Фредерик Марриет
The Children of the New Forest
"Never, while my sisters are under my protection," replied Edward; "were they safe, I would be out of it to-morrow."
"I think, Edward, that there is great truth in what Jacob says; you could do no good (for they would not restore your property) by making your seclusion known at present, and you might do a great deal of harm—'bide your time' is good advice in such troubled times. I therefore think that I should be very wary if I were you; but I still think that there is no fear of either you or I going out of the forest, in our present dresses and under the name of Armitage. No one would recognize us; you are grown tall and so am I, and we are so tanned and sunburned with air and exercise, that we do look more like Children of the Forest than the sons of Colonel Beverley."
"Humphrey, you speak very sensibly, and I agree with you. I am not quite so fiery as the old man thinks; and if my bosom burns with indignation, at all events I have sufficient power to conceal my feelings when it is necessary; I can oppose art to art, if it becomes requisite, and which, from what you have said, I believe now is really so. One thing is certain, that while King Charles is a prisoner, as he now is, and his party dispersed and gone abroad, I can do nothing, and to make myself known would only be to injure myself and all of us. Keep quiet, therefore, I certainly shall, and also remain as I am now, under a false name; but still I must and will mix up with other people and know what is going on. I am willing to live in this forest and protect my sisters as long as it is necessary so to do; but although I will reside here, I will not be confined to the forest altogether."
"That's exactly what I think too, Edward—what I wish myself; but let us not be too hasty even in this. And now, I will wish you a pleasant ride; and, Edward, if you can, procure of the keepers some small shot for me; I much wish to have some."
"I will not forget; good-by, brother."
Humphrey returned home to attend his farmyard, while Edward continued his journey through the forest. Some estimate of the character of the two boys may be formed from the above conversation. Edward was courageous and impetuous hasty in his resolves, but still open to conviction. Brought up as the heir to the property, he felt, more than Humphrey could be expected to do, the mortification of being left a pauper, after such high prospects in his early days: his vindictive feelings against the opposite party were therefore more keen, and his spirit mounted more from the conviction under which he labored. His disposition was naturally warlike, and this disposition had been fostered by his father when he was a child—still a kinder heart or a more generous lad never existed.
Humphrey was of a much more subdued and philosophical temperament, not perhaps so well calculated to lead as to advise; there was great prudence in him united with courage, but his was a passive courage rather than an active one—a courage which, if assailed, would defend itself valiantly, but would be wary and reflective before it would attack. Humphrey had not that spirit of chivalry possessed by Edward. He was a younger son, and had to earn, in a way, his own fortune, and he felt that his inclinations were more for peace than strife. Moreover, Humphrey had talents which Edward had not—a natural talent for mechanics, and an inquisitive research into science, as far as his limited education would permit him. He was more fitted for an engineer or an agriculturist than for a soldier, although there is no doubt that he would have made a very brave soldier, if such was to have become his avocation.
For kindness and generosity of nature he was equal to his brother, and this was the reason why an angry word never passed between them; for the question between them was not which should have his way, but which should give up most to the wishes of the other. We hardly need say, that there never were two brothers who were more attached, and who so mutually respected each other.
CHAPTER VIII
Edward put the pony to a trot, and in two hours was on the other side of the New Forest. The directions given to him by Jacob were not forgotten, and before it was noon he found himself at the gate of the keeper's house. Dismounting, and hanging the bridle of the pony over the rail, he walked through a small garden, neatly kept, but, so early in the year, not over gay, except that the crocus and snowdrops were peeping. He rapped at the door with his knuckles, and a girl of about fourteen, very neatly dressed, answered the summons.
"Is Oswald Partridge at home, maiden," said Edward.
"No, young man, he is not. He is in the forest."
"When will he return?"
"Toward the evening is his time, unless he is more than usually successful."
"I have come some distance to find him," replied Edward; "and it would vex me to return without seeing him. Has he a wife, or any one that I could speak to?"
"He has no wife; but I am willing to deliver a message."
"I am come about some dogs which he promised to Jacob Armitage, my relation; but the old man is too unwell, and has been for some time, to come himself for them, and he has sent me."
"There are dogs, young and old, large and small, in the kennels; so far do I know, and no more."
"I fear, then, I must wait till his return," replied Edward.
"I will speak to my father," replied the young girl, "if you will wait one moment."
In a minute or two the girl returned, saying that her father begged that he would walk in, and he would speak with him. Edward bowed, and followed the young girl, who led the way to a room, in which was seated a man dressed after the fashion of the Roundheads of the day. His steeple-crowned hat lay on the chair, with his sword beneath it. He was sitting at a table covered with papers.
"Here is the youth, father," said the girl; and having said this, she crossed the room and took a seat by the side of the fire. The man, or we should rather say gentleman—for he had the appearance of one, notwithstanding the somber and peculiar dress he wore, continued to read a letter which he had just opened; and Edward, who feared himself the prisoner of a Roundhead, when he only expected to meet a keeper, was further irritated by the neglect shown toward him by the party. Forgetting that he was, by his own assertion, not Edward Beverley, but the relative of one Jacob Armitage, he colored up with anger as he stood at the door. Fortunately the time that it took the other party to read through the letter gave Edward also time for recollecting the disguise under which he appeared; the color subsided from his cheeks, and he remained in silence, occasionally meeting the look of the little girl, who, when their eyes met, immediately withdrew her glance.
"What is your business, young man?" at last said the gentleman at the table.
"I came, sir, on private business with the keeper, Oswald Partridge, to obtain two young hounds, which he promised to my grandfather, Jacob Armitage."
"Armitage!" said the other party, referring to a list on the table; "Armitage—Jacob—yes—I see he is one of the verderers. Why has he not been here to call upon me?"
"For what reason should he call upon you, sir?" replied Edward.
"Simply, young man, because the New Forest is, by the Parliament, committed to my charge. Notice has been given for all those who were employed to come here, that they might be permitted to remain, or be discharged, as I may deem most advisable."
"Jacob Armitage has heard nothing of this, sir," replied Edward. "He was a keeper, appointed under the king; for two or three years his allowances have never been paid, and he has lived on his own cottage, which was left to him by his father, being his own property."
"And pray, may I ask, young man, do you live with Jacob Armitage?"
"I have done so for more than a year."
"And as your relation has received no pay and allowances, as you state, pray by what means has he maintained himself?"
"How have the other keepers maintained themselves?" replied Edward.
"Do not put questions to me, sir," replied the gentleman; "but be pleased to reply to mine. What has been the means of subsistence of Jacob Armitage?"
"If you think he has no means of subsistence, sir, you are mistaken," replied Edward. "We have land of our own, which we cultivate; we have our pony and our cart; we have our pigs and our cows."
"And they have been sufficient?"
"Had the patriarchs more?" replied Edward.
"You are pithy at reply, young man; but I know something of Jacob Armitage, and we know," continued he, putting his finger close to some writing opposite the name on the list, "with whom he has associated, and with whom he has served. Now allow me to put one question. You have come, you say, for two young hounds. Are their services required for your pigs and cows, and to what uses are they to be put."
"We have as good a dog as there is in the forest," replied Edward; "but we wished to have others in case we should lose him."
"As good a dog as in the forest—good for what?"
"For hunting."
"Then you acknowledge that you do hunt?"
"I acknowledge nothing for Jacob Armitage; he may answer for himself," replied Edward; "but allow me to assure you that if he has killed venison, no one can blame him."
"Perhaps you will explain why?"
"Nothing is more easy. Jacob Armitage served King Charles, who employed him as a verderer in the forest, and paid him his wages. Those who should not have done so rebelled against the king, took his authority from him, and the means of paying those he employed. They were still servants of the king, for they were not dismissed; and, having no other means of support, they considered that their good master would be but too happy that they should support themselves by killing, for their subsistence, that venison which they could no longer preserve for him without eating some themselves."
"Then you admit that Jacob Armitage has killed the deer in the forest?"
"I admit nothing for Jacob Armitage."
"You admit that you have killed it yourself."
"I shall not answer that question, sir; in the first place, I am not here to criminate myself; and, in the next, I must know by what authority you have the right to inquire."
"Young man," replied the other, in a severe tone, "if you wish to know my authority, malapert as you are (at this remark Edward started, yet, recollecting himself, he compressed his lips and stood still), this is my commission, appointing me the agent of Parliament to take charge and superintend the New Forest, with power to appoint and dismiss those whom I please. I presume you must take my word for it, as you can not read and write."
Edward stepped up to the table, and very quietly took up the paper and read it. "You have stated what is correct, sir," said he, laying it down; "and the date of it is, I perceive, on the 20th of the last month—December. It is, therefore, but eighteen days old."
"And what inference would you draw from that, young man?" replied the gentleman, looking up to him with some astonishment.
"Simply this, sir—that Jacob Armitage has been laid up with the rheumatism for three months, during which time he certainly has not killed any venison. Now, sir, until the Parliament took the forest into their hands, it undoubtedly belonged to his majesty, if it does not now; therefore Jacob Armitage, for whatever slaughter he may have committed, is, up to the present, only answerable to his sovereign, King Charles."
"It is easy to perceive the school in which you have been brought up, young man, even if there was not evidence on this paper that your forefather served under the Cavalier, Colonel Beverley, and has been brought up to his way of thinking."
"Sir, it is a base dog that bites the hand that feeds him," replied Edward, with warmth. "Jacob Armitage, and his father before him, were retainers in the family of Colonel Beverley; they were indebted to him for the situation they held in the forest; indebted to him for every thing; they revere his name, they uphold the cause for which he fell, as I do."
"Young man, if you do not speak advisedly, at all events you speak gratefully; neither have I a word of disrespect to offer to the memory of Colonel Beverley, who was a gallant man, and true to the cause which he espoused, although it was not a holy one; but, in my position, I can not, in justice to those whom I serve, give places and emolument to those who have been, and still are, as I may judge by your expressions, adverse to the present government."
"Sir," replied Edward, "your language, with respect to Colonel Beverley, has made me feel respect for you, which I confess I did not at first; what you say is very just, not that I think you harm Jacob Armitage, as, in the first place, I know that he would not serve under you; and, in the next, that he is too old and infirm to hold the situation; neither has he occasion for it, as his cottage and land are his own, and you can not remove him."
"He has the title, I presume," replied the gentleman.
"He has the title given to his grandfather, long before King Charles was born, and I presume the Parliament do not intend to invalidate the acts of former kings."
"May I inquire what relation you are to Jacob Armitage?"
"I believe I have said before, his grandson."
"You live with him?"
"I do."
"And if the old man dies, will inherit his property?"
Edward smiled, and looking at the young girl, said:
"Now, I ask you, maiden, if your father does not presume upon his office."
The young girl laughed, and said:
"He is in authority."
"Not over me, certainly, and not over my grandfather, for he has dismissed him."
"Were you brought up at the cottage, young man?"
"No, sir, I was brought up at Arnwood. I was playmate of the children of Colonel Beverley."
"Educated with them?"
"Yes, for as far as my willfulness would permit, the chaplain was always ready to give me instruction."
"Where were you when Arnwood was burned down?"
"I was at the cottage at that time," replied Edward, grinding his teeth and looking wildly.
"Nay, nay, I can forgive any expression of feeling on your part, young man, when that dreadful and disgraceful deed is brought to your memory. It was a stain that can never be effaced—a deed most diabolical, and what we thought would call down the vengeance of Heaven. If prayers could avert, or did avert it, they were not wanting on our side."
Edward remained silent: this admission on the part of the Roundhead prevented an explosion on his part. He felt that all were not so bad as he had imagined. After a long pause, he said:
"When I came here, sir, it was to seek Oswald Partridge, and obtain the hounds which he had promised us; but I presume that my journey is now useless."
"Why so?"
"Because you have the control of the forest, and will not permit dogs for the chase to be given away to those who are not employed by the powers that now govern."
"You have judged correctly, in so far that my duty is to prevent it; but as the promise was made previous to the date of my commission, I presume," said he, smiling, "you think I have no right to interfere, as it will be an ex post facto case if I do: I shall not, therefore, interfere, only I must point out to you that the laws are still the same relative to those who take the deer in the forest by stealth—you understand me?"
"Yes, sir, I do; and if you will not be offended, I will give you a candid reply."
"Speak, then."
"I consider that the deer in this forest belong to King Charles, who is my lawful sovereign, and I own no authority but from him. I hold myself answerable to him alone for any deer I may kill, and I feel sure of his permission and full forgiveness for what I may do."
"That may be your opinion, my good sir, but it will not be the opinion of the ruling powers; but if caught, you will be punished, and that by me, in pursuance of the authority vested in me."
"Well, sir, if so, so be it. You have dismissed the Armitages on account of their upholding the king, and you can not, therefore, be surprised that they uphold him more than ever. Nor can you be surprised if a dismissed verderer becomes a poacher."
"Nor can you be surprised, if a poacher is caught, that he incurs the penalty," replied the Roundhead. "So now there's an end of our argument. If you go into the kitchen you will find wherewithal to refresh the outward man, and if you wish to remain till Oswald Partridge comes home, you are welcome."
Edward, who felt indignant at being dismissed to the kitchen, nodded his head and smiled upon the little girl, and left the room. "Well," thought he, as he went along the passage, "I came here for two puppies, and I have found a Roundhead. I don't know how it is, but I am not angry with him as I thought I should be. That little girl had a nice smile—she was quite handsome when she smiled. Oh, this is the kitchen, to which," thought he, "the Lord of Arnwood is dismissed by a Covenanter and Roundhead, probably a tradesman or outlaw, who has served the cause. Well, be it so; as Humphrey says, 'I'll bide my time.' But there is no one here, so I'll try if there is a stable for White Billy, who is tired, I presume, of being at the gate."
Edward returned by the way he came, went out of the front door and through the garden to where the pony was made fast, and led him away in search of a stable. He found one behind the house, and filling the rack with hay, returned to the house and seated himself at a porch which was at the door which led to the back premises, for the keeper's house was large and commodious. Edward was in deep thought, when he was roused by the little girl, the daughter of the newly-appointed intendant of the forest, who said:
"I am afraid, young sir, you have had but sorry welcome in the kitchen, as there was no one to receive you. I was not aware that Phoebe had gone out. If you will come with me, I may perhaps find you refreshment."
"Thanks, maiden, you are kind and considerate to an avowed poacher," replied Edward.
"Oh, but you will not poach, I'm sure; and if you do, I'll beg you off if I can," replied the girl, laughing.
Edward followed her into the kitchen, and she soon produced a cold fowl and a venison pasty, which she placed on the table; she then went out and returned with a jug of ale.
"There," said she, putting it on the table, "that is all that I can find."
"Your father's name is Heatherstone, I believe. It was so on the warrant."
"Yes, it is."
"And yours?"
"The same as my father's, I should presume."
"Yes, but your baptismal name?"
"You ask strange questions, young sir; but still I will answer you that: my baptismal name is Patience."
"I thank you for your condescension," replied Edward "You live here?"
"For the present, good sir; and now I leave you."
"That's a nice little girl, thought Edward, although she is the daughter of a Roundhead; and she calls me 'Sir.' I can not, therefore, look like Jacob's grandson, and must be careful." Edward then set to with a good appetite at the viands which had been placed before him, and had just finished a hearty meal when Patience Heatherstone again came in and said:
"Oswald Partridge is now coming home."
"I thank you, maiden," replied Edward. "May I ask a question of you?
Where is the king now?"
"I have heard that he resides at Hurst Castle," replied the girl; "but," added she in a low tone, "all attempts to see him would be useless and only hurt him and those who made the attempt." Having said this, she left the room.
CHAPTER IX
Edward, having finished his meal, and had a good pull at the jug of ale, which was a liquor he had not tasted for a long while, rose from the table and went out of the back door, and found there Oswald Partridge. He accosted him, stating the reason for his coming over to him. "I did not know that Jacob had a grandson: indeed I never knew that he had a son. Have you been living with him long?"
"More than a year," replied Edward; "before that, I was in the household at Arnwood."
"Then you are of the king's side, I presume?" replied Oswald.
"To death," replied Edward, "when the time comes."
"And I am also; that you may suppose, for never would I give a hound to any one that was not. But we had better go to the kennels. Dogs may hear, but they can't repeat."
"I little thought to have met any one but you here when I came," said Edward; "and I will now tell you all that passed between me and the new intendant." Edward then related the conversation.
"You have been bold," said Oswald; "but perhaps it is all the better. I am to retain my situation, and so are two others; but there are many new hands coming in as rangers. I know nothing of them, but that they are little fitted for their places, and rail against the king all day long, which, I suppose, is their chief merit in the eyes of those who appoint them. However, one thing is certain, that if those fellows can not stalk a deer themselves, they will do all they can to prevent others; so you must be on the alert, for the punishment is severe."
"I fear them not; the only difficulty is, that we shall not be able to find a sale for the venison now," replied Edward.
"Oh never fear that; I will give you the names of those who will take all your venison off your hands without any risk on your part, except in the killing of it. They will meet you in the park, lay down ready money, and take it away. I don't know, but I have an idea, that this new intendant, or what you may call him, is not so severe as he pretends to be. Indeed, his permitting you to say what he did, and his own words relative to the colonel, convince me that I am right in the opinion that I formed."
"Do you know who he is?"
"Not much about him, but he is a great friend of General Cromwell, and they say has done good service to the Parliamentary cause; but we shall meet again, for the forest is free at all events."
"If you come here," continued Oswald, "do not carry your gun—and see that you are not watched home. There are the dogs for your grandfather. Why, how old must you be, for Jacob is not more than sixty or thereabout?"
"I am fifteen, past, nevertheless."
"I should have put you down for eighteen or nineteen at least. You are well grown indeed for that age. Well, nothing like a forest life to turn a boy into a man! Can you stalk a deer?"
"I seldom go out without bringing one down."
"Indeed! That Jacob is a master of his craft, is certain; but you are young to have learned it so soon. Can you tell the slot of a brocket from a stag?"
"Yes, and the slot of a brocket from a doe."
"Better still. We must go out together; and besides, I must know where the old man's cottage is (for I do not exactly), in the first place, because I may want to come to you, and in the next, that I may put others on a false scent. Do you know the clump of large oaks which they call the Clump Royal?"
"Yes, I do."
"Will you meet me there the day after to-morrow, at early dawn?"
"If I live and do well."
"That's enough. Take the dogs in the leashes, and go away now."
"Many thanks; but I must not leave the pony, he is in the stable."
The keeper nodded adieu to Edward, who left him to go to the stable for the pony. Edward saddled White Billy, and rode away across the forest with the dogs trotting at the pony's heels.
Edward had much to reflect upon as he rode back to the cottage. He felt that his position was one of more difficulty than before. That old Jacob Armitage would not last much longer, he was convinced; even now the poor old man was shrunk away to a skeleton with pain and disease. That the livelihood to be procured from the forest would be attended with peril, now that order had been restored, and the forest was no longer neglected, was certain; and he rejoiced that Humphrey had, by his assiduity and intelligence, made the farm so profitable as it promised to be. Indeed he felt that, if necessary, they could live upon the proceeds of the farm, and not run the risk of imprisonment by stalking the deer. But he had told the intendant that he considered the game as the king's property, and he was resolved that he would at all events run the risk, although he would no longer permit Humphrey so to do. "If any thing happens to me," thought Edward, "Humphrey will still be at the cottage to take care of my sisters; and if I am obliged to fly the country, it will suit well my feelings, as I can then offer my services to those who still support the king." With these thoughts and many others he amused himself until, late in the evening, he arrived at the cottage. He found all in bed except Humphrey, who had waited for him, and to whom he narrated all that had passed. Humphrey said little in reply; he wished to think it over before he gave any opinion. He told Edward that Jacob had been very ill the whole of the day, and had requested Alice to read the Bible to him during the evening.
The next morning Edward went to Jacob, who for the last ten days had altogether kept his bed, and gave him the detail of what had happened at the keeper's lodge.
"You have been more bold than prudent, Edward," replied Jacob; "but I could not expect you to have spoken otherwise. You are too proud and too manly to tell a lie, and I am glad that it is so. As for your upholding the king, although he is now a prisoner in their hands, they can not blame you or punish you for that, as long as you have not weapons in your hands; but now that they have taken the forest under their jurisdiction, you must be careful, for they are the ruling powers at present, and must be obeyed, or the forfeit must be paid. Still I do not ask you to promise me this or that; I only point out to you that your sisters will suffer by any imprudence on your part; and for their sakes be careful. I say this, Edward, because I feel that my days are numbered, and that in a short time I shall be called away. You will then have all the load on your shoulders which has been latterly on mine. I have no fear for the result if you are prudent; these few months past, during which I have only been a burden to you, have proved that you and Humphrey can find a living here for yourselves and your sisters; and it is fortunate, now that the forest laws are about to be put in force, that you have made the farm so profitable. If I might advise, let your hunting in the forest be confined to the wild cattle; they are not game, and the forest laws do not extend to them, and the meat is as valuable as venison—that is to say, it does not sell so dear, but there is more of it; but stick to the farm as much as you can; for you see, Edward, you do not look like a low-born forester, nor ought you to do so; and the more quiet you keep the better. As for Oswald Partridge, you may trust him; I know him well; and he will prove your friend for my sake, as soon as he hears that I am dead. Leave me now—I will talk to you again in the evening. Send Alice to me, my dear boy."
Edward was much distressed to perceive the change which had taken place in old Jacob. He was evidently much worse; but Edward had no idea how much worse he was. Edward assisted Humphrey in the farm, and in the evening again went to Jacob, and then told him of the arrangement he had made to meet Oswald Partridge on the following morning.
"Go, my boy," said Jacob; "be as intimate with him as you can, and make a friend of him—nay, if it should be necessary, you may tell him who you are; I did think of telling him myself, as it might be important to you one day as evidence. I think you had better bring him here to-morrow night, Edward; tell him I am dying, and wish to speak to him before I go. Alice will read the Bible to me now, and I will talk with you another time."
Early the next morning Edward set off to the appointed rendezvous with Oswald Partridge. The Clump Royal, as it was called, from the peculiar size and beauty of the oaks, was about seven miles from the cottage; and at the hour and time indicated, Edward, with his gun in his hand, and Smoker lying beside him, was leaning against one of those monarchs of the forest. He did not wait long. Oswald Partridge, similarly provided, made his appearance, and Edward advanced to meet him.
"Welcome, Oswald," said Edward.
"And welcome to you also, my fine lad," replied Oswald. "I have been hard questioned about you since we parted—first by the Roundhead Heatherstone, who plied me in all manner of ways to find out whether you are what you assert, the grandson of Jacob—or some other person. I really believe that he fancies you are the Duke of York—but he, could not get any more from me than what I knew. I told him that your grandfather's cottage was his own property, and a grant to his forefathers; that you were brought up at Arnwood, and had joined your grandfather after the death of the colonel, and the murderous burning of the house and all within it by his party. But the pretty little daughter was more curious still. She cross-questioned me in every way when her father was not present, and at last begged me as a favor to tell you not to take the deer, as her father was very strict in his duty, and, if caught, you would be imprisoned."
"Many thanks to her for her caution, but I hope to take one to-day, nevertheless," replied Edward; "a hart royal is not meat for Roundheads, although the king's servants may feast on them."
"That's truly said. Well, now I must see your woodcraft. You shall be the leader of the chase."
"Think you we can harbor a stag about here?"
"Yes, in this month, no doubt."
"Let us walk on," said Edward. "The wind is fresh from the eastern quarter; we will face it, if you please—or, rather, keep it blowing on our right cheek for the present."
"'Tis well," replied Oswald; and they walked for about half an hour.
"This is the slot of a doe," said Edward, in a low voice, pointing to the marks; "yonder thicket is a likely harbor for the stag." They proceeded, and Edward pointed out to Oswald the slot of the stag into the thicket. They then walked round, and found no marks of the animal having left his lair.
