The Rival Crusoes(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)


发布时间:2020-07-24 13:44:27

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作者:Kingston, William Henry Giles, 1814-1880

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The Rival Crusoes

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Preface.

The title of the following tale was given to a short story written by the well-known authoress, Agnes Strickland, more than half a century ago, when she was about eighteen years old. I well remember the intense delight with which I read it in my boyhood, and was lately surprised to find that it had been so long out of print. The publishers, however, consider that the work, esteemed as it was in former years, is, from the style and the very natural mistakes of a young lady discernible with regard to matters nautical, scarcely suited to the taste of the present day. They therefore requested me to re-write it, believing that the subject might be worked into a deeply interesting story of much larger proportions than the original. This I have endeavoured to accomplish, and I trust that the new version of “The Rival Crusoes” may become as popular among the present generation as its predecessor was with the last.

W.H.G. Kingston.

Chapter One.

At Keyhaven—In dangerous company—The old smuggler—A frigate after battle—Dislike of Ben for the Royal Navy—An unexpected landing—Overbearing conduct of the midshipmen—Angry words—Lord Reginald Oswald—Toady Voules—At the village inn—Old messmates—Temptation—Susan Rudall’s anxious life—An adventure on the way to Elverston—Home at last—Reception at the hall.

“I tell you what, Dick, if I was Farmer Hargrave I would not turn out to please Lord Elverston or any other lord in the land,” exclaimed Ben Rudall, as he stood hammering away at the side of his boat, which lay drawn up on the inner end of Hurst beach, near the little harbour of Keyhaven, on the Hampshire coast, at the western entrance of the Solent, opposite the Isle of Wight. His dress and weather-beaten countenance, as well as the work he was engaged on, showed that he was a seafaring man.

“But Mr Gooch the bailiff says there is a flaw, as he calls it, in the lease; but what that means I don’t know, except that it’s not all right, and that father must turn out, whether he likes it or not,” answered Dick Hargrave, who was standing near, and occasionally giving Ben a helping hand. He was a lad about sixteen years of age, strongly built, with a good-looking face, exhibiting a firm and determined expression. His dress was more that of a landsman than of a sailor, though it partook of both.

“Flaw or no flaw, I say again, I would hold on fast to the farm, unless I was turned out by force. Your father, Dick, is worth ten of such lords, or a hundred, for that matter. He has held that farm since his father’s time. His father and grandfather and great-grandfather, and I don’t know how many before them, have held it. And right honest people they were. They never thought of interfering with us seafaring men, and would as soon turn spies to the French as give notice to the revenue when a cargo was to be run. If they guessed that any kegs of spirits, or packages of silks or ribbons, were stowed away in one of their barns, they took good care not to be prying about too closely until they knew that the goods had been started off for London.”

“My father always wished to live at peace with his neighbours, and would not injure a smuggler more than any other man who did not interfere with him, though I believe he has never received a keg of brandy or a piece of silk for any service he may have done the smugglers,” said Dick.

“You’re right there, my lad,” said Ben. “I mind once offering your good mother a few yards of stuff to make her a Sunday gown, and, would you believe it? she would not take them. When I just hinted that I should leave them behind me, she was quite offended, and declared that if I did she would speak to your father and have the outhouses kept closed, and that it would be our own fault if some day all our goods were seized. She shut me up, I can tell you. Yes, she is a good woman, and as kind and charitable to the poor as any lady in the land. To my fancy she is a lady just as much as Lord Elverston’s wife. I mind when he was only Squire Oswald. Because he kept hounds and was in Parliament, and came into a heap of money, he got made a lord, and then a marquis, and now he is setting his face against all us seafaring men hereabouts, and vows that he must uphold the revenue laws, and put a stop to smuggling.”

“I have no cause to care for the Marquis of Elverston or his sons either, for often when I have passed them and touched my hat, as in decent manners I was bound to do, they have looked at me as if I was a beggar-boy asking for a ha’penny. The young one especially—Lord Reginald—I had words with him one day, when he swore at me for not picking up his whip which he had let drop out riding; and at another time, when I was fishing in the lake at Elverston, he ordered me to be off, because I was catching more than he was—though father has always had the right of fishing there. He came up, with his fists doubled; but I threatened to knock him into the water if he laid hands on me, and he thought better of it. I was right glad when he went off to sea, where I hope he will have learned better manners.”

“He will have learned to become a greater bully than ever,” growled Ben. “I have heard enough about king’s ships, and catch me setting foot on board one. I’d sooner be sent to Botany Bay, or spend a year in prison, which I did once, when I was taken running a cargo down Portland way with a dozen other fine fellows. Many of them accepted the offer to go on board a man-of-war; and where are they now? Three or four shot or drowned; the rest have never come back, though whether dead or alive I cannot tell. No, no, Dick; don’t you ever go on board a man-of-war of your own free will, or you’ll repent it; and, I say, keep clear of pressgangs when you get a little older, or you may be having to go, whether you like it or no.”

“I’ll take your advice,” answered the young farmer, for such Dick might properly have been called, though he had besides, being an ingenious fellow, picked up a good knowledge of carpentering and boat-building; “but what I was going to say just now was that, although the marquis and his sons may not be liked, no one can utter a word against my lady and her daughters. They always smile and nod kindly like when one passes. When my sister Janet was ill last year, they came to the farm, and asked after her just as if she had been one of themselves, talking so sweet and gentle. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t think father would dream of giving in, as he does now.”

“Give in? He mustn’t do that!” exclaimed Ben. “Their talking and smiling may be all very fine, but I know what that’s worth.”

“You are wrong there, Ben; I couldn’t speak a word against them. But, I say, do you think we can finish the boat in time to get off and catch some fish this evening? I want to take home a couple of bass or whiting pout for Janet. She likes them better than anything else. Poor girl! it’s only fish and such light things she can eat. She’s very ill, I fear, though she talks as if she was going to be about soon; but the doctor tells mother he has no hope of her ever being well again.”

“That will be a sore pity, for, blind though she is, there’s not a prettier maiden to be found throughout the forest,” answered Ben. “I’ll do my best to serve you, Dick; but there’s two hours’ more work to be done before we can get the craft afloat.” Ben surveyed the boat from stem to stern as he spoke, and then continued boring holes and driving nails as diligently as before.

While he was thus employed, Dick, who was looking towards the Isle of Wight, exclaimed, “See, Ben, see, what a fine ship yonder is, just come in at the Needles!”

The fisherman, clenching the nail he had just driven in, turned his eyes in the direction to which Dick pointed. “She’s only a frigate, though a good big one,” he remarked. “She’s not long since been in action, too, with the enemy. Look at her topsails and top-gallant sails; they are pretty well riddled. I can count wellnigh a score of shot-holes in them; and her side, too, shows the hard knocks she has been getting. Just run to the top of the beach, and see if any other ships are following. Maybe the fleet has had a brush with the enemy, and yonder frigate has been sent on ahead with news of the action.”

Dick, doing as he was bid, soon reached a point of the shingly bank whence he could obtain a view of the sea to the westward. “Hurrah!” he shouted; “here comes another ship under a fore-jurymast and her bowsprit gone. She seems to me to have not a few shot-holes in her canvas, though it’s hard to make out at the distance she is off.”

Ben, in his eagerness, forgetting his work, ran up to where Dick was standing. “Yes, there’s no doubt about it, yonder craft is a prize to the first. When she gets nearer we shall see that her sails are well riddled and her hull battered, too. Those Frenchmen don’t give in till they’ve been thoroughly drubbed; but I doubt whether we shall know more about the matter to-night than we do now, for the wind is falling, and the tide making out strong against her. See, the frigate can only just stem it, and unless the breeze freshens, she must bring up or drift out through the Needles again.”

Such, indeed, was likely to be the case, for though still going ahead, her progress was very slow. She had already got some little distance to the eastward of Hurst Point, when, the wind freshening again, her sails blew out, and, gliding majestically on, she edged over to the Isle of Wight shore.

“She’ll not get to Spithead to-night, notwithstanding,” remarked Ben, “for there’s not a breath of air away to the eastward; see, the sails of that brig out there are hanging flat against the masts.”

Ben was right. The wind again dropping, presently the hands were seen flying aloft, the studding-sails were quickly taken in, the courses brailed up; the topsail yards being rapidly lowered, the ready crew sprang on to them, and in another minute the frigate dropped her anchor in Yarmouth Roads.

“All very fine!” growled Ben, as he saw Dick’s look of admiration at the smartness with which the manoeuvre had been effected; “but if you’d been on board you would have seen how it was all done. There’s the first lieutenant, with his black list in his hand, and the other lieutenants with their reports, ready to note down anything they may think amiss; then there are the midshipmen, the boatswain and his mates, cursing and swearing, with their switches and rope’s ends in their hands, and the cat-o’-nine-tails hung up ready for any who don’t move fast enough. Again, I say, don’t you ever enter on board a man-of-war if you wish to keep a whole skin in your body.”

The old smuggler’s picture, though exaggerated, approached too nearly the truth as to the way in which discipline was enforced on board many men-of-war in those days. Happily, some were as free from the reproach as are those of the present time, when the seamen of the navy have good reason to be contented with their lot, as everything is done which can conduce to their comfort and improvement.

Ben’s remarks did not fail to have their effect on Dick’s mind.

“Don’t think I’m a fool!” he answered. “I’ll keep out of their clutches, depend upon that, for, as I am not a seaman, a pressgang can’t catch hold of me.”

“Well, do you be wise, my boy, and don’t forget what I say,” remarked Ben. “But if we stand talking here we shan’t get the boat finished, so come along, and don’t let us trouble ourselves about the frigate. We shall hear by-and-by what she has been doing, and how the captain and officers are praised for the victory the seamen have won for them.”

Saying this, Ben led the way back to his boat, and went on with his work, though Dick Hargrave could not help every now and then casting a look at the beautiful ship as she lay at anchor a little distance off. Ben was labouring away as assiduously as before, when Dick exclaimed—

“Here comes a boat from the frigate. I thought I saw one lowered; she is steering for this point, and it will not be long before she is here.”

“Then they intend to put some one on shore at Keyhaven,” observed Ben; “but as the boat can’t get up the creek with this low tide, whoever he may be he’ll have to trudge along the beach.”

“There seem to be several officers in her,” remarked Dick, who stood watching the boat as she came rapidly on the blades of the oars, as with measured strokes they were dipped in the water, flashing in the sunlight. “They fancy that they can get up to Keyhaven, but they’ll not do that until the tide rises,” observed Ben, looking up from his work with a frown on his brow. “Let them try it, and they’ll stick fast.”

The boat passed the spot where Ben and his companion were at work, and very soon what he had predicted happened. Two of the officers, whom Dick recognised by their uniforms to be midshipmen, were heard abusing the men and ordering them to urge the boat on. But all the efforts of the crew to get her afloat were vain.

They then endeavoured to back her off, and at length four of them, tucking up their trowsers, leaped overboard. The boat thus lightened, the men, by shoving her astern, soon got her again into deep water. When, however, they sprang on board their blackened legs showed the nature of the mud into which they had stepped, and produced a malicious chuckle from Ben, who watched them with half-averted head. By moving their legs about in the water they soon got rid of the black stains, when, having resumed their places, they pulled the boat in close to where Ben and Dick were standing. As she reached the beach the two midshipmen leaped on shore.

“I say, you fellows,” shouted one of them, “come along here and carry our portmanteaus to the inn, if there is one in that village there, and tell us if we can find a post-chaise or conveyance of some sort to take us to Elverston Hall.”

“Don’t you answer,” said Ben to Dick, hammering on and pretending not to notice what was said.

“Ahoy, there! don’t you hear us? Knock off that work!” cried the younger of the two midshipmen, and he repeated what he had just said.

“Yes, we hear,” growled Ben looking up; “but we are not slaves to come and go at your beck, youngster.”

“We don’t want you to carry our traps for nothing, my man,” said the elder midshipman. “We’ll give a shilling to each of you for the job, and that’s handsome pay.”

“To those who want it, it may be,” said Ben; “but that youngster there must learn to keep a civil tongue in his head if he expects any one to help him. Hurst beach ain’t the deck of a man-of-war, and one chap here is as good as another, so you may just let your own people carry up your traps.”

The crew of the boat sat grinning as they heard the smuggler bandying words with their officers, siding probably with the former.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking, my man?” exclaimed the elder midshipman. “This is Lord Reginald Oswald, and his father is the Marquis of Elverston. His lordship will be exceedingly angry when he hears the way you have treated his son.”

Ben, turning away his head, muttered loud enough for his companion to hear him, “He might be the marquis himself for what I care; but I’m not his lordship’s slave to come and go at his beck any more than I am yours.”

Dick looked hard at the young lord, and the recollection of their former intercourse would have made him unwilling to do as he was asked, even had the request been couched in less dictatorial language.

“Come, come, we will pay you a couple of shillings each, if you are extortionate enough to refuse our first offer; but carry up our traps you must, for the boat has to return immediately to the frigate, and we cannot delay her.”

“Extortionate or not extortionate, we are not slaves, as some poor fellows are,” said Ben, glancing at the boat’s crew; “if we don’t do what you want for love, we are not going to do it for money, so you may just carry your portmanteaus yourselves.”

“Impertinent scoundrels!” exclaimed Lord Reginald to his companion. “Just see, Voules, if that young fellow is more amenable to reason than that sulky old boatman.”

“I’ll try him,” answered Voules. “Come here, you young chap. If you will carry Lord Reginald’s portmanteau I will shoulder mine; we must not delay the boat any longer.”

“Don’t seem as if you heard him,” said Ben to Dick in a low voice, then looking round he shouted, “Maybe the ‘young chap’ is deaf, and if he wasn’t, he’s not a mule or donkey to carry a load on his back. Let Lord Reginald carry his own portmanteau, and just do you understand that I’m not the man to stand any nonsense from him or from any other lord in the land.”

“There is no use in bandying words with these scoundrels!” exclaimed Voules. “I’ll carry your portmanteau, Oswald, and let my own take its chance. I don’t suppose these fellows will dare to steal it, until we can send somebody to bring it on.”

“No, no,” answered Lord Reginald; “we must get Jennings to allow two of the men to come with us, and he can explain to the captain the cause of the delay.”

Jennings, the master’s assistant in charge of the boat, naturally indignant at the way his messmates were treated, consented to this, although he was infringing orders by so doing. He accordingly directed two of the crew to take up the portmanteaus and accompany the midshipmen, who set off at once along the shingly beach. As they moved on, a peal of laughter, in which Ben indulged himself, saluted their ears, which contributed not a little to increase Lord Reginald’s anger and indignation.

“I have a notion that I remember the countenance of the youngest of those two rascals!” he exclaimed. “He is the son of one of our tenants, and used often, when a mere boy, to be impudent to me. I felt inclined more than once to thrash him, but he happened to be the stronger of the two, so I didn’t try, but I’ll pay him off one of these days. I’ll tell my father how we were treated, and he’ll show him that I am not to be insulted with impunity.”

“Certainly not, Oswald. I’ll bear witness to the impertinent way in which he behaved. I only wish that a pressgang may be sent on shore here some night; I’ll take good care that they do not overlook either the young fellow or that surly old one. They are not very particular in the service just now as to age, and both may be taken.”

“Pray don’t let me hear anything more about the matter, or when I reach home I shall not be in a condition to receive the congratulations of my family,” said Lord Reginald. “I wish that the tide had been in and we had been able to get up to the village instead of having to trudge over these abominable shingles.”

“Certainly,” said Voules; “but the fellows are beneath your notice, though the incident was sufficient to put one out of temper. If I had thought Jennings would have consented, I would have proposed landing the boat’s crew and ducking the fellows; it would have brought them to reason pretty quickly.”

“You don’t know the character of the men hereabout, or you would not say so,” observed Lord Reginald. “That fellow Hargrave is a desperate young villain, and they are all smugglers and poachers, who would not scruple to burn down the hall if they had an opportunity. My father is determined to put a stop to their poaching and smuggling, but he has not as yet had much success, I believe. The smugglers, somehow or other, manage to land their cargoes when the revenue officers are out of the way, and the poachers dodge our gamekeepers, who vow that although they hear their shots, they can never catch them.”

“It will be good fun some night to try what we can do,” observed Voules. “We should soon get hold of them, and if they are sent to prison or shipped off to Botany Bay, it will keep the others in awe.”

The two seamen who carried the portmanteaus were listening to the remarks of the young officers spoken in loud tones. Every now and then they turned to each other, exchanging winks, and smiling contemptuously, though they looked as grave as judges when Voules happened to turn round for a moment to ascertain how far they had got from the boat. On and on they trudged, until at last harder ground was gained, and they soon reached the village inn, or rather beer-shop, for it aspired to no higher dignity. Great was their disgust to find that no conveyance of any sort was to be obtained nearer than Lymington, some three or four miles off, and it was doubtful whether the single post-chaise or yellow fly, which belonged to the place, would be disengaged.

“But Lord Reginald Oswald cannot walk all the way to Elverston Hall, and we must have a carriage of some sort or other, my good woman,” exclaimed Voules to the landlady.

“Then I must send out and find my man, who has been carting coals for old Captain Knockills on the top of the hill there. Our cart ain’t exactly fit for young gentlemen like you, but it’s better than nothing, as it will carry your ‘portmantles,’ and you can get in and ride when you are tired; so, if you will walk in and sit down in the bar, I’ll send the boy off at once. It won’t be long before my man is here, as he must have finished his work by this time.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Voules. “Lord Reginald Oswald to be driven home in a coal-cart!”

The idea, however, seemed to tickle the fancy of the young lord, for he burst into a fit of laughter. “It will be better to reach the hall even in that way, than to wait in this wretched hole until we can obtain a

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