“I think otherwise,” replied I. “A hare on a common is as much mine as Lord Spencer’s. A common belongs to everybody.”
“That’s my opinion, too; but, nevertheless, if he gets hold of us, he’ll have us in gaol; and therefore I propose we make off as fast as we can in the opposite way to which he is gone.”
We started accordingly, and as the keeper proceeded in the direction of Wandsworth, we took the other direction; but it so happened that on turning round, after a quarter of an hour’s walk, we perceived the man coming back with three or four others. “We must run for it,” cried Tom, “and then hide ourselves.” After ten minutes’ hard run we descended into a hollow and swampy place, looking round to see if they could perceive us, and finding that they were not in sight, we plunged into a thick cluster of furze bushes, which completely concealed us. Tommy followed us, and there we lay. “Now they never will find us,” said Tom, “if I can only keep the dog quiet. Lie down, Tommy. Watch, and lie down.” The dog appeared to understand what was required; he lay between us perfectly still.
We had remained there about half-an-hour when we heard voices. I motioned to Tom to give me the powder to load the gun, but he refused. The voices came nearer; Tommy gave a low growl. Tom held his mouth with his hands. At last they were close to the bushes, and we heard the common-keeper say, “They never went over the hill, that’s for certain, the little wagrants; they can’t be far off—they must be down in the hollow. Come along.”
“But I’m blessed if I’m not up to my knees in the bog,” cried one of the men; “I’ll go no further down, dang me!”
“Well, then let’s try the side of the bog,” replied the keeper, “I’ll show you the way.” And the voices retreated, fortunately for us, for there had been a continual struggle between us and the dog for the last minute, I holding his forepaws, and Tom jamming up his mouth. We were now all quiet again, but dare not leave our hiding-place.
We remained there for half-an-hour, when it became nearly dark, and the sky, which had been quite clear when we set out, clouded over. Tom put up his head, looked all round, and perceiving nobody, proposed that we should return as fast as we could; to which I agreed. But we were scarcely clear of the furze in which we had been concealed when a heavy fall of snow commenced, which, with the darkness, prevented us from distinguishing our way. Every minute the snow-storm increased, the wind rose, and hurled the flakes into our faces until we were blinded. Still we made good way against it, and expected every minute to be on the road, after which our task would be easy. On we walked in silence, I carrying the gun, Tom with the hare over his shoulder, and Tommy at our heels. For upwards of an hour did we tread our way through the furze, but could find no road. Above us all was dark as pitch; the wind howled; our clothes were loaded with snow; and we began to feel no inconsiderable degree of fatigue.
At last, quite tired out, we stopped. “Tom,” said I, “I’m sure we’ve not kept a straight course. The wind was on our starboard side, and our clothes were flaked with snow on that side, and now you see we’ve got it in our quarter. What the devil shall we do?”
“We must go on till we fall in with something, at all events,” replied Tom.
“And I expect that will be a gravel-pit,” replied I; “but never mind, ‘better luck next time.’ I only wish I had that rascal of a common-keeper here. Suppose we turn back again, and keep the wind on the starboard side of us as before; we must pitch upon something at last.”