The winter set in very severe, and the falls of snow were very heavy
and frequent. It was fortunate that Humphrey had been so provident in
making so large a quantity of hay, or the stock would have been
starved. The flock of goats, in a great part, subsisted themselves on
the bark of trees and moss; at night they had some hay given to them,
and they did very well. It was hardly possible for Edward to come over
to see his brother and sisters, for the snow was so deep as to render
such a long journey too fatiguing for a horse. Twice or thrice after
the snow fell, he contrived to get over; but after that they knew it
was impossible, and they did not expect him. Humphrey and Pablo had
little to do except attending to the stock, and cutting firewood to
keep up their supply, for they now burned it very fast. The snow lay
several feet high round the cottage, being driven against it by the
wind. They had kept a passage clear to the yard, and had kept the yard
as clear of snow as possible: they could do no more. A sharp frost and
clear weather succeeded to the snow-storms, and there appeared no
chance of the snow melting away. The nights were dark and long, and
their oil for their lamp was getting low. Humphrey was anxious to go to
Lymington, as they required many things but it was impossible to go any
where except on foot, and walking was, from the depth of the snow, a
most fatiguing exercise. There was one thing, however, that Humphrey
had not forgotten, which was, that he had told Edward that he would try
and capture some of the forest ponies; and during the whole of the time
since the heavy fall of snow had taken place he had been making his
arrangements. The depth of the snow prevented the animals from
obtaining any grass, and they were almost starved, as they could find
nothing to subsist upon except the twigs and branches of trees which
they could reach. Humphrey went out with Pablo, and found the herd,
which was about five miles from the cottage, and near to Clara's
cottage. He and Pablo brought with them as much hay as they could
carry, and strewed it about, so as to draw the ponies nearer to them,
and then Humphrey looked for a place which would answer his purpose.
About three miles from the cottage, he found what he thought would suit
him; there was a sort of avenue between the two thickets, about a
hundred yards wide; and the wind blowing through this avenue, during
the snow-storm, had drifted the snow at one end of it, and right across
it raised a large mound several feet high. By strewing small bundles of
hay, he drew the herd of ponies into this avenue; and in the avenue he
left them a good quantity to feed upon every night for several nights,
till at last the herd of ponies went there every morning.
"Now, Pablo, we must make a trial," said Humphrey. "You must get your
lassoes ready, in case they should be required. We must go to the
avenue before daylight, with the two dogs, tie one upon one side of the
avenue and the other on the other, that they may bark and prevent the
ponies from attempting to escape through the thicket. Then we must get
the ponies between us and the drift of snow which lies across the
avenue, and try if we can not draw them into the drift. If so, they
will plunge in so deep that some of them will not be able to get out
before we have thrown the ropes round their necks."
"I see," said Pablo; "very good--soon catch them."
Before daylight they went with the dogs and a large bundle of hay,
which they strewed nearer to the mound of drift-snow. They then tied
the dogs up on each side, ordering them to lie down and be quiet. They
then walked through the thicket so as not to be perceived, until they
considered that they were far enough from the drift-snow. About
daylight, the herd came to pick up the hay as usual, and after they had
passed them Humphrey and Pablo followed in the thicket, not wishing to
show themselves till the last moment. While the ponies were busy with
the hay, they suddenly ran out into the avenue and separated, so as to
prevent the ponies from attempting to gallop past them. Shouting as
loud they could, as they ran up to the ponies, and calling to the dogs,
who immediately set up barking on each side, the ponies, alarmed at the
noise and the appearance of Humphrey and Pablo, naturally set off in
the only direction which appeared to them to be clear, and galloped
away over the mound of drift-snow, with their tails streaming, snorting
and plunging in the snow as they hurried along; but as soon as they
arrived at the mound of drift-snow, they plunged first up to their
bellies, and afterward, as they attempted to force their way where the
snow was deeper, many of them stuck fast altogether, and attempted to
clear themselves in vain. Humphrey and Pablo, who had followed them as
fast as they could run, now came up with them and threw the lasso over
the neck of one, and ropes with slip-nooses over two more, which were
floundering in the snow there together. The remainder of the herd,
after great exertions, got clear of the snow by turning round and
galloping back through the avenue. The three ponies captured made a
furious struggle, but by drawing the ropes tight round their necks they
were choked, and soon unable to move. They then tied their fore-legs,
and loosed the ropes round their necks, that they might recover their
breath.
"Got them now, Massa Humphrey," said Pablo.
"Yes; but our work is not yet over, Pablo; we must get them home; how
shall we manage that?"
"Suppose they no eat to-day and to-morrow, get very tame."
"I believe that will be the best way; they can not get loose again, do
all they can."
"No, sir; but get one home to-day. This very fine pony; suppose we try
him."
Pablo then put the halter on, and tied the end short to the fore-leg of
the pony, so that it could not walk without keeping its head close to
the ground--if it raised its head, it was obliged to lift up its leg.
Then he put the lasso round its neck, to choke it if it was too unruly,
and having done that, he cast loose the ropes which had tied its
fore-legs together.
"Now, Massa Humphrey, we get him home somehow. First I go loose the
dogs; he 'fraid of the dogs, and run t'other way."
The pony, which was an iron-gray and very handsome, plunged furiously
and kicked behind, but it could not do so without falling down, which
it did several times before Pablo returned with the dogs. Humphrey held
one part of the lasso on one side, and Pablo on the other, keeping the
pony between them; and with the dogs barking at it behind, they
contrived, with a great deal of exertion and trouble, to get the pony
to the cottage. The poor animal, driven in this way on three legs, and
every now and then choked with the lasso, was covered with foam before
they arrived. Billy was turned out of his stable to make room for the
new-comer, who was fastened securely to the manger and then left
without food, that he might become tame. It was too late then, and they
were too tired themselves to go for the other two ponies; so they were
left lying on the snow all night, and the next morning they found they
were much tamer than the first; and during the day, following the same
plan, they were both brought to the stable and secured alongside of the
other. One was a bay pony with black legs, and the other a brown one.
The bay pony was a mare, and the other two horses. Alice and Edith were
delighted with the new ponies, and Humphrey was not a little pleased
that he had succeeded in capturing them, after what had passed between
Edward and him. After two days' fasting, the poor animals were so tame
that they ate out of Pablo's hand, and submitted to be stroked and
caressed; and before they were a fortnight in the stable, Alice and
Edith could go up to them without danger. They were soon broken in; for
the yard being full of muck, Pablo took them into it and mounted them.
They plunged and kicked at first, and tried all they could to get rid
of him, but they sunk so deep into the muck that they were soon tired
out; and after a month, they were all three tolerably quiet to ride.
The snow was so deep all over the country that there was little
communication with the metropolis. The intendant's letters spoke of
King Charles raising another army in Holland, and that his adherents in
England were preparing to join him as soon at he marched southward.
"I think, Edward," said the intendant, "that the king's affairs do now
wear a more promising aspect; but there is plenty of time yet. I know
your anxiety to serve your king, and I can not blame it. I shall not
prevent your going, although, of course, I must not appear to be
cognizant of your having so done. When the winter breaks up I shall
send you to London. You will then be better able to judge of what is
going on, and your absence will not create any suspicion; but you must
be guided by me."
"I certainly will, sir," replied Edward. "I should, indeed, like to
strike one blow for the king, come what will."
"All depends upon whether they manage affairs well in Scotland; but
there is so much jealousy and pride, and, I fear, treachery also, that
it is hard to say how matters may end."
It was soon after this conversation that a messenger arrived from
London with letters, announcing that King Charles had been crowned in
Scotland, with great solemnity and magnificence.
"The plot thickens," said the intendant; "and by this letter from my
correspondent, Ashley Cooper, I find that the king's army is well
appointed, and that David Lesley is lieutenant-general; Middleton
commands the horse, and Wemyss the artillery. That Wemyss is certainly
a good officer, but was not true to the late king: may he behave better
to the present! Now, Edward, I shall send you to London, and I will
give you letters to those who will advise you how to proceed. You may
take the black horse; he will bear you well. You will of course write
to me, for Sampson will go with you, and you can send him back when you
consider that you do not require or wish for his presence: there is no
time to be lost, for, depend upon it, Cromwell, who is still at
Edinburgh, will take the field as soon as he can. Are you ready to
start to-morrow morning?"
"Yes, sir, quite ready."
"I fear that you can not go over to the cottage to bid farewell to your
sisters; but, perhaps, it is better that you should not."
"I think so too, sir," replied Edward; "now that the snow has nearly
disappeared, I did think of going over, having been so long absent, but
I must send Oswald over instead."
"Well, then, leave me to write my letters, and do you prepare your
saddle-bags. Patience and Clara will assist you. Tell Sampson to come
to me."
Edward went to Patience and Clara, and told them that he was to set off
for London on the following morning, and was about to make his
preparations.
"How long do you remain, Edward?" inquired Patience.
"I can not tell; Sampson goes with me, and I must, of course, be guided
by your father. Do you know where the saddle-bags are, Patience?"
"Yes; Phoebe shall bring them to your room."
"And you and Clara must come and give me your assistance."
"Certainly we will, if you require it; but I did not know that your
wardrobe was so extensive."
"You know that it is any thing but extensive, Patience; but that is the
reason why your assistance is more required. A small wardrobe ought at
least to be in good order; and what I would require is, that you would
look over the linen, and where it requires a little repair, you will
bestow upon it your charity."
"That we will do, Clara;" replied Patience; "so get your needles and
thread, and let us send him to London with whole linen. We will come
when we are ready, sir."
"I don't like his going to London at all," said Clara, "we shall be so
lonely when he is gone."
Edward had left the room, and having obtained the saddlebags from
Phoebe had gone up to his chamber. The first thing that he laid hold of
was his father's sword; he took it down, and having wiped it carefully,
he kissed it, saying, "God grant that I may do credit to it, and prove
as worthy to wield it as was my brave father!" He had uttered these
words aloud; and again taking the sword, and laying it down on the bed,
turned round, and perceived that Patience had, unknown to him, entered
the room, and was standing close to him. Edward was not conscious that
he had spoken aloud, and therefore merely said, "I was not aware of
your presence, Patience. Your foot is so light."
"Whose sword is that, Edward?"
"It is mine; I bought it at Lymington."
"But what makes you have such an affection for that sword?"
"Affection for it?"
"Yes; as I came into the room you kissed it as fervently as--"
"As a lover would his mistress, I presume you would say," replied
Edward.
"Nay, I meant not to use such vain words. I was about to say, as a
devout Catholic would a relic. I ask you again, Why so? A sword is but
a sword. You are about to leave this on a mission of my father's. You
are not a soldier, about to engage in strife and war; if you were, why
kiss your sword?"
"I will tell you. I do love this sword. I purchased it, as I told you,
at Lymington, and they told me that it belonged to Colonel Beverley. It
is for his sake that I love it. You know what obligations our family
were under to him."
"This sword was then wielded by Colonel Beverley, the celebrated
Cavalier, was it?" said Patience, taking it off the bed, and examining
it.
"Yes, it was; and here, you see, are his initials upon the hilt."
"And why do you take it to London with you? Surely it is not the weapon
which should be worn by a secretary, Edward; it is too large and
cumbrous, and out of character."
"Recollect, that till these last few months I have been a forester,
Patience, and not a secretary. Indeed, I feel that I am more fit for
active life than the situation which your father's kindness has
bestowed upon me. I was brought up, as you have heard, to follow to the
wars, had my patron lived."
Patience made no reply. Clara now joined them, and they commenced the
task of examining the linen; and Edward left the room, as he wished to
speak with Oswald. They did not meet again till dinner time. Edward's
sudden departure had spread a gloom over them all--even the intendant
was silent and thoughtful. In the evening he gave Edward the letters
which he had written, and a considerable sum of money, telling him
where he was to apply if he required more for his expenses. The
intendant cautioned him on his behavior in many points, and also
relative to his dress and carriage during his stay in the metropolis.
"If you should leave London, there will be no occasion--nay, it would
be dangerous to write to me. I shall take it for granted that you will
retain Sampson till your departure, and when he returns here I shall
presume that you have gone north. I will not detain you longer, Edward:
may Heaven bless and protect you!"
So saying, the intendant went away to his own room.
"Kind and generous man!" thought Edward; "how much did I mistake you
when we first met!"
Taking up the letters and bag of money, which still remained on the
table, Edward went to his room, and having placed the letters and money
in the saddle-bag, he commended himself to the Divine Protector, and
retired to rest.
Before daylight, the sound of Sampson's heavy traveling-boots below
roused up Edward, and he was soon dressed. Taking his saddle-bags on
his arm, he walked softly down stairs, that he might not disturb any of
the family; but when he was passing the sitting-room, he perceived that
there was a light in it, and, on looking in, that Patience was up and
dressed. Edward looked surprised, and was about to speak, when Patience
said--
"I rose early, Edward, because, when I took leave of you last night, I
forgot a little parcel that I wanted to give you before you went. It
will not take much room, and may beguile a weary hour. It is a little
book of meditations. Will you accept it, and promise me to read it when
you have time?"
"I certainly will, my dear Patience--if I may venture on the
expression--read it, and think of you."
"Nay, you must read it, and think of what it contains," replied
Patience.
"I will, then. I shall not need the book to remind me of Patience
Heatherstone, I assure you."
"And now, Edward, I do not pretend to surmise the reason of your
departure, nor would it be becoming in me to attempt to discover what
my father thinks proper to be silent upon; but I must beg you to
promise one thing."
"Name it, dear Patience," replied Edward; "my heart is so full at the
thought of leaving you, that I feel I can refuse you nothing."
"It is this: I have a presentiment, I know not why, that you are about
to encounter danger. If so, be prudent--be prudent for the sake of your
dear sisters--be prudent for the sake of all your friends, who would
regret you--promise me that."
"I do promise you, most faithfully, Patience, that I will ever have my
sisters and you in my thoughts, and will not be rash under any
circumstances."
"Thank you, Edward; may God bless you and preserve you!"
Edward first kissed Patience's hand, that was held in his own; but,
perceiving the tears starting in her eyes, he kissed them off, without
any remonstrance on her part, and then left the room. In a few moments
more he was mounted on a fine, powerful black horse, and, followed by
Sampson, on his road to London.
We will pass over the journey, which was accomplished without any event
worthy of remark. Edward had, from the commencement, called Sampson to
his side, that he might answer the questions he had to make upon all
that he saw, and which, the reader must be aware, was quite new to one
whose peregrinations had been confined to the New Forest and the town
adjacent. Sampson was a very powerful man, of a cool and silent
character, by no means deficient in intelligence, and trustworthy
withal. He had long been a follower of the intendant, and had served in
the army. He was very devout, and generally, when not addressed, was
singing hymns in a low voice.
On the evening of the second day, they were close to the metropolis,
and Sampson pointed out to Edward St. Paul's Cathedral and Westminster
Abbey, and other objects worthy of note.
"And where are we to lodge, Sampson?" inquired Edward.
"The best hotel that I know of for man and beast is the 'Swan with
Three Necks,' in Holborn. It is not over-frequented by roisterers, and
you will there be quiet, and, if your affairs demand it, unobserved."
"That will suit me, Sampson: I wish to observe and not be observed,
during my stay in London."
Before dark they had arrived at the hotel, and the horses were in the
stable. Edward had procured an apartment to his satisfaction, and,
feeling fatigued with his two days' traveling, had gone to bed.
The following morning he examined the letters which had been given to
him by the intendant, and inquired of Sampson if he could direct him on
his way. Sampson knew London well; and Edward set out to Spring
Gardens, to deliver a letter, which the intendant informed him was
confidential, to a person of the name of Langton. Edward knocked and
was ushered in, Sampson taking a seat in the hall, while Edward was
shown into a handsomely-furnished library, where he found himself in
the presence of a tall, spare man, dressed after the fashion of the
Roundheads of the time. He presented the letter. Mr. Langton bowed, and
requested Edward to sit down; and, after Edward had taken a chair, he
then seated himself and opened the letter.
"You are right welcome, Master Armitage," said Mr. Langton; "I find
that, young as you appear to be, you are in the whole confidence of our
mutual friend, Master Heatherstone. He hints at your being probably
obliged to take a journey to the north, and that you will be glad to
take charge of any letters which I may have to send in that direction.
I will have them ready for you; and, in case of need, they will be such
as will give a coloring to your proceeding, provided you may not choose
to reveal your true object. How wears our good friend Heatherstone and
his daughter?"
"Quite well, sir."
"And he told me in one of his former letters that he had the daughter
of our poor friend Ratcliffe with him. Is it not so?"
"It is, Master Langton; and a gentle, pretty child as you would wish to
see."
"When did you arrive in London?"
"Yesterday evening, sir."
"And do you purpose any stay?"
"That I can not answer, sir; I must be guided by your advice. I have
naught to do here, unless it be to deliver some three or four letters,
given me by Mr. Heatherstone."
"It is my opinion, Master Armitage, that the less you are seen in this
city the better; there are hundreds employed to find out new-comers,
and to discover, from their people, or by other means, for what purpose
they may have come; for you must be aware, Master Armitage, that the
times are dangerous, and people's minds are various. In attempting to
free ourselves from what we considered despotism, we have created for
ourselves a worse despotism, and one that is less endurable. It is to
be hoped that what has passed will make not only kings but subjects
wiser than they have been. Now, what do you propose--to leave this
instantly?"
"Certainly, if you think it advisable."
"My advice, then, is to leave London immediately. I will give you
letters to some friends of mine in Lancashire and Yorkshire; in either
county you can remain unnoticed, and make what preparations you think
necessary. But do nothing in haste--consult well, and be guided by
them, who will, if it is considered advisable and prudent, join with
you in your project. I need say no more. Call upon me to-morrow
morning, an hour before noon, and I will have letters ready for you."
Edward rose to depart, and thanked Mr. Langton for his kindness.
"Farewell, Master Armitage," said Langton; "to-morrow, at the eleventh
hour!"
Edward then quitted the house, and delivered the other letters of
credence; the only one of importance at the moment was the one of
credit; the others were to various members of the Parliament, desiring
them to know Master Armitage as a confidential friend of the intendant,
and, in case of need, to exert their good offices in his behalf. The
letter of credit was upon a Hamburgh merchant, who asked Edward if he
required money. Edward replied that he did not at present, but that he
had business to do for his employer in the north, and might require
some when there, if it was possible to obtain it so far from London.
"When do you set out, and to what town do you go?"
"That I can not well tell until to-morrow."
"Call before you leave this, and I will find some means of providing
for you as you wish."
Edward then returned to the hotel. Before he went to bed, he told
Sampson that he found that he had to leave London on Mr. Heatherstone's
affairs, and might be absent some time; he concluded by observing that
he did not consider it necessary to take him with him, as he could
dispense with his services, and Mr. Heatherstone would be glad to have
him back.
"As you wish, sir," replied Sampson. "When am I to go back?"
"You may leave to-morrow as soon as you please. I have no letter to
send. You may tell them that I am well, and will write as soon as I
have any thing positive to communicate."
Edward then made Sampson a present, and wished him a pleasant journey.
At the hour appointed on the following day, Edward repaired to Mr.
Langton, who received him very cordially.
"I am all ready for you, Master Armitage; there is a letter to two
Catholic ladies in Lancashire, who will take great care of you; and
here is one to a friend of mine in Yorkshire. The ladies live about
four miles from the town of Bolton, and my Yorkshire friend in the city
of York. You may trust to any of them. And now, farewell; and, if
possible, leave London before nightfall--the sooner the better. Where
is your servant?"
"He has returned to Master Heatherstone this morning."
"You have done right. Lose no time to leave London; and don't be in a
hurry in your future plans. You understand me. If any one accosts you
on the road, put no trust in any professions. You, of course, are going
down to your relations in the north. Have you pistols?"
"Yes, sir; I have a pair which did belong to the unfortunate Mr.
Ratcliffe."
"Then they are good ones, I'll answer for it; no man was more
particular about his weapons, or knew how to use them better. Farewell,
Master Armitage, and may success attend you!"
Mr. Langton held out his hand to Edward, who respectfully took his
leave.