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“Now’s the time,” whispered Julian.
The church-clock began to toll forth slowly the hour of midnight. He lighted a lucifer match, and in another moment had ignited the Vesuvius of the gun they first loaded, while Digby taking a match lighted the other. The damp gunpowder fizzed, and spluttered, and flamed up, occasionally throwing a lurid glare over the interior of the fort, as well as on their countenances. Julian’s face looked very pale and ghastly, for he already began to tremble for the consequences of what he had done. Little did he suspect what those consequences were to prove.
“We shall be seen if we stand here,” he exclaimed, “let’s get away, Digby, as soon as we can.”
Digby thought the advice too good not to follow it, so they both scampered off to one of the embrasures, and having just got within it were about to jump down into the ditch, when a loud roar was heard, the whole fort shook, a bright light burst forth, followed by a crashing and clashing noise, as if heavy bits of metal were falling on the ground.
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Julian, in an agony of terror, “what shall we do?”
“The cannon has burst,” said Digby, calmly; “there’s another to come, though.”
It did not occur to either of them that they had just been mercifully preserved from a most terrific danger. Digby looked out; the Vesuvius on the other gun being somewhat wetter than the first was still fizzing away.
“Oh, come along,” cried Julian, recovering somewhat from his fright; “we must get home as fast as we can, or we shall be discovered to a certainty. The coastguard men will be up here directly to see what is the matter. Oh come along! come along!”
Even then they thought that they heard footsteps approaching the fort. They sprang out of the embrasure, and slid down the bank into the ditch. Just as they were sliding down, off went the gun with as loud a noise as the first, while the effects were no less disastrous; a lump of iron flew directly through the embrasure where they had been sitting, and just clearing their heads, fell at some distance beyond the ditch. Digby remembered the circumstance many years afterwards, but it made but a slight impression at the time.
“We had a narrow escape,” said Julian, as they reached the bottom of the ditch; “it is lucky we were out of that hole, or we should have been made to squeak out I suspect.”
They quickly clambered out of the ditch, and looking about to ascertain that no one was observing them, ran on as fast as they could move. They had already marked out the path they were to take, so they lost no time in having to stop and consider which way they were to go.
On they ran. Digby found no difficulty in keeping up the speed, but Julian had never ran so fast in his life. They had to scramble through several hedges and across several stubble fields. Julian’s foot caught in a trailing weed, and down he came on his nose. He cried out with pain, but Digby helped him up again.
“You can’t be much hurt, I hope,” said Digby; “let me help you along; we must make haste, you know, or we shall be caught.”
“But I am very much hurt; my nose feels as if it was smashed in,” answered Julian, sulkily. “You don’t care for that though, I suppose. However, help me along; we must make haste I know.”
With Digby’s aid he was once more in motion. Their great fear was that they might be met by some one on his way to the fort to learn what had occurred. They had nearly reached Mr Nugent’s garden-wall, when they thought they saw some one coming along. A deep ditch was near; Julian jumped into it, dragging Digby after him. They were only just in time to escape a person whose footsteps they heard passing by. Then up they jumped again, and ran on till they reached the wall for which they were aiming. They scrambled over it, and breathed more freely when they found themselves concealed in the shrubbery. Great caution was required, however, to get back into their room.
“Suppose,” whispered Digby, “some one should have come to our room, and tried to awaken us, or found the rope hanging out of the window?”
“Oh, don’t let us think of such things,” answered Julian, who had the greatest dread of being found out in any of his tricks, though he had not the slightest objection to doing what was wrong.
There are, unfortunately, a great number of people in the world like Julian Langley. They do not comprehend the awful fact that the Almighty God sees and knows all they do and think, even to their most trivial acts and thoughts, and that at the great Day of Judgment they will have to answer for all the evil they have committed, all the evil thoughts in which they have willingly indulged. Not understanding, or forgetting this great truth, their only dread is lest their sins should be discovered by their fellow-men, or should in any way disturb the equanimity of their own consciences. No greater offence, therefore, can be committed against them than to speak to them of their vices, or to try to prove to them that they have done wrong. Ostriches, when chased, are said to run their heads into a bush, and to fancy that because they cannot see they are free from pursuit; so men try to shut out their sins and faults from their own sight, and, as foolishly as the ostrich, to fancy that they are not perceived by others, or, still more foolishly and madly, that a due and just punishment, which an all-righteous God has said he will inflict on evildoers, will not ultimately overtake them. Unhappy Julian, I would rather not have had to narrate his career.
“Come on, Julian,” said Digby, at last. “I hear no one about; we must make a push for our window and get in. If we are caught, patience! The thing is done, and can’t be undone.”
Digby was, in reality, by far the most daring of the two, in cases of real danger. Off he set across the lawn, Julian following. They reached the window. The rope was there. Up he climbed.
Julian fancied that he heard some one speak, and then that footsteps were coming along the gravel walk. He was in an agony of terror. He could scarcely climb up the rope, and was almost letting go, but Digby caught his arm, and helped to drag him in. They hauled up the rope, and Julian stowed it away again in his box. They then shut their window and unlocked their door.
When they came to undress, they found that their clothes were very muddy, and that they had got their shoes very wet and dirty in the ditch into which they had jumped. Even Julian’s fertile brain was puzzled as to how they should account for this, should they be questioned on the subject. He lay cold and trembling, and very uncomfortable. He was paying somewhat dear for his lark; people generally do for such like proceedings.
There is an old French proverb, “The game is not worth the candle,” meaning, which is burnt while it is played. In a true and Christian point of view, sin, however delicious, however attractive it may appear, never is worth a hundredth part of the consequences it is sure to entail.
Digby was not much less unhappy than Julian. Still, as he was prepared, with sturdy independence, to undergo whatever consequences his prank might bring upon him – for a prank only it was, though an unwise one – he did not trouble himself much more about the matter, but coiled himself up in his bed to try and get warm, and prepared to go to sleep. He was just dozing off, when he heard the voices of his uncle, and Marshall, and Power, passing the door.
“Some people can sleep through a thunder-storm, or a battle at sea; and so, I suppose, those youngsters were not awoke by all that tremendous noise,” observed Marshall.
“More likely that they were awoke, and that fellow Julian Langley is lying quaking in his bed, and wondering what all the noise was about,” answered Power.
“Do not call them now, at all events,” said Mr Nugent. “We will ask them to-morrow what they thought about the matter. What could have exploded those old guns?”
Julian and Digby would have been fully satisfied had they witnessed the commotion the explosion of the guns created in the quiet old town. Half the male population, and even some of the women, turned out of their beds and ran to the fort. Some thought the Russians or the French, or some other enemies of England, had come, and were firing away at the fort – a very useless proceeding it would have been, considering that the poor old fort could not fire at them. Others, not aware of this latter fact, thought that a body of artillery had suddenly been transported there, and that they were defending the place in the most desperate manner. The braver men who thought this ran to assist them; and others, and some of the women, ran out of the town to be further from danger.
However, a very large number of people collected in the fort, everybody asking questions, and nobody being able to give a satisfactory reply.
Some asserted that a dozen guns had been fired off; others even a greater number. One thing only was evident, when lanterns were brought to make an examination – that two of the old guns had burst, and had scattered their fragments far and wide around.
“Some malicious people must have done it,” observed the worthy mayor, who did not at all like being thus rudely summoned out of his bed, as he had been by the explosion. “High treason, rebellion, and – and – ” (he could not find a third word of sufficient force to express his feelings) “has been committed in this loyal, respectable, quiet town, and the villainous perpetrators of the atrocious deed must be brought to condign punishment.”
It was a pity Julian and Digby could not hear these expressions.
Some people in the crowd had their own opinions on the subject. Mr Simson was there, and he picked up a thick stick, with a thicker head, and kept it.
The coastguard men thought the smugglers had done it, but with what object they could not divine. Some wiseacres thought that the guns had gone off of themselves; others, that Dame Marlow, whose fame had long been great at Osberton, had had a hand in the work. However, though everybody looked about and talked, they were not much the wiser, and at length they retired to their homes, and the old fort was allowed to sleep on with its usual tranquillity.
Chapter Seven
Digby finds that a Bad Adviser is the worst of Friends – More Mischief and its Inconveniences – Serious Consequences Threatened
Julian and Digby would very much have liked to have been sent to Coventry, the morning after their cannon-firing, so that no disagreeable questions might have been asked them. They dressed slowly and tried to look over their lessons in their room, but got very little information out of their books. They felt very foolish when the bell rang, aid they had to make their appearance in the breakfast-room. Morning prayers were over, and they took their seats round the breakfast-table.
“Well, Julian, did you not hear the noise last night?” were the first words Marshall spoke.
“What noise?” asked Julian; “I sleep very soundly; it must have been a row to awake me.”
“Why, the guns of the old castle going off by themselves,” said Power.
“Not a sound,” said Julian, hoarsely.
Digby looked at him, and wondered if his friend had any conscience. What should he say? there was the difficulty. He had always scorned a lie; if so point blank a question were put to him, how could he answer and not betray their secret?
“And did you sleep through it too, Digby?” said his uncle.
“No, I heard the noise very clearly,” answered Digby, and he felt happier after he had said this, though Julian gave him a tremendous kick on the shins under the table.
“How could you remain quietly in bed after it?” asked Marshall.
“I was out,” answered Digby firmly, “but I got back before you, since you must know all about it. I don’t think that you have a right to be asking me questions, which I may not wish to answer. If I speak at all, I wish to speak the truth. More I do not wish to say; and now, if you like, tell me what you thought about it.”
Mr Nugent looked surprised at Digby’s firmness and unusual vehemence, but suspecting that Julian had not spoken the truth, and that Digby wished not to betray him, forbore to press the matter further.
Of course, both the boys were on tenter-hooks during the whole of breakfast. Digby applied himself sturdily to his food and eat on without speaking, as if he was in a very sulky mood. All day, too, while they were at their lessons, every time there was a ring at the door, they fancied that some one was coming to accuse them of their misdemeanor. Digby thought much less about it than Julian, and it also troubled him much less, because he had made up his mind, if directly accused of the deed, to acknowledge it at once, without the slightest attempt at evasion. His conscience told him, that this was the only right course to pursue; any other would plunge him into a sea of falsehood, from which he shrunk with dread. He intended, if he could avoid so doing, not to inculpate Julian, but to take all the blame on his own shoulders.
“Julian says he was not out of bed that night; he is very wrong, but I don’t want to get him into a scrape if he wishes to avoid it,” he thought to himself.
Unfortunately, he did not see Julian’s conduct in its true light. That young gentleman was all the time thinking, and plotting, and contriving, how he should himself get out of the scrape. He had already told one falsehood, he must invent others to avoid being found out after all. He could not fix his attention on his lessons, and, of course, he did them very badly.
“You must stay in and learn these twelve lines of your Delectus by heart,” said Mr Nugent, who was much displeased with him.
Digby, who had done his lessons much in his usual way, which was seldom very first-rate by-the-by, was allowed to go out. Of course all the rest were eager to go to the fort, and Digby was compelled to go with them. This was doubly annoying to Julian, who wanted to have a few minutes’ conversation with him to get him to promise not to betray him, and to induce him, if possible, to tell a long story which he had concocted, to account for his not hearing the noise, and for his not accompanying Digby afterwards to the fort.
When Digby and his companions reached the fort, he was astonished at the mischief which had been committed. The old guns lay on the ground with large pieces torn out of them, and their carriages knocked to atoms, while a portion of the parapet round the embrasures had been crumbled into powder.
While they were running about, who should walk into the fort but worthy Mr Simson, the grocer. He watched his opportunity when Digby was separated from his companions, and drew him aside.
“I hope the other gentleman isn’t hurt,” he said.
“No, he hasn’t done his lessons, so he is not allowed to go out,” answered Digby.
“I was afraid he might be hurt. Well, you two had a fortunate escape,” observed Mr Simson; “I know all about it; I don’t want to betray you, though; I have boys of my own: but you mustn’t do the same thing again, that is all.”
“Thank you,” answered Digby, “I am very much obliged to you, indeed I am.”
“That’s what I like, young gentleman, that’s manly and right-spirited,” said Mr Simson, taking his hand and pressing it warmly. “I wouldn’t betray you on any account, that I wouldn’t. Trust to me.”
Digby was much happier after this. He felt, however, that he had escaped a great danger of the whole matter being known, and though he couldn’t exactly divine what punishment he might have inflicted on him, he knew that he should at all events have been made to look very foolish.
“They wouldn’t hang a fellow for such a thing, and I don’t suppose they would send me to prison. Still, I am really very grateful to kind Mr Simson for not peaching. I’ll always deal with him in future. How did he find out all about it, I wonder?”
He heard with much more indifference than at first, the various remarks and conjectures made on the subject, and the feeling that he had acted a manly part about it enabled him to look people boldly in the face, and thus he escaped the suspicion which would otherwise have fallen on him. When he got home he found Julian very dull and sorry for himself. He told him what Mr Simson had said.
“Oh, then, he will go and peach upon us, and it will all be found out,” exclaimed Julian, half-crying.
“But he promised that he would say nothing about the matter,” urged Digby.
“So he might, but one can’t trust to a shopkeeper,” answered Julian, with a scornful turn of his lip.
“I don’t see that,” replied Digby; “if he is an honourable man and has good feelings, I think that one may trust to a shopkeeper as well as to the first noble in the land; I know that my uncle often says that one man’s word is as good as that of another, provided both are equally honest and upright.”
“All I know is, that old Simson was very impertinent to me when I went to buy the gunpowder,” said Julian; “if I hadn’t wanted more I wouldn’t have gone to him again.”
“He cautioned me about it, and not without some reason,” said Digby; “So I’ll maintain that old Simson is a very good fellow, and, what’s more, I’m sure he looks like a gentleman in every way.”
Several days passed by, and though inquiries were made and numbers of people were examined, no clue was discovered to the originators of what the county papers called that mysterious circumstance at Osberton. Digby couldn’t help cutting out the paragraph, and sending it to Kate, darkly hinting that he might, perhaps, some day enlighten her about the matter. He was afraid of committing the account to paper, but her very acute perception at once divined that he had taken a prominent part in the affair. How she did long to hear all about it, and how he did long for the holidays that he might tell her. He had an idea that his uncle knew something about it, because after this neither he nor Julian were allowed to go out, except in company with Marshall or Power, or Toby Tubb. One day, however, all the boys had gone together to the beach, and by some means or other, unintentionally, while some were climbing up over the cliffs, Digby got separated from the rest. As he knew his way home, however, perfectly well, he did not care about it, even though it was growing dark. He had not gone far when two men overtook him; they were rough-looking fellows and dressed as seamen; he did not altogether like their appearance. They went on some little way, and then turning back, they looked him in the face, and one of them said —
“Are you Squire Heathcote’s son, master?”
“Yes,” answered Digby, “I am. Why do you want to know?”
“I’ve asked a civil question, and you’ve given a civil answer, master. Good-night,” replied the man who had before spoken; and then they both walked rapidly on.
Digby thought it rather odd that men of that sort should wish to know who he was, but troubled himself very little more about the matter.
When he got home, his uncle inquired how he came to be later than the rest; and knowing he always spoke the truth, was perfectly satisfied with his explanation.
“Your uncle seems to think that he can trust you much more than he can me,” observed Julian one day. “It is very hard upon me, as I am older. He favours you as a relation, that’s it, I’ve no doubt.”
Digby made no reply, but he felt indignant, as he could not bear to have his uncle, whom he respected, spoken ill of.
By degrees Julian recovered his usual state of mind, and, as he did so, his fertile brain began to devise fresh schemes of mischief. Since his liberty had been curtailed he found them, however, much more difficult to carry out. It may seem strange that, after all the anxiety and inconvenience he had suffered in consequence of his last achievement, he should be eager to do something which was likely to produce the same results; but such is unfortunately too generally the case with evildoers. Unless some severe punishment follows they go on and on, committing the same evil again and again. Indeed, even punishment will not always deter people who have given themselves up to evil ways from continuing in them; and men have frequently been known, the very day after they have been released from prison, to have committed the very crime for which they have been confined. Reformation of heart and character is what is required, and this had not taken place with regard to Julian Langley.
“I’ve hit upon a capital idea, Digby,” said he one day when the two were alone; “help me out with it.”
“What is it?” asked his companion.
“I’ve been thinking what fun it would be to set all the fishing-boats out in the river adrift. How they would knock about each other, and how angry the boatmen would be.”
“I should think they would be angry, indeed,” answered Digby, stoutly. “Fun is fun, but it seems to me that a great deal of harm might be done by what you propose. I’d advise you to give up the idea; I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
“I thought you were a fellow of spirit, Digby,” sneered Julian. “What great harm can there be in letting a few old fishermen’s boats knock together?”
“Why, they might get carried out to sea, and be lost altogether, and have their sides stove in, or holes made in their bottoms, or be sunk, and lose their oars and sails; indeed, I can fancy a great deal of damage might be done,” said Digby. “I think that it would be very wrong and cruel to the poor fishermen.”
“Oh, now I see you are going to take a leaf out of your uncle’s book, and to turn saint,” sneered Julian. This was one of his most powerful expressions. He knew that Digby especially disliked being called a saint, and that he often confessed, as do many older people with equal thoughtlessness, that he did not set up for a saint. People seem not to consider, if they do not wish to become saints, what they really do desire to become. Certainly none but saints can inherit the glories of eternity; and unless they trust in the merits of One who can cleanse them from their sins, and make them saints, so that they may be presented spotless to the Father Almighty, from those glories they will be shut out.
Poor Digby winced under Julian’s sneer. “A saint; no, I am no saint, I hope, but I don’t want to injure the poor fishermen,” he answered, firmly.
“Injure them! Who’s going to injure them?” exclaimed Julian, petulantly. “I’ve made up my mind to have my lark, and have it I will. If any great harm comes I’m ready to bear it. You won’t peach upon me, I suppose?”
“No,” answered Digby, indignantly. “I like fun as much as you; and if I saw the fun I’d do it willingly.”
Julian thought that Digby was relenting, and still pressed the matter, but in vain. “Well, if you won’t go I must get somebody else. I know a fellow who will help, though none of the sneaks here will join me,” said Julian, walking away.
Digby felt satisfied that he had done right, still he did not like to let Julian go away, and have his fun by himself.
The latter young gentleman went into the garden, and disappeared in the shrubbery. In spite of the prohibition still existing against his going out alone, he jumped over the wall, and betook himself to the river side. He had scraped acquaintance with a lad of his own age, the son of a small innkeeper, who had been a smuggler, and was still, it was suspected, intimately connected with smugglers.
Dick Owlett was certainly not a fit associate for the son of the Honorable Mr Langley; but vice more than anything else creates incongruous companionships. Young Owlett was ready to do anything Julian proposed, because he fancied that he might easily throw all the blame on Julian’s shoulders, or else that, through Julian’s influence, they both might escape punishment. Dick had none of Digby’s scruples, so the whole plan was soon arranged. Both had thoroughly ill-regulated minds, and rejoiced in mischief for mischief’s sake.
Julian came back unperceived, and, in high spirits, told Digby that he was going to have his fun in spite of him.
The following night Julian awoke Digby about eleven o’clock, and told him that he must help him to get out of the window, and wait his return to let him in again.
Digby expostulated, but in vain; he had not yet learned that the only sure way for the young to avoid the contamination of evildoers is to keep out of their society altogether. So Digby agreed to sit up till Julian’s return.
The rope was secured, Julian descended by it, and off he ran across the lawn towards the wall, over which he had so often before made his escape from the premises.
Digby waited and waited; Julian did not return. He became very anxious about him. He wished that he had taken stronger measures to prevent his carrying out his foolish and mischievous prank. The only effectual way to have prevented him would have been to have told Marshall or his uncle, but such a proceeding was so contrary to all his notions of what ought to be done, that it did not even occur to him. He could not exactly tell how time passed, but he thought that Julian must have been away a very long time. He could bear the suspense no longer. Some boys of his age would have gone to bed, and cried, or sat quaking with fear. To do this was not at all in Digby’s nature. He loved action; he must be up and doing. He knew the road Julian would have taken, and he resolved to go and look for him. It did not occur to him that he should thus run a great risk of being implicated in whatever his companion had done; had he, I do not believe that the fear of that would have weighed with him a moment. He put on all his clothes and his shoes, and, without further consideration, slipped down the rope, gained the wall, and ran on as fast as his legs could carry him towards the river. He got very nearly to the spot where he thought Julian would have embarked, when he met two boys running. “Who’s there? – Julian, is that you?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, Digby, how you startled me,” exclaimed one of the boys. It was Julian who spoke.
“All right,” cried Digby. “I became very anxious. I was afraid some harm had happened, and so I set off to look for you; but why are you running so fast?”
“Because we are afraid somebody is after us,” answered Julian, almost breathless. “We’ve done it, though, and rare fun there will be to-morrow to see what has become of all the boats.”
It was not necessary for Julian to tell Digby to turn back; he had at once done so, and they were running on together. They turned their heads for a moment, and Dick Owlett had disappeared. His reason for so doing was very evident. Digby thus, very unintentionally, slipped into his shoes. They soon had to cross a meadow; their own footsteps now making but a slight noise, they were able to hear the sound of another person fast approaching them.
“It may be Dick Owlett,” said Julian, in a low voice. “Still, if it is one of the coastguard men we shall catch it. Run, Digby, run.”
Digby could have run a great deal faster than he was running, but had he done so he would have left Julian behind. Their pursuer, whoever he was, came on very rapidly. They had scarcely crossed the field when, looking back, they saw him at the other end of it. He must have seen them. It seemed very useless, therefore, to attempt to escape, but their natural impulse was to run on till he put his hand on their shoulder to stop them. Julian wanted to jump into a ditch and hide, as they had before done, but Digby protested against this, and insisted on running on. Across the fields they went – now they thought that they had escaped their pursuer – now they saw him again. Sometimes he got very close to them, and then they distanced him. At last they got up to the garden-wall. The footsteps sounded terribly loud close behind them. They rushed on. Julian, always most anxious to escape from danger, had first sprung to the top of the wall, and Digby was helping him over, when a person leaped forward, and seizing Julian by the leg, and Digby by the shoulder, exclaimed —
“Hillo, young gentlemen, is it you, then, who have been about this pretty piece of mischief? What will your master say to you, I should like to know? It’s lucky we found it out, or there’s no saying what damage might have been done; however, that’s no excuse for you – so come along with me to the front door, and I’ll hand you over to Mr Nugent, or I’ll take you to the lock-up house, and let you stay there till the morning.”
Julian nudged Digby, to induce him to speak. He took the hint.
“I have nothing to do with the mischief of which you are talking,” he exclaimed, boldly. “I don’t know by what right you venture to detain me. I had a good reason for being out, which will, I believe, satisfy Mr Nugent, but I do not see that you, whoever you are, or any other man, has a right to call on me to explain it.”
“Tell that to the marines, youngster; you are not going to impose on an old salt,” answered the revenue man, for such he appeared. “Why, I traced you from the time you jumped on shore every inch of the way to this place.”
“That you could not,” answered Digby; “I have not been on the water to-night.”
“Well, you are a bold young ruffian,” exclaimed the man, fairly exasperated at Digby’s coolness. “I never have heard anybody, man or boy, tell a lie and stick to it as you can do.”
“You are very impertinent,” said Digby, who, knowing that he really was speaking the truth, forgot that it was not possible for the man to believe him. It did not occur to him that he very naturally was mistaken for Dick Owlett.
“Well, if it comes to that,” said the man, “the sooner we go and talk to Mr Nugent the better. I don’t suppose that he allows his young gentlemen to be running about at nights for their own amusement.” Saying this their captor, who was a strong stout man, carried them off in spite of their struggles to the front door of the house. He rang and knocked for some time without succeeding in awaking any one.
The feelings of Digby and Julian may more easily be conceived than described, though, as may be supposed from what I have already mentioned of their characters, they were very different. They did not dare to communicate with each other, and so all they could do was to hold their tongues. At last Mr Nugent was aroused, and supposing that some sick parishioner wanted his attendance, he got up, dressed, and came down stairs. What was his astonishment at seeing two of his pupils in the hands of a revenue officer.
