The Children of the New Forest by Frederick Marryat (well read books .TXT) 📕

“Well, Edward, let us get him all right again first, and then we will see what is to be done with him; perhaps he will refuse to remain with us.”

As soon as they arrived at the cottage, they lifted the lad out of the cart, and carried him into Jacob’s room, and laid him on the bed, for he was too weak to stand.

Alice and Edith, who were much surprised at the new visitor and the way in which he had been caught, hastened to get some gruel ready for him. As soon as it was ready, they gave it to the boy, who then fell back on the bed with exhaustion, and was soon in a sound sleep. He slept soundly all that night; and the next morning, when he awoke, he appeared much better, although very hungry. This last complaint was easy to remedy, and then the lad got up, and walked into the sitting-room.

“What’s your name?” said Humphrey to the lad.

“Pablo,” replied the lad.

“Can you speak English?”

“Yes, little,” replied he.

“How did you happen to fall into the pit?”

“Not see hole.”

“Are you a gipsy?”

“Yes, gitano—same thing.”

Humphrey put a great many more questions to the lad, and elicited from him, in his imperfect English, the following particulars:

That he was in company with several others of his race, going down to the sea-coast on one of their usual migrations, and that they had pitched their tents not far from the pitfall. That during the night he had gone out to set some snares for rabbits, and going back to the tents, it being quite dark, he had fallen into the hole; that he had remained there three days and nights, having in vain attempted to get out. His mother was with the party of gipsies to which he belonged, but he had no father. He did not know where to follow the gang, as they had not said where they were going, farther than to the sea-coast. That it was no use looking for them; and that he did not care much about leaving them, as he was very unkindly treated. In reply to the question as to whether he would like to remain with them, and work with them on the farm, he replied that he should like it very much if they would be kind to him, and not make him work too hard; that he would cook the dinner, and catch them rabbits and birds, and make a great many things.

“Will you be honest, if we keep you, and not tell lies?” said Edward.

The lad thought a little while, and then nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Well, Pablo, we will try you, and if you are a good lad we will do all we can to make you happy,” said Edward; “but if you behave ill we shall be obliged to turn you out of doors: do you understand?”

“Be as good as I can,” replied Pablo; and here the conversation ended for the present.

Pablo was a very short-built lad, of apparently fifteen or sixteen years of age, very dark in complexion, but very handsome in features, with beautiful white teeth and large dark eyes; and there was certainly something in his intelligent countenance which recommended him, independent of his claim to their kindness from his having been left thus friendless in consequence of his misadventure. Humphrey was particularly pleased with and interested about him, as the lad had so nearly lost his life through his means.

“I really think, Edward,” said Humphrey, as they were standing outside of the door of the cottage, “that the lad may be very useful to us, and I sincerely hope that he may prove honest and true. We must first get him into health and spirits, and then I will see what he can do.”

“The fact is, my dear Humphrey, we can do no otherwise; he is separated from his friends, and does not know where to go. It would be inhuman, as we have been the cause of his misfortune, to turn him away; but although I feel this, I do not feel much security as to his good behavior and being very useful. I have always been told that these gipsies were vagrants, who lived by stealing all they could lay their hands upon; and, if he has been brought up in that way, I fear that he will not easily be reformed. However, we can but try, and hope for the best.”

“What you say is very just, Edward; at the same time there is an honest look about this lad, although he is a gipsy, that makes me put a sort of confidence in him. Admitting that he has been taught to do wrong, do you not think that when told the contrary he may be persuaded to do right?”

“It is not impossible, certainly,” replied Edward; “but, Humphrey, be on the safe side, and do not trust him too far until you know more of him.”

“That I most certainly will not,” replied Humphrey. “When do you purpose going over to the keepers cottage, Edward?”

“In a day or two; but I am not exactly in a humor now to be very civil to the Roundheads, although the one I have promised to visit is a lady, and a very amiable, pretty little girl in the bargain.”

“Why, Edward, what has made you feel more opposed to them than usual?”

“In the first place, Humphrey, the murder of the king—for it was murder and nothing better—I can not get that out of my head; and yesterday I obtained what I consider as almost a gift from Heaven, and if it is so it was not given but with the intention that I should make use of it.”

“And what was that, Edward?”

“Our gallant father’s sword, which he drew so nobly and so well in defense of his sovereign, Humphrey, and which I trust his son may one day wield with equal distinction, and, it may be, better fortune. Come in with me, and I will show it to you.”

Edward and Humphrey went into the bedroom, and Edward brought out the sword, which he had placed by his side on the bed.

“See, Humphrey, this was our father’s sword; and,” continued Edward, kissing the weapon, “I trust I may be permitted to draw it to revenge his death, and the death of one whose life ever should have been sacred.”

“I trust that you will, my dear brother,” replied Humphrey; “you will have a strong arm and a good cause. Heaven grant that both may prosper! But tell me how you came by it.”

Edward then related all that had passed during his visit with Oswald to Lymington, not forgetting to tell him of Benjamin’s appearance, and the arrangements he had made relative to the sale of the venison.

As soon as dinner was over, Edward and Humphrey took down their guns, having agreed that they would go and hunt the wild cattle.

“Humphrey, have you any idea where the herd of cattle are feeding at this time?”

“I know where they were feeding yesterday and the day before, and I do not think that they will have changed their ground, for the grass is yet very young and only grown on the southern aspects. Depend upon it we shall fall in with them not four miles from where we now are, if not nearer.”

“We must stalk them as we do the deer, must we not? They won’t allow us to approach within shot, Humphrey, will they?” said Edward.

“We have to take our chance, Edward; they will allow us to advance within shot, but the bulls will then advance upon us, while the herd increase their distance. On the other hand, if we stalk them, we may kill one, and then the report of the gun will frighten the others away. In the first instance there is a risk; in the second there is none, but there is more fatigue and trouble. Choose as you please; I will act as you decide.”

“Well, Humphrey, since you give me the choice, I think that this time I shall take the bull by the horns, as the saying is; that is, if there are any trees near us, for if the herd are in an open place I would not run such a risk; but if we can fire upon them and fall back upon a tree in case of a bull charging, I will take them openly.”

“With all my heart, Edward; I think it will be very hard if, with our two guns and Smoker to back us, we do not manage to be masters of the field. However, we must survey well before we make our approach; and if we can get within shot without alarming or irritating them, we, of course, will do so.”

“The bulls are very savage at this spring time,” observed Edward.

“They are so at all times, as far as I can see of them,” replied Humphrey; “but we are near to them now, I should think—yes, there is the herd.”

“There they are, sure enough,” replied Edward; “now we have not to do with deer, and need not to be so very cautious; but still the animals are wary, and keep a sharp look-out. We must approach them quietly, by slipping from tree to tree. Smoker, to heel!—down–quiet, Smoker!— good dog!”

Edward and Humphrey stopped to load their guns, and then approached the herd in manner which had been proposed, and were very soon within two hundred yards of the cattle, behind a large oak, when they stopped to reconnoiter. The herd contained about seventy head of cattle, of various sizes and ages. They were feeding in all directions, scattered, as the young grass was very short; but although the herd was spread over many acres of land, Edward pointed out to Humphrey that all the full-grown large bulls were on the outside, as if ready to defend the others in case of attack.

“Humphrey,” said Edward, “one thing is clear—as the herd is placed at present, we must have a bull or nothing. It is impossible to get within shot of the others without passing a bull, and depend upon it, our passage will be disputed; and moreover the herd will take to flight, and we shall get nothing at all.”

“Well,” replied Humphrey, “beef is beef; and, as they say, beggars must not be choosers, so let it be a bull if it must be so.”

“Let us get nearer to them, and then we will decide what we shall do. Steady, Smoker!”

They advanced gradually, hiding from tree to tree, until they were within eighty yards of one of the bulls. The animal did not perceive them, and as they were now within range, they again stepped behind the tree to consult.

“Now, Edward, I think that it would be best to separate. You can fire from where we are, and I will crawl through the fern, and get behind another tree.”

“Very well, do so,” replied Edward: “if you can manage, get to that tree with the low branches, and then perhaps you will be within shot of the white bull, which is coming down in this direction. Smoker, lie down! He can not go with you, Humphrey; it will not be safe.”

The distance of the tree which Humphrey ventured to get to was one about one hundred and fifty yards from where Edward was standing. Humphrey crawled along for some time in the fern, but at last he came to a bare spot of about ten yards wide, which they were not aware of, and where he could not be concealed. Humphrey hesitated, and at last