The Children of the New Forest - Frederick Marryat (book recommendations based on other books TXT) 📗

higher game.” “I feel the same as you do,” replied Humphrey: “but recollect, Edward, that the old man’s very infirm, and what would become of our sisters if we were to leave them?”

“I know that well, Humphrey—I have no idea of leaving them, you may be sure; but I wish they were with our relations in safety, and then we should be free to act.”

“Yes, we should, Edward; but recollect that we are not yet men, and boys of fifteen and thirteen can not do much, although they may wish to do much.”

“It’s true that I am only fifteen,” replied Edward, “but I am strong enough, and so are you. I think if I had a fair cut at a man’s head I would make him stagger under it, were he as big as a buffalo. As young as I have been to the wars, that I know well; and I recollect my father promising me that I should go with him as soon as I was fifteen.”

“What puzzles me,” replied Humphrey, “is, the fear that old Jacob has of our being seen at Lymington.”

“Why, what fear is there?”

“I can not tell more than you; in my opinion, the fear is only in his own imagination. They surely would not hurt us (if we walked about without arms like other people) because our father had fought for the king? That they have beheaded some people it is true, but then they were plotting in the king’s favor, or in other ways opposed to Parliament. This I have gathered from Jacob: but I can not see what we have to fear if we remain quiet. But now comes the question, Edward, for Jacob has, I believe, said more to me on one subject than he has to you. Suppose you were to leave the forest, what would be the first step which you would take?”

“I should, of course, state who I was, and take possession of my father’s property at Arnwood, which is mine by descent.”

“Exactly; so Jacob thinks, and he says that would be your ruin, for the property is sequestered, as they call it, or forfeited to the Parliament, in consequence of your father having fought against it on the king’s side. It no longer belongs to you, and you would not be allowed to take it: on the contrary, you would, in all probability, be imprisoned, and who knows what might then take place? You see there is danger.”

“Did Jacob say this to you?”

“Yes, he did: he told me he dare not speak to you on the subject, you were so fiery; and if you heard that the property was confiscated, you would certainly do some rash act, and that any thing of the kind would be a pretense for laying hold of you; and then he said that he did not think that he would live long, for he was weaker every day; and that he only hoped his life would be spared another year or two, that he might keep you quiet till better times came. He said that if they supposed that we were all burned in the house when it was fired, it would give them a fair opportunity of calling you an impostor and treating you accordingly, and that there were so many anxious to have a gift of the property, that you would have thousands of people compassing your death. He said that your making known yourself and claiming your property would be the very conduct that your enemies would wish you to follow, and would be attended with most fatal consequences; for he said, to prove that you were Edward Beverley, you must declare that I and your sisters were in the forest with him, and this disclosure would put the whole family in the power of their bitterest enemies; and what would become of your sisters, it would be impossible to say, but most likely they would be put under the charge of some Puritan family who would have a pleasure in ill-treating and humiliating the daughters of such a man as Colonel Beverley.”

“And why did he not tell me all this?”

“He was afraid to say any thing to you; he thought that you would be so mad at the idea of this injustice that you would do something rash: and he said, I pray every night that my otherwise useless life may be spared; for, were I to die, I know that Edward would quit the forest.”

“Never, while my sisters are under my protection,” replied Edward; “were they safe, I would be out of it tomorrow.”

“I think, Edward, that there is great truth in what Jacob says; you could do no good (for they would not restore your property) by making your seclusion known at present, and you might do a great deal of harm—‘bide your time’ is good advice in such troubled times. I therefore think that I should be very wary if I were you; but I still think that there is no fear of either you or I going out of the forest, in our present dresses and under the name of Armitage. No one would recognize us; you are grown tall and so am I, and we are so tanned and sunburned with air and exercise, that we do look more like Children of the Forest than the sons of Colonel Beverley.”

“Humphrey, you speak very sensibly, and I agree with you. I am not quite so fiery as the old man thinks; and if my bosom burns with indignation, at all events I have sufficient power to conceal my feelings when it is necessary; I can oppose art to art, if it becomes requisite, and which, from what you have said, I believe now is really so. One thing is certain, that while King Charles is a prisoner, as he now is, and his party dispersed and gone abroad, I can do nothing, and to make myself known would only be to injure myself and all of us. Keep quiet, therefore, I certainly shall, and also remain as I am now, under a false name; but still I must and will mix up with other people and know what is going on. I am willing to live in this forest and protect my sisters as long as it is necessary so to do; but although I will reside here, I will not be confined to the forest altogether.”

“That’s exactly what I think too, Edward—what I wish myself; but let us not be too hasty even in this. And now, I will wish you a pleasant ride; and, Edward, if you can, procure of the keepers some small shot for me; I much wish to have some.”

“I will not forget; good-by, brother.”

Humphrey returned home to attend his farmyard, while Edward continued his journey through the forest. Some estimate of the character of the two boys may be formed from the above conversation. Edward was courageous and impetuous hasty in his resolves, but still open to conviction. Brought up as the heir to the property, he felt, more than Humphrey could be expected to do, the mortification of being left a pauper, after such high prospects in his early days: his vindictive feelings against the opposite party were therefore more keen, and his spirit mounted more from the conviction under which he labored. His disposition was naturally warlike, and this disposition had been fostered by his father when he was a child—still a kinder heart or a more generous lad never existed.

Humphrey was of a much more subdued and philosophical temperament, not perhaps so well calculated to lead as to advise; there was great prudence in him united with courage, but his was a passive courage rather than an active one—a courage which, if assailed, would defend itself valiantly, but would be wary and reflective before it would attack. Humphrey had not that spirit of chivalry possessed by Edward. He was a younger son, and had to earn, in a way, his own fortune, and he felt that his inclinations were more for peace than strife. Moreover, Humphrey had talents which Edward had not—a natural talent for mechanics, and an inquisitive research into science, as far as his limited education would permit him. He was more fitted for an engineer or an agriculturist than for a soldier, although there is no doubt that he would have made a very brave soldier, if such was to have become his avocation.

For kindness and generosity of nature he was equal to his brother, and this was the reason why an angry word never passed between them; for the question between them was not which should have his way, but which should give up most to the wishes of the other. We hardly need say, that there never were two brothers who were more attached, and who so mutually respected each other.

 

CHAPTER VIII.

 

Edward put the pony to a trot, and in two hours was on the other side of the New Forest. The directions given to him by Jacob were not forgotten, and before it was noon he found himself at the gate of the keeper’s house. Dismounting, and hanging the bridle of the pony over the rail, he walked through a small garden, neatly kept, but, so early in the year, not over gay, except that the crocus and snowdrops were peeping. He rapped at the door with his knuckles, and a girl of about fourteen, very neatly dressed, answered the summons.

“Is Oswald Partridge at home, maiden,” said Edward.

“No, young man, he is not. He is in the forest?”

“When will he return?”

“Toward the evening is his time, unless he is more than usually successful.”

“I have come some distance to find him,” replied Edward; “and it would vex me to return without seeing him. Has he a wife, or any one that I could speak to?”

“He has no wife; but I am willing to deliver a message.”

“I am come about some dogs which he promised to Jacob Armitage, my relation; but the old man is too unwell, and has been for some time, to come himself for them, and he has sent me.”

“There are dogs, young and old, large and small, in the kennels; so far do I know, and no more.”

“I fear, then, I must wait till his return,” replied Edward.

“I will speak to my father,” replied the young girl, “if you will wait one moment.”

In a minute or two the girl returned, saying that her father begged that he would walk in, and he would speak with him. Edward bowed, and followed the young girl, who led the way to a room, in which was seated a man dressed after the fashion of the Roundheads of the day. His steeple-crowned hat lay on the chair, with his sword beneath it. He was sitting at a table covered with papers.

“Here is the youth, father,” said the girl; and having said this, she crossed the room and took a seat by the side of the fire. The man, or we should rather say gentleman—for he had the appearance of one, notwithstanding the somber and peculiar dress he wore, continued to read a letter which he had just opened; and Edward, who feared himself the prisoner of a Roundhead, when he only expected to meet a keeper, was further irritated by the neglect shown toward him by the party. Forgetting that he was, by his own assertion, not Edward Beverley, but the relative of one Jacob Armitage, he colored up with anger as he stood at the door. Fortunately the time that it took the other party to read through the letter gave Edward also time for recollecting the disguise under which he appeared; the color subsided from his cheeks, and he remained in silence, occasionally