Фредерик Марриет
The Children of the New Forest
CHAPTER X
"Humphrey," said Edward, "the sooner all this is over the better. As long as poor Jacob's body remains in the cottage there will be nothing but distress with the poor girls."
"I agree with you," replied Humphrey; "where shall we bury him?"
"Under the great oak-tree, at the back of the cottage," replied Edward. "One day the old man said to me, that he should like to be buried under one of the oaks of the forest."
"Well then, I will go and dig his grave to-night," replied Humphrey; "the moon is bright, and I shall have it finished before morning."
"I am sorry that I can not help you, Humphrey."
"I am sorry that you are hurt; but I want no help, Edward. If you will lie down a little, perhaps you will be able to sleep. Let us change the potato poultice before you go on."
Humphrey put the fresh dressing on Edward's arm; and Edward, who was very much exhausted, lay down in his clothes on the bed. Humphrey went out, and having found his tools, set to his task—he worked hard, and, before morning, had finished. He then went in, and took his place on the bed, by the side of Edward, who was in a sound sleep. At daylight Humphrey rose, and waked Edward. "All is ready, Edward; but I fear you must help me to put poor Jacob in the cart: do you think you can?"
"Oh, yes; my arm is much easier, and I feel very different from what I did last night. If you will go and get the cart, I will see what I can do in the mean time."
When Humphrey returned, he found Edward had selected a sheet to wind the body in, but could not do more till Humphrey came to help him. They then wrapped it round the body, and carried it out of the cottage, and put it into the cart.
"Now, Edward, shall we call our sisters?"
"No, not yet; let us have the body laid in the grave first, and then we will call them."
They dragged the body on the cart to the grave, and laid it in it, and then returned back and put the pony in the stable again.
"Are there not prayers proper for reading over the dead?" said Humphrey.
"I believe that there are, but they are not in the Bible, so we must read some portion of the Bible," said Edward.
"Yes, I think there is one of the Psalms which it would be right to read, Edward," said Humphrey, turning over the leaves; "here it is, the ninetieth, in which you recollect it says, 'that the days of man are threescore years and ten.'"
"Yes," replied Edward, "and we will read this one also, the 146th."
"Are our sisters risen, do you think?"
"I am sure that they are," replied Humphrey, "and I will go to them."
Humphrey went to the door, and said, "Alice—Alice and Edith—come out immediately." They were both ready dressed.
Edward took the Bible under his arm, and Alice by the hand. Humphrey led Edith until they arrived at the grave, when the two little girls saw the covered body of Jacob lying in it.
"Kneel down," said Edward, opening the Bible. And they all knelt down by the grave. Edward read the two Psalms, and then closed the book. The little girls took one last look at the body, and then turned away weeping to the cottage. Edward and Humphrey filled up the grave, and then followed their sisters home.
"I'm glad it's over," said Humphrey, wiping his eyes. "Poor old Jacob!
I'll put a paling round his grave."
"Come in, Humphrey," said Edward.
Edward sat down upon old Jacob's chair, and took Alice and Edith to him. Putting his arm round each, he said—
"Alice and Edith, my dear little sisters, we have lost a good friend, and one to whose memory we can not be too grateful. He saved us from perishing in the flames which burned down our father's house, and has protected us here ever since. He is gone, for it has pleased God to summon him to him, and we must bow to the will of Heaven; and here we are, brother and sisters, orphans, and with no one to look to for protection but Heaven. Here we are away from the rest of the world, living for one another. What, then, must we do? We must love one another dearly, and help one another. I will do my part, if my life is spared, and so will Humphrey, and so will you my dear sisters. I can answer for all. Now it is no use to lament—we must all work, and work cheerfully; and we will pray every morning and every night that God will bless our endeavors and enable us to provide for ourselves, and live here in peace and safety. Kiss me, dear Alice and Edith, and kiss Humphrey, and kiss one another. Let these kisses be the seals to our bond; and let us put our trust in Him who only is a father to the widow and the orphan. And now let us pray."
Edward and the children repeated the Lord's Prayer, and then rose up. They went to their respective employments, and the labor of the day soon made them composed, although then, for many days afterward, it was but occasionally that a smile was seen upon their lips.
Thus passed a week, by which time Edward's arm was so far well that it gave him no pain, and he was able to assist Humphrey in the work on the farm. The snow had disappeared, and the spring, although it had been checked for a time, now made rapid advances. Constant occupation, and the return of fine weather, both had the effect of returning the serenity of their minds; and while Humphrey was preparing the paling to fix round the grave of old Jacob, Alice and Edith collected the wild violets which now peeped forth on sheltered spots, and planted the roots over the grave. Edward also procured all the early flowers he could collect, and assisted his sisters in their task; and thus, in planting it, and putting up the paling, the grave of the old man became the constant work-ground; and when their labor was done, they would still remain there and talk over his worth. The Sunday following the burial, the weather being fine and warm, Edward proposed that they should read the usual service, which had been selected by old Jacob, at the grave, and not in the cottage, as formerly; and this they continued afterward to do, whenever the weather would permit: thus did old Jacob's resting-place become their church, and overpower them with those feelings of love and devotion which gave efficacy to prayer. As soon as the paling was finished, Humphrey put up a board against the oak-tree, with the simple words carved on it, "Jacob Armitage."
Edward had, every day, expected that Oswald Partridge would have called upon him, as he had promised to do, before the week was out; but Oswald had not made his appearance, much to Edward's surprise. A month passed away; Edward's arm was now quite well, and still Oswald came not. One morning, Humphrey and Edward were conversing upon many points—the principal of which was upon Edward going to Lymington, for they were now in want of flour and meal, when Edward thought of what old Jacob had told him relative to the money that he would find in his chest. He went into Jacob's room and opened the chest, at the bottom of which, under the clothes, he found a leather bag, which he brought out to Humphrey; on opening it, they were much surprised to find in it more than sixty gold pieces, besides a great deal of silver coin.
"Surely this is a great sum of money," observed Humphrey. "I don't know what is the price of things; but it appears to me, that it ought to last us a long while."
"I think so too," replied Edward. "I wish Oswald Partridge would come, for I want to ask him many questions. I don't know the price of flour, or anything else we have to purchase, nor do I know what I ought to be paid for venison. I don't like to go to Lymington till I see him for that reason. If he does not come soon, I shall ride over and see what is the matter."
Edward then replaced the money in the chest, and he and Humphrey then went out to the farmyard to go on with their work.
It was not until six weeks after the death of old Jacob that Oswald Partridge made his appearance.
"How is the old man, sir?" was his first question.
"He was buried a few days after you left," replied Edward.
"I expected as much," said the forester. "Peace be with him—he was a good man. And how is your arm?"
"Nearly well," replied Edward. "Now sit down, Oswald, for I have a great deal to say to you; and first, let me ask you what has detained you from coming here according to your promise?"
"Simply, and in few words—murder."
"Murder!" exclaimed Edward.
"Yes, deliberate murder, sir; in short, they have beheaded King Charles, our sovereign."
"Have they dared to do it?"
"They have," replied Oswald. "We in the forest know little that is going on; but when I saw you last, I heard that he was then in London, and was to be tried."
"Tried!" exclaimed Edward. "How could they try a king? by the laws of our country, a man must be tried by his equals; and where were his equals?"
"Majesty becomes naught, I suppose," replied Oswald; "but still it is as I say. Two days after you left, the intendant hastened up to London, and, from what I have understood, he was strongly opposed to the deed, and did all he could to prevent it; but it was of no use. When he left, he gave me strict injunctions not to go away from the cottage for an hour, as his daughter was left alone; and as I promised, I could not come to you; but, nevertheless, Patience received letters from him, and told me what I tell you."
"You have not dined, Oswald?" said Edward.
"No, that I have not."
"Alice, dear, get some dinner, will you? And Oswald, while you dine, excuse me if I leave you for a while. Your intelligence has so astounded me that I can listen to nothing else till I have had a little while to commune with myself and subdue my feelings."
Edward was indeed in a state of mind which required calming down. He quitted the cottage and walked out for some distance into the forest, in deep thought.
"Murdered at last!" exclaimed he. "Yes, well may it be called murder, and no one to save him—not a blow struck in his defense—not an arm raised. How much gallant blood has been shed in vain! Spirit of my fathers, didst thou leave none of thy mettle and thy honour behind thee; or has all England become craven? Well, the time will come, and if I can no longer hope to fight for my king, at all events I can fight against those who have murdered him."
Such were Edward's thoughts as he wandered through the forest, and more than an hour elapsed before his impetuous blood could return to its usual flow; at last, his mind having partially resumed its wonted calmness, he returned to the cottage and listened to the details which Oswald now gave to him of what he had heard.
When Oswald had finished, Edward asked him whether the intendant had returned.
"Yes, or I should not have been here," replied Oswald. "He came back yesterday, looking most disconsolate and grave, and I hear that he returns to London in a few days. Indeed, he told me so himself, for I requested permission to come over to see your grandfather. He said that I might go, but must return soon, as he must go back to London. I believe, from what Miss Patience told me, and what I have seen myself, that he is sincerely amazed and vexed at what has taken place; and so, indeed, are many more, who, although opposed to the king's method of government, never had an idea that things should have turned out as they have done. I have a message from him to you, which is, that he begs you will come to see him, that he may thank you for the preservation of his child."
"I will take his thanks from you, Oswald: that will do as well as if he gave them me in person."
"Yes, perhaps so; but I have another message from another party, which is—the young lady herself. She desires me to tell you that she will never be happy till she has seen you, and thanked you for your courage and kindness; and that you have no right to put her under such an obligation, and not give her an opportunity of expressing what she feels. Now, Mr. Edward, I am certain that she is earnest in what she says, and she made me promise that I would persuade you to come. I could not refuse her, for she is a dear little creature; as her father will go to London in a few days, you may ride over and see her without any fear of being affronted by any offers which he may make to you."
"Well," replied Edward, "I have no great objection to see her again, for she was very kind to me; and as you say that the intendant will not be there, I perhaps may come. But now I must talk to you about other matters."
Edward then put many questions to Oswald relative to the value of various articles, and to the best method of disposing of his venison.
Oswald answered all his questions, and Edward took down notes and directions on paper.
Oswald remained with them for two days, and then bade them farewell, exacting a promise from Edward that he would come to the ranger's cottage as soon as he could. "Should the intendant come back before he is expected I will come over and let you know; but I think, from what I heard him say he expected to be at least a month in London."
Edward promised that Oswald should see him in less than ten days, and Oswald set out on his journey.
"Humphrey," said Edward, as soon as Oswald was gone, "I have made up my mind to go to Lymington to-morrow We must have some flour, and many other articles, which Alice says she can no longer do without."
"Why should we not both go, Edward?" replied Humphrey.
"No, not this time," replied Edward. "I have to find out many things and many people, and I had rather go by myself; besides, I can not allow my sisters to be left alone. I do not consider there is any danger, I admit; but should any thing happen to them, I should never forgive myself. Still, it is necessary that you should go to Lymington with me some time or another, that you may know where to purchase and sell, if required. What I propose is, that I will ask Oswald to come and stay here a couple of days. We will then leave him in charge of our sisters, and go to Lymington together."
"You are right, Edward, that will be the best plan."
As Humphrey made this remark, Oswald re-entered the cottage.
"I will tell you why I have returned, Mr. Edward," said Oswald. "It is of no consequence whether I return now or to-morrow. It is now early, and as you intend going to Lymington, it occurred to me that I had better go with you. I can then show you all you want, which will be much better than going by yourself."
"Thank you, Oswald, I am much obliged to you," said Edward.
"Humphrey, we will get the cart out immediately, or we shall be late.
Will you get it, Humphrey, for I must go for some money, and speak to Alice."
Humphrey went immediately to put the pony in the cart, when Edward said,
"Oswald, you must not call me Mr. Edward, even when we are alone: if you do you will be calling me so before other people, and, therefore, recollect in future, it must be plain Edward."
"Since you wish it, certainly," replied Oswald; "indeed it would be better, for a slip of the tongue before other people might create suspicion."
The pony and cart were soon at the door, and Edward having received further instructions from Alice, set off for Lymington, accompanied by Oswald.
CHAPTER XI
"Would you have found your way to Lymington?" said Oswald, as the pony trotted along.
"Yes; I think so," replied Edward; "but I must have first gone to Arnwood. Indeed, had I been alone I should have done so; but we have made a much shorter cut."
"I did not think that you would have liked to have seen the ruins of Arnwood," replied Oswald.
"Not a day passes without my thinking of them," replied Edward. "I should like to see them. I should like to see if any one has taken possession of the property, for they say it is confiscated."
"I heard that it was to be, but not that it was yet," said Oswald; "but we shall know more when we get to Lymington. I have not seen it for more than a year. I hardly think that any one will recognize you."
"I should think not; but I care little if they do. Indeed, who is thee to know me?"
"Well, my introduction of you will save some surmises, probably; and I shall not take you among those who may be inclined to ask questions. See, there is the steeple; we have not more than a quarter of an hour's drive."
As soon as they arrived at Lymington, Oswald directed the way to a small hostelry to which the keepers and verderers usually resorted. In fact, the landlord was the party who took all the venison off their hands, and disposed of it. They drove into the yard, and, giving the pony and cart in charge of the hostler, went into the inn, where they found the landlord, and one or two other people, who were drinking.
"Well, Master Andrew, how fare you?" said Oswald.
"Let me see," said the corpulent landlord, throwing back his head, and putting out his stomach, as he peered at Oswald. "Why, Oswald Partridge, as I am a born man. Where have you been this many a day!"
"In the forest, Master Andrew, where there are no few chops and changes."
"Yes, you have a sort of Parliamentary keeper, I'm told; and who is this with you?"
"The grandson of an old friend of yours, now dead, poor old Jacob Armitage."
"Jacob dead, poor fellow! As true as flint was Jacob Armitage, as I'm a born man! And so he is dead! Well, we all owe Heaven a death. Foresters and landlords, as well as kings, all must die!"
"I have brought Edward Armitage over here to introduce him to you, Master Andrew. Now that the old man is dead, you must look to him for forest meat."
"Oh, well, well, it is scarce now. I have not had any for some time. Old Jacob brought me the last. You are not one of the Parliamentary foresters, then, I presume?" continued the landlord, turning to Edward.
"No," replied Edward, "I kill no venison for Roundheads."
"Right, my sapling; right and well said. The Armitages were all good men and true, and followed the fortunes of the Beverleys; but there are no Beverleys to follow now. Cut off—root and branch—more's the pity. That was a sad business. But come in; we must not talk here, for walls have ears, they say, and one never knows who one dares to speak before now."
Oswald and Edward then entered with the landlord, and arrangements were made between Master Andrew and the latter for a regular supply of venison during the season, at a certain price; but as it would now be dangerous to bring it into the town, it was agreed that when there was any ready, Edward should come to Lymington and give notice, and the landlord would send out people to bring it in during the night. This bargain concluded, they took a glass with the landlord, and then went into the town to make the necessary purchases. Oswald took Edward to all the shops where the articles he required were to be purchased; some they carried away with them; others, which were too heavy, they left, to be called for with the cart as they went away. Among other articles, Edward required powder and lead, and they went to a gunsmith's where it was to be procured. While making his purchases, Edward perceived a sword, which he thought he had seen before, hanging up against the wall among other weapons.
"What sword is that?" said he, to the man who was measuring out the powder.
"It's not my sword, exactly," replied the man; "and yet I can not return it to its owner or to the family. It was brought me to be cleaned by one of Colonel Beverley's people, and before it was called for the house was burned, and every soul perished. It was one of the colonel's swords, I am sure, as there is E. B. on a silver plate engraved on it. I have a bill owing me for work done at Arnwood, and I have no chance of its being paid now; so, whether I am to sell the sword, or what to do, I hardly know."
Edward remained silent for some little while, for he could not trust himself to speak; at last he replied: "To be candid with you, I am, and all my family have been, followers of the Beverley family, and I should be sorry if the colonel's sword was to fall into any other hands. I think, therefore, if I pay the bill which is due, you may safely let me hold the sword as a security for the money, with the express understanding that if it is ever claimed by the Beverley family I am to give it up."
"Certainly," said Oswald; "nothing can be fairer or more clearly put."
"I think so, too, young man," replied the shopkeeper. "Of course you will leave your name and address?"
"Yes; and my friend here will vouch for its being correct," replied Edward.
The shopkeeper then produced the account, which Edward paid; and giving on the paper the name of Edward Armitage, he took possession of the sword. He then paid for the powder and lead, which Oswald took charge of, and, hardly able to conceal his joy, hastened out of the shop.
"Oswald," cried Edward, "I would not part with it for thousands of pounds. I never will part with it but with my life."
"I believe so," replied Oswald; "and I believe more, that it will never be disgraced in your hands; but do not talk so loud, for there are listeners and spies everywhere. Is there any thing else that you require?"
"No, I think not; the fact is, that this sword has put every thing out of my head. If there was anything else, I have forgotten it. Let us go back to the inn, and we will harness the pony, and call for the flour and oatmeal."
When they arrived at the inn, Oswald went out to the yard to get the cart ready, while Edward went into the landlord's room to make inquiries as to the quantity of venison he would be able to take off his hands at a time. Oswald had taken the sword from Edward, and had put it in the cart while he was fastening the harness, when a man came up to the cart and looked earnestly at the sword. He then examined it, and said to Oswald,
"Why that was Colonel Beverley's, my old master's sword. I knowed it again directly. I took it to Phillips, the gun maker, to be cleaned."
"Indeed!" replied Oswald; "I pray, what may be your name?"
"Benjamin White," replied the man; "I served at Arnwood till the night it was burned down; and I have been here ever since."
"And what are you doing now?"
"I'm tapster at the 'Commonwealth,' in Fish-street—not much of a place."
"Well, well, you stand by the pony, and look that nobody takes any thing out of the cart, while I go in for some parcels."
"Yes, to be sure I will; but, I say, forester, how came you by that sword?'
"I will tell you when I come out again," replied Oswald.
Oswald then went in to Edward, and told him what had occurred.
"He will certainly know you, sir, and you must not come out till I can get him away," said he.
"You are right, Oswald; but before he goes, ask him what became of my aunt, and where she was buried; and also ask him where the other servants are—perhaps they are at Lymington as well as he."
"I will find it all out," replied Oswald, who then left Edward, and returned to the landlord and recommenced conversation.
Oswald on his return, told Benjamin in what manner the sword had been procured from the shopman, by the grandson of old Armitage.
"I never knew that he had one," replied Benjamin; "nor did I know that old Jacob was dead."
"What became of all the women who were at Arnwood?" inquired Oswald.
"Why, Agatha married one of the troopers, and went away to London."
"And the others?"
"Why, cook went home to her friends, who live about ten miles from here, and I have never heard of her since."
"But there were three of them," said Oswald.
"Oh, yes; there was Phoebe," relied Benjamin, looking rather confused. "She married a trooper—the jilt!—and went off to London when Agatha did. If I'd have thought that she would have done so, I would not have earned her away from Arnwood behind me, on a pillion, as I did; she might have been burned with the poor children, for all as I cared."
"Was not the old lady killed?"
"Yes; that is to say, she killed herself, rather than not kill Southwold."
"Where was she buried?"
"In the church-yard at St. Faith's, by the mayor and the corporation; for there was not money enough found upon her person to pay the expenses of her burial."
"And so you are tapster at the Commonwealth. Is it a good inn?"
"Can't say much for it. I shan't stay longer than I can help, I can tell you."
"Well, but you must have an easy place, if you can stay away as long as you do now."
"Won't I be mobbed when I go back! but that's always the case, make haste or not, so it's all one. However, I do think I must be agoing now, so good-by, Mr. Forester; and tell Jacob Armitage's grandson that I shall be glad to see him, for old Jacob's sake; and it's hard, but I'll find him something to drink when he calls."
"I will: I shall see him to-morrow." replied Oswald, getting into the cart; "so good-by, Benjamin," much to the satisfaction of Oswald, who thought that he would never go.
They went away at a rapid pace to make up for lost time, and soon disappeared around the corner of the street. Oswald then got out again, summoned Edward, and having called for the flour and other heavy articles, they set off on their return.
During the drive, Oswald made known to Edward the information which he had gained from Benjamin, and at a late hour they arrived safely at the cottage.
They staid up but a short time, as they were tired; and Oswald had resolved upon setting off before daylight on the following morning, which he did without disturbing any one; for Humphrey was up and dressed as soon as Oswald was and gave him something to eat as he went along. All the others remained fast asleep. Humphrey walked about a mile with Oswald, and was returning to the farm when he thought, as he had not examined his pitfall for many days, that he might as well look at it before he went back. He therefore struck out in the direction in which it lay, and arrived there just as the day began to dawn.
It was the end of March, and the weather was mild for the season. Humphrey arrived at the pit, and it was sufficiently light for him to perceive that the covering had been broken in, and therefore, in all probability, something must have been trapped. He sat down and waited for daylight, but at times he thought he heard a heavy breathing, and once a low groan. This made him more anxious, and he again and again peered into the pit, but could not for a long while discover any thing, until at last he thought that he could make out a human figure lying at the bottom. Humphrey called out, asking if there was any one there. A groan was the reply, and now Humphrey was horrified with the idea that somebody had fallen into the pit, and had perished, or was perishing for want of succor. Recollecting that the rough ladder which he had made to take the soil up out of the pit was against an oak-tree, close at hand, he ran for it, and put it down the pit, and then cautiously descended. On his arrival at the bottom, his fears were found to be verified, for he saw the body of a lad, half clothed, lying there. He turned it up as it was lying with its face to the ground, and attempted to remove it, and to ascertain if there was life in it, which he was delighted to find was the case. The lad groaned several times, and opened his eyes. Humphrey was afraid that he was not strong enough to lift him on his shoulders and carry him up the ladder; but, on making the attempt he found out, from exhaustion, the poor lad was light enough for him to carry him, which he did, and safely landed him by the side of the pit.
Recollecting that the watering-place of the herd of cattle was not far off, Humphrey then hastened to it, and filled his hat half full of water. The lad, although he could not speak, drank eagerly, and in a few minutes appeared much recovered. Humphrey gave him some more, and bathed his face and temples. The sun had now risen, and it was broad daylight. The lad attempted to speak, but what he did say was in so low a tone, and evidently in a foreign language, that Humphrey could not make him out. He, therefore, made signs to the lad that he was going away, and would be back soon; and having, as he thought, made the lad comprehend this, Humphrey ran away to the cottage as fast as he could; and as soon as he arrived he called for Edward, who came out, and when Humphrey told him in few words what had happened, Edward went into the cottage again for some milk and some cake, while Humphrey put the pony into the cart.
In a few moments they were off again, and soon arrived at the pitfall, where they found the lad, still lying where Humphrey had left him. They soaked the cake in the milk, and as soon as it was soft gave him some; after a time, he swallowed pretty freely, and was so much recovered as to be able to sit up. They then lifted him into the cart, and drove gently home to their cottage.
"What do you think he is, Edward?" said Humphrey.
"Some poor beggar lad, who has been crossing the forest."
"No, not exactly: he appears to me to be one of the Zingaros or Gipsies, as they call them: he is very dark, and has black eyes and white teeth, just like those I saw once near Arnwood, when I was out with Jacob. Jacob said that no one knew where they came from, but that they were all over the country, and that they were great thieves, and told fortunes, and played all manner of tricks."
"Perhaps it may be so; I do not think that he can speak English."
"I am most thankful to Heaven that I chanced this morning to visit the pitfall. Only suppose that I had found the poor boy starved and dead! I should have been very unhappy, and never should have had any pleasure in looking at the cows, as they would always have reminded me of such a melancholy accident."
"Very true, Humphrey; but you have been saved that misfortune, and ought to be grateful to Heaven that such is the case. What shall we do with him now we have him?"
"Why if he chooses to remain with us, he will be very useful in the cow-yard," said Humphrey.
"Of course," replied Edward, laughing, "as he was taken in the pit-fall, he must go into the yard with all the others who were captured in the same way."
"Well, Edward, let us get him all right again first, and then we will see what is to be done with him; perhaps he will refuse to remain with us."
As soon as they arrived at the cottage, they lifted the lad out of the cart, and carried him into Jacob's room, and laid him on the bed, for he was too weak to stand.
