The Children of the New Forest
"Yes, it did, and as I got deeper the work was harder, and then I had to carry away all the earth and scatter it about. I was more than a month about it from the time that I began till it was finished, and I had a ladder to go up and down by at last, and carried the baskets of earth up, for it was too deep to throw it out."
"Nothing like patience and perseverance, Humphrey. You've more than I have."
"I'm sure he has more than I have, or shall ever have, I'm afraid," replied Edward.
During this winter, which passed rapidly way very few circumstances of any consequence occurred. Old Jacob was more or less confined to the cottage by the rheumatism, and Edward hunted either by himself or occasionally with Humphrey. Humphrey was fortunate enough to take a bull and a cow calf in his pitfall, both of them about a year or fifteen months old, and by a rude invention of his, by way of windlass, contrived, with the assistance of Edward, to hoist them uninjured out of the pit. They were put into the yard, and after having been starved till they were tamed, they followed the example of the heifer and calf, and became quite tame. These were an important addition to their stock, as may well be imagined. The only mishap under which they labored was, old Jacob's confinement to the cottage, which, as the winter advanced, prevented him from going to Lymington; they could not, therefore, sell any venison; and Humphrey, by way of experiment, smoked some venison hams, which he hung up with the others. There was another point on which they felt anxiety, which was, that Jacob could not cross the forest to get the puppies which had been promised them, and the time was passed, for it was now January, when he was to have called for them. Edward and Humphrey pressed the old man very hard to let one of them go, but the only answer they could obtain was "that he'd be better soon." At last, finding that he got worse instead of better, he consented that Edward should go. He gave directions how to proceed, the way he was to take, and a description of the keeper's lodge; cautioned him to call himself by the name of Armitage, and describe himself as his grandson. Edward promised to obey Jacob's directions, and the next morning he set off, mounted upon White Billy, with a little money in his pocket in case he should want it.
"I wish I was going with you," said Humphrey, as he walked by the side of the pony.
"I wish you were, Humphrey: for my part, I feel as if I were a slave set at liberty. I do justice to old Jacob's kindness and good will, and acknowledge how much we are indebted to him; but still to be housed up here in the forest, never seeing or speaking to any one, shut out from the world, does not suit Edward Beverley. Our father was a soldier, and a right good one, and if I were old enough I think even now I should escape and join the royal party, broken as it may be and by all accounts is, at this moment. Deer stalking is all very well, but I fly at higher game."
"I feel the same as you do," replied Humphrey: "but recollect, Edward, that the old man's very infirm, and what would become of our sisters if we were to leave them?"
"I know that well, Humphrey—I have no idea of leaving them, you may be sure; but I wish they were with our relations in safety, and then we should be free to act."
"Yes, we should, Edward; but recollect that we are not yet men, and boys of fifteen and thirteen can not do much, although they may wish to do much."
"It's true that I am only fifteen," replied Edward, "but I am strong enough, and so are you. I think if I had a fair cut at a man's head I would make him stagger under it, were he as big as a buffalo. As young as I have been to the wars, that I know well; and I recollect my father promising me that I should go with him as soon as I was fifteen."
"What puzzles me," replied Humphrey, "is, the fear that old Jacob has of our being seen at Lymington."
"Why, what fear is there?"
"I can not tell more than you; in my opinion, the fear is only in his own imagination. They surely would not hurt us (if we walked about without arms like other people) because our father had fought for the king? That they have beheaded some people it is true, but then they were plotting in the king's favor, or in other ways opposed to Parliament. This I have gathered from Jacob: but I can not see what we have to fear if we remain quiet. But now comes the question, Edward, for Jacob has, I believe, said more to me on one subject than he has to you. Suppose you were to leave the forest, what would be the first step which you would take?"
"I should, of course, state who I was, and take possession of my father's property at Arnwood, which is mine by descent."
"Exactly; so Jacob thinks, and he says that would be your ruin, for the property is sequestered, as they call it, or forfeited to the Parliament, in consequence of your father having fought against it on the king's side. It no longer belongs to you, and you would not be allowed to take it: on the contrary, you would, in all probability, be imprisoned, and who knows what might then take place? You see there is danger."
"Did Jacob say this to you?"
"Yes, he did: he told me he dare not speak to you on the subject, you were so fiery; and if you heard that the property was confiscated, you would certainly do some rash act, and that any thing of the kind would be a pretense for laying hold of you; and then he said that he did not think that he would live long, for he was weaker every day; and that he only hoped his life would be spared another year or two, that he might keep you quiet till better times came. He said that if they supposed that we were all burned in the house when it was fired, it would give them a fair opportunity of calling you an impostor and treating you accordingly, and that there were so many anxious to have a gift of the property, that you would have thousands of people compassing your death. He said that your making known yourself and claiming your property would be the very conduct that your enemies would wish you to follow, and would be attended with most fatal consequences; for he said, to prove that you were Edward Beverley, you must declare that I and your sisters were in the forest with him, and this disclosure would put the whole family in the power of their bitterest enemies; and what would become of your sisters, it would be impossible to say, but most likely they would be put under the charge of some Puritan family who would have a pleasure in ill-treating and humiliating the daughters of such a man as Colonel Beverley."
"And why did he not tell me all this?"
"He was afraid to say any thing to you; he thought that you would be so mad at the idea of this injustice that you would do something rash: and he said, I pray every night that my otherwise useless life may be spared; for, were I to die, I know that Edward would quit the 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."
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