DIGBY FINDS THAT A BAD ADVISER IS THE WORST OF FRIENDS--MORE MISCHIEF
AND ITS INCONVENIENCES--SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES THREATENED.
Julian and Digby would very much have liked to have been sent to
Coventry, the morning after their cannon-firing, so that no disagreeable
questions might have been asked them. They dressed slowly and tried to
look over their lessons in their room, but got very little information
out of their books. They felt very foolish when the bell rang, aid they
had to make their appearance in the breakfast-room. Morning prayers
were over, and they took their seats round the breakfast-table.
"Well, Julian, did you not hear the noise last night?" were the first
words Marshall spoke.
"What noise?" asked Julian; "I sleep very soundly; it must have been a
row to awake me."
"Why, the guns of the old castle going off by themselves," said Power.
"Not a sound," said Julian, hoarsely.
Digby looked at him, and wondered if his friend had any conscience.
What should he say? there was the difficulty. He had always scorned a
lie; if so point blank a question were put to him, how could he answer
and not betray their secret?
"And did you sleep through it too, Digby?" said his uncle.
"No, I heard the noise very clearly," answered Digby, and he felt
happier after he had said this, though Julian gave him a tremendous kick
on the shins under the table.
"How could you remain quietly in bed after it?" asked Marshall.
"I was out," answered Digby firmly, "but I got back before you, since
you must know all about it. I don't think that you have a right to be
asking me questions, which I may not wish to answer. If I speak at all,
I wish to speak the truth. More I do not wish to say; and now, if you
like, tell me what you thought about it."
Mr Nugent looked surprised at Digby's firmness and unusual vehemence,
but suspecting that Julian had not spoken the truth, and that Digby
wished not to betray him, forbore to press the matter further.
Of course, both the boys were on tenter-hooks during the whole of
breakfast. Digby applied himself sturdily to his food and eat on
without speaking, as if he was in a very sulky mood. All day, too,
while they were at their lessons, every time there was a ring at the
door, they fancied that some one was coming to accuse them of their
misdemeanor. Digby thought much less about it than Julian, and it also
troubled him much less, because he had made up his mind, if directly
accused of the deed, to acknowledge it at once, without the slightest
attempt at evasion. His conscience told him, that this was the only
right course to pursue; any other would plunge him into a sea of
falsehood, from which he shrunk with dread. He intended, if he could
avoid so doing, not to inculpate Julian, but to take all the blame on
his own shoulders.
"Julian says he was not out of bed that night; he is very wrong, but I
don't want to get him into a scrape if he wishes to avoid it," he
thought to himself.
Unfortunately, he did not see Julian's conduct in its true light. That
young gentleman was all the time thinking, and plotting, and contriving,
how he should himself get out of the scrape. He had already told one
falsehood, he must invent others to avoid being found out after all. He
could not fix his attention on his lessons, and, of course, he did them
very badly.
"You must stay in and learn these twelve lines of your Delectus by
heart," said Mr Nugent, who was much displeased with him.
Digby, who had done his lessons much in his usual way, which was seldom
very first-rate by-the-by, was allowed to go out. Of course all the
rest were eager to go to the fort, and Digby was compelled to go with
them. This was doubly annoying to Julian, who wanted to have a few
minutes' conversation with him to get him to promise not to betray him,
and to induce him, if possible, to tell a long story which he had
concocted, to account for his not hearing the noise, and for his not
accompanying Digby afterwards to the fort.
When Digby and his companions reached the fort, he was astonished at the
mischief which had been committed. The old guns lay on the ground with
large pieces torn out of them, and their carriages knocked to atoms,
while a portion of the parapet round the embrasures had been crumbled
into powder.
While they were running about, who should walk into the fort but worthy
Mr Simson, the grocer. He watched his opportunity when Digby was
separated from his companions, and drew him aside.
"I hope the other gentleman isn't hurt," he said.
"No, he hasn't done his lessons, so he is not allowed to go out,"
answered Digby.
"I was afraid he might be hurt. Well, you two had a fortunate escape,"
observed Mr Simson; "I know all about it; I don't want to betray you,
though; I have boys of my own: but you mustn't do the same thing again,
that is all."
"Thank you," answered Digby, "I am very much obliged to you, indeed I
am."
"That's what I like, young gentleman, that's manly and right-spirited,"
said Mr Simson, taking his hand and pressing it warmly. "I wouldn't
betray you on any account, that I wouldn't. Trust to me."
Digby was much happier after this. He felt, however, that he had
escaped a great danger of the whole matter being known, and though he
couldn't exactly divine what punishment he might have inflicted on him,
he knew that he should at all events have been made to look very
foolish.
"They wouldn't hang a fellow for such a thing, and I don't suppose they
would send me to prison. Still, I am really very grateful to kind Mr
Simson for not peaching. I'll always deal with him in future. How did
he find out all about it, I wonder?"
He heard with much more indifference than at first, the various remarks
and conjectures made on the subject, and the feeling that he had acted a
manly part about it enabled him to look people boldly in the face, and
thus he escaped the suspicion which would otherwise have fallen on him.
When he got home he found Julian very dull and sorry for himself. He
told him what Mr Simson had said.
"Oh, then, he will go and peach upon us, and it will all be found out,"
exclaimed Julian, half-crying.
"But he promised that he would say nothing about the matter," urged
Digby.
"So he might, but one can't trust to a shopkeeper," answered Julian,
with a scornful turn of his lip.
"I don't see that," replied Digby; "if he is an honourable man and has
good feelings, I think that one may trust to a shopkeeper as well as to
the first noble in the land; I know that my uncle often says that one
man's word is as good as that of another, provided both are equally
honest and upright."
"All I know is, that old Simson was very impertinent to me when I went
to buy the gunpowder," said Julian; "if I hadn't wanted more I wouldn't
have gone to him again."
"He cautioned me about it, and not without some reason," said Digby; "So
I'll maintain that old Simson is a very good fellow, and, what's more,
I'm sure he looks like a gentleman in every way."
Several days passed by, and though inquiries were made and numbers of
people were examined, no clue was discovered to the originators of what
the county papers called that mysterious circumstance at Osberton.
Digby couldn't help cutting out the paragraph, and sending it to Kate,
darkly hinting that he might, perhaps, some day enlighten her about the
matter. He was afraid of committing the account to paper, but her very
acute perception at once divined that he had taken a prominent part in
the affair. How she did long to hear all about it, and how he did long
for the holidays that he might tell her. He had an idea that his uncle
knew something about it, because after this neither he nor Julian were
allowed to go out, except in company with Marshall or Power, or Toby
Tubb. One day, however, all the boys had gone together to the beach,
and by some means or other, unintentionally, while some were climbing up
over the cliffs, Digby got separated from the rest. As he knew his way
home, however, perfectly well, he did not care about it, even though it
was growing dark. He had not gone far when two men overtook him; they
were rough-looking fellows and dressed as seamen; he did not altogether
like their appearance. They went on some little way, and then turning
back, they looked him in the face, and one of them said--
"Are you Squire Heathcote's son, master?"
"Yes," answered Digby, "I am. Why do you want to know?"
"I've asked a civil question, and you've given a civil answer, master.
Good-night," replied the man who had before spoken; and then they both
walked rapidly on.
Digby thought it rather odd that men of that sort should wish to know
who he was, but troubled himself very little more about the matter.
When he got home, his uncle inquired how he came to be later than the
rest; and knowing he always spoke the truth, was perfectly satisfied
with his explanation.
"Your uncle seems to think that he can trust you much more than he can
me," observed Julian one day. "It is very hard upon me, as I am older.
He favours you as a relation, that's it, I've no doubt."
Digby made no reply, but he felt indignant, as he could not bear to have
his uncle, whom he respected, spoken ill of.
By degrees Julian recovered his usual state of mind, and, as he did so,
his fertile brain began to devise fresh schemes of mischief. Since his
liberty had been curtailed he found them, however, much more difficult
to carry out. It may seem strange that, after all the anxiety and
inconvenience he had suffered in consequence of his last achievement, he
should be eager to do something which was likely to produce the same
results; but such is unfortunately too generally the case with
evildoers. Unless some severe punishment follows they go on and on,
committing the same evil again and again. Indeed, even punishment will
not always deter people who have given themselves up to evil ways from
continuing in them; and men have frequently been known, the very day
after they have been released from prison, to have committed the very
crime for which they have been confined. Reformation of heart and
character is what is required, and this had not taken place with regard
to Julian Langley.
"I've hit upon a capital idea, Digby," said he one day when the two were
alone; "help me out with it."
"What is it?" asked his companion.
"I've been thinking what fun it would be to set all the fishing-boats
out in the river adrift. How they would knock about each other, and how
angry the boatmen would be."
"I should think they would be angry, indeed," answered Digby, stoutly.
"Fun is fun, but it seems to me that a great deal of harm might be done
by what you propose. I'd advise you to give up the idea; I'll have
nothing to do with it."
"I thought you were a fellow of spirit, Digby," sneered Julian. "What
great harm can there be in letting a few old fishermen's boats knock
together?"
"Why, they might get carried out to sea, and be lost altogether, and
have their sides stove in, or holes made in their bottoms, or be sunk,
and lose their oars and sails; indeed, I can fancy a great deal of
damage might be done," said Digby. "I think that it would be very wrong
and cruel to the poor fishermen."
"Oh, now I see you are going to take a leaf out of your uncle's book,
and to turn saint," sneered Julian. This was one of his most powerful
expressions. He knew that Digby especially disliked being called a
saint, and that he often confessed, as do many older people with equal
thoughtlessness, that he did not set up for a saint. People seem not to
consider, if they do not wish to become saints, what they really do
desire to become. Certainly none but saints can inherit the glories of
eternity; and unless they trust in the merits of One who can cleanse
them from their sins, and make them saints, so that they may be
presented spotless to the Father Almighty, from those glories they will
be shut out.
Poor Digby winced under Julian's sneer. "A saint; no, I am no saint, I
hope, but I don't want to injure the poor fishermen," he answered,
firmly.
"Injure them! Who's going to injure them?" exclaimed Julian,
petulantly. "I've made up my mind to have my lark, and have it I will.
If any great harm comes I'm ready to bear it. You won't peach upon me,
I suppose?"
"No," answered Digby, indignantly. "I like fun as much as you; and if I
saw the fun I'd do it willingly."
Julian thought that Digby was relenting, and still pressed the matter,
but in vain. "Well, if you won't go I must get somebody else. I know a
fellow who will help, though none of the sneaks here will join me," said
Julian, walking away.
Digby felt satisfied that he had done right, still he did not like to
let Julian go away, and have his fun by himself.
The latter young gentleman went into the garden, and disappeared in the
shrubbery. In spite of the prohibition still existing against his going
out alone, he jumped over the wall, and betook himself to the river
side. He had scraped acquaintance with a lad of his own age, the son of
a small innkeeper, who had been a smuggler, and was still, it was
suspected, intimately connected with smugglers.
Dick Owlett was certainly not a fit associate for the son of the
Honorable Mr Langley; but vice more than anything else creates
incongruous companionships. Young Owlett was ready to do anything
Julian proposed, because he fancied that he might easily throw all the
blame on Julian's shoulders, or else that, through Julian's influence,
they both might escape punishment. Dick had none of Digby's scruples,
so the whole plan was soon arranged. Both had thoroughly ill-regulated
minds, and rejoiced in mischief for mischief's sake.
Julian came back unperceived, and, in high spirits, told Digby that he
was going to have his fun in spite of him.
The following night Julian awoke Digby about eleven o'clock, and told
him that he must help him to get out of the window, and wait his return
to let him in again.
Digby expostulated, but in vain; he had not yet learned that the only
sure way for the young to avoid the contamination of evildoers is to
keep out of their society altogether. So Digby agreed to sit up till
Julian's return.
The rope was secured, Julian descended by it, and off he ran across the
lawn towards the wall, over which he had so often before made his escape
from the premises.
Digby waited and waited; Julian did not return. He became very anxious
about him. He wished that he had taken stronger measures to prevent his
carrying out his foolish and mischievous prank. The only effectual way
to have prevented him would have been to have told Marshall or his
uncle, but such a proceeding was so contrary to all his notions of what
ought to be done, that it did not even occur to him. He could not
exactly tell how time passed, but he thought that Julian must have been
away a very long time. He could bear the suspense no longer. Some boys
of his age would have gone to bed, and cried, or sat quaking with fear.
To do this was not at all in Digby's nature. He loved action; he must
be up and doing. He knew the road Julian would have taken, and he
resolved to go and look for him. It did not occur to him that he should
thus run a great risk of being implicated in whatever his companion had
done; had he, I do not believe that the fear of that would have weighed
with him a moment. He put on all his clothes and his shoes, and,
without further consideration, slipped down the rope, gained the wall,
and ran on as fast as his legs could carry him towards the river. He
got very nearly to the spot where he thought Julian would have embarked,
when he met two boys running. "Who's there?--Julian, is that you?" he
exclaimed.
"Oh, Digby, how you startled me," exclaimed one of the boys. It was
Julian who spoke.
"All right," cried Digby. "I became very anxious. I was afraid some
harm had happened, and so I set off to look for you; but why are you
running so fast?"
"Because we are afraid somebody is after us," answered Julian, almost
breathless. "We've done it, though, and rare fun there will be
to-morrow to see what has become of all the boats."
It was not necessary for Julian to tell Digby to turn back; he had at
once done so, and they were running on together. They turned their
heads for a moment, and Dick Owlett had disappeared. His reason for so
doing was very evident. Digby thus, very unintentionally, slipped into
his shoes. They soon had to cross a meadow; their own footsteps now
making but a slight noise, they were able to hear the sound of another
person fast approaching them.
"It may be Dick Owlett," said Julian, in a low voice. "Still, if it is
one of the coastguard men we shall catch it. Run, Digby, run."
Digby could have run a great deal faster than he was running, but had he
done so he would have left Julian behind. Their pursuer, whoever he
was, came on very rapidly. They had scarcely crossed the field when,
looking back, they saw him at the other end of it. He must have seen
them. It seemed very useless, therefore, to attempt to escape, but
their natural impulse was to run on till he put his hand on their
shoulder to stop them. Julian wanted to jump into a ditch and hide, as
they had before done, but Digby protested against this, and insisted on
running on. Across the fields they went--now they thought that they had
escaped their pursuer--now they saw him again. Sometimes he got very
close to them, and then they distanced him. At last they got up to the
garden-wall. The footsteps sounded terribly loud close behind them.
They rushed on. Julian, always most anxious to escape from danger, had
first sprung to the top of the wall, and Digby was helping him over,
when a person leaped forward, and seizing Julian by the leg, and Digby
by the shoulder, exclaimed--
"Hillo, young gentlemen, is it you, then, who have been about this
pretty piece of mischief? What will your master say to you, I should
like to know? It's lucky we found it out, or there's no saying what
damage might have been done; however, that's no excuse for you--so come
along with me to the front door, and I'll hand you over to Mr Nugent,
or I'll take you to the lock-up house, and let you stay there till the
morning."
Julian nudged Digby, to induce him to speak. He took the hint.
"I have nothing to do with the mischief of which you are talking," he
exclaimed, boldly. "I don't know by what right you venture to detain
me. I had a good reason for being out, which will, I believe, satisfy
Mr Nugent, but I do not see that you, whoever you are, or any other
man, has a right to call on me to explain it."
"Tell that to the marines, youngster; you are not going to impose on an
old salt," answered the revenue man, for such he appeared. "Why, I
traced you from the time you jumped on shore every inch of the way to
this place."
"That you could not," answered Digby; "I have not been on the water
to-night."
"Well, you are a bold young ruffian," exclaimed the man, fairly
exasperated at Digby's coolness. "I never have heard anybody, man or
boy, tell a lie and stick to it as you can do."
"You are very impertinent," said Digby, who, knowing that he really was
speaking the truth, forgot that it was not possible for the man to
believe him. It did not occur to him that he very naturally was
mistaken for Dick Owlett.
"Well, if it comes to that," said the man, "the sooner we go and talk to
Mr Nugent the better. I don't suppose that he allows his young
gentlemen to be running about at nights for their own amusement."
Saying this their captor, who was a strong stout man, carried them off
in spite of their struggles to the front door of the house. He rang and
knocked for some time without succeeding in awaking any one.
The feelings of Digby and Julian may more easily be conceived than
described, though, as may be supposed from what I have already mentioned
of their characters, they were very different. They did not dare to
communicate with each other, and so all they could do was to hold their
tongues. At last Mr Nugent was aroused, and supposing that some sick
parishioner wanted his attendance, he got up, dressed, and came down
stairs. What was his astonishment at seeing two of his pupils in the
hands of a revenue officer.
"Please, sir, I've brought you these two young gentlemen, to tell you
that they have been playing no end of mischief down in the harbour,
there, to-night--cutting the fishing-boats adrift, and letting them run
foul of each other. If you like to take charge of them and have them
ready when they are wanted, I'll leave them; if not, I'll take them off
to the lock-up house, to pass the rest of the night."
Poor Mr Nugent could not believe his senses. He stood staring first at
one and then at the other, fully believing that he was dreaming. Then
he rubbed his eyes and felt his clothes, to assure himself that he had
got up and dressed. "What is it all about?" he at last exclaimed. "Out
on the river--in the middle of the night--you, Digby--you, Julian
Langley. I cannot comprehend it. Come in, though, I am very much
grieved; I beg that you, James Sutton, will explain matters more fully."
Without saying more, Mr Nugent led the way to his study, when lighting
the candles he sat down, while the accuser and the two culprits stood
before him. "Now, James Sutton, tell me your story, if you please," he
said, calmly.
"Why, sir, these young gentlemen have been having what I suppose they
call a lark. They went down to the river, shoved off in a boat, and
went round, and with their knives cut the cables of a number of the
fishermen's boats and other small craft lying in the harbour. The ebb
was just making, and the boats drove one against another; some went on
shore, and others would have gone out to sea and been lost, but our boat
was just coming in. Of course we boarded them, and finding no one in
them, suspected that something was wrong. As our boat is white, and we
pulled with muffled oars, and our young gentlemen were very busy, they
did not see us. We should have caught them in the act, but that we had
to look after some of the boats. We saw them just landing, so our chief
boatman put me on shore, and told me to follow them up and see where
they went to. I didn't think, you may be sure, that they were your
young gentlemen."
"You acted in every way rightly," said Mr Nugent. "And now, Julian,
what have you to say to this?"
"That it is a base fabrication," answered Julian. "I had no right to be
out at night, that I know. I went out for a lark, because I couldn't
sleep, and meeting Digby we came back together; but that I did anything
else I defy anybody to prove."
"Oh," said Mr Nugent. "What do you say to this, Digby?"
"That I had not been out of the house twenty minutes when this man
caught hold of me," answered Digby, quietly. "I certainly was not doing
any harm, though I ought not to have left the house without leave. I,
however, am ready to stand the consequences of doing so."
"Well!" exclaimed Sutton, "he is the lad to swear that black is white,
and make another believe it."
"I never knew him tell an untruth, Sutton," observed Mr Nugent. "There
is a mystery about the matter which I cannot yet fathom."
"Well, sir, I will leave the young gentlemen with you, and you will be
answerable for their appearance when they are wanted," said Sutton,
laying a strong emphasis on that word wanted, which has so much
significance to thieves and vagabonds.
Julian and Digby did not quite comprehend it in the way Sutton wished,
but they guessed that there was something unpleasant connected with it.
"Of course, Sutton, I will take care that they are forthcoming when
required to answer for what has occurred," replied Mr Nugent, in a tone
which showed how grieved and annoyed he was. "Come to me, however, at
nine o'clock in the morning, and I will inquire further into it."
When Sutton had taken his departure, Mr Nugent, desiring Digby to stay
where he was, led Julian upstairs to his bedroom. The window was open,
and the knotted rope hung to it. Mr Nugent stood aghast. "Have you
often made use of this, young gentleman?" he asked.
Julian was really frightened, and burst out crying, in dread that his
various misdemeanors would at length be brought to light. "Only once or
twice, and merely for a lark, without any harm in it," he answered, as
soon as he could bring out his words. "If you will overlook it this
time, sir, Digby and I won't do it again--that I promise; indeed we
won't, sir."
"I conclude that you will not," said Mr Nugent, drily. "However, I do
not consider it at all a slight thing to have my young gentlemen running
about the country at midnight, and laying themselves open to such
accusations as have been brought against you to-night. You ran as great
a risk of having an accusation brought against you of being concerned in
a burglary, or in the robbery of a hen-roost. And listen to me, Julian
Langley, I deeply regret that I cannot trust your word, and I am not at
all satisfied that you will be proved innocent of the crime of which
Sutton says you are guilty. Now, go to bed, and pray that you may have
a new heart put into you."
"But Digby, sir, you'll forgive him, may he not come up and go to bed,"
said Julian, making a mighty effort to speak, for he thought that
everything would depend on his being able to put Digby up to what he
should say.
"Certainly not," answered Mr Nugent, who divined his motive. "I cannot
allow you and Digby again to associate till this mystery is cleared up.
Pull off your clothes and jump into bed."
Mr Nugent having taken possession of the rope, and shut, the window,
took the candle, and walked away, leaving Julian to his meditations, or
to sleep if he could. His meditations could not have been of a pleasant
character, though it was not so much the folly of his conduct as the
fear of the consequences which annoyed him. At last he fell asleep.
Meantime Mr Nugent went back to his nephew.
"Digby," he said, looking gravely at him, "you have often been
thoughtless and idle, but I have ever found you truthful; I trust that
you will be so on this occasion. Tell me what you know about this
matter."
"I will tell you about my share in it, uncle, but I hope you will let
Julian answer for himself. All the fellows say that there is nothing so
bad as one fellow peaching against another, and I don't want to do it,"
answered Digby, firmly.
Mr Nugent was too well acquainted with schoolboy notions of honour and
morality to be surprised at this speech.
"But it is also very bad to shield the guilty, as in that way vice is
encouraged and crime escapes its proper punishment," he remarked.
"However, let me hear what you have got to say. One thing is very
certain, both you and he were doing what you should not have done, in
leaving the house at night. Go on."
"Then, uncle, all I have to say is, that Julian went out and asked me to
sit up for him and let him in. I did, but he was longer absent than I
expected, and so I got out of the window and took the road I thought he
had gone to try and find him, fearing that some accident might have
happened to him. I met him coming back, and just as we got near the
house that man Sutton caught hold of us."
"I believe you, entirely," said Mr Nugent. "But I wish to know if you
can guess what Julian Langley was about during his absence."
"That is the very point about which I don't want to say any thing," said
Digby. "Let Julian tell his own story."
"But he does not seem inclined to exculpate you; he leads me to suppose
that whatever he was about you were helping him to do. You will have to
prove the contrary, or you will be considered as guilty as he is,"
observed Mr Nugent.
"I cannot help that," answered Digby, after a little thought. "I have
stated the truth; I am ready to be punished for leaving the house, and,
as things turned out, I am sorry I did it, but I should have been very
miserable if any harm had come to Julian which I could have prevented."
"Then since you refuse to enlighten me, I will not press the matter
now," said his uncle. "I will consider to-morrow what punishment I
shall inflict on you. Take this cloak and go to sleep on the sofa.
Remember that you are not to communicate by word or writing, or in any
way with Julian. Promise me that you in this will obey me."
"I do promise," said Digby.
"Good-night," said his uncle, not altogether displeased with the boy.
Oh, what a blessed thing it is to be able to confide thoroughly in the
word of a person, to know that he always, and under all circumstances,
speaks the truth--not only that he scorns a falsehood, but that he
deeply feels how odious it is in the sight of God, a pure God who is
truth itself. In what different estimation are two boys held, who are
perhaps in most respects equal. They have equal talents, can play
equally well at games, of the same strength, and appearance, and
manners, are equally good-natured, and are equally well supplied with
pocket-money, and the means of treating their companions. One has been
proved never to deviate from the truth, either through fear, or for the
sake of telling a good story, or on any other account; the other it is
known never scruples to tell a falsehood, if it suits his convenience,
or it can afford amusement to himself or others, while if he thinks he
can by it avoid detection from any fault he may have committed, he
invariably does so. One is looked up to, honoured, and loved, both by
boys and masters; the other may find plenty of associates, but no one
trusts him, and all in their hearts despise him, and what is strange,
even those who will at times prevaricate and deviate as widely from the
truth as he does, have a feeling of contempt for him. Remember, that it
is not the only sin, vile as it is, which a boy can commit, but it is
one with others which should be watchfully guarded against, and
earnestly prayed against, and certainly none, even in the eyes of
worldly people, is considered more unworthy of the character of an
English country gentleman.
Sutton, the revenue man, made his appearance the next morning; he said
some of the fishermen were so furious at the mischief which had been
intended them, that unless they could be appeased the matter must go
before a bench of magistrates. If so, Mr Heathcote and Mr Langley
would have to try their own sons, and the whole affair would be very
disagreeable and painful. Poor Mr Nugent was very much annoyed. He
went to Julian's room; that young gentleman was still asleep. He roused
him up, made him put on his clothes rapidly, without allowing him time
to reflect. He had previously sent Digby out of the study; he now took
Julian to it.
"How do you account for yourself from the time you left the house till
Digby found you?" he asked.
"Another fellow and I were taking a row on the water, and trying to
catch some fish," answered Julian, doggedly.
"Who was the other fellow?" asked Mr Nugent.
"He's called Dick Owlett, I believe; he gets bait for us sometimes."
"Then I can fancy how it happened," said Sutton. "I'll now get hold of
Master Owlett, who is the wildest young scamp in the place; he'll lie
through thick and thin, there's no doubt of that, but I'll squeeze the
truth out of him before I've done with him, depend on that."
Julian when he heard this felt very sure that Dick Owlett, to escape
punishment, would throw the entire blame upon his shoulders. Could he
have communicated with Dick he thought that he might have bribed him to
be silent, but as he had no hopes of so doing he was excessively puzzled
to know how to act. He had already denied having had anything to do
with the matter. He doubted even whether further falsehoods would
assist him; still he could not bring himself to speak the truth, confess
his folly, and take the whole blame on himself. However, Sutton had
learned quite enough for his purpose. His style of proceeding with
Owlett was likely to be very different to that of Mr Nugent's with his
pupils. Julian was sent back to his room to finish his toilet, Mr
Nugent telling him that he must breakfast there, and not leave it
without his permission. He consequently had to spend a very miserable
and solitary day in a cold room; but he did not escape having to do his
lessons, which he might possibly have considered a counterbalancing
advantage, as Mr Nugent took him his books and went there to hear him.
He was left in doubt all the time what steps Sutton had taken with
Owlett, and also as to what Digby had said.
As may be supposed, Sutton had no great difficulty in getting the whole
truth, and perhaps something more even, out of Dick Owlett, who, in the
hope of escaping punishment, was ready enough to throw all the blame on
his young gentleman companion.
Mr Nugent bethought him of calling in the aid of Toby Tubb. The affair
had become the conversation of all the seafaring population of the
place.
Toby was very unhappy to think that Digby was implicated, but, when he
heard that he had nothing to do with it, he undertook to arrange
matters, observing that somebody would have to pay pretty smartly for
the lark, if lark it was, though he thought it a very bad one.
Neither Julian nor Digby had an idea that any such negotiations were
going forward, and they were left with the impression that they should
have to present themselves before a bench of magistrates, and perhaps be
sent to the house of correction and receive a sound flogging, or be set
to work at the treadmill, or some other dreadful thing to which they had
read in the newspapers that juvenile delinquents were subjected.
Mr Nugent, of course, was compelled to write to Mr Langley, to explain
the whole matter, and, from the tone of that gentleman's reply, he saw
that the only satisfactory course he could pursue was to request him to
remove his son to another place of instruction. He from the first, when
he discovered how his young gentlemen contrived to leave the house, had
suspected that they had been engaged in the cannon-firing affair.
Though Mr Simson did not forfeit his word by saying anything, he
ascertained enough to satisfy him on the matter from the less scrupulous
Mr Jones, whose only bond to keep silence was the hope of getting more
out of them.
Miserably always are those mistaken who put confidence in dishonest
persons. Such are influenced only by interested motives, and invariably
betray their dupes if it suits their convenience.
The holidays at length arrived. The last few weeks at Osberton, Julian
Langley had found very disagreeable. His lather wrote him a scolding
letter, for having put him to so much expense, as he had thought it
wiser to pay the fishermen their demand for the damage done their boats
rather than allow the transaction, so disgraceful to his son, to become
public.
Mr Nugent kept a strict watch over him. He was not allowed to
associate with Digby, while the rest of his fellow-pupils treated him
with marked contempt, not so much on account of what he had done, as
because he had denied having done it, and because they believed that he
would have drawn Digby into the scrape, and, if he could, have thrown
the blame on him.
Digby did not remain very long out of spirits. His conscience was
tolerably at ease. He thought that his uncle had treated him very
kindly, and as he wished, therefore, to please him, he set diligently to
work to do his lessons each day as well as he could. He had not yet
learned to study for the sake of the knowledge he should thus acquire.
He did not appreciate the value of knowledge, the use it is of in every
way, the delight it affords, the satisfaction it brings. He did his
lessons because he knew that all boys were made to do lessons, and he
did not expect to avoid the general fate of boyhood. He had a sort of
indefinite idea that boys were compelled to do lessons from some
tyrannical motive of grown-up people; probably because they, when
children, had been made to do them, now, when they were grown up, they
retaliated on the next generation for the annoyance they themselves had
suffered; much in the same way that boys who have been most bullied and
fagged when, they were little fellows, frequently bully most, and make
the severest masters, when they get into the upper forms--not always,
but frequently, that is the case. Digby now and then wished for the
society of his former companion, and thought it rather hard that they
were not allowed to speak to each other except at meal-times.
Mr Nugent or Marshall used to take Julian out to walk, never allowing
him to go out of their sight. This was more galling to him as Digby now
enjoyed the same unrestricted liberty as at first. He seldom, however,
went out by himself, except, perhaps, to run to the post-office, or to
carry a message to some neighbour.
Dick Owlett did not escape the consequences of his lark, for the
fishermen did not overlook the mischief he had wished to do them, and
many a kick and a cuff he got from their hands which he might otherwise
have avoided. Soon afterwards, he was taken up before the magistrates
for another misdemeanor, and Mr Langley, hearing who he was, told his
father that he would receive the most severe punishment which could be
inflicted if he did not at once send him off to sea. To sea, therefore,
went master Owlett, not at all to his own satisfaction, and very much to
his father's rage, who vowed that he would be revenged on some of the
aristocracy for what had happened.
The magistrates had lately got the character of being unusually severe.
A gang of smugglers had some time before been captured, and a revenue
officer having been killed in the affray, two were transported, and
others sent for a year or more to gaol--a punishment which, to men of
the habits of that class, is peculiarly galling. Although some of the
band were taken, others escaped, and the latter, furious at the
punishment inflicted on their friends, had sworn, it was said, to take
vengeance on the magistrates who had procured their conviction by
sending them up for trial, and on Squire Heathcote especially, through
whose means they had been captured.
One of the transported men was a grandson of old Dame Marlow, and though
it was supposed that she loved nothing human, she had certainly always
shown an affection for the ill-conditioned youth in question. Ever
since, she had been heard, it was said, muttering threats of dire
vengeance against those who had caused it. Time, however, passed on,
and nothing occurred, and even those who fully believed in the old
woman's power, as well as in the means at the disposal of the smugglers,
thought that nothing would come of the threats of one or the other.
Mr Heathcote, when told of what was said, laughed the matter to scorn.
"Dame Marlow has done nothing else but mutter foolish threats against
all the human race for the last twenty years," he observed; "and as for
the smugglers, they know too well to come and burn down my ricks, or
anything of that sort; and as to personal violence, they are pretty well
aware that they would get as much or more than they gave. The man who
is afraid of poachers, smugglers, gipsies, or vagabonds of any sort, had
better not attempt to act the part of an English country gentleman; he
isn't fit for his place."
To return to Osberton. Mr Nugent's pupils took their departure for
their different homes. Julian Langley, it was understood, was not to
return there again. That Digby would come back was very uncertain. Mr
Nugent had heard of a school which he thought might suit him. The
head-master was an old college friend of his, a good scholar, and a very
excellent as well as gentlemanly man.
"He is conscientious and gentle-hearted," he observed to his sister, to
whom he was writing on the subject; "I am therefore certain that he will
do his best to instruct his pupils, and will treat them with the
greatest kindness. Of course, after the lapse of so many years, I might
find the character of my old friend Henry Sanford somewhat changed, but
I cannot for a moment suppose that the change will be in any material
point for the worse."
"Oh, Mr Sanford's is exactly the school to which I should wish Digby to
go," exclaimed Mrs Heathcote, after reading her brother's letter; "he
will be well taken care of, and well taught. What more can we wish?"
"I would rather send him at once to Eton or Winchester, and he would
soon learn to take care of himself," observed the Squire. "As for the
learning, he'll pick up enough of that, somehow or other, to roll along
with, and to enable him to look after his property by and by. Really, I
think we had better send him at once to Eton."
Mrs Heathcote pleaded so hard against this, that at last it was settled
that Digby should go to Mr Sanford's for a couple of years, and
afterwards be sent to one of the above-mentioned public schools.