Buch lesen: «Digby Heathcote: The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir», Seite 12

“I’ve come after you, sir, to tell you that we’ve got hold of some information that may lead us on the right scent,” said John, jumping from his horse. “I am to go along with you, sir. If you like to ride there’s a horse, if not, I’ll send him back.”

“I infinitely prefer walking such weather as this,” answered Arthur. “Send the horse back, and now tell me the news.”

“Why, sir, first, Mr Woodcock sent off to London for what they call a detective, a sort of ferrety-like fellow, who pokes his head in everywhere, and finds out everything. When Dame Marlow heard of it she was in a great taking, and asked what reward she would have if she tried to find out where the young Squire is?

“‘I’ll tell ye what, Dame,’ says Mr Woodcock to her, ‘if he isn’t soon found, you’ll have very much the contrary to a reward, let me tell you. When the detective comes down, you’ll find that tricks like these can’t be played, and you go unpunished. However, I’ll tell you what, Dame, we don’t want to be hard upon you, and if you help in any way to find the young master, depend on it the Squire will be liberal to you, and you’ll be a richer woman than you have been for many a day.’

“She made no answer, but sat smoking a pipe they had given her over the fire, for a long time; she smoked and smoked away. At last, says she, ‘I want to speak to that strange gentleman. He can see better with half an eye than all you people can with two; and I have a respect for him.’

“When Mr Woodcock went to her, says she —

“‘I may put you in the way of finding the young Squire, but send at once; there’s no time to be lost. Look out an honest man, if you can find such. It won’t do to be sending a beak, remember that. Send a lad with him; he may want somebody to help him.’

“Mr Woodcock at once thought of me, as he knows that no one loves the young Squire better; and so he sent for me, and told the old dame that I was the man he would send, and that he was sure you, Master Haviland, would wish to go also. She seemed well satisfied at this, and then went on to tell me what to do.

“‘A mile to the west of Osberton, in Luccombe Cove, there’s a fisherman’s cottage, close down to the beach,’ said she; ‘there’s no other near. You’ll find an old man there. Ask for Jem the Spotsman. Say that I sent you to him. Tell him that if he shows you where the young Squire is you’ll give him five golden guineas. He’ll not do it for less. If he says he knows nothing about the matter, tell him that the beaks will be on him, and that he’d better do as I bid him. If you can get another fearless man to go with you it may be better. Jem will lead you to a strange place, where you’ll meet strange people. Speak them fair; you’ll not do much by force. Tell them that you’ve plenty of friends at your back, who know where you are, and will come and look for you if you don’t soon return to them. I tell you this because I don’t want any more mischief to come out of the matter. Again I say, you mustn’t lose time. It’s just possible that, even now, you may be too late, and that the lad is on his way to far distant lands. That’s no fault of mine, remember. Those who have got him may be thinking of taking him, or they may not. It is not very likely that they will be wishing to send him back after they have shown him their hiding-place, and let him into other of their secrets.’

“I didn’t stop to hear more, but I just got a couple of brace of pistols, and came away at once to overtake you. We might have ridden all the way into Osberton, but Mr Woodcock cautioned me to go in quietly, lest the smugglers or the people, whoever they are, who have got Master Digby, should hear of our coming, and suspecting treachery, should carry him off elsewhere.”

“I am rejoiced to hear what you tell me,” exclaimed Arthur, when John Pratt had finished his account. It is impossible, by the by, to do justice to the quaint and thoroughly provincial way in which he expressed himself; so that Arthur at times could scarcely understand him. “There can be but little doubt, from what you tell me, that he is alive, and that we are in a fair way of recovering him. We must proceed, I see, with caution and courage; and as we may employ another man, I know one who will gladly aid us. He is a friend, too, of Digby’s – Toby Tubb is his name. If we want help, he can help us better than anybody.”

“He may be a friend of Master Digby’s, and I hope he has many friends, but he can’t be a greater, nor one who would give every day he has to live for him,” exclaimed John, with a very natural burst of feeling.

They were walking on all this time rapidly towards Osberton. On arriving there, they first went to Mr Nugent’s house. He had been made aware of what had occurred, and had already consulted with Toby Tubb on the subject. While Arthur took some tea, and rested, he sent off for Toby.

When Toby, who had been thinking the matter over, as he said, arrived, and was told Arthur’s errand, he slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, “I thought it was so. I know the gang; a set of daring ruffians as ever lived. Poor Master Digby; it was hard for him to fall into their power. But we will get him out again as soon as we can, if they haven’t spirited him away.” Toby had come prepared for an expedition. He begged Mr Nugent to lend him a brace of pistols. Arthur and John Pratt were already armed. Adam Hodder had gone back with the horses. Arthur, with his two attendants, therefore, John and Toby, immediately set forth on their undertaking. As Toby Tubb knew every inch of the way, they soon reached the high ground above Luccombe Cove.

“There’s the cottage,” he observed, pointing to a hut low down on the beach. “I know Jem the Spotsman well – a terrible old ruffian he is. Do you, Master Haviland and John Pratt, go in and give him your message. If he refuses to help you, call me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur, followed by John Pratt, stepped boldly in. The expedition, independent of the object, had peculiar charms for him; there was so much romance and excitement in it. He did not stop to knock, but flung open the door of the hut, and unhesitatingly entered. An old man, in a blue Guernsey frock, sat bending over a drift-wood fire, which spluttered and smoked as he kept piling on the yet damp chips. He looked round at the noise, and, seeing strangers, rose with considerable activity to his feet. He scowled at them beneath his white shaggy eyebrows.

Arthur had begged that he might be the spokesman; he felt fully up to the emergency. At an early age, indeed, he had learned much to rely on himself. “Jem the Spotsman, I have a message for you,” he began.

“Who told you that was my name?” asked the old man, with a growl.

“Never mind, if it is your name,” said Arthur. “We’ve come to do you good, and show you how to gain five golden guineas.”

“Time was when I could gain fifty without much trouble,” interrupted the old man.

“You cannot now, though; and five guineas is a good sum,” observed Arthur. “You’ll get that, but not more. Dame Marlow bids me tell you that the beaks will be on you; that you know where the young Squire of Bloxholme is hid away, and that if you would keep your neck out of a noose, you will show us where he is to be found.”

The old man sat down and began to rake the ashes of the fire with a stick. He did not ask his visitors to take seats, though, but he kept watching them warily out of the corners of his eyes. “Five golden guineas, five golden guineas,” he kept muttering. “Who are you who make the promise?”

“A friend of Mr Heathcote’s,” answered Arthur. “It will be faithfully kept with you, depend on that.”

“Who’s that man with you?”

Arthur told him.

“Ay, he looks as if he had the hay-seed in his hair,” observed old Jem. “I’d rather trust a seaman.”

“If I bring a seaman, one, perhaps, whom you know, will you trust him?” asked Arthur.

“Yes,” answered the old man, after a little thought.

Arthur made a sign to John Pratt to go and fetch Toby; but he seemed unwilling to leave Arthur alone.

“Go, go. What have I to fear?” said Arthur, firmly.

The old man looked up at him. “Some who have been here have been afraid, though,” he muttered. “Take a seat, young gentleman. I like your spirit.”

Arthur thanked him, and sat down on a three-legged stool, near a table, which, from its appearance, he knew had formed part of the furniture of the cabin of a ship, probably wrecked on the coast. Every portion of the hut, indeed, was evidently composed of wreck-wood – the roof, the sides, and floor.

John Pratt soon returned with Toby.

“Ho, ho, old shipmate,” said Toby, as he entered, “so you won’t believe what the young gentleman promises; but you’ll believe me. Five golden guineas or a rope’s-end, remember that.”

“The guineas,” answered old Jem, who at once recognised Toby as an acquaintance. “But I was placed here to receive a message; when they come who will they give it to?”

“Never you mind that; we’ll be be back in time, I dare say,” answered Toby.

“Then come along,” said the old man, whose weak mind was evidently powerfully influenced by the prospect of receiving the five golden guineas to the exclusion of every other consideration. “It will be rough work for the young gentleman, but he looks as if he wouldn’t fear it.”

Getting up, and walking with wonderfully firm steps, the old man led the way to a little inlet of the sea, into which a stream fell. It was large enough to allow four or five boats to float in it at once. One only was seen, and she was drawn up on the beach. A pair of oars and a rudder, and a mast and sails were in her. The old man called to Toby to help him launch her.

“What, be’es we going by the sea?” asked John Pratt, who had a thorough dread of the ocean.

“It’s better than going by the land, seeing that we could not get there at all, if I guess the place we are bound for,” observed Toby. “Now step in, young gentleman – step in, master.”

“Can you steer?” old Jem asked of Arthur.

“Yes, I am well accustomed to it,” he answered.

“Then take the helm, and do as I bid you,” said the old man, taking the after oar.

Toby took the other, and they pulled away from the land. The cove was sheltered by a high reef of rocks, so the water was perfectly smooth – so smooth, that a thin coating of ice had been formed at the margin, through which the boat easily forced her way. The stars shone brightly forth from the dark sky, and enabled Arthur to discern the whole outline of the wild, and fantastically-shaped cliffs, which formed the coast, as they towered high above his head on the right. The boat had gone out to clear a reef of rocks which ran out from the shore, and having got to the end of it, old Jem told Arthur to port his helm, and thus doubling it, he steered close in under the cliffs. In many places there was no beach, the water coming close up to their bases; and so close was the boat that frequently the oars touched their rugged fronts. Often, too, the sea-fowl, roosting low down on ledges of rocks, were disturbed from their perches, and flew up with loud screams, circling round and round their heads, till they had passed their resting-places.

John Pratt looked about him with considerable awe, if not dread; all was strange and new to him.

Arthur had witnessed similar scenes. The boat made but slow progress, for she was kept all the way in and out, through all the little bays, and bends, and inlets of the shore. Many thoughts passed through Arthur’s mind during the long pull. He hoped to recover his friend, and to enjoy the delight of restoring him to his family. At the same time, he could not help recollecting what Dame Marlow had said to John Pratt, and also the remarks of old Jem, and often he feared that they might arrive too late at the cavern where they expected to find him; that he might already be carried off to the distant lands of which the old woman spoke. Such things had occurred before, and might occur again; yet he was puzzled to know what motives the smugglers could have in such a mode of proceeding. He thought and thought over the matter without coming to any satisfactory conclusion. No one spoke above a whisper.

“We might be seen or heard by some passing coastguard man,” observed old Jem.

Now a lofty, dark, and beetling headland was seen before them.

“It’s on t’other side of St. Niven’s Head. We’ll have to go round it,” said old Jem.

Arthur did not object to the long pull, but he was eager to discover Digby, and to relieve him from all the anxiety he must be feeling.

On pulling out towards the end of the promontory, a swell was felt which, as it rolled in, broke on the cliffs, and compelled them to keep at a somewhat greater distance. On they went. As Arthur looked up it appeared as if the cliffs rose to a prodigious height above his head, almost reaching the sky. In several places, indeed, they appeared to be completely overhanging the water; and he could scarcely divest himself of the feeling that they were about to fall down and overwhelm the boat. The boat now rose and fell more rapidly to the heaving wave, and nothing but John Pratt’s earnest desire to find his young master, prevented him from bitterly repenting that he had trusted himself on the treacherous ocean.

“Starboard your helm!” suddenly exclaimed Jem, with an energy which he did not seem capable of exerting.

A loud splashing, washing sound, was heard, and Arthur saw the sea breaking wildly over a rock, on which, in another instant, the boat would have struck. The danger passed, they pulled on till they rounded the headland. Wilder than ever was the scene. On one side the lofty cliffs, with their steep front, on which there appeared scarcely a ledge on which a sea-fowl might set its foot; while on the other was the broad boundless expanse of ocean. Arthur thought what would have been their fate if the boat had struck on the rock, and sunk.

“The cave where we may find him is not many hundred fathoms off,” said old Jem.

Arthur’s heart beat eagerly at the information; and John Pratt forgot all his fears.

“Remember, you have to deal with men who care not for law of any sort. You must speak them fair, or you will gain nothing,” said the old man. “Now steer in for that white spot. You’ll find some steps and a path cut in the face of the rock. Take care you don’t slip, or you’ll chance to break your neck. Enter the cave as boldly as you entered my nephew’s cottage; say your say, and wait for the answer. If they threaten you, call for me. I want my five golden guineas.”

Arthur sprang out of the boat, followed by Toby and John Pratt.

Toby whispered that he had no idea of the place they were going to.

Arthur carefully groped his way up the cliff, but had great difficulty in finding the path. He could not help allowing it to occur to him how completely they were in the power of the ruffians they had come to seek. A few stones rolled down would have precipitated them all into the sea. Still the idea was far from making him repent that he had come on the expedition. His chief thought and earnest wish was to rescue Digby.

Toby Tubb puffed up after him, but John Pratt, once on dry land, was himself again, and came along with easy strides. Lichens and salt-loving plants grew on the face of the cliff, and served Arthur as handles to assist him to mount, though he trusted chiefly to his feet and the ledges and excrescences in the rock. Up he went – on, on, on. He thought that he must have got into the wrong path; not a sight of a cave appeared. Then he thought that perhaps old Jem had played them a trick, and having placed them on the wild rock had pulled away. The old man had charged him not to speak, so he was afraid of stopping and consulting with Toby and John Pratt. He was beginning to despair, when suddenly he found that he had reached a broad ledge. The party collected on it. A dark spot on the face of the cliff was before them; that was evidently the entrance to the cavern. He drew his breath faster; who would not on such an occasion? Then he and his two attendants walked rapidly forward, till they found themselves under the arched roof of the cave. There was no light, or signs of any one being there. Toby had brought a lantern; he lighted it. As he did so, he whispered to Arthur —

“There may be pitfalls in the way; it’s as well not to tumble into them.”

The cave did not run directly into the cliff, but turned sharply round to the left. Toby holding up his lantern, they boldly advanced. Still no voices were heard.

“The fellows are asleep,” whispered Toby.

They soon reached a narrower part of the cave, with a screen of rough planks running across it. At one end of the screen was a low door; Arthur pushed it open, and entered, fully believing that, in another instant, he should grasp Digby’s hand. Arthur saw before him a large vaulted cavern. In the centre was a fire, over which an old man and a boy were sitting toasting some slices of fish at the points of their knives. So eager were they in their occupation that they did not perceive his approach. Could the boy be Digby? The idiotic expression of wonder and fear with which the lad looked up at him showed him that he was not. The few inarticulate words uttered by the lad made the man turn round, when, starting up, he drew a pistol, and presented it at Arthur.

“We come in peace, and have no wish to hurt you,” said Arthur. “Tell me where is Squire Heathcote’s son. We come to seek him.”

While the man stood irresolute, without replying, Arthur’s eye fell on some clothes on the top of a cask. He took them up: there was a cap, and jacket, and waistcoat, such as Digby was accustomed to wear. He had little doubt that they were Digby’s. His heart sunk within him.

“Where is Squire Heathcote’s son?” he repeated.

The man stretched out his hand. “They have carried him off; he is far down Channel by this time.”

All Arthur’s worst apprehensions were realised; he was too late to save his friend.

Chapter Nine

Digby’s New Pony – Attacked by Smugglers – The Outlaws’ Cavern – A Voyage – The Gale – An Ill Wind that Blows no one Good – Digby Shipwrecked

“You beautiful little Sweetlips, many a jolly ride I’ll have on you,” cried the young Squire of Bloxholme Hall, as he patted his pony’s neck while he cantered along over the ground, just crisping with the newly set in frost. He had intended to go only as far as the park gates, but the air was so refreshing, and the feeling of finding himself once more in the saddle was so exhilarating that, seeing the gate open, he could not help dashing through it, and giving his pony the rein and a cut with his whip, galloping along a smooth piece of turf which ran for some distance by the side of the road. “I shall be back quite time enough to dress for dinner,” he thought to himself, “and Sweetlips likes the fun as much as I do.” He galloped on a little longer. “Oh, this is delightful! We must go a short distance further, Sweetlips,” he exclaimed. “We will turn back, then, and you shall have a capital feed. I’ll tell John Pratt to give it you. Oh, how kind is papa. You are a first-rate pony, indeed you are, old fellow.” On he went; the pony certainly seeming to enjoy the gallop as much as his young master. “Now we really must go back, Sweetlips,” cried Digby, pulling in his rein, for the gloom of evening was rapidly increasing. He did not perceive that several men were coming quickly along the road close to him. “Now for Bloxholme, at your best speed, my pony, he shouted in his glee.”

“Hillo! stop, master!” cried one of the men, springing forward and seizing his rein. “Who are you?”

“Let go my bridle,” answered Digby, trying to free himself. “I am Mr Heathcote’s son, if you wish to know.”

“Ho, ho! are you, indeed, youngster?” said one of the men. “We are in luck, then. I say, though, you are not going home just now. Come along with us.”

“Along with you! Indeed I will not,” answered Digby, with very natural indignation.

“Ho, ho, my cock of the woods, don’t crow so loudly, or we may have to squeeze your windpipe,” exclaimed another of the ruffians coming up.

All Digby’s spirit was raised. He struck out right and left with his whip, and endeavoured to force his pony out from among them. In vain were his efforts. He, however, struck the ruffian who held the reins so severe a blow across the eyes that the man let them go, and he might have escaped, had not, at the same moment, two other fellows seized him by the collar of his jacket, and he was dragged to the ground. The pony, finding his head free, sprang forward, and before either of the men could catch him, had galloped far beyond their reach, though one of the most active ran on in the hope of catching it. Digby in the scuffle, while bravely trying to escape, let go his whip, which fell to the ground unperceived by his captors. Few other words were spoken. They dragged him rapidly along the road they had come, which led past Dame Marlow’s cottage. One of them threatened to blow out his brains if he made the slightest noise, and suspecting that they might put their threat into execution, he refrained from crying out. Still, as he went along, he was considering all the time how he could effect his escape. He counted eight or ten men in the party who had got hold of him. When they arrived at Mile-End gravel-pits, they turned off and took the path to Dame Marlow’s cottage. They seemed to be expected there. When they entered, the old woman was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caldron boiling on it. As the bright light fell on her thin, sharp features, and her long, bony arm, almost bare, was stretched out grasping the ladle, with her red cloak thrown over one shoulder, her long, straggling hair, and her fantastic dress, she looked, indeed, like one of the witches Digby had read of, and he could not help feeling that the outrage of which he was the victim, was a just retribution for the trick he had once played here – a retribution probably brought about by her machinations.

“We’ve caught the young bird sooner than we expected, Dame,” said one of the men. “But, we’ve more work on hand to-night. We’ll leave him with you and Dick Owlett till we come back. Take care that he doesn’t fly off.”

Master Dick Owlett, who had hitherto kept in the background, now made his appearance. He had grown so much stouter and bigger since Digby saw him last at Osberton, that dressed as he was, in a rough seaman’s costume, he could scarcely have recognised him.

Digby knew that he had been sent off to sea, but he learned, from his conversation with the old woman, that he had deserted and found his way back to his old haunts.

One of the men placed a bench near the fire. “Sit down there, youngster,” he said. “Mind you don’t stir till we come back. Dick, keep an eye on him.”

Dick Owlett scowled at Digby, and drawing a pistol from his coat-pocket, sat himself down at the other end of the bench, eyeing him as a bull-terrier does his master’s bundle he has been placed to watch. The rest of the men then hurried out, leaving only old Marlow, who lay groaning on a bed at the further end of the cottage, the Dame, and Owlett watching Digby.

When the men were gone, the Dame came and placed herself before Digby, eyeing him with a very sinister glance. “So, young Squire,” she hissed out, “the old Squire will learn that the poor can love their children as much as the rich. He sent my boy across the sea with the help of the law, and never will he come back to gladden his old grandmother’s eyes; and now I’m going to send his son far away, and may be he’ll never come back to brighten Bloxholme Hall with his smiles and his laughter. Revenge is sweet, and there are many to-night who find it so, and there are some who will find it bitter, too.”

Digby heard these words, but scarcely comprehended their full meaning, or was aware of the very terrible misfortune threatening him. He sat still for some time, while the old woman’s words were ringing in his ears. “I don’t much fear her threats, and I ought to be ashamed of myself in allowing the old woman, and that young rascal, not so many years older than I am, to keep me a prisoner,” he thought. “I’ll break away from them.” He sprung up to rush to the door, but before he had moved further, the click of the pistol-lock struck his ear.

“I’ll fire,” exclaimed Owlett, with a dreadful oath. “I’m not going to be informed against, and sent off to prison for this night’s work.”

“Young Squire, he’ll kill thee,” cried the old woman, placing her long, skinny hands on his shoulder, and forcing him down to his seat with a strength he could not resist.

He was too indignant to expostulate, but he eyed Dick Owlett, and considered whether he could compete with him in a tussle, and wrest the pistol from his hands. Then he recollected that if he made the attempt, he should have the old woman attacking him in the rear with her sharp, talon-like fingers. Whenever she moved, he felt that the Dame’s keen eye was upon him. Even while preparing the supper for her guests, and stirring the caldron, her glance was constantly turned towards him. Then, also, Owlett had his finger on the lock, and the muzzle of the pistol pointed at his breast. A full-grown man might have felt very uncomfortable under such circumstances, so, considering that Owlett might possibly put his threat into execution, much against his will he sat still.

A long time seemed to pass, and then, at length, the band of ruffians came back. From their appearance and conversation Digby supposed them to be smugglers. They seemed highly delighted with their performances that evening; and having hurriedly discussed their supper, they declared that they must be off without further delay.

Digby now thought it was time to speak out.

“What is it you want with me?” he asked. “I wish to return home.”

“That’s what you will be crying out for many a day, youngster,” answered one of the men. “No, no, you’ll go along with us.”

In vain Digby expostulated, and threatened, and at last entreated his captors to let him return home. They only laughed and sneered at him. Had he himself only been the sufferer, he felt that he would not have condescended to use any arguments but threats with such ruffians; but he knew the misery his disappearance would cause his parents and sisters.

“Poor dear little Kate; how she will cry about me,” he said to himself; and he thought again and again how he could get away.

The men buttoned up their coats, slipped a rough pea-jacket over his shoulders, and put a tarpaulin hat on his head, which they tied down so that he could not throw it off.

“Gag him,” said one of them; and he found a handkerchief passed tightly over his mouth, effectually preventing him from crying out. Two of them then took him by the arms between them, and, nodding to Dame Marlow, went out. She merely cast one very unpleasant glance at him, but said nothing. The whole party followed, and walked along the road at a rapid rate, every now and then looking behind them as if they expected to be pursued. In about twenty minutes they reached a low public-house, well known as the resort of smugglers and other bad characters. Two carts were standing before the door; jumping into them, without entering the house, they drove on at a rapid rate. Digby looked up at the sky, which was beautifully clear. Mr Nugent constantly gave his pupils lessons in practical astronomy, and Digby was therefore able to discover that they were driving towards the sea. They kept, however, considerably to the west of Osberton. At last they reached the edge of a cliff; before him lay spread out the ocean, now sleeping in calm grandeur. The men roughly pulled him out of the cart, and two of them taking him as before, between them, made him descend a narrow zig-zag path down the face of the cliff. Down, down they went, till they reached a small curving beach, the high cliffs towering above it, and without any communication with the other part of the shore. A boat lay there; she was quickly launched, and the men, getting in, took Digby with them.

He had been full well sure that search would be made for him, but he saw that the difficulty of discovering him would be much increased by this proceeding of the smugglers. He had been unable to drop anything on the road by which he could be traced; and now embarked, and, as he thought, about to be carried out of the country, he was brought to the verge of despair.

The smugglers, however, had not rowed far before they once more turned the boat’s head towards the land; and he soon found that they were at the foot of a lofty cliff.

“You may sing out now, youngster, as loudly as you like; no One will hear you whom we fear,” said one of the men, undoing the handkerchief secured round his mouth.

Up the cliff the whole party climbed till they reached a cave in the face of the rock. Digby had not supposed so curious a place existed in that part of the country. The entrance was of no great size, but when they had gone a little way, he saw that it branched off into several broad and lofty galleries. Into one of them the smugglers turned, when a wooden partition appeared before them, and going through a small door, he found that they were in what looked like a large hall, lighted with lamps hung from the roof. A fire burnt in the centre with pots and caldrons cooking over it, and near it were several long tables and benches, sufficient to accommodate a considerable number of persons. The glare of the fire fell on numerous packages, and bales, and casks, piled up round the walls of the cave, while several ship’s bunks and rough-looking bedsteads were arranged at the further end of the hall.

Several persons already occupied the place. Two of them were women, so Digby judged by their dress, though they were the roughest specimens of the female sex he had ever seen; the rest were men and boys. They all evinced great curiosity about him, and made many inquiries as to how he had been taken, and what was to be done with him. Digby did not hear the answers made to these questions, so that he was left in the dark as to the fate intended for him. The party were soon seated at the tables, and fish, flesh, and fowl, in ample quantities, were placed before them. Digby was invited to join them in somewhat a rough manner, but with no unkind intention, apparently. At first he thought that he ought to refuse, but he had grown very hungry, and he felt that it would be foolish not to make himself as comfortable as he could. Room was made for him near the fire, and one of the women brought him a plateful of the most delicate of the morsels of food which she could pick out.