Story 3--Chapter II.
Gilbert knew his way, and that he could trust his little forest-bred pony to carry him safe home; so he gave it the rein, and let it gallop along the open glade, though the gloom was often so dense that he could not see a yard beyond the animal’s head. He had got some distance, and had just crossed another road, when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs behind him. There were several. They came on at a rapid rate. Who the horsemen were he could not tell. The sounds increased. He put his little forester at its swiftest gallop, but his pursuers were soon at his heels, and a stentorian voice shouted to him to stop, with the threat of a pistol-bullet through his head. He pulled up, feeling that all hopes of escape were vain.
“Who are you? what are you after here?” shouted the same voice, and two men galloping up seized his rein. “What business takes you out at this time of night, youngster?” asked one of the men.
“I am going home,” answered Gilbert.
“Where is your home?” said one of the men, drawing a pistol from his belt; “answer truly, or I will send a bullet through you!”
“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.