The Poacher ... With illustrations

Front matter

Frederick "Warne and Co., Publishers, NOTABLE NOVELS. COMPLETE E33ITIOIS.S. Large crown Svo, Sixpence each, Picture VVrappprs. 1 SCOTTISH CHIEFS _ Miss Jaw* Port**. 2 UNCLE TOMS CABIN. Harriet (Heches S ST CLAIB OF THE ISLES. Elizabeth Himi. 4 CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY. B. M. 6 THE LAMPLIGHTER. Mib» Cumvius. 6 MABEL VAUGHAN. Miss Cummins. 7 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. Miss Poster. 8 THE HOWARDS OF GLEN LUNA. Miss v » THE OLD ENGLISH BARON, &o. &0. Clsra Rekts. 10 THE HUNGARIAN BROTHERS. Mm Pouter. 11 MARRIAGE. Miss : 12 INHERITANCE. Miss Febbibb. 13 DESTINY. Miss Fekrier. 14 THE KING'S OWN. Captain Marktat. 16 THE NAVAL OFFICER. In Makbtat. 18 NEWTON FORSTER. Captain Makrtat. 17 RICHELIEU. G. P. R. James. 18 DARN LEY. G. P. R. James. 18 PHILIP AUGUSTUS. G. P. E. J.Mm. 80 TOM CRINGLE'S LOG. Michael Sott. 81 PETER SIMPLE.

Captain Marht at. 22 MARY OF BURGUNDY. G. P. R. James. 23 JACOB FAITHFUL. Captain Mabrtat. 24 THE GIPSY. G. P. K. James. 25 CRUISE OF THE MIDGE. Michael Scott. 26 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. Ii. H. Dawa. 27 THE PIRATE, AND THE THREE CUTTERS. Captain Marrtat. 28 HENRY MA8TERTON. G. P. R. Jamrs. 88 JOHN MATSSTON HALL. G. P. li. James. 80 JAPHET IN SEARCH OP A FATHER Captain Marrtat. 31 THE WOLF OF B /vDENOCH. Sir Twr-w.ts Hick Ladder. 3a CALEB WILLIAMS. WrLHAM Gon»ra. 33 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. Captain Marrtat. 34 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Oliver Goldbmuh. S6 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. Captain Marrtat. 38 ATTILA. y<xr Gp- R- James. 87 RORY O'MORE. ÆS> ""^AN Samuel I.oter. S8 PELHAM. I ' \ Ltttow Bulwrb. 38 THE DISOWNED. I -i qtito-i I Ltttow Bulwer. 40 DEVEREUX. \7 . . a/ Ltttow Bulwer, 41 PAUL CLIFFORD.

Ltttow Bulwbb. 42 EUGENE ARAM. V7 Ltttow Bulwbb. 43 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII Ltttow Bui.wer. 44 RIENZI. Ltttow Bulwer. 45 ERNEST MALTBAVERS. Ltttow Bulwer. 48 STORIES OF WATEKLOO. W. H. Maxwell. 47 THE BIVOUAC; or, Stories of the Peninsular War W. H. Maxwell 48 ALICE. Ltttow Bulwer. 49 THE ROBBER. G. P. R. James. 60 CYRIX THORNTON. Capt. T. Hamilto '. 61 REGINALD DALTON. J. G. Lockhart. 62 THE WIDOW BARNABY. Frawceb Trollops. 63 TOPSAIL SHEET-BLOCKS. Matthew Hrkrt Barker. 64 THE HUGUENOT. si P. K. J 66 THE SAUCY ARETHUSA Capt. Cham: , 68 JACK BRAG. Tr/Fon.j»E Hook. 67 PHANTOM SHIP. Captain Mae rtat. 68 ROBINSON CRUSOE. Danibl IHfob. 58 PICKWICK PAPERS. Charles Dickens. 80 HARRY LORREQUER. Charles Lever. 61 THE DOG FIEND Captain Mabrtat. 82 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. Chakibs Dickews. 63 OLIVER TWIST.

Chapter I. In Which Theke Is More Ale Than Argument

It was on a blusterous windy night in the early part of November, iSir_, that three men were on the high road near little village of Grassford, in the south of Devonshire. The moon was nearly at the full, but the wild scud, and occasionally the more opaque clouds, passed over it in such rapid succession, that it was rarely, and but for a moment or two, that the land scape was thrown into hght and shadow; and the wind, which w7as keen and pierc ing, bent and waved the leafless branches of the trees which were ranged along the hedgerows, between which the road had been so The three individuals to whom we have referred, appeared all of them to have been indulging too freely in the ale which was sold at the public-house about half a mile from the village, and from which they had just departed.

Two of them, however, comparatively speaking, sober, were assisting home, by their joint efforts, the third, who, supported between them, could with difficulty use his legs. Thus did they continue or. ; the two swayed first on the one side of the road and then on the other by the weight of the third, whom they almost carried between them. At last they arrived at a bridge built over one of those impetuous streams so common in (lie county, when, as if by mutual understanding, for it hout speaking, the two more sober deposited the body of the third against the parapet of the bridge, and then for some .vere silently occupied in recovering breath.' One of the two who remained leaning on the parapet by the side of the.r almost lifeless companion was a man of about forty years of age, tall and slender, dressed in a worn-out black coat, and a pair of trousers much too short for lie original colour of which it would Seen difficult to have surmised ; a sort of clerical hat, equally the worse for wear, was on his head.

Although his habiliments were mean, still tlie-re was something about his appearance which told of better days, and of having moved in a different sphere in society, and such had been the case. Some years before he had been the head of a" grammar school with a comfortable income, but a habit of drinking had been his ruin ; and he was now the preceptor of the village of Grassford, and gained his livelihood by instructing the children of the cottagers for the small modicum of twopence a heaa per week. unfortunate propensity to liquor remained with him ; and he no sooner received his weekly stipend than he hastened to drown his cares, and the recollection of his former position, at the ale-house they had just quitted. The second personage whom we shall introduce, was not of a corresponding height with me other ; he was broad, square-chested, and short — dressed in knee-bteeches, legging., and laced boots — his coat being of a thick fustian, and cut short like a shooting jacket ; his profession was that of a pedlar.

"It's odd to me," said the pedlar, at last breaking silence as he looked down upon the drunken man who lay at his feet, "why ale should take a man off his legs ; they say that liquor gets into the head, not the i " Well ! " replied the schoolmaster, who was much more inebriated than the pedlar, " there's argument even in that ; and, you see, the perpendicular deviation must arise from the head being too heavy — that's clear ; and then, you see, the sect, from the centre of gravity being destroyed, become too tight ; and ii" you put that and that together, why, a man can't stand — you understand my demonstration." " It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I suppose it's all right," replied the pedlar ; " but still ale an't poured into the head or into the feet of a man, but into the internals, are right in the middle of a man — so, how do you make out your case, Mr. Furness ?

" 71 Why I Byres, you talk of the re siduum." " Never said a word about it ; and, as I stand here, never even heard the word before." " Perhaps not ; the residuum is, you see, Byres, what is left." "If that's residguim, I didn't mean to say a word about it — there was none left, for you drained the pot." "Good Byre?, you have never been to college, that's clear. Now, observe, when a man pours down into his stomach a certain quantify of liquor, the spirituous or lighter part ascends to his head, and that makes his head heavy. Do you under stand? " "No; what's light can't make things heavy." " Can't it? — you know nothing about the matter. Have you not a proof before you ? " replied the schoolmaster, reeling and catch ing hold of the parapet for support. ' ' Look at that unfortunate man, who has yielded to excess."

" Very true ! I see that he's drunk, but 1 want to know how it is that he got drunk? " " By drinking." " That I knew before." "Then why ask any more questions? Had we not better proceed, and take him home to his expectant and unhappy wife? "Tis a sad, sad thing, that a man should ' put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains.' " " Half a pint will do that with Rush brook," replied the pedlar ; "theysaythat he was wounded on his head, and that half his brains are gone already, and that's why he has a pension." "Yes, seventeen pounds a-year; paid quarterly, without deduction, and only to walk four miles to get it," replied Furness ; "yet how misplaced is the liberality on the part of the government. Does he work? No ; he does nothing but drink and lie in bed all day, while I must be up early and remain late, teaching the young idea at two pence per week.

Friend Byres, ' mercy is not itself which oft looks so.' Now, it is my opinion that it would be a kindness to this poor wretch if we were to toss him, as he now is, over the bridge into the rushing stream — it would end all his troubles." " And save us the trouble of getting him home," replied Byres, who determin humour his more inebriated companion. "Well, Mr. Furness, I've no objection. Why should he live? Is he not asinecurist — one of the locusts who fatten on the sweat and blond of the people, as the Sunday paper says? don't you remember my read ing it this morning? " " Very true, Master Furness ; what d'ye say then ? shall we ovtr with him ?" "We must think a little," replied the schoolmaster, who put his hand up to his chin, and remained silent for a minute or two. "No," resumed he at last, "on second thoughts I cannot do it.

He halves his beer with me. No pension — no that's a self-evident proposition and con clusion. It were ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent to your proposal,' continued the schoolmaster; "nay, more, I will defend him against your murderous intentions to the very last." "Why, Master Furness, you must be somewhat the worse for liquor yourself ; it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine." " Take care what you say," replied the schoolmaster; "would you accuse me of murder or intent to murder? " " No, not by no means — only you pro posed heaving him over the bridge ; I will say that." " Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say anything but your prayers ; but in your present state I overlook it Let us go on, or I shall have two men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms, while 1 take the other, and raise him up.

It is but a quarter of a mile to the cottage." Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the most sober of the two, did not think it worth while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led away between them. The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that he moved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at the cottage door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make it rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall handsome woman, holding a candle in her hand. " I thought so," said she, shaking her head, "the old story; now, he will be ill all night, and not get up till noon. What a weary life it is with a drunken husband. Bring him in, and thank you kindly for your trouble."

" It has been hard work and hot work," observed the schoolmaster, sitting down in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed. " Indeed, and it must be," replied the wife. " Will you have a drop of small beer, Mr. Furness?" "Yes, if you please, and so will Mr. Byres too. What a pity it is your good man will not keep to small beer." "Yes, indeed," replied the wife who went into the back premises, and soon returned with a quart mug of beer. The schoolmaster emptied half the mug, and then handed it to the pedlar. " And my little friend Joey, fast asleep, I'll warrant" "Yes, poor child, and so should I have been by this time ; the clock has gone twelve." "Well, Mrs. Rushbrook, I wish you a good night Come, Mr. Byres, Mrs, Rushbrook must want to be in bed. " "Good night, Mr. Furness, and good night, sir, and many thanks."

The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the cottage. Mrs. Rushbrook, after hav ing watched them for a minute, carefully closed the door. "They're gone now," said she, as she returned to her husband. What would have created much astonishment could anybody else have witnessed it, as soon as his wife had spoken, Rush brook immediately sprung upon his feet, a sine-looking man, six sect in height, very erect in his bearing, — and proved to be perfectly sober. "Jane, my dear," said he, " there never was such a night ; but I must be quick, and lose no time. Is my gun ready ? " " Everything's ready ; Joey is lying down on his bed, but all ready dressed, and he awakes in a minute," " Call him, then, for there is no time to lose. That drunken fool, Furness, pro posed throwing me over the bridge. It was lucky for them that they did not try it, or I should have been obliged to settle them both, that they might tell no tales.

"Where's Mum ?" " In the washhouse. I'll bring him and Joey directly." The wife left the room, while Rushbrook took down his gun and ammunition, and prepared himself for his expedition. In a minute or two a shepherd's dog, which had been released from the washhouse, made his ince, and quietly lay down close to his master's feet ; it was soon followed by Mrs. R., accompanied by Joey, a thin meagre-looking boy of about twelve years old, very small for his age, but apparently as active as a cat, and with energy corre sponding. No one would have thought he had been roused from his sleep ; there was no yawning or weariness of motion — on the contrary, his large eye was as bright as an eagle's, as he quietly although quickly pro- ; himself with a sack, which he threw over his shoulders, and a coil of line, which he held in uting until his father was ready to start.

The wife put out the lights, softly opened the cottage-door, looked well round, and then returned to her husband, who, gb'ing a low whisde as a summons to Joey and the dog, walked out of the door. Not a word was spoken — the door was softly shut to — and the trio crept stealthily awa y.

Chapter II. In Which The Hero Of The Tale Is

\LLY INTRODUCED. Before we proceed with our narrative, perhaps it will be better to explain what may appear very strange to the reader. Joseph Rushbrook, who has just left the cottage with his son and his dog, was born in the village in which he was then resid ing. During his younger days, some forty years previous to his present introduction to the reader, the law was not so severe or the measures taken against poachers so strong as they were at the period of which we write. In Ms youth he had been very fond of carry ing a gun — as his father had been before him — but he never was discovered ; and after having poached for many years and gained a perfect knowledge of the country for miles round, he was persuaded, in a fit of semi-intoxication, at a neighbouring fair, to enlist in a marching regiment.

He had not been more than th*-ee months at the dep6t when he was ordered out to India, where he remained eleven years be fore he was recalled. He had scarcely been six months in England when the exigency of the war demanded the services of the regiment in the Mediterranean, where he remained for twelve years, and having received a severe wound in the head, he was then pensioned off and discharged. He resolved to return to his native village, and settle down quietly, hoping by moderate labour and his pension to gain a comfor. able living. On his return he was hardly known ; many had emigrated to a foreign clime; many had been transported for offences against the laws, particularly for the offence of poaching, and as rao.t of his former allies had been so emploved, he found himself almost a stranger where he expected to meet with frit-nds.

The pro perty also about the village had changed hands. People recollected Squire So and So, and the Baronet, but now their lands were held by wealthly manufacturers or retired merchants. AU was new to Joe Rushbrook, and he felt himself anywhere but at home. Jane Ashley, a very beau tiful young woman who was in service at the Hall, the mansion appertaining to the adjacent property, and the daughter of one of his e uhest friends who had been transported for poaching, was almost th-j only one who could ta k to him after his absence of twenty-four years ; not that she knew the people at the time, for she was then an infant, but she had grown up with them after Joe had left, and could narrate anecdotes of them and what had been their eventual destinies. Jane having been the daughter of a man who had been transported for poaching, was to Joe a sort of recommendation, and it ended in his taking her for his wife.

They had not been long settled in theircottage before Joe's former propensities returned ; in fact, he could not be idle, he had carried a musket too long, and had lived such a life of ex citement in the service of his country, that he found it impossible to exist without shooting at something. All his former love of poaching came strong upon him, and his wife, so far from checking him, encouraged him in his feelings. The consequence was, that two years after his marriage Joe Rushbrook was the most determined poacher in the county. Al though often suspected, he had never been detected ; one great cause of this was his appearing to be such a drunkard, a plan hit upon by his wife, who had ob that drunken men were not suspected of being poachers. This scheme had there fore been hit upoi successfully; for pr Lte that a man was carried home dead drunk and speechat midnight, was quite as good an tuld be brought forward.

Joe Rushbrook had, therefore, the credit of be ing a worthless, drunken fellow, who lived upon his pension and what his wife could earn ; but no one had an idea that he was not only earning his livelihood, but laying by money from his successful night-labours. Not that Joe did not like a drop oo ally ; on the contrary, he would sonn drink freely— but, generally speaking, the ds in his head were complained of. and he would, if the wind was fresh and set in the right quarter, contrive to be carried home on the night in which he had most work to do. Such was the case, as we have represented in the first chapter. Little Joey, who, as the reader may anticipate, will be our suture hero, was born the first year after marriage, an hild. He was a quiet, thought ful, reflective boy foi his years— ai imbibed his father's love of walking out on a dark night to an extraordinary degree ; it was strange to see how much pru mingled with the '■ her had trained him early, first to a little shrimp like Joey could do, without being ected to be otherwise employed than in picking blackberries.

Before he was seven years old, Joey could set a springe as well .is his father, and was well versed in all the mystery and art of unlawful taking of game. Indeed, he was very valuable to his father, and could do what his father could not have ventured upon without exciting suspicion. It was, perhaps, from his constant vigils, that tne little boy was so small in size ; at all events, his diminutive is the cause of there being no suspicion attached to him. Joey w i ilarly to the day-scbool*of Mr. Fun: although often up the best part of the nighf, lie was one of the best and most diligent of the scholars. No one could have supposed that the litde fair-haired, quiet-looking boy, who was so busy his books or his writing, could have been out half the night on a perilous excursion, for such it was at tru ire speaking of.

It need hardly be observed that Joey med one important lesson, which was to be silent — not even Mum, the dog, who could not speak, was more secret or more faithful It is astonishing how much the nature aud disposition of a child may be altered by early tuition. Let a child' be always with its nurse, even under the guidance of a moth brought up as chil usually are, and it will continue to be a child, and even childish after childho gone. But take the same child, put it by degrees in situations of peril, requiring thought and observation beyond its years, accustom it to nightly vigils, and to watched to hold its tongue, and it is aston ishing how the mind of that child, ho w much its body may suffer, will de itself so as to meet the demand upon it. Thus it is with lads who are sent early to sea, and thus it was with little loey.

He was a man in some points, although a child in others. He would pia companions, laugh as loudly as the oth but still he would never breathe a hint of what was his father's employment. He to church every Sunday, as did his father and mother — for they consii that poaching was no crime, althi punished as such by the laws, and he, of course, considered it no crime, as he only r and mother wished. Let it not be thought, th al the morals of our littli ed by his father's profession, for such was not the case. Having entered into this necessary ex planation, we will now proceed. of North American Indians could have observed a better trail, than that kept by our little party. Rushbrook \ followed by our hero and the dog Mum. Not a word was spoken ; they continued their route over grass-lands and ploughed fields, keeping in the shade of the hedgeis Rushbrook stopped for a while to reconnoitre, so did Joey, and so did Mum, at their relative distances, until the march was resumed.

For three miles and a half did they thus continue, until they arrived at a thick cover. The wind whistled through the branches of the bare I oak and ash ; the cold damp fog now stationary, and shrouded them as they proceeded cautiously by the beaten track in the cover, until they had passed . i it. ai 'd an ed on the other side, the cottage of a gamekeeper was situated. A feeble light was burning, and shone through the diamond-paned win- Rushbrook walked out clear of the cover, and held up his hand to ascertain precisely the direction of the wind. Having d liimself, he retreated into the cover in a direction so as to be exactly to lee ward of the keeper's house, that the noise of the report of his gun might not be heard. Having cleared the hedge, he ■) as to bring the barrel within two or three inches of the ground, and walked slowly and cautiously through i ish wood, foUowed as before by Joey him.

After about a quarter of a valk, a raiding of metal was heard, and they stopped short : it was the barrel of the fowling-piece which had brushed ed to a spring-gun, set for the benefit of poachers. Rushbrook lifted up his left ha sign to Joey not to move, and following the wire, by lUally rattling his barrel against it, :ntually arrived at the gun itself, opene irew out all the priming, leaving it with the pan open, so that it ' not go off, in case they fell in with another of the wires. Rushbrook then proceeded to business; for he well knew that the gun would be set where the pheasants were most accustomed to roost ; he put a small charge of powder in his fowlingthat, being so near, he might not shatter the birds, and because the noise of the report would be mu ■ jon discovei I black masses which the bodies of the r< nted between and raising his pii a heavy bound on the earth near the discharge, Joey then slipped forward and put the pheasant into his 1 t and another shol brought an increase to Joey's load. ls when gave a low growL This was the signal for people being near.

Rushbrook snapped his finger ; the dog came forward to his side and stood motionless, with ears and tail erect, in a minute's time was heard the rustling of branches as the party ...rough the underwood. Rushbrook stood still, waiting the signal Mum, for the dog had been taught, if the parties advancing had another dog with them, always to raise his forefeet up lo Rushbrook's knees, but not other Mum make no such sign, and then Rush brook lay down in the brushwood, his motions being closely followed by his son aud his dog. Voices in whispers were now heard, and the forms of two men with guns were to be seen not four yards from where they were lying. " Somewhere about here, I'll swear," said one, "Yes, I think so; but it may be further on — the down the sound." — " Very true, let's follow them, and they may fall back upon the spring-gun.'' The parties then ad iu to the cover, and were soon out of sight; after a time, Rushbrook held his ear to : that all was safe, moved homewards, and arrived without further adventure, having relieved joey of the heavy sack as soon as they were in the At three o'clock in the morning he tapped at the back door of the o Jane opened it, and the spoils of the night in a secret place, they were all soon in bed and fast asleep.

Chapter III. Train

A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO, AND HE WILL NOT DEPART FROM IT. It is an old saying, that " if there were no receivers there would be no thieves," and it would have been of very little use for Rushbrook to take the game if he had not had the means of disposing of it. In this Byres, the pedlar, was a valuable ;ary. Byres was a radical knave, v. ho did not admire hard work. At first he took up the profession of brick L labourer, one that is of a nature only ng occasional work and mi d wages. He did this that he might apply 5t for relief and do nothing fer the major portion of the year. But even a few months' work would not suit him. and rained his sustenance by carrying on his head a large basket of crockery, and disposing of his wares . tagers. At last he took out a pedlar's licence — perhaps one of the most dangerous permits ever allowed by a government, and which has been the cause of much of the ill-will and discontent fomented among the lower classes.

I_atterly, the cheapness of printing and easiness of circulation have rendered the profession of less consequence nty years ago the village alehouses were not provided with newspapers ; it was an expense never thought of; th went to drink their beer and talk ov news of the vicinity, and if there disturbance in any other portion of the United Kingdom, the fact was only gained by rumour, and that vaeucly and longafrer it had taken place. But when the pedlar -.pearance, which he at last did, weekly or oftener, as it might happen, there was a great change ; he was the party who supplied information, and, in consequence, he was always welcome, and looked upon as au oracle ; the best seat near the fire was reserved for him, and having deposited his pack upon the table or in a comer, he would then produce the Propeller, or some other publication full of treason and blasphemy, and read italoud for the benefit of the labourers assembled.

A few months were more than sufficient to produce the most serious effects : — men had worked cheerfully through the day, and ried with their lot and thankful that work was to be obtained, now remained at the public- , canvassing the conduct of government, and leaving their resort satisfied in their own minds that they were ill used, harshly treated, and in bitter bondage. If they met their superiors, those very parties to whom they were indebted for employ ment, there was no respect shown to them as formerly — or if so, it was sullen and forced acknowledgment. The church was graduallv deserted — the appearance of the pastor was no long?r a signal for every hat to be lifted from the head ; on the contrary, boys of sixteen or seventeen years of age would lean against the church, or the of the churchvard, with their hands in both pockets, and a sort of leer upon their I as though they defied the pastor on his appearance — and , ney remain le during Ihe .:, un quailed and without blusl S, cast upon iheni out again.