Story 3--Chapter I.STORY III—THE BROTHERS; A TALE OF THREE LIVES.Many years ago, while King George the Third sat on the tranquil throne of England, and before the First Napoleon became Emperor of France, Gilbert Maitland, the youngest of Farmer Maitland’s three sons, was one autumn evening, mounted on his shaggy pony, riding through the New Forest. He had set out from the town of Christchurch to return to his father’s house, which was situated between it and Lymington. The shadows of the trees grew longer and longer, till they disappeared altogether in the general gloom, as the sun sank, into the leaden-coloured foam-topped waves of the English Channel, which could here and there be seen from the higher ground through the openings of the trees on his right. The wind howled and whistled, and the dry leaves and twigs, blown off by the south-westerly gale, came flying by even faster than he galloped, while the clouds gathering thickly overhead increased the darkness.Gilbert was not altogether comfortable in his mind. He had gone, contrary to his father’s wish, to pay a visit to Dick Hockley, whose acquaintance he had formed while at school at Christchurch, and whom Mr Maitland considered an unfit companion for one of his boys. Mr Hockley held a small farm, and though it was badly cultivated, he had become wealthy, and had built a good house, and rode a fine horse, and lived in a style much above his position. He was, indeed, more than suspected of being connected with one of the many gangs of daring smugglers who at that time carried on their illicit traffic on the coast of Hampshire and Dorsetshire. Dick, a bold, rough fellow, two or three years older than Gilbert, boasted openly that he had already engaged in several smuggling enterprises.Gilbert was fascinated by the accounts his acquaintance gave him of the risks he had run, the excitement of being chased, and the triumphant satisfaction of landing a valuable cargo, and conveying it, escorted by a large body of armed men, under the very noses of the Revenue officers, into the interior. Gilbert’s great ambition was to join in one of these expeditions; whenever he could get an opportunity, he rode over to see his friend, and to listen to his long yams.His father had at first cautioned him against any intimacy with a person of so doubtful a character as young Hockley, and then, finding that his warnings were of no avail, had positively prohibited Gilbert from associating with him.He had grumbled greatly at this, when one day, Mr Maitland being away from home, in the hearing of his sister Mary and his two elder brothers Hugh and Arthur, he declared that he would go, notwithstanding what his father said.“Dick is an honest fellow, and he has asked me to come, and I don’t see why father has a right to stop me,” he exclaimed.“Father has forbid you to go, as he does not approve of young Hockley, and at all events it is your duty to obey him,” said Mary. “Pray, Gilbert, do not go; it will vex father so much.”“I will tell you what, Gilbert,” exclaimed Hugh, “if you are going to play any tricks of the sort, I will lash your hands behind you, and shut you up in your room till father comes back. I am the eldest, and it is my business to keep order while he is away.”“You had better not try to lay hands on me, or it will be the worse for you,” exclaimed Gilbert, dashing out of the room.“I don’t think he will dare to go,” said Hugh, resuming his studies, which had thus been interrupted.Arthur, who was also sitting with his books before him, had not spoken.They were both reading hard. Hugh had sometime before left school with great credit, having gained numerous prizes, and an exhibition which would enable him at his own earnest desire to go to college, where he hoped that with the talents he was supposed to possess he should make his way to a good position in life. He had a fine constitution, was strongly built, and neither study nor bodily exercise ever seemed to fatigue him; so that with the resolution and clear intellect he possessed, he had every prospect of succeeding.Arthur, though studious, was delicate, and had been kept back somewhat by ill health. Neither of them had any taste for farming pursuits, and their father, who was proud of their talents, was anxious, as far as he was able, to give them the means of following the course in life they had marked out for themselves. He and his ancestors, sturdy yeomen of the upper class, the pith and marrow of the English population, for many generations had held the farm he occupied; and as he wished it to continue in his family, he had determined that his younger son Gilbert should become a farmer. Gilbert was what is often called a fine-spirited lad, but unfortunately he had been allowed to have his own way, and in consequence, frequently exhibited a determination not to submit to control. He had also never known a mother’s tender and watchful care, for Mr Maitland had been deprived of his wife soon after Gilbert’s birth, and perhaps this circumstance may have prevented him from restraining the child’s temper, or punishing him when guilty of faults, as strictly as his better judgment would have prompted him to do.Mr Maitland, an upright man, proud of his old family, and satisfied with his position, did not wish to rise out of it, though he was ready to allow his sons to run forward as far as they could in the race of life. He held the laws in respect, and, an exception to many around him, was strongly opposed to the smugglers and their illicit traffic. He would never allow them to deposit any of their goods on his property, and the active part he took in assisting the Revenue officers gained him much ill-will from the contraband traders.Gilbert had scarcely left the room when Arthur got up, saying in his gentle way—“I will try and persuade him to obey father, and not to go off to Christchurch. If he wants a ride, I will accompany him to Lymington, where there is to be a review of the Foreign Legion; or if he has a fancy for fishing, we will take our rods, and try and get some tench for father’s supper.”“Oh, do get him to do that!” said Mary. “Father likes them better than anything else, and I will try and cook them nicely for him.”Arthur, leaving his darling books, hastened out after Gilbert. Mary hoped he might find him, and prevent him committing the act of disobedience he threatened. She loved all her brothers, and the two elder treated her with tenderness and respect. She was a kind-hearted, good-tempered, and intelligent girl, in every way worthy of their love, and possessed of a considerable amount of beauty. She came next to Hugh in age, but she and Arthur were more generally companions, as they agreed in most of their tastes. Hugh was already a young man, and though he had no objection to a gallop through the forest, he devoted the greater part of his time, even when at home, to study. He had determined to make his way in the world, and he knew that only by steady application could he hope to do so.Mary now sat at the window, busily plying her needle, and refraining from speaking lest she might interrupt him, though she wanted to talk to him about Gilbert, whose general conduct had of late given her great anxiety. She could not help thinking that it would be better if he were to be sent to a distance, and thus be separated from his present companions. Neither she nor Arthur liked to tell their father what they knew about him, but she thought that Hugh might do so, and might suggest the plan which had occurred to her.Arthur, after some time, came back. He had searched everywhere for Gilbert, but had been unable to find him, his saddle was not in the harness-room, nor his pony in the stable; it was evident that he had ridden off somewhere.In the evening Mr Maitland came back, and inquired for Gilbert. His other children were unwilling to say that they feared he had gone to Christchurch, for they hoped he might have taken a ride in some other direction. Night came on, and still he did not appear. Mr Maitland inquired whether any of them could tell where Gilbert had gone. At last Mary confessed that he had said he should ride over to see Dick Hockley; but that she hoped, from her and his brothers’ remonstrances, that he would have refrained from doing so.Hour after hour passed away, and Mr Maitland, at first angry, became anxious about him. The night was too dark to permit of any one going out to search for him; indeed, as there were numerous ways through the forest by which he could come, he might be easily missed. Midnight arrived, and he was still absent Mr Maitland now became seriously alarmed, and he, with Hugh and Arthur, went out in different directions from the house, listening anxiously, in the hopes of hearing the sound of his pony’s footsteps, but the roaring and whistling of the wind in the trees drowned all other noises. At length they re-entered the house, Mr Maitland sent the rest of the family to bed, but sat up himself watching for Gilbert’s return.
Many years ago, while King George the Third sat on the tranquil throne of England, and before the First Napoleon became Emperor of France, Gilbert Maitland, the youngest of Farmer Maitland’s three sons, was one autumn evening, mounted on his shaggy pony, riding through the New Forest. He had set out from the town of Christchurch to return to his father’s house, which was situated between it and Lymington. The shadows of the trees grew longer and longer, till they disappeared altogether in the general gloom, as the sun sank, into the leaden-coloured foam-topped waves of the English Channel, which could here and there be seen from the higher ground through the openings of the trees on his right. The wind howled and whistled, and the dry leaves and twigs, blown off by the south-westerly gale, came flying by even faster than he galloped, while the clouds gathering thickly overhead increased the darkness.
Gilbert was not altogether comfortable in his mind. He had gone, contrary to his father’s wish, to pay a visit to Dick Hockley, whose acquaintance he had formed while at school at Christchurch, and whom Mr Maitland considered an unfit companion for one of his boys. Mr Hockley held a small farm, and though it was badly cultivated, he had become wealthy, and had built a good house, and rode a fine horse, and lived in a style much above his position. He was, indeed, more than suspected of being connected with one of the many gangs of daring smugglers who at that time carried on their illicit traffic on the coast of Hampshire and Dorsetshire. Dick, a bold, rough fellow, two or three years older than Gilbert, boasted openly that he had already engaged in several smuggling enterprises.
Gilbert was fascinated by the accounts his acquaintance gave him of the risks he had run, the excitement of being chased, and the triumphant satisfaction of landing a valuable cargo, and conveying it, escorted by a large body of armed men, under the very noses of the Revenue officers, into the interior. Gilbert’s great ambition was to join in one of these expeditions; whenever he could get an opportunity, he rode over to see his friend, and to listen to his long yams.
His father had at first cautioned him against any intimacy with a person of so doubtful a character as young Hockley, and then, finding that his warnings were of no avail, had positively prohibited Gilbert from associating with him.
He had grumbled greatly at this, when one day, Mr Maitland being away from home, in the hearing of his sister Mary and his two elder brothers Hugh and Arthur, he declared that he would go, notwithstanding what his father said.
“Dick is an honest fellow, and he has asked me to come, and I don’t see why father has a right to stop me,” he exclaimed.
“Father has forbid you to go, as he does not approve of young Hockley, and at all events it is your duty to obey him,” said Mary. “Pray, Gilbert, do not go; it will vex father so much.”
“I will tell you what, Gilbert,” exclaimed Hugh, “if you are going to play any tricks of the sort, I will lash your hands behind you, and shut you up in your room till father comes back. I am the eldest, and it is my business to keep order while he is away.”
“You had better not try to lay hands on me, or it will be the worse for you,” exclaimed Gilbert, dashing out of the room.
“I don’t think he will dare to go,” said Hugh, resuming his studies, which had thus been interrupted.
Arthur, who was also sitting with his books before him, had not spoken.
They were both reading hard. Hugh had sometime before left school with great credit, having gained numerous prizes, and an exhibition which would enable him at his own earnest desire to go to college, where he hoped that with the talents he was supposed to possess he should make his way to a good position in life. He had a fine constitution, was strongly built, and neither study nor bodily exercise ever seemed to fatigue him; so that with the resolution and clear intellect he possessed, he had every prospect of succeeding.
Arthur, though studious, was delicate, and had been kept back somewhat by ill health. Neither of them had any taste for farming pursuits, and their father, who was proud of their talents, was anxious, as far as he was able, to give them the means of following the course in life they had marked out for themselves. He and his ancestors, sturdy yeomen of the upper class, the pith and marrow of the English population, for many generations had held the farm he occupied; and as he wished it to continue in his family, he had determined that his younger son Gilbert should become a farmer. Gilbert was what is often called a fine-spirited lad, but unfortunately he had been allowed to have his own way, and in consequence, frequently exhibited a determination not to submit to control. He had also never known a mother’s tender and watchful care, for Mr Maitland had been deprived of his wife soon after Gilbert’s birth, and perhaps this circumstance may have prevented him from restraining the child’s temper, or punishing him when guilty of faults, as strictly as his better judgment would have prompted him to do.
Mr Maitland, an upright man, proud of his old family, and satisfied with his position, did not wish to rise out of it, though he was ready to allow his sons to run forward as far as they could in the race of life. He held the laws in respect, and, an exception to many around him, was strongly opposed to the smugglers and their illicit traffic. He would never allow them to deposit any of their goods on his property, and the active part he took in assisting the Revenue officers gained him much ill-will from the contraband traders.
Gilbert had scarcely left the room when Arthur got up, saying in his gentle way—
“I will try and persuade him to obey father, and not to go off to Christchurch. If he wants a ride, I will accompany him to Lymington, where there is to be a review of the Foreign Legion; or if he has a fancy for fishing, we will take our rods, and try and get some tench for father’s supper.”
“Oh, do get him to do that!” said Mary. “Father likes them better than anything else, and I will try and cook them nicely for him.”
Arthur, leaving his darling books, hastened out after Gilbert. Mary hoped he might find him, and prevent him committing the act of disobedience he threatened. She loved all her brothers, and the two elder treated her with tenderness and respect. She was a kind-hearted, good-tempered, and intelligent girl, in every way worthy of their love, and possessed of a considerable amount of beauty. She came next to Hugh in age, but she and Arthur were more generally companions, as they agreed in most of their tastes. Hugh was already a young man, and though he had no objection to a gallop through the forest, he devoted the greater part of his time, even when at home, to study. He had determined to make his way in the world, and he knew that only by steady application could he hope to do so.
Mary now sat at the window, busily plying her needle, and refraining from speaking lest she might interrupt him, though she wanted to talk to him about Gilbert, whose general conduct had of late given her great anxiety. She could not help thinking that it would be better if he were to be sent to a distance, and thus be separated from his present companions. Neither she nor Arthur liked to tell their father what they knew about him, but she thought that Hugh might do so, and might suggest the plan which had occurred to her.
Arthur, after some time, came back. He had searched everywhere for Gilbert, but had been unable to find him, his saddle was not in the harness-room, nor his pony in the stable; it was evident that he had ridden off somewhere.
In the evening Mr Maitland came back, and inquired for Gilbert. His other children were unwilling to say that they feared he had gone to Christchurch, for they hoped he might have taken a ride in some other direction. Night came on, and still he did not appear. Mr Maitland inquired whether any of them could tell where Gilbert had gone. At last Mary confessed that he had said he should ride over to see Dick Hockley; but that she hoped, from her and his brothers’ remonstrances, that he would have refrained from doing so.
Hour after hour passed away, and Mr Maitland, at first angry, became anxious about him. The night was too dark to permit of any one going out to search for him; indeed, as there were numerous ways through the forest by which he could come, he might be easily missed. Midnight arrived, and he was still absent Mr Maitland now became seriously alarmed, and he, with Hugh and Arthur, went out in different directions from the house, listening anxiously, in the hopes of hearing the sound of his pony’s footsteps, but the roaring and whistling of the wind in the trees drowned all other noises. At length they re-entered the house, Mr Maitland sent the rest of the family to bed, but sat up himself watching for Gilbert’s return.
Story 3--Chapter II.Gilbert knew his way, and that he could trust his little forest-bred pony to carry him safe home; so he gave it the rein, and let it gallop along the open glade, though the gloom was often so dense that he could not see a yard beyond the animal’s head. He had got some distance, and had just crossed another road, when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs behind him. There were several. They came on at a rapid rate. Who the horsemen were he could not tell. The sounds increased. He put his little forester at its swiftest gallop, but his pursuers were soon at his heels, and a stentorian voice shouted to him to stop, with the threat of a pistol-bullet through his head. He pulled up, feeling that all hopes of escape were vain.“Who are you? what are you after here?” shouted the same voice, and two men galloping up seized his rein. “What business takes you out at this time of night, youngster?” asked one of the men.“I am going home,” answered Gilbert.“Where is your home?” said one of the men, drawing a pistol from his belt; “answer truly, or I will send a bullet through you!”“I am going to the house of Mr Maitland, my father,” answered Gilbert, more frightened than he had ever before been in his life.“Mr Maitland! you will not go there to-night!” exclaimed the man, with a loud curse. “Why, he is the fellow who before brought the soldiers down upon us, and this youngster has been sent out to learn where we are going, and will be setting the dragoons from Lymington on our heels. If Mr Maitland ever falls into our hands, he will find we have a heavy score to settle with him.”These remarks were interlarded with numerous fierce oaths, which need not be repeated.The men now turning round the pony’s head, led Gilbert back, swearing at him in a way which made his blood curdle, and fancy that they intended to shoot him or knock his brains out.They had not got far when Gilbert saw a long line of horsemen riding two and two, in close order, crossing the road. They appeared to have heavy packages on their saddles, and were armed with blunderbusses and swords. Gilbert’s conductors seemed to be watching for some one to come up. After the horsemen came a line of waggons, with an armed man sitting in front of each and another behind, while a horseman rode on either side. There seemed to be no end of them, one following close upon the other. Gilbert counted a hundred or more. At last another band of horsemen appeared. One of Gilbert’s captors called to a man riding among them whom he addressed as “Captain,” and told him of the way they had found Gilbert, and their suspicions.“Bring him along with you,” was the answer, “we will have a talk by and by with him.”Gilbert’s captors joined the ranks, and the party of smugglers continued to make their way by unfrequented paths through the forest. He now recollected hearing that a strong force of military had been sent down to Lymington to assist the Revenue officers, and every moment he expected to see the smugglers attacked. They, however, seemed to have no dread of being interfered with, but rode on, laughing and joking with the utmost indifference. From the remarks Gilbert overheard, he found that they had taken good care to mislead the military, who were waiting far behind them, near the coast, under the belief that the intended run of contraband goods had not yet been landed. At length the smugglers reached a spot where their large band was to break up into separate parties who were to branch off in various directions, some with silks and ribbons to go even as far as London, others to different towns, while a portion of the goods were to be stored in hiding-places in the forest. A large party of mounted men still remained after the waggons had gone off. Among them were those who had seized Gilbert.“Well, Captain, what shall we do with this young viper; he is a son of old Maitland’s, and there is no doubt has been after mischief.”“Do?” answered the person addressed, a big dark-bearded man, clothed like his companions in rough seafaring costume. “The easiest way would be to leave him here to frighten the crows,” and he looked up at the overhanging branch of a tree.Gilbert felt ready to drop from his pony with terror.“Oh, don’t, don’t hang me!” he cried out; “I did not want to do you any harm. If you will let me go, I will not say a word about what I have seen.”“Very likely?” growled the Captain, “but you knew that a cargo was to be run, and were galloping off to bring the dragoons down on us.”“I knew that a cargo was to be run, because Dick Hockley told me so; but I was not going to fetch the dragoons, for I did not even know where they were.”“A very likely story; and if Dick Hockley has been chattering to you, he will have to answer for it,” observed the Captain. “However, bring the lad along. We will hear what Master Dick has to say for himself.”The troop, with Gilbert in their midst, now rode back by the way they had come towards the coast.Gilbert supposed that they were about three miles from Christchurch, when, turning to the left, they came in sight of one of the numerous small farms which existed in those days in the forest, consisting of several straw-thatched mud buildings. Here he was told to tumble off his pony, which was led away, while he was conducted into a small inner room in the cottage. The window, high up near the roof, was closed by a shutter from the outside. The only furniture was a truckle-bed and a stool. The cottage apparently belonged to one of the men who had captured him, for Gilbert heard him inviting the rest to partake of the provisions he placed before them. They were all engaged in eating and drinking and talking loudly for some time. He heard the Captain at last say—“We will now go and hear what account Master Dick has to give us about this youngster, and if he has been trying to play us a trick, he must be shipped off out of the way.”Gilbert could not tell whether the smuggler referred to Dick or to himself, though as it was very evident they would not scruple to use violence if they thought it necessary for their own safety, he felt very uncomfortable.At last, from the sounds he had heard, he supposed that most of the men had mounted their horses and ridden off. Feeling tired, he groped his way to the bed, on which he threw himself, and in spite of his anxiety, was soon asleep.He was awakened by the entrance of his host, bringing him some bread and cheese, and a jug of milk.“There,” he said, “you must be hungry by this time, youngster. It’s more than you deserve, though.”“How long am I to be kept here?” asked Gilbert.“I again tell you I did not want to do any one harm; on the contrary, I think you smugglers very fine fellows.”The man laughed.“It does not matter what you think; if Dick cannot give a good account of you, you will be sent across the seas, that I can tell you.”Saying this, the man left the room. Gilbert was very hungry, so he ate the bread and cheese, and drank up the milk. By the light which came through a small chink in the shutter and under the door he saw that it was daytime; but hour after hour passed on, and he was still a prisoner.
Gilbert knew his way, and that he could trust his little forest-bred pony to carry him safe home; so he gave it the rein, and let it gallop along the open glade, though the gloom was often so dense that he could not see a yard beyond the animal’s head. He had got some distance, and had just crossed another road, when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs behind him. There were several. They came on at a rapid rate. Who the horsemen were he could not tell. The sounds increased. He put his little forester at its swiftest gallop, but his pursuers were soon at his heels, and a stentorian voice shouted to him to stop, with the threat of a pistol-bullet through his head. He pulled up, feeling that all hopes of escape were vain.
“Who are you? what are you after here?” shouted the same voice, and two men galloping up seized his rein. “What business takes you out at this time of night, youngster?” asked one of the men.
“I am going home,” answered Gilbert.
“Where is your home?” said one of the men, drawing a pistol from his belt; “answer truly, or I will send a bullet through you!”
“I am going to the house of Mr Maitland, my father,” answered Gilbert, more frightened than he had ever before been in his life.
“Mr Maitland! you will not go there to-night!” exclaimed the man, with a loud curse. “Why, he is the fellow who before brought the soldiers down upon us, and this youngster has been sent out to learn where we are going, and will be setting the dragoons from Lymington on our heels. If Mr Maitland ever falls into our hands, he will find we have a heavy score to settle with him.”
These remarks were interlarded with numerous fierce oaths, which need not be repeated.
The men now turning round the pony’s head, led Gilbert back, swearing at him in a way which made his blood curdle, and fancy that they intended to shoot him or knock his brains out.
They had not got far when Gilbert saw a long line of horsemen riding two and two, in close order, crossing the road. They appeared to have heavy packages on their saddles, and were armed with blunderbusses and swords. Gilbert’s conductors seemed to be watching for some one to come up. After the horsemen came a line of waggons, with an armed man sitting in front of each and another behind, while a horseman rode on either side. There seemed to be no end of them, one following close upon the other. Gilbert counted a hundred or more. At last another band of horsemen appeared. One of Gilbert’s captors called to a man riding among them whom he addressed as “Captain,” and told him of the way they had found Gilbert, and their suspicions.
“Bring him along with you,” was the answer, “we will have a talk by and by with him.”
Gilbert’s captors joined the ranks, and the party of smugglers continued to make their way by unfrequented paths through the forest. He now recollected hearing that a strong force of military had been sent down to Lymington to assist the Revenue officers, and every moment he expected to see the smugglers attacked. They, however, seemed to have no dread of being interfered with, but rode on, laughing and joking with the utmost indifference. From the remarks Gilbert overheard, he found that they had taken good care to mislead the military, who were waiting far behind them, near the coast, under the belief that the intended run of contraband goods had not yet been landed. At length the smugglers reached a spot where their large band was to break up into separate parties who were to branch off in various directions, some with silks and ribbons to go even as far as London, others to different towns, while a portion of the goods were to be stored in hiding-places in the forest. A large party of mounted men still remained after the waggons had gone off. Among them were those who had seized Gilbert.
“Well, Captain, what shall we do with this young viper; he is a son of old Maitland’s, and there is no doubt has been after mischief.”
“Do?” answered the person addressed, a big dark-bearded man, clothed like his companions in rough seafaring costume. “The easiest way would be to leave him here to frighten the crows,” and he looked up at the overhanging branch of a tree.
Gilbert felt ready to drop from his pony with terror.
“Oh, don’t, don’t hang me!” he cried out; “I did not want to do you any harm. If you will let me go, I will not say a word about what I have seen.”
“Very likely?” growled the Captain, “but you knew that a cargo was to be run, and were galloping off to bring the dragoons down on us.”
“I knew that a cargo was to be run, because Dick Hockley told me so; but I was not going to fetch the dragoons, for I did not even know where they were.”
“A very likely story; and if Dick Hockley has been chattering to you, he will have to answer for it,” observed the Captain. “However, bring the lad along. We will hear what Master Dick has to say for himself.”
The troop, with Gilbert in their midst, now rode back by the way they had come towards the coast.
Gilbert supposed that they were about three miles from Christchurch, when, turning to the left, they came in sight of one of the numerous small farms which existed in those days in the forest, consisting of several straw-thatched mud buildings. Here he was told to tumble off his pony, which was led away, while he was conducted into a small inner room in the cottage. The window, high up near the roof, was closed by a shutter from the outside. The only furniture was a truckle-bed and a stool. The cottage apparently belonged to one of the men who had captured him, for Gilbert heard him inviting the rest to partake of the provisions he placed before them. They were all engaged in eating and drinking and talking loudly for some time. He heard the Captain at last say—
“We will now go and hear what account Master Dick has to give us about this youngster, and if he has been trying to play us a trick, he must be shipped off out of the way.”
Gilbert could not tell whether the smuggler referred to Dick or to himself, though as it was very evident they would not scruple to use violence if they thought it necessary for their own safety, he felt very uncomfortable.
At last, from the sounds he had heard, he supposed that most of the men had mounted their horses and ridden off. Feeling tired, he groped his way to the bed, on which he threw himself, and in spite of his anxiety, was soon asleep.
He was awakened by the entrance of his host, bringing him some bread and cheese, and a jug of milk.
“There,” he said, “you must be hungry by this time, youngster. It’s more than you deserve, though.”
“How long am I to be kept here?” asked Gilbert.
“I again tell you I did not want to do any one harm; on the contrary, I think you smugglers very fine fellows.”
The man laughed.
“It does not matter what you think; if Dick cannot give a good account of you, you will be sent across the seas, that I can tell you.”
Saying this, the man left the room. Gilbert was very hungry, so he ate the bread and cheese, and drank up the milk. By the light which came through a small chink in the shutter and under the door he saw that it was daytime; but hour after hour passed on, and he was still a prisoner.
Story 3--Chapter III.Mr Maitland became seriously anxious when morning dawned and Gilbert did not return. Calling up Hugh and Arthur, he told them to mount their ponies, and ride in the direction Gilbert was most likely to have taken; and as soon as the farm servants arrived, he sent them out to search the forest far and near. He himself, after consulting Mary, mounted his horse, and rode off to Christchurch, to ascertain from Dick Hockley whether Gilbert had paid him a visit.He found the young man lolling over a gate smoking.“Your son, Mr Maitland? what, has not he got home?” he exclaimed in unfeigned surprise. “Yes, he paid me a visit yesterday. He is an old schoolfellow, you know, and I am always happy to see him. He and I are very good friends, and there is no reason we should not be that I know of.”“That is not to the point,” said Mr Maitland, sternly. “You acknowledge that he paid you a visit. I wish to know when he left you.”“Somewhere about five o’clock, as far as I recollect,” answered young Hockley; “and as he was as sober as a judge, I should think his forester ought to have carried him home in a couple of hours at the outside.”Mr Maitland continued to cross-question Dick.“I tell you he left me at five o’clock, and I know nothing more about him,” was the only answer he could obtain. Mr Maitland was at length convinced that young Hockley knew nothing more than he said about his son. He made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and ascertained from two or three people that they had seen a lad resembling Gilbert in appearance riding towards the forest. He gained, however, a piece of information; it was that a large cargo of goods had been run that evening from the well-known lugger, theSaucy Sally, and had been conveyed with a strong escort inland, under the command of her daring captain, Slippery Rogers, who was so called from the way in which he managed on all occasions to elude the Revenue cruisers afloat, and the Government officers and soldiers sent in pursuit of him on shore.“It’s lucky you did not fall in with them, Mr Maitland,” observed his informant. “They have vowed vengeance against you; and it would fare ill with you if they were to get you into their power.”“I am not afraid of them, or any ruffians like them!” said Mr Maitland. “I shall do what I consider right; and try to rid the country of such pests as these outlaws have long been to it. It is a disgrace to those who should know better, and who yet encourage them by buying their goods, and refusing to give evidence when they are caught. They not only deprive the king of his just dues, but injure legitimate trade, and encourage a general lawlessness among the whole population of the coast. However, I must hasten off, and try and find out what has become of my poor boy.”On making further inquiries, Mr Maitland ascertained the route the smugglers had taken, and became convinced that Gilbert must have crossed their path, and probably fallen into their hands. He accordingly called on the two neighbouring magistrates, and deposed, to his belief, that violence had been offered to his son by the smugglers. He gave information also to the Revenue officers, who promised all the assistance they could afford.Having done all he could, hoping that Gilbert might in the meantime have arrived there, he set off home. Mary met him at the gate. Gilbert had not been seen. Hugh and Arthur had come back, and had gone out again to renew the search. The whole day was spent in searching for the missing one, but no trace of him could be discovered.Day after day passed by, and Mr Maitland could gain no tidings of the son, who, notwithstanding his disobedience, he loved truly, as the last gift of his affectionate wife.Many weeks afterwards Gilbert’s pony was found in the neighbourhood of the farm with its saddle on its back.Arthur, from overstudy, it was supposed, fell ill, and his life was despaired of. Poor Mr Maitland feared he should lose him also. He had not unhappily the consolation of true religion. He was a just and upright man in his own sight, and in that of his neighbours, and fully believed that he deserved the favours of God on earth, and merited heaven when he should be called hence. When the time of trial came, there was something wanting. He could not look up to God as his loving, tender Father, and go confidently to Him in prayer for support, or say truly, “Thy will be done.”Hugh had gone to college, where from the first he exhibited the talents which had gained him credit during his school career, and his tutor wrote word that he was among the most promising young men in the University. He avoided all unnecessary expenses, and being of a thoroughly independent spirit, kept aloof from those who would have drawn him away from his studies. His aims were, however, worldly; the human intellect he held in the highest estimation, and was satisfied that by his unaided efforts he could do as he desired. He was sober, moral, and economical, because he was convinced that should he be otherwise he would injure his prospects. Hugh Maitland was therefore looked upon as an excellent young man, and perhaps few were more convinced that such was the case than himself. He wrote home deeply regretting Arthur’s illness, hoping that the doctor’s skill and Mary’s watchful care would bring him round, and sympathising with his father in his grief that no tidings had been received of Gilbert.“I am still convinced, however,” he observed, “that had he met with foul play, or by any accident lost his life, his body would have been found, and I have hopes that he will still turn up. Perhaps, as he had been reading Robinson Crusoe, he may have taken it into his wise head to run off to sea, though I should have supposed that he would have sent a line to inform us of his romantic proceeding. Tell Arthur to keep up his spirits, and not to say die.”Mary watched over Arthur with the most loving care, and through God’s mercy he gradually recovered his strength, and was able to resume his studies. The doctor warned him, however, that he must not slick to them too closely, and advised him to take constant rides with his sister, and be in the open air as much as possible.“If you will be guided by me, my young friend, you will give up your intention of going to college, and assist your father on his farm,” he observed. “You will find it a more healthy life than the one you propose, and probably get as strong as you can wish.” Arthur began to consider whether it was not his duty to follow the doctor’s advice. Mary hoped that he would do so, as he would then live at home with her. Mr Maitland promised every encouragement, remarking—“Now I have lost poor Gilbert, there is no one else to keep on the farm when I am gone, or to afford a home to Mary.”This latter argument weighed greatly with Arthur. He had had indeed no definite aim in his wish to go to college; he might perhaps become a master in a school, or take pupils at the university, or should he get a fellowship, obtain a living, but he had never thought even in that case of the duty of striving to win souls for Christ. Of the gospel and its requirements he had a very imperfect knowledge. Possessing a more gentle and loving spirit than Hugh, he thought it would be pleasant to go about among the poor, to try and make them moral and good, and relieve them in distress. There were very few cottagers in their neighbourhood who required much assistance. When any of them were sick, he and Mary had found much satisfaction in carrying them food and delicacies which they were unable to procure, and in helping them sometimes with money from their own scanty means.During the summer long vacation Hugh did not come home, having gone with some young men who had engaged him to read with them. When he returned at Christmas, Arthur’s resolution of becoming a farmer was somewhat shaken. Hugh put before him so many of the advantages a hard-working man with good talents might obtain at the university, that his desire to try his fortune there revived. He had continued his studies for several hours every day, and now Hugh being able to assist him, he set to work with renewed vigour during the long winter evenings.
Mr Maitland became seriously anxious when morning dawned and Gilbert did not return. Calling up Hugh and Arthur, he told them to mount their ponies, and ride in the direction Gilbert was most likely to have taken; and as soon as the farm servants arrived, he sent them out to search the forest far and near. He himself, after consulting Mary, mounted his horse, and rode off to Christchurch, to ascertain from Dick Hockley whether Gilbert had paid him a visit.
He found the young man lolling over a gate smoking.
“Your son, Mr Maitland? what, has not he got home?” he exclaimed in unfeigned surprise. “Yes, he paid me a visit yesterday. He is an old schoolfellow, you know, and I am always happy to see him. He and I are very good friends, and there is no reason we should not be that I know of.”
“That is not to the point,” said Mr Maitland, sternly. “You acknowledge that he paid you a visit. I wish to know when he left you.”
“Somewhere about five o’clock, as far as I recollect,” answered young Hockley; “and as he was as sober as a judge, I should think his forester ought to have carried him home in a couple of hours at the outside.”
Mr Maitland continued to cross-question Dick.
“I tell you he left me at five o’clock, and I know nothing more about him,” was the only answer he could obtain. Mr Maitland was at length convinced that young Hockley knew nothing more than he said about his son. He made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and ascertained from two or three people that they had seen a lad resembling Gilbert in appearance riding towards the forest. He gained, however, a piece of information; it was that a large cargo of goods had been run that evening from the well-known lugger, theSaucy Sally, and had been conveyed with a strong escort inland, under the command of her daring captain, Slippery Rogers, who was so called from the way in which he managed on all occasions to elude the Revenue cruisers afloat, and the Government officers and soldiers sent in pursuit of him on shore.
“It’s lucky you did not fall in with them, Mr Maitland,” observed his informant. “They have vowed vengeance against you; and it would fare ill with you if they were to get you into their power.”
“I am not afraid of them, or any ruffians like them!” said Mr Maitland. “I shall do what I consider right; and try to rid the country of such pests as these outlaws have long been to it. It is a disgrace to those who should know better, and who yet encourage them by buying their goods, and refusing to give evidence when they are caught. They not only deprive the king of his just dues, but injure legitimate trade, and encourage a general lawlessness among the whole population of the coast. However, I must hasten off, and try and find out what has become of my poor boy.”
On making further inquiries, Mr Maitland ascertained the route the smugglers had taken, and became convinced that Gilbert must have crossed their path, and probably fallen into their hands. He accordingly called on the two neighbouring magistrates, and deposed, to his belief, that violence had been offered to his son by the smugglers. He gave information also to the Revenue officers, who promised all the assistance they could afford.
Having done all he could, hoping that Gilbert might in the meantime have arrived there, he set off home. Mary met him at the gate. Gilbert had not been seen. Hugh and Arthur had come back, and had gone out again to renew the search. The whole day was spent in searching for the missing one, but no trace of him could be discovered.
Day after day passed by, and Mr Maitland could gain no tidings of the son, who, notwithstanding his disobedience, he loved truly, as the last gift of his affectionate wife.
Many weeks afterwards Gilbert’s pony was found in the neighbourhood of the farm with its saddle on its back.
Arthur, from overstudy, it was supposed, fell ill, and his life was despaired of. Poor Mr Maitland feared he should lose him also. He had not unhappily the consolation of true religion. He was a just and upright man in his own sight, and in that of his neighbours, and fully believed that he deserved the favours of God on earth, and merited heaven when he should be called hence. When the time of trial came, there was something wanting. He could not look up to God as his loving, tender Father, and go confidently to Him in prayer for support, or say truly, “Thy will be done.”
Hugh had gone to college, where from the first he exhibited the talents which had gained him credit during his school career, and his tutor wrote word that he was among the most promising young men in the University. He avoided all unnecessary expenses, and being of a thoroughly independent spirit, kept aloof from those who would have drawn him away from his studies. His aims were, however, worldly; the human intellect he held in the highest estimation, and was satisfied that by his unaided efforts he could do as he desired. He was sober, moral, and economical, because he was convinced that should he be otherwise he would injure his prospects. Hugh Maitland was therefore looked upon as an excellent young man, and perhaps few were more convinced that such was the case than himself. He wrote home deeply regretting Arthur’s illness, hoping that the doctor’s skill and Mary’s watchful care would bring him round, and sympathising with his father in his grief that no tidings had been received of Gilbert.
“I am still convinced, however,” he observed, “that had he met with foul play, or by any accident lost his life, his body would have been found, and I have hopes that he will still turn up. Perhaps, as he had been reading Robinson Crusoe, he may have taken it into his wise head to run off to sea, though I should have supposed that he would have sent a line to inform us of his romantic proceeding. Tell Arthur to keep up his spirits, and not to say die.”
Mary watched over Arthur with the most loving care, and through God’s mercy he gradually recovered his strength, and was able to resume his studies. The doctor warned him, however, that he must not slick to them too closely, and advised him to take constant rides with his sister, and be in the open air as much as possible.
“If you will be guided by me, my young friend, you will give up your intention of going to college, and assist your father on his farm,” he observed. “You will find it a more healthy life than the one you propose, and probably get as strong as you can wish.” Arthur began to consider whether it was not his duty to follow the doctor’s advice. Mary hoped that he would do so, as he would then live at home with her. Mr Maitland promised every encouragement, remarking—
“Now I have lost poor Gilbert, there is no one else to keep on the farm when I am gone, or to afford a home to Mary.”
This latter argument weighed greatly with Arthur. He had had indeed no definite aim in his wish to go to college; he might perhaps become a master in a school, or take pupils at the university, or should he get a fellowship, obtain a living, but he had never thought even in that case of the duty of striving to win souls for Christ. Of the gospel and its requirements he had a very imperfect knowledge. Possessing a more gentle and loving spirit than Hugh, he thought it would be pleasant to go about among the poor, to try and make them moral and good, and relieve them in distress. There were very few cottagers in their neighbourhood who required much assistance. When any of them were sick, he and Mary had found much satisfaction in carrying them food and delicacies which they were unable to procure, and in helping them sometimes with money from their own scanty means.
During the summer long vacation Hugh did not come home, having gone with some young men who had engaged him to read with them. When he returned at Christmas, Arthur’s resolution of becoming a farmer was somewhat shaken. Hugh put before him so many of the advantages a hard-working man with good talents might obtain at the university, that his desire to try his fortune there revived. He had continued his studies for several hours every day, and now Hugh being able to assist him, he set to work with renewed vigour during the long winter evenings.
Story 3--Chapter IV.Gilbert scarcely knew how long he had been a prisoner when he heard a voice which he recognised as Dick’s. For some time he could not make out what was said.“I will have a talk with him,” he at length heard Dick observe.Some more remarks were made when the door opened, and he found Dick standing outside.“Why, Gilbert, they have treated you somewhat scurvily; but it was for your good, lad, and no one is more anxious about that than I am,” said Dick. “Come along, and have some dinner, and we will talk matters over.”They repaired to the kitchen, where an ample meal, with no lack of spirits, was placed on the table. Gilbert did justice to it, and Dick plied him with liquor, which he drank off without considering its strength.“I must tell you, Gilbert, that your father is in a tremendous taking about you,” continued Dick. “If you were to go back, I should not be surprised if you found yourself turned out of house and home. He came to me this morning, and accused me of spiriting you away. I told him that I knew nothing about you, which was the fact. Now as matters have come to the worst, you are not likely to have a pleasant home even if you do go back, let me advise you to put the plan we have often talked about into execution, and come and have a trip with me to sea. Captain Rogers sails in theSaucy Sallyto-night, and I promised to go along with him. We will have a jolly time of it; you will only have to swear that you will never reveal anything you see or hear about the doings of the smugglers. I told him that you were as true as steel, and that I would answer for you.”Dick said much more to the same effect. At another time Gilbert might have refused to leave his kind father and sister and brothers, even with only the intention of making a pleasure-trip, for he was not yet hardened in vice, but the spirits he had drunk had taken effect. He had committed the sin of wilful disobedience to his father’s commands, and was thus easily deceived by his treacherous companion, who persuaded him that that kind father was too angry to forgive him, and that he would be henceforth an outcast from home. Such is the way Satan always tries to deceive erring people, both young and old, and to persuade them that their heavenly Father is not at all times ready to blot out their offences if they come to Him seeking forgiveness according to the way He has appointed through the all-sufficient atonement of His Son.His false friend had fully calculated on gaining over the unhappy Gilbert, and had told his host to get a pony ready for him. As soon as evening approached they mounted and rode to the banks of the Christchurch river, near which theSaucy Sallylay moored. Though a notorious smuggler, as she had then no contraband in her, she could not be touched by the Revenue officers. Most of her numerous crew were already on board; Others were preparing to go off.“Come!” said Dick, “we will soon be among the fine fellows,” and sending back their ponies by a lad who came for the purpose, he and Gilbert jumped into a punt, and paddled alongside.Gilbert was welcomed by Captain Rogers, who had been expecting him.“Glad to see you, lad!” he said, shaking him by the hand, “and hope we shall have a pleasant cruise together.”Gilbert did not suspect that that slippery fellow had an object in getting him to join his gang. It was that he might revenge himself on Mr Maitland, whom he hated heartily. Rogers thought also that by getting Gilbert among them it might prevent him for the future from interfering in their illegal traffic as he had hitherto done.TheSaucy Sallywas the longest boat of her class ever built—so it was said—measuring one hundred and twenty feet from her bowsprit end to the extremity of her outrigger. She had a large cuddy forward, and another aft, while the whole of the midship portion was open for the stowage of casks, of which she could carry from between two and three thousand. She pulled forty oars, and carried an enormous spread of canvas; so that in calms, light winds, or gales she could easily give the go-bye to any of the king’s cruisers who might chase her.TheSaucy Sallywas soon gliding swiftly out to sea. She had got some distance from the land, when a light breeze springing up, her sails were hoisted, and away she sped at a rate no ordinary vessel could equal towards the French coast. Gilbert, who had often longed to take a trip in the craft he had so much admired, was delighted with the way in which she sailed, and Dick took care to keep him amused, getting several of the men to recount some of the daring and hazardous adventures in which they had been engaged. Gilbert thought the life of a bold smuggler about the finest and most exciting he could wish for.They soon reached the French coast. Dick invited Gilbert to go on shore, and introduced him into scenes of vice of which before he had had no experience. TheSaucy Sallywas detained some days taking in her cargo. The whole of this time was spent by Dick and Gilbert on shore, in company with several other profligate young men.“Well, you have seen something of life,” observed Dick, as they were once more on board. “You will find it somewhat slow work when you go back to help your father on his farm—eh, lad?”“I cannot go back,” answered Gilbert gloomily; “I should like to assist in running our cargo. There is excitement in that sort of work which suits my fancy.”“I admire your spirit, lad!” exclaimed Captain Rogers, who overheard him. “If you stick by us, we will stick by you, and you shall have a share in the profits of our Venture; I know I can trust you, from what I have seen of you. Wherever there is danger, I shall expect you to be near to help me,” and Slippery Rogers shook Gilbert’s hand warmly.On the voyage back to England a bright look-out was kept for any Revenue cruisers which might be on the watch. Twice theSaucy Sallywas chased. Once, as a thick fog lifted, she found herself close to a Revenue bruiser, from which several shots struck her, killing one man and wounding two; but notwithstanding, with the help of oars and sails, she managed to get away. TheSaucy Sallyreached the English coast at night, and Captain Rogers threw up a signal, to let his friends on shore know of his arrival. A signal, to show that all was right, was returned. TheSaucy Sallyran in, and boats coming to her, in a wonderfully short time the whole of her cargo was landed.“Come!” said Dick to Gilbert, “if you wish to see all the fun, you must assist in conveying our cargo inland,” and he gave him a brace of pistols and a short gun, such as the rest were armed with.Dick then told Gilbert to mount a horse, over the back of which a couple of ankers were slung, and he found himself riding along in company with a large gang of smugglers similar to those he had met with a short time before. He was now thoroughly involved with the smugglers, and less than ever could he venture, so he thought, to go home. Captain Rogers and Dick felt that they had got him securely in their toils, and that they could make use of him as an instrument to do whatever they might require.They had got some distance inland when a halt was called, a scout having come back with the information that danger was ahead. A consultation was held among the leaders, who determined to push on, and if necessary, to fight their way. Dick and Gilbert, and others on horseback, were summoned to the front. Advancing for half a mile, they saw drawn up a strong body of mounted Revenue officers. The smugglers with oaths ordered them to get out of their way, and on their refusing, rode boldly forward, firing as they advanced. The Revenue officers fired in return.“Make use of your weapon, Gilbert!” cried Dick, seeing that his companion hesitated to attempt killing his fellow-countrymen engaged in the performance of their duty. “Are you chicken-hearted, lad? I thought better of you.”Thus taunted, Gilbert raised his piece. One of the officers was seen to fall from his saddle. More smugglers coming up, the Revenue men, finding themselves far outnumbered, retreated, carrying off two or three wounded companions. One smuggler had been killed, and several slightly wounded. The smugglers dashed on, the dead man being put into one of the waggons, and without further hindrance reached their destination.“You did that well,” said Dick to Gilbert; “I saw you bring the fellow down; should not be surprised that you killed him.”Gilbert shuddered. Had he really been guilty of the death of a fellow-creature? if so, all hope of ever returning home was gone; he would be hunted as a murderer, and murder, he had often heard, was sure to be discovered.Dick saw the effect his remark had produced, and tried to laugh it off.“Why, my good fellow, such things happen every day, and it’s no use being downcast about it,” he observed. “You can take up your old quarters at Deadman’s Farm till theSaucy Sallysails again; and then if you have a fancy for it, we will make a longer trip. The skipper intends to try his luck on another part of the coast, as this little affair will probably make the forest too hot for us for a time. We shall be back again, however, when it blows over, depend upon that.”Gilbert lay concealed for about a week. He had time for reflection, and had he dared, he would have gone back.“It’s too late now, though; it’s too late!” he groaned out, and had recourse to the brandy-bottle to stifle conscience.He was once more on board the lugger, and from henceforth for several years was the constant associate of the smugglers. During the time he paid several visits to the neighbourhood of Christchurch; but he was so completely changed in appearance that even had he met any of his old acquaintances, they would not have recognised him. He had long ceased to be called by his own name, having assumed another, by which he was known among his associates. Dick Hockley and Slippery Rogers, and others who were acquainted with his secret, kept it for their own objects, and under his assumed name he became known as one of the most daring and desperate of the band.
Gilbert scarcely knew how long he had been a prisoner when he heard a voice which he recognised as Dick’s. For some time he could not make out what was said.
“I will have a talk with him,” he at length heard Dick observe.
Some more remarks were made when the door opened, and he found Dick standing outside.
“Why, Gilbert, they have treated you somewhat scurvily; but it was for your good, lad, and no one is more anxious about that than I am,” said Dick. “Come along, and have some dinner, and we will talk matters over.”
They repaired to the kitchen, where an ample meal, with no lack of spirits, was placed on the table. Gilbert did justice to it, and Dick plied him with liquor, which he drank off without considering its strength.
“I must tell you, Gilbert, that your father is in a tremendous taking about you,” continued Dick. “If you were to go back, I should not be surprised if you found yourself turned out of house and home. He came to me this morning, and accused me of spiriting you away. I told him that I knew nothing about you, which was the fact. Now as matters have come to the worst, you are not likely to have a pleasant home even if you do go back, let me advise you to put the plan we have often talked about into execution, and come and have a trip with me to sea. Captain Rogers sails in theSaucy Sallyto-night, and I promised to go along with him. We will have a jolly time of it; you will only have to swear that you will never reveal anything you see or hear about the doings of the smugglers. I told him that you were as true as steel, and that I would answer for you.”
Dick said much more to the same effect. At another time Gilbert might have refused to leave his kind father and sister and brothers, even with only the intention of making a pleasure-trip, for he was not yet hardened in vice, but the spirits he had drunk had taken effect. He had committed the sin of wilful disobedience to his father’s commands, and was thus easily deceived by his treacherous companion, who persuaded him that that kind father was too angry to forgive him, and that he would be henceforth an outcast from home. Such is the way Satan always tries to deceive erring people, both young and old, and to persuade them that their heavenly Father is not at all times ready to blot out their offences if they come to Him seeking forgiveness according to the way He has appointed through the all-sufficient atonement of His Son.
His false friend had fully calculated on gaining over the unhappy Gilbert, and had told his host to get a pony ready for him. As soon as evening approached they mounted and rode to the banks of the Christchurch river, near which theSaucy Sallylay moored. Though a notorious smuggler, as she had then no contraband in her, she could not be touched by the Revenue officers. Most of her numerous crew were already on board; Others were preparing to go off.
“Come!” said Dick, “we will soon be among the fine fellows,” and sending back their ponies by a lad who came for the purpose, he and Gilbert jumped into a punt, and paddled alongside.
Gilbert was welcomed by Captain Rogers, who had been expecting him.
“Glad to see you, lad!” he said, shaking him by the hand, “and hope we shall have a pleasant cruise together.”
Gilbert did not suspect that that slippery fellow had an object in getting him to join his gang. It was that he might revenge himself on Mr Maitland, whom he hated heartily. Rogers thought also that by getting Gilbert among them it might prevent him for the future from interfering in their illegal traffic as he had hitherto done.
TheSaucy Sallywas the longest boat of her class ever built—so it was said—measuring one hundred and twenty feet from her bowsprit end to the extremity of her outrigger. She had a large cuddy forward, and another aft, while the whole of the midship portion was open for the stowage of casks, of which she could carry from between two and three thousand. She pulled forty oars, and carried an enormous spread of canvas; so that in calms, light winds, or gales she could easily give the go-bye to any of the king’s cruisers who might chase her.
TheSaucy Sallywas soon gliding swiftly out to sea. She had got some distance from the land, when a light breeze springing up, her sails were hoisted, and away she sped at a rate no ordinary vessel could equal towards the French coast. Gilbert, who had often longed to take a trip in the craft he had so much admired, was delighted with the way in which she sailed, and Dick took care to keep him amused, getting several of the men to recount some of the daring and hazardous adventures in which they had been engaged. Gilbert thought the life of a bold smuggler about the finest and most exciting he could wish for.
They soon reached the French coast. Dick invited Gilbert to go on shore, and introduced him into scenes of vice of which before he had had no experience. TheSaucy Sallywas detained some days taking in her cargo. The whole of this time was spent by Dick and Gilbert on shore, in company with several other profligate young men.
“Well, you have seen something of life,” observed Dick, as they were once more on board. “You will find it somewhat slow work when you go back to help your father on his farm—eh, lad?”
“I cannot go back,” answered Gilbert gloomily; “I should like to assist in running our cargo. There is excitement in that sort of work which suits my fancy.”
“I admire your spirit, lad!” exclaimed Captain Rogers, who overheard him. “If you stick by us, we will stick by you, and you shall have a share in the profits of our Venture; I know I can trust you, from what I have seen of you. Wherever there is danger, I shall expect you to be near to help me,” and Slippery Rogers shook Gilbert’s hand warmly.
On the voyage back to England a bright look-out was kept for any Revenue cruisers which might be on the watch. Twice theSaucy Sallywas chased. Once, as a thick fog lifted, she found herself close to a Revenue bruiser, from which several shots struck her, killing one man and wounding two; but notwithstanding, with the help of oars and sails, she managed to get away. TheSaucy Sallyreached the English coast at night, and Captain Rogers threw up a signal, to let his friends on shore know of his arrival. A signal, to show that all was right, was returned. TheSaucy Sallyran in, and boats coming to her, in a wonderfully short time the whole of her cargo was landed.
“Come!” said Dick to Gilbert, “if you wish to see all the fun, you must assist in conveying our cargo inland,” and he gave him a brace of pistols and a short gun, such as the rest were armed with.
Dick then told Gilbert to mount a horse, over the back of which a couple of ankers were slung, and he found himself riding along in company with a large gang of smugglers similar to those he had met with a short time before. He was now thoroughly involved with the smugglers, and less than ever could he venture, so he thought, to go home. Captain Rogers and Dick felt that they had got him securely in their toils, and that they could make use of him as an instrument to do whatever they might require.
They had got some distance inland when a halt was called, a scout having come back with the information that danger was ahead. A consultation was held among the leaders, who determined to push on, and if necessary, to fight their way. Dick and Gilbert, and others on horseback, were summoned to the front. Advancing for half a mile, they saw drawn up a strong body of mounted Revenue officers. The smugglers with oaths ordered them to get out of their way, and on their refusing, rode boldly forward, firing as they advanced. The Revenue officers fired in return.
“Make use of your weapon, Gilbert!” cried Dick, seeing that his companion hesitated to attempt killing his fellow-countrymen engaged in the performance of their duty. “Are you chicken-hearted, lad? I thought better of you.”
Thus taunted, Gilbert raised his piece. One of the officers was seen to fall from his saddle. More smugglers coming up, the Revenue men, finding themselves far outnumbered, retreated, carrying off two or three wounded companions. One smuggler had been killed, and several slightly wounded. The smugglers dashed on, the dead man being put into one of the waggons, and without further hindrance reached their destination.
“You did that well,” said Dick to Gilbert; “I saw you bring the fellow down; should not be surprised that you killed him.”
Gilbert shuddered. Had he really been guilty of the death of a fellow-creature? if so, all hope of ever returning home was gone; he would be hunted as a murderer, and murder, he had often heard, was sure to be discovered.
Dick saw the effect his remark had produced, and tried to laugh it off.
“Why, my good fellow, such things happen every day, and it’s no use being downcast about it,” he observed. “You can take up your old quarters at Deadman’s Farm till theSaucy Sallysails again; and then if you have a fancy for it, we will make a longer trip. The skipper intends to try his luck on another part of the coast, as this little affair will probably make the forest too hot for us for a time. We shall be back again, however, when it blows over, depend upon that.”
Gilbert lay concealed for about a week. He had time for reflection, and had he dared, he would have gone back.
“It’s too late now, though; it’s too late!” he groaned out, and had recourse to the brandy-bottle to stifle conscience.
He was once more on board the lugger, and from henceforth for several years was the constant associate of the smugglers. During the time he paid several visits to the neighbourhood of Christchurch; but he was so completely changed in appearance that even had he met any of his old acquaintances, they would not have recognised him. He had long ceased to be called by his own name, having assumed another, by which he was known among his associates. Dick Hockley and Slippery Rogers, and others who were acquainted with his secret, kept it for their own objects, and under his assumed name he became known as one of the most daring and desperate of the band.
Story 3--Chapter V.Hugh had returned to college. It was again summer. Arthur studied harder than ever during every spare moment. He assisted his father as far as he could, but Mr Maitland saw that his heart was not in the work, and he more than once observed—“I am afraid, Arthur, you will make no hand at farming.”“I will do my best, at all events,” was Arthur’s reply. He frequently, as before, rode out with Mary. They were sometimes joined by Harry Acton, a young man who had lately taken a farm in the neighbourhood, and who seldom failed when he met them to turn his horse’s head round, and accompany them on their ride. He was intelligent and well educated, and Arthur liked him from the first. Mary gave no opinion, but she did not object to his accompanying them. Mr Maitland, after hearing Arthur’s report, invited Mr Acton in to tea, and seemed favourably impressed with him. He only thought him rather grave, and was surprised that a young man accustomed to country life should not take any interest in races or sporting, and had even declined to join the hunt.“Life is too short for idle amusement,” Harry observed to Mary one day. “I have abundance of exercise in attending to my farm, and I feel that I am responsible to God for the proper employment of my time.”Mary thought that a little amusement now and then could not be wrong.“Relaxation from business for our mental or bodily health may not be so,” answered Harry; “but when I reflect that I am responsible to God for every moment of my life, I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to spend time in pursuits which do not tend to honour and glorify Him.”Mary had never heard such language used before; and though she had already learned to like him too much to quarrel with him, she was disposed to think him somewhat puritanical.Still Harry Acton came and came again, and Mary looked forward to his visits with pleasure. Serious as his remarks were sometimes, he talked well on numerous subjects, and she confessed that he was very agreeable. Arthur liked him more and more, and was thankful to have found a companion who could enter into his feelings and views.Mary and Arthur had ridden over one day to Lyndhurst, and were passing through, that picturesque village, when they saw a large number of people collected on the green beneath the wide-spreading trees which bounded one side of it. Approaching, they saw a person mounted on a small platform, which raised him above the assemblage. He was of a tall, commanding figure; and as he stood bareheaded, it was seen that his hair was slightly tinged with grey, thrown back from off his high and expansive forehead. He was giving out a hymn in a clear, full voice, which reached even to the distance they were from him.“He is a Methodist of some sort,” observed Arthur. “I suppose, Mary, you do not wish to stop and hear him.”“I should be sorry to pass by without ascertaining whether what he is saying is worth listening to,” answered Mary. “I like the tone of his voice, and I remember learning that hymn from our poor mother.”It was “Rock of Ages cleft for me.”The young people drew near to the outside of the circle formed round the preacher. Though thus at some distance, every word he uttered was distinctly heard. The hymn concluded, in which a number of people joined, he offered up a short prayer that the blessing of God’s Holy Spirit might convey the words he spoke to the hearts of his hearers, and he implored them to reflect that they had immortal souls which must live for ever in happiness unspeakable or in immeasurable woe.“And yet what claim have we to the bliss and glory of heaven?” he asked. “We have none. Every man is vile and outcast, full of disobedience, utterly sinful—ay, a rebel against God! Unregenerate man lives in open rebellion against his Maker. As well might a rebel taken in arms against his lawful sovereign demand pardon by right, as man, till reconciled to God, claim to be admitted to heaven. Men virtually acknowledge this when they profess a hope of going there by their performance of good works, by their penances, by the confession of their sins to other sinful mortals, by their sacrifices to Him who has said that He takes no delight in the blood of bulls and of goats.”He continued, with text upon text, to prove the utter depravity of human nature, and man’s lost condition. He pointed to the state of society in all countries, people of all classes, to the hearts of each of his hearers, compelling them to search within, and many with horror felt that they were utterly lost. Then suddenly he pointed to the blue canopy of heaven, undimmed by a single cloud, and spoke of the unapproachable purity and holiness of God, in whose sight even the heavens are not clean; of heaven His dwelling-place, where all is peace and joy and love and holiness and purity, surpassing human comprehension. He spoke, too, of the might, the awful majesty and immutable justice of the Divinity, who can by no means look upon iniquity, who considers every departure from His exact and strict law as sin, who allows no such sins as small sins, and considers the least infraction of one of His laws as sinful.“But I have not yet finished the catalogue of God’s attributes,” he continued. “He is a God of mercy: He is a God of love; though He hates sin, He loves the sinner, and that love caused Him to form the glorious plan by which His justice and mercy can both be satisfied—by which sinful and rebellious man can become reconciled and fit to inhabit a pure heaven, in which nothing vile and undefiled can enter. That plan I would now with swelling heart unfold to you. That gospel plan which God sent down His well-beloved Son, not only to declare to sinful man, but to carry out. Christ Himself announced it when He said, ‘God so loved the world, that He sent His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.’ Yes, God could not pass over sin; but in His infinite grace and mercy He allowed His only-begotten Son, all pure and holy and obedient, to be punished instead of unholy and rebellious man. He might have sent an angel, but then man would have given to that angel the love and reverence and obedience which is due to Himself alone. Christ left not one particle of the work to be done by man, graciously allowing man to take hold of it through a living faith, producing love and gratitude and adoration towards Him who accomplished it. Yet even thus sinful man was not left to his own unaided efforts. When Christ rose, the first-fruits from the dead, He promised, ere He ascended, to sit at the right hand of God, there to be man’s great High Priest, Mediator, and Intercessor—to send one to dwell with, to enlighten, support, and comfort, to urge and to enable man to take advantage of that salvation which He had completely wrought out. Oh, my friends! rebels though you are, that gracious, loving God asks you to be reconciled to Himself. He has done the whole work for you. You cannot undo a single act, or unsay a single idle word; every evil thought is registered against you. But all, all will be blotted out—‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool;’ ‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin!’ Oh! let me urge you to take advantage of that blood shed for you on Calvary. Accept without a moment’s delay our loving Father’s gracious offer of reconciliation. Only have faith that Jesus died foryou—that He boreyoursins upon the accursed tree—that He nailed them there, and put them out of God’s sight, and give Him your willing, loving obedience! Seek in His Word with faithful prayer to learn His will, and His Holy Spirit will enlighten your minds, enable you to comprehend what you read or hear, and will aid you in obeying His commands.”Mary and Arthur were among the most attentive of those assembled round the preacher.Much more he said. Another hymn was raised, a prayer offered.Mary had sat with her eyes on the ground. She looked up, and saw Harry Acton by her side.“I rejoice that you have been here,” he said. “I will, with your leave, accompany you home.”Mary said, “Pray do.”“It is humbling to our human pride to be called on to acknowledge that we are outcast and rebellious sinners,” he remarked, “but it is a truth all must be convinced of before they can understand the value of God’s plan of salvation.”“I do feel it most deeply,” murmured Mary; “and had I gone away without hearing the gospel part of the address, I should indeed have been most miserable.”Arthur made no remark, but as soon as he reached home, producing a Bible, he asked Acton to help him to refer to many of the passages which had been quoted.“Remember, Arthur, we must not only search the Scriptures, but search them diligently, with earnest prayer for enlightenment,” observed Harry.They did so. Mr Maitland was from home, and the three thus sat together without interruption, searching, as Harry remarked, “whether these things were so.” It was the commencement of a new era in the lives of the brother and sister. No longer legalists and formalists, as they had hitherto been, they became true and humble followers of Jesus, and found a happiness and contentment they had hitherto not known.
Hugh had returned to college. It was again summer. Arthur studied harder than ever during every spare moment. He assisted his father as far as he could, but Mr Maitland saw that his heart was not in the work, and he more than once observed—
“I am afraid, Arthur, you will make no hand at farming.”
“I will do my best, at all events,” was Arthur’s reply. He frequently, as before, rode out with Mary. They were sometimes joined by Harry Acton, a young man who had lately taken a farm in the neighbourhood, and who seldom failed when he met them to turn his horse’s head round, and accompany them on their ride. He was intelligent and well educated, and Arthur liked him from the first. Mary gave no opinion, but she did not object to his accompanying them. Mr Maitland, after hearing Arthur’s report, invited Mr Acton in to tea, and seemed favourably impressed with him. He only thought him rather grave, and was surprised that a young man accustomed to country life should not take any interest in races or sporting, and had even declined to join the hunt.
“Life is too short for idle amusement,” Harry observed to Mary one day. “I have abundance of exercise in attending to my farm, and I feel that I am responsible to God for the proper employment of my time.”
Mary thought that a little amusement now and then could not be wrong.
“Relaxation from business for our mental or bodily health may not be so,” answered Harry; “but when I reflect that I am responsible to God for every moment of my life, I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to spend time in pursuits which do not tend to honour and glorify Him.”
Mary had never heard such language used before; and though she had already learned to like him too much to quarrel with him, she was disposed to think him somewhat puritanical.
Still Harry Acton came and came again, and Mary looked forward to his visits with pleasure. Serious as his remarks were sometimes, he talked well on numerous subjects, and she confessed that he was very agreeable. Arthur liked him more and more, and was thankful to have found a companion who could enter into his feelings and views.
Mary and Arthur had ridden over one day to Lyndhurst, and were passing through, that picturesque village, when they saw a large number of people collected on the green beneath the wide-spreading trees which bounded one side of it. Approaching, they saw a person mounted on a small platform, which raised him above the assemblage. He was of a tall, commanding figure; and as he stood bareheaded, it was seen that his hair was slightly tinged with grey, thrown back from off his high and expansive forehead. He was giving out a hymn in a clear, full voice, which reached even to the distance they were from him.
“He is a Methodist of some sort,” observed Arthur. “I suppose, Mary, you do not wish to stop and hear him.”
“I should be sorry to pass by without ascertaining whether what he is saying is worth listening to,” answered Mary. “I like the tone of his voice, and I remember learning that hymn from our poor mother.”
It was “Rock of Ages cleft for me.”
The young people drew near to the outside of the circle formed round the preacher. Though thus at some distance, every word he uttered was distinctly heard. The hymn concluded, in which a number of people joined, he offered up a short prayer that the blessing of God’s Holy Spirit might convey the words he spoke to the hearts of his hearers, and he implored them to reflect that they had immortal souls which must live for ever in happiness unspeakable or in immeasurable woe.
“And yet what claim have we to the bliss and glory of heaven?” he asked. “We have none. Every man is vile and outcast, full of disobedience, utterly sinful—ay, a rebel against God! Unregenerate man lives in open rebellion against his Maker. As well might a rebel taken in arms against his lawful sovereign demand pardon by right, as man, till reconciled to God, claim to be admitted to heaven. Men virtually acknowledge this when they profess a hope of going there by their performance of good works, by their penances, by the confession of their sins to other sinful mortals, by their sacrifices to Him who has said that He takes no delight in the blood of bulls and of goats.”
He continued, with text upon text, to prove the utter depravity of human nature, and man’s lost condition. He pointed to the state of society in all countries, people of all classes, to the hearts of each of his hearers, compelling them to search within, and many with horror felt that they were utterly lost. Then suddenly he pointed to the blue canopy of heaven, undimmed by a single cloud, and spoke of the unapproachable purity and holiness of God, in whose sight even the heavens are not clean; of heaven His dwelling-place, where all is peace and joy and love and holiness and purity, surpassing human comprehension. He spoke, too, of the might, the awful majesty and immutable justice of the Divinity, who can by no means look upon iniquity, who considers every departure from His exact and strict law as sin, who allows no such sins as small sins, and considers the least infraction of one of His laws as sinful.
“But I have not yet finished the catalogue of God’s attributes,” he continued. “He is a God of mercy: He is a God of love; though He hates sin, He loves the sinner, and that love caused Him to form the glorious plan by which His justice and mercy can both be satisfied—by which sinful and rebellious man can become reconciled and fit to inhabit a pure heaven, in which nothing vile and undefiled can enter. That plan I would now with swelling heart unfold to you. That gospel plan which God sent down His well-beloved Son, not only to declare to sinful man, but to carry out. Christ Himself announced it when He said, ‘God so loved the world, that He sent His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.’ Yes, God could not pass over sin; but in His infinite grace and mercy He allowed His only-begotten Son, all pure and holy and obedient, to be punished instead of unholy and rebellious man. He might have sent an angel, but then man would have given to that angel the love and reverence and obedience which is due to Himself alone. Christ left not one particle of the work to be done by man, graciously allowing man to take hold of it through a living faith, producing love and gratitude and adoration towards Him who accomplished it. Yet even thus sinful man was not left to his own unaided efforts. When Christ rose, the first-fruits from the dead, He promised, ere He ascended, to sit at the right hand of God, there to be man’s great High Priest, Mediator, and Intercessor—to send one to dwell with, to enlighten, support, and comfort, to urge and to enable man to take advantage of that salvation which He had completely wrought out. Oh, my friends! rebels though you are, that gracious, loving God asks you to be reconciled to Himself. He has done the whole work for you. You cannot undo a single act, or unsay a single idle word; every evil thought is registered against you. But all, all will be blotted out—‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool;’ ‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin!’ Oh! let me urge you to take advantage of that blood shed for you on Calvary. Accept without a moment’s delay our loving Father’s gracious offer of reconciliation. Only have faith that Jesus died foryou—that He boreyoursins upon the accursed tree—that He nailed them there, and put them out of God’s sight, and give Him your willing, loving obedience! Seek in His Word with faithful prayer to learn His will, and His Holy Spirit will enlighten your minds, enable you to comprehend what you read or hear, and will aid you in obeying His commands.”
Mary and Arthur were among the most attentive of those assembled round the preacher.
Much more he said. Another hymn was raised, a prayer offered.
Mary had sat with her eyes on the ground. She looked up, and saw Harry Acton by her side.
“I rejoice that you have been here,” he said. “I will, with your leave, accompany you home.”
Mary said, “Pray do.”
“It is humbling to our human pride to be called on to acknowledge that we are outcast and rebellious sinners,” he remarked, “but it is a truth all must be convinced of before they can understand the value of God’s plan of salvation.”
“I do feel it most deeply,” murmured Mary; “and had I gone away without hearing the gospel part of the address, I should indeed have been most miserable.”
Arthur made no remark, but as soon as he reached home, producing a Bible, he asked Acton to help him to refer to many of the passages which had been quoted.
“Remember, Arthur, we must not only search the Scriptures, but search them diligently, with earnest prayer for enlightenment,” observed Harry.
They did so. Mr Maitland was from home, and the three thus sat together without interruption, searching, as Harry remarked, “whether these things were so.” It was the commencement of a new era in the lives of the brother and sister. No longer legalists and formalists, as they had hitherto been, they became true and humble followers of Jesus, and found a happiness and contentment they had hitherto not known.
Story 3--Chapter VI.Mr Maitland gladly allowed Mary to accept Harry Acton, who had asked her to become his wife. Arthur, on this, entreated his father to allow him to go to college.“I would rather that one of my own sons should have taken the farm after me; but as Harry seems willing to occupy your place, and as I am afraid you will never give your heart to the business, I must let you follow the bent of your inclination,” answered Mr Maitland.Arthur at once, therefore, went to college. As his father could make him but a small allowance, he entered as a sizar. He worked, however, so diligently, that though he did not possess the brilliant talents of Hugh, he made good progress. Hugh had not only supported himself, but when he left the university, had saved sufficient to enter as a law student at Lincoln’s Inn. Having not only eaten his way through his terms, but studied hard all the time, he was at length called to the Bar, and was shortly afterwards engaged as junior counsel in a case relating to the purchase of a property in his own county. His senior counsel having been taken ill, the cause remained in his bands. Having frequently been in the house about which the dispute had arisen—he was well acquainted with the locality—he brought forward witnesses to prove what he knew to be the truth. He had thus an opportunity of exhibiting his powers as a speaker, and triumphantly won. He had no lack after this of briefs, and in a short time became known among the solicitors on the circuit as a rising barrister, in whose hands they could safely commit the causes of their clients.Mr Maitland was proud of his son’s success, and welcomed him whenever he could spare time for a visit.Between Hugh and Harry Acton there was, however, no sympathy. Hugh looked upon Harry as a very worthy young man, to whom he was happy enough to see his sister married, but thought him somewhat weak, and too much absorbed in his religious notions. Harry, on the other hand, considered Hugh a hard, worldly man, whose sole aim was to push his way in the world, forgetful of all higher spiritual matters. Still they were very good friends, and Harry took every opportunity of putting the truth in a loving and affectionate way before Hugh.“Very good,” answered Hugh one day to some of his remarks, “but life is short, and those never get on who waste time on subjects which interfere with their lawful pursuits. I want to be a judge some day, and when I am not studying law cases or my briefs, I must take a little relaxation, and should break down if I attended to the matters that interest you.”“But, my dear Hugh, agreeing that life is short, I argue that for that very reason we should employ it in a way to prepare ourselves for the event which must occur at its termination. Its very brevity proves to me that it is only a portion, and a very small one, of our existence, and that it is given us to prepare for another and a holier state of existence. As we employ it here, so shall we be better fitted for that higher, and what may be most glorious, state.”“Very well argued, Harry!” said Hugh; “I will consider more than I have hitherto done the plan which you say the Bible contains for man’s redemption from the sinful and rebellious condition in which you argue he lives here below.”Harry had more than once clearly placed God’s scheme of salvation before Hugh, who had listened to it with a dull, if not inattentive ear.Hugh, however, went back into the world to enjoy its amusements, and to attend to his legal duties, and did not allow Harry’s remarks to trouble him.Arthur, meantime, took his degree, and as soon as he was of age, entered the ministry. He had, however, no interest, and was not likely to obtain preferment. He was, indeed, indifferent to it, provided he could have the opportunity of preaching the gospel, and winning souls for Christ. His worldly acquaintances declared that he had no high or lofty aims, and Hugh pitied him for being content to go through life as a humble drudge. His Christian friends considered his aims were as noble and lofty as any human being could possess. His earnest desire was to gain subjects for his Master’s kingdom. He was ready to preach the gospel at all times, and in all places, wherever he could get men to listen. He felt as earnest when pressing one poor lost sinner to accept the truth and be saved, as when addressing a large multitude, hanging on his words; and he made his way into hospitals with that object in view, looking upon the souls of the humble and wretched as of as much value in God’s sight as those of the rich and powerful. He was at length appointed chaplain to the prison of the county gaol, a post which many would consider as among the least hopeful for winning souls. Arthur Maitland performed his duties in no perfunctory way; he entered upon them with all the zeal which the love of souls can alone excite, influenced by God’s Holy Spirit. Here, month after month, he laboured with untiring energy. Unhappily, the prison cells were at that time always full; and many who entered them in dark ignorance, went forth rejoicing in that risen Saviour, against whose loving laws they had long been rebels. Arthur would seldom even allow himself a short visit to Mary and her husband, much as they rejoiced whenever he was able to come.Mr Maitland continued, as heretofore, engaged in his agricultural pursuits, and as stern an opponent of the smugglers as before; he was, indeed, more than ever incensed against them, on account of a fearful outrage which had lately been committed on a Custom-house officer residing at a neighbouring village. This officer, Bursey by name, had been always a conscientious and zealous servant of Government. He had mortally offended the smugglers by his activity. On this account Mr Maitland held him in much esteem, and had constantly afforded him support. On a dark night in winter, Mr Bursey, after he had retired for some hours to bed, was aroused by a loud rapping at the door. On looking through the casement of his chamber, he perceived two men, whose countenances he could not distinguish because of the gloom of midnight. He inquired their business, when one of them informed him that he had discovered a large quantity of smuggled goods in a barn at no great distance, to which he and his companion would lead him on the promise of a certain reward. A bargain was immediately struck, and Mr Bursey, telling his wife what had occurred, and that he would soon be back, unsuspicious of danger, hastily clothed himself, and descended unarmed into the passage; and on opening the door, his brains were instantly dashed out on the threshold. The other inmates of the house were aroused, but before they could reach the hall door the murderers had fled. There could be no doubt that some members of the daring smugglers who had so long infested the neighbourhood were guilty of the murder, but who they were it seemed hopeless to discover. Every effort was made to trace them; Mr Maitland was among the most active engaged in the search. Hitherto, however, the culprits had escaped, and it was supposed that they had left the country.All hopes of finding them had been abandoned. At first Mr Maitland, knowing the feeling of hatred he had excited against himself, though a brave man, thought it prudent to avoid riding to any distance from home after nightfall. By degrees, however, he grew less cautious; and if business called him out, he did not hesitate to delay to any hour that was convenient. He had one day gone to Christchurch, and it was somewhat late before he mounted his horse to return home. The friend he was visiting had begged him to stop till the next morning.“If you fancy that I fear the smugglers, set your mind at rest; I am not likely to be attacked, and my mare will give them the go-bye if they attempt to do so.”He set off. Darkness came on, and a storm of thunder and lightning that had long been brewing broke over his head. While passing through a thick part of the forest, four men suddenly sprang out on him, and a couple of bullets whistled by his head. Putting spurs to his horse, he was dashing on, when his bridle was seized, and he was dragged from his saddle. A heavy blow on the head almost stunned him, but he retained sufficient consciousness to distinguish the voice of another man who had suddenly rushed up.“Who have you got there?” asked the new-comer.“Old Maitland, and we will give him his deserts,” replied one of the men with a fierce oath.“Hold! hold! don’t kill him!” cried the man.It was too late. One of the ruffians let the butt end of his pistol fall with a tremendous blow, which made the unfortunate farmer fall helpless to the ground. A cry of horror echoed through the forest.The murderers, satisfied that they had performed their deed of vengeance, hastened from the spot.
Mr Maitland gladly allowed Mary to accept Harry Acton, who had asked her to become his wife. Arthur, on this, entreated his father to allow him to go to college.
“I would rather that one of my own sons should have taken the farm after me; but as Harry seems willing to occupy your place, and as I am afraid you will never give your heart to the business, I must let you follow the bent of your inclination,” answered Mr Maitland.
Arthur at once, therefore, went to college. As his father could make him but a small allowance, he entered as a sizar. He worked, however, so diligently, that though he did not possess the brilliant talents of Hugh, he made good progress. Hugh had not only supported himself, but when he left the university, had saved sufficient to enter as a law student at Lincoln’s Inn. Having not only eaten his way through his terms, but studied hard all the time, he was at length called to the Bar, and was shortly afterwards engaged as junior counsel in a case relating to the purchase of a property in his own county. His senior counsel having been taken ill, the cause remained in his bands. Having frequently been in the house about which the dispute had arisen—he was well acquainted with the locality—he brought forward witnesses to prove what he knew to be the truth. He had thus an opportunity of exhibiting his powers as a speaker, and triumphantly won. He had no lack after this of briefs, and in a short time became known among the solicitors on the circuit as a rising barrister, in whose hands they could safely commit the causes of their clients.
Mr Maitland was proud of his son’s success, and welcomed him whenever he could spare time for a visit.
Between Hugh and Harry Acton there was, however, no sympathy. Hugh looked upon Harry as a very worthy young man, to whom he was happy enough to see his sister married, but thought him somewhat weak, and too much absorbed in his religious notions. Harry, on the other hand, considered Hugh a hard, worldly man, whose sole aim was to push his way in the world, forgetful of all higher spiritual matters. Still they were very good friends, and Harry took every opportunity of putting the truth in a loving and affectionate way before Hugh.
“Very good,” answered Hugh one day to some of his remarks, “but life is short, and those never get on who waste time on subjects which interfere with their lawful pursuits. I want to be a judge some day, and when I am not studying law cases or my briefs, I must take a little relaxation, and should break down if I attended to the matters that interest you.”
“But, my dear Hugh, agreeing that life is short, I argue that for that very reason we should employ it in a way to prepare ourselves for the event which must occur at its termination. Its very brevity proves to me that it is only a portion, and a very small one, of our existence, and that it is given us to prepare for another and a holier state of existence. As we employ it here, so shall we be better fitted for that higher, and what may be most glorious, state.”
“Very well argued, Harry!” said Hugh; “I will consider more than I have hitherto done the plan which you say the Bible contains for man’s redemption from the sinful and rebellious condition in which you argue he lives here below.”
Harry had more than once clearly placed God’s scheme of salvation before Hugh, who had listened to it with a dull, if not inattentive ear.
Hugh, however, went back into the world to enjoy its amusements, and to attend to his legal duties, and did not allow Harry’s remarks to trouble him.
Arthur, meantime, took his degree, and as soon as he was of age, entered the ministry. He had, however, no interest, and was not likely to obtain preferment. He was, indeed, indifferent to it, provided he could have the opportunity of preaching the gospel, and winning souls for Christ. His worldly acquaintances declared that he had no high or lofty aims, and Hugh pitied him for being content to go through life as a humble drudge. His Christian friends considered his aims were as noble and lofty as any human being could possess. His earnest desire was to gain subjects for his Master’s kingdom. He was ready to preach the gospel at all times, and in all places, wherever he could get men to listen. He felt as earnest when pressing one poor lost sinner to accept the truth and be saved, as when addressing a large multitude, hanging on his words; and he made his way into hospitals with that object in view, looking upon the souls of the humble and wretched as of as much value in God’s sight as those of the rich and powerful. He was at length appointed chaplain to the prison of the county gaol, a post which many would consider as among the least hopeful for winning souls. Arthur Maitland performed his duties in no perfunctory way; he entered upon them with all the zeal which the love of souls can alone excite, influenced by God’s Holy Spirit. Here, month after month, he laboured with untiring energy. Unhappily, the prison cells were at that time always full; and many who entered them in dark ignorance, went forth rejoicing in that risen Saviour, against whose loving laws they had long been rebels. Arthur would seldom even allow himself a short visit to Mary and her husband, much as they rejoiced whenever he was able to come.
Mr Maitland continued, as heretofore, engaged in his agricultural pursuits, and as stern an opponent of the smugglers as before; he was, indeed, more than ever incensed against them, on account of a fearful outrage which had lately been committed on a Custom-house officer residing at a neighbouring village. This officer, Bursey by name, had been always a conscientious and zealous servant of Government. He had mortally offended the smugglers by his activity. On this account Mr Maitland held him in much esteem, and had constantly afforded him support. On a dark night in winter, Mr Bursey, after he had retired for some hours to bed, was aroused by a loud rapping at the door. On looking through the casement of his chamber, he perceived two men, whose countenances he could not distinguish because of the gloom of midnight. He inquired their business, when one of them informed him that he had discovered a large quantity of smuggled goods in a barn at no great distance, to which he and his companion would lead him on the promise of a certain reward. A bargain was immediately struck, and Mr Bursey, telling his wife what had occurred, and that he would soon be back, unsuspicious of danger, hastily clothed himself, and descended unarmed into the passage; and on opening the door, his brains were instantly dashed out on the threshold. The other inmates of the house were aroused, but before they could reach the hall door the murderers had fled. There could be no doubt that some members of the daring smugglers who had so long infested the neighbourhood were guilty of the murder, but who they were it seemed hopeless to discover. Every effort was made to trace them; Mr Maitland was among the most active engaged in the search. Hitherto, however, the culprits had escaped, and it was supposed that they had left the country.
All hopes of finding them had been abandoned. At first Mr Maitland, knowing the feeling of hatred he had excited against himself, though a brave man, thought it prudent to avoid riding to any distance from home after nightfall. By degrees, however, he grew less cautious; and if business called him out, he did not hesitate to delay to any hour that was convenient. He had one day gone to Christchurch, and it was somewhat late before he mounted his horse to return home. The friend he was visiting had begged him to stop till the next morning.
“If you fancy that I fear the smugglers, set your mind at rest; I am not likely to be attacked, and my mare will give them the go-bye if they attempt to do so.”
He set off. Darkness came on, and a storm of thunder and lightning that had long been brewing broke over his head. While passing through a thick part of the forest, four men suddenly sprang out on him, and a couple of bullets whistled by his head. Putting spurs to his horse, he was dashing on, when his bridle was seized, and he was dragged from his saddle. A heavy blow on the head almost stunned him, but he retained sufficient consciousness to distinguish the voice of another man who had suddenly rushed up.
“Who have you got there?” asked the new-comer.
“Old Maitland, and we will give him his deserts,” replied one of the men with a fierce oath.
“Hold! hold! don’t kill him!” cried the man.
It was too late. One of the ruffians let the butt end of his pistol fall with a tremendous blow, which made the unfortunate farmer fall helpless to the ground. A cry of horror echoed through the forest.
The murderers, satisfied that they had performed their deed of vengeance, hastened from the spot.