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- Herausgeber: Hesperus Press Ltd.
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
It was in the month of November in this year that King Charles, accompanied by Sir John Berkely, Ashburnham, and Legg, made his escape from Hampton Court, and rode as fast as the horses could carry them toward that part of Hampshire which led to the New Forest… It is 1647. Charles I has been defeated in the civil war, but has escaped captivity and is making for France. Parliamentary soldiers searching the New Forest decide to burn the house of Colonel Beverly, a royalist officer killed at the Battle of Naseby. His four children are rescued by their father's gamekeeper, Jacob, who takes them in. The children gradually shed their aristocratic sensibilities and adapt to the simple ways of the forest, working Jacob's farmstead and befriending other inhabitants of the woodland. But when Charles II raises an army and the spectre of war returns to haunt the Beverly children, they realise they cannot hide from their true identity. This is the first enduring historical novel for children, which conjures up as much magic today as it did on first publication.
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the children of the new forest
frederick marryat
Contents
foreword
The history of books includes the history of how we each encounter them. As a child of teachers who grew up in the 1950s, I was inducted into an unofficial canon of good children’s literature. The Children of the New Forest (hereafter TCOTNF) was put my way (borrowed from the local library) with the usual recommendation, ‘You’ll like this one.’ And I did. I remember enjoying a feeling of freedom, a feeling that came with any book that involved children making decisions for themselves, getting into exciting life-threatening scrapes and (of course) getting out of them. I was also someone who enjoyed novels that put me into wide-open spaces, covering long distances. Years later, in the 1990s, I studied TCOTNF in an MA class, and even later taught it in a similar context.
The reason for it appearing on university children’s literature syllabuses is largely because it is seen as a ‘first’, the first major historical novel with a clearly implied audience of children and young people. It appeared in 1847, year before its author – nearly always written as ‘Captain F.W. Marryat’, died. Whether TCOTNF is a ‘first’ is perhaps less important than noting that the book belongs in an era when several writers were experimenting with the idea of writing about the past in a way that might entertain young people. Most prominent of these – and both writing their novels before Marryat – are Barbara Hofland (1770–1844) and Harriet Martineau (1802–1876). It’s also noteworthy that the form that these writers found to be most suitable, was the one laid down by a Swiss Pastor, Johann Wyss (1743–1818) in The Swiss Family Robinson. As the word ‘Robinson’ suggests, this genre owes something to another Robinson, one Crusoe, brought into being by Daniel Defoe in 1719. Now, this literary family tree would be nothing more than a bit of bibliographic train-spotting, if it can’t be tied to deeper concerns.
At the heart of these is a view of humankind and the deity. In twenty-first-century England, where I write, it is easy to lose sight of the fault lines and upheavals that were so profoundly and passionately fought over between, say, 1600 and 1900 in many parts of Europe and North America. For a writer to think that it was worthwhile to a) write for children b) write about the period just after the era of the English Civil War and c) show – as Defoe did with Robinson Crusoe – children successfully fending for themselves, suggests that someone (ie Marryat) was defending what he saw as the gains of the Protestant Reformation whilst warning his young audience against its excesses. To take these in turn: a) children were seen as the legitimate concern of writers of poetry and fiction because it was reluctantly accepted that literature (and not only the Bible) provided excellent vehicles for warning young people of the sins of excess and idleness; b) the English Civil War offered writers interested in social and religious fault lines complicated allegiances: loyalty to the monarch but not to one monarch’s individual excesses, loyal to fundamental biblical morality but not so loyal as to sanction full scale bloody revolution; c) the way for society to improve should come from the individual’s and family’s unerring adherence to self-reliance, moderation in all things, and hard work.
If all this sounds like heavy-going, that’s because we live in an era where these once passionate concerns have become nameless shadows, appearing hidden in politicians’ speeches about the poor or the family, in advice to parents on how to moderate their children’s behaviour and in education policies which measure children’s worth exclusively in terms of their tested output. So, one way to read TCOTNF is as someone mining for the ideas that have shaped much mainstream thought about children, family, self-worth and education. I concede that this isn’t everyone’s idea of fun and as I suggested at the outset, it wasn’t what kept me going in my bedroom in 1956, wishing that I too could be in the New Forest, doing all I could to keep me and my brothers and sisters safe. In fact, our parents took us camping in the New Forest, and I can well remember a fusion between the pleasure of walking along isolated paths, or waking up early looking out of the tent door, and a memory of the sensation of reading The Children of the New Forest Sometimes, it is a book’s ‘sensation’ that is its most powerful gift.
The advantage of casting young heroes into ‘nature’ is that it puts them immediately and simultaneously onto two symbolic stages: the landscape of survival and the landscape of Eden. Survival means do or die, kill or be killed, mind over matter. Eden means the place before things went wrong, where we were uncorrupted by greed and sex. Children in literature – whether it be written for children or adults – often represent vulnerability and innocence: they are easily damaged by evil or nature at its most violent; and they do not know why or how the world is bad. (The fact that all this bears little or no relation to how children really are is besides the point here!) Interestingly, like Defoe’s Eden with Man Friday, there is another kind of native dweller, Pablo, the gypsy boy. The children (and we) are warned that he and his ilk are ‘excitable’, ‘queer’, unable to ‘work very hard’, but if the children (or we) can get him to be ‘fond of you’, he can be ‘useful’, ‘very clever’ and ‘handy’. I’m not the first to have noticed that many children’s books are in part about revealing hierarchies between adults and children, boys and girls, social classes, and nations or races (as perceived). Of itself, this is perhaps unremarkable. What is interesting is to see whether these hierarchies are presented as normal and right or whether any of them are challenged or subverted.
So – the story: we have four children, Edward, Humphrey, Alice and Edith (shades of Narnia?). They are orphans, as their father was killed fighting for the Royalists in the Civil War. As this is set during the Cromwellian Commonwealth, their lives are in danger, but they are protected by a loyal servant, Jacob, who pretends that they are his own grandchildren. It is he who trains them in survival and a homespun morality. In the end Edward fights on the side of the Royalists in order to bring about the Restoration of the monarchy. The children come into their inheritance – taken from the family by the Roundheads – but Edward marries the daughter of a Cromwellian – albeit a moderate one.
The book is episodic, which makes for good reading over a period of time, but it also dives off into what today we might think of as preachy episodes about duty and politics. I suspect, as a child, I skipped these to get on with another bit of hunting, horse-taming, or even better, the successful outwitting of dangerous thieves. Moving through the book another literary form shows itself, the developmental, ‘coming of age’ novel, known in German as the ‘bildungsroman’. Edward moves from being the leading ‘grandchild’ to the family protector but Marryat is at pains to show Edward moving from unthinking loyalty to the memory of his father to a position we might suspect was the author’s own: Protestant allegiance to the crown but also to what he calls ‘the liberties’ of the people. Writing at a time of the Chartist upheavals of the 1840s, Marryat has Edward pondering about the king being ‘obstinate’ while the people are ‘resolute’:
‘…the people gained the upper hand, they wreaked their vengeance, instead of looking to the dictates of humanity and justice. How easy it had been to have deposed him, [the king] and have sent him beyond the seas!’
Marryat knew a lot about ‘the seas’. From the age of thirteen, he spent over thirty-five years at sea and his first fiction both for adults and children was set on board ships. It’s said that his life came to an end as a consequence of a fit of rage during which he burst a blood vessel, on hearing that he had been turned down for a naval pension. The Navy was of course a place of hierarchy, loyalty to the crown, hardship, survival and self-reliance. Perhaps it’s not too fanciful to see Marryat’s forest as his sea of trees.
– Michael Rosen, 2014
the children of the new forest
frederick marryat
chapter one
The circumstances which I am about to relate to my juvenile readers took place in the year 1647. By referring to the history of England, of that date, they will find that King Charles the First, against whom the Commons of England had rebelled, after a civil war of nearly five years, had been defeated, and was confined as a prisoner at Hampton Court. The Cavaliers, or the party who fought for King Charles, had all been dispersed and the Parliamentary army under the command of Cromwell were beginning to control the Commons.
It was in the month of November in this year that King Charles, accompanied by Sir John Berkely, Ashburnham, and Legg, made his escape from Hampton Court, and rode as fast as the horses could carry them toward that part of Hampshire which led to the New Forest. The king expected that his friends had provided a vessel in which he might escape to France, but in this he was disappointed. There was no vessel ready, and after riding for some time along the shore, he resolved to go to Titchfield, a seat belonging to the Earl of Southampton. After a long consultation with those who attended him, he yielded to their advice, which was, to trust to Colonel Hammond, who was governor of the Isle of Wight for the Parliament, but who was supposed to be friendly to the king. Whatever might be the feelings of commiseration of Colonel Hammond toward a king so unfortunately situated, he was firm in his duties toward his employers, and the consequence was that King Charles found himself again a prisoner in Carisbrooke Castle.
But we must now leave the king and retrace history to the commencement of the civil war. A short distance from the town of Lymington, which is not far from Titchfield, where the king took shelter, but on the other side of Southampton Water, and south of the New Forest, to which it adjoins, was a property called Arnwood, which belonged to a Cavalier of the name of Beverley. It was at that time a property of considerable value, being very extensive, and the park ornamented with valuable timber; for it abutted on the New Forest, and might have been supposed to have been a continuation of it. This Colonel Beverley, as we must call him, for he rose to that rank in the king’s army, was a valued friend and companion of Prince Rupert, and commanded several troops of cavalry. He was ever at his side in the brilliant charges made by this gallant prince, and at last fell in his arms at the battle of Naseby. Colonel Beverley had married into the family of the Villiers, and the issue of his marriage was two sons and two daughters; but his zeal and sense of duty had induced him, at the commencement of the war, to leave his wife and family at Arnwood, and he was fated never to meet them again. The news of his death had such an effect upon Mrs Beverley, already worn with anxiety on her husband’s account, that a few months afterward she followed him to an early tomb, leaving the four children under the charge of an elderly relative, till such time as the family of the Villiers could protect them; but, as will appear by our history, this was not at that period possible. The life of a king and many other lives were in jeopardy, and the orphans remained at Arnwood, still under the care of their elderly relation, at the time that our history commences.
The New Forest, my readers are perhaps aware, was first inclosed by William the Conqueror as a royal forest for his own amusement – for in those days most crowned heads were passionately fond of the chase; and they may also recollect that his successor, William Rufus, met his death in this forest by the glancing of an arrow shot by Sir Walter Tyrrell. Since that time to the present day it has continued a royal domain. At the period of which we are writing, it had an establishment of verderers and keepers, paid by the crown, amounting to some forty or fifty men. At the commencement of the civil war they remained at their posts, but soon found, in the disorganized state of the country, that their wages were no longer to be obtained; and then, when the king had decided upon raising an army, Beverley, who held a superior office in the Forest, enrolled all the young and athletic men who were employed in the Forest, and marched them away with him to join the king’s army. Some few remained, their age not rendering their services of value, and among them was an old and attached servant of Beverley, a man above sixty years of age, whose name was Jacob Armitage, and who had obtained the situation through Colonel Beverley’s interest. Those who remained in the Forest lived in cottages many miles asunder, and indemnified themselves for the non-payment of their salaries by killing the deer for sale and for their own subsistence.
The cottage of Jacob Armitage was situated on the skirts of the New Forest, about a mile and a half from the mansion of Arnwood; and when Colonel Beverley went to join the king’s troops, feeling how little security there would be for his wife and children in those troubled times, he requested the old man, by his attachment to the family, not to lose sight of Arnwood, but to call there as often as possible to see if he could be of service to Mrs Beverley. The colonel would have persuaded Jacob to have altogether taken up his residence at the mansion, but to this the old man objected. He had been all his life under the greenwood tree, and could not bear to leave the forest. He promised the colonel that he would watch over his family, and ever be at hand when required; and he kept his word. The death of Colonel Beverley was a heavy blow to the old forester, and he watched over Mrs Beverley and the orphans with the greatest solicitude; but when Mrs Beverley followed her husband to the tomb, he then redoubled his attentions, and was seldom more than a few hours at a time away from the mansion. The two boys were his inseparable companions, and he instructed them, young as they were, in all the secrets of his own calling. Such was the state of affairs at the time that King Charles made his escape from Hampton Court; and I now shall resume my narrative from where it was broken off.
As soon as the escape of Charles I was made known to Cromwell and the Parliament, troops of horse were dispatched in every direction to the southward, toward which the prints of the horses’ hoofs proved that he had gone. As they found that he had proceeded in the direction of the New Forest, the troops were subdivided and ordered to scour the forest, in parties of twelve to twenty, while others hastened down to Southampton, Lymington, and every other seaport or part of the coast from which the king might be likely to embark. Old Jacob had been at Arnwood on the day before, but on this day he had made up his mind to procure some venison, that he might not go there again empty-handed; for Miss Judith Villiers was very partial to venison, and was not slow to remind Jacob, if the larder was for many days deficient in that meat. Jacob had gone out accordingly; he had gained his leeward position of a fine buck, and was gradually nearing him by stealth – now behind a huge oak tree, and then crawling through the high fern, so as to get within shot unperceived, when on a sudden the animal, which had been quietly feeding, bounded away and disappeared in the thicket. At the same time Jacob perceived a small body of horse galloping through the glen in which the buck had been feeding. Jacob had never yet seen the Parliamentary troops, for they had not during the war been sent into that part of the country, but their iron skull-caps, their buff accoutrements, and dark habiliments assured him that such these must be; so very different were they from the gaily equipped Cavalier cavalry commanded by Prince Rupert. At the time that they advanced, Jacob had been lying down in the fern near to some low blackthorn bushes; not wishing to be perceived by them, he drew back between the bushes, intending to remain concealed until they should gallop out of sight; for Jacob thought, ‘I am a king’s forester, and they may consider me as an enemy, and who knows how I may be treated by them?’ But Jacob was disappointed in his expectations of the troops riding past him; on the contrary, as soon as they arrived at an oak tree within twenty yards of where he was concealed, the order was given to halt and dismount; the sabres of the horsemen clattered in their iron sheaths as the order was obeyed, and the old man expected to be immediately discovered; but one of the thorn bushes was directly between him and the troopers, and effectually concealed him. At last Jacob ventured to raise his head and peep through the bush; and he perceived that the men were loosening the girths of their black horses, or wiping away the perspiration from their sides with handfuls of fern.
A powerfully-formed man, who appeared to command the others, was standing with his hand upon the arched neck of his steed, which appeared as fresh and vigorous as ever, although covered with foam and perspiration. ‘Spare not to rub down, my men,’ said he, ‘for we have tried the mettle of our horses, and have now but one half-hour’s breathing-time. We must be on, for the work of the Lord must be done.’
‘They say that this forest is many miles in length and breadth,’ observed another of the men, ‘and we may ride many a mile to no purpose; but here is James Southwold, who once was living in it as a verderer; nay, I think that he said that he was born and bred in these woods. Was it not so, James Southwold?’
‘It is even as you say,’ replied an active-looking young man; ‘I was born and bred in this forest, and my father was a verderer before me.’
Jacob Armitage, who listened to the conversation, immediately recognized the young man in question. He was one of those who had joined the king’s army with the other verderers and keepers. It pained him much to perceive that one who had always been considered a frank, true-hearted young man, and who left the forest to fight in defence of his king, was now turned a traitor, and had joined the ranks of the enemy; and Jacob thought how much better it had been for James Southwold, if he had never quitted the New Forest, and had not been corrupted by evil company; ‘he was a good lad,’ thought Jacob, ‘and now he is a traitor and a hypocrite.’
‘If born and bred in this forest, James Southwold,’ said the leader of the troop, ‘you must fain know all its mazes and paths. Now, call to mind, are there no secret hiding places in which people may remain concealed; no thickets which may cover both man and horse? Peradventure thou mayest point out the very spot where this man Charles may be hidden?’
‘I do know one dell, within a mile of Arnwood,’ replied James Southwold, ‘which might cover double our troop from the eyes of the most wary.’
‘We will ride there, then,’ replied the leader. ‘Arnwood, sayest thou? is not that the property of the Malignant Cavalier Beverley, who was shot down at Naseby?’
‘Even so,’ replied Southwold; ‘and many is the time – that is, in the olden time, before I was regenerated – many is the day of revelry that I have passed there; many the cup of good ale that I have quaffed.’
‘And thou shalt quaff it again,’ replied the leader. ‘Good ale was not intended only for Malignants, but for those who serve diligently. After we have examined the dell which thou speakest of, we will direct our horses’ heads toward Arnwood.’
‘Who knows but what the man Charles may be concealed in the Malignant’s house?’ observed another.
‘In the day I should say no,’ replied the leader; ‘but in the night the Cavaliers like to have a roof over their heads; and, therefore, at night, and not before, will we proceed thither.’
‘I have searched many of their abodes,’ observed another, ‘but search is almost in vain. What with their spring panels, and secret doors, their false ceilings, and double walls, one may ferret forever, and find nothing.’
‘Yes,’ replied the leader, ‘their abodes are full of these popish abominations; but there is one way which is sure; and if the man Charles be concealed in any house, I venture to say that I will find him. Fire and smoke will bring him forth; and to every Malignant’s house within twenty miles will I apply the torch; but it must be at night, for we are not sure of his being housed during the day. James Southwold, thou knowest well the mansion of Arnwood?’
‘I know well my way to all the offices below – the buttery, the cellar, and the kitchen; but I cannot say that I have ever been into the apartments of the upper house.’
‘That it needeth not; if thou canst direct us to the lower entrance it will be sufficient.’
‘That can I, Master Ingram,’ replied Southwold, ‘and to where the best ale used to be found.’
‘Enough, Southwold, enough; our work must be done, and diligently. Now, my men, tighten your girths; we will just ride to the dell: if it conceals not whom we seek, it shall conceal us till night, and then the country shall be lighted up with the flames of Arnwood, while we surround the house and prevent escape. Levellers, to horse!’
The troopers sprung upon their saddles, and went off at a hard trot, Southwold leading the way. Jacob remained among the fern until they were out of sight, and then rose up. He looked for a short time in the direction in which the troopers had gone, stooped down again to take up his gun, and then said, ‘There’s providence in this; yes, and there’s providence in my not having my dog with me, for he would not have remained quiet for so long a time. Who would ever have thought that James Southwold would have turned a traitor! more than traitor, for he is now ready to bite the hand that has fed him, to burn the house that has ever welcomed him. This is a bad world, and I thank Heaven that I have lived in the woods. But there is no time to lose’; and the old forester threw his gun over his shoulder, and hastened away in the direction of his own cottage.
‘And so the king has escaped,’ thought Jacob, as he went along, ‘and he may be in the forest! Who knows but he may be at Arnwood, for he must hardly know where to go for shelter? I must haste and see Miss Judith immediately. ‘Levellers, to horse!’ the fellow said. ‘What’s a Leveller?’ thought Jacob.
As perhaps my readers may ask the same question, they must know that a large proportion of the Parliamentary army had at this time assumed the name of Levellers, in consequence of having taken up the opinion that every man should be on an equality, and property should be equally divided. The hatred of these people to anyone above them in rank or property, especially toward those of the king’s party, which mostly consisted of men of rank and property, was unbounded, and they were merciless and cruel to the highest degree, throwing off much of that fanatical bearing and language which had before distinguished the Puritans. Cromwell had great difficulty in eventually putting them down, which he did at last accomplish by hanging and slaughtering many. Of this Jacob knew nothing; all he knew was, that Arnwood was to be burned down that night, and that it would be necessary to remove the family. As for obtaining assistance to oppose the troopers, that he knew to be impossible. As he thought of what must take place, he thanked God for having allowed him to gain the knowledge of what was to happen, and hastened on his way. He had been about eight miles from Arnwood when he had concealed himself in the fern. Jacob first went to his cottage to deposit his gun, saddled his forest pony, and set off for Arnwood. In less than two hours the old man was at the door of the mansion; it was then about three o’clock in the afternoon, and being in the month of November, there was not so much as two hours of daylight remaining. ‘I shall have a difficult job with the stiff old lady,’ thought Jacob, as be rung the bell; ‘I don’t believe that she would rise out of her high chair for old Noll and his whole army at his back. But we shall see.’
chapter two
Before Jacob is admitted to the presence of Miss Judith Villiers, we must give some account of the establishment at Arnwood. With the exception of one male servant, who officiated in the house and stable as his services might be required, every man of the household of Colonel Beverley had followed the fortunes of their master, and as none had returned, they in all probability had shared his fate. Three female servants, with the man above mentioned, composed the whole household. Indeed, there was every reason for not increasing the establishment, for the rents were either paid in part, or not paid at all. It was generally supposed that the property, now that the Parliament had gained the day, would be sequestrated, although such was not yet the case; and the tenants were unwilling to pay, to those who were not authorized to receive, the rents which they might be again called upon to make good. Miss Judith Villiers, therefore, found it difficult to maintain the present household; and although she did not tell Jacob Armitage that such was the case, the fact was, that very often the venison which he brought to the mansion was all the meat that was in the larder. The three female servants held the offices of cook, attendant upon Miss Villiers, and housemaid; the children being under the care of no particular servant, and left much to themselves. There had been a chaplain in the house, but he had quitted before the death of Mrs Beverley, and the vacancy had not been filled up; indeed, it could not well be, for the one who left had not received his salary for many months, and Miss Judith Villiers, expecting every day to be summoned by her relations to bring the children and join them, sat in her high chair waiting for the arrival of this summons, which, from the distracted state of the times, had never come.
As we have before said, the orphans were four in number; the two eldest were boys, and the youngest were girls. Edward, the eldest boy, was between thirteen and fourteen years old; Humphrey, the second, was twelve; Alice, eleven; and Edith, eight. As it is the history of these young persons which we are about to narrate, we shall say little about them at present, except that for many months they had been under little or no restraint, and less attended to. Their companions were Benjamin, the man who remained in the house, and old Jacob Armitage, who passed all the time he could spare with them. Benjamin was rather weak in intellect, and was a source of amusement rather than otherwise. As for the female servants, one was wholly occupied with her attendance on Miss Judith, who was very exacting, and had a high notion of her own consequence. The other two had more than sufficient employment; as, when there is no money to pay with, everything must be done at home. That, under such circumstances, the boys became boisterous and the little girls became romps, is not to be wondered at: but their having become so was the cause of Miss Judith seldom admitting them into her room. It is true that they were sent for once a day, to ascertain if they were in the house, or in existence, but soon dismissed and left to their own resources. Such was the neglect to which these young orphans was exposed. It must, however, be admitted, that this very neglect made them independent and bold, full of health from constant activity, and more fitted for the change which was so soon to take place.
‘Benjamin,’ said Jacob, as the other came to the door, ‘I must speak with the old lady.’
‘Have you brought any venison, Jacob?’ said Benjamin, grinning, ‘else, I reckon, you’ll not be over welcome.’
‘No, I have not; but it is an important business, so send Agatha to her directly.’
‘I will; and I’ll not say anything about the venison.’
In a few minutes, Jacob was ushered up by Agatha into Miss Judith Villiers’ apartment. The old lady was about fifty years of age, very prim and starched, sitting in a high-backed chair, with her feet upon a stool, and her hands crossed before her, her black mittens reposing upon her snow-white apron.
The old forester made his obeisance.
‘You have important business with us, I am told,’ observed Miss Judith.
‘Most important, madam,’ replied Jacob. ‘In the first place, it is right that you should be informed that his majesty, King Charles, has escaped from Hampton Court.’
‘His majesty escaped!’ replied the lady.
‘Yes; and is supposed to be secreted somewhere in this neighbourhood. His majesty is not in this house, madam, I presume?’
‘Jacob, his majesty is not in this house: if he were, I would suffer my tongue to be torn out sooner than I would confess it, even to you.’
‘But I have more for your private ear, madam.’
‘Agatha, retire; and Agatha, be mindful that you go downstairs, and do not remain outside the door.’
Agatha, with this injunction, bounced out of the room, slamming-to the door so as to make Miss Judith start from her seat.
‘Ill-mannered girl!’ exclaimed Miss Judith. ‘Now, Jacob Armitage, you may proceed.’
Jacob then entered into the detail of what he had overheard that morning, when he fell in with the troopers, concluding with the information, that the mansion would be burned down that very night. He then pointed out the necessity of immediately abandoning the house, as it would be impossible to oppose the troopers.
‘And where am I to go to, Jacob?’ said Miss Judith, calmly.
‘I hardly know, madam; there is my cottage; it is but a poor place, and not fit for one like you.’
‘So I should presume, Jacob Armitage, neither shall I accept your offer. It would ill befit the dignity of a Villiers to be frightened out of her abode by a party of rude soldiers. Happen what will, I shall not stir from this – no, not even from this chair. Neither do I consider the danger so great as you suppose. Let Benjamin saddle, and be prepared to ride over to Lymington immediately. I will give him a letter to the magistrate there, who will send us protection.’
‘But, madam, the children cannot remain here. I will not leave them here. I promised the colonel – ’
‘Will the children be in more danger than I shall be, Jacob Armitage?’ replied the old lady, stiffly. ‘They dare not ill-treat me – they may force the buttery and drink the ale – they may make merry with that and the venison which you have brought with you, I presume, but they will hardly venture to insult a lady of the House of Villiers.’
‘I fear they will venture anything, madam. At all events, they will frighten the children, and for one night they will be better in my cottage.’
‘Well, then, be it so; take them to your cottage, and take Martha to attend upon the Miss Beverleys. Go down now, and desire Agatha to come to me, and Benjamin to saddle as fast as he can.’
Jacob left the room, satisfied with the permission to remove the children. He knew that it was useless to argue with Miss Judith, who was immovable when once she had declared her intentions. He was debating in his own mind whether he should acquaint the servants with the threatened danger; but he had no occasion to do so, for Agatha had remained at the door while Jacob was communicating the intelligence, and as soon as he had arrived at that portion of it by which she learned that the mansion was to be burned down that night, had run off to the kitchen to communicate the intelligence to the other servants.
‘I’ll not stay to be burned to death,’ exclaimed the cook, as Jacob came in. ‘Well, Mr Armitage, this is pretty news you have brought. What does my lady say!’
‘She desires that Benjamin saddles immediately, to carry a letter to Lymington; and you, Agatha, are to go upstairs to her.’
‘But what does she mean to do? Where are we to go?’ exclaimed Agatha.
‘Miss Judith intends to remain where she is.’
‘Then she will remain alone, for me,’ exclaimed the housemaid, who was admired by Benjamin. ‘It’s bad enough to have little victuals and no wages, but as for being burned to death – Benjamin, put a pillion behind your saddle, and I’ll go to Lymington with you. I won’t be long in getting my bundle.’
Benjamin, who was in the kitchen with the maids at the time that Jacob entered, made a sign significant of consent, and went away to the stable. Agatha went up to her mistress in a state of great perturbation, and the cook also hurried away to her bedroom.
‘They’ll all leave her,’ thought Jacob; ‘well, my duty is plain; I’ll not leave the children in the house.’ Jacob then went in search of them, and found them playing in the garden. He called the two boys to him, and told them to follow him.
‘Now, Mr Edward,’ said he, ‘you must prove yourself your father’s own son. We must leave this house immediately; come up with me to your rooms, and help me to pack up yours and your sisters’ clothes, for we must go to my cottage this night. There is no time to be lost.’
‘But why, Jacob; I must know why?’
‘Because the Parliamentary troopers will burn it down this night.’
‘Burn it down! Why, the house is mine, is it not? Who dares to burn down this house?’
‘They will dare it, and will do it.’
‘But we will fight them, Jacob; we can bolt and bar; I can fire a gun, and hit too, as you know; then there’s Benjamin and you.’
‘And what can you and two men do against a troop of horse, my dear boy? If we could defend the place against them, Jacob Armitage would be the first; but it is impossible, my dear boy. Recollect your sisters. Would you have them burned to death, or shot by these wretches? No, no, Mr Edward; you must do as I say, and lose no time. Let us pack up what will be most useful, and load White Billy with the bundles; then you must all come to the cottage with me, and we will make it out how we can.’
‘That will be jolly!’ said Humphrey; ‘come, Edward.’
But Edward Beverley required more persuasion to abandon the house; at last, old Jacob prevailed, and the clothes were put up in bundles as fast as they could collect them.
‘Your aunt said Martha was to go with your sisters, but I doubt if she will,’ observed Jacob, ‘and I think we shall have no room for her, for the cottage is small enough.’
‘Oh no, we don’t want her,’ said Humphrey; ‘Alice always dresses Edith and herself too, ever since mamma died.’
‘Now we will carry down the bundles, and you make them fast on the pony while I go for your sisters.’
‘But where does aunt Judith go?’ enquired Edward.
‘She will not leave the house, Master Edward; she intends to stay and speak to the troopers.’
‘And so an old woman like her remains to face the enemy, while I run away from them!’ replied Edward. ‘I will not go.’
‘Well, Master Edward,’ replied Jacob, ‘you must do as you please; but it will be cruel to leave your sisters here; they and Humphrey must come with me, and I cannot manage to get them to the cottage without you go with us; it is not far, and you can return in a very short time.’
To this Edward consented. The pony was soon loaded, and the little girls, who were still playing in the garden, were called in by Humphrey. They were told that they were going to pass the night in the cottage, and were delighted at the idea.
‘Now, Master Edward,’ said Jacob, ‘will you take your sisters by the hand and lead them to the cottage? Here is the key of the door; Master Humphrey can lead the pony; and Master Edward,’ continued Jacob, taking him aside, ‘I’ll tell you one thing which I will not mention before your brother and sisters: the troopers are all about the New Forest, for King Charles has escaped, and they are seeking for him. You must not, therefore, leave your brother and sisters till I return. Lock the cottage door as soon as it is dark. You know where to get a light, over the cupboard; and my gun is loaded, and hangs above the mantelpiece. You must do your best if they attempt to force an entrance; but above all, promise me not to leave them till I return. I will remain here to see what I can do with your aunt, and when I come back we can then decide how to act.’
This latter ruse of Jacob’s succeeded. Edward promised that he would not leave his sisters, and it wanted but a few minutes of twilight when the little party quitted the mansion of Arnwood. As they went out of the gates they were passed by Benjamin, who was trotting away with Martha behind him on a pillion, holding a bundle as large as herself. Not a word was exchanged, and Benjamin and Martha were soon out of sight.
‘Why, where can Martha be going?’ said Alice. ‘Will she be back when we come home tomorrow?’
Edward made no reply, but Humphrey said, ‘Well, she has taken plenty of clothes in that huge bundle for one night, at least.’
Jacob, as soon as he had seen the children on their way, returned to the kitchen, where he found Agatha and the cook collecting their property, evidently bent upon a hasty retreat.
‘Have you seen Miss Judith, Agatha?’
‘Yes; and she told me that she should remain, and that I should stand behind her chair that she might receive the troopers with dignity; but I don’t admire the plan. They might leave her alone, but I am sure that they will be rude to me.’
‘When did Benjamin say he would be back?’
‘He don’t intend coming back. He said he would not, at all events, till tomorrow morning, and then he would ride out this way, to ascertain if the report was false or true. But Martha has gone with him.’
‘I wish I could persuade the old lady to leave the house,’ said Jacob, thoughtfully. ‘I fear they will not pay her the respect that she calculates upon. Go up, Agatha, and say I wish to speak with her.’
‘No, not I; I must be off, for it is dark already.’
‘And where are you going, then?’
‘To Gossip Allwood’s. It’s a good mile, and I have to carry my things.’
‘Well, Agatha, if you’ll take me up to the old lady, I’ll carry your things for you.’
Agatha consented, and as soon as she had taken up the lamp, for it was now quite dark, Jacob was once more introduced.
‘I wish, madam,’ said Jacob, ‘you would be persuaded to leave the house for this night.’
‘Jacob Armitage, leave this house I will not, if it were filled with troopers; I have said so.’
‘But, madam – ’
‘No more, sir; you are too forward,’ replied the old lady, haughtily.
‘But, madam – ’
‘Leave my presence, Jacob Armitage, and never appear again. Quit the room, and send Agatha here.’
‘She has left, madam, and so has the cook, and Martha went away behind Benjamin; when I leave, you will be alone.’
‘They have dared to leave?’
‘They dared not stay, madam.’
‘Leave me, Jacob Armitage, and shut the door when you go out.’ Jacob still hesitated. ‘Obey me instantly,’ said the old lady; and the forester, finding all remonstrance useless, went out, and obeyed her last commands by shutting the door after him.
Jacob found Agatha and the other maid in the courtyard; he took up their packages, and, as he promised, accompanied them to Gossip Allwood, who kept a small ale-house about a mile distant.
‘But, mercy on us! what will become of the children?’ said Agatha, as they walked along, her fears for herself having up to this time made her utterly forgetful of them. ‘Poor things! and Martha has left them.’
‘Yes, indeed; what will become of the dear babes?’ said the cook, half crying.
Now Jacob, knowing that the children of such a Malignant as Colonel Beverley would have sorry treatment if discovered, and knowing also that women were not always to be trusted, determined not to tell them how they were disposed of. He therefore replied,
‘Who would hurt such young children as those? No, no, they are safe enough; even the troopers would protect them.’
‘I should hope so,’ replied Agatha.
‘You may be sure of that; no man would hurt babies,’ replied Jacob. ‘The troopers will take them with them to Lymington, I suppose. I’ve no fear for them; it’s the proud old lady whom they will be uncivil to.’
The conversation here ended, and in due time they arrived at the inn. Jacob had just put the bundles down on the table, when the clattering of horses’ hoofs was heard. Shortly afterward, the troopers pulled their horses up at the door, and dismounted. Jacob recognized the party he had met in the forest, and among them Southwold. The troopers called for ale, and remained some time in the house, talking and laughing with the women, especially Agatha, who was a very good-looking girl. Jacob would have retreated quietly, but he found a sentinel posted at the door to prevent the egress of any person. He reseated himself, and while he was listening to the conversation of the troopers he was recognized by Southwold, who accosted him. Jacob did not pretend not to know him, as it would have been useless; and Southwold put many questions to him as to who were resident at Arnwood. Jacob replied that the children were there, and a few servants, and he was about to mention Miss Judith Villiers, when a thought struck him – he might save the old lady.
‘You are going to Arnwood, I know,’ said Jacob, ‘and I have heard who you are in search of. Well, Southwold, I’ll give you a hint. I may be wrong; but if you should fall in with an old lady or something like one when you go to Arnwood, mount her on your crupper and away with her to Lymington as fast as you can ride. You understand me?’ Southwold nodded significantly, and squeezed Jacob’s hand.
‘One word, Jacob Armitage; if I succeed in the capture by your means, it is but fair that you should have something for your hint. Where can I find you the day after tomorrow?’
‘I am leaving the country this night, and I must go. I am in trouble, that’s the fact; when all is blown over, I will find you out. Don’t speak to me any more just now.’ Southwold again squeezed Jacob’s hand, and left him. Shortly afterward the order was given to mount, and the troopers set off.
Armitage followed slowly and unobserved. They arrived at the mansion and surrounded it. Shortly afterward he perceived the glare of torches, and in a quarter of an hour more thick smoke rose up in the dark but clear sky; at last the flames burst forth from the lower windows of the mansion, and soon afterward they lighted up the country round to some distance.
‘It is done,’ thought Jacob; and he turned to bend his hasty steps toward his own cottage, when he heard the galloping of a horse and violent screams; a minute afterward James Southwold passed him with the old lady tied behind him, kicking and struggling as hard as she could. Jacob smiled as he thought that he had by his little stratagem saved the old woman’s life, for that Southwold imagined that she was King Charles dressed up as an old woman was evident; and he then returned as fast as he could to the cottage.
In half an hour Jacob had passed through the thick woods which were between the mansion and his own cottage, occasionally looking back, as the flames of the mansion rose higher and higher, throwing their light far and wide. He knocked at the cottage door; Smoker, a large dog crossbred between the fox and bloodhound, growled till Jacob spoke to him, and then Edward opened the door.
‘My sisters are in bed and fast asleep, Jacob,’ said Edward, ‘and Humphrey has been nodding this half hour; had he not better go to bed before we go back?’
‘Come out, Master Edward,’ replied Jacob, ‘and look.’ Edward beheld the flames and fierce light between the trees and was silent.
‘I told you that it would be so, and you would all have been burned in your beds, for they did not enter the house to see who was in it, but fired it as soon as they had surrounded it.’
‘And my aunt!’ exclaimed Edward, clasping his hands.
‘Is safe, Master Edward, and by this time at Lymington.’
‘We will go to her tomorrow.’
‘I fear not; you must not risk so much, Master Edward. These Levellers spare nobody, and you had better let it be supposed that you are all burned in the house.’
‘But my aunt knows the contrary, Jacob.’
‘Very true; I quite forgot that.’ And so Jacob had. He expected that the old woman would have been burned, and then nobody would have known of the existence of the children; he forgot, when he planned to save her, that she knew where the children were.
‘Well, Master Edward, I will go to Lymington tomorrow and see the old lady; but you must remain here, and take charge of your sisters till I come back, and then we will consider what is to be done. The flames are not so bright as they were.’
‘No. It is my house that these Roundheads have burned down,’ said Edward, shaking his fist.
‘It was your house, Master Edward, and it was your property, but how long it will be so remains to be seen. I fear that it will be forfeited.’
‘Woe to the people who dare take possession of it!’ cried Edward; ‘I shall, if I live, be a man one of these days.’
‘Yes, Master Edward, and then you will reflect more than you do now, and not be rash. Let us go into the cottage, for it’s no use remaining out in the cold; the frost is sharp tonight.’
Edward slowly followed Jacob into the cottage. His little heart was full. He was a proud boy and a good boy, but the destruction of the mansion had raised up evil thoughts in his heart – hatred to the Covenanters, who had killed his father and now burned the property – revenge upon them (how he knew not); but his hand was ready to strike, young as he was. He lay down on the bed, but he could not sleep. He turned and turned again, and his brain was teeming with thoughts and plans of vengeance. Had he said his prayers that night he would have been obliged to repeat, ‘Forgive us as we forgive them who trespass against us.’ At last, he fell fast asleep, but his dreams were wild, and he often called out during the night and woke his brother and sisters.
chapter three
The next morning, as soon as Jacob had given the children their breakfast, he set off toward Arnwood. He knew that Benjamin had stated his intention to return with the horse and see what had taken place, and he knew him well enough to feel sure that he would do so. He thought it better to see him if possible, and ascertain the fate of Miss Judith. Jacob arrived at the still smoking ruins of the mansion, and found several people there, mostly residents within a few miles, some attracted by curiosity, others busy in collecting the heavy masses of lead which had been melted from the roof, and appropriating them to their own benefit; but much of it was still too hot to be touched, and they were throwing snow on it to cool it, for it had snowed during the night. At last, Jacob perceived Benjamin on horseback riding leisurely toward him, and immediately went up to him.
‘Well, Benjamin, this is a woeful sight. What is the news from Lymington?’
‘Lymington is full of troopers, and they are not over-civil,’ replied Benjamin. ‘And the old lady – where is she?’
‘Ah, that’s a sad business,’ replied Benjamin, ‘and the poor children, too. Poor Master Edward! he would have made a brave gentleman.’
‘But the old lady is safe,’ rejoined Jacob. ‘Did you see her?’
‘Yes, I saw her; they thought she was King Charles – poor old soul.’
‘But they have found out their mistake by this time?’
‘Yes, and James Southwold has found it out too,’ replied Benjamin; ‘to think of the old lady breaking his neck!’
‘Breaking his neck? You don’t say so! How was it?’
‘Why, it seems that Southwold thought that she was King Charles dressed up as an old woman, so he seized her and strapped her fast behind him, and galloped away with her to Lymington; but she struggled and kicked so manfully, that he could not hold on, and off they went together, and he broke his neck.’
‘Indeed! A judgment – a judgment upon a traitor,’ said Jacob.
‘They were picked up, strapped together as they were, by the other troopers, and carried to Lymington.’
‘Well, and where is the old lady, then? Did you see and speak to her?’
‘I saw her, Jacob, but I did not speak to her. I forgot to say that, when she broke Southwold’s neck, she broke her own too.’
‘Then the old lady is dead?’
‘Yes, that she is,’ replied Benjamin; ‘but who cares about her? it’s the poor children that I pity. Martha has been crying ever since.’
‘I don’t wonder.’
‘I was at the Cavalier, and the troopers were there, and they were boasting of what they had done, and called it a righteous work. I could not stand that, and I asked one of them if it were a righteous work to burn poor children in their beds? So he turned round, and struck his sword upon the floor, and asked me whether I was one of them – “Who are you, then?” and I – all my courage went away, and I answered, I was a poor rat-catcher. “A rat-catcher; are you? Well, then, Mr Ratcatcher, when you are killing rats, if you find a nest of young ones, don’t you kill them too? or do you leave them to grow, and become mischievous, eh?” “I kill the young ones, of course,” replied I. “Well, so do we Malignants whenever we find them.” I didn’t say a word more, so I went out of the house as fast as I could.’
‘Have you heard anything about the king?’ enquired Jacob.
‘No, nothing; but the troopers are all out again, and, I hear, are gone to the forest.’
‘Well, Benjamin, goodbye, I shall be off from this part of the country – it’s no use my staying here. Where’s Agatha and cook?’
‘They came to Lymington early this morning.’
‘Wish them goodbye for me, Benjamin.’
‘Where are you going, then?’
‘I can’t exactly say, but I think London way. I only stayed here to watch over the children; and now that they are gone, I shall leave Arnwood forever.’
Jacob, who was anxious, on account of the intelligence he had received of the troopers being in the forest, to return to the cottage, shook hands with Benjamin, and hastened away. ‘Well,’ thought Jacob, as he wended his way, ‘I’m sorry for the poor old lady, but still, perhaps, it’s all for the best. Who knows what they might do with these children! Destroy the nest as well as the rats, indeed! they must find the nest first.’ And the old forester continued his journey in deep thought.
We may here observe that, bloodthirsty as many of the Levellers were, we do not think that Jacob Armitage had grounds for the fears which he expressed and felt; that is to say, we believe that he might have made known the existence of the children to the Villiers family, and that they would never have been harmed by anybody. That by the burning of the mansion they might have perished in the flames, had they been in bed, as they would have been at that hour, had he not obtained intelligence of what was about to be done, is true; but that there was any danger to them on account of their father having been such a stanch supporter of the king’s cause, is very unlikely, and not borne out by the history of the times: but the old forester thought otherwise; he had a hatred of the Puritans, and their deeds had been so exaggerated by rumour, that he fully believed that the lives of the children were not safe. Under this conviction, and feeling himself bound by his promise to Colonel Beverley to protect them, Jacob resolved that they should live with him in the forest, and be brought up as his own grandchildren. He knew that there could be no better place for concealment; for, except the keepers, few people knew where his cottage was; and it was so out of the usual paths, and so embosomed in lofty trees, that there was little chance of its being seen, or being known to exist. He resolved, therefore, that they should remain with him till better times; and then he would make known their existence to the other branches of the family, but not before. ‘I can hunt for them, and provide for them,’ thought he, ‘and I have a little money, when it is required; and I will teach them to be useful; they must learn to provide for themselves. There’s the garden, and the patch of land: in two or three years, the boys will be able to do something. I can’t teach them much; but I can teach them to fear God. We must get on how we can, and put our trust in Him who is a father to the fatherless.’
With such thoughts running in his head, Jacob arrived at the cottage, and found the children outside the door, watching for him. They all hastened to him, and the dog rushed before them, to welcome his master. ‘Down, Smoker, good dog! Well, Mr Edward, I have been as quick as I could. How have Mr Humphrey and your sisters behaved! But we must not remain outside today, for the troopers are scouring the forest, and may see you. Let us come in directly, for it would not do that they should come here.’
‘Will they burn the cottage down?’ enquired Alice, as she took Jacob’s hand.
‘Yes, my dear, I think they would, if they found that you and your brothers were in it; but we must not let them see you.’
They all entered the cottage, which consisted of one large room in front, and two back rooms for bedrooms. There was also a third bedroom, which was behind the other two, but which had not any furniture in it.
‘Now, let’s see what we can have for dinner – there’s venison left, I know,’ said Jacob; ‘come, we must all be useful. Who will be cook?’
‘I will be cook,’ said Alice, ‘if you will show me how.’
‘So you shall, my dear,’ said Jacob, ‘and I will show you how. There’s some potatoes in the basket in the corner, and some onions hanging on the string; we must have some water – who will fetch it?’
‘I will,’ said Edward, who took a pail, and went out to the spring.
The potatoes were peeled and washed by the children – Jacob and Edward cut the venison into pieces – the iron pot was cleaned; and then the meat and potatoes put with water into the pot, and placed on the fire.
‘Now I’ll cut up the onions, for they will make your eyes water.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Humphrey, ‘I’ll cut and cry at the same time.’
And Humphrey took up a knife, and cut away most manfully, although he was obliged to wipe his eyes with his sleeve very often.
‘You are a fine fellow, Humphrey,’ said Jacob. ‘Now we’ll put the onions in, and let it all boil up together. Now you see, you have cooked your own dinner; ain’t that pleasant?’
‘Yes,’ cried they all; ‘and we will eat our own dinners as soon as it is ready.’
