Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.Digby’s New Pony—Attacked by Smugglers—The Outlaws’ Cavern—A Voyage—The Gale—An Ill Wind that Blows no one Good—Digby Shipwrecked.“You beautiful little Sweetlips, many a jolly ride I’ll have on you,” cried the young Squire of Bloxholme Hall, as he patted his pony’s neck while he cantered along over the ground, just crisping with the newly set in frost. He had intended to go only as far as the park gates, but the air was so refreshing, and the feeling of finding himself once more in the saddle was so exhilarating that, seeing the gate open, he could not help dashing through it, and giving his pony the rein and a cut with his whip, galloping along a smooth piece of turf which ran for some distance by the side of the road. “I shall be back quite time enough to dress for dinner,” he thought to himself, “and Sweetlips likes the fun as much as I do.” He galloped on a little longer. “Oh, this is delightful! We must go a short distance further, Sweetlips,” he exclaimed. “We will turn back, then, and you shall have a capital feed. I’ll tell John Pratt to give it you. Oh, how kind is papa. You are a first-rate pony, indeed you are, old fellow.” On he went; the pony certainly seeming to enjoy the gallop as much as his young master. “Now we really must go back, Sweetlips,” cried Digby, pulling in his rein, for the gloom of evening was rapidly increasing. He did not perceive that several men were coming quickly along the road close to him. “Now for Bloxholme, at your best speed, my pony, he shouted in his glee.”“Hillo! stop, master!” cried one of the men, springing forward and seizing his rein. “Who are you?”“Let go my bridle,” answered Digby, trying to free himself. “I am Mr Heathcote’s son, if you wish to know.”“Ho, ho! are you, indeed, youngster?” said one of the men. “We are in luck, then. I say, though, you are not going home just now. Come along with us.”“Along with you! Indeed I will not,” answered Digby, with very natural indignation.“Ho, ho, my cock of the woods, don’t crow so loudly, or we may have to squeeze your windpipe,” exclaimed another of the ruffians coming up.All Digby’s spirit was raised. He struck out right and left with his whip, and endeavoured to force his pony out from among them. In vain were his efforts. He, however, struck the ruffian who held the reins so severe a blow across the eyes that the man let them go, and he might have escaped, had not, at the same moment, two other fellows seized him by the collar of his jacket, and he was dragged to the ground. The pony, finding his head free, sprang forward, and before either of the men could catch him, had galloped far beyond their reach, though one of the most active ran on in the hope of catching it. Digby in the scuffle, while bravely trying to escape, let go his whip, which fell to the ground unperceived by his captors. Few other words were spoken. They dragged him rapidly along the road they had come, which led past Dame Marlow’s cottage. One of them threatened to blow out his brains if he made the slightest noise, and suspecting that they might put their threat into execution, he refrained from crying out. Still, as he went along, he was considering all the time how he could effect his escape. He counted eight or ten men in the party who had got hold of him. When they arrived at Mile-End gravel-pits, they turned off and took the path to Dame Marlow’s cottage. They seemed to be expected there. When they entered, the old woman was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caldron boiling on it. As the bright light fell on her thin, sharp features, and her long, bony arm, almost bare, was stretched out grasping the ladle, with her red cloak thrown over one shoulder, her long, straggling hair, and her fantastic dress, she looked, indeed, like one of the witches Digby had read of, and he could not help feeling that the outrage of which he was the victim, was a just retribution for the trick he had once played here—a retribution probably brought about by her machinations.“We’ve caught the young bird sooner than we expected, Dame,” said one of the men. “But, we’ve more work on hand to-night. We’ll leave him with you and Dick Owlett till we come back. Take care that he doesn’t fly off.”Master Dick Owlett, who had hitherto kept in the background, now made his appearance. He had grown so much stouter and bigger since Digby saw him last at Osberton, that dressed as he was, in a rough seaman’s costume, he could scarcely have recognised him.Digby knew that he had been sent off to sea, but he learned, from his conversation with the old woman, that he had deserted and found his way back to his old haunts.One of the men placed a bench near the fire. “Sit down there, youngster,” he said. “Mind you don’t stir till we come back. Dick, keep an eye on him.”Dick Owlett scowled at Digby, and drawing a pistol from his coat-pocket, sat himself down at the other end of the bench, eyeing him as a bull-terrier does his master’s bundle he has been placed to watch. The rest of the men then hurried out, leaving only old Marlow, who lay groaning on a bed at the further end of the cottage, the Dame, and Owlett watching Digby.When the men were gone, the Dame came and placed herself before Digby, eyeing him with a very sinister glance. “So, young Squire,” she hissed out, “the old Squire will learn that the poor can love their children as much as the rich. He sent my boy across the sea with the help of the law, and never will he come back to gladden his old grandmother’s eyes; and now I’m going to send his son far away, and may be he’ll never come back to brighten Bloxholme Hall with his smiles and his laughter. Revenge is sweet, and there are many to-night who find it so, and there are some who will find it bitter, too.”Digby heard these words, but scarcely comprehended their full meaning, or was aware of the very terrible misfortune threatening him. He sat still for some time, while the old woman’s words were ringing in his ears. “I don’t much fear her threats, and I ought to be ashamed of myself in allowing the old woman, and that young rascal, not so many years older than I am, to keep me a prisoner,” he thought. “I’ll break away from them.” He sprung up to rush to the door, but before he had moved further, the click of the pistol-lock struck his ear.“I’ll fire,” exclaimed Owlett, with a dreadful oath. “I’m not going to be informed against, and sent off to prison for this night’s work.”“Young Squire, he’ll kill thee,” cried the old woman, placing her long, skinny hands on his shoulder, and forcing him down to his seat with a strength he could not resist.He was too indignant to expostulate, but he eyed Dick Owlett, and considered whether he could compete with him in a tussle, and wrest the pistol from his hands. Then he recollected that if he made the attempt, he should have the old woman attacking him in the rear with her sharp, talon-like fingers. Whenever she moved, he felt that the Dame’s keen eye was upon him. Even while preparing the supper for her guests, and stirring the caldron, her glance was constantly turned towards him. Then, also, Owlett had his finger on the lock, and the muzzle of the pistol pointed at his breast. A full-grown man might have felt very uncomfortable under such circumstances, so, considering that Owlett might possibly put his threat into execution, much against his will he sat still.A long time seemed to pass, and then, at length, the band of ruffians came back. From their appearance and conversation Digby supposed them to be smugglers. They seemed highly delighted with their performances that evening; and having hurriedly discussed their supper, they declared that they must be off without further delay.Digby now thought it was time to speak out.“What is it you want with me?” he asked. “I wish to return home.”“That’s what you will be crying out for many a day, youngster,” answered one of the men. “No, no, you’ll go along with us.”In vain Digby expostulated, and threatened, and at last entreated his captors to let him return home. They only laughed and sneered at him. Had he himself only been the sufferer, he felt that he would not have condescended to use any arguments but threats with such ruffians; but he knew the misery his disappearance would cause his parents and sisters.“Poor dear little Kate; how she will cry about me,” he said to himself; and he thought again and again how he could get away.The men buttoned up their coats, slipped a rough pea-jacket over his shoulders, and put a tarpaulin hat on his head, which they tied down so that he could not throw it off.“Gag him,” said one of them; and he found a handkerchief passed tightly over his mouth, effectually preventing him from crying out. Two of them then took him by the arms between them, and, nodding to Dame Marlow, went out. She merely cast one very unpleasant glance at him, but said nothing. The whole party followed, and walked along the road at a rapid rate, every now and then looking behind them as if they expected to be pursued. In about twenty minutes they reached a low public-house, well known as the resort of smugglers and other bad characters. Two carts were standing before the door; jumping into them, without entering the house, they drove on at a rapid rate. Digby looked up at the sky, which was beautifully clear. Mr Nugent constantly gave his pupils lessons in practical astronomy, and Digby was therefore able to discover that they were driving towards the sea. They kept, however, considerably to the west of Osberton. At last they reached the edge of a cliff; before him lay spread out the ocean, now sleeping in calm grandeur. The men roughly pulled him out of the cart, and two of them taking him as before, between them, made him descend a narrow zig-zag path down the face of the cliff. Down, down they went, till they reached a small curving beach, the high cliffs towering above it, and without any communication with the other part of the shore. A boat lay there; she was quickly launched, and the men, getting in, took Digby with them.He had been full well sure that search would be made for him, but he saw that the difficulty of discovering him would be much increased by this proceeding of the smugglers. He had been unable to drop anything on the road by which he could be traced; and now embarked, and, as he thought, about to be carried out of the country, he was brought to the verge of despair.The smugglers, however, had not rowed far before they once more turned the boat’s head towards the land; and he soon found that they were at the foot of a lofty cliff.“You may sing out now, youngster, as loudly as you like; no One will hear you whom we fear,” said one of the men, undoing the handkerchief secured round his mouth.Up the cliff the whole party climbed till they reached a cave in the face of the rock. Digby had not supposed so curious a place existed in that part of the country. The entrance was of no great size, but when they had gone a little way, he saw that it branched off into several broad and lofty galleries. Into one of them the smugglers turned, when a wooden partition appeared before them, and going through a small door, he found that they were in what looked like a large hall, lighted with lamps hung from the roof. A fire burnt in the centre with pots and caldrons cooking over it, and near it were several long tables and benches, sufficient to accommodate a considerable number of persons. The glare of the fire fell on numerous packages, and bales, and casks, piled up round the walls of the cave, while several ship’s bunks and rough-looking bedsteads were arranged at the further end of the hall.Several persons already occupied the place. Two of them were women, so Digby judged by their dress, though they were the roughest specimens of the female sex he had ever seen; the rest were men and boys. They all evinced great curiosity about him, and made many inquiries as to how he had been taken, and what was to be done with him. Digby did not hear the answers made to these questions, so that he was left in the dark as to the fate intended for him. The party were soon seated at the tables, and fish, flesh, and fowl, in ample quantities, were placed before them. Digby was invited to join them in somewhat a rough manner, but with no unkind intention, apparently. At first he thought that he ought to refuse, but he had grown very hungry, and he felt that it would be foolish not to make himself as comfortable as he could. Room was made for him near the fire, and one of the women brought him a plateful of the most delicate of the morsels of food which she could pick out.“Poor little chap, it’s hard for you to be taken away from home just now; but cheer up, may be they’ll let you go again, by and by.”“Hillo, Bet! what are you talking to the child for?” exclaimed a man, whom Digby had for some time suspected to be the captain of the band.The men, however, addressed him in the same familiar way that they spoke to each other, and called him “Nat Charnick.” Though roughly dressed, his costume was neater than that of the other men; he spoke more correctly also; in appearance there was, perhaps, less of the ruffian about him. He was of moderate height, strongly built, and of a fairish complexion, but the expression of his countenance showed that, in essential points, he was in no way superior to the men who surrounded him. The ruffian crew appeared, from some reason or other, to be accustomed to look up to him, and a word from his lips speedily brought the most unruly to order. Food, though somewhat coarsely dressed, there was in abundance, and spirits of various sorts were passed round and drunk, as if they had been so much water. When, however, the carouse appeared to be growing fast and furious, Nat Charnick called his crew to order, and reminded them that they had work to do that night. In an instant the men put aside their glasses, and rising from their seats, each one loaded himself with one of the casks, or bales, I have mentioned, and went out of the tavern. Digby sat still, wondering what was going to be done. The men, however, quickly returned and took up more bales or casks. Everybody, even the boys and women, were employed in the work. Like ants they kept going continually backwards and forwards, till the heaps of goods sensibly diminished.“Oh, oh!” said Digby to himself, “here is a possibility of my effecting my escape, and I will carry out a burden with the rest, and as soon as I have put it down, I will try and make off, or hide myself somewhere outside the cavern.”Accordingly he jumped from his seat, and putting a bale of silk on his shoulders, he followed Dick Owlett and some other lads out of the cave, as he fancied, unobserved by any one. How delighted he felt at getting into the open air, keen and cold as it was.“In a few minutes I shall be free,” he thought; “if I once get to the top of the cliff won’t I run on? I doubt if even the fastest among the smugglers would overtake me.”On he went with his burden, which was a pretty heavy one. They soon reached a narrow ledge on the face of a perpendicular cliff. Ropes were hanging over it, and the smugglers securing their bales and casks to them, away they were hoisted rapidly out of sight; but bitter was Digby’s disappointment when he found that there was not a spot near where he could by possibility conceal himself.“Well done, youngster,” said the voice of Captain Charnick; “I like to see a lad willing to make himself useful; you’ll soon become like one of us, and spend a much more happy and free life than you would at school or at the old Hall there.”Digby found himself caught in a trap, and that the smugglers might not suspect the design he had entertained, he was compelled to run backwards and forwards with the goods, as they were doing, till the cave was completely empty. The exercise had, however, the effect of making him so thoroughly tired, that he was glad to throw himself on a bed pointed out to him; and in a minute he was fast asleep. When he awoke the smugglers were astir, and the women were bending over the fire, busy in preparing breakfast. He was invited, as before, to partake of it.“They cannot intend to do me much harm, or they would not feed me so well,” he said to himself; and he very wisely resolved to keep up his spirits, and to make himself as much at home as possible. He thanked the women in a cheerful voice for their kindness, and laughed and chatted in a perfectly natural and free way with every body round him. Dick Owlett looked surprised and rather suspiciously at him.“You are a merry as well as active youngster, I see,” said Captain Charnick, coming up to him; “keep alive, and we will give you employment before long.”“Thank you,” answered Digby, “I am much obliged to you for the good supper and breakfast you have given me, and if you will pay me a visit at Bloxholme Hall, I shall be very happy to give you as plentiful ones in return.”The smugglers laughed heartily at the remark.“It’s a doubt whether you’d like to see us at Bloxholme Hall, in the way we should go there,” remarked one of them; “howsomdever, we are not likely to put you to the trial.”Breakfast over, most of the men left the cave; some of the remainder hauled out ropes and sails, and began working away busily on them, while others employed themselves in overhauling sea-chests, casks, and sacks of provisions, or in cleaning and repairing arms. It was very evident that the smugglers did not spend an idle life in the cavern; indeed, from what Digby had hitherto had an opportunity of remarking, he could not help thinking that the same industry employed in any of the lawful callings of life, would have procured them far more wealth and comfort than they could in any way at present enjoy.Thus the day passed on. Digby, however, found that he was still a prisoner, for whenever he went towards the entrance of the cavern, Dick Owlett jumped up and made a very significant sign to him to go back again, and as Dick strengthened his argument with a loaded pistol in his hand, Digby saw that it would be wise to submit.It was late in the afternoon when the greater number of the band hurriedly entered the cavern. They evidently brought some information, which was not of a pleasant character; the rest sprung quickly to their feet—the sails were rolled up—the rigging was put in a form to be easily carried; sea-chests, and cases, and baskets, were brought out and placed near the entrance ready to be moved; indeed, as far as Digby could judge, the smugglers were preparing to desert the place altogether. The Captain was still absent. Soon after these preparations were concluded, he made his appearance. Whatever had been the information previously received, he corroborated it.“Be smart, my lads,” he exclaimed; “the lugger is ready, and the revenue people are on the wrong scent. We’ve no time to lose, or they may be back on us.”At these words the men loaded themselves with the various articles which they had got ready to move, and one after the other left the cavern.Digby hoped that he was to be allowed to remain, and to find his way home as best he could after the smugglers had gone; but again he was doomed to disappointment.“Come, youngster, you are going with us,” said Captain Charnick, who had remained behind to see that nothing was left which he required.Digby began to expostulate.“Why, just now you were, I thought, all ready to join us,” exclaimed the Captain, with a laugh. “Come along, though. I want you, that’s enough.”Saying this, he took Digby by the arm in no very gentle way, and led him out of the cavern and down the face of the cliff. At the foot of it, so close in that she looked as if she must be touching the shore, lay a large lugger. The cliffs there formed a bay, in which she lay, and from her position, no one, except those who stood near the mouth of the cavern, could by any possibility see what was going forward on her deck.Digby found, on reaching the foot of the cliff, that nearly all the things just carried from the cavern had been conveyed on board her. At last everything was embarked. Even now Digby hoped that he might be allowed to get away.“Come, my lad, wish good-bye to old England,” said the Captain, taking him by the arm, and lifting him into the boat. In another minute he was on board the lugger; the boats were hoisted in, the anchor was got up, and sail being made, with a fair and strong breeze she stood down channel.Digby burst into tears; it was long since he had cried so bitterly. No one seemed to pity him; but they allowed him to grieve on by himself. The smugglers themselves, however, it was evident, were not free from anxiety. A bright look-out was kept in every direction, and more than once the lugger’s course was altered to avoid a strange sail. The weather, too, had changed for the worse, and had become very threatening. To increase their difficulties, a thick mist and driving rain came on, so that they could often see but a short distance beyond the vessel. Still they ran on under all sail. The evening of a short winter’s day was drawing on, when suddenly, the mist clearing off, a large cutter was seen right ahead, standing across their course.“Down with the helm! Haul aft the sheets!” cried the Captain; and the lugger was brought on a wind. The movement, however, did not escape those on board the cutter, for she immediately went about, and stood after the smuggler.That she was a revenue vessel Digby had no doubt; and now he hoped that his emancipation was near. But the lugger proved herself to be a very fast craft; and though the cutter carried all the canvass she could bear, she did not appear in the slightest degree to be overhauling them.“We are not in her clutches just yet, my lad,” said Captain Charnick, as he saw Digby anxiously watching the cutter. “Once upon a time we would have fought her, and beat her off, but now we must trust to our heels. We’ve a pair of smart ones, let me tell you; and if you expect ever to step aboard that cutter you are mistaken.”Digby’s heart sunk at hearing the Captain express himself with so much confidence. The wind continued increasing; and Digby heard some of the smugglers say that it was shifting about very much, and that it would settle down into a regular south-westerly gale. In spite, however, of the strong wind, neither the smugglers nor those on board the cruiser appeared inclined to shorten sail. The lugger tore through the water with a mass of foam at her bows, which came flying in sheets over the deck. The sea, too, was getting up; and as she rushed on she seemed to be making such headlong plunges into it, that Digby sometimes thought that she would never rise again. There was a little binnacle on deck. Digby got a look at the compass within it, and found that the cutter was once more running up Channel. This again raised his hopes; he thought that there was a better chance of the lugger being overtaken by the revenue cruiser, when he had little doubt that he should be able to make himself known. The gale increased, the waves danced more wildly than ever, their white crests gleaming amid the gloom of night, which rapidly came on. Still the smugglers would not shorten sail; they trusted to the stout little craft which had carried them safely through many a storm, and to the darkness of night, to enable them to escape.Digby kept on deck in spite of the way the vessel tumbled about, and the seas, which every now and then washed on board, soaked him through. He had been for some time standing holding on by the weather bulwarks, looking anxiously ahead, and wondering whether the lugger could possibly mount again over the next foaming wave. Had he not learned a good deal about sailing from Toby Tubb, he would have been much more alarmed. As it was, the smugglers remarked to each other that he was a brave little chap, and would make a good seaman some day or other, when he was one of them. Digby might have been flattered with the remark, but he would have rather shrunk from the career they proposed for him. He had stood thus for some time, when turning round, and looking astern, the cutter was no longer to be seen. In vain he tried to pierce the gloom; nothing could he see but the dark waves, and the white spray, dancing up towards to the sky.“There’s no fear, we’ve given her the slip this time,” he heard one of the smugglers remark; and soon all were congratulating themselves on their escape from their pursuer.Poor Digby felt very miserable. The gale came down stronger and stronger. The lugger held on her course; the smugglers no longer spoke to each other; only new and then the Captain issued some order in a loud tone, which all hastened to obey. And Digby judged from this that they were far from contented with the state of affairs. Some sail was taken off the vessel, but she still had too much; she at times heeled over fearfully, and the seas, with terrific force, washed on board. Digby felt that he would have been carried away, but he had bound a rope fast to the weather bulwarks, and securing it round himself, he was preserved from a fate so dreadful. Hour after hour passed, and still the lugger went tearing through the dark waters.“You’d better go below and turn in, youngster,” said the Captain, good-naturedly, to him. “There’s some brandy and water and a biscuit for you in the cabin; it will do you good.”Digby thanked him, but said that he would rather stay where he was, and see what was going to happen.Sometimes the wind seemed to lull, and Digby hoped that the storm was going to be over, but it again breezed up, and blew harder than ever. The smugglers stood some at the helm, and others clustered round the masts. As the storm increased, the darkness became more intense. The vessel seemed to be rushing into a mass of black; the rain came down in torrents; thunder, in terrific peals, rolled overhead; and forked lightning darted from the skies. Digby felt almost worn out, and ready to sink—a dreamy unconsciousness came over him. Had he not secured himself by the rope he would have fallen to leeward, and been washed overboard. How long he had continued in this state he could not tell. He was aroused by a terrific crash; he was up to his waist in water—a tremendous sea had struck the vessel; the masts had gone by the board; and many of the crew had been washed away. He could hear their shrieks of agonising despair us the vessel was swept on away from them; and they, with all their sins on their heads, were left amid that dark sea to perish miserably. The survivors, bold seamen as they were, held on to whatever they could grasp, knowing that, till daylight, they could do nothing towards getting up a jury-mast, on which they could set sail, to carry them into port. Were they destined ever again to see the bright light of day? On went the lugger, impelled by the force of the wind, bodily to leeward. Suddenly there was a crash; the vessel seemed to be lifted up and down; she came again on a rock, which split her into fragments. Shrieks of terror and despair sounded in Digby’s ears. He, too, cried out—it was that God would save him. He was alone, tossed about by the wild waters, clinging to a part of the bulwarks. Soon the voices of the once bold and hardy smugglers were silent. Digby felt himself lifted up and down by the waves; the spray, in thick masses, flew over him. The loud roar of the sea dashing on the shore almost deafened him. There was a grating sound as if he was close to the beach; he touched the sand with his feet. Now he was carried away; but another wave rolled in, and sent him high up against a rugged rock. He had become separated from the plank to which he had been but loosely secured. He grasped hold of the rock; the wave rolled back, and he found his feet touching the soft sand. He ran on as fast as he could move, but he ran against a rock. Again he heard the roar of a wave as it came rolling up, but it did not even reach his feet. He clung to the rock till it had retired. Once more he tried to work his way on, but he could discover no outlet, and stooping down, he found that the sand was dry and soft; he therefore suspected that he had been thrown into a cave. It did not, happily, occur to him that the tide might be rising, and that even then the sea might pursue him. He crawled up to the furthest end, where the ground was dry, and the air comparatively warm; but he himself felt numbed and chilled, and could not help thinking that he should be frozen to death. As he sat there he began to consider how he could make his escape. In the dark he could do nothing. It was still some hours to daylight he supposed. He wished that he could make a fire; it would show him where he was, and help to dry his clothes. He felt about, and found that there was an abundant supply of wood, but it had been so long there that much of it was soft as tinder. Not long before, one of his companions had given him a present, which every boy prizes—a flint and steel, with some tinder; it was in a small tin case. He expected to find that the water had got into it, and spoilt it, or that it had been washed out of his pocket. He felt for it; there it was safe. He scraped all the wood he could find round him, and then took out his box; it was well made, and had proved water-tight. With a grateful heart he struck a light, and put a piece of the burning tinder under some of the soft wood; then, stooping down, he blew it steadily till, to his joy, the wood caught, and very soon burst into a flame. He piled more wood on till there was a good blaze. Looking around, he found that he was in a large cavern, with the water filling its mouth, and which ran up some way directly from it, and then turned sharply round to the left. He had happily been guided to this turning, where he was sheltered from the wind, and was well supplied with fuel. The blazing fire again made the blood circulate through his numbed limbs, and dried his clothes. He looked about and could not see how he could escape; but he felt, after the merciful way in which he had been preserved, that it would be gross ingratitude to doubt that means for saving him would be provided.“Where are all the people who so lately were with me, full of life, on board the lugger?” he thought to himself; “not one of them remains in existence. I alone have been saved among them all, though the weakest, and least able to help myself.”Such, indeed, was the case. His strength had hitherto been wonderfully kept up, but he was beginning to grow very faint and hungry, and he felt as if he should not be able to hold out much longer. He, however, exerted himself to the utmost to keep up his fire; he knew that his life might depend on it. It was so cold and damp, though fortunately not freezing, that he thought if he went to sleep, and let his fire go out, he might be so chilled and benumbed as to be unable to rally. Whenever, then, he felt very sleepy, he got up, and walked round and round his fire to arouse and warm himself. How anxiously he looked for daylight; how he longed for the storm to cease, that he might try and make his escape.Poor Digby; he was very young, and not altogether very wise, but there was good stuff in him, as the way he behaved on this occasion showed; but it required care and attention to bring it into permanent practical use.At length he grew very weary; he was obliged to sit down. He drew as near the fire as he could venture to sit; his eyes closed, and his head dropped on his knees. All sorts of strange scenes passed before him: he felt as if he was still struggling in the waves; that he heard around him the shrieks of the drowning wretches. He started up—a cry or shout rung in his ears. The fire was still blazing, for the drift-wood burnt slowly; the bright sunlight, too, was streaming in at the mouth of the cavern, and the storm was over.

“You beautiful little Sweetlips, many a jolly ride I’ll have on you,” cried the young Squire of Bloxholme Hall, as he patted his pony’s neck while he cantered along over the ground, just crisping with the newly set in frost. He had intended to go only as far as the park gates, but the air was so refreshing, and the feeling of finding himself once more in the saddle was so exhilarating that, seeing the gate open, he could not help dashing through it, and giving his pony the rein and a cut with his whip, galloping along a smooth piece of turf which ran for some distance by the side of the road. “I shall be back quite time enough to dress for dinner,” he thought to himself, “and Sweetlips likes the fun as much as I do.” He galloped on a little longer. “Oh, this is delightful! We must go a short distance further, Sweetlips,” he exclaimed. “We will turn back, then, and you shall have a capital feed. I’ll tell John Pratt to give it you. Oh, how kind is papa. You are a first-rate pony, indeed you are, old fellow.” On he went; the pony certainly seeming to enjoy the gallop as much as his young master. “Now we really must go back, Sweetlips,” cried Digby, pulling in his rein, for the gloom of evening was rapidly increasing. He did not perceive that several men were coming quickly along the road close to him. “Now for Bloxholme, at your best speed, my pony, he shouted in his glee.”

“Hillo! stop, master!” cried one of the men, springing forward and seizing his rein. “Who are you?”

“Let go my bridle,” answered Digby, trying to free himself. “I am Mr Heathcote’s son, if you wish to know.”

“Ho, ho! are you, indeed, youngster?” said one of the men. “We are in luck, then. I say, though, you are not going home just now. Come along with us.”

“Along with you! Indeed I will not,” answered Digby, with very natural indignation.

“Ho, ho, my cock of the woods, don’t crow so loudly, or we may have to squeeze your windpipe,” exclaimed another of the ruffians coming up.

All Digby’s spirit was raised. He struck out right and left with his whip, and endeavoured to force his pony out from among them. In vain were his efforts. He, however, struck the ruffian who held the reins so severe a blow across the eyes that the man let them go, and he might have escaped, had not, at the same moment, two other fellows seized him by the collar of his jacket, and he was dragged to the ground. The pony, finding his head free, sprang forward, and before either of the men could catch him, had galloped far beyond their reach, though one of the most active ran on in the hope of catching it. Digby in the scuffle, while bravely trying to escape, let go his whip, which fell to the ground unperceived by his captors. Few other words were spoken. They dragged him rapidly along the road they had come, which led past Dame Marlow’s cottage. One of them threatened to blow out his brains if he made the slightest noise, and suspecting that they might put their threat into execution, he refrained from crying out. Still, as he went along, he was considering all the time how he could effect his escape. He counted eight or ten men in the party who had got hold of him. When they arrived at Mile-End gravel-pits, they turned off and took the path to Dame Marlow’s cottage. They seemed to be expected there. When they entered, the old woman was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caldron boiling on it. As the bright light fell on her thin, sharp features, and her long, bony arm, almost bare, was stretched out grasping the ladle, with her red cloak thrown over one shoulder, her long, straggling hair, and her fantastic dress, she looked, indeed, like one of the witches Digby had read of, and he could not help feeling that the outrage of which he was the victim, was a just retribution for the trick he had once played here—a retribution probably brought about by her machinations.

“We’ve caught the young bird sooner than we expected, Dame,” said one of the men. “But, we’ve more work on hand to-night. We’ll leave him with you and Dick Owlett till we come back. Take care that he doesn’t fly off.”

Master Dick Owlett, who had hitherto kept in the background, now made his appearance. He had grown so much stouter and bigger since Digby saw him last at Osberton, that dressed as he was, in a rough seaman’s costume, he could scarcely have recognised him.

Digby knew that he had been sent off to sea, but he learned, from his conversation with the old woman, that he had deserted and found his way back to his old haunts.

One of the men placed a bench near the fire. “Sit down there, youngster,” he said. “Mind you don’t stir till we come back. Dick, keep an eye on him.”

Dick Owlett scowled at Digby, and drawing a pistol from his coat-pocket, sat himself down at the other end of the bench, eyeing him as a bull-terrier does his master’s bundle he has been placed to watch. The rest of the men then hurried out, leaving only old Marlow, who lay groaning on a bed at the further end of the cottage, the Dame, and Owlett watching Digby.

When the men were gone, the Dame came and placed herself before Digby, eyeing him with a very sinister glance. “So, young Squire,” she hissed out, “the old Squire will learn that the poor can love their children as much as the rich. He sent my boy across the sea with the help of the law, and never will he come back to gladden his old grandmother’s eyes; and now I’m going to send his son far away, and may be he’ll never come back to brighten Bloxholme Hall with his smiles and his laughter. Revenge is sweet, and there are many to-night who find it so, and there are some who will find it bitter, too.”

Digby heard these words, but scarcely comprehended their full meaning, or was aware of the very terrible misfortune threatening him. He sat still for some time, while the old woman’s words were ringing in his ears. “I don’t much fear her threats, and I ought to be ashamed of myself in allowing the old woman, and that young rascal, not so many years older than I am, to keep me a prisoner,” he thought. “I’ll break away from them.” He sprung up to rush to the door, but before he had moved further, the click of the pistol-lock struck his ear.

“I’ll fire,” exclaimed Owlett, with a dreadful oath. “I’m not going to be informed against, and sent off to prison for this night’s work.”

“Young Squire, he’ll kill thee,” cried the old woman, placing her long, skinny hands on his shoulder, and forcing him down to his seat with a strength he could not resist.

He was too indignant to expostulate, but he eyed Dick Owlett, and considered whether he could compete with him in a tussle, and wrest the pistol from his hands. Then he recollected that if he made the attempt, he should have the old woman attacking him in the rear with her sharp, talon-like fingers. Whenever she moved, he felt that the Dame’s keen eye was upon him. Even while preparing the supper for her guests, and stirring the caldron, her glance was constantly turned towards him. Then, also, Owlett had his finger on the lock, and the muzzle of the pistol pointed at his breast. A full-grown man might have felt very uncomfortable under such circumstances, so, considering that Owlett might possibly put his threat into execution, much against his will he sat still.

A long time seemed to pass, and then, at length, the band of ruffians came back. From their appearance and conversation Digby supposed them to be smugglers. They seemed highly delighted with their performances that evening; and having hurriedly discussed their supper, they declared that they must be off without further delay.

Digby now thought it was time to speak out.

“What is it you want with me?” he asked. “I wish to return home.”

“That’s what you will be crying out for many a day, youngster,” answered one of the men. “No, no, you’ll go along with us.”

In vain Digby expostulated, and threatened, and at last entreated his captors to let him return home. They only laughed and sneered at him. Had he himself only been the sufferer, he felt that he would not have condescended to use any arguments but threats with such ruffians; but he knew the misery his disappearance would cause his parents and sisters.

“Poor dear little Kate; how she will cry about me,” he said to himself; and he thought again and again how he could get away.

The men buttoned up their coats, slipped a rough pea-jacket over his shoulders, and put a tarpaulin hat on his head, which they tied down so that he could not throw it off.

“Gag him,” said one of them; and he found a handkerchief passed tightly over his mouth, effectually preventing him from crying out. Two of them then took him by the arms between them, and, nodding to Dame Marlow, went out. She merely cast one very unpleasant glance at him, but said nothing. The whole party followed, and walked along the road at a rapid rate, every now and then looking behind them as if they expected to be pursued. In about twenty minutes they reached a low public-house, well known as the resort of smugglers and other bad characters. Two carts were standing before the door; jumping into them, without entering the house, they drove on at a rapid rate. Digby looked up at the sky, which was beautifully clear. Mr Nugent constantly gave his pupils lessons in practical astronomy, and Digby was therefore able to discover that they were driving towards the sea. They kept, however, considerably to the west of Osberton. At last they reached the edge of a cliff; before him lay spread out the ocean, now sleeping in calm grandeur. The men roughly pulled him out of the cart, and two of them taking him as before, between them, made him descend a narrow zig-zag path down the face of the cliff. Down, down they went, till they reached a small curving beach, the high cliffs towering above it, and without any communication with the other part of the shore. A boat lay there; she was quickly launched, and the men, getting in, took Digby with them.

He had been full well sure that search would be made for him, but he saw that the difficulty of discovering him would be much increased by this proceeding of the smugglers. He had been unable to drop anything on the road by which he could be traced; and now embarked, and, as he thought, about to be carried out of the country, he was brought to the verge of despair.

The smugglers, however, had not rowed far before they once more turned the boat’s head towards the land; and he soon found that they were at the foot of a lofty cliff.

“You may sing out now, youngster, as loudly as you like; no One will hear you whom we fear,” said one of the men, undoing the handkerchief secured round his mouth.

Up the cliff the whole party climbed till they reached a cave in the face of the rock. Digby had not supposed so curious a place existed in that part of the country. The entrance was of no great size, but when they had gone a little way, he saw that it branched off into several broad and lofty galleries. Into one of them the smugglers turned, when a wooden partition appeared before them, and going through a small door, he found that they were in what looked like a large hall, lighted with lamps hung from the roof. A fire burnt in the centre with pots and caldrons cooking over it, and near it were several long tables and benches, sufficient to accommodate a considerable number of persons. The glare of the fire fell on numerous packages, and bales, and casks, piled up round the walls of the cave, while several ship’s bunks and rough-looking bedsteads were arranged at the further end of the hall.

Several persons already occupied the place. Two of them were women, so Digby judged by their dress, though they were the roughest specimens of the female sex he had ever seen; the rest were men and boys. They all evinced great curiosity about him, and made many inquiries as to how he had been taken, and what was to be done with him. Digby did not hear the answers made to these questions, so that he was left in the dark as to the fate intended for him. The party were soon seated at the tables, and fish, flesh, and fowl, in ample quantities, were placed before them. Digby was invited to join them in somewhat a rough manner, but with no unkind intention, apparently. At first he thought that he ought to refuse, but he had grown very hungry, and he felt that it would be foolish not to make himself as comfortable as he could. Room was made for him near the fire, and one of the women brought him a plateful of the most delicate of the morsels of food which she could pick out.

“Poor little chap, it’s hard for you to be taken away from home just now; but cheer up, may be they’ll let you go again, by and by.”

“Hillo, Bet! what are you talking to the child for?” exclaimed a man, whom Digby had for some time suspected to be the captain of the band.

The men, however, addressed him in the same familiar way that they spoke to each other, and called him “Nat Charnick.” Though roughly dressed, his costume was neater than that of the other men; he spoke more correctly also; in appearance there was, perhaps, less of the ruffian about him. He was of moderate height, strongly built, and of a fairish complexion, but the expression of his countenance showed that, in essential points, he was in no way superior to the men who surrounded him. The ruffian crew appeared, from some reason or other, to be accustomed to look up to him, and a word from his lips speedily brought the most unruly to order. Food, though somewhat coarsely dressed, there was in abundance, and spirits of various sorts were passed round and drunk, as if they had been so much water. When, however, the carouse appeared to be growing fast and furious, Nat Charnick called his crew to order, and reminded them that they had work to do that night. In an instant the men put aside their glasses, and rising from their seats, each one loaded himself with one of the casks, or bales, I have mentioned, and went out of the tavern. Digby sat still, wondering what was going to be done. The men, however, quickly returned and took up more bales or casks. Everybody, even the boys and women, were employed in the work. Like ants they kept going continually backwards and forwards, till the heaps of goods sensibly diminished.

“Oh, oh!” said Digby to himself, “here is a possibility of my effecting my escape, and I will carry out a burden with the rest, and as soon as I have put it down, I will try and make off, or hide myself somewhere outside the cavern.”

Accordingly he jumped from his seat, and putting a bale of silk on his shoulders, he followed Dick Owlett and some other lads out of the cave, as he fancied, unobserved by any one. How delighted he felt at getting into the open air, keen and cold as it was.

“In a few minutes I shall be free,” he thought; “if I once get to the top of the cliff won’t I run on? I doubt if even the fastest among the smugglers would overtake me.”

On he went with his burden, which was a pretty heavy one. They soon reached a narrow ledge on the face of a perpendicular cliff. Ropes were hanging over it, and the smugglers securing their bales and casks to them, away they were hoisted rapidly out of sight; but bitter was Digby’s disappointment when he found that there was not a spot near where he could by possibility conceal himself.

“Well done, youngster,” said the voice of Captain Charnick; “I like to see a lad willing to make himself useful; you’ll soon become like one of us, and spend a much more happy and free life than you would at school or at the old Hall there.”

Digby found himself caught in a trap, and that the smugglers might not suspect the design he had entertained, he was compelled to run backwards and forwards with the goods, as they were doing, till the cave was completely empty. The exercise had, however, the effect of making him so thoroughly tired, that he was glad to throw himself on a bed pointed out to him; and in a minute he was fast asleep. When he awoke the smugglers were astir, and the women were bending over the fire, busy in preparing breakfast. He was invited, as before, to partake of it.

“They cannot intend to do me much harm, or they would not feed me so well,” he said to himself; and he very wisely resolved to keep up his spirits, and to make himself as much at home as possible. He thanked the women in a cheerful voice for their kindness, and laughed and chatted in a perfectly natural and free way with every body round him. Dick Owlett looked surprised and rather suspiciously at him.

“You are a merry as well as active youngster, I see,” said Captain Charnick, coming up to him; “keep alive, and we will give you employment before long.”

“Thank you,” answered Digby, “I am much obliged to you for the good supper and breakfast you have given me, and if you will pay me a visit at Bloxholme Hall, I shall be very happy to give you as plentiful ones in return.”

The smugglers laughed heartily at the remark.

“It’s a doubt whether you’d like to see us at Bloxholme Hall, in the way we should go there,” remarked one of them; “howsomdever, we are not likely to put you to the trial.”

Breakfast over, most of the men left the cave; some of the remainder hauled out ropes and sails, and began working away busily on them, while others employed themselves in overhauling sea-chests, casks, and sacks of provisions, or in cleaning and repairing arms. It was very evident that the smugglers did not spend an idle life in the cavern; indeed, from what Digby had hitherto had an opportunity of remarking, he could not help thinking that the same industry employed in any of the lawful callings of life, would have procured them far more wealth and comfort than they could in any way at present enjoy.

Thus the day passed on. Digby, however, found that he was still a prisoner, for whenever he went towards the entrance of the cavern, Dick Owlett jumped up and made a very significant sign to him to go back again, and as Dick strengthened his argument with a loaded pistol in his hand, Digby saw that it would be wise to submit.

It was late in the afternoon when the greater number of the band hurriedly entered the cavern. They evidently brought some information, which was not of a pleasant character; the rest sprung quickly to their feet—the sails were rolled up—the rigging was put in a form to be easily carried; sea-chests, and cases, and baskets, were brought out and placed near the entrance ready to be moved; indeed, as far as Digby could judge, the smugglers were preparing to desert the place altogether. The Captain was still absent. Soon after these preparations were concluded, he made his appearance. Whatever had been the information previously received, he corroborated it.

“Be smart, my lads,” he exclaimed; “the lugger is ready, and the revenue people are on the wrong scent. We’ve no time to lose, or they may be back on us.”

At these words the men loaded themselves with the various articles which they had got ready to move, and one after the other left the cavern.

Digby hoped that he was to be allowed to remain, and to find his way home as best he could after the smugglers had gone; but again he was doomed to disappointment.

“Come, youngster, you are going with us,” said Captain Charnick, who had remained behind to see that nothing was left which he required.

Digby began to expostulate.

“Why, just now you were, I thought, all ready to join us,” exclaimed the Captain, with a laugh. “Come along, though. I want you, that’s enough.”

Saying this, he took Digby by the arm in no very gentle way, and led him out of the cavern and down the face of the cliff. At the foot of it, so close in that she looked as if she must be touching the shore, lay a large lugger. The cliffs there formed a bay, in which she lay, and from her position, no one, except those who stood near the mouth of the cavern, could by any possibility see what was going forward on her deck.

Digby found, on reaching the foot of the cliff, that nearly all the things just carried from the cavern had been conveyed on board her. At last everything was embarked. Even now Digby hoped that he might be allowed to get away.

“Come, my lad, wish good-bye to old England,” said the Captain, taking him by the arm, and lifting him into the boat. In another minute he was on board the lugger; the boats were hoisted in, the anchor was got up, and sail being made, with a fair and strong breeze she stood down channel.

Digby burst into tears; it was long since he had cried so bitterly. No one seemed to pity him; but they allowed him to grieve on by himself. The smugglers themselves, however, it was evident, were not free from anxiety. A bright look-out was kept in every direction, and more than once the lugger’s course was altered to avoid a strange sail. The weather, too, had changed for the worse, and had become very threatening. To increase their difficulties, a thick mist and driving rain came on, so that they could often see but a short distance beyond the vessel. Still they ran on under all sail. The evening of a short winter’s day was drawing on, when suddenly, the mist clearing off, a large cutter was seen right ahead, standing across their course.

“Down with the helm! Haul aft the sheets!” cried the Captain; and the lugger was brought on a wind. The movement, however, did not escape those on board the cutter, for she immediately went about, and stood after the smuggler.

That she was a revenue vessel Digby had no doubt; and now he hoped that his emancipation was near. But the lugger proved herself to be a very fast craft; and though the cutter carried all the canvass she could bear, she did not appear in the slightest degree to be overhauling them.

“We are not in her clutches just yet, my lad,” said Captain Charnick, as he saw Digby anxiously watching the cutter. “Once upon a time we would have fought her, and beat her off, but now we must trust to our heels. We’ve a pair of smart ones, let me tell you; and if you expect ever to step aboard that cutter you are mistaken.”

Digby’s heart sunk at hearing the Captain express himself with so much confidence. The wind continued increasing; and Digby heard some of the smugglers say that it was shifting about very much, and that it would settle down into a regular south-westerly gale. In spite, however, of the strong wind, neither the smugglers nor those on board the cruiser appeared inclined to shorten sail. The lugger tore through the water with a mass of foam at her bows, which came flying in sheets over the deck. The sea, too, was getting up; and as she rushed on she seemed to be making such headlong plunges into it, that Digby sometimes thought that she would never rise again. There was a little binnacle on deck. Digby got a look at the compass within it, and found that the cutter was once more running up Channel. This again raised his hopes; he thought that there was a better chance of the lugger being overtaken by the revenue cruiser, when he had little doubt that he should be able to make himself known. The gale increased, the waves danced more wildly than ever, their white crests gleaming amid the gloom of night, which rapidly came on. Still the smugglers would not shorten sail; they trusted to the stout little craft which had carried them safely through many a storm, and to the darkness of night, to enable them to escape.

Digby kept on deck in spite of the way the vessel tumbled about, and the seas, which every now and then washed on board, soaked him through. He had been for some time standing holding on by the weather bulwarks, looking anxiously ahead, and wondering whether the lugger could possibly mount again over the next foaming wave. Had he not learned a good deal about sailing from Toby Tubb, he would have been much more alarmed. As it was, the smugglers remarked to each other that he was a brave little chap, and would make a good seaman some day or other, when he was one of them. Digby might have been flattered with the remark, but he would have rather shrunk from the career they proposed for him. He had stood thus for some time, when turning round, and looking astern, the cutter was no longer to be seen. In vain he tried to pierce the gloom; nothing could he see but the dark waves, and the white spray, dancing up towards to the sky.

“There’s no fear, we’ve given her the slip this time,” he heard one of the smugglers remark; and soon all were congratulating themselves on their escape from their pursuer.

Poor Digby felt very miserable. The gale came down stronger and stronger. The lugger held on her course; the smugglers no longer spoke to each other; only new and then the Captain issued some order in a loud tone, which all hastened to obey. And Digby judged from this that they were far from contented with the state of affairs. Some sail was taken off the vessel, but she still had too much; she at times heeled over fearfully, and the seas, with terrific force, washed on board. Digby felt that he would have been carried away, but he had bound a rope fast to the weather bulwarks, and securing it round himself, he was preserved from a fate so dreadful. Hour after hour passed, and still the lugger went tearing through the dark waters.

“You’d better go below and turn in, youngster,” said the Captain, good-naturedly, to him. “There’s some brandy and water and a biscuit for you in the cabin; it will do you good.”

Digby thanked him, but said that he would rather stay where he was, and see what was going to happen.

Sometimes the wind seemed to lull, and Digby hoped that the storm was going to be over, but it again breezed up, and blew harder than ever. The smugglers stood some at the helm, and others clustered round the masts. As the storm increased, the darkness became more intense. The vessel seemed to be rushing into a mass of black; the rain came down in torrents; thunder, in terrific peals, rolled overhead; and forked lightning darted from the skies. Digby felt almost worn out, and ready to sink—a dreamy unconsciousness came over him. Had he not secured himself by the rope he would have fallen to leeward, and been washed overboard. How long he had continued in this state he could not tell. He was aroused by a terrific crash; he was up to his waist in water—a tremendous sea had struck the vessel; the masts had gone by the board; and many of the crew had been washed away. He could hear their shrieks of agonising despair us the vessel was swept on away from them; and they, with all their sins on their heads, were left amid that dark sea to perish miserably. The survivors, bold seamen as they were, held on to whatever they could grasp, knowing that, till daylight, they could do nothing towards getting up a jury-mast, on which they could set sail, to carry them into port. Were they destined ever again to see the bright light of day? On went the lugger, impelled by the force of the wind, bodily to leeward. Suddenly there was a crash; the vessel seemed to be lifted up and down; she came again on a rock, which split her into fragments. Shrieks of terror and despair sounded in Digby’s ears. He, too, cried out—it was that God would save him. He was alone, tossed about by the wild waters, clinging to a part of the bulwarks. Soon the voices of the once bold and hardy smugglers were silent. Digby felt himself lifted up and down by the waves; the spray, in thick masses, flew over him. The loud roar of the sea dashing on the shore almost deafened him. There was a grating sound as if he was close to the beach; he touched the sand with his feet. Now he was carried away; but another wave rolled in, and sent him high up against a rugged rock. He had become separated from the plank to which he had been but loosely secured. He grasped hold of the rock; the wave rolled back, and he found his feet touching the soft sand. He ran on as fast as he could move, but he ran against a rock. Again he heard the roar of a wave as it came rolling up, but it did not even reach his feet. He clung to the rock till it had retired. Once more he tried to work his way on, but he could discover no outlet, and stooping down, he found that the sand was dry and soft; he therefore suspected that he had been thrown into a cave. It did not, happily, occur to him that the tide might be rising, and that even then the sea might pursue him. He crawled up to the furthest end, where the ground was dry, and the air comparatively warm; but he himself felt numbed and chilled, and could not help thinking that he should be frozen to death. As he sat there he began to consider how he could make his escape. In the dark he could do nothing. It was still some hours to daylight he supposed. He wished that he could make a fire; it would show him where he was, and help to dry his clothes. He felt about, and found that there was an abundant supply of wood, but it had been so long there that much of it was soft as tinder. Not long before, one of his companions had given him a present, which every boy prizes—a flint and steel, with some tinder; it was in a small tin case. He expected to find that the water had got into it, and spoilt it, or that it had been washed out of his pocket. He felt for it; there it was safe. He scraped all the wood he could find round him, and then took out his box; it was well made, and had proved water-tight. With a grateful heart he struck a light, and put a piece of the burning tinder under some of the soft wood; then, stooping down, he blew it steadily till, to his joy, the wood caught, and very soon burst into a flame. He piled more wood on till there was a good blaze. Looking around, he found that he was in a large cavern, with the water filling its mouth, and which ran up some way directly from it, and then turned sharply round to the left. He had happily been guided to this turning, where he was sheltered from the wind, and was well supplied with fuel. The blazing fire again made the blood circulate through his numbed limbs, and dried his clothes. He looked about and could not see how he could escape; but he felt, after the merciful way in which he had been preserved, that it would be gross ingratitude to doubt that means for saving him would be provided.

“Where are all the people who so lately were with me, full of life, on board the lugger?” he thought to himself; “not one of them remains in existence. I alone have been saved among them all, though the weakest, and least able to help myself.”

Such, indeed, was the case. His strength had hitherto been wonderfully kept up, but he was beginning to grow very faint and hungry, and he felt as if he should not be able to hold out much longer. He, however, exerted himself to the utmost to keep up his fire; he knew that his life might depend on it. It was so cold and damp, though fortunately not freezing, that he thought if he went to sleep, and let his fire go out, he might be so chilled and benumbed as to be unable to rally. Whenever, then, he felt very sleepy, he got up, and walked round and round his fire to arouse and warm himself. How anxiously he looked for daylight; how he longed for the storm to cease, that he might try and make his escape.

Poor Digby; he was very young, and not altogether very wise, but there was good stuff in him, as the way he behaved on this occasion showed; but it required care and attention to bring it into permanent practical use.

At length he grew very weary; he was obliged to sit down. He drew as near the fire as he could venture to sit; his eyes closed, and his head dropped on his knees. All sorts of strange scenes passed before him: he felt as if he was still struggling in the waves; that he heard around him the shrieks of the drowning wretches. He started up—a cry or shout rung in his ears. The fire was still blazing, for the drift-wood burnt slowly; the bright sunlight, too, was streaming in at the mouth of the cavern, and the storm was over.

Chapter Ten.Further Adventures of Arthur and his Companions—Digby Rescued—Rejoicings at Bloxholme—Christmas Amusements—The Leader of the Revels—The End of the Holidays.Arthur Haviland and his companions having assured the old man and idiot boy, whom they found in the cavern, that they had no wish to do them harm, they, after some time, succeeded in quieting their apprehensions. In vain Arthur tried to gain more information about Digby. All he could learn was that the captain had carried him off in the lugger to foreign parts, and that they had all made up their minds not to come back to England.As it was getting late, and they had a long way to pull, Toby now summoned Arthur to return. Arthur, however, was not satisfied with the information he had obtained, and was unwilling to go away without gaining some definite clue to the place to which Digby had been carried. Finding that threats were of no avail, he tried to induce the old man to say all he knew by the promise of rewards.“You hear what the young gentleman says,” observed Toby. “You and I know each other, old Joe, and you know that I would not deceive you. What Mr Haviland says, he’ll do; that he will, depend on it. Come along, sir; I know where to find him. If he’s got anything to say, he’ll tell me. We haven’t another moment to lose, that I know.”Saying this, Toby led the way from the cave, followed by Arthur and John Pratt.The weather had evidently changed very much for the worse, and the wind was blowing strongly, and sending the spray right up to where they were standing. Toby shook his head doubtfully; but he continued to descend.“I thought so,” he exclaimed, when they reached the bottom of the cliff.There was old Jem with the boat partly out of the water, he hauling away with all his might to get her out of danger; but the waves were dashing against her stern, and threatening every instant to knock her to pieces. They had arrived only just in time; but, by dint of working away together, they got the boat hauled up beyond the reach of the sea. When this was done they went back to the cave, for the wind was blowing stronger and stronger, and it was very evident that they would not be able to leave the place that night. They had reason to be thankful that they had a place which would afford them so complete a shelter during that tempestuous night. When they got back they found the old man perfectly ready to be civil; and making themselves at home, they rummaged, out an ample supply of food, and materials for forming beds, which they ranged round the fire.Toby talked for all the party, and told many of his best anecdotes and stories. The genius of the place seemed to recall the memories of his early days, and many a tale of smuggling life and adventure he poured forth.Neither Arthur nor John Pratt were inclined to talk. They were thinking too much of poor Digby, tossing about on the wild ocean that stormy night. Had they been able to see the terrific danger to which he was exposed, they would have been still more alarmed. How mercifully has God hid the future from us, as well as the scenes of peril and suffering to which those we love at a distance may be exposed. How it would double our anguish to feel that we could not fly to their help, that we could afford them no relief. How foolish and wicked, then, are those persons who try to draw aside (by devices the most absurd however) that impenetrable veil which the Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, has placed before our eyes. Never let us put faith in those who pretend that they can either show the future, or bring the present, when at a distance, before our eyes. Clairvoyants, spirit-rappers, and similar pretenders, under whatever name they may appear, we may depend on it, are impostors. They have been shown to be so over and over again; but like Chinese tumbling-figures, though knocked down, they will spring up again, over and over again, as long as dupes can be found to put faith in them.Arthur Haviland long recollected that night in the cavern—the flickering light of the fire; the red glow cast over some parts of the sides and roof; and the dark, strange-shaped shadows, which passed over others; the low voices of his companions; the howling of the wind; and the incessant roar of the waves, as they beat against the foot of the cliffs. He at length, however, fell asleep, and did not awake till Toby called him, with an invitation to take a cup of coffee and a biscuit before they embarked. He was not sorry to accept the offer.As soon as the meal was over Toby went out, and returned with so favourable a report of the weather, that it was agreed that they might venture once more to embark.Arthur repeated his promise to the old man, who undertook to bring any information to him he could gain about Digby.The sun was shining, and the air was keen, for the wind had got round to the north. That, however, was an important advantage, as it sent down the sea; and the boat, when they had launched her, though tossed about a good deal, was able to continue her progress by keeping close in shore, and skirting all the bays and inlets. They had gone some way, and had just rounded a reef of rocks, whose black heads rose with threatening aspect out of the water, when Arthur exclaimed that he thought he saw a smoke coming out of the cliff. Toby ceased pulling, but did not speak. He looked round on every side; several pieces of timber were floating about, and on the shore lay a mass of cordage and broken spars.“Some vessel was cast away not far from here last night,” exclaimed Toby, at length. “Heaven help the unfortunate fellows on board her; but that smoke may be made by some of them who have escaped. What say you, old Jem?”Old Jem agreed with Toby, and told him that there was a small cave just in there, from which the smoke might proceed.Paddling in cautiously, for there were a good many rocks about capable of knocking an ugly hole in the boat’s bottom, as Toby observed, they approached the cliff. The entrance to the cave on the sand was soon perceptible. The boat reached a sandy beach. So completely did the cliff overhang the water, and so much did it project on either side of the cave, that only by means of a boat could anybody possibly leave it. So Arthur remarked as he jumped with Toby and John Pratt on shore. They could see the gleam of a fire from the interior. Arthur ran on; a little sailor-boy was sitting over it.“Hillo, my poor lad; we have come to help you,” exclaimed Arthur.The little sailor-boy looked up. There could be no doubt about it—there sat Digby Heathcote.With a shout of joy Arthur sprang forward, and lifted him up in his arms. John Pratt, in his delight, gave him a hug which almost squeezed the breath out of his body; and Toby Tubb seized his hand, and gave it a shake which well nigh wrung it off. It was some moments before any one could speak, and Digby could hurriedly give an account of what had occurred.“Well, I be right glad, that I be,” exclaimed Toby. “Them who has gone to their account has brought their fate upon themselves. Howsomdever, Master Digby, come into the boat; you are cold and hungry, I’ll warrant, and will be glad of a breakfast and warm bed.”Digby was ready enough to go, but he begged that search might be made in case any of the crew of the lugger might have been washed on shore, and be still clinging on among the crevices of the rocks.Toby shook his head. “It was not likely any had escaped. It was a wonder he had done so.”Search was made, however, but there was not the sign of a living being, nor had any of the bodies of the smugglers been washed ashore.Toby and John Pratt insisted on taking off their overcoats to wrap up Digby; and the former had a little brandy in a flask, which he insisted on pouring down his throat. Digby, to his surprise, found that it appeared very little stronger than water, a proof of how much chilled he was, and how important a stimulant this was to him.Little are spirit-drinkers aware of not only how much injury they are doing themselves, but how completely they are depriving themselves of important assistance in time of need. A glass of brandy may save the life of a person who never touches spirits, but would have no effect on an habitual brandy-drinker.The voyage back to Osberton need not be further described. The reception Digby met with from Mr and Mrs Nugent may easily be conceived. Digby indignantly declined to go to bed, but he did not refuse to eat a hearty breakfast, in which Arthur joined him, or to change his sailor’s clothes for a suit more fitted for the heir of Bloxholme to appear in.“Put up the others, however; I’ll have them with me,” he exclaimed. “They will remind me of my trip in the smugglers’ lugger, at all events.”“Of its fearful termination, and of the merciful way in which you were preserved, my dear boy,” observed Mr Nugent.“Yes, uncle, yes,” said Digby; “I thought of that. I don’t feel I can ever be too thankful.”A carriage was ordered, and Mr Nugent, and Digby, and Arthur, went inside; and John Pratt and Toby Tubb, whom Digby insisted should accompany them, went outside; and away they rattled as fast as four horses could gallop towards Bloxholme. Every minute was of importance to release Mr and Mrs Heathcote from their state of suspense. The carriage with its four smoking horses, rattled up the avenue. Almost before John Pratt had time to jump from the box the hall-door was flung open; Alesbury had caught sight of Digby, and hurrying down the steps faster than he had moved for many a day, he pulled him out of the carriage, and carried him into the house. Then Digby found himself in his mother’s arms. Then, and not till then, did he burst into tears, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.Poor little Kate, how she cried, too, and then she smiled and laughed; and when she got hold of Digby she could scarcely refrain from beating him for making her so very miserable; indeed, she gave him two or three severe slaps, and called him naughty, dear, tiresome, good boy; and Digby pulled her ears, and her nose, and showed his love in a variety of other eccentric ways. Digby came in for a great deal of caressing from all sides, of which he did not at all approve; but he submitted to it as an unavoidable evil, and looked very much as a donkey does when harness is about to be put on its back.Gusty shouted and laughed louder than ever that day; and his elder sisters kissed him as elder sisters generally do their younger brothers; but he took that sort of thing better from them than from any one else.Then he had to tell the story of his adventures over and over again. John Pratt, however, was able to help him in that respect in the servants’ hall, where he did ample justice to the young Squire’s courage, and never was tired of telling all he knew about his adventures.Digby was a strong hardy fellow, but he was not made of iron; and, long before dinner-time, he gave signs of being very sleepy and tired. He consented to go to bed, provided he was called in time to get up and dress for dinner. When, however, he was called, he was so fast asleep that nothing could awake him; and so he was allowed to sleep on till the following morning. It was ever afterwards a constant joke against him, that, when he came down, he fancied that he was coming down to dinner, and was very much surprised to find breakfast on the table.Arthur Haviland had pretty well kept him in countenance by sleeping the greater part of the time; and neither of them were quite themselves again for two or three days.Their adventures were fully a nine days’ wonder; and the whole visiting acquaintance of the family called to hear about it. Indeed, Digby had to tell the story so often that he got weary of it; and at last insisted that Kate should represent him, and tell it instead, as if the events had happened to her. He did not, however, forget poor Dame Marlow, of the death of whose grandson he had heard from some of the smugglers. He told Mr Bowdler of the trick he had once played her, and begged him to go and break the news to the old woman before she heard it from any one else.At first she would not believe that the only being she seemed to love was lost to her for ever; and at length, when the Vicar assured her that there was no doubt about the matter, she gave way to a fit of tears such as she had not shed for years. Her heart was softened. The clergyman placed before her in the clearest way the great truths of the Gospel. Many days passed away, and many visits he had to pay, before she at all seemed to comprehend them; but he persevered—as every true and faithful minister of the Gospel will persevere—when he feels that a lost soul is to be saved. At length the light seemed to dawn on her long-benighted mind.“You tell me wonderful things, Mr Bowdler, which I never before understood,” she said, at last. “I am a sinner, I feel that; and if I was left to myself, I am sure that I should be lost, for I don’t think that I could undo a quarter, nor an hundredth part, for that matter, of the sins I have committed; but as you say, that if I repent I may go to One who will wash away my sins, I will go to Him; and I am sure, from everything he has caused to be said in the Bible, that he will wash away my sins, and save my soul from death.”Much more she said, showing that she fully comprehended the great truths of the Gospel; find now her great anxiety was to warn those she had so long misled, and she was never weary of going about, and telling them of the Bible, and of the comfort it had been to her. At first, people could scarcely believe their senses when they heard her talk, so completely changed she had become, and so anxious she was to be doing all the good in her power. She tried to make her old husband comprehend the truths she had imbibed; but he afforded one of the numberless examples of the danger of putting off repentance to another day. His mind was dead, though his body was still alive, and in a short time he sunk into the grave. Her great grief was about her grandson, to whom she had set so bad an example, and whom she had never attempted to direct aright. He was gone, and nothing she could do would now have any power over his fate.Oh, may all those who read this reflect on the incalculable harm which a bad example may do to those younger, or in an inferior station to themselves. If they could see it, they would start back with horror and dismay at the result of their conduct. An idle word, an idle expression, or an irreverent joke, may seem a light thing in their eyes, but even words may produce a great deal of harm; much more will a continual course of idle, careless, and bad conduct; and depend upon it, many a younger brother and companion has been lost, body and soul, who might have had a very different fate had those who had an influence over him endeavoured to lead him aright.Digby was very glad to hear the account Mr Bowdler gave of Dame Marlow, though he probably did not understand the great importance of the change. Kate, however, whose comprehension was far more advanced than Digby’s, did understand it fully, and, of her own accord, went and explained the trick she had once played her, and expressed her sorrow for it.Digby was not quite himself again for a week or more after his dangerous adventure, and very often in the night he used to start up in his sleep, dreaming that he was on board the lugger, and that she was being dashed on the rocks. The holidays, however, promised to be as pleasant as usual. Many a delightful ride Digby got on Sweetlips; while often Kate cantered gaily by his side, dispelling, by her cheerful conversation, any of the over-gloomy thoughts which, in spite of his well-strung nerves and constitutional hardihood, would occasionally occur.The expected guests, also, arrived, and several of them had sons about Digby’s age; so that the house was full, and a very merry Christmas party were collected.Cousin Giles was the life and soul of the younger portion of the community. He started all the games in the evening, and arranged all the out-door amusements. A hard frost set in, and, as soon as the ice bore thoroughly, skating became the order of the day. Neither Digby nor Arthur Haviland had ever skated; indeed, only two of the boys had begun the previous year, and they were no great adepts at the art. Skates were, therefore, sent for, and cousin Giles undertook to be the instructor of the party. As he said that he should be frozen if he fastened on all the skates to his pupil’s feet at the pond, he had them all fitted and secured in the house, and then procured a small cart, and carried them all down bodily in it to the pond. He allowed those who wished it a kitchen chair to shove before them; but Digby and Arthur disdained such assistance, and preferred trusting to a stout stick and their own legs to keep them from falling. Cousin Giles having taken them out of the cart, arranged them in line about two yards apart.“Now, boys, watch me,” he cried out, putting himself before them. “Stand upright, as I do, feet a little apart, ankles stiff. Don’t tremble; you won’t tumble if you do properly. Just give a slight touch with the point of the right skate and away you go on your left foot; now touch the ice with the point of your left foot, and you slide on with your right. Away we go. Who’s that tumbled down? Oh, Benjie Bowland. Never mind; up, Benjie; at it again. Bravo, Arthur. Bravo, Digby. You get on better than the fellows with the chair. You’ll skate in a day or two, do the outside edge in four or live days, and the spread-eagle in a week.”With such assistance and encouragement the boys got on rapidly, and enjoyed their skating. Digby beat all the others by perseverance and pluck. The moment he tumbled, he picked himself up, never minding the bruises; while his sturdy little legs soon got the entire command of his skates. He did not promise to make a peculiarly graceful skater, but it was evident, from the rapid progress he made, that there were very few things he would not be able to do.At last, however, a heavy fall of snow came on, and completely covered up the ice. Though men were set to work with brooms to sweep passages across and round the pond, yet a second fall again covered them up. This happened three or four times. A small space was still cleared every morning, but only the most persevering skaters frequented it; and the boys expressed a wish for some other amusement.“I vote we build a snow-man, the largest snow-man that ever was built,” exclaimed Cousin Giles, while all the party were assembled at breakfast.The idea took, and was hailed with enthusiasm.Cousin Giles went about everything he undertook systematically. He set John Pratt to work to cut out a number of bits of board, with handles, to serve as trowels, and he collected all the wheelbarrows and hand-barrows, and spades, on the premises. John Pratt and three other men were called in to assist. A sheltered place on the lawn was chosen for the erection of the snow-giant, while a large field on one side, through a shrubbery, would afford an amply supply of snow, when that on the lawn was exhausted. All hands, with great glee, set to work; some were to bring the snow up to the spot, others were to act under Cousin Giles, as masons.“He will be very imposing if we make him like an ancient king, seated on his throne, with a huge staff in his hand,” he observed. “We will make him hollow, with steps in his inside, so that we may climb up, and look out of his eyes, and halloo out of his mouth—eh, boys? Then we must have a seat in each arm, and another in his crown, where one of you must get up, and make a speech from. You see we have undertaken to perform a gigantic labour; we must lose no time, therefore, though, luckily, our material is not difficult to work.”First, Cousin Giles marked the foundation of the giant’s throne; the sides of it were five feet thick, so that a large quantity of snow was required for that alone. The greater part of it was scraped up from the lawn. While that was being done, Cousin Giles made a model of the proposed giant in snow, a couple of feet high, and that very much assisted his young workmen in their undertaking, as they at once saw the figure he had conceived, and which they wished to produce. Everybody labouring with a will, and systematically, the work went on rapidly, and the chair assumed gigantic proportions. The giant’s feet, which were placed on a footstool, were four feet long, and his legs were eight feet high up to his knees. Ladders were soon required to reach the seat of his chair; and then his body was commenced. A young pine-tree was procured, and that supported one of his arms, while the other rested by his side. Some pretty severe tumbles were got from the top of the chair, but no one was much hurt. Cousin Giles arched the greater part of the inside, but he did not disdain to make use of some timber to strengthen his erection.A great deal had been done by luncheon time, when all the party assembled, with very good appetites, in the dining-room; but Cousin Giles begged that none of the visitors would go out to see their little man till he was complete.After luncheon, they all went back; but though they worked away till dark, the giant still wanted his head and crown. It was agreed that though they might continue labouring with lanterns, they could not complete it before dinner. Not to lose time, however, they all joined in bringing in snow, and piled it up near the figure, ready to begin work the next morning.They had a very merry evening, and all sorts of games were played. Cousin Giles, however, disappeared earlier than usual, and they were afraid that he was tired with his labours during the day, and had gone to bed.The next morning the party assembled at breakfast, and, after it was over, and the letters had been read, and the newspapers glanced at, Cousin Giles invited everybody to see their little man.“But we have to finish his head,” was the general exclamation from the boys.“Never mind,” was his answer. “Head or no head, or crown or no crown, I beg that he may be looked at.”Great coats and cloaks, and hats and bonnets, were procured, and the party assembled. A sheet was seen thrown over the top of the figure, and behind it was a tall pole, at the foot of which stood John Pratt.“Here is our snow-giant, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Cousin Giles. “Though so large, he is perfectly harmless, and no one need be afraid of approaching him.”He then made a signal to John Pratt, who, hauling away on the rope, withdrew the sheet, and beneath it appeared not only the giant’s head, and a large pair of black eyes, and a red mouth, but a crown of gold a foot or more high, on the top of it; while in the centre stood Kate Heathcote, waving a flag, with Digby on one side, and Arthur Haviland on the other.Loud shouts from the spectators greeted them; and everybody complimented the architect on the execution of his vast undertaking. No one present had ever seen so huge a man. He was said to be even larger than the idols of the Assyrian temples, represented at the Crystal Palace.As Kate and her young companions found it somewhat cold on the top of the giant’s head, they very soon descended; and then all the boys amused themselves by climbing up and about the monster, till they ran no small risk of pulling him bodily down. He was, however, so scientifically and securely built, that he withstood all the rough usage he received. The snow-giant afforded a fund of amusement for a long time. The next morning, his crown was gone, and a huge broad-brim hat was on his head. Another morning, a pipe was found in his mouth actually smoking, and for some time he continued to blow his cloud. Another day, he had a large branch of holly in his hand, and a wreath of holly, with red berries, round his head. Once he appeared in a high conical cap, very like a fool’s-cap, while in front hung a placard with “Won’t say his lessons,” painted on it. Indeed, there was no end of the changes the snow-giant underwent. Then he was seen to appear with a post-bag hanging from his arm; and, on its being opened, it was found to contain a variety of letters to different people present, mostly the younger ones of the party. They were from very odd correspondents. One was from the Man in the Moon; another signed himself—Your affectionate cousin, Timothy Tugmutton; the Antipodes. The King of the Cannibal Islands wrote two letters; and the Polar Bear another. They were very amusing epistles; and the writers seemed to know in a wonderful way what was going forward in the house. The arrival of the snow-giant’s post-bag was looked forward to with even more interest than had been the changes which had taken place in his head-dress.Thus the early weeks of winter passed pleasantly by. Mr Nugent tried to induce Digby to give some time in the morning to study, to prepare himself for the new school, to which it was arranged he should go after the Christmas holidays; but he appeared always to be in too great a hurry and bustle to sit down quietly to his books, so as to imbibe any information from them.“You will be sorry for your idleness, my dear boy,” said his uncle. “Not only are you acquiring no knowledge, but you are altogether getting out of the habit of study—out of training, I will call it. Suppose that you were to give up running for some months, do you think that you would be able to move your legs as fast as when you were constantly using them? Or if you were not to employ your arms for the same length of time, you would be very unwilling, I suspect, to climb a tree. The mind, in the same way, requires constant and regular exercise, or it very rapidly gets out of use, and it takes a great deal of trouble to bring it into working condition again.”Digby listened respectfully to what his uncle said; and though the next morning he got out his books very manfully, one of his young friends coming in, made him put them up again, and they were not looked into that day.Thus the holidays glided by, and the day of his departure approached. He liked having so many guests in the house, but they prevented him from enjoying Kate’s society as much as formerly, and he was not sorry when all of them, with the exception of Arthur Haviland, went away.Everybody liked Arthur. He was a great favourite with Mrs Heathcote, as well as with the Squire and Digby’s eldest sisters; and Kate thought him a first-rate fellow; he was so very different to Julian Langley.Digby was very sorry to part from Arthur. He, as it had been arranged, was to go to Mr Sanford’s school, in Berkshire, while Arthur returned to one in Hampshire, of which he spoke in the highest terms, and regretted that his friend was not to accompany him.Digby pressed Arthur warmly to come back and spend the summer holidays. This, however, he could not promise to do.“My father may wish me to accompany him somewhere, and I, of course, shall wish to go with him,” said Arthur. “But I will promise not to let a year pass, if I can help it, without our meeting.”No one ever quitted a house having more completely secured the regard of all the family than did Arthur Haviland.Cousin Giles, who had great discernment of character, spoke very highly of him, and regretted much that Digby could not have been more with him.To Digby’s surprise, a day or two before he was to leave home, his father called him into his study; not that the Squire ever did study anything there beyond the newspaper, or a compendium of information for justices of the peace, or some similar work.“So, my dear boy, you are going away again from us,” he began. “I wish that you could stay with us always, and have John Pratt to look after you, as he did when you were a little chap; but as that can’t be, you must make the best use of your time when you are away from us. What I want to talk to you about is this—your mother and I intended that you should spend a couple of years or so at Mr Sanford’s, at Grangewood House, and then go to some public school; however, we shall talk about that by-and-by. I wish to see how you get on at the school to which you are going. It will be a very different sort of life to that to which you have hitherto led. You’ll get some hard knocks and kicks, but you’ll not mind them; and you will have to fight your way upward, but that you are well able to do; and I have little fear that you will take good care of yourself. I am not much in the habit of giving advice, as you know, my boy; but there is one thing I must charge you, never to forget that you are a Christian, and a gentleman. I have done my best to make you hate and scorn to tell a lie, and the consequence is, that I would sooner take your word than I would the oath of any man I know. And now I charge you to fight against every bad thought which comes into your mind, and to scorn to do a mean or ungenerous action. Guard especially against selfishness; nothing so quickly grows on a person by indulgence. Fight for your undoubted rights, but gladly give up anything which may conduce to the pleasure of others, or benefit them. I don’t mean, of course, that you are to let a bully take anything he may fancy from you, that is quite a different matter; but never try to get hold of what you know another person wishes for, and of which you will thus deprive him.”Much more the Squire said to the same effect. Digby grasped his father’s hand.“Yes, papa, I will do my best, indeed I will, to act as you tell me,” he answered. “I have done a good many things I have been sorry for, but yet I don’t think there has been anything which would make you ashamed of calling me your son.”Such were the sentiments with which Digby went to school. His parting was not a very melancholy one. Kate and Gusty cried, but he held up very bravely; and when a postchaise came to the door, and his boxes were secured, and he had manfully stepped in, and John Pratt, who was to accompany him all the way, had taken his seat on the box, and the postilion had cracked his whip, he was able to wave his cap out of the window, and to sing out, in a cheerful voice—“Hurra for the Midsummer holidays!”

Arthur Haviland and his companions having assured the old man and idiot boy, whom they found in the cavern, that they had no wish to do them harm, they, after some time, succeeded in quieting their apprehensions. In vain Arthur tried to gain more information about Digby. All he could learn was that the captain had carried him off in the lugger to foreign parts, and that they had all made up their minds not to come back to England.

As it was getting late, and they had a long way to pull, Toby now summoned Arthur to return. Arthur, however, was not satisfied with the information he had obtained, and was unwilling to go away without gaining some definite clue to the place to which Digby had been carried. Finding that threats were of no avail, he tried to induce the old man to say all he knew by the promise of rewards.

“You hear what the young gentleman says,” observed Toby. “You and I know each other, old Joe, and you know that I would not deceive you. What Mr Haviland says, he’ll do; that he will, depend on it. Come along, sir; I know where to find him. If he’s got anything to say, he’ll tell me. We haven’t another moment to lose, that I know.”

Saying this, Toby led the way from the cave, followed by Arthur and John Pratt.

The weather had evidently changed very much for the worse, and the wind was blowing strongly, and sending the spray right up to where they were standing. Toby shook his head doubtfully; but he continued to descend.

“I thought so,” he exclaimed, when they reached the bottom of the cliff.

There was old Jem with the boat partly out of the water, he hauling away with all his might to get her out of danger; but the waves were dashing against her stern, and threatening every instant to knock her to pieces. They had arrived only just in time; but, by dint of working away together, they got the boat hauled up beyond the reach of the sea. When this was done they went back to the cave, for the wind was blowing stronger and stronger, and it was very evident that they would not be able to leave the place that night. They had reason to be thankful that they had a place which would afford them so complete a shelter during that tempestuous night. When they got back they found the old man perfectly ready to be civil; and making themselves at home, they rummaged, out an ample supply of food, and materials for forming beds, which they ranged round the fire.

Toby talked for all the party, and told many of his best anecdotes and stories. The genius of the place seemed to recall the memories of his early days, and many a tale of smuggling life and adventure he poured forth.

Neither Arthur nor John Pratt were inclined to talk. They were thinking too much of poor Digby, tossing about on the wild ocean that stormy night. Had they been able to see the terrific danger to which he was exposed, they would have been still more alarmed. How mercifully has God hid the future from us, as well as the scenes of peril and suffering to which those we love at a distance may be exposed. How it would double our anguish to feel that we could not fly to their help, that we could afford them no relief. How foolish and wicked, then, are those persons who try to draw aside (by devices the most absurd however) that impenetrable veil which the Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, has placed before our eyes. Never let us put faith in those who pretend that they can either show the future, or bring the present, when at a distance, before our eyes. Clairvoyants, spirit-rappers, and similar pretenders, under whatever name they may appear, we may depend on it, are impostors. They have been shown to be so over and over again; but like Chinese tumbling-figures, though knocked down, they will spring up again, over and over again, as long as dupes can be found to put faith in them.

Arthur Haviland long recollected that night in the cavern—the flickering light of the fire; the red glow cast over some parts of the sides and roof; and the dark, strange-shaped shadows, which passed over others; the low voices of his companions; the howling of the wind; and the incessant roar of the waves, as they beat against the foot of the cliffs. He at length, however, fell asleep, and did not awake till Toby called him, with an invitation to take a cup of coffee and a biscuit before they embarked. He was not sorry to accept the offer.

As soon as the meal was over Toby went out, and returned with so favourable a report of the weather, that it was agreed that they might venture once more to embark.

Arthur repeated his promise to the old man, who undertook to bring any information to him he could gain about Digby.

The sun was shining, and the air was keen, for the wind had got round to the north. That, however, was an important advantage, as it sent down the sea; and the boat, when they had launched her, though tossed about a good deal, was able to continue her progress by keeping close in shore, and skirting all the bays and inlets. They had gone some way, and had just rounded a reef of rocks, whose black heads rose with threatening aspect out of the water, when Arthur exclaimed that he thought he saw a smoke coming out of the cliff. Toby ceased pulling, but did not speak. He looked round on every side; several pieces of timber were floating about, and on the shore lay a mass of cordage and broken spars.

“Some vessel was cast away not far from here last night,” exclaimed Toby, at length. “Heaven help the unfortunate fellows on board her; but that smoke may be made by some of them who have escaped. What say you, old Jem?”

Old Jem agreed with Toby, and told him that there was a small cave just in there, from which the smoke might proceed.

Paddling in cautiously, for there were a good many rocks about capable of knocking an ugly hole in the boat’s bottom, as Toby observed, they approached the cliff. The entrance to the cave on the sand was soon perceptible. The boat reached a sandy beach. So completely did the cliff overhang the water, and so much did it project on either side of the cave, that only by means of a boat could anybody possibly leave it. So Arthur remarked as he jumped with Toby and John Pratt on shore. They could see the gleam of a fire from the interior. Arthur ran on; a little sailor-boy was sitting over it.

“Hillo, my poor lad; we have come to help you,” exclaimed Arthur.

The little sailor-boy looked up. There could be no doubt about it—there sat Digby Heathcote.

With a shout of joy Arthur sprang forward, and lifted him up in his arms. John Pratt, in his delight, gave him a hug which almost squeezed the breath out of his body; and Toby Tubb seized his hand, and gave it a shake which well nigh wrung it off. It was some moments before any one could speak, and Digby could hurriedly give an account of what had occurred.

“Well, I be right glad, that I be,” exclaimed Toby. “Them who has gone to their account has brought their fate upon themselves. Howsomdever, Master Digby, come into the boat; you are cold and hungry, I’ll warrant, and will be glad of a breakfast and warm bed.”

Digby was ready enough to go, but he begged that search might be made in case any of the crew of the lugger might have been washed on shore, and be still clinging on among the crevices of the rocks.

Toby shook his head. “It was not likely any had escaped. It was a wonder he had done so.”

Search was made, however, but there was not the sign of a living being, nor had any of the bodies of the smugglers been washed ashore.

Toby and John Pratt insisted on taking off their overcoats to wrap up Digby; and the former had a little brandy in a flask, which he insisted on pouring down his throat. Digby, to his surprise, found that it appeared very little stronger than water, a proof of how much chilled he was, and how important a stimulant this was to him.

Little are spirit-drinkers aware of not only how much injury they are doing themselves, but how completely they are depriving themselves of important assistance in time of need. A glass of brandy may save the life of a person who never touches spirits, but would have no effect on an habitual brandy-drinker.

The voyage back to Osberton need not be further described. The reception Digby met with from Mr and Mrs Nugent may easily be conceived. Digby indignantly declined to go to bed, but he did not refuse to eat a hearty breakfast, in which Arthur joined him, or to change his sailor’s clothes for a suit more fitted for the heir of Bloxholme to appear in.

“Put up the others, however; I’ll have them with me,” he exclaimed. “They will remind me of my trip in the smugglers’ lugger, at all events.”

“Of its fearful termination, and of the merciful way in which you were preserved, my dear boy,” observed Mr Nugent.

“Yes, uncle, yes,” said Digby; “I thought of that. I don’t feel I can ever be too thankful.”

A carriage was ordered, and Mr Nugent, and Digby, and Arthur, went inside; and John Pratt and Toby Tubb, whom Digby insisted should accompany them, went outside; and away they rattled as fast as four horses could gallop towards Bloxholme. Every minute was of importance to release Mr and Mrs Heathcote from their state of suspense. The carriage with its four smoking horses, rattled up the avenue. Almost before John Pratt had time to jump from the box the hall-door was flung open; Alesbury had caught sight of Digby, and hurrying down the steps faster than he had moved for many a day, he pulled him out of the carriage, and carried him into the house. Then Digby found himself in his mother’s arms. Then, and not till then, did he burst into tears, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.

Poor little Kate, how she cried, too, and then she smiled and laughed; and when she got hold of Digby she could scarcely refrain from beating him for making her so very miserable; indeed, she gave him two or three severe slaps, and called him naughty, dear, tiresome, good boy; and Digby pulled her ears, and her nose, and showed his love in a variety of other eccentric ways. Digby came in for a great deal of caressing from all sides, of which he did not at all approve; but he submitted to it as an unavoidable evil, and looked very much as a donkey does when harness is about to be put on its back.

Gusty shouted and laughed louder than ever that day; and his elder sisters kissed him as elder sisters generally do their younger brothers; but he took that sort of thing better from them than from any one else.

Then he had to tell the story of his adventures over and over again. John Pratt, however, was able to help him in that respect in the servants’ hall, where he did ample justice to the young Squire’s courage, and never was tired of telling all he knew about his adventures.

Digby was a strong hardy fellow, but he was not made of iron; and, long before dinner-time, he gave signs of being very sleepy and tired. He consented to go to bed, provided he was called in time to get up and dress for dinner. When, however, he was called, he was so fast asleep that nothing could awake him; and so he was allowed to sleep on till the following morning. It was ever afterwards a constant joke against him, that, when he came down, he fancied that he was coming down to dinner, and was very much surprised to find breakfast on the table.

Arthur Haviland had pretty well kept him in countenance by sleeping the greater part of the time; and neither of them were quite themselves again for two or three days.

Their adventures were fully a nine days’ wonder; and the whole visiting acquaintance of the family called to hear about it. Indeed, Digby had to tell the story so often that he got weary of it; and at last insisted that Kate should represent him, and tell it instead, as if the events had happened to her. He did not, however, forget poor Dame Marlow, of the death of whose grandson he had heard from some of the smugglers. He told Mr Bowdler of the trick he had once played her, and begged him to go and break the news to the old woman before she heard it from any one else.

At first she would not believe that the only being she seemed to love was lost to her for ever; and at length, when the Vicar assured her that there was no doubt about the matter, she gave way to a fit of tears such as she had not shed for years. Her heart was softened. The clergyman placed before her in the clearest way the great truths of the Gospel. Many days passed away, and many visits he had to pay, before she at all seemed to comprehend them; but he persevered—as every true and faithful minister of the Gospel will persevere—when he feels that a lost soul is to be saved. At length the light seemed to dawn on her long-benighted mind.

“You tell me wonderful things, Mr Bowdler, which I never before understood,” she said, at last. “I am a sinner, I feel that; and if I was left to myself, I am sure that I should be lost, for I don’t think that I could undo a quarter, nor an hundredth part, for that matter, of the sins I have committed; but as you say, that if I repent I may go to One who will wash away my sins, I will go to Him; and I am sure, from everything he has caused to be said in the Bible, that he will wash away my sins, and save my soul from death.”

Much more she said, showing that she fully comprehended the great truths of the Gospel; find now her great anxiety was to warn those she had so long misled, and she was never weary of going about, and telling them of the Bible, and of the comfort it had been to her. At first, people could scarcely believe their senses when they heard her talk, so completely changed she had become, and so anxious she was to be doing all the good in her power. She tried to make her old husband comprehend the truths she had imbibed; but he afforded one of the numberless examples of the danger of putting off repentance to another day. His mind was dead, though his body was still alive, and in a short time he sunk into the grave. Her great grief was about her grandson, to whom she had set so bad an example, and whom she had never attempted to direct aright. He was gone, and nothing she could do would now have any power over his fate.

Oh, may all those who read this reflect on the incalculable harm which a bad example may do to those younger, or in an inferior station to themselves. If they could see it, they would start back with horror and dismay at the result of their conduct. An idle word, an idle expression, or an irreverent joke, may seem a light thing in their eyes, but even words may produce a great deal of harm; much more will a continual course of idle, careless, and bad conduct; and depend upon it, many a younger brother and companion has been lost, body and soul, who might have had a very different fate had those who had an influence over him endeavoured to lead him aright.

Digby was very glad to hear the account Mr Bowdler gave of Dame Marlow, though he probably did not understand the great importance of the change. Kate, however, whose comprehension was far more advanced than Digby’s, did understand it fully, and, of her own accord, went and explained the trick she had once played her, and expressed her sorrow for it.

Digby was not quite himself again for a week or more after his dangerous adventure, and very often in the night he used to start up in his sleep, dreaming that he was on board the lugger, and that she was being dashed on the rocks. The holidays, however, promised to be as pleasant as usual. Many a delightful ride Digby got on Sweetlips; while often Kate cantered gaily by his side, dispelling, by her cheerful conversation, any of the over-gloomy thoughts which, in spite of his well-strung nerves and constitutional hardihood, would occasionally occur.

The expected guests, also, arrived, and several of them had sons about Digby’s age; so that the house was full, and a very merry Christmas party were collected.

Cousin Giles was the life and soul of the younger portion of the community. He started all the games in the evening, and arranged all the out-door amusements. A hard frost set in, and, as soon as the ice bore thoroughly, skating became the order of the day. Neither Digby nor Arthur Haviland had ever skated; indeed, only two of the boys had begun the previous year, and they were no great adepts at the art. Skates were, therefore, sent for, and cousin Giles undertook to be the instructor of the party. As he said that he should be frozen if he fastened on all the skates to his pupil’s feet at the pond, he had them all fitted and secured in the house, and then procured a small cart, and carried them all down bodily in it to the pond. He allowed those who wished it a kitchen chair to shove before them; but Digby and Arthur disdained such assistance, and preferred trusting to a stout stick and their own legs to keep them from falling. Cousin Giles having taken them out of the cart, arranged them in line about two yards apart.

“Now, boys, watch me,” he cried out, putting himself before them. “Stand upright, as I do, feet a little apart, ankles stiff. Don’t tremble; you won’t tumble if you do properly. Just give a slight touch with the point of the right skate and away you go on your left foot; now touch the ice with the point of your left foot, and you slide on with your right. Away we go. Who’s that tumbled down? Oh, Benjie Bowland. Never mind; up, Benjie; at it again. Bravo, Arthur. Bravo, Digby. You get on better than the fellows with the chair. You’ll skate in a day or two, do the outside edge in four or live days, and the spread-eagle in a week.”

With such assistance and encouragement the boys got on rapidly, and enjoyed their skating. Digby beat all the others by perseverance and pluck. The moment he tumbled, he picked himself up, never minding the bruises; while his sturdy little legs soon got the entire command of his skates. He did not promise to make a peculiarly graceful skater, but it was evident, from the rapid progress he made, that there were very few things he would not be able to do.

At last, however, a heavy fall of snow came on, and completely covered up the ice. Though men were set to work with brooms to sweep passages across and round the pond, yet a second fall again covered them up. This happened three or four times. A small space was still cleared every morning, but only the most persevering skaters frequented it; and the boys expressed a wish for some other amusement.

“I vote we build a snow-man, the largest snow-man that ever was built,” exclaimed Cousin Giles, while all the party were assembled at breakfast.

The idea took, and was hailed with enthusiasm.

Cousin Giles went about everything he undertook systematically. He set John Pratt to work to cut out a number of bits of board, with handles, to serve as trowels, and he collected all the wheelbarrows and hand-barrows, and spades, on the premises. John Pratt and three other men were called in to assist. A sheltered place on the lawn was chosen for the erection of the snow-giant, while a large field on one side, through a shrubbery, would afford an amply supply of snow, when that on the lawn was exhausted. All hands, with great glee, set to work; some were to bring the snow up to the spot, others were to act under Cousin Giles, as masons.

“He will be very imposing if we make him like an ancient king, seated on his throne, with a huge staff in his hand,” he observed. “We will make him hollow, with steps in his inside, so that we may climb up, and look out of his eyes, and halloo out of his mouth—eh, boys? Then we must have a seat in each arm, and another in his crown, where one of you must get up, and make a speech from. You see we have undertaken to perform a gigantic labour; we must lose no time, therefore, though, luckily, our material is not difficult to work.”

First, Cousin Giles marked the foundation of the giant’s throne; the sides of it were five feet thick, so that a large quantity of snow was required for that alone. The greater part of it was scraped up from the lawn. While that was being done, Cousin Giles made a model of the proposed giant in snow, a couple of feet high, and that very much assisted his young workmen in their undertaking, as they at once saw the figure he had conceived, and which they wished to produce. Everybody labouring with a will, and systematically, the work went on rapidly, and the chair assumed gigantic proportions. The giant’s feet, which were placed on a footstool, were four feet long, and his legs were eight feet high up to his knees. Ladders were soon required to reach the seat of his chair; and then his body was commenced. A young pine-tree was procured, and that supported one of his arms, while the other rested by his side. Some pretty severe tumbles were got from the top of the chair, but no one was much hurt. Cousin Giles arched the greater part of the inside, but he did not disdain to make use of some timber to strengthen his erection.

A great deal had been done by luncheon time, when all the party assembled, with very good appetites, in the dining-room; but Cousin Giles begged that none of the visitors would go out to see their little man till he was complete.

After luncheon, they all went back; but though they worked away till dark, the giant still wanted his head and crown. It was agreed that though they might continue labouring with lanterns, they could not complete it before dinner. Not to lose time, however, they all joined in bringing in snow, and piled it up near the figure, ready to begin work the next morning.

They had a very merry evening, and all sorts of games were played. Cousin Giles, however, disappeared earlier than usual, and they were afraid that he was tired with his labours during the day, and had gone to bed.

The next morning the party assembled at breakfast, and, after it was over, and the letters had been read, and the newspapers glanced at, Cousin Giles invited everybody to see their little man.

“But we have to finish his head,” was the general exclamation from the boys.

“Never mind,” was his answer. “Head or no head, or crown or no crown, I beg that he may be looked at.”

Great coats and cloaks, and hats and bonnets, were procured, and the party assembled. A sheet was seen thrown over the top of the figure, and behind it was a tall pole, at the foot of which stood John Pratt.

“Here is our snow-giant, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Cousin Giles. “Though so large, he is perfectly harmless, and no one need be afraid of approaching him.”

He then made a signal to John Pratt, who, hauling away on the rope, withdrew the sheet, and beneath it appeared not only the giant’s head, and a large pair of black eyes, and a red mouth, but a crown of gold a foot or more high, on the top of it; while in the centre stood Kate Heathcote, waving a flag, with Digby on one side, and Arthur Haviland on the other.

Loud shouts from the spectators greeted them; and everybody complimented the architect on the execution of his vast undertaking. No one present had ever seen so huge a man. He was said to be even larger than the idols of the Assyrian temples, represented at the Crystal Palace.

As Kate and her young companions found it somewhat cold on the top of the giant’s head, they very soon descended; and then all the boys amused themselves by climbing up and about the monster, till they ran no small risk of pulling him bodily down. He was, however, so scientifically and securely built, that he withstood all the rough usage he received. The snow-giant afforded a fund of amusement for a long time. The next morning, his crown was gone, and a huge broad-brim hat was on his head. Another morning, a pipe was found in his mouth actually smoking, and for some time he continued to blow his cloud. Another day, he had a large branch of holly in his hand, and a wreath of holly, with red berries, round his head. Once he appeared in a high conical cap, very like a fool’s-cap, while in front hung a placard with “Won’t say his lessons,” painted on it. Indeed, there was no end of the changes the snow-giant underwent. Then he was seen to appear with a post-bag hanging from his arm; and, on its being opened, it was found to contain a variety of letters to different people present, mostly the younger ones of the party. They were from very odd correspondents. One was from the Man in the Moon; another signed himself—Your affectionate cousin, Timothy Tugmutton; the Antipodes. The King of the Cannibal Islands wrote two letters; and the Polar Bear another. They were very amusing epistles; and the writers seemed to know in a wonderful way what was going forward in the house. The arrival of the snow-giant’s post-bag was looked forward to with even more interest than had been the changes which had taken place in his head-dress.

Thus the early weeks of winter passed pleasantly by. Mr Nugent tried to induce Digby to give some time in the morning to study, to prepare himself for the new school, to which it was arranged he should go after the Christmas holidays; but he appeared always to be in too great a hurry and bustle to sit down quietly to his books, so as to imbibe any information from them.

“You will be sorry for your idleness, my dear boy,” said his uncle. “Not only are you acquiring no knowledge, but you are altogether getting out of the habit of study—out of training, I will call it. Suppose that you were to give up running for some months, do you think that you would be able to move your legs as fast as when you were constantly using them? Or if you were not to employ your arms for the same length of time, you would be very unwilling, I suspect, to climb a tree. The mind, in the same way, requires constant and regular exercise, or it very rapidly gets out of use, and it takes a great deal of trouble to bring it into working condition again.”

Digby listened respectfully to what his uncle said; and though the next morning he got out his books very manfully, one of his young friends coming in, made him put them up again, and they were not looked into that day.

Thus the holidays glided by, and the day of his departure approached. He liked having so many guests in the house, but they prevented him from enjoying Kate’s society as much as formerly, and he was not sorry when all of them, with the exception of Arthur Haviland, went away.

Everybody liked Arthur. He was a great favourite with Mrs Heathcote, as well as with the Squire and Digby’s eldest sisters; and Kate thought him a first-rate fellow; he was so very different to Julian Langley.

Digby was very sorry to part from Arthur. He, as it had been arranged, was to go to Mr Sanford’s school, in Berkshire, while Arthur returned to one in Hampshire, of which he spoke in the highest terms, and regretted that his friend was not to accompany him.

Digby pressed Arthur warmly to come back and spend the summer holidays. This, however, he could not promise to do.

“My father may wish me to accompany him somewhere, and I, of course, shall wish to go with him,” said Arthur. “But I will promise not to let a year pass, if I can help it, without our meeting.”

No one ever quitted a house having more completely secured the regard of all the family than did Arthur Haviland.

Cousin Giles, who had great discernment of character, spoke very highly of him, and regretted much that Digby could not have been more with him.

To Digby’s surprise, a day or two before he was to leave home, his father called him into his study; not that the Squire ever did study anything there beyond the newspaper, or a compendium of information for justices of the peace, or some similar work.

“So, my dear boy, you are going away again from us,” he began. “I wish that you could stay with us always, and have John Pratt to look after you, as he did when you were a little chap; but as that can’t be, you must make the best use of your time when you are away from us. What I want to talk to you about is this—your mother and I intended that you should spend a couple of years or so at Mr Sanford’s, at Grangewood House, and then go to some public school; however, we shall talk about that by-and-by. I wish to see how you get on at the school to which you are going. It will be a very different sort of life to that to which you have hitherto led. You’ll get some hard knocks and kicks, but you’ll not mind them; and you will have to fight your way upward, but that you are well able to do; and I have little fear that you will take good care of yourself. I am not much in the habit of giving advice, as you know, my boy; but there is one thing I must charge you, never to forget that you are a Christian, and a gentleman. I have done my best to make you hate and scorn to tell a lie, and the consequence is, that I would sooner take your word than I would the oath of any man I know. And now I charge you to fight against every bad thought which comes into your mind, and to scorn to do a mean or ungenerous action. Guard especially against selfishness; nothing so quickly grows on a person by indulgence. Fight for your undoubted rights, but gladly give up anything which may conduce to the pleasure of others, or benefit them. I don’t mean, of course, that you are to let a bully take anything he may fancy from you, that is quite a different matter; but never try to get hold of what you know another person wishes for, and of which you will thus deprive him.”

Much more the Squire said to the same effect. Digby grasped his father’s hand.

“Yes, papa, I will do my best, indeed I will, to act as you tell me,” he answered. “I have done a good many things I have been sorry for, but yet I don’t think there has been anything which would make you ashamed of calling me your son.”

Such were the sentiments with which Digby went to school. His parting was not a very melancholy one. Kate and Gusty cried, but he held up very bravely; and when a postchaise came to the door, and his boxes were secured, and he had manfully stepped in, and John Pratt, who was to accompany him all the way, had taken his seat on the box, and the postilion had cracked his whip, he was able to wave his cap out of the window, and to sing out, in a cheerful voice—“Hurra for the Midsummer holidays!”

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