CHAPTER XV.
It was now very dark, as there was no moon, and the stars were oftenobscured by the clouds, which were heavy and borne along by the wind,which was very high. The light again appeared, and this time Edwardheard the clash of the flint against the steel, and he was quitecertain that it was somebody striking a light. He advanced verycautiously, and arrived at a large tree, behind which he remained toreconnoiter. The people, whoever they might be, were not more thanthirty yards from him; a light spread its rays for a moment or two, andhe could make out a figure kneeling and holding his hat to protect itfrom the wind; then it burned brighter, and he saw that a lantern hadbeen lighted, and then again, of a sudden, all was dark: so Edwardimmediately satisfied himself that a dark lantern had been lighted andthen closed. Who the parties might be, he of course had no idea; but hewas resolved that he would ascertain, if he could, before he accostedthem and asked his way.
"They have no dog," thought Edward, "or it would have growled beforethis; and it's lucky that I have none either." Edward then crept softlynearer to them: the wind, which was strong, blew from where they wereto where Edward stood, so that there was less chance of their hearinghis approach.
Edward went on his hands and knees, and crawled through the fern untilhe gained another tree, and within ten yards of them, and from where hecould hear what they might say. He was thus cautious, as he had beentold by Oswald that there were many disbanded soldiers who had taken uptheir quarters in the forest, and had committed several depredationsupon the houses adjacent to it, always returning to the forest as arendezvous. Edward listened, and heard one say--
"It is not time yet! No, no: too soon by half an hour or more. Thepeople from Lymington, who buy him what he wants, always bring it tohim at night, that his retreat may not be discovered. They sometimes donot leave the cottage till two hours after dark, for they do not leaveLymington to go there till it is dark."
"Do you know who it is who supplies him with food?"
"Yes, the people at the inn in Parliament-street--I forget the sign."
"Oh, I know. Yes, the landlord is a downright Malignant in his heart!We might squeeze him well, if we dared show ourselves in Lymington."
"Yes, but they would squeeze our necks tighter than would be agreeable,I expect," replied the other.
"Are you sure that he has money?"
"Quite sure; for I peeped through the chinks of the window-shutters,and I saw him pay for the things brought to him; it was from a canvasbag, and it was gold that he took out."
"And where did he put the bag after he had paid them?"
"That I can't tell, for, as I knew that they would come out as soon asthey were paid, I was obliged to beat a retreat, lest I should be seen."
"Well, then, how is it to be managed?"
"We must first tap at the door, and try if we can get in as benightedtravelers; if that won't do--and I fear it will not--while you remainbegging for admittance at the door, and keep him occupied, I will trythe door behind, that leads into the garden; and if not the door, Iwill try the window. I have examined them both well, and have beenoutside when he has shut up his shutters, and I know the fastenings.With a pane out, I could open them immediately."
"Is there any body else besides him in the cottage?"
"Yes, a lad who attends him, and goes to Lymington for him."
"No women?"
"Not one."
"But do you think we two are sufficient? Had we not better get morehelp? There is Broom, and Black the gipsy, at the rendezvous. I can gofor them, and be back in time; they are stout and true."
"Stout enough, but not true. No, no, I want no sharers in thisbusiness, and you know how ill they behaved in the last affair. I'llswear that they only produced half the swag. I like honor betweengentlemen and soldiers; and that's why I have chosen you. I know I cantrust you, Benjamin. It's time now--what do you say? We are two to one,for I count the boy as nothing. Shall we start?"
"I am with you. You say there's a bag of gold, and that's worthfighting for."
"Yes, Ben, and I'll tell you: with what I've got buried, and my shareof that bag, I shall have enough, I think; and I'll start for the LowCountries, for England's getting rather too warm for me."
"Well, I shan't go yet," replied Benjamin. "I don't like your foreignparts; they have no good ale, and I can't understand their talk. I'dsooner remain in jolly old England with a halter twisted ready for me,than pass my life with such a set of chaps, who drink nothing butscheidam, and wear twenty pair of breeches. Come, let's be off; if weget the money, you shall go to the Low Countries, Will, and I'll startfor the North, where they don't know me; for if you go, I won't stayhere."
The two men then rose up; and the one whose name appeared to be Willfirst examined if the candle in his dark lantern burned well; and thenthey both set off, followed by Edward, who had heard quite enough tosatisfy him that they were bent upon a burglary, if not murder. Edwardfollowed them, so as to keep their forms indistinctly in sight, whichwas as much as he could do at twenty yards' distance; fortunately thewind was so high that they did not hear his footsteps, although heoften trod upon a rotten stick, which snapped as it broke in twain. Asnear as Edward could guess, he had tracked them about three miles, whenthey stopped, and he perceived that they were examining their pistols,which they took from their belts. They then went on again, and entereda small plantation of oak-trees, of about forty years' growth--verythick and very dark, with close underwood below. They followed eachother through a narrow path, until they came to a cleared place in themiddle of the plantation, in which there stood a low cottage,surrounded with covert on every side, with the exception of some thirtyyards of land around it. All was still, and as dark as pitch; Edwardremained behind the trees, and when the two men again stopped, he wasnot six feet from them. They consulted in a low tone but the wind wasso high that he could not distinguish what they said. At last theyadvanced to the cottage, and Edward, still keeping within the trees,shifted his position, so that he should be opposite the gable end ofthe cottage. He observed one man to go up to the front door, while theother went round to the door behind, as had been agreed. Edward threwopen the pan of the lock of the gun, and reprimed it, that he might besure, and then waited for what was to follow. He heard the man Will atthe front door, talking and asking for shelter in a plaintive but loudvoice; and shortly afterward he perceived a light through the chinks ofthe shutters--for Edward was continually altering his position to seewhat was going on in the front and in the back. At one time, he thoughtof leveling his gun and killing one of the men at once; but he couldnot make up his mind to do that, as a burglary, although intended, hadnot yet been committed; so he remained passive until the attack wasreally made, when he resolved that he would come to the rescue. Aftersome minutes of entreaty that they would open the door, the man infront commenced thumping and beating against it, as if he would makethem open the door by force; but this was to attract the attention ofthose within, and divert it from the attempts that the other was makingto get in behind. Edward was aware of this; he now kept his eye uponwhat was going on at the back. Advancing nearer--which he ventured todo now that both the men were so occupied--he perceived that the fellowhad contrived to open the window close to the back door, and wasremaining quite close to it with a pistol in his hand, apparently notwishing to run the risk of climbing in. Edward slipped under the eavesof the cottage, not six feet from the man, who remained with his backpartly turned to him. Edward then, finding he had obtained thisposition unperceived, crouched down with his gun ready pointed.
As Edward remained in this position, he heard a shrill voice cry out,"They are getting in behind!" and a movement in cottage. The man nearhim, who had his pistol in his hand, put his arm through the window andfired inside. A shriek was given, and Edward fired his gun into thebody of the man, who immediately fell. Edward lost no time in reloadinghis gun, during which he heard the bursting open of the front door andthe report of firearms; then all was silent for a moment, excepting th
ewailing of somebody within. As soon as his gun was reloaded, Edwardwalked round to the front of the cottage, where he found the man whowas called Ben, lying across the threshold of the open door. He steppedacross the body, and, looking into the room within, perceived a bodystretched on the floor, and a young lad weeping over it.
"Don't be alarmed, I am a friend," said Edward, going in to where thebody lay; and, taking the light which was at the farther end of thechamber, he placed it on the floor, that he might examine the state ofthe person, who was breathing heavily, and apparently badly wounded."Rise up, my lad," said Edward, "and let me see if I can be of any use."
"Ah, no!" cried the boy, throwing back his long hair from his temples,"he bleeds to death!"
"Bring me some water, quick," said Edward, "there's a good lad, while Isee where he is hurt."
The boy ran up to fetch the water, and Edward discovered that the ballhad entered the neck above the collar-bone, and that the blood pouredout of the man's mouth, who was choking with the effusion. Althoughignorant of surgery, Edward thought that such a wound must be mortal;but the man was not only alive but sensible, and although he could notutter a word, he spoke with his eyes and with signs. He raised his handand pointed to himself first, and shook his head, as if to say that itwas all over with him; and then he turned round his head, as if lookingfor the lad, who was now returning with the water. When the lad againknelt by his side, weeping bitterly, the man pointed to him, and gavesuch an imploring look that Edward immediately comprehended what hewished: it was to ask protection for the boy. It could not bemisunderstood, and could Edward do otherwise than promise it to thedying man? His generous nature could not refuse it, and he said, "Iunderstand you; you wish me to take care of your boy when you are gone.Is it not so?"
The man signified assent.
"I promise you I will do so. I will take him into my own family, and heshall share with us."
The man raised his hand again, and a gleam of joy passed over hisfeatures, as he took the hand of the lad and put it into that ofEdward. His eyes were then fixed upon Edward as if to scrutinize intohis character by his features, while the former bathed his temples andwashed the blood from his mouth with the water brought by the boy, whoappeared in a state of grief so violent as to paralyze his senses.After a minute or two, another effusion of blood choked the woundedman, who, after a short struggle, fell back dead.
"He is gone!" thought Edward, "and now what is to be done? I must firstascertain whether the two villains are dead or not. Edward took a lightand examined the body of Ben, lying over the threshold of the door; theman was quite dead, the ball having entered his brain. He wasproceeding round the outside of the cottage to examine the state of theother man, whom he had shot himself; but the wind nearly blew out thelight, and he therefore returned to the chamber and placed it on thefloor, near to where the boy lay insensible over the corpse of the manwho had died in the arms of Edward; and then went out without a light,and with his gun, to the other side of the cottage, where the otherrobber had fallen. As he approached the man, a faint voice was heard tosay--
"Ben, Ben! some water, for the love of God! Ben, I'm done for!"
Edward, without giving an answer, went back to the room for the water,which he took round to the man, and put it to his lips; he felt that hewas bound by humanity so to do to a dying man, scoundrel though hemight be. It was still dark, but not so dark as it had previously been,for the late moon was just rising.
The man drank the water eagerly, and said, "Ben, I can speak now, but Ishan't long." He then pulled the basin toward him again, and after hehad drank, ho said, in broken sentences, "I feel--that I'm bleeding--todeath--inside." Then he paused. "You know the oak--struck bylightning--a mile north--of this. Oh! I'm going fast. Three yards fromit south--I buried all my--money; it's yours. Oh! another drink!" Theman again attempted to drink out of the basin proffered by Edward, butas he made the attempt, he fell back with a groan.
Edward perceiving that he was dead, returned to the cottage to lookafter the lad, who still remained prostrate and embracing the corpse inthe chamber. Edward then reflected upon what had best be done. After atime, he decided upon dragging away the body of the robber named Benoutside of the threshold, and then securing the door. This, with sometrouble, he effected, and he then made fast the window that had beenforced open behind. Before he removed the boy, who lay with his faceburied on the corpse, and appeared to be in a state of insensibility,Edward examined the corpse as it lay. Although plainly dressed, yet itwas evident that it was not the body of a rustic; the features werefair, and the beard was carefully cut; the hands were white, and thefingers long, and evidently had never been employed in labor. That thebody was that of some superior person disguised as a rustic, wasevident, and this was corroborated by the conversation which took placebetween the two robbers. "Alas!" thought Edward, "the family of Arnwoodappear not to be the only people who are in disguise in this forest.That poor boy! he must not remain there." Edward looked round, andperceived that there was a bed in the adjoining room, the door of whichwas open; he lifted up the boy, and carried him, still insensible, intothe room, and laid him on the bed. He then went for some more water,which he found and threw into his face, and poured a little into hismouth. Gradually the boy stirred, and recovered from his stupor, andthen Edward held the water to his mouth, and made him drink some, whichhe did; and then, suddenly aroused to a recollection of what hadpassed, the boy gave a shriek of woe, and burst into a paroxysm oftears. This ended in convulsive sobbings and low moanings. Edward feltthat he could do no more at present, and that it would be better if hewas left for a time to give vent to his grief. Edward sat down on astool by the side of the orphan, and remained for some time in deep andmelancholy thought. "How strange," thought he at last, "it is, that Ishould feel so little as I do now, surrounded by death, compared towhat I did when good old Jacob Armitage died! Then I felt it deeply,and there was an awe in death. Now I no longer dread it. Is it becauseI loved the good old man, and felt that I had lost a friend? No, thatcan not be the cause; I may have felt more grief, but not awe or dread.Or is it because that was the first time that I had seen death, and itis the first sight of death which occasions awe? or is it because thatevery day I have fancied myself on the battle-field, with hundredslying dead and wounded around me, in my dreamings? I know not. Poor oldJacob died peaceably in his bed, like a good Christian and trusting,after a blameless life, to find mercy through his Savior. Two of thesewho are now dead, out of the three, have been, summoned away in theheight of their wickedness, and in the very commission of crime; thethird has been foully murdered, and out of three lying dead, one hasfallen by my own hand, and yet I feel not so much as when I attendedthe couch, and listened to the parting words of a dying Christian! Icannot account for it, or reason why; I only know that it is so, and Inow look upon death unconcerned. Well, this is a kind of preparationfor the wholesale murder and horrors of the battlefield, which I haveso long sighed for: God forgive me if I am wrong! And this poor boy! Ihave promised to protect him, and I will. Could I fail my promise, Ishould imaging the spirit of his father (as I presume he was) lookingdown and upbraiding me. No, no, I will protect him. I and my brotherand sisters have been preserved and protected, and I were indeed vileif I did not do to others as I have been done by. And now let mereflect what is to be done. I must not take the boy away, and bury thebodies; this person has friends at Lymington, and they will come here.The murder has taken place in the forest: then I must let the intendantknow what has occurred. I will send over to Oswald; Humphrey shall go.Poor fellow! what a state of anxiety must he and my little sisters bein, at my not returning home! I had quite forgotten that, but it cannot be helped. I will wait till sunrise, and then see if the boy willbe more himself, and probably from him I shall be able to find out whatpart of the forest I am in."
Edward took up the candle and went into the room in which he had laidthe boy on the bed. He found him in a sound sleep. "Poor fellow," saidEdward, "he has for a time forgo
tten his misery. What a beautiful boyhe is! I long to know his history. Sleep on, my poor fellow! it will doyou service."
Edward then returned to the other room, and recollected, or, rather,was reminded, that he had had no supper, and it was now nearly dawn ofday. He looked into a cupboard and found plenty of provisions, and someflasks of wine. "I have earned my supper," thought he, "and I will not,therefore, deny myself." So ho brought out the viands and a flask ofwine, and made a hearty meal. "It is long since I have tasted wine,"thought he, "and it maybe long ere I drink it again. I have littlerelish for it now: it is too fiery to the palate. I recollect, when achild, how my father used to have me at the table, and give me a stoupof claret, which I could hardly lift to my lips, to drink to the healthof the king." The memory of the king raised other thoughts in Edward'smind, and he again sunk into one of his reveries, which lasted till hefell into a slumber. When he woke up, it was at the voice of the boy,who in his sleep had cried out "Father!" Edward started up, and foundthat the sun was an hour high, and that he must have slept some time.He gently opened the cottage door, looked at the bodies of the two men,and then walked out to survey the locality of the cottage, which he hadbut faintly made out during the night. He found that it was surroundedby a thicket of trees and underwood, so close and thick that thereappeared to him no outlet in any direction. "What a place forconcealment!" thought Edward, "but still these prowling thievesdiscovered it. Why, troops of horse might scour the forest for months,and never discover such a hiding-place." Edward walked round by theside of the thicket, to find out the track by which the robbers hadentered when he followed them, and at last succeeded in doing so. Hefollowed the path through the thicket until he was clear of it, andagain in the forest; but the scenery outside was unknown to him, and hehad not an idea as to what part of the forest it was in. "I mustquestion the boy," thought Edward. "I will go back and wake him up, forit is time that I was moving." As he was again turning into thethicket, he heard a dog giving tongue, as if on a scent. It came nearerand nearer to him, and Edward remained to see what it might be. In amoment more, he perceived his own dog, Smoker, come bounding out of aneighboring copse, followed by Humphrey and Pablo. Edward hallooed.Smoker sprung toward him, leaping up, and loading him with caresses,and in another moment he was in Humphrey's arms.
"Oh, Edward, let me first thank God!" said Humphrey, as the tearsstarted and rolled down his cheeks. "What a night we have passed! Whathas happened? That dear fellow, Pablo, thought of putting Smoker on thescent; he brought out your jacket and showed it to Smoker, and gave ithim to smell, and then led him along till he was on your footsteps; andthe dog followed him, it seems, although it has been round and round inevery direction, till at last he has brought us to you."
Edward shook hands with Pablo, and thanked him. "How far are we fromthe cottage, Humphrey?"
"About eight miles, I should say, Edward; not more."
"Well, I have much to tell you, and I must tell it to you in few wordsbefore I go farther, and afterward I will tell you all in detail."
Edward then gave a succinct narration of what had occurred, and, havingthus prepared Humphrey and Pablo for what they were to see, led the wayback through the thicket to the cottage inside of it. Humphrey andPablo were much shocked at the scene of slaughter which presenteditself to their eyes; and, after having viewed the bodies, they beganto consult what had best be done.
The proposal of Edward, that Humphrey should go over and make known thecircumstances to Oswald, that they might be communicated to theintendant, was readily acceded to; and Pablo, it was agreed, should gohome and tell Alice and Edith that Edward was safe.
"But now, Humphrey, about this boy; we can not leave him here."
"Where is he?"
"He still sleeps, I believe. The question is, whether you should rideover with the pony, or walk, and leave Pablo to return with the ponyand cart; for I will not take the boy away, or leave the house myself,without removing the property which belongs to the boy, and of which Iwill make inquiry when he awakes. Besides, there is money, by what therobbers stated in my hearing, which of course must be taken care of forhim."
"I think it will be best for me to walk over, Edward. If I ride, Ishould arrive too late in the afternoon for any thing to be done tillnext morning, and if I walk I shall be in time enough; so that issettled. Besides, it will give you more time to remove the boy'sproperty, which, as his father was in all probability a Malignant, anddenounced man, they might think right to secure for the government."
"Very true; then be it so. Do you start for the intendant's; and,Pablo, go home and fetch the pony and cart, while I remain here withthe boy, and get every thing ready."
Humphrey and Pablo both set off, and then Edward went to waken the boy,still lying on the bed.
"Come, you must get up now. You know that what's done can not beundone; and if you are a good boy, and have read the Bible, you mustknow that we must submit to the will of God, who is our kind father inheaven."
"Ah me!" said the boy, who was awake when Edward went to him; "I knowwell it is my duty, but it is a hard duty, and I am heartbroken. I havelost my father, the only friend I had in the world; who is there tolove and to cherish me now? What will become of me!"
"I promised your father, before he died, that I would take care of you,my poor fellow; and a promise is sacred with me, even if it were notmade to a dying man. I will do my best, depend upon it, for I haveknown myself what it is to want and to find a protector. You shall livewith me and my brother and sisters, and you shall have all we have."
"Have you sisters, then?" replied the boy.
"Yes; I have sent for the cart to take you away from this, and to-nightyou shall be in our cottage; but now tell me--I do not ask who yourfather was, or why he was living here in secret, as I found it out bywhat I overheard the robbers say to one another--but how long have youlived here?"
"More than a year."
"Whose cottage is it?"
"My father bought it when he came, as he thought it safer so, that hemight not be discovered or betrayed; for he had escaped from prisonafter having been condemned to death by the Parliament."
"Then he was a loyal man to his king?"
"Yes, he was, and that was his only crime."
"Then fear not, my good boy; we are all loyal as well as he was, andwill never be otherwise. I tell you this that you may safely trust tous. Now, if the cottage was his, the furniture and property were hisalso?"
"Yes, all was his."
"And it is now yours, is it not?"
"I suppose so," said the boy, bursting into tears.
"Then listen to me: your father is safe from all persecution now; heis, I trust, in heaven; and you they can not touch, as you have donenothing to offend them; but still they will take possession of yourfather's property as soon as they know of his death, and find out whohe was. This, for your sake I wish to prevent them from doing, and havetherefore sent for the cart, that I may remove to my cottage everything that is of value, that it may be held for your benefit; some dayor another you may require it. The murder having been committed in theforest, and I having been a witness and, moreover, having shot one ofthe robbers, I have considered it right to send to the intendant of theforest, to give him notice of what has taken place within hisjurisdiction. I do not think he is so bad a man as the rest; but still,when he comes here, he may consider it his duty to take possession ofevery thing for the Parliament, as I have no doubt such are his orders,or will be when he communicates with the Parliament. Now this is arobbery which I wish to prevent, by carrying away your property beforethey come over, which they will to-morrow; and I propose that you shallaccompany me, with all that you can take away, or that may be useful,this evening."
"You are very kind," replied the boy. "I will do all you wish, but Ifeel very weak, and very unwell."
"You must exert yourself, for your own sake, my poor fellow. Come, now,sit up and put all your own clothes together. Collect every thing inthis room, while I look about
the house. And tell me, had not yourfather some money? for the robbers said that they saw him counting itout of a sack, through the chinks of the shutters, and that was whythey made the attack."
"Hateful money!" cried the boy. "Yes, he had, I believe, a great dealof money; but I can not say how much."
"Now get up, and do as I request, my dear boy," said Edward, raisinghim up in his arms; "when your grief is lessened, you may have manyhappy days yet in store for you; you have a Father in heaven that youmust put your trust in, and with him you will find peace."
The boy rose up, and Edward closed the door of the chamber that hemight not see his father's corpse.
"I do put my trust in Heaven, good sir," replied the boy; "for it hasalready sent me a kind friend in my distress. You are good, I am sure;I see that in your face. Alas! how much more wretched would have beenmy condition if you had not fortunately come to our assistance! toolate indeed to save my poor father, but not too late to succor andconsole his child. I will go away with you, for I can not stay here."
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