The men now turning round the pony's head, led Gilbert back, swearing at him in a way which made his blood curdle, and fancy that they intended to shoot him or knock his brains out.

They had not got far when Gilbert saw a long line of hors.e.m.e.n riding two and two, in close order, crossing the road. They appeared to have heavy packages on their saddles, and were armed with blunderbusses and swords.

Gilbert's conductors seemed to be watching for some one to come up.

After the hors.e.m.e.n came a line of waggons, with an armed man sitting in front of each and another behind, while a horseman rode on either side.

There seemed to be no end of them, one following close upon the other.

Gilbert counted a hundred or more. At last another band of hors.e.m.e.n appeared. One of Gilbert's captors called to a man riding among them whom he addressed as "Captain," and told him of the way they had found Gilbert, and their suspicions.

"Bring him along with you," was the answer, "we will have a talk by and by with him."

Gilbert's captors joined the ranks, and the party of smugglers continued to make their way by unfrequented paths through the forest. He now recollected hearing that a strong force of military had been sent down to Lymington to a.s.sist the Revenue officers, and every moment he expected to see the smugglers attacked. They, however, seemed to have no dread of being interfered with, but rode on, laughing and joking with the utmost indifference. From the remarks Gilbert overheard, he found that they had taken good care to mislead the military, who were waiting far behind them, near the coast, under the belief that the intended run of contraband goods had not yet been landed. At length the smugglers reached a spot where their large band was to break up into separate parties who were to branch off in various directions, some with silks and ribbons to go even as far as London, others to different towns, while a portion of the goods were to be stored in hiding-places in the forest. A large party of mounted men still remained after the waggons had gone off. Among them were those who had seized Gilbert.

"Well, Captain, what shall we do with this young viper; he is a son of old Maitland's, and there is no doubt has been after mischief."

"Do?" answered the person addressed, a big dark-bearded man, clothed like his companions in rough seafaring costume. "The easiest way would be to leave him here to frighten the crows," and he looked up at the overhanging branch of a tree.

Gilbert felt ready to drop from his pony with terror.

"Oh, don't, don't hang me!" he cried out; "I did not want to do you any harm. If you will let me go, I will not say a word about what I have seen."

"Very likely?" growled the Captain, "but you knew that a cargo was to be run, and were galloping off to bring the dragoons down on us."

"I knew that a cargo was to be run, because d.i.c.k Hockley told me so; but I was not going to fetch the dragoons, for I did not even know where they were."

"A very likely story; and if d.i.c.k Hockley has been chattering to you, he will have to answer for it," observed the Captain. "However, bring the lad along. We will hear what Master d.i.c.k has to say for himself."

The troop, with Gilbert in their midst, now rode back by the way they had come towards the coast.

Gilbert supposed that they were about three miles from Christchurch, when, turning to the left, they came in sight of one of the numerous small farms which existed in those days in the forest, consisting of several straw-thatched mud buildings. Here he was told to tumble off his pony, which was led away, while he was conducted into a small inner room in the cottage. The window, high up near the roof, was closed by a shutter from the outside. The only furniture was a truckle-bed and a stool. The cottage apparently belonged to one of the men who had captured him, for Gilbert heard him inviting the rest to partake of the provisions he placed before them. They were all engaged in eating and drinking and talking loudly for some time. He heard the Captain at last say--

"We will now go and hear what account Master d.i.c.k has to give us about this youngster, and if he has been trying to play us a trick, he must be shipped off out of the way."

Gilbert could not tell whether the smuggler referred to d.i.c.k or to himself, though as it was very evident they would not scruple to use violence if they thought it necessary for their own safety, he felt very uncomfortable.

At last, from the sounds he had heard, he supposed that most of the men had mounted their horses and ridden off. Feeling tired, he groped his way to the bed, on which he threw himself, and in spite of his anxiety, was soon asleep.

He was awakened by the entrance of his host, bringing him some bread and cheese, and a jug of milk.

"There," he said, "you must be hungry by this time, youngster. It's more than you deserve, though."

"How long am I to be kept here?" asked Gilbert.

"I again tell you I did not want to do any one harm; on the contrary, I think you smugglers very fine fellows."

The man laughed.

"It does not matter what you think; if d.i.c.k cannot give a good account of you, you will be sent across the seas, that I can tell you."

Saying this, the man left the room. Gilbert was very hungry, so he ate the bread and cheese, and drank up the milk. By the light which came through a small c.h.i.n.k in the shutter and under the door he saw that it was daytime; but hour after hour pa.s.sed on, and he was still a prisoner.

CHAPTER THREE.

Mr Maitland became seriously anxious when morning dawned and Gilbert did not return. Calling up Hugh and Arthur, he told them to mount their ponies, and ride in the direction Gilbert was most likely to have taken; and as soon as the farm servants arrived, he sent them out to search the forest far and near. He himself, after consulting Mary, mounted his horse, and rode off to Christchurch, to ascertain from d.i.c.k Hockley whether Gilbert had paid him a visit.

He found the young man lolling over a gate smoking.

"Your son, Mr Maitland? what, has not he got home?" he exclaimed in unfeigned surprise. "Yes, he paid me a visit yesterday. He is an old schoolfellow, you know, and I am always happy to see him. He and I are very good friends, and there is no reason we should not be that I know of."

"That is not to the point," said Mr Maitland, sternly. "You acknowledge that he paid you a visit. I wish to know when he left you."

"Somewhere about five o'clock, as far as I recollect," answered young Hockley; "and as he was as sober as a judge, I should think his forester ought to have carried him home in a couple of hours at the outside."

Mr Maitland continued to cross-question d.i.c.k.

"I tell you he left me at five o'clock, and I know nothing more about him," was the only answer he could obtain. Mr Maitland was at length convinced that young Hockley knew nothing more than he said about his son. He made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and ascertained from two or three people that they had seen a lad resembling Gilbert in appearance riding towards the forest. He gained, however, a piece of information; it was that a large cargo of goods had been run that evening from the well-known lugger, the _Saucy Sally_, and had been conveyed with a strong escort inland, under the command of her daring captain, Slippery Rogers, who was so called from the way in which he managed on all occasions to elude the Revenue cruisers afloat, and the Government officers and soldiers sent in pursuit of him on sh.o.r.e.

"It's lucky you did not fall in with them, Mr Maitland," observed his informant. "They have vowed vengeance against you; and it would fare ill with you if they were to get you into their power."

"I am not afraid of them, or any ruffians like them!" said Mr Maitland.

"I shall do what I consider right; and try to rid the country of such pests as these outlaws have long been to it. It is a disgrace to those who should know better, and who yet encourage them by buying their goods, and refusing to give evidence when they are caught. They not only deprive the king of his just dues, but injure legitimate trade, and encourage a general lawlessness among the whole population of the coast.

However, I must hasten off, and try and find out what has become of my poor boy."

On making further inquiries, Mr Maitland ascertained the route the smugglers had taken, and became convinced that Gilbert must have crossed their path, and probably fallen into their hands. He accordingly called on the two neighbouring magistrates, and deposed, to his belief, that violence had been offered to his son by the smugglers. He gave information also to the Revenue officers, who promised all the a.s.sistance they could afford.

Having done all he could, hoping that Gilbert might in the meantime have arrived there, he set off home. Mary met him at the gate. Gilbert had not been seen. Hugh and Arthur had come back, and had gone out again to renew the search. The whole day was spent in searching for the missing one, but no trace of him could be discovered.

Day after day pa.s.sed by, and Mr Maitland could gain no tidings of the son, who, notwithstanding his disobedience, he loved truly, as the last gift of his affectionate wife.

Many weeks afterwards Gilbert's pony was found in the neighbourhood of the farm with its saddle on its back.

Arthur, from overstudy, it was supposed, fell ill, and his life was despaired of. Poor Mr Maitland feared he should lose him also. He had not unhappily the consolation of true religion. He was a just and upright man in his own sight, and in that of his neighbours, and fully believed that he deserved the favours of G.o.d on earth, and merited heaven when he should be called hence. When the time of trial came, there was something wanting. He could not look up to G.o.d as his loving, tender Father, and go confidently to Him in prayer for support, or say truly, "Thy will be done."

Hugh had gone to college, where from the first he exhibited the talents which had gained him credit during his school career, and his tutor wrote word that he was among the most promising young men in the University. He avoided all unnecessary expenses, and being of a thoroughly independent spirit, kept aloof from those who would have drawn him away from his studies. His aims were, however, worldly; the human intellect he held in the highest estimation, and was satisfied that by his unaided efforts he could do as he desired. He was sober, moral, and economical, because he was convinced that should he be otherwise he would injure his prospects. Hugh Maitland was therefore looked upon as an excellent young man, and perhaps few were more convinced that such was the case than himself. He wrote home deeply regretting Arthur's illness, hoping that the doctor's skill and Mary's watchful care would bring him round, and sympathising with his father in his grief that no tidings had been received of Gilbert.

"I am still convinced, however," he observed, "that had he met with foul play, or by any accident lost his life, his body would have been found, and I have hopes that he will still turn up. Perhaps, as he had been reading Robinson Crusoe, he may have taken it into his wise head to run off to sea, though I should have supposed that he would have sent a line to inform us of his romantic proceeding. Tell Arthur to keep up his spirits, and not to say die."

Mary watched over Arthur with the most loving care, and through G.o.d's mercy he gradually recovered his strength, and was able to resume his studies. The doctor warned him, however, that he must not slick to them too closely, and advised him to take constant rides with his sister, and be in the open air as much as possible.

"If you will be guided by me, my young friend, you will give up your intention of going to college, and a.s.sist your father on his farm," he observed. "You will find it a more healthy life than the one you propose, and probably get as strong as you can wish." Arthur began to consider whether it was not his duty to follow the doctor's advice.

Mary hoped that he would do so, as he would then live at home with her.

Mr Maitland promised every encouragement, remarking--

"Now I have lost poor Gilbert, there is no one else to keep on the farm when I am gone, or to afford a home to Mary."

This latter argument weighed greatly with Arthur. He had had indeed no definite aim in his wish to go to college; he might perhaps become a master in a school, or take pupils at the university, or should he get a fellowship, obtain a living, but he had never thought even in that case of the duty of striving to win souls for Christ. Of the gospel and its requirements he had a very imperfect knowledge. Possessing a more gentle and loving spirit than Hugh, he thought it would be pleasant to go about among the poor, to try and make them moral and good, and relieve them in distress. There were very few cottagers in their neighbourhood who required much a.s.sistance. When any of them were sick, he and Mary had found much satisfaction in carrying them food and delicacies which they were unable to procure, and in helping them sometimes with money from their own scanty means.

During the summer long vacation Hugh did not come home, having gone with some young men who had engaged him to read with them. When he returned at Christmas, Arthur's resolution of becoming a farmer was somewhat shaken. Hugh put before him so many of the advantages a hard-working man with good talents might obtain at the university, that his desire to try his fortune there revived. He had continued his studies for several hours every day, and now Hugh being able to a.s.sist him, he set to work with renewed vigour during the long winter evenings.

CHAPTER FOUR.