Chapter 4
The winter set in very severe, and the falls of snow were very heavy and frequent. It was fortunate that Humphrey had been so provident in making so large a quantity of hay, or the stock would have been starved. The flock of goats, in a great part, subsisted themselves on the bark of trees and moss; at night they had some hay given to them, and they did very well. It was hardly possible for Edward to come over to see his brother and sisters, for the snow was so deep as to render such a long journey too fatiguing for a horse. Twice or thrice after the snow fell, he contrived to get over; but after that they knew it was impossible, and they did not expect him. Humphrey and Pablo had little to do except attending to the stock, and cutting firewood to keep up their supply, for they now burned it very fast. The snow lay several feet high round the cottage, being driven against it by the wind. They had kept a passage clear to the yard, and had kept the yard as clear of snow as possible: they could do no more. A sharp frost and clear weather succeeded to the snow-storms, and there appeared no chance of the snow melting away. The nights were dark and long, and their oil for their lamp was getting low. Humphrey was anxious to go to Lymington, as they required many things but it was impossible to go any where except on foot, and walking was, from the depth of the snow, a most fatiguing exercise. There was one thing, however, that Humphrey had not forgotten, which was, that he had told Edward that he would try and capture some of the forest ponies; and during the whole of the time since the heavy fall of snow had taken place he had been making his arrangements. The depth of the snow prevented the animals from obtaining any grass, and they were almost starved, as they could find nothing to subsist upon except the twigs and branches of trees which they could reach. Humphrey went out with Pablo, and found the herd, which was about five miles from the cottage, and near to Clara’s cottage. He and Pablo brought with them as much hay as they could carry, and strewed it about, so as to draw the ponies nearer to them, and then Humphrey looked for a place which would answer his purpose. About three miles from the cottage, he found what he thought would suit him; there was a sort of avenue between the two thickets, about a hundred yards wide; and the wind blowing through this avenue, during the snow-storm, had drifted the snow at one end of it, and right across it raised a large mound several feet high. By strewing small bundles of hay, he drew the herd of ponies into this avenue; and in the avenue he left them a good quantity to feed upon every night for several nights, till at last the herd of ponies went there every morning.
“Now, Pablo, we must make a trial,” said Humphrey. “You must get your lassoes ready, in case they should be required. We must go to the avenue before daylight, with the two dogs, tie one upon one side of the avenue and the other on the other, that they may bark and prevent the ponies from attempting to escape through the thicket. Then we must get the ponies between us and the drift of snow which lies across the avenue, and try if we can not draw them into the drift. If so, they will plunge in so deep that some of them will not be able to get out before we have thrown the ropes round their necks.”
“I see,” said Pablo, “very good—soon catch them.”
Before daylight they went with the dogs and a large bundle of hay, which they strewed nearer to the mound of drift-snow. They then tied the dogs up on each side, ordering them to lie down and be quiet. They then walked through the thicket so as not to be perceived, until they considered that they were far enough from the drift-snow. About daylight, the herd came to pick up the hay as usual, and after they had passed them Humphrey and Pablo followed in the thicket, not wishing to show themselves till the last moment. While the ponies were busy with the hay, they suddenly ran out into the avenue and separated, so as to prevent the ponies from attempting to gallop past them. Shouting as loud they could, as they ran up to the ponies, and calling to the dogs, who immediately set up barking on each side, the ponies, alarmed at the noise and the appearance of Humphrey and Pablo, naturally set off in the only direction which appeared to them to be clear, and galloped away over the mound of drift-snow, with their tails streaming, snorting and plunging in the snow as they hurried along; but as soon as they arrived at the mound of drift-snow, they plunged first up to their bellies, and afterward, as they attempted to force their way where the snow was deeper, many of them stuck fast altogether, and attempted to clear themselves in vain. Humphrey and Pablo, who had followed them as fast as they could run, now came up with them and threw the lasso over the neck of one, and ropes with slip-nooses over two more, which were floundering in the snow there together. The remainder of the herd, after great exertions, got clear of the snow by turning round and galloping back through the avenue. The three ponies captured made a furious struggle, but by drawing the ropes tight round their necks they were choked, and soon unable to move. They then tied their fore-legs, and loosed the ropes round their necks, that they might recover their breath.
“Got them now, Massa Humphrey,” said Pablo.
“Yes; but our work is not yet over, Pablo; we must get them home; how shall we manage that?”
“Suppose they no eat to-day and to-morrow, get very tame.”
“I believe that will be the best way; they can not get loose again, do all they can.”
“No, sir; but get one home to-day. This very fine pony; suppose we try him.”
Pablo then put the halter on, and tied the end short to the fore-leg of the pony, so that it could not walk without keeping its head close to the ground—if it raised its head, it was obliged to lift up its leg. Then he put the lasso round its neck, to choke it if it was too unruly, and having done that, he cast loose the ropes which had tied its fore-legs together.
“Now, Massa Humphrey, we get him home somehow. First I go loose the dogs; he ‘fraid of the dogs, and run t’other way.”
The pony, which was an iron-gray and very handsome, plunged furiously and kicked behind, but it could not do so without falling down, which it did several times before Pablo returned with the dogs. Humphrey held one part of the lasso on one side, and Pablo on the other, keeping the pony between them; and with the dogs barking at it behind, they contrived, with a great deal of exertion and trouble, to get the pony to the cottage. The poor animal, driven in this way on three legs, and every now and then choked with the lasso, was covered with foam before they arrived. Billy was turned out of his stable to make room for the new-comer, who was fastened securely to the manger and then left without food, that he might become tame. It was too late then, and they were too tired themselves to go for the other two ponies; so they were left lying on the snow all night, and the next morning they found they were much tamer than the first; and during the day, following the same plan, they were both brought to the stable and secured alongside of the other. One was a bay pony with black legs, and the other a brown one. The bay pony was a mare, and the other two horses. Alice and Edith were delighted with the new ponies, and Humphrey was not a little pleased that he had succeeded in capturing them, after what had passed between Edward and him. After two days’ fasting, the poor animals were so tame that they ate out of Pablo’s hand, and submitted to be stroked and caressed; and before they were a fortnight in the stable, Alice and Edith could go up to them without danger. They were soon broken in; for the yard being full of muck, Pablo took them into it and mounted them. They plunged and kicked at first, and tried all they could to get rid of him, but they sunk so deep into the muck that they were soon tired out; and after a month, they were all three tolerably quiet to ride.
The snow was so deep all over the country that there was little communication with the metropolis. The intendant’s letters spoke of King Charles raising another army in Holland, and that his adherents in England were preparing to join him as soon at he marched southward.
“I think, Edward,” said the intendant, “that the king’s affairs do now wear a more promising aspect; but there is plenty of time yet. I know your anxiety to serve your king, and I can not blame it. I shall not prevent your going, although, of course, I must not appear to be cognizant of your having so done. When the winter breaks up I shall send you to London. You will then be better able to judge of what is going on, and your absence will not create any suspicion; but you must be guided by me.”
“I certainly will, sir,” replied Edward. “I should, indeed, like to strike one blow for the king, come what will.”
“All depends upon whether they manage affairs well in Scotland; but there is so much jealousy and pride, and, I fear, treachery also, that it is hard to say how matters may end.”
It was soon after this conversation that a messenger arrived from London with letters, announcing that King Charles had been crowned in Scotland, with great solemnity and magnificence.
“The plot thickens,” said the intendant; “and by this letter from my correspondent, Ashley Cooper, I find that the king’s army is well appointed, and that David Lesley is lieutenant-general; Middleton commands the horse, and Wemyss the artillery. That Wemyss is certainly a good officer, but was not true to the late king: may he behave better to the present! Now, Edward, I shall send you to London, and I will give you letters to those who will advise you how to proceed. You may take the black horse; he will bear you well. You will of course write to me, for Sampson will go with you, and you can send him back when you consider that you do not require or wish for his presence: there is no time to be lost, for, depend upon it, Cromwell, who is still at Edinburgh, will take the field as soon as he can. Are you ready to start to-morrow morning?”
“Yes, sir, quite ready.”
“I fear that you can not go over to the cottage to bid farewell to your sisters; but, perhaps, it is better that you should not.”
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