Wild Adventures in Wild Places
Page 1
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Wild Adventures in Wild PlacesBy Gordon StablesPublished by Cassell, Petter, Galpin & Co, London, Paris & New York.This edition dated 1881.
CHAPTER ONE.
PART I--THE MOORS AND FENS OF ENGLAND.
IN THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST--FRANK AND HIS TOAD--A DAY WITH THE HOUNDS--THE FURIES' LEAP--"THAT FOX WAS MY FATE."
There is no doubt at all that when young Frank Willoughby brought outhis book with him, and seated himself on the trunk of the old fallentree, he meant to read it; but this intention had soon been abandoned,and, at the moment our tale commences, the book lay on the grass at hisfeet, and Frank was dreaming. He was not asleep, not a bit of it; hiseyes were as wide open as yours or mine are at this moment; but therewas a far-away look in them, and you could tell by the cloud that seemedto hang on his lowered brow that his thoughts were none of thepleasantest. He was not alone, at least not quite, for, not a yard awayfrom his feet, there sat gazing up into his face--why, what do youthink? A great toad! Do not start; men in solitude have taken up withstranger companions than this. And Frank was solitary, or at least heconceived himself to be so; and day after day he left his home on theborders of the great forest of Epping, and wandered down here into thedepths of the wood, and seated himself idly on that log as we see himnow. The toad had come to know him, and he to know the toad. He evenbrought crumbs for him, which the batrachian never failed to discuss,and seemed to enjoy. So the two took a kindly interest in each other'swelfare.
On this particular forenoon the summer sun was very bright; it shimmereddown through the trees like a shower of gold, it glittered on thegrass-stems, it brightened the petals of the wild flowers, and burnishedthe backs of myriads of beetles, as they opened their cloaks and triedto fly in it. No wonder that on this glorious morning the birds sang inevery tree, and that the happy hum of insect life was everywhere around.
"Well, old gentleman," said Frank at last, addressing the toad, "you arelike myself, I think; you are not over happy."
"Pooh!" the toad seemed to reply. "I'm enjoying the sunshine and thefree, fresh air, ain't I? My house isn't many yards round the corner.I'm a jolly old bachelor, that's what I am, and there's no life like it.No, I'm not unhappy, if you are. Pooh!"
"Heigho!" sighed Frank.
But list! There is some one singing, some one hidden at present by thetrees, but evidently coming nearer and nearer to where Frank issitting--a rich, mellow, manly voice; and the song comes directly fromthe heart, that you can easily tell, and from a gladsome heart, too, andone in unison with the freshness and brightness to be seen on everyhand--
"I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forests green. With bended bow and bloodhound free; For that's the life that's meet for me."
Next moment, brushing the boughs aside, a tall, handsome young man ofsome five-and-twenty years appeared upon the scene. Brown he was as tobeard and whiskers, bronzed as to cheeks and brow, and clear in eye as alittle child.
"Why, Chisholm!" cried Frank, starting up and grasping his friend'sextended hand.
"Why, Frank!" cried Chisholm, "you terrible old recluse; and so I havefound you at last, have I? Fairly ferreted you out. Sit down, old man,and give an account of yourself."
"Well, you see," said Willoughby, "I--I want to go up for my degree, andI--the fact is I've been reading."
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Chisholm, laughing till the forest rang again."Been reading, have you?" As he spoke he kicked the book that lay onthe grass. "Been reading Byron--ha, ha, ha! I do believe the boy's inlove."
Young Frank turned red all over.
"Why, how do you know?" he said, "and how did you find me out, here inthe forest? Chisholm, you're a wizard, or something worse."
"Been to your father's house, dear boy," replied Chisholm, explaining."Splendid fellow, your father, by the way. Enjoyed some rare sport andfun--but missed you sadly, you may be sure; but your father told meeverything. `My young rascal,'--these are his very words, Frank--`myyoung rascal,' he said, `has fallen in love, and wants to marry rightaway; of course I couldn't give my consent, because he is only a boy,you know, so he went into a pet, and has taken lodgings somewhere on theborders of Epping Forest, under the pretence of reading.' And that,Frank, was the only clue to your whereabouts that I could get; but yousee I've found you, my boy. And now tell me all about it."
"A most modest request, I do declare," said Frank, with a smile; "butnever mind, I never did have a secret from you, and it may do me good tounburden my mind."
"That it will," said Chisholm; "but before you begin just pitch Byron atthat ugly toad there, will you?"
"That I certainly won't; he has been my only companion for weeks."
"Well, well, well," said Chisholm, "buried in the depths of EppingForest, his only companion a toad, the once gay and jolly FrankWilloughby. Why you must be _deeply_ in love."
"I am, and that is a fact, and if you only saw the object of myaffections, I do not think you would wonder much. She is--"
"Now Frank, dear boy," Chisholm said, "I must apologise for interruptingyou; but pray do not begin to dilate on the charms of your fairenslaver. I know she must be everything that is good and beautiful,else she never could have captivated you. Just tell me how it happened,and where it happened."
"It happened down in Wales," replied Frank, "that is _where_ ithappened; but the day, Chisholm, that was big with my fate, was a daywith the hounds. You know how fond I am of hunting, don't you?"
"I know," said Chisholm, laughing, "that there used not to be a betterman than yourself, Frank, in the field; that you crossed the verystiffest country at the very heels of the hounds, and though you oftensaid you didn't like to see a poor fox broken up, you managed,nevertheless, to be always in at the death. That is what you _used_ tobe, my boy. What you are now may be quite another thing, since a ladyhas come to be woven up in the web of your history. Remember the storyof Hercules, Frank."
"Oh! bother Hercules," cried Frank impatiently; "pray let me get on withmy own story."
"Heave round then," said Chisholm.
"Well, then, when I arrived this year, early in spring, back from mylittle trip to Malta, I brought with me a letter of introduction toGeneral Lyell, of Penmawhr Castle, in Brecknockshire. He keeps a nicelittle pack of smallish foxhounds--oh! such rare ones for a run--theycan puzzle out the coldest scent, and when they find, they follow insuch beautiful form, that it seems to me you could cover the pack withthe mainsail of my father's yacht."
"Go on," cried Chisholm, "you're warming to your subject; there's lifein you yet."
"You may be sure," continued Frank, "that I did not take long to forwardmy letter, and in due course an invitation followed. `Hounds meet atthe Three Cross Roads,' ran the epistle, `on Tuesday, the 9th. Come andspend the Easter holidays with us, and take us as you find us.' Therewere three clear days before the 9th, but my impatience would not let mewait. I sent Bob, my man, down with my mare the next morning, andfollowed on the same evening. My man had chosen the best inn in thevillage, for I meant to meet the general for the first time with thehounds, and show him what sort of metal my mare and I were made of.
"Next morning, to my sorrow, the ground was hard with frost, the skyclear and blue, and the wind blowing high from the east. The day afterthere was no improvement, and my heart sank to zero; but my spirits rosethat day, because down went the glass, and the wind veered round toabout a south and by west. The sunset was a gorgeous one, and longafter the god of day had sunk behind the hills, crimson clouds lyingalong in a sky of palest, purest yellow, shading off into the blue domeabove, where bright stars shone, gave token of a beautiful to-mo
rrow. Iwas up betimes, you may be certain, and found to my joy that a littlerain had fallen. I ate a huntsman's breakfast, and then dressed. Idonned a new coat of scarlet--in fact, it was so new that I felt ashamedof it, and had half a mind to make Bob splash it a bit with mud. It waswell splashed before night, I can tell you.
"The meet wasn't a large one, but men and hounds and horses all lookedas if they had plenty of go in them, and they required it too. Thecountry is a rough, rolling one, and there is no want of stone fences;so you need pith and pluck if you'd keep the hounds in view.
"Not knowing any one, I