would be hunted as a murderer, and murder, he had often heard, was sure
to be discovered.
Dick saw the effect his remark had produced, and tried to laugh it off.
"Why, my good fellow, such things happen every day, and it's no use
being downcast about it," he observed. "You can take up your old
quarters at Deadman's Farm till the _Saucy Sally_ sails again; and then
if you have a fancy for it, we will make a longer trip. The skipper
intends to try his luck on another part of the coast, as this little
affair will probably make the forest too hot for us for a time. We
shall be back again, however, when it blows over, depend upon that."
Gilbert lay concealed for about a week. He had time for reflection, and
had he dared, he would have gone back.
"It's too late now, though; it's too late!" he groaned out, and had
recourse to the brandy-bottle to stifle conscience.
He was once more on board the lugger, and from henceforth for several
years was the constant associate of the smugglers. During the time he
paid several visits to the neighbourhood of Christchurch; but he was so
completely changed in appearance that even had he met any of his old
acquaintances, they would not have recognised him. He had long ceased
to be called by his own name, having assumed another, by which he was
known among his associates. Dick Hockley and Slippery Rogers, and
others who were acquainted with his secret, kept it for their own
objects, and under his assumed name he became known as one of the most
daring and desperate of the band.
CHAPTER FIVE.
Hugh had returned to college. It was again summer. Arthur studied
harder than ever during every spare moment. He assisted his father as
far as he could, but Mr Maitland saw that his heart was not in the work,
and he more than once observed--
"I am afraid, Arthur, you will make no hand at farming."
"I will do my best, at all events," was Arthur's reply. He frequently,
as before, rode out with Mary. They were sometimes joined by Harry
Acton, a young man who had lately taken a farm in the neighbourhood, and
who seldom failed when he met them to turn his horse's head round, and
accompany them on their ride. He was intelligent and well educated, and
Arthur liked him from the first. Mary gave no opinion, but she did not
object to his accompanying them. Mr Maitland, after hearing Arthur's
report, invited Mr Acton in to tea, and seemed favourably impressed with
him. He only thought him rather grave, and was surprised that a young
man accustomed to country life should not take any interest in races or
sporting, and had even declined to join the hunt.
"Life is too short for idle amusement," Harry observed to Mary one day.
"I have abundance of exercise in attending to my farm, and I feel that I
am responsible to God for the proper employment of my time."
Mary thought that a little amusement now and then could not be wrong.
"Relaxation from business for our mental or bodily health may not be
so," answered Harry; "but when I reflect that I am responsible to God
for every moment of my life, I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to
spend time in pursuits which do not tend to honour and glorify Him."
Mary had never heard such language used before; and though she had
already learned to like him too much to quarrel with him, she was
disposed to think him somewhat puritanical.
Still Harry Acton came and came again, and Mary looked forward to his
visits with pleasure. Serious as his remarks were sometimes, he talked
well on numerous subjects, and she confessed that he was very agreeable.
Arthur liked him more and more, and was thankful to have found a
companion who could enter into his feelings and views.
Mary and Arthur had ridden over one day to Lyndhurst, and were passing
through, that picturesque village, when they saw a large number of
people collected on the green beneath the wide-spreading trees which
bounded one side of it. Approaching, they saw a person mounted on a
small platform, which raised him above the assemblage. He was of a
tall, commanding figure; and as he stood bareheaded, it was seen that
his hair was slightly tinged with grey, thrown back from off his high
and expansive forehead. He was giving out a hymn in a clear, full
voice, which reached even to the distance they were from him.
"He is a Methodist of some sort," observed Arthur. "I suppose, Mary,
you do not wish to stop and hear him."
"I should be sorry to pass by without ascertaining whether what he is
saying is worth listening to," answered Mary. "I like the tone of his
voice, and I remember learning that hymn from our poor mother."
It was "Rock of Ages cleft for me."
The young people drew near to the outside of the circle formed round the
preacher. Though thus at some distance, every word he uttered was
distinctly heard. The hymn concluded, in which a number of people
joined, he offered up a short prayer that the blessing of God's Holy
Spirit might convey the words he spoke to the hearts of his hearers, and
he implored them to reflect that they had immortal souls which must live
for ever in happiness unspeakable or in immeasurable woe.
"And yet what claim have we to the bliss and glory of heaven?" he asked.
"We have none. Every man is vile and outcast, full of disobedience,
utterly sinful--ay, a rebel against God! Unregenerate man lives in open
rebellion against his Maker. As well might a rebel taken in arms
against his lawful sovereign demand pardon by right, as man, till
reconciled to God, claim to be admitted to heaven. Men virtually
acknowledge this when they profess a hope of going there by their
performance of good works, by their penances, by the confession of their
sins to other sinful mortals, by their sacrifices to Him who has said
that He takes no delight in the blood of bulls and of goats."
He continued, with text upon text, to prove the utter depravity of human
nature, and man's lost condition. He pointed to the state of society in
all countries, people of all classes, to the hearts of each of his
hearers, compelling them to search within, and many with horror felt
that they were utterly lost. Then suddenly he pointed to the blue
canopy of heaven, undimmed by a single cloud, and spoke of the
unapproachable purity and holiness of God, in whose sight even the
heavens are not clean; of heaven His dwelling-place, where all is peace
and joy and love and holiness and purity, surpassing human
comprehension. He spoke, too, of the might, the awful majesty and
immutable justice of the Divinity, who can by no means look upon
iniquity, who considers every departure from His exact and strict law as
sin, who allows no such sins as small sins, and considers the least
infraction of one of His laws as sinful.
"But I have not yet finished the catalogue of God's attributes," he
continued. "He is a God of mercy: He is a God of love; though He hates
sin, He loves the sinner, and that love caused Him to form the glorious
plan by which His justice and mercy can both be satisfied--by which
sinful and rebellious man can become reconciled and fit to inhabit a
pure heaven, in which nothing vile and undefiled can enter. That plan I
would now with swelling heart unfold to you. That gospel plan which God
sent down His well-beloved Son, not only to declare to sinful man, but
to carry out. Christ Himself announced it when He said, `God so loved
the world, that He sent His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.' Yes, God could not
pass over sin; but in His infinite grace and mercy He allowed His
only-begotten Son, all pure and holy and obedient, to be punished
instead of unholy and rebellious man. He might have sent an angel, but
then man would have given to that angel the love and reverence and
obedience which is due to Himself alone. Christ left not one particle
of the work to be done by man, graciously allowing man to take hold of
it through a living faith, producing love and gratitude and adoration
towards Him who accomplished it. Yet even thus sinful man was not left
to his own unaided efforts. When Christ rose, the first-fruits from the
dead, He promised, ere He ascended, to sit at the right hand of God,
there to be man's great High Priest, Mediator, and Intercessor--to send
one to dwell with, to enlighten, support, and comfort, to urge and to
enable man to take advantage of that salvation which He had completely
wrought out. Oh, my friends! rebels though you are, that gracious,
loving God asks you to be reconciled to Himself. He has done the whole
work for you. You cannot undo a single act, or unsay a single idle
word; every evil thought is registered against you. But all, all will
be blotted out--`Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool;'
`The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin!' Oh! let me urge you
to take advantage of that blood shed for you on Calvary. Accept without
a moment's delay our loving Father's gracious offer of reconciliation.
Only have faith that Jesus died for _you_--that He bore _your_ sins upon
the accursed tree--that He nailed them there, and put them out of God's
sight, and give Him your willing, loving obedience! Seek in His Word
with faithful prayer to learn His will, and His Holy Spirit will
enlighten your minds, enable you to comprehend what you read or hear,
and will aid you in obeying His commands."
Mary and Arthur were among the most attentive of those assembled round
the preacher.
Much more he said. Another hymn was raised, a prayer offered.
Mary had sat with her eyes on the ground. She looked up, and saw Harry
Acton by her side.
"I rejoice that you have been here," he said. "I will, with your leave,
accompany you home."
Mary said, "Pray do."
"It is humbling to our human pride to be called on to acknowledge that
we are outcast and rebellious sinners," he remarked, "but it is a truth
all must be convinced of before they can understand the value of God's
plan of salvation."
"I do feel it most deeply," murmured Mary; "and had I gone away without
hearing the gospel part of the address, I should indeed have been most
miserable."
Arthur made no remark, but as soon as he reached home, producing a
Bible, he asked Acton to help him to refer to many of the passages which
had been quoted.
"Remember, Arthur, we must not only search the Scriptures, but search
them diligently, with earnest prayer for enlightenment," observed Harry.
They did so. Mr Maitland was from home, and the three thus sat together
without interruption, searching, as Harry remarked, "whether these
things were so." It was the commencement of a new era in the lives of
the brother and sister. No longer legalists and formalists, as they had
hitherto been, they became true and humble followers of Jesus, and found
a happiness and contentment they had hitherto not known.
CHAPTER SIX.
Mr Maitland gladly allowed Mary to accept Harry Acton, who had asked her
to become his wife. Arthur, on this, entreated his father to allow him
to go to college.
"I would rather that one of my own sons should have taken the farm after
me; but as Harry seems willing to occupy your place, and as I am afraid
you will never give your heart to the business, I must let you follow
the bent of your inclination," answered Mr Maitland.
Arthur at once, therefore, went to college. As his father could make
him but a small allowance, he entered as a sizar. He worked, however,
so diligently, that though he did not possess the brilliant talents of
Hugh, he made good progress. Hugh had not only supported himself, but
when he left the university, had saved sufficient to enter as a law
student at Lincoln's Inn. Having not only eaten his way through his
terms, but studied hard all the time, he was at length called to the
Bar, and was shortly afterwards engaged as junior counsel in a case
relating to the purchase of a property in his own county. His senior
counsel having been taken ill, the cause remained in his bands. Having
frequently been in the house about which the dispute had arisen--he was
well acquainted with the locality--he brought forward witnesses to prove
what he knew to be the truth. He had thus an opportunity of exhibiting
his powers as a speaker, and triumphantly won. He had no lack after
this of briefs, and in a short time became known among the solicitors on
the circuit as a rising barrister, in whose hands they could safely
commit the causes of their clients.
Mr Maitland was proud of his son's success, and welcomed him whenever he
could spare time for a visit.
Between Hugh and Harry Acton there was, however, no sympathy. Hugh
looked upon Harry as a very worthy young man, to whom he was happy
enough to see his sister married, but thought him somewhat weak, and too
much absorbed in his religious notions. Harry, on the other hand,
considered Hugh a hard, worldly man, whose sole aim was to push his way
in the world, forgetful of all higher spiritual matters. Still they
were very good friends, and Harry took every opportunity of putting the
truth in a loving and affectionate way before Hugh.
"Very good," answered Hugh one day to some of his remarks, "but life is
short, and those never get on who waste time on subjects which interfere
with their lawful pursuits. I want to be a judge some day, and when I
am not studying law cases or my briefs, I must take a little relaxation,
and should break down if I attended to the matters that interest you."
"But, my dear Hugh, agreeing that life is short, I argue that for that
very reason we should employ it in a way to prepare ourselves for the
event which must occur at its termination. Its very brevity proves to
me that it is only a portion, and a very small one, of our existence,
and that it is given us to prepare for another and a holier state of
existence. As we employ it here, so shall we be better fitted for that
higher, and what may be most glorious, state."
"Very well argued, Harry!" said Hugh; "I will consider more than I have
hitherto done the plan which you say the Bible contains for man's
redemption from the sinful and rebellious condition in which you argue
he lives here below."
Harry had more than once clearly placed God's scheme of salvation before
Hugh, who had listened to it with a dull, if not inattentive ear.
Hugh, however, went back into the world to enjoy its amusements, and to
attend to his legal duties, and did not allow Harry's remarks to trouble
him.
Arthur, meantime, took his degree, and as soon as he was of age, entered
the ministry. He had, however, no interest, and was not likely to
obtain preferment. He was, indeed, indifferent to it, provided he could
have the opportunity of preaching the gospel, and winning souls for
Christ. His worldly acquaintances declared that he had no high or lofty
aims, and Hugh pitied him for being content to go through life as a
humble drudge. His Christian friends considered his aims were as noble
and lofty as any human being could possess. His earnest desire was to
gain subjects for his Master's kingdom. He was ready to preach the
gospel at all times, and in all places, wherever he could get men to
listen. He felt as earnest when pressing one poor lost sinner to accept
the truth and be saved, as when addressing a large multitude, hanging on
his words; and he made his way into hospitals with that object in view,
looking upon the souls of the humble and wretched as of as much value in
God's sight as those of the rich and powerful. He was at length
appointed chaplain to the prison of the county gaol, a post which many
would consider as among the least hopeful for winning souls. Arthur
Maitland performed his duties in no perfunctory way; he entered upon
them with all the zeal which the love of souls can alone excite,
influenced by God's Holy Spirit. Here, month after month, he laboured
with untiring energy. Unhappily, the prison cells were at that time
always full; and many who entered them in dark ignorance, went forth
rejoicing in that risen Saviour, against whose loving laws they had long
been rebels. Arthur would seldom even allow himself a short visit to
Mary and her husband, much as they rejoiced whenever he was able to
come.
Mr Maitland continued, as heretofore, engaged in his agricultural
pursuits, and as stern an opponent of the smugglers as before; he was,
indeed, more than ever incensed against them, on account of a fearful
outrage which had lately been committed on a Custom-house officer
residing at a neighbouring village. This officer, Bursey by name, had
been always a conscientious and zealous servant of Government. He had
mortally offended the smugglers by his activity. On this account Mr
Maitland held him in much esteem, and had constantly afforded him
support. On a dark night in winter, Mr Bursey, after he had retired for
some hours to bed, was aroused by a loud rapping at the door. On
looking through the casement of his chamber, he perceived two men, whose
countenances he could not distinguish because of the gloom of midnight.
He inquired their business, when one of them informed him that he had
discovered a large quantity of smuggled goods in a barn at no great
distance, to which he and his companion would lead him on the promise of
a certain reward. A bargain was immediately struck, and Mr Bursey,
telling his wife what had occurred, and that he would soon be back,
unsuspicious of danger, hastily clothed himself, and descended unarmed
into the passage; and on opening the door, his brains were instantly
dashed out on the threshold. The other inmates of the house were
aroused, but before they could reach the hall door the murderers had
fled. There could be no doubt that some members of the daring smugglers
who had so long infested the neighbourhood were guilty of the murder,
but who they were it seemed hopeless to discover. Every effort was made
to trace them; Mr Maitland was among the most active engaged in the
search. Hitherto, however, the culprits had escaped, and it was
supposed that they had left the country.
All hopes of finding them had been abandoned. At first Mr Maitland,
knowing the feeling of hatred he had excited against himself, though a
brave man, thought it prudent to avoid riding to any distance from home
after nightfall. By degrees, however, he grew less cautious; and if
business called him out, he did not hesitate to delay to any hour that
was convenient. He had one day gone to Christchurch, and it was
somewhat late before he mounted his horse to return home. The friend he
was visiting had begged him to stop till the next morning.
"If you fancy that I fear the smugglers, set your mind at rest; I am not
likely to be attacked, and my mare will give them the go-bye if they
attempt to do so."
He set off. Darkness came on, and a storm of thunder and lightning that
had long been brewing broke over his head. While passing through a
thick part of the forest, four men suddenly sprang out on him, and a
couple of bullets whistled by his head. Putting spurs to his horse, he
was dashing on, when his bridle was seized, and he was dragged from his
saddle. A heavy blow on the head almost stunned him, but he retained
sufficient consciousness to distinguish the voice of another man who had
suddenly rushed up.
"Who have you got there?" asked the new-comer.
"Old Maitland, and we will give him his deserts," replied one of the men
with a fierce oath.
"Hold! hold! don't kill him!" cried the man.
It was too late. One of the ruffians let the butt end of his pistol
fall with a tremendous blow, which made the unfortunate farmer fall
helpless to the ground. A cry of horror echoed through the forest.
The murderers, satisfied that they had performed their deed of
vengeance, hastened from the spot.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
Harry Acton and his wife anxiously sat up till a late hour, waiting the
return of Mr Maitland. When he did not appear the next morning, his
son-in-law rode over to Christchurch to inquire for him. Harry became
alarmed on hearing that he had left that place, and hastened to the
nearest magistrate. A search was at once made in all directions. Mr
Maitland's body was at length found. It was evident how he had been
killed, and it was at once suspected that some of the gang of smugglers
who had murdered Bursey were guilty of the deed. While the party were
waiting for a cart to convey the body to Christchurch, a man was caught
sight of among the trees in the distance. On finding that he was
observed, he took to flight. He was chased, and at length overtaken.
His dress showed that he was a seaman, probably a smuggler, his
countenance was haggard, his eyes bloodshot. He made no attempt to
defend himself, though he had a brace of pistols in his belt, and they
were both loaded. As he was being dragged along, blood was observed on
his coat, and blood had flowed from the victim's head. His name was
asked.
"Geoferey Marwood," he answered promptly.
"What do you know about the death of this man?" he was next asked.
"I did not kill him," he answered.
"You will have a hard job to prove to the contrary," observed one of his
captors, as they dragged the unhappy man along.
Mr Maitland's body was conveyed to Christchurch, where an inquest was
held, when a verdict of murder was returned against Geoferey Marwood,
and others not in custody. He, notwithstanding, protested his
innocence, and accused four others of being guilty of the crime.
Warrants were therefore issued for their apprehension, while he was
conveyed to Winchester gaol to await his trial. Notwithstanding his
protestations of innocence, it was generally supposed in the
neighbourhood that Marwood was guilty of the murder of Mr Maitland, and
that he had accused the other men in the hopes of prolonging his own
life while search was being made for them. Though, however, they for a
considerable time evaded the officers of justice, the whole were at
length apprehended and conveyed to gaol. For many weeks the wretched
man known as Geoferey Marwood lay in the felon's cell. Arthur Maitland
frequently visited him, though he could not do so without horror as the
supposed murderer of his father. Yet his sense of duty overcame all
other considerations, and he endeavoured to address him as he would have
done any other prisoner. The man, however, seemed to have hardened his
heart, and to have an utter indifference to his fate.
"I have said that I did not kill the old man; but if it is proved that I
did it, they will hang me, I suppose, and there will be another man less
in the world. It is no matter, for I have nothing to live for; if I
had, I should not have been taken in the way I was."
"But you have a soul, and that must live for ever," urged Arthur. "If
you die impenitent, still refusing to accept God's offer of mercy, which
He holds out even to the worst of sinners, that soul must spend eternity
in misery unspeakable, cast out from His presence."
Arthur then read to him the account of the Crucifixion, and of the
Saviour's gracious promise to the penitent thief.
"Great as is the crime that you are accused of, even if guilty, though
man may not pardon you, God has promised to do so if you turn to Him and
accept His offer. `The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,'"
"I tell you I am not guilty of that crime," answered Marwood. "I have
done a number of things I wish that I had not; but if they choose to
hang me, they may--that's all I have to say about it."
Still, although Arthur had seldom met with a prisoner who appeared more
hardened or more indifferent to his fate, he persisted in visiting him,
and placing before him the truths of the gospel.
He had endeavoured to show him what sin is, how hateful it is in God's
sight, and he had warned him that God is a God of justice, and can by no
means overlook iniquity. He had faithfully placed before him the
fearful condemnation which he would bring down upon himself if dying
impenitent. He now spoke to him of God's long-suffering and kindness,
of His mercy, and readiness to forgive. He inquired whether he
remembered a fond mother and kind father whom he had offended.
"Surely when you did so, and went back to them and expressed your
sorrow, they received you again, and forgave you."
"I never remember my mother," answered the prisoner. "My father was a
good man, but he was stern, and because I disobeyed him and joined some
wild companions, I was told that he would not forgive me, and so I ran
off and kept out of his way. I found out afterwards that he thought me
dead. It was too late then to go back, for I had done so many things
which he would have condemned that I could not face him."
Just at that moment the warders arrived at the door to conduct him to
the court. His trial was about to commence. He and the other four men
accused of the murder of Mr Maitland were placed in the dock. The
junior counsel for the prosecution was Hugh Maitland. As had occurred
at the commencement of his career, his senior counsel was unable, on
account of sudden illness, to attend. His private feelings, as well as
his professional interest, induced him to exert all his talents to
procure the condemnation of the prisoners, whom he believed to be
guilty. Every effort had been made to obtain proof against them. Of
this they well knew.
Evil-doers, though often faithful to each other while success attends
them, are frequently, for the sake of saving their own lives, ready to
betray each other.
One of the men had offered to turn king's evidence. Hugh brought him
forward as a witness.
The trial went on. The evidence contributed to fix the guilt on all the
prisoners. That, however, of their traitorous companion was crushing.
The jury were convinced that Marwood was guilty, as well as the three
others. The blood on his coat, and his having been found in the
neighbourhood, left no doubt on their minds, notwithstanding all the
counsel of the accused could say in their favour. The jury brought in a
verdict of "guilty." The judge was about to pronounce sentence, when
one of the condemned men claimed to be heard. He acknowledged that he
and his three companions were the murderers of Mr Maitland, and that
though he had not struck the fatal blow, he had been assisting; but that
Marwood, though he had arrived at the moment, had no notion of their
intention, but, on the contrary, had interfered and endeavoured to stop
them. This evidence was considered of so much value, that though the
judge condemned the whole to death, he recommended Marwood to mercy.
In those days a brief time only was allowed between sentence and
execution. The three other prisoners knew that they had no hope of
escaping, and Arthur felt it his duty to warn Marwood that the
Government were so determined to put an end to the smuggler's traffic,
and to punish all who fell into their hands, that he must not entertain
much expectation of being reprieved.
"I care not for my life; but of this crime, as I have always said, I am
innocent, and would die a thousand deaths rather than suffer for it," he
answered. "And tell me, sir, who was that lawyer that appeared against
me. I heard his name; it is one I once well knew."
"He is a barrister of high talent, the eldest son of the murdered man."
The prisoner, who was now in the condemned cell, lifted his manacled
hands, exclaiming, involuntarily it seemed--
"My brother appear against me! God have mercy on him, for through him I
have been unjustly condemned. As there is a God in heaven, whom I have
so often blasphemed, I tell you again that I am guiltless of the crime
for which I am condemned!"
Arthur was too much agitated to speak for a moment.
"You the brother of Hugh Maitland?" he exclaimed, "I am his brother. We
had but one other brother, Gilbert, who lost his life when a mere lad;
so we believed, and long mourned him as dead."
"Arthur! Arthur!" exclaimed Gilbert, for he was indeed the prisoner.
"I recognise your features, although I had not till now done so. Can
you believe me guilty of our father's death? I confess to countless
crimes, but of that I am innocent."
Arthur at length recovered himself. From several circumstances which
Gilbert brought to his memory, he was thoroughly convinced that he was
indeed his brother.
"I before hoped that you might escape death, and now that I am convinced
that you are innocent, I must use every exertion to prevent the risk of
the reprieve not reaching Winchester in time to stay your execution."
Arthur hastened away in search of Hugh, who was on the point of starting
for London. The calm, self-confident barrister sunk almost fainting
into a chair when he heard Arthur's account. He, however, soon
recovered his self-possession.
"If Gilbert is innocent, I am guilty of fratricide, and shall have
contributed to bring disgrace on our family!" he exclaimed.
Together they set out for London. A reprieve, which had hitherto been
refused, was granted.
It was on the very morning that the execution of the prisoners was to
take place. An accident might delay them. It was daylight before they
reached the gaol. They found the Governor in a state of agitation, for
one of the prisoners had escaped. He was greatly relieved on finding
that it was the man for whom they had brought a reprieve.
"One difficulty is got over," he observed; "but I should have had to
keep him here, for he and another were accused, by that fellow who
turned king's evidence, and who hopes to get the promised reward, of
being implicated in Bursey's murder."
The two brothers looked at each other. Hugh could scarcely restrain his
feelings; a sense of bitter shame predominated, however, for the
disgrace he had hoped to escape might still fall on his family. Arthur
earnestly prayed that the information might be false, and that his
unhappy brother was innocent. The prisoner was supposed to have made
his way to Southampton, and to have escaped on board a foreign-bound
ship.
Several months passed away; it was the autumn. Arthur had gone to spend
some days with Mary and her husband. He had ridden over to call on some
friends at Christchurch. A heavy equinoctial gale was blowing from the
south-west. As he was returning along the coast, wishing to obtain a
view of the stormy sea, now covered with foaming waves, he observed a
large lugger, under a press of sail, standing towards the shore. A
number of people were collected on the beach, and he guessed, from the
light waggons and horses of which he had caught sight, that preparations
were being made for running a cargo of smuggled goods, then often done
in open day, the Revenue officers being either enticed away or bribed
not to interfere.
The danger a vessel must encounter venturing in at that time appeared
fearfully great. He could not bring himself to leave the spot. The
reason of the lugger's attempting the hazardous experiment, however, was
evident. In the offing appeared a sloop-of-war, and one, he knew, had
been sent to cruise after smugglers. From remarks he overheard, he
discovered that the lugger was the _Saucy Sally_, commanded by Slippery
Rogers. Every moment the gale was increasing, and the surf came rolling
with greater and greater force upon the beach. Those on shore threw up
a signal to show that landing was impossible, but the fearless crew of
the lugger pushed madly on. One instant she appeared with her broad
spread of canvas swelling to the gale; the next, surrounded by the
fierce waves dashing up madly around her, she lay shattered to fragments
on the shingly beach, her crew struggling vainly in the surf. Some few
amid the wreck, and casks and bales, which formed her cargo, were washed
on shore, but the greater number were carried out far beyond human reach
by the receding waves. Of those who were saved, several were fearfully
injured, some breathed their last as they were dragged out of the water.
Arthur offered that assistance which the rough men were little able to
afford. He had sent off for a surgeon, and having attended to two of
the sufferers, hastened to the side of a third, who seemed to have
received some severe injuries. As he knelt down he recognised the
countenance of his unhappy brother Gilbert, who, opening his eyes, fixed
them on his face.
"We obtained a reprieve," said Arthur. "Why did you escape? you knew I
had gone to obtain it."
"I did not trust to the king's mercy; and as I had the opportunity, I
determined to avail myself of it," answered Gilbert in a feeble voice.
"Our king is a merciful sovereign; he has ever shown a readiness to
forgive when his sense of justice will allow him," answered Arthur.
"But oh! how much more merciful is our Father in heaven; and His justice
having been amply satisfied by the willing sacrifice of His dear Son,
who died for sinners, He is abundantly ready to forgive the sinner who
trusts to that full atonement made for his sins! I speak thus, dear
Gilbert, for I fear your time on earth is short."
"I know it is," answered Gilbert. "Oh! continue to speak as you have
begun. I knew myself to be a guilty, outcast sinner before I left the
prison. What you had said to me sunk into my heart. It was for your
sake and for Hugh's more than my own that I escaped; and I came back in
the lugger resolved not to participate in the profits of the
enterprise."
Arthur sighed.
"Those who associate with evil-doers share in their doings," he was
compelled to remark, but he dwelt not on that subject.
"My dear brother," he continued, "we are all sinners in the sight of a
pure and holy God, who cannot look upon iniquity; but He in His love and
mercy has provided a fountain in which all our sins, however black,
however foul, can be washed away; and He tells us in His Word that
though they be red like crimson, they shall become as white as snow, and
though they be as scarlet, they become as wool--that He will put them as
far from us as the east is from the west. To that fountain which flowed
from the side of Jesus when He hung on the cross, offering himself up as
a full and sufficient sacrifice in God's sight for the sins of all who
trust in Him, let me urge you to turn your eyes; believe in that loving
Saviour that He died for you, as well as for other sinners; that His
heart yearns toward you; that He desires you to come to Him and be
saved."
"I remember, Arthur, that you said this to me in prison; but I hardened
my heart. I was strong and well, and feared not death," answered
Gilbert, with a deep sigh. "I can do nothing to merit heaven--it's too
late now, it's too late."
"It is never too late," exclaimed Arthur. "The arms of Jesus are ever
ready to receive all who come to Him in simple faith, trusting to His
merits alone, and not to any merits of their own, or anything they ever
can do to deserve His favour; banish such a thought from your mind. By
His free grace He gives us salvation: remember the thief on the cross;
he simply turned his dying eye on his crucified Lord, acknowledging that
He was the Son of God, and the same answer Jesus gave to him He will
give to you if you believe on Him. Remember, too, how the Israelites in
the wilderness, bitten by the fiery serpents, were told to look on the
serpent of brass, the emblem of healing held up by Moses, and no sooner
did they look than they were healed. How merciful, how loving, how
gracious, is our Father in heaven, who, knowing the frailty of poor
human beings, has thus provided so simple, so easy, and yet so
all-sufficient a means by which they may be saved."
Arthur, animated by love for his brother's soul, continued thus to plead
with him, for he dreaded lest he might die in the attempt to move him.
He would have pleaded, however, in the same way with any other sufferer,
for he knew the value of human souls.
At length several of the people assembled round him, and charitably
offered to convey the injured man to a cottage at some little distance
from the beach.
"Let me be taken there," whispered Gilbert; "there is another I should
wish to see, to ask her forgiveness for all the pain and sorrow I have
caused her, but do not leave me."
A litter was speedily formed with a couple of spars and a piece of sail,
and Gilbert being placed on it, four fishermen conveyed him towards the
cottage, Arthur walking by his side, still holding his hand. The men
seeing that Arthur was a clergyman, were not surprised at the attention
he paid to the dying man, nor did they suspect the relationship.
"I am praying for you," whispered Arthur; "and oh, let me entreat you to
pray for yourself."
"I am trying to do so, but I find it hard. My faith is weak--too weak I
fear to avail me," gasped the dying man.
"Though it be but like a grain of mustard seed, He has promised that it
shall remove mountains," answered Arthur.
The cottage, happily the abode of Christian people, was reached. The
sufferer was placed on a bed prepared for him by the good woman of the
house, and Arthur immediately sent off a messenger to summon Mary and
her husband, as well as a surgeon, in the hopes that his skill might
benefit his brother. Anxiously he watched the livelong night by the
side of Arthur's couch, and it was with joy unspeakable that towards
morning he heard him whisper, "God has answered my prayer; I believe
that His Son Jesus Christ died for me, the just for the unjust, and that
through His merits my numberless sins are put away." Soon afterwards
the surgeon arrived. After examining Gilbert, he took Arthur aside.
"The injuries the poor fellow has received are such as I fear no human
skill can remedy. I will do my best, but I can give no hopes of his
recovery; he is a fitter subject for your care than mine, though these
smugglers are such ruffians that I do not suppose you will be able to do
much with him."
"We are all by nature rebels to God," answered Arthur, endeavouring to
conceal his feelings. "I will, as you advise, remain with the poor man,
and follow the directions you give."
The surgeon told Arthur what he advised and took his departure, and
Arthur hastened back to his brother. Mary and her husband arrived early
in the morning. Gilbert, though too weak to speak, knew his sister, and
showed by signs that he understood what she said. He pressed her hand,
and a smile lighted up his countenance when she assured him that she had
never ceased to pray for him, and to feel the same affection for him as
of yore.
"Those prayers have been answered, have they not?" said Arthur bending
over his brother, and he repeated the last words Gilbert had uttered, "I
believe that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." Again a
bright look passed across Gilbert's countenance, and holding the hands
of the loving ones kneeling by his side, his spirit passed away. One of
his last requests had been that he might be buried with his hapless
companions who had been rescued from the waves. It was complied with,
and no one besides those who were with him at his death knew that the
shipwrecked smuggler was Gilbert Maitland.
Oh that the young could see the fearful termination of the broad road
they are tempted by Satan to follow, ere they take the first downward
step along it!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.