Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season

“Bang, bang!” from the wood.

“Forward,” shouted my uncle, and crossing a small open field, we entered the Spinney.

Now, if I were to say that I was brave, the assertion would be a fib, for I possess but few of the qualifications for making a good soldier; but all the same, as we pushed our way in that night amongst the thick hazel stubs, I felt a sort of tingly sensation in my arm, which made me grasp my weapon more tightly, and feel as if I wished there was something to hit.

“Keep your eyes well open, Dick,” whispered my uncle, “and if you come across a tall thin squinting rascal with his nose on one side, mind, that’s Ruddle’s. Fell him to the ground in an instant, sir. No mercy: capture him as you love me, and if you do take the scoundrel, you shall have another cool thousand down on your wedding morning.”

“And if I don’t?” I whispered.

“Hold your tongue, you dog, and don’t talk nonsense.”

On we went in silence as to our tongues, but with the leaves rustling and sticks cracking as we pushed on. Now I could hear my uncle ejaculating; then he’d stumble and mutter, while once I had to haul him out of a small hole half full of water.

“Confound it!” growled the old gentleman; “but I’ll pay some one for all this. Open out a bit to the right, Dick.”

I separated from the main body, and on we still pressed, rustling and crackling along, while now and again I could make out the well-defined forms of pheasants roosting amidst the low branches of the trees. All at once I heard my uncle stop short, for about a hundred yards to my right there came again a sharp “bang, bang” of two guns.

“Push on, my boy,” whispered the old gentleman, closing up; and then, as fast as we could for the dense undergrowth, we made our way in the direction of the sounds. “They’re out strong, my boy, but we’re four determined men with right on our side, and a prize to win; eh, you dog?”

“Oof!” I involuntarily exclaimed, for just then my uncle gave me a poke in the ribs with his stick – very facetiously, no doubt; but it hurt.

We were now in the thickest part of the wood; and, after going a little farther, I felt my shoulder clutched, and “Here they come,” was whispered in my ear. “Seize one man, Dick, and hold on to him like a bull-dog.”

Just then I could hear in front the sharp crackling and rustling made by bodies being forced through the underwood; and, grasping my staff and pressing eagerly forward, I waited with beating heart for the coming of the enemy.

I did not have to wait long, for the next moment I was face to face with Browsem.

“Lord, sir! I thought it had been one on ’em,” he exclaimed, and then a whispered consultation having been held, we opened out about twenty yards apart, and went straight away in the direction we supposed the poachers to have taken.

On, slowly and painfully, with the twigs flying back and lashing our faces, roots trying to trip us up, and the night growing darker and darker. Right and left I could hear my uncle and Browsem, while right off beyond the old gentleman, Mr Todds, the reticent, was making his way. Every eye was strained and every ear attent to catch the slightest sound; but for quite ten minutes we crept on until right in our rear came the sharp, loud report of a gun; and then, after the interval of a few moments, another louder and apparently nearer.

“Back again!” cried my uncle; and then, casting off all caution, we all pushed forward eagerly, closing in as we went, till we were only separated by a few bushes, so that I could hear the hard breathing on either side. Hard work blundering and stumbling along; but the will was good, and at last we all drew up again in a small opening, panting, hot, and regularly breathed.

“Hist!” whispered my uncle, and we all listened eagerly; but, with the exception of a wild, strange cry some distance off, all was silent.

“What’s that?” I whispered to Browsem.

“Only a howl, sir,” he whispered again. “Blessed rum start this, ain’t it?”

“Bang, bang!” again a hundred yards off.

“Come on!” roared my uncle furiously, “there won’t be a bird left in the place;” and away we dashed again, but only to pull up once more, regularly puzzled.

“’Tain’t no good, sir,” whispered Browsem. “We might go on like this all night, and ketch no one.”

“Why?” I said, mopping my brow.

“That ’ere, sir, as I said was a howl, must ha’ been Munday’s Ghost, and them ’ere shots as we keeps hearing’s the ones as killed the poor fellow, and that’s why the poachers never comes to this bit.”

“Browsem,” puffed my uncle.

“Yes, sir,” said Browsem.

“You’re a fool, Browsem,” puffed my uncle.

“Thanky, sir,” said Browsem.

“What do you mean by that, sir?” cried my uncle, fiercely.

“Nothing, sir,” said the keeper, mildly.

“For two pins, sir,” cried my uncle, fiercely, “I’d discharge you, sir. D’yer hear? discharge you, sir, for talking such foolery. Ghosts – posts! pooh! bah! puff! stuff! yah! Forward.”

Mr Todds, who was at my elbow, murmured his approval of his superior’s language, but gave a superstitious shiver at the same moment. And then once more we opened out, and tramped through the wood, till regularly beaten out; and, without having heard another shot or seen a single enemy, we reluctantly retraced our steps to the Priory.

The next morning, at breakfast, the parlour-maid again announced Browsem – for my uncle abjures men-servants in the house – and the keeper, looking puzzled and long-faced, appeared at the door.

“Now, then,” sputtered my uncle, “have you caught them?”

“They cleared Sandy Plants last night, sir,” growled the man.

“Who? what?” cried my uncle, upsetting his coffee.

“Some on ’em – Ruddles’s, I s’pose,” said Browsem. “Don’t b’leeve there’s a tail left out’er scores,” said the man.

“There, go down and wait, and I’ll come directly after breakfast.”

But to all intents and purposes my uncle had finished his breakfast, for nothing more would he touch, while his face grew purple with rage. Gout – everything – was forgotten for the time; and half an hour after, Browsem was pointing out the signs of the havoc made on the preceding night in the fir-plantation. Here and there lay feathers, spots of blood, gun-wads; and many a trunk was scarred and flayed with shot. In one place, where the trees were largest, the poachers seemed to have been burning sulphur beneath the boughs, while twice over we came upon wounded pheasants, and one dead – hung high up in the stubbly branches, where it had caught.

My uncle looked furious, and then turning in the direction of the scene of the last night’s adventures, he strode off, and we followed in silence.

On reaching the wood, we very soon found, from the trampled underwood and broken twigs, traces of our chase; but the birds seemed plentiful, and no feathers or blood-stains were to be found.

“They didn’t get many here, at all events,” muttered my uncle.

Both Browsem and Todds shook their heads at me, and looked ghosts.

“Strange thing, though,” muttered my uncle. “What do you think of it, Browsem?”

The keeper screwed up his face, and said nothing.

“Confound you for a donkey!” ejaculated the irascible old gentleman. “What Tom-fool rubbish you men do believe. Hullo! though, here’s a wad;” and he stooped and picked up a wadding evidently cut out of an old beaver hat. “That don’t look ghostly, at all events; does it, booby?”

Browsem only screwed up his phiz a little tighter.

“Why, tut, tut, tut! Come here, Dick!” shouted the old gentleman, excitedly. “We’ve been done, my lad; and they’ve cleared out the plantation while we were racing up and down here.”

I followed the old gentleman to one of the openings where we had stopped together the night before, when Todds, who was close behind, suddenly gave a grunt, and stooping down, picked up a half-empty horn powder-flask.