Captain Summers, according to his promise, loaded his own boat with seal-skins, and sent her off to the ship with orders for the long-boat to come ash.o.r.e and carry off the remainder. Meantime he and Mr Evans paid their intended visit to the hill-top.

On their return Humphry took the first opportunity of drawing Ned aside, and asking why he had not given his right name.

"I did give my right name, Mr Gurton," he answered. "Ned Hadow was merely a purser's name which I took when I entered on board the _Wolf_, because you see, sir, I had run from a man-of-war. Now I know better, I would only tell the truth; and so, please, call me Tom Martin in future, and I am ready to stand the consequences."

Humphry and his companion were kindly received on board the _Hope_, when the good captain supplied them with new suits of clothes, which they indeed much required.

The _Hope_ continued her voyage.

How different was the life led on board her to that on board the _Wolf_!

Captain Summers and his officers were Christian men. The crew were kindly treated; not an oath escaped the lips of any of the men, while all did their duty with cheerfulness and alacrity.

The voyage was prosperous. At the end of three weeks the _Hope_ dropped her anchor in the harbour of a fine island where Mr Evans was to remain.

A native missionary, who had been sent there a year before, came off to receive him, and brought him the satisfactory intelligence that a large number of the natives were anxiously looking out for his arrival.

Some days were spent in landing his property, and a.s.sisting him in putting up his house, while an abundance of fresh provisions was brought off by the natives to the ship.

Humphry parted from his old friend with the less regret from feeling sure that he would be well occupied, and free from the temptations he dreaded.

"We shall meet again, I trust, as Captain Summers has offered me a berth as third mate of the _Hope_ on her next voyage, which he expects to make to these seas," said Humphry, as he bade him farewell.

"If we don't meet here, we shall in another world, sir. And bless you, Mr Gurton, for pointing out to me the way to it," said Tom, as he wrung Humphry's hand, and tears burst from his eyes.

The _Hope_ had a prosperous voyage home, during which Humphry did his utmost to fit himself for the duty he was to undertake. He had no ties in England, so he gladly again sailed in the _Hope_. Captain Summers having sold the seal-skins for a good price, judiciously invested the proceeds for him.

Humphry had the satisfaction of meeting his old friend Ned, or rather Mr Martin, as he was now called, and of finding that he had been of the greatest service to Mr Evans. He never returned to England, but died at his post, labouring to the last in spreading the gospel among the natives.

Humphry won the regard of Captain Summers by his steadiness and good conduct, and at the end of his third voyage he married his daughter, and soon afterwards obtained the command of a ship. When at length he was able to quit the sea and live on sh.o.r.e, he often used to relate to his children, among his many adventures, how he spent five years of his life alone on an island.

The End.

BOOK III--THE BROTHERS; A TALE OF THREE LIVES.

CHAPTER I.

Many years ago, while King George the Third sat on the tranquil throne of England, and before the First Napoleon became Emperor of France, Gilbert Maitland, the youngest of Farmer Maitland's three sons, was one autumn evening, mounted on his s.h.a.ggy pony, riding through the New Forest. He had set out from the town of Christchurch to return to his father's house, which was situated between it and Lymington. The shadows of the trees grew longer and longer, till they disappeared altogether in the general gloom, as the sun sank, into the leaden-coloured foam-topped waves of the English Channel, which could here and there be seen from the higher ground through the openings of the trees on his right. The wind howled and whistled, and the dry leaves and twigs, blown off by the south-westerly gale, came flying by even faster than he galloped, while the clouds gathering thickly overhead increased the darkness.

Gilbert was not altogether comfortable in his mind. He had gone, contrary to his father's wish, to pay a visit to d.i.c.k Hockley, whose acquaintance he had formed while at school at Christchurch, and whom Mr Maitland considered an unfit companion for one of his boys. Mr Hockley held a small farm, and though it was badly cultivated, he had become wealthy, and had built a good house, and rode a fine horse, and lived in a style much above his position. He was, indeed, more than suspected of being connected with one of the many gangs of daring smugglers who at that time carried on their illicit traffic on the coast of Hampshire and Dorsetshire. d.i.c.k, a bold, rough fellow, two or three years older than Gilbert, boasted openly that he had already engaged in several smuggling enterprises.

Gilbert was fascinated by the accounts his acquaintance gave him of the risks he had run, the excitement of being chased, and the triumphant satisfaction of landing a valuable cargo, and conveying it, escorted by a large body of armed men, under the very noses of the Revenue officers, into the interior. Gilbert's great ambition was to join in one of these expeditions; whenever he could get an opportunity, he rode over to see his friend, and to listen to his long yams.

His father had at first cautioned him against any intimacy with a person of so doubtful a character as young Hockley, and then, finding that his warnings were of no avail, had positively prohibited Gilbert from a.s.sociating with him.

He had grumbled greatly at this, when one day, Mr Maitland being away from home, in the hearing of his sister Mary and his two elder brothers Hugh and Arthur, he declared that he would go, notwithstanding what his father said.

"d.i.c.k is an honest fellow, and he has asked me to come, and I don't see why father has a right to stop me," he exclaimed.

"Father has forbid you to go, as he does not approve of young Hockley, and at all events it is your duty to obey him," said Mary. "Pray, Gilbert, do not go; it will vex father so much."

"I will tell you what, Gilbert," exclaimed Hugh, "if you are going to play any tricks of the sort, I will lash your hands behind you, and shut you up in your room till father comes back. I am the eldest, and it is my business to keep order while he is away."

"You had better not try to lay hands on me, or it will be the worse for you," exclaimed Gilbert, dashing out of the room.

"I don't think he will dare to go," said Hugh, resuming his studies, which had thus been interrupted.

Arthur, who was also sitting with his books before him, had not spoken.

They were both reading hard. Hugh had sometime before left school with great credit, having gained numerous prizes, and an exhibition which would enable him at his own earnest desire to go to college, where he hoped that with the talents he was supposed to possess he should make his way to a good position in life. He had a fine const.i.tution, was strongly built, and neither study nor bodily exercise ever seemed to fatigue him; so that with the resolution and clear intellect he possessed, he had every prospect of succeeding.

Arthur, though studious, was delicate, and had been kept back somewhat by ill health. Neither of them had any taste for farming pursuits, and their father, who was proud of their talents, was anxious, as far as he was able, to give them the means of following the course in life they had marked out for themselves. He and his ancestors, st.u.r.dy yeomen of the upper cla.s.s, the pith and marrow of the English population, for many generations had held the farm he occupied; and as he wished it to continue in his family, he had determined that his younger son Gilbert should become a farmer. Gilbert was what is often called a fine-spirited lad, but unfortunately he had been allowed to have his own way, and in consequence, frequently exhibited a determination not to submit to control. He had also never known a mother's tender and watchful care, for Mr Maitland had been deprived of his wife soon after Gilbert's birth, and perhaps this circ.u.mstance may have prevented him from restraining the child's temper, or punishing him when guilty of faults, as strictly as his better judgment would have prompted him to do.

Mr Maitland, an upright man, proud of his old family, and satisfied with his position, did not wish to rise out of it, though he was ready to allow his sons to run forward as far as they could in the race of life.

He held the laws in respect, and, an exception to many around him, was strongly opposed to the smugglers and their illicit traffic. He would never allow them to deposit any of their goods on his property, and the active part he took in a.s.sisting the Revenue officers gained him much ill-will from the contraband traders.

Gilbert had scarcely left the room when Arthur got up, saying in his gentle way--

"I will try and persuade him to obey father, and not to go off to Christchurch. If he wants a ride, I will accompany him to Lymington, where there is to be a review of the Foreign Legion; or if he has a fancy for fishing, we will take our rods, and try and get some tench for father's supper."

"Oh, do get him to do that!" said Mary. "Father likes them better than anything else, and I will try and cook them nicely for him."

Arthur, leaving his darling books, hastened out after Gilbert. Mary hoped he might find him, and prevent him committing the act of disobedience he threatened. She loved all her brothers, and the two elder treated her with tenderness and respect. She was a kind-hearted, good-tempered, and intelligent girl, in every way worthy of their love, and possessed of a considerable amount of beauty. She came next to Hugh in age, but she and Arthur were more generally companions, as they agreed in most of their tastes. Hugh was already a young man, and though he had no objection to a gallop through the forest, he devoted the greater part of his time, even when at home, to study. He had determined to make his way in the world, and he knew that only by steady application could he hope to do so.

Mary now sat at the window, busily plying her needle, and refraining from speaking lest she might interrupt him, though she wanted to talk to him about Gilbert, whose general conduct had of late given her great anxiety. She could not help thinking that it would be better if he were to be sent to a distance, and thus be separated from his present companions. Neither she nor Arthur liked to tell their father what they knew about him, but she thought that Hugh might do so, and might suggest the plan which had occurred to her.

Arthur, after some time, came back. He had searched everywhere for Gilbert, but had been unable to find him, his saddle was not in the harness-room, nor his pony in the stable; it was evident that he had ridden off somewhere.

In the evening Mr Maitland came back, and inquired for Gilbert. His other children were unwilling to say that they feared he had gone to Christchurch, for they hoped he might have taken a ride in some other direction. Night came on, and still he did not appear. Mr Maitland inquired whether any of them could tell where Gilbert had gone. At last Mary confessed that he had said he should ride over to see d.i.c.k Hockley; but that she hoped, from her and his brothers' remonstrances, that he would have refrained from doing so.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed away, and Mr Maitland, at first angry, became anxious about him. The night was too dark to permit of any one going out to search for him; indeed, as there were numerous ways through the forest by which he could come, he might be easily missed. Midnight arrived, and he was still absent Mr Maitland now became seriously alarmed, and he, with Hugh and Arthur, went out in different directions from the house, listening anxiously, in the hopes of hearing the sound of his pony's footsteps, but the roaring and whistling of the wind in the trees drowned all other noises. At length they re-entered the house, Mr Maitland sent the rest of the family to bed, but sat up himself watching for Gilbert's return.

CHAPTER TWO.

Gilbert knew his way, and that he could trust his little forest-bred pony to carry him safe home; so he gave it the rein, and let it gallop along the open glade, though the gloom was often so dense that he could not see a yard beyond the animal's head. He had got some distance, and had just crossed another road, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind him. There were several. They came on at a rapid rate. Who the hors.e.m.e.n were he could not tell. The sounds increased. He put his little forester at its swiftest gallop, but his pursuers were soon at his heels, and a stentorian voice shouted to him to stop, with the threat of a pistol-bullet through his head. He pulled up, feeling that all hopes of escape were vain.

"Who are you? what are you after here?" shouted the same voice, and two men galloping up seized his rein. "What business takes you out at this time of night, youngster?" asked one of the men.

"I am going home," answered Gilbert.

"Where is your home?" said one of the men, drawing a pistol from his belt; "answer truly, or I will send a bullet through you!"

"I am going to the house of Mr Maitland, my father," answered Gilbert, more frightened than he had ever before been in his life.

"Mr Maitland! you will not go there to-night!" exclaimed the man, with a loud curse. "Why, he is the fellow who before brought the soldiers down upon us, and this youngster has been sent out to learn where we are going, and will be setting the dragoons from Lymington on our heels. If Mr Maitland ever falls into our hands, he will find we have a heavy score to settle with him."

These remarks were interlarded with numerous fierce oaths, which need not be repeated.