The Children of the New Forest, Frederick Marryat [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

himself as he walked along; “and she is of a grateful disposition, or she would not have behaved as she has done toward me—supposing me to be of mean birth;” and then he thought of what she had told him relative to her father, and Edward felt his animosity against a Roundhead wasting fast away. “I am not likely to see her again very soon,” thought Edward, “unless, indeed, I am brought to the intendant as a prisoner.” Thus thinking upon, one subject or another, Edward had gained above eight miles of his journey across the forest, when he thought that he was sufficiently far away to venture to look out for some venison. Remembering there was a thicket not far from him in which there was a clear pool of water, Edward thought it very likely that he might find a stag there cooling himself, for the weather was now very warm at noonday. He therefore called Holdfast to him, and proceeded cautiously toward the thicket. As soon as he arrived at the spot, he crouched and crept silently through the underwood. At last he arrived close to the cleared spot by the pool. There was no stag there, but fast asleep upon the turf lay James Corbould, the sinister-looking verderer who had accosted him in the forest on the previous day. Holdfast was about to bark, when Edward silenced him, and then advanced to where the verderer was lying; and who, having no dog with him to give notice of Edward’s approach, still remained snoring with the sun shining on his face. Edward perceived that his gun was under him on the grass, he took it up, gently opened the pan and scattered the powder, and then laid it down again—for Edward said to himself, “That man has come out after me, that I am certain; and as there are no witnesses, he may be inclined to be mischievous, for a more wretched-looking person I never saw. Had he been deer-hunting, he would have brought his dog; but he is man-hunting, that is evident. Now I will leave him, and should he fall in with anything, he will not kill at first shot, that’s certain; and if he follows me, I shall have the same chance of escape as anything else he may fire at.” Edward then walked out of the covert, thinking that if ever there was a face which proclaimed a man to be a murderer, it was that of James Corbould. As he was threading his way, he heard the howl of a dog, and on looking round, perceived that Holdfast was not with him. He turned back, and Holdfast came running to him—the fact was, that Holdfast had smelled some meat in the pocket of the verderer, and had been putting his nose in to ascertain what it was: in so doing, he had wakened up Corbould, who had saluted him with a heavy blow on the head: this occasioned the puppy to give the howl, and also occasioned Corbould to seize his gun, and follow stealthily in the track of the dog, which he well knew to be the one he had seen the day before with Edward.

Edward waited for a short time, and not perceiving that Corbould made his appearance, continued on his way home, having now given up all thoughts of killing any venison. He walked fast, and was within six miles of the cottage, when he stopped to drink at a small rill of water, and then sat down to rest himself for a short time. While so doing, he fell into one of his usual reveries, and forgot how time passed away. He was, however, aroused by a low growl on the part of Holdfast, and it immediately occurred to him that Corbould must have followed him. Thinking it as well to be prepared, he quietly loaded his gun, and then rose up to reconnoiter. Holdfast sprung forward, and Edward, looking in the direction, perceived Corbould partly hidden behind a tree, with his gun leveled at him. He heard the trigger pulled, and snap of the lock, but the gun did not go off; and then Corbould made his appearance, striking at Holdfast with the butt-end of his gun. Edward advanced to him and desired him to desist, or it would be the worse for him.

“Indeed, younker! it may be the worse for you,” cried Corbould.

“It might have been if your gun had gone off,” replied Edward.

I did not aim at you. I aimed at the dog, and I will kill the brute if I can.”

“Not without danger to yourself; but it was not him that you aimed at —your gun was not pointed low enough to hit the dog—it was leveled at me, you sneaking wretch; and I have only to thank my own prudence and your sleepy head for having escaped with my life. I tell you candidly, that I threw the powder out of your pan while you were asleep. If I served you as you deserve, I should now put my bullet into you; but I can not kill a man who is defenseless—and that saves your life; but set off as fast as you can away from me, for if you follow me I will show no more forbearance. Away with you directly,” continued Edward, raising his gun to his shoulder and pointing it at Corbould; “if you do not be off, I’ll fire.”

Corbould saw that Edward was resolute, and thought proper to comply with his request: he walked away till he considered himself out of gunshot, and then commenced a torrent of oaths and abusive language, with which we shall not offend our readers. Before he went farther, he swore that he would have Edward’s life before many days had passed, and then shaking his fist, he went away. Edward remained where he was standing till the man was fairly out of sight, and then proceeded on his journey. It was now about four o’clock in the afternoon, and Edward, as he walked on, said to himself, “That man must be of a very wicked disposition, for I have offended him in nothing except in not submitting to be made his prisoner; and is that an offense to take a man’s life for? He is a dangerous man, and will be more dangerous after being again foiled by me as he has been to-day. I doubt if he will go home; I am almost sure that he will turn and follow me when he thinks that he can without my seeing him; and if he does, he will find out where our cottage is—and who knows what mischief he may not do, and how he may alarm my little sisters? I’ll not go home till dark; and I’ll now walk in another direction, that I may mislead him.” Edward then walked away more to the north, and every half hour shifted his course so as to be walking in a very different direction from where the cottage stood. In the mean time it grew gradually dark; and as it became so, every now and then when Edward passed a large tree, he turned round behind it and looked to see if Corbould was following him. At last, just as it was dark, he perceived the figure of a man at no great distance from him, who was following him, running from tree to tree, so as to make his approach. “Oh, you are there!” thought Edward; “now will I give you a nice dance, and we will see whose legs are tired soonest. Let me see, where am I?” Edward looked round, and then perceived that he was close to the clump of trees where Humphrey had made his pitfall for the cattle, and there was a clear spot of about a quarter of a mile between it and where he now stood. Edward made up his mind, and immediately walked out to cross the clearing, calling Holdfast to heel. It was now nearly dark, for there was only the light of the stars, but still there was sufficient light to see his way. As Edward crossed the cleared spot, he once looked round and perceived that Corbould was following him, and nearer than he was before, trusting probably to the increased darkness to hide his approach. “That will do,” thought Edward; “come along, my fine fellow.” And Edward walked on till he came to the pitfall; there he stopped and looked round, and soon discovered the verderer at a hundred yards’ distance. Edward held his dog by the mouth, that he should not growl or bark, and then went on in a direction so as to bring the pitfall exactly between Corbould and himself. Having done so, he proceeded at a more rapid pace; and Corbould, following him, also increased his, till he arrived at the pitfall, which he could not perceive, and fell into it headlong; and as he fell into the pit, at the same time Edward heard the discharge of his gun, the crash of the small branches laid over it, and a cry on the part of Corbould. “That will do,” thought Edward, “now you may lie there as long as the gipsy did, and that will cool your courage. Humphrey’s pitfall is full of adventure. In this case it has done me a service. Now I may turn and go home as fast as I can. Come Holdfast, old boy, we both want our suppers. I can answer for one, for I could eat the whole of that pasty which Oswald set before me this morning.” Edward walked at a rapid pace, quite delighted at the issue of the adventure. As he arrived near to the cottage he found Humphrey outside, with Pablo, on the look-out for him. He soon joined them, and soon after embraced Alice and Edith, who had been anxiously waiting for his return, and who had wondered at his being out so late. “Give me my supper, my dear girls,” said Edward, “and then you shall know all about it.”

As soon as Edward had satisfied his craving appetite—for he had not, as my readers must recollect, eaten any thing since his departure early in the morning from the house of Oswald Partridge—he entered into a narrative of the events of the day. They all listened with great interest; and when Edward had finished, Pablo, the gipsy boy, jumped up and said,

“Now he is in the pit, tomorrow morning I take gun and shoot him.”

“No, no, Pablo, you must not do that,” replied Edward, laughing.

“Pablo,” said little Edith, “go and sit down; you must not shoot people.”

“He shoot master then,” said Pablo; “he very bad man.”

“But if you shoot him, you will be a bad boy, Pablo,” replied Edith, who appeared to have assumed an authority over him. Pablo did not appear to understand this, but he obeyed the order of his little mistress, and resumed his seat at the chimney corner.

“But, Edward,” said Humphrey, “what do you propose to do?”

“I hardly know; my idea was to let him remain there for a day or two, and then send to Oswald to let him know where the fellow was.”

“The only objection to that is,” replied Humphrey, “that you say his gun went off as he fell into the pit; it may be probable that he is wounded, and if so, he might die if he is left there.”

“You are right, Humphrey, that is possible; and I would not have the life of a fellow-creature on my conscience.”

“I think it would be advisable, Edward, that I should set off early tomorrow on the pony, and see Oswald, tell him all that has occurred, and show him where the pitfall is.”

“I believe that would be the best plan, Humphrey.”

“Yes,” said Alice, “it would be dreadful that a