CARRIED OFF.

by Esme Stuart.

CHAPTER I.

THE SACRIFICE.

It was a beautiful warm spring evening, and as the sun sank slowly in the west it illuminated with quivering golden light the calm waters that surrounded green, marshy Canvey Island, which lies opposite South Benfleet, in the estuary of the Thames.

Harry Fenn had just come out of church, and, as was often his wont, he ran up a slight hill, and, shading his eyes, looked intently out towards Canvey and then yet more to his left, where Father Thames clasps hands with the ocean.

The eminence on which young fair-haired Harry stood was the site of a strong castle, built long ago by Haesten, the Danish rover, in which he stowed away Saxon spoil and Saxon prisoners, till King Alfred came down upon him, pulled down the rover's fortress, seized his wife and his two sons, and relieved the neighbourhood of this Danish scourge. How often, indeed, had the peaceful inhabitants trembled at the sight of the sea robber's narrow war-vessels creeping up the creek in search of plunder!

Harry, however, was not thinking of those ancient days; his whole soul and mind was in the present, in vague longings for action; full, too, of young inquisitiveness as to the future, especially his own future, so that he forgot why he had come to this spot, and did not even hear the approach of the Rev. Mr. Aylett, who, having been listening to a tale of distress from one of his parishioners at the end of the evening service, had now come to enjoy the view from Haesten's hill. As he walked slowly towards the immovable form of the boy, he could not help being struck by the lad's graceful outline; the lithe, yet strongly built figure, the well-balanced head, now thrown back as the eyes sought the distant horizon; whilst the curly fair locks appeared to have been dashed impatiently aside, and now were just slightly lifted by the evening breeze; for Harry Fenn held his cap in his hand as he folded his arms across his chest. He might have stood for the model of a young Apollo had any artist been by, but art and artists were unknown things in South Benfleet at that time.

Mr. Aylett shook his head as he walked towards the lad, even though a smile of pleasure parted his lips as he noted the comeliness of his young parishioner, whom he now addressed.

'Well, Harry, my boy, what may be the thoughts which are keeping you so unusually still?' Harry started and blushed like a girl, and yet his action was simple enough.

'Indeed, sir, I did not hear you. I--I came here to have a look at our cows down on the marsh. Father----'

Mr. Aylett laughed good-humouredly.

'Am I to believe that that earnest look is all on account of the cattle, Harry?' Harry felt at this moment as if he had told a lie, and had been found out by Mr. Aylett, who was so good and clever that he could almost, nay, sometimes did, tell one's thoughts.

'No, sir;' then, with a winning smile, the lad added, 'in truth I had forgotten all about the cattle. I was dreaming of----'

'Of the future, Harry. Listen, did not those same thoughts run thus?

That it is dull work staying at home on the farm; that some of thy relations in past days had famous times in our civil wars, and went to battle and fought for the King, and that some even had been settlers in the old days of Queen Bess, and that, when all is said and done, it wants a great deal of self-denial to stay as thou art now doing, cheering the declining years of thy good father and mother. Some such thought I fancied I could read in your face, boy, when singing in the choir just now. Was it so? I would have you use candour with me.'

Harry turned his cap round and round slowly in his hands. Mr. Aylett was certainly a diviner of thoughts; but Harry was far too honest, and of too good principle, to deny the truth. It was his honesty, as well as his pluck and courage, that made him so dear to the clergyman, who had taught the boy a great deal more learning than usually fell to the lot of a yeoman's son in those days, even though Mr. Fenn farmed his own land, was well-to-do, and could, had he so willed, have sent his son to Oxford; but he himself had been reared on Pitsea Farm, had married there, and there he had watched his little ones carried to the grave, all but Harry. Yes, Harry was his all, his mother's darling, his father's pride; the parson was welcome to teach him his duty to his Church, his King and his country, and what more he liked, but no one must part the yeoman from his only child.

And Harry knew this, and yet often and often his soul was moved with that terribly strong desire for change and for a larger horizon, which, so long as the world lasts, will take possession of high-spirited boys.

However, the lad was as good as he was brave; he knew that he must crush down his desire, or at least that he must not show it to his parents; but he did not try to resist the pleasure of indulging in thoughts of a larger life, thoughts which Mr. Aylett guessed very easily, but which would have made his father's hair stand on end. This evening Mr.

Aylett's face looked so kind that Harry's boyish reserve gave way, and with rising colour he exclaimed:

'Oh, sir, I can't deny it; it is all true, that, and much more; just now I had such dreadful thoughts. I felt that I must go out yonder, away and away, and learn what the world is like; I felt that even father's sorrow and mother's tears would not grieve me much, and that I must break loose from here or die. I know it was wicked, and I will conquer the feeling, but it seems as if the devil himself tempts me to forget my duty; and worse,' added poor Harry, who having begun his confession thought he would make a clean breast of it, 'I feel as if I must go straight to my father and tell him I will not spend my life in minding cattle and seeing after the labourers, and that after telling him, I would work my way out into the big world without asking him for a penny. Sir, would that be possible?'

Harry looked up with trembling eagerness, as if on this one frail chance of Mr. Aylett's agreement depended his life's happiness; but the clergyman did not give him a moment's hope.

'No, Harry, that is not possible, my lad. You are an only child. On you depends the happiness of your parents. This sacrifice is asked of you by G.o.d, and is it too hard a matter to give up your own will? Look you, my dear Harry, I am not over-blaming you, nor am I thinking that the crushing of this desire is not a difficult matter, but we who lived through the late troublous times see farther than young heads, who are easily persuaded to cozen their conscience according to their wishes.

And if you travelled, Harry, temptations and trials would follow too, and be but troublesome companions; and further, there would be always a worm gnawing at your heart when you thought of the childless old folks at home. Believe me, Harry, even out in "the golden yonder," as some one calls it, you would not find what you expect; there would be no joy for you who had deprived those dependent on you of it. Take my advice, boy, wait for G.o.d's own good time, and do not fall into strong distemper of mind.'

Mr. Aylett paused and put a kind hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry did not answer at once, but slowly his eyes turned away from the waters and the golden sun, slowly they were bent upon the marshes where the cattle were grazing, and then nearer yet to where Pitsea Manor Farm raised its head above a plantation of elms and oaks. Then a great struggle went on in the boy's mind; he remembered he was but sixteen years old, and that many a year must most likely elapse before he became the owner of Pitsea Farm and could do as he pleased, and that those years must be filled with dull routine labour, where little room was left for any adventure beyond fishing in the creek, or going over to Canvey Island to watch when the high waves broke over the new embankments made by Joas Croppenburg, the Dutchman, whose son still owned a third of the rich marshland of the island as a recompense for his father's sea walls. But young Joas used to tell tales of great Dutch sea fights and exploits, which, if Harry made the sacrifice Mr. Aylett was asking him to make, would but probe the wound of his desire, and so Croppenburg's stories must also be given up.

Harry's courage, however, was not merely nominal, it was of the right sort. The sacrifice he was asked to make was none the less great because it was one not seen of men. He was to give up his will, the hardest thing a man or a boy can do; but it needed only Mr. Aylett's firm answer to show Harry that his duty was very plain, and that G.o.d required this of him.

It was like taking a plunge into cold water, where it is the first resolution that is the worst part of the action; suddenly, with a quick lifting of his head, and a new hopeful light in his blue eyes very different from the unsatisfied longing gaze of ten minutes ago, Harry spoke, and as he did so his clenched hands and his whole demeanour told plainly that the boy meant what he said.

'I will give it up, sir; as it is, the wishing brings me no happiness, so I will even put the wishing to flight.'

Mr. Aylett grasped the lad's hand warmly.

'G.o.d bless you, Harry, you are a brave fellow. I am proud of you. Come to me to-morrow, and I will show you a new book a friend has sent me; or, better, walk back with me to the Vicarage.'

'I would willingly, sir,' said Harry quietly, 'but father bade me go to the meadow and see if White Star should be driven in under shelter to-night. Our man Fiske has met with an accident, so I promised to see after White Star before sundown. She was a little sick this morning.'

'To-morrow will do well enough,' said Mr. Aylett, glad to see that Harry was beginning already to turn his mind steadily to home matters, 'and if you have time we will go to St. Catherine's Church on Canvey. There is a young clergyman come there to see if he will accept the cure, and I know you will row me over.' Harry promised gladly, and then Mr. Aylett with another shake of the hand turned his face homeward. When he was gone Harry flung himself on the ground to think over the promise he had just given. He would--yes, he would keep his word.

CHAPTER II.

CAPTURED.

How long he lay there, Harry never could recollect afterwards, but feeling a chilliness creeping over him he suddenly remembered his duty.

He must make haste, for the sun was setting, and if White Star did not seem to be better she must be led home from the damp marsh meadows that bordered the water. Though Harry was feeling intensely sad, he had a secret feeling of satisfaction at having conquered in a very hard struggle, and this perhaps made him look more at the things he was pa.s.sing than, as he was wont to do, at the distant sea. This evening everything was calm and quiet, both on the darkening waters and on the green meadows. Harry noted a gate that needed repairing, and made up his mind to tell his father that it must be seen to, or the cattle would be straying; then he glanced at the little cart-horse foal that promised to be a rival of its mother. The Pitsea Farm cart-horses were deservedly famous, and Harry's father, George Fenn, was as good a breeder of horses as he was a staunch Churchman and opposed to the Puritan element only now quieting down.

At last Harry reached the meadow where White Star was grazing and where some thirty sheep were sharing the pasture. He went up to examine the gentle creature, and she knew well enough the young master's voice and touch, so that she hardly stopped chewing the cud to give him a kindly stare.

'White Star seems not so bad,' thought Harry. 'I'll tell father to give her another day in the meadow, she is not too ill to enjoy this sweet gra.s.s.'

Harry had been so much engaged in attending to White Star that he did not hear the soft splash of some oars at the bottom of the meadow he was in, nor did he see that four strong, rough-looking men in seafaring attire had quietly moored their long-boat to an old willow stump, and that two of them were hastily scanning the sheep and cattle that were only a few yards away.

'Zounds!' muttered the first who stepped up the bank, 'what have we here? a lad in this very field. I'faith, I saw no one from the creek.'

'A mere sapling,' laughed the other, 'take no heed of him, and he will soon take to his heels at the sight of us. Now, quick's the word, the captain is impatient to be off with the tide.'

In another instant the men had begun their work. They had come for the purpose of carrying off some sheep and cattle, and having waited till this late hour they had not expected to find a witness to their robbery.

Quietly and stealthily as they had landed, however, their intentions could not be carried out without some disturbance, and Harry was first made aware of their presence by the sudden helter-skelter of the sheep and the immediate curiosity expressed by poor White Star, whose evening meal was to be so violently disturbed.

In a moment more Harry had seized the situation, which indeed it was not difficult to do, as he now beheld one of his father's sheep suddenly captured by the clever expedient of an extemporised la.s.so, and when the poor animal had been dragged towards its captor the robber made short work of tying his victim's legs together, and leaving it to bleat beside him whilst he proceeded to capture another in the same manner, before dragging them to the long-boat.

All the fierce courage of the hardy yeoman's son rose to its height as he beheld this daring robbery carried on under his very eyes. Nay, when the strongest and foremost man began unconcernedly to make his way towards White Star herself, the boy's indignation knew no bounds.

'How now?' he cried indignantly. 'What do you mean, you rascals, by coming here? this is our field and our cattle; away at once, and unloose the sheep, or, by'r laykin! it will be worse for you. I will call for help, and you will soon be treated in such a manner as you deserve.'

This fierce speech had not, however, the desired effect. The man laughed ironically as if Harry were a mere baby, and approaching White Star he swiftly threw the la.s.so over the animal's sleek head.

'Out of the way, young bl.u.s.terer, or it will be the worse for thee. Our master, the captain, requires these cattle to victual our ship before sailing; come, off with thee! and don't halloo all the breath out of thy body.'

But Harry's blood was up. Enraged at the man's daring and effrontery, he seized a stout stick from the hedge-row and sprang upon the intruder with the fury of a young lion. He never considered the inequality of the struggle or the folly of his engaging single-handed with a ruffian of this description; he only thought of saving his father's property and avenging the insult. Nor were his well-directed blows mere make-believe, and as the man before him was suddenly aware of a sharp stinging pain across his forehead, he let go the la.s.so and sprang on to the boy with a fierce oath.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP_"]