The School Friends: or, Nothing New

“I am going to the house of Mr Maitland, my father,” answered Gilbert, more frightened than he had ever before been in his life.

“Mr Maitland! you will not go there to-night!” exclaimed the man, with a loud curse. “Why, he is the fellow who before brought the soldiers down upon us, and this youngster has been sent out to learn where we are going, and will be setting the dragoons from Lymington on our heels. If Mr Maitland ever falls into our hands, he will find we have a heavy score to settle with him.”

These remarks were interlarded with numerous fierce oaths, which need not be repeated.

The men now turning round the pony’s head, led Gilbert back, swearing at him in a way which made his blood curdle, and fancy that they intended to shoot him or knock his brains out.

They had not got far when Gilbert saw a long line of horsemen riding two and two, in close order, crossing the road. They appeared to have heavy packages on their saddles, and were armed with blunderbusses and swords. Gilbert’s conductors seemed to be watching for some one to come up. After the horsemen came a line of waggons, with an armed man sitting in front of each and another behind, while a horseman rode on either side. There seemed to be no end of them, one following close upon the other. Gilbert counted a hundred or more. At last another band of horsemen appeared. One of Gilbert’s captors called to a man riding among them whom he addressed as “Captain,” and told him of the way they had found Gilbert, and their suspicions.

“Bring him along with you,” was the answer, “we will have a talk by and by with him.”

Gilbert’s captors joined the ranks, and the party of smugglers continued to make their way by unfrequented paths through the forest. He now recollected hearing that a strong force of military had been sent down to Lymington to assist the Revenue officers, and every moment he expected to see the smugglers attacked. They, however, seemed to have no dread of being interfered with, but rode on, laughing and joking with the utmost indifference. From the remarks Gilbert overheard, he found that they had taken good care to mislead the military, who were waiting far behind them, near the coast, under the belief that the intended run of contraband goods had not yet been landed. At length the smugglers reached a spot where their large band was to break up into separate parties who were to branch off in various directions, some with silks and ribbons to go even as far as London, others to different towns, while a portion of the goods were to be stored in hiding-places in the forest. A large party of mounted men still remained after the waggons had gone off. Among them were those who had seized Gilbert.

“Well, Captain, what shall we do with this young viper; he is a son of old Maitland’s, and there is no doubt has been after mischief.”

“Do?” answered the person addressed, a big dark-bearded man, clothed like his companions in rough seafaring costume. “The easiest way would be to leave him here to frighten the crows,” and he looked up at the overhanging branch of a tree.

Gilbert felt ready to drop from his pony with terror.

“Oh, don’t, don’t hang me!” he cried out; “I did not want to do you any harm. If you will let me go, I will not say a word about what I have seen.”

“Very likely?” growled the Captain, “but you knew that a cargo was to be run, and were galloping off to bring the dragoons down on us.”

“I knew that a cargo was to be run, because Dick Hockley told me so; but I was not going to fetch the dragoons, for I did not even know where they were.”

“A very likely story; and if Dick Hockley has been chattering to you, he will have to answer for it,” observed the Captain. “However, bring the lad along. We will hear what Master Dick has to say for himself.”

The troop, with Gilbert in their midst, now rode back by the way they had come towards the coast.

Gilbert supposed that they were about three miles from Christchurch, when, turning to the left, they came in sight of one of the numerous small farms which existed in those days in the forest, consisting of several straw-thatched mud buildings. Here he was told to tumble off his pony, which was led away, while he was conducted into a small inner room in the cottage. The window, high up near the roof, was closed by a shutter from the outside. The only furniture was a truckle-bed and a stool. The cottage apparently belonged to one of the men who had captured him, for Gilbert heard him inviting the rest to partake of the provisions he placed before them. They were all engaged in eating and drinking and talking loudly for some time. He heard the Captain at last say —

“We will now go and hear what account Master Dick has to give us about this youngster, and if he has been trying to play us a trick, he must be shipped off out of the way.”

Gilbert could not tell whether the smuggler referred to Dick or to himself, though as it was very evident they would not scruple to use violence if they thought it necessary for their own safety, he felt very uncomfortable.

At last, from the sounds he had heard, he supposed that most of the men had mounted their horses and ridden off. Feeling tired, he groped his way to the bed, on which he threw himself, and in spite of his anxiety, was soon asleep.

He was awakened by the entrance of his host, bringing him some bread and cheese, and a jug of milk.

“There,” he said, “you must be hungry by this time, youngster. It’s more than you deserve, though.”

“How long am I to be kept here?” asked Gilbert.

“I again tell you I did not want to do any one harm; on the contrary, I think you smugglers very fine fellows.”

The man laughed.

“It does not matter what you think; if Dick cannot give a good account of you, you will be sent across the seas, that I can tell you.”

Saying this, the man left the room. Gilbert was very hungry, so he ate the bread and cheese, and drank up the milk. By the light which came through a small chink in the shutter and under the door he saw that it was daytime; but hour after hour passed on, and he was still a prisoner.

Story 3-Chapter III

Mr Maitland became seriously anxious when morning dawned and Gilbert did not return. Calling up Hugh and Arthur, he told them to mount their ponies, and ride in the direction Gilbert was most likely to have taken; and as soon as the farm servants arrived, he sent them out to search the forest far and near. He himself, after consulting Mary, mounted his horse, and rode off to Christchurch, to ascertain from Dick Hockley whether Gilbert had paid him a visit.

He found the young man lolling over a gate smoking.

“Your son, Mr Maitland? what, has not he got home?” he exclaimed in unfeigned surprise. “Yes, he paid me a visit yesterday. He is an old schoolfellow, you know, and I am always happy to see him. He and I are very good friends, and there is no reason we should not be that I know of.”

“That is not to the point,” said Mr Maitland, sternly. “You acknowledge that he paid you a visit. I wish to know when he left you.”

“Somewhere about five o’clock, as far as I recollect,” answered young Hockley; “and as he was as sober as a judge, I should think his forester ought to have carried him home in a couple of hours at the outside.”

Mr Maitland continued to cross-question Dick.

“I tell you he left me at five o’clock, and I know nothing more about him,” was the only answer he could obtain. Mr Maitland was at length convinced that young Hockley knew nothing more than he said about his son. He made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and ascertained from two or three people that they had seen a lad resembling Gilbert in appearance riding towards the forest. He gained, however, a piece of information; it was that a large cargo of goods had been run that evening from the well-known lugger, the Saucy Sally, and had been conveyed with a strong escort inland, under the command of her daring captain, Slippery Rogers, who was so called from the way in which he managed on all occasions to elude the Revenue cruisers afloat, and the Government officers and soldiers sent in pursuit of him on shore.

“It’s lucky you did not fall in with them, Mr Maitland,” observed his informant. “They have vowed vengeance against you; and it would fare ill with you if they were to get you into their power.”

“I am not afraid of them, or any ruffians like them!” said Mr Maitland. “I shall do what I consider right; and try to rid the country of such pests as these outlaws have long been to it. It is a disgrace to those who should know better, and who yet encourage them by buying their goods, and refusing to give evidence when they are caught. They not only deprive the king of his just dues, but injure legitimate trade, and encourage a general lawlessness among the whole population of the coast. However, I must hasten off, and try and find out what has become of my poor boy.”

On making further inquiries, Mr Maitland ascertained the route the smugglers had taken, and became convinced that Gilbert must have crossed their path, and probably fallen into their hands. He accordingly called on the two neighbouring magistrates, and deposed, to his belief, that violence had been offered to his son by the smugglers. He gave information also to the Revenue officers, who promised all the assistance they could afford.

Having done all he could, hoping that Gilbert might in the meantime have arrived there, he set off home. Mary met him at the gate. Gilbert had not been seen. Hugh and Arthur had come back, and had gone out again to renew the search. The whole day was spent in searching for the missing one, but no trace of him could be discovered.

Day after day passed by, and Mr Maitland could gain no tidings of the son, who, notwithstanding his disobedience, he loved truly, as the last gift of his affectionate wife.

Many weeks afterwards Gilbert’s pony was found in the neighbourhood of the farm with its saddle on its back.

Arthur, from overstudy, it was supposed, fell ill, and his life was despaired of. Poor Mr Maitland feared he should lose him also. He had not unhappily the consolation of true religion. He was a just and upright man in his own sight, and in that of his neighbours, and fully believed that he deserved the favours of God on earth, and merited heaven when he should be called hence. When the time of trial came, there was something wanting. He could not look up to God as his loving, tender Father, and go confidently to Him in prayer for support, or say truly, “Thy will be done.”

Hugh had gone to college, where from the first he exhibited the talents which had gained him credit during his school career, and his tutor wrote word that he was among the most promising young men in the University. He avoided all unnecessary expenses, and being of a thoroughly independent spirit, kept aloof from those who would have drawn him away from his studies. His aims were, however, worldly; the human intellect he held in the highest estimation, and was satisfied that by his unaided efforts he could do as he desired. He was sober, moral, and economical, because he was convinced that should he be otherwise he would injure his prospects. Hugh Maitland was therefore looked upon as an excellent young man, and perhaps few were more convinced that such was the case than himself. He wrote home deeply regretting Arthur’s illness, hoping that the doctor’s skill and Mary’s watchful care would bring him round, and sympathising with his father in his grief that no tidings had been received of Gilbert.

“I am still convinced, however,” he observed, “that had he met with foul play, or by any accident lost his life, his body would have been found, and I have hopes that he will still turn up. Perhaps, as he had been reading Robinson Crusoe, he may have taken it into his wise head to run off to sea, though I should have supposed that he would have sent a line to inform us of his romantic proceeding. Tell Arthur to keep up his spirits, and not to say die.”

Mary watched over Arthur with the most loving care, and through God’s mercy he gradually recovered his strength, and was able to resume his studies. The doctor warned him, however, that he must not slick to them too closely, and advised him to take constant rides with his sister, and be in the open air as much as possible.

“If you will be guided by me, my young friend, you will give up your intention of going to college, and assist your father on his farm,” he observed. “You will find it a more healthy life than the one you propose, and probably get as strong as you can wish.” Arthur began to consider whether it was not his duty to follow the doctor’s advice. Mary hoped that he would do so, as he would then live at home with her. Mr Maitland promised every encouragement, remarking —

“Now I have lost poor Gilbert, there is no one else to keep on the farm when I am gone, or to afford a home to Mary.”

This latter argument weighed greatly with Arthur. He had had indeed no definite aim in his wish to go to college; he might perhaps become a master in a school, or take pupils at the university, or should he get a fellowship, obtain a living, but he had never thought even in that case of the duty of striving to win souls for Christ. Of the gospel and its requirements he had a very imperfect knowledge. Possessing a more gentle and loving spirit than Hugh, he thought it would be pleasant to go about among the poor, to try and make them moral and good, and relieve them in distress. There were very few cottagers in their neighbourhood who required much assistance. When any of them were sick, he and Mary had found much satisfaction in carrying them food and delicacies which they were unable to procure, and in helping them sometimes with money from their own scanty means.

During the summer long vacation Hugh did not come home, having gone with some young men who had engaged him to read with them. When he returned at Christmas, Arthur’s resolution of becoming a farmer was somewhat shaken. Hugh put before him so many of the advantages a hard-working man with good talents might obtain at the university, that his desire to try his fortune there revived. He had continued his studies for several hours every day, and now Hugh being able to assist him, he set to work with renewed vigour during the long winter evenings.

Story 3-Chapter IV

Gilbert scarcely knew how long he had been a prisoner when he heard a voice which he recognised as Dick’s. For some time he could not make out what was said.

“I will have a talk with him,” he at length heard Dick observe.

Some more remarks were made when the door opened, and he found Dick standing outside.

“Why, Gilbert, they have treated you somewhat scurvily; but it was for your good, lad, and no one is more anxious about that than I am,” said Dick. “Come along, and have some dinner, and we will talk matters over.”

They repaired to the kitchen, where an ample meal, with no lack of spirits, was placed on the table. Gilbert did justice to it, and Dick plied him with liquor, which he drank off without considering its strength.

“I must tell you, Gilbert, that your father is in a tremendous taking about you,” continued Dick. “If you were to go back, I should not be surprised if you found yourself turned out of house and home. He came to me this morning, and accused me of spiriting you away. I told him that I knew nothing about you, which was the fact. Now as matters have come to the worst, you are not likely to have a pleasant home even if you do go back, let me advise you to put the plan we have often talked about into execution, and come and have a trip with me to sea. Captain Rogers sails in the Saucy Sally to-night, and I promised to go along with him. We will have a jolly time of it; you will only have to swear that you will never reveal anything you see or hear about the doings of the smugglers. I told him that you were as true as steel, and that I would answer for you.”

Dick said much more to the same effect. At another time Gilbert might have refused to leave his kind father and sister and brothers, even with only the intention of making a pleasure-trip, for he was not yet hardened in vice, but the spirits he had drunk had taken effect. He had committed the sin of wilful disobedience to his father’s commands, and was thus easily deceived by his treacherous companion, who persuaded him that that kind father was too angry to forgive him, and that he would be henceforth an outcast from home. Such is the way Satan always tries to deceive erring people, both young and old, and to persuade them that their heavenly Father is not at all times ready to blot out their offences if they come to Him seeking forgiveness according to the way He has appointed through the all-sufficient atonement of His Son.

His false friend had fully calculated on gaining over the unhappy Gilbert, and had told his host to get a pony ready for him. As soon as evening approached they mounted and rode to the banks of the Christchurch river, near which the Saucy Sally lay moored. Though a notorious smuggler, as she had then no contraband in her, she could not be touched by the Revenue officers. Most of her numerous crew were already on board; Others were preparing to go off.

“Come!” said Dick, “we will soon be among the fine fellows,” and sending back their ponies by a lad who came for the purpose, he and Gilbert jumped into a punt, and paddled alongside.

Gilbert was welcomed by Captain Rogers, who had been expecting him.

“Glad to see you, lad!” he said, shaking him by the hand, “and hope we shall have a pleasant cruise together.”

Gilbert did not suspect that that slippery fellow had an object in getting him to join his gang. It was that he might revenge himself on Mr Maitland, whom he hated heartily. Rogers thought also that by getting Gilbert among them it might prevent him for the future from interfering in their illegal traffic as he had hitherto done.

The Saucy Sally was the longest boat of her class ever built – so it was said – measuring one hundred and twenty feet from her bowsprit end to the extremity of her outrigger. She had a large cuddy forward, and another aft, while the whole of the midship portion was open for the stowage of casks, of which she could carry from between two and three thousand. She pulled forty oars, and carried an enormous spread of canvas; so that in calms, light winds, or gales she could easily give the go-bye to any of the king’s cruisers who might chase her.

The Saucy Sally was soon gliding swiftly out to sea. She had got some distance from the land, when a light breeze springing up, her sails were hoisted, and away she sped at a rate no ordinary vessel could equal towards the French coast. Gilbert, who had often longed to take a trip in the craft he had so much admired, was delighted with the way in which she sailed, and Dick took care to keep him amused, getting several of the men to recount some of the daring and hazardous adventures in which they had been engaged. Gilbert thought the life of a bold smuggler about the finest and most exciting he could wish for.

They soon reached the French coast. Dick invited Gilbert to go on shore, and introduced him into scenes of vice of which before he had had no experience. The Saucy Sally was detained some days taking in her cargo. The whole of this time was spent by Dick and Gilbert on shore, in company with several other profligate young men.

“Well, you have seen something of life,” observed Dick, as they were once more on board. “You will find it somewhat slow work when you go back to help your father on his farm – eh, lad?”

“I cannot go back,” answered Gilbert gloomily; “I should like to assist in running our cargo. There is excitement in that sort of work which suits my fancy.”

“I admire your spirit, lad!” exclaimed Captain Rogers, who overheard him. “If you stick by us, we will stick by you, and you shall have a share in the profits of our Venture; I know I can trust you, from what I have seen of you. Wherever there is danger, I shall expect you to be near to help me,” and Slippery Rogers shook Gilbert’s hand warmly.

On the voyage back to England a bright look-out was kept for any Revenue cruisers which might be on the watch. Twice the Saucy Sally was chased. Once, as a thick fog lifted, she found herself close to a Revenue bruiser, from which several shots struck her, killing one man and wounding two; but notwithstanding, with the help of oars and sails, she managed to get away. The Saucy Sally reached the English coast at night, and Captain Rogers threw up a signal, to let his friends on shore know of his arrival. A signal, to show that all was right, was returned. The Saucy Sally ran in, and boats coming to her, in a wonderfully short time the whole of her cargo was landed.

“Come!” said Dick to Gilbert, “if you wish to see all the fun, you must assist in conveying our cargo inland,” and he gave him a brace of pistols and a short gun, such as the rest were armed with.

Dick then told Gilbert to mount a horse, over the back of which a couple of ankers were slung, and he found himself riding along in company with a large gang of smugglers similar to those he had met with a short time before. He was now thoroughly involved with the smugglers, and less than ever could he venture, so he thought, to go home. Captain Rogers and Dick felt that they had got him securely in their toils, and that they could make use of him as an instrument to do whatever they might require.

They had got some distance inland when a halt was called, a scout having come back with the information that danger was ahead. A consultation was held among the leaders, who determined to push on, and if necessary, to fight their way. Dick and Gilbert, and others on horseback, were summoned to the front. Advancing for half a mile, they saw drawn up a strong body of mounted Revenue officers. The smugglers with oaths ordered them to get out of their way, and on their refusing, rode boldly forward, firing as they advanced. The Revenue officers fired in return.

“Make use of your weapon, Gilbert!” cried Dick, seeing that his companion hesitated to attempt killing his fellow-countrymen engaged in the performance of their duty. “Are you chicken-hearted, lad? I thought better of you.”

Thus taunted, Gilbert raised his piece. One of the officers was seen to fall from his saddle. More smugglers coming up, the Revenue men, finding themselves far outnumbered, retreated, carrying off two or three wounded companions. One smuggler had been killed, and several slightly wounded. The smugglers dashed on, the dead man being put into one of the waggons, and without further hindrance reached their destination.

“You did that well,” said Dick to Gilbert; “I saw you bring the fellow down; should not be surprised that you killed him.”

Gilbert shuddered. Had he really been guilty of the death of a fellow-creature? if so, all hope of ever returning home was gone; he would be hunted as a murderer, and murder, he had often heard, was sure to be discovered.

Dick saw the effect his remark had produced, and tried to laugh it off.

“Why, my good fellow, such things happen every day, and it’s no use being downcast about it,” he observed. “You can take up your old quarters at Deadman’s Farm till the Saucy Sally sails again; and then if you have a fancy for it, we will make a longer trip. The skipper intends to try his luck on another part of the coast, as this little affair will probably make the forest too hot for us for a time. We shall be back again, however, when it blows over, depend upon that.”

Gilbert lay concealed for about a week. He had time for reflection, and had he dared, he would have gone back.

“It’s too late now, though; it’s too late!” he groaned out, and had recourse to the brandy-bottle to stifle conscience.

He was once more on board the lugger, and from henceforth for several years was the constant associate of the smugglers. During the time he paid several visits to the neighbourhood of Christchurch; but he was so completely changed in appearance that even had he met any of his old acquaintances, they would not have recognised him. He had long ceased to be called by his own name, having assumed another, by which he was known among his associates. Dick Hockley and Slippery Rogers, and others who were acquainted with his secret, kept it for their own objects, and under his assumed name he became known as one of the most daring and desperate of the band.