“I should like it well enough, Ben; but there are others at home who would object to my going away on board the lugger. However, I won’t say no, so good night, Ben, and thank you for the fish;” and Dick Hargrave set off at a brisk pace towards his home, while his evil adviser—for such Ben Rudall undoubtedly was—entered his cottage, where his wife was busy preparing supper for him and their children.
An anxious woman was Susan Rudall. Sometimes there was an over-abundance on the board, and she had more money than she well knew how to spend. At others it was a hard matter to find a few shillings to pay the week’s bills for bread and other necessaries, though, to be sure, she could generally obtain credit, as it was hoped that, on the return of the Nancy, Ben would again be flush of money. Sometimes, however, she, as well as the tradespeople, were disappointed. Then often and often, while south-westerly gales were blowing, she had the anxious thought that the Nancy was at sea and might perchance founder, as other similar craft had done, or be cast on the rocky coast, or be taken by a revenue vessel, when Ben and his companions, if caught with a cargo on board, would be thrown into prison, or sent to serve his Majesty on board a man-of-war for three or four years or more.
Poor Susan’s lot was that of many other smugglers’ wives, who, notwithstanding the silks and laces with which they could bedeck themselves, and the abundance of spirits and tobacco in which their husbands might indulge, had often a troubled time of it. Not that she, or any other of the wives and daughters of those engaged in the lawless trade, thought that there was any harm in it. Probably their fathers and grandfathers before them, and most of their male relatives, except those sent off to sea, followed the same calling, and when any were caught or killed, they looked on their fate as a misfortune which had to be borne, without considering that it was justly brought upon themselves.
Meantime, the two midshipmen, after waiting till their patience was almost exhausted, having seen their portmanteaus put into Silas Fryer’s cart, set off on foot for Elverston Hall.
“I really regret, my dear Oswald, that you should be exposed to this inconvenience. For myself, I confess I do not care; the pleasure of accompanying you and the honour of being received by your family, will make ample amends to me for a far greater annoyance. As a miserable younger son, with little more than my pay to depend upon, I have often had to tramp it. But you, I fear, will be greatly fatigued.”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Reginald. “I can walk as well as any man, and could get over the distance if it were twice as great. I was only vexed at the impertinence of those fellows.”
“Of course, of course,” said Voules, soothingly; “but leave them to me, and if I have an opportunity while remaining here, I’ll endeavour to pay them off.”
Mr Alfred Voules, though an especial friend of Lord Reginald Oswald, was not a favourite on board his ship, where he was known by the name of “Toady Voules,” an appellation he richly merited by the mode in which he paid court to any shipmates possessed of titles or amply stored purses. He had lately won his way into the good graces of Lord Reginald, who had obtained leave to take him on a visit to Elverston Hall, while the frigate was refitting at Portsmouth. When she brought up in Yarmouth Roads, Lord Reginald explained that his home was a short distance off on the opposite coast, and that it would save him and his friend a long journey if they were to land at Keyhaven, as they could easily reach it from thence. Much to their satisfaction, their captain allowed them—certainly an unusual favour—to be put on shore as they desired. Voules himself stood well in the opinion of the captain and lieutenants, as, although he might not have exhibited any especial gallantry, he always appeared attentive to his duty.
As the two midshipmen stepped out briskly, they soon distanced the cart, though darkness overtook them when they were still three or four miles from the hall. Lord Reginald, however, knew the road, and there was light enough from the stars to enable them to see it without difficulty. Elverston was situated some distance from the coast, within the borders of the New Forest. They were laughing and talking merrily together as they made their way along an uncultivated tract, covered with heather and occasional clumps of trees, here and there paths crossing the main road, when Voules exclaimed—
“What are those objects moving beyond the trees there? They seem to me to be like men on horseback; and, surely, that is the sound of cart wheels.”