Kitabı oku: «Digby Heathcote: The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir», sayfa 13

“Poor little chap, it’s hard for you to be taken away from home just now; but cheer up, may be they’ll let you go again, by and by.”

“Hillo, Bet! what are you talking to the child for?” exclaimed a man, whom Digby had for some time suspected to be the captain of the band.

The men, however, addressed him in the same familiar way that they spoke to each other, and called him “Nat Charnick.” Though roughly dressed, his costume was neater than that of the other men; he spoke more correctly also; in appearance there was, perhaps, less of the ruffian about him. He was of moderate height, strongly built, and of a fairish complexion, but the expression of his countenance showed that, in essential points, he was in no way superior to the men who surrounded him. The ruffian crew appeared, from some reason or other, to be accustomed to look up to him, and a word from his lips speedily brought the most unruly to order. Food, though somewhat coarsely dressed, there was in abundance, and spirits of various sorts were passed round and drunk, as if they had been so much water. When, however, the carouse appeared to be growing fast and furious, Nat Charnick called his crew to order, and reminded them that they had work to do that night. In an instant the men put aside their glasses, and rising from their seats, each one loaded himself with one of the casks, or bales, I have mentioned, and went out of the tavern. Digby sat still, wondering what was going to be done. The men, however, quickly returned and took up more bales or casks. Everybody, even the boys and women, were employed in the work. Like ants they kept going continually backwards and forwards, till the heaps of goods sensibly diminished.

“Oh, oh!” said Digby to himself, “here is a possibility of my effecting my escape, and I will carry out a burden with the rest, and as soon as I have put it down, I will try and make off, or hide myself somewhere outside the cavern.”

Accordingly he jumped from his seat, and putting a bale of silk on his shoulders, he followed Dick Owlett and some other lads out of the cave, as he fancied, unobserved by any one. How delighted he felt at getting into the open air, keen and cold as it was.

“In a few minutes I shall be free,” he thought; “if I once get to the top of the cliff won’t I run on? I doubt if even the fastest among the smugglers would overtake me.”

On he went with his burden, which was a pretty heavy one. They soon reached a narrow ledge on the face of a perpendicular cliff. Ropes were hanging over it, and the smugglers securing their bales and casks to them, away they were hoisted rapidly out of sight; but bitter was Digby’s disappointment when he found that there was not a spot near where he could by possibility conceal himself.

“Well done, youngster,” said the voice of Captain Charnick; “I like to see a lad willing to make himself useful; you’ll soon become like one of us, and spend a much more happy and free life than you would at school or at the old Hall there.”

Digby found himself caught in a trap, and that the smugglers might not suspect the design he had entertained, he was compelled to run backwards and forwards with the goods, as they were doing, till the cave was completely empty. The exercise had, however, the effect of making him so thoroughly tired, that he was glad to throw himself on a bed pointed out to him; and in a minute he was fast asleep. When he awoke the smugglers were astir, and the women were bending over the fire, busy in preparing breakfast. He was invited, as before, to partake of it.

“They cannot intend to do me much harm, or they would not feed me so well,” he said to himself; and he very wisely resolved to keep up his spirits, and to make himself as much at home as possible. He thanked the women in a cheerful voice for their kindness, and laughed and chatted in a perfectly natural and free way with every body round him. Dick Owlett looked surprised and rather suspiciously at him.

“You are a merry as well as active youngster, I see,” said Captain Charnick, coming up to him; “keep alive, and we will give you employment before long.”

“Thank you,” answered Digby, “I am much obliged to you for the good supper and breakfast you have given me, and if you will pay me a visit at Bloxholme Hall, I shall be very happy to give you as plentiful ones in return.”

The smugglers laughed heartily at the remark.

“It’s a doubt whether you’d like to see us at Bloxholme Hall, in the way we should go there,” remarked one of them; “howsomdever, we are not likely to put you to the trial.”

Breakfast over, most of the men left the cave; some of the remainder hauled out ropes and sails, and began working away busily on them, while others employed themselves in overhauling sea-chests, casks, and sacks of provisions, or in cleaning and repairing arms. It was very evident that the smugglers did not spend an idle life in the cavern; indeed, from what Digby had hitherto had an opportunity of remarking, he could not help thinking that the same industry employed in any of the lawful callings of life, would have procured them far more wealth and comfort than they could in any way at present enjoy.

Thus the day passed on. Digby, however, found that he was still a prisoner, for whenever he went towards the entrance of the cavern, Dick Owlett jumped up and made a very significant sign to him to go back again, and as Dick strengthened his argument with a loaded pistol in his hand, Digby saw that it would be wise to submit.

It was late in the afternoon when the greater number of the band hurriedly entered the cavern. They evidently brought some information, which was not of a pleasant character; the rest sprung quickly to their feet – the sails were rolled up – the rigging was put in a form to be easily carried; sea-chests, and cases, and baskets, were brought out and placed near the entrance ready to be moved; indeed, as far as Digby could judge, the smugglers were preparing to desert the place altogether. The Captain was still absent. Soon after these preparations were concluded, he made his appearance. Whatever had been the information previously received, he corroborated it.

“Be smart, my lads,” he exclaimed; “the lugger is ready, and the revenue people are on the wrong scent. We’ve no time to lose, or they may be back on us.”

At these words the men loaded themselves with the various articles which they had got ready to move, and one after the other left the cavern.

Digby hoped that he was to be allowed to remain, and to find his way home as best he could after the smugglers had gone; but again he was doomed to disappointment.

“Come, youngster, you are going with us,” said Captain Charnick, who had remained behind to see that nothing was left which he required.

Digby began to expostulate.

“Why, just now you were, I thought, all ready to join us,” exclaimed the Captain, with a laugh. “Come along, though. I want you, that’s enough.”

Saying this, he took Digby by the arm in no very gentle way, and led him out of the cavern and down the face of the cliff. At the foot of it, so close in that she looked as if she must be touching the shore, lay a large lugger. The cliffs there formed a bay, in which she lay, and from her position, no one, except those who stood near the mouth of the cavern, could by any possibility see what was going forward on her deck.

Digby found, on reaching the foot of the cliff, that nearly all the things just carried from the cavern had been conveyed on board her. At last everything was embarked. Even now Digby hoped that he might be allowed to get away.

“Come, my lad, wish good-bye to old England,” said the Captain, taking him by the arm, and lifting him into the boat. In another minute he was on board the lugger; the boats were hoisted in, the anchor was got up, and sail being made, with a fair and strong breeze she stood down channel.

Digby burst into tears; it was long since he had cried so bitterly. No one seemed to pity him; but they allowed him to grieve on by himself. The smugglers themselves, however, it was evident, were not free from anxiety. A bright look-out was kept in every direction, and more than once the lugger’s course was altered to avoid a strange sail. The weather, too, had changed for the worse, and had become very threatening. To increase their difficulties, a thick mist and driving rain came on, so that they could often see but a short distance beyond the vessel. Still they ran on under all sail. The evening of a short winter’s day was drawing on, when suddenly, the mist clearing off, a large cutter was seen right ahead, standing across their course.

“Down with the helm! Haul aft the sheets!” cried the Captain; and the lugger was brought on a wind. The movement, however, did not escape those on board the cutter, for she immediately went about, and stood after the smuggler.

That she was a revenue vessel Digby had no doubt; and now he hoped that his emancipation was near. But the lugger proved herself to be a very fast craft; and though the cutter carried all the canvass she could bear, she did not appear in the slightest degree to be overhauling them.

“We are not in her clutches just yet, my lad,” said Captain Charnick, as he saw Digby anxiously watching the cutter. “Once upon a time we would have fought her, and beat her off, but now we must trust to our heels. We’ve a pair of smart ones, let me tell you; and if you expect ever to step aboard that cutter you are mistaken.”

Digby’s heart sunk at hearing the Captain express himself with so much confidence. The wind continued increasing; and Digby heard some of the smugglers say that it was shifting about very much, and that it would settle down into a regular south-westerly gale. In spite, however, of the strong wind, neither the smugglers nor those on board the cruiser appeared inclined to shorten sail. The lugger tore through the water with a mass of foam at her bows, which came flying in sheets over the deck. The sea, too, was getting up; and as she rushed on she seemed to be making such headlong plunges into it, that Digby sometimes thought that she would never rise again. There was a little binnacle on deck. Digby got a look at the compass within it, and found that the cutter was once more running up Channel. This again raised his hopes; he thought that there was a better chance of the lugger being overtaken by the revenue cruiser, when he had little doubt that he should be able to make himself known. The gale increased, the waves danced more wildly than ever, their white crests gleaming amid the gloom of night, which rapidly came on. Still the smugglers would not shorten sail; they trusted to the stout little craft which had carried them safely through many a storm, and to the darkness of night, to enable them to escape.

Digby kept on deck in spite of the way the vessel tumbled about, and the seas, which every now and then washed on board, soaked him through. He had been for some time standing holding on by the weather bulwarks, looking anxiously ahead, and wondering whether the lugger could possibly mount again over the next foaming wave. Had he not learned a good deal about sailing from Toby Tubb, he would have been much more alarmed. As it was, the smugglers remarked to each other that he was a brave little chap, and would make a good seaman some day or other, when he was one of them. Digby might have been flattered with the remark, but he would have rather shrunk from the career they proposed for him. He had stood thus for some time, when turning round, and looking astern, the cutter was no longer to be seen. In vain he tried to pierce the gloom; nothing could he see but the dark waves, and the white spray, dancing up towards to the sky.

“There’s no fear, we’ve given her the slip this time,” he heard one of the smugglers remark; and soon all were congratulating themselves on their escape from their pursuer.

Poor Digby felt very miserable. The gale came down stronger and stronger. The lugger held on her course; the smugglers no longer spoke to each other; only new and then the Captain issued some order in a loud tone, which all hastened to obey. And Digby judged from this that they were far from contented with the state of affairs. Some sail was taken off the vessel, but she still had too much; she at times heeled over fearfully, and the seas, with terrific force, washed on board. Digby felt that he would have been carried away, but he had bound a rope fast to the weather bulwarks, and securing it round himself, he was preserved from a fate so dreadful. Hour after hour passed, and still the lugger went tearing through the dark waters.

“You’d better go below and turn in, youngster,” said the Captain, good-naturedly, to him. “There’s some brandy and water and a biscuit for you in the cabin; it will do you good.”

Digby thanked him, but said that he would rather stay where he was, and see what was going to happen.

Sometimes the wind seemed to lull, and Digby hoped that the storm was going to be over, but it again breezed up, and blew harder than ever. The smugglers stood some at the helm, and others clustered round the masts. As the storm increased, the darkness became more intense. The vessel seemed to be rushing into a mass of black; the rain came down in torrents; thunder, in terrific peals, rolled overhead; and forked lightning darted from the skies. Digby felt almost worn out, and ready to sink – a dreamy unconsciousness came over him. Had he not secured himself by the rope he would have fallen to leeward, and been washed overboard. How long he had continued in this state he could not tell. He was aroused by a terrific crash; he was up to his waist in water – a tremendous sea had struck the vessel; the masts had gone by the board; and many of the crew had been washed away. He could hear their shrieks of agonising despair us the vessel was swept on away from them; and they, with all their sins on their heads, were left amid that dark sea to perish miserably. The survivors, bold seamen as they were, held on to whatever they could grasp, knowing that, till daylight, they could do nothing towards getting up a jury-mast, on which they could set sail, to carry them into port. Were they destined ever again to see the bright light of day? On went the lugger, impelled by the force of the wind, bodily to leeward. Suddenly there was a crash; the vessel seemed to be lifted up and down; she came again on a rock, which split her into fragments. Shrieks of terror and despair sounded in Digby’s ears. He, too, cried out – it was that God would save him. He was alone, tossed about by the wild waters, clinging to a part of the bulwarks. Soon the voices of the once bold and hardy smugglers were silent. Digby felt himself lifted up and down by the waves; the spray, in thick masses, flew over him. The loud roar of the sea dashing on the shore almost deafened him. There was a grating sound as if he was close to the beach; he touched the sand with his feet. Now he was carried away; but another wave rolled in, and sent him high up against a rugged rock. He had become separated from the plank to which he had been but loosely secured. He grasped hold of the rock; the wave rolled back, and he found his feet touching the soft sand. He ran on as fast as he could move, but he ran against a rock. Again he heard the roar of a wave as it came rolling up, but it did not even reach his feet. He clung to the rock till it had retired. Once more he tried to work his way on, but he could discover no outlet, and stooping down, he found that the sand was dry and soft; he therefore suspected that he had been thrown into a cave. It did not, happily, occur to him that the tide might be rising, and that even then the sea might pursue him. He crawled up to the furthest end, where the ground was dry, and the air comparatively warm; but he himself felt numbed and chilled, and could not help thinking that he should be frozen to death. As he sat there he began to consider how he could make his escape. In the dark he could do nothing. It was still some hours to daylight he supposed. He wished that he could make a fire; it would show him where he was, and help to dry his clothes. He felt about, and found that there was an abundant supply of wood, but it had been so long there that much of it was soft as tinder. Not long before, one of his companions had given him a present, which every boy prizes – a flint and steel, with some tinder; it was in a small tin case. He expected to find that the water had got into it, and spoilt it, or that it had been washed out of his pocket. He felt for it; there it was safe. He scraped all the wood he could find round him, and then took out his box; it was well made, and had proved water-tight. With a grateful heart he struck a light, and put a piece of the burning tinder under some of the soft wood; then, stooping down, he blew it steadily till, to his joy, the wood caught, and very soon burst into a flame. He piled more wood on till there was a good blaze. Looking around, he found that he was in a large cavern, with the water filling its mouth, and which ran up some way directly from it, and then turned sharply round to the left. He had happily been guided to this turning, where he was sheltered from the wind, and was well supplied with fuel. The blazing fire again made the blood circulate through his numbed limbs, and dried his clothes. He looked about and could not see how he could escape; but he felt, after the merciful way in which he had been preserved, that it would be gross ingratitude to doubt that means for saving him would be provided.

“Where are all the people who so lately were with me, full of life, on board the lugger?” he thought to himself; “not one of them remains in existence. I alone have been saved among them all, though the weakest, and least able to help myself.”

Such, indeed, was the case. His strength had hitherto been wonderfully kept up, but he was beginning to grow very faint and hungry, and he felt as if he should not be able to hold out much longer. He, however, exerted himself to the utmost to keep up his fire; he knew that his life might depend on it. It was so cold and damp, though fortunately not freezing, that he thought if he went to sleep, and let his fire go out, he might be so chilled and benumbed as to be unable to rally. Whenever, then, he felt very sleepy, he got up, and walked round and round his fire to arouse and warm himself. How anxiously he looked for daylight; how he longed for the storm to cease, that he might try and make his escape.

Poor Digby; he was very young, and not altogether very wise, but there was good stuff in him, as the way he behaved on this occasion showed; but it required care and attention to bring it into permanent practical use.

At length he grew very weary; he was obliged to sit down. He drew as near the fire as he could venture to sit; his eyes closed, and his head dropped on his knees. All sorts of strange scenes passed before him: he felt as if he was still struggling in the waves; that he heard around him the shrieks of the drowning wretches. He started up – a cry or shout rung in his ears. The fire was still blazing, for the drift-wood burnt slowly; the bright sunlight, too, was streaming in at the mouth of the cavern, and the storm was over.

Chapter Ten

Further Adventures of Arthur and his Companions – Digby Rescued – Rejoicings at Bloxholme – Christmas Amusements – The Leader of the Revels – The End of the Holidays

Arthur Haviland and his companions having assured the old man and idiot boy, whom they found in the cavern, that they had no wish to do them harm, they, after some time, succeeded in quieting their apprehensions. In vain Arthur tried to gain more information about Digby. All he could learn was that the captain had carried him off in the lugger to foreign parts, and that they had all made up their minds not to come back to England.

As it was getting late, and they had a long way to pull, Toby now summoned Arthur to return. Arthur, however, was not satisfied with the information he had obtained, and was unwilling to go away without gaining some definite clue to the place to which Digby had been carried. Finding that threats were of no avail, he tried to induce the old man to say all he knew by the promise of rewards.

“You hear what the young gentleman says,” observed Toby. “You and I know each other, old Joe, and you know that I would not deceive you. What Mr Haviland says, he’ll do; that he will, depend on it. Come along, sir; I know where to find him. If he’s got anything to say, he’ll tell me. We haven’t another moment to lose, that I know.”

Saying this, Toby led the way from the cave, followed by Arthur and John Pratt.

The weather had evidently changed very much for the worse, and the wind was blowing strongly, and sending the spray right up to where they were standing. Toby shook his head doubtfully; but he continued to descend.

“I thought so,” he exclaimed, when they reached the bottom of the cliff.

There was old Jem with the boat partly out of the water, he hauling away with all his might to get her out of danger; but the waves were dashing against her stern, and threatening every instant to knock her to pieces. They had arrived only just in time; but, by dint of working away together, they got the boat hauled up beyond the reach of the sea. When this was done they went back to the cave, for the wind was blowing stronger and stronger, and it was very evident that they would not be able to leave the place that night. They had reason to be thankful that they had a place which would afford them so complete a shelter during that tempestuous night. When they got back they found the old man perfectly ready to be civil; and making themselves at home, they rummaged, out an ample supply of food, and materials for forming beds, which they ranged round the fire.

Toby talked for all the party, and told many of his best anecdotes and stories. The genius of the place seemed to recall the memories of his early days, and many a tale of smuggling life and adventure he poured forth.

Neither Arthur nor John Pratt were inclined to talk. They were thinking too much of poor Digby, tossing about on the wild ocean that stormy night. Had they been able to see the terrific danger to which he was exposed, they would have been still more alarmed. How mercifully has God hid the future from us, as well as the scenes of peril and suffering to which those we love at a distance may be exposed. How it would double our anguish to feel that we could not fly to their help, that we could afford them no relief. How foolish and wicked, then, are those persons who try to draw aside (by devices the most absurd however) that impenetrable veil which the Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, has placed before our eyes. Never let us put faith in those who pretend that they can either show the future, or bring the present, when at a distance, before our eyes. Clairvoyants, spirit-rappers, and similar pretenders, under whatever name they may appear, we may depend on it, are impostors. They have been shown to be so over and over again; but like Chinese tumbling-figures, though knocked down, they will spring up again, over and over again, as long as dupes can be found to put faith in them.

Arthur Haviland long recollected that night in the cavern – the flickering light of the fire; the red glow cast over some parts of the sides and roof; and the dark, strange-shaped shadows, which passed over others; the low voices of his companions; the howling of the wind; and the incessant roar of the waves, as they beat against the foot of the cliffs. He at length, however, fell asleep, and did not awake till Toby called him, with an invitation to take a cup of coffee and a biscuit before they embarked. He was not sorry to accept the offer.

As soon as the meal was over Toby went out, and returned with so favourable a report of the weather, that it was agreed that they might venture once more to embark.

Arthur repeated his promise to the old man, who undertook to bring any information to him he could gain about Digby.

The sun was shining, and the air was keen, for the wind had got round to the north. That, however, was an important advantage, as it sent down the sea; and the boat, when they had launched her, though tossed about a good deal, was able to continue her progress by keeping close in shore, and skirting all the bays and inlets. They had gone some way, and had just rounded a reef of rocks, whose black heads rose with threatening aspect out of the water, when Arthur exclaimed that he thought he saw a smoke coming out of the cliff. Toby ceased pulling, but did not speak. He looked round on every side; several pieces of timber were floating about, and on the shore lay a mass of cordage and broken spars.

“Some vessel was cast away not far from here last night,” exclaimed Toby, at length. “Heaven help the unfortunate fellows on board her; but that smoke may be made by some of them who have escaped. What say you, old Jem?”

Old Jem agreed with Toby, and told him that there was a small cave just in there, from which the smoke might proceed.

Paddling in cautiously, for there were a good many rocks about capable of knocking an ugly hole in the boat’s bottom, as Toby observed, they approached the cliff. The entrance to the cave on the sand was soon perceptible. The boat reached a sandy beach. So completely did the cliff overhang the water, and so much did it project on either side of the cave, that only by means of a boat could anybody possibly leave it. So Arthur remarked as he jumped with Toby and John Pratt on shore. They could see the gleam of a fire from the interior. Arthur ran on; a little sailor-boy was sitting over it.

“Hillo, my poor lad; we have come to help you,” exclaimed Arthur.

The little sailor-boy looked up. There could be no doubt about it – there sat Digby Heathcote.

With a shout of joy Arthur sprang forward, and lifted him up in his arms. John Pratt, in his delight, gave him a hug which almost squeezed the breath out of his body; and Toby Tubb seized his hand, and gave it a shake which well nigh wrung it off. It was some moments before any one could speak, and Digby could hurriedly give an account of what had occurred.

“Well, I be right glad, that I be,” exclaimed Toby. “Them who has gone to their account has brought their fate upon themselves. Howsomdever, Master Digby, come into the boat; you are cold and hungry, I’ll warrant, and will be glad of a breakfast and warm bed.”

Digby was ready enough to go, but he begged that search might be made in case any of the crew of the lugger might have been washed on shore, and be still clinging on among the crevices of the rocks.

Toby shook his head. “It was not likely any had escaped. It was a wonder he had done so.”

Search was made, however, but there was not the sign of a living being, nor had any of the bodies of the smugglers been washed ashore.

Toby and John Pratt insisted on taking off their overcoats to wrap up Digby; and the former had a little brandy in a flask, which he insisted on pouring down his throat. Digby, to his surprise, found that it appeared very little stronger than water, a proof of how much chilled he was, and how important a stimulant this was to him.

Little are spirit-drinkers aware of not only how much injury they are doing themselves, but how completely they are depriving themselves of important assistance in time of need. A glass of brandy may save the life of a person who never touches spirits, but would have no effect on an habitual brandy-drinker.

The voyage back to Osberton need not be further described. The reception Digby met with from Mr and Mrs Nugent may easily be conceived. Digby indignantly declined to go to bed, but he did not refuse to eat a hearty breakfast, in which Arthur joined him, or to change his sailor’s clothes for a suit more fitted for the heir of Bloxholme to appear in.

“Put up the others, however; I’ll have them with me,” he exclaimed. “They will remind me of my trip in the smugglers’ lugger, at all events.”

“Of its fearful termination, and of the merciful way in which you were preserved, my dear boy,” observed Mr Nugent.

“Yes, uncle, yes,” said Digby; “I thought of that. I don’t feel I can ever be too thankful.”

A carriage was ordered, and Mr Nugent, and Digby, and Arthur, went inside; and John Pratt and Toby Tubb, whom Digby insisted should accompany them, went outside; and away they rattled as fast as four horses could gallop towards Bloxholme. Every minute was of importance to release Mr and Mrs Heathcote from their state of suspense. The carriage with its four smoking horses, rattled up the avenue. Almost before John Pratt had time to jump from the box the hall-door was flung open; Alesbury had caught sight of Digby, and hurrying down the steps faster than he had moved for many a day, he pulled him out of the carriage, and carried him into the house. Then Digby found himself in his mother’s arms. Then, and not till then, did he burst into tears, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.

Poor little Kate, how she cried, too, and then she smiled and laughed; and when she got hold of Digby she could scarcely refrain from beating him for making her so very miserable; indeed, she gave him two or three severe slaps, and called him naughty, dear, tiresome, good boy; and Digby pulled her ears, and her nose, and showed his love in a variety of other eccentric ways. Digby came in for a great deal of caressing from all sides, of which he did not at all approve; but he submitted to it as an unavoidable evil, and looked very much as a donkey does when harness is about to be put on its back.

Gusty shouted and laughed louder than ever that day; and his elder sisters kissed him as elder sisters generally do their younger brothers; but he took that sort of thing better from them than from any one else.

Then he had to tell the story of his adventures over and over again. John Pratt, however, was able to help him in that respect in the servants’ hall, where he did ample justice to the young Squire’s courage, and never was tired of telling all he knew about his adventures.