Chapter Thirty.A Desperate Gallop.To Fred’s great satisfaction, the sturdy, serious-looking followers of General Hedley treated the Hall and its surroundings with a fair amount of respect.They did not scruple to make bountiful use of the contents of the garden; and, as far as they went, revelled on the productions of the dairy, while they one and all declared the cider to be excellent.So comfortable were the quarters, that the absence of news of the expected reinforcements gave great satisfaction to all but the general, who walked up and down Sir Godfrey’s library fretting at the inaction, and shaking his head at his young follower, who was for the time being acting as his secretary, but with no despatches to write.“It’s bad, Fred Forrester—bad,” he said. “When you have anything to do, let it be done firmly and well. Let there be no procrastination. Your father ought to be here by now.”“I don’t think it can be his fault, sir,” said Fred, stoutly.“It’s somebody’s fault,” said the general, angrily. “No, no; I am sure it is not his. Well, I must have the men out to do something. No rust, Fred Forrester, no rust. What are you going to do?”“Take my place in the regiment, sir, if you have no more writing for me to do.”“Don’t want to go over to the Manor, then, to see the ladies, and ask how all are?”“Of course I should like to, sir, but I was not going to ask leave.”“You can go, my lad. There is no news of the enemy, and the scouts are well out in every direction. Be on the look-out though, and I cannot give you more than three hours.”Overjoyed at this unexpected piece of good fortune, Fred hurried to his sleeping quarters, to try and give a few touches to his personal appearance, for, after months in the field, he did not feel at all proud of his sombre and shabby uniform.This done, he made off just as the little force of well-mounted, sturdy men under the general’s command were filing slowly out, and making for the broad open park, where a long and arduous drill was to be carried out.It was a glorious day, and the prospect of being at home for even so short a time, and seeing his mother and those who had been his best friends was delightful. There was no sign of warfare anywhere, such as he had seen in other parts, in the shape of devastated crops and burned outhouses. But as he rose one of the hills that he had to cross, a glint of steel, where the sun shone on a morion, showed where one of the outposts was on the look-out. Further on, away to the left, he caught sight of another, and knowing pretty well where to look, he had no difficulty, sooner or later, in making out where the different vedettes were placed.“Puzzle an enemy to catch our weasel asleep,” he said to himself, laughingly, as he trotted on. “Why, if all our leaders were like General Hedley and my father, the war would soon be at an end—and a good thing too.”He rode on, thinking of the reception he would get, and hoping that Lady Markham would not behave coldly to him; and then the watchfulness of the pupil in military matters came out.It was not his business to see where the outposts were, but it seemed to come natural to him to note their positions.“I might have to place men myself, some day,” he said; “and it’s as well to know.”“Yes; there he is,” he muttered, as he caught sight of another and then of another far away, but forming links of a chain of men round the camp, well within touch of each other, and all ready to gallop at the first alarm.“There ought to be one out here,” said Fred, at last, just as he was nearing the Manor; and for the moment he was ready to pass him over, and think of nothing but those whom he had come to see, but discipline mastered.The spot he was approaching was a little eminence, which commanded a deep valley or coombe, that went winding and zigzagging for miles, and here he looked in vain for the outpost.“Strange!” thought Fred; and he rode on a little further, till he was nearly to the top of the eminence, when his heart leaped, and by instinct he clapped his hand to his sword. For there, with lowered head, cropping the sweet short grass among the furze and heath, was the outpost’s horse; and this, to Fred’s experienced eye, meant the rider shot down at his post.Half dreaming a similar fate, he looked sharply round, and then uttered an angry exclamation, as he touched his horse’s flanks, and rode forward to where the man lay between two great bushes.But not wounded. The secret of his fall was by his side. By some means he had contrived to get a large flask of wine up at the Hall, and the vessel lay by him empty, while he was sound asleep.“You scoundrel!” cried Fred, closing up and bending down to take hold of the man’s piece, where it stood leaning against a bush.As he raised it, a distant flash caught his eye, and there, winding slowly and cautiously along the bottom of the coombe, with advanced guards, came a strong body of horsemen, whose felt hats and feathers here and there told only too plainly that they belonged to the Cavaliers.To his horror, Fred saw that some of the advance were coming up the side of the valley not two hundred yards away, and that unless the alarm were given, the little force so calmly going through their manoeuvres in the park would be surprised. At the same moment, he saw that he had been noticed before he caught sight of the approaching enemy, but he did not hesitate. Raising the heavy piece, he fired, and at the shot the grazing horse tossed its head and cantered to his side, leaving its master to take his chance.“He’ll get no wine as a prisoner,” said Fred, bitterly, as he spurred his horse to a gallop, just as shot after shot from the other outposts carried on his alarm—while, following a shout to him to surrender, came shots that were not intended to give the alarm, but to bring him down.Fred glanced back once, and saw that the advance guard of the enemy were in full pursuit, a sight which made him urge on his steed to its utmost, while as he glanced back on getting to the top of the next hill, he could see that the enemy had divided into two bodies, and throwing off all concealment, they were thundering on, so as to get up with those who would spread the alarm, intending to spread it themselves, and to a dangerous extent.“They’ll overtake me,” muttered Fred, as he looked back and saw how well some of the leading men were mounted, and also that some of those in the main body were better mounted still, and were rapidly diminishing the distance between them and their advance guard.Right and left and well ahead of him he could see their own outposts galloping in toward the centre, but, strive how he would, he felt that he must be overtaken long before he could reach the Hall.“They will not kill me,” he said to himself. “They would only make a prisoner of me, unless some fierce Cavalier cuts me down.”“But I have saved them from a surprise,” he continued; and he once more tried to get a little speed out of the worn-out horse he rode.It was a neck-or-nothing gallop, and over and over again Fred would have been glad to change his mount, and leap on to the trained horse which kept its place riderless by his side. But the enemy were thundering on in full pursuit, and to have paused meant certain capture.On they rode, the Cavaliers behind, with their blades flashing, and their feathers streaming, and in the excitement of the race he could not help thinking of the gallant appearance they made, as they spurred one against the other in their reckless endeavour to overtake him.He had forsaken the road, and turned on to the rough moorland, a more difficult way, but he and his horse were more at home there, and he knew how to avoid the roughest rocky portions, and the pieces of bog, while there was always the hope that the pursuers might try to make some cut to intercept him, and so find themselves foundered in the mire.The race had lasted some minutes now, and the fugitive was in full hope that the alarm had been spread by the inner line of vedettes, when a bright thought flashed across his brain.He glanced back, and could see about a dozen of the Cavaliers some forty yards behind, and a few hundred yards behind them a couple of regiments.“They will follow my pursuers,” he argued; and as he came to that conclusion, he drew his right rein, and bore off a little, making straight for a deep hollow where the peat lay thick, and it was impossible for a horse to cross.If they followed him there, he could swerve off to the right again as he reached the treacherous ground, and edge safely round it, while the main body of his pursuers would in all probability plunge in.“That would ensure their defeat,” he said to himself, as in imagination he saw the gallant regiments floundering saddle deep in the black, half-liquid peat.As he had hoped, so it seemed to be. His nearest pursuers turned off after him, so did the main body, and, almost indifferent now as to capture, so long as he could save those at the park, he turned to look back, when, just as the Cavaliers were thundering on to destruction, one horseman dashed in front, waving his plumed hat, and meeting them—sending all but about half a score round to the left, so that they skirted the morass, just as they were on the point of charging in.“Some one who knows the danger,” muttered Fred, as he galloped on. “Scarlett, of course. It must have been he.”Another five minutes, with the foremost men not half a dozen yards behind, brought Fred to the top of a hill, beyond which he could see the park, and to his horror the general’s men were only then hurrying up into formation, with their officers galloping excitedly to and fro.“Hold out, good old horse,” panted Fred,—as he glanced back once more to see that capture must be certain now. “Another five minutes, and I could be with them,” he sobbed out breathlessly; and, as if his horse understood him, or else nerved by the sight of his fellows so near at hand, he lay out like a greyhound, just as a trumpet blast rang out on Fred’s left from the main body of the Cavaliers, a call whose effect was that Fred’s pursuers who had skirted the right of the morass, turned off to the left, and rode on so as to regain their places in the ranks, where their presence would be of more value than in pursuing a few scattered outposts.To an ordinary commander, the act of the Royalist leader seemed utter madness. The horses of his men were half-blown by a long gallop, and they were about to charge a body of sturdy cavalry, whose mounts were rested and fresh.But there was no hesitation. As they drew near, the trumpets rang out, steel flashed, feathers flew, the horses snorted, and with a wild hurrah! the Royalist troops literally raced against the advancing Parliamentarians. There was a shock, the crash of steel, a roar as of thunder, horse and man went headlong down on the green turf of the Hall park, and to General Hedley’s chagrin, and in spite of the valour of his officers, and the stern stuff of which his men were composed, the gallantry and dash of the first regiment was such that it seemed as if a wedge had been driven through his ranks, and his discomfiture was completed by the following charge of the second Cavalier line.One minute his well-trained horsemen were advancing in good formation to meet the shock of the Royalists, the next, discipline seemed to be at an end, and the Parliamentarians were in full flight.
To Fred’s great satisfaction, the sturdy, serious-looking followers of General Hedley treated the Hall and its surroundings with a fair amount of respect.
They did not scruple to make bountiful use of the contents of the garden; and, as far as they went, revelled on the productions of the dairy, while they one and all declared the cider to be excellent.
So comfortable were the quarters, that the absence of news of the expected reinforcements gave great satisfaction to all but the general, who walked up and down Sir Godfrey’s library fretting at the inaction, and shaking his head at his young follower, who was for the time being acting as his secretary, but with no despatches to write.
“It’s bad, Fred Forrester—bad,” he said. “When you have anything to do, let it be done firmly and well. Let there be no procrastination. Your father ought to be here by now.”
“I don’t think it can be his fault, sir,” said Fred, stoutly.
“It’s somebody’s fault,” said the general, angrily. “No, no; I am sure it is not his. Well, I must have the men out to do something. No rust, Fred Forrester, no rust. What are you going to do?”
“Take my place in the regiment, sir, if you have no more writing for me to do.”
“Don’t want to go over to the Manor, then, to see the ladies, and ask how all are?”
“Of course I should like to, sir, but I was not going to ask leave.”
“You can go, my lad. There is no news of the enemy, and the scouts are well out in every direction. Be on the look-out though, and I cannot give you more than three hours.”
Overjoyed at this unexpected piece of good fortune, Fred hurried to his sleeping quarters, to try and give a few touches to his personal appearance, for, after months in the field, he did not feel at all proud of his sombre and shabby uniform.
This done, he made off just as the little force of well-mounted, sturdy men under the general’s command were filing slowly out, and making for the broad open park, where a long and arduous drill was to be carried out.
It was a glorious day, and the prospect of being at home for even so short a time, and seeing his mother and those who had been his best friends was delightful. There was no sign of warfare anywhere, such as he had seen in other parts, in the shape of devastated crops and burned outhouses. But as he rose one of the hills that he had to cross, a glint of steel, where the sun shone on a morion, showed where one of the outposts was on the look-out. Further on, away to the left, he caught sight of another, and knowing pretty well where to look, he had no difficulty, sooner or later, in making out where the different vedettes were placed.
“Puzzle an enemy to catch our weasel asleep,” he said to himself, laughingly, as he trotted on. “Why, if all our leaders were like General Hedley and my father, the war would soon be at an end—and a good thing too.”
He rode on, thinking of the reception he would get, and hoping that Lady Markham would not behave coldly to him; and then the watchfulness of the pupil in military matters came out.
It was not his business to see where the outposts were, but it seemed to come natural to him to note their positions.
“I might have to place men myself, some day,” he said; “and it’s as well to know.”
“Yes; there he is,” he muttered, as he caught sight of another and then of another far away, but forming links of a chain of men round the camp, well within touch of each other, and all ready to gallop at the first alarm.
“There ought to be one out here,” said Fred, at last, just as he was nearing the Manor; and for the moment he was ready to pass him over, and think of nothing but those whom he had come to see, but discipline mastered.
The spot he was approaching was a little eminence, which commanded a deep valley or coombe, that went winding and zigzagging for miles, and here he looked in vain for the outpost.
“Strange!” thought Fred; and he rode on a little further, till he was nearly to the top of the eminence, when his heart leaped, and by instinct he clapped his hand to his sword. For there, with lowered head, cropping the sweet short grass among the furze and heath, was the outpost’s horse; and this, to Fred’s experienced eye, meant the rider shot down at his post.
Half dreaming a similar fate, he looked sharply round, and then uttered an angry exclamation, as he touched his horse’s flanks, and rode forward to where the man lay between two great bushes.
But not wounded. The secret of his fall was by his side. By some means he had contrived to get a large flask of wine up at the Hall, and the vessel lay by him empty, while he was sound asleep.
“You scoundrel!” cried Fred, closing up and bending down to take hold of the man’s piece, where it stood leaning against a bush.
As he raised it, a distant flash caught his eye, and there, winding slowly and cautiously along the bottom of the coombe, with advanced guards, came a strong body of horsemen, whose felt hats and feathers here and there told only too plainly that they belonged to the Cavaliers.
To his horror, Fred saw that some of the advance were coming up the side of the valley not two hundred yards away, and that unless the alarm were given, the little force so calmly going through their manoeuvres in the park would be surprised. At the same moment, he saw that he had been noticed before he caught sight of the approaching enemy, but he did not hesitate. Raising the heavy piece, he fired, and at the shot the grazing horse tossed its head and cantered to his side, leaving its master to take his chance.
“He’ll get no wine as a prisoner,” said Fred, bitterly, as he spurred his horse to a gallop, just as shot after shot from the other outposts carried on his alarm—while, following a shout to him to surrender, came shots that were not intended to give the alarm, but to bring him down.
Fred glanced back once, and saw that the advance guard of the enemy were in full pursuit, a sight which made him urge on his steed to its utmost, while as he glanced back on getting to the top of the next hill, he could see that the enemy had divided into two bodies, and throwing off all concealment, they were thundering on, so as to get up with those who would spread the alarm, intending to spread it themselves, and to a dangerous extent.
“They’ll overtake me,” muttered Fred, as he looked back and saw how well some of the leading men were mounted, and also that some of those in the main body were better mounted still, and were rapidly diminishing the distance between them and their advance guard.
Right and left and well ahead of him he could see their own outposts galloping in toward the centre, but, strive how he would, he felt that he must be overtaken long before he could reach the Hall.
“They will not kill me,” he said to himself. “They would only make a prisoner of me, unless some fierce Cavalier cuts me down.”
“But I have saved them from a surprise,” he continued; and he once more tried to get a little speed out of the worn-out horse he rode.
It was a neck-or-nothing gallop, and over and over again Fred would have been glad to change his mount, and leap on to the trained horse which kept its place riderless by his side. But the enemy were thundering on in full pursuit, and to have paused meant certain capture.
On they rode, the Cavaliers behind, with their blades flashing, and their feathers streaming, and in the excitement of the race he could not help thinking of the gallant appearance they made, as they spurred one against the other in their reckless endeavour to overtake him.
He had forsaken the road, and turned on to the rough moorland, a more difficult way, but he and his horse were more at home there, and he knew how to avoid the roughest rocky portions, and the pieces of bog, while there was always the hope that the pursuers might try to make some cut to intercept him, and so find themselves foundered in the mire.
The race had lasted some minutes now, and the fugitive was in full hope that the alarm had been spread by the inner line of vedettes, when a bright thought flashed across his brain.
He glanced back, and could see about a dozen of the Cavaliers some forty yards behind, and a few hundred yards behind them a couple of regiments.
“They will follow my pursuers,” he argued; and as he came to that conclusion, he drew his right rein, and bore off a little, making straight for a deep hollow where the peat lay thick, and it was impossible for a horse to cross.
If they followed him there, he could swerve off to the right again as he reached the treacherous ground, and edge safely round it, while the main body of his pursuers would in all probability plunge in.
“That would ensure their defeat,” he said to himself, as in imagination he saw the gallant regiments floundering saddle deep in the black, half-liquid peat.
As he had hoped, so it seemed to be. His nearest pursuers turned off after him, so did the main body, and, almost indifferent now as to capture, so long as he could save those at the park, he turned to look back, when, just as the Cavaliers were thundering on to destruction, one horseman dashed in front, waving his plumed hat, and meeting them—sending all but about half a score round to the left, so that they skirted the morass, just as they were on the point of charging in.
“Some one who knows the danger,” muttered Fred, as he galloped on. “Scarlett, of course. It must have been he.”
Another five minutes, with the foremost men not half a dozen yards behind, brought Fred to the top of a hill, beyond which he could see the park, and to his horror the general’s men were only then hurrying up into formation, with their officers galloping excitedly to and fro.
“Hold out, good old horse,” panted Fred,—as he glanced back once more to see that capture must be certain now. “Another five minutes, and I could be with them,” he sobbed out breathlessly; and, as if his horse understood him, or else nerved by the sight of his fellows so near at hand, he lay out like a greyhound, just as a trumpet blast rang out on Fred’s left from the main body of the Cavaliers, a call whose effect was that Fred’s pursuers who had skirted the right of the morass, turned off to the left, and rode on so as to regain their places in the ranks, where their presence would be of more value than in pursuing a few scattered outposts.
To an ordinary commander, the act of the Royalist leader seemed utter madness. The horses of his men were half-blown by a long gallop, and they were about to charge a body of sturdy cavalry, whose mounts were rested and fresh.
But there was no hesitation. As they drew near, the trumpets rang out, steel flashed, feathers flew, the horses snorted, and with a wild hurrah! the Royalist troops literally raced against the advancing Parliamentarians. There was a shock, the crash of steel, a roar as of thunder, horse and man went headlong down on the green turf of the Hall park, and to General Hedley’s chagrin, and in spite of the valour of his officers, and the stern stuff of which his men were composed, the gallantry and dash of the first regiment was such that it seemed as if a wedge had been driven through his ranks, and his discomfiture was completed by the following charge of the second Cavalier line.
One minute his well-trained horsemen were advancing in good formation to meet the shock of the Royalists, the next, discipline seemed to be at an end, and the Parliamentarians were in full flight.
Chapter Thirty One.Samson to the Rescue.Unscathed, in spite of the terrible dangers of themêlée, Fred, after succeeding in reaching his companions, joined them in their charge, and was driven back in their reverse, riding headlong as they rode in what was hardly a retreat, but rather a running fight, till seeing his opportunity, he made for where he could see General Hedley striving, in company with the officers, to check the retrograde movement, but striving in vain.For there was a wild valour and dash exhibited by the Cavaliers, which for the time being carried all before them. No sooner had something like a rally been made by the Parliamentarians, than the Royalists charged at them in a headlong rush, which would have ended in almost total destruction with some troops.But there was a sturdy solidity about the followers of General Hedley, and the result of these charges was that, while some fell, the others were merely moved here and there, and as soon as their assailants had passed on they seemed to hang together again, driven outward always, but not scattered. In fact, for mile after mile the running fight was continued, growing slower and slower as horse and man were wearied out, till, had a minute’s grace been afforded them, General Hedley felt that he could have gathered his men together, and by one vigorous charge have changed the state of affairs.But the opportunity for re-formation was never afforded, and the great crowd of mounted men of both parties rode on mingled together in confusion, right over the wild moorland countryside. The number of individual combats was almost countless, and their track was marked by the heather being dotted with fallen men, the wounded, and often the dismounted, and by exhausted or hopelessly foundered horses.And still the fight went on, with the attacks growing more feeble, till the Cavaliers’ horses could hardly be spurred into a canter, and many a one stopped short.It was a strange flight, in which the beaten gave way slowly, and with an obstinate English tenacity of purpose, which made them cling to their enemies, and refuse to acknowledge their rout. They were broken up, and, according to all preconceived notions of cavalry encounters, they ought to have scattered and fled, but they only went on as they were driven and broken up in knots, and the Cavalier leader knew perfectly well that the moment he ceased his efforts, the other party would, as it were, flow together again and return their charge, perhaps with fatal results to his little force, for his men were growing completely exhausted.“If I could only get a troop together!” muttered General Hedley between his teeth; and again and again he tried to rally his men. But the Cavaliers dashed at them directly, the efforts proved vain, and themêléecontinued—a struggle in which order was absent, and men struck and rode at each other, broke their weapons, and often engaged in a mounted wrestling bout, which ended in a pair of adversaries falling headlong to the ground. Fred would have been out of the skirmish early in the engagement from the exhaustion of his horse, but as the pace grew slower, the poor brute recovered itself somewhat, and whenever flight or attack grew more rapid, exerted itself naturally to keep as near as could be in the ranks.The scene was terrible for one so young, as he sat there grimly, often in the middle of a confused crowd, his sword drawn ready more for defence than offence, for now that the excitement of the flight was over, and he had rejoined his regiment, there was little of the blind desire to strike and slay in Fred Forrester’s breast. He contented himself with turning aside thrusts and meeting blows with a clever guard, as some Cavalier tried to reach him, while twice over he found another sword interposed on his behalf.The fight must have lasted for half an hour, when about a dozen of the Cavaliers raised a shout, and made a dash at where General Hedley was slowly retreating, their object being evidently to take him prisoner before, from sheer exhaustion, the pursuit was given up.But the idea was not so easy to carry out, though for the moment the general was alone. The horse he rode was strong and fairly fresh, those of his would-be captors pretty well foundered, and, in addition, there was help at hand.Fred had just had a narrow escape, for a stout Cavalier had forced his own horse alongside, contriving, in spite of the lad’s efforts, to get upon his left or weaker side, and pressing him sorely. Fred had need for all the skill with the sword he had picked up since he had been with the army, and he had dire need for more power in his muscles, for after a minute’s foining and thrusting, he found his guard beaten down through his adversary’s superior strength, a hand was outstretched, catching him by the collar of his jerkin, and in spite of his efforts he was dragged sidewise toward the pommel of his enemy’s horse.“I’ll have one prisoner, at all events,” growled the man, fiercely; and he gave Fred’s horse a savage kick in the ribs, with the intention of making him start away.Had the horse followed the enemy’s wishes, his rider would have been unseated, but, instead of starting away, the well-drilled beast pressed closer alongside the horse by his side, and Fred still clung to the saddle.“Ah, you wretched young Puritan spawn! Would you sting?” growled the man, as Fred made a desperate effort to use his sword. “Then take that.”The Cavalier rose in his stirrups, and was in the act of striking with all his might, when a fresh sword parted the air like a flash, swung as it was by a muscular arm, and the middle of the blade caught the Cavalier trooper right upon the plated cheek-strap of the morion he wore, dividing it so that the steel cap flew off, and the man dropped back over the cantle of his saddle, his frightened horse making a bound forward and carrying his master a dozen yards before he fell heavily on the heath.“Who says I can’t use a sword as well as a scythe?” cried a familiar voice.“Oh, Samson, you’ve saved my life,” cried Fred.“Serve you right, too, my lad—I mean, serve him right, too. Trying to chop down a boy like you.”“I am sorry. Look, look, look!” cried Fred, excitedly.“Eh? Look? What at?”“Over yonder, where all those Cavaliers are crowding together to make another charge.”“Yes, I see ’em. What a state their horses are in!”“But don’t you see Scarlett Markham? And who’s that with them? I see now. Your brother.”“What, Nat? Where, where? Let me get at him. There’s going to be a prisoner took now, Master Fred, and he’ll have to look sharp to get away.”Samson set spurs to his horse, but Fred checked him by seizing the bridle.“No, no,” he said; “keep by me, and let’s close up to the general. This is no time for personal feelings, Samson. We must think only of our party.”“Ah, well, I won’t hurt him, Master Fred; but how would you like your brother to be hunting you about the country, as Nat has been hunting us? Wouldn’t you like to have a turn at him?”“I have no brother, Samson,” replied Fred, as he glanced in the direction where, about a hundred yards away, Scarlett was in the midst of a group of the Cavaliers, who were steadily driving the grim Cromwellian troopers before them, and effectually keeping them from combining so as to retaliate with effect.Then Scarlett was hidden from his sight, and yielding slowly step by step, the Parliamentarians kept up a defiant retreat.It might be supposed that at such a time the slaughter would be terrible; but, after the first onset, when men went down headlong, the number of killed and wounded were few. For there were no withering volleys of musketry, no field-pieces playing upon the disorganised cavalry from a distance; it was a sheer combat of mounted men armed with the sword, against whose edge and point defensive armour was worn; and in consequence many of the wounds were insignificant, more injuries being received by men being dismounted than by the blades.The officers of the retreating party kept up their efforts to rally their little force, but always in vain, for the gathering together of a cluster of men resulted in the Cavaliers making that the point for which they made, and they carried all before them.“They are more than two to one, literally,” growled the general, fiercely, as he felt that there was nothing to be done but to summon his men to follow, and, taking advantage of the fresher state of their horses, put on all the speed they could, and make for a valley right ahead, where they might elude their pursuers, and accepting the present defeat endeavour to make up for it another time.Giving the order then, the trumpet rang out, and the men sullenly obeyed, setting spurs to their horses, and for the most part extricating themselves from their pursuers, whose horses began to stagger and even stop as their masters urged them to the ascent of a slope, up which the Parliamentarians were retreating.This being the case, their own leader ordered his trumpeter to sound a halt, and the successful party set up a tremendous cheer as they waved their hats and flashed their swords in the sunshine.“Yes,” muttered General Hedley, as he looked back at his triumphant enemies exulting over his defeat, but too helpless to pursue, “make much of it; a reverse may come sooner than you expect.”“I don’t like being beaten like this, Master Fred,” grumbled Samson, leaning over to smooth the reeking coat of the horse his young master rode; “and it’s all your fault.”“My fault? How?”“Holding me back as you did, and letting that brother of mine get away sneering and sniggering at me, with his nose cocked up in the air, and swelling with pride till he’s like the frog in the fable.”“How do you know he was sneering at you?” said Fred, who felt stiff, sore, and as if he would give anything to dismount and lie down among the soft elastic heather.“How do I know, sir? Why, because it’s his nature to. You don’t understand him as I do. I can’t see him, because I can’t look through that hill, but I know as well as can be that he’s riding on his horse close to Master Scarlett, and going off.”“Going off?”“Yes, sir, in little puffs of laughing. It’s his aggravating way. And he’s keeping on saying, ‘Poor old Samson!’ till it makes my blood bile.”“What nonsense! He is more likely to be riding away jaded, and sore, and disheartened.”“Not he, sir, because he aren’t got no heart, and never had none—leastways, not a proper sort of heart. I can feel it, and I always could. He’s a-sneering at us all, and thinking how he has beaten us, when, if you had let me have my head, I could have gone at him sword in hand—”“And cut his head off?”“Cut his head off, sir? Why, it aren’t worth cutting off. I mean to keep my sword, which is a real good bit o’ stuff, and as sharp as a scythe, for better heads than his. I wouldn’t stoop to do it. No, Master Fred, I tell you what I’d have done: I’d have ridden up to him right afore ’em all, and I should have said, ‘Nat, my lad, your time’s come;’ and I should have laid hold of him by the scruff of the neck, and beat him with the flat of the blade till he went down on his knees and said he wouldn’t do so any more.”“Do what any more, Samson?”“Everything as he have been doing.”“And suppose he wouldn’t have let you beat him before all the others?”“Wouldn’t have let me, Master Fred? He’d have been obliged to. I should have made him.”“You are too modest, Samson,” said Fred, laughing.“Oh no, I’m not, sir—not a bit. I wish sometimes I was a bit more so. But you should have let me go at him, sir. I’d have made him run, like a sheep with a dog at his heels.”“Ah, Samson,” cried Fred, wearily, “it’s sore work when brothers are fighting against each other.”“No worse, sir, than two such friends as you and Master Scarlett was. Why, you was more than brothers. Oh, I don’t like this here at all.”“What?”“Running away with our tails between our legs, like so many dogs with stones thrown at ’em.”“It is miserable work, but better than being taken prisoners.”They rode on down into the coombe, and followed its wanderings with rear and advance guards, though they felt but little fear of pursuit, and for a long time hardly a word was spoken along the ranks. The horses were going at a foot-pace, and as they went the troopers played surgeon to each other, and bound up the slight wounds they had received, for these were many, though not enough to render them beyond fighting if necessity should occur.Once the general called a halt, and posted scouts on the hills around, while he gave his men an opportunity to water their horses at the running stream at the bottom of the coombe, and to attend to the wounds the poor beasts had received, many a sword-cut intended for the rider having fallen upon his horse.The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, passing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, “Don’t hurt me more than you can help.” Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.“What are you thinking about, Master Fred?”“I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his.”“He’d better,” said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, “Oh, I don’t feel afraid about that, sir. He’s sure to. You see, he’s a gentleman, and there’s a deal in being a gentleman. He’ll take care of her, never fear. That’s not what I was thinking.”“What were you thinking, then?” said Fred, anxiously.“Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener—”“Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson,” said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.“Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren’t neglecting anything, and there’s nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one’s self speak.”“Then speak out, and say what you were thinking.”“I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now.”“A horse? Why?”“So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green grass.”“Why, Samson!”“Ah, you don’t know, Master Fred. I’m that hungry, it wouldn’t be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I’d eat ’em raw.”“I’m sorry, Samson, and I haven’t a scrap of food with me.”“No, sir, nor nobody else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren’t the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry.”“Because you are so hungry?”“No, sir; but when I think of what we’ve left behind at the Hall. Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!” groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, “those hams!”Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.“Well, Master Fred,” said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse’s neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, “I did think better of you than to s’pose you’d laugh at other folk’s troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn’t so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn’t got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat’s bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn’t so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales.”“What of, Samson?”“My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir,” said Samson, triumphantly.“Told tales of your brother—of Nat?”“Yes, sir. There was a twang in that cider that said quite aloud, ‘Dirty barrel,’ and that he hadn’t taken the trouble to properly wash it out before it was used; but all the same, though it was half spoiled by his neglect, I’d give anything for a mugful of it now, and a good big home-made bread cake.”“So would I, Samson,” said Fred, smiling.“And them enemies with my brother are all riding comfortably back to feast and sleep; and while we’re camping cold and miserable on the hills, they’ll all be singing and rejoicing.”“I hope they are thinking more of the poor wounded fellows they will have to pick up on their way back. Hallo! Look! Steady there. Halt!”He passed the word received from the front, for half a mile ahead, on one of the hills, a scout was signalling.Fresh men were sent forward, and as the signals evidently meant danger ahead, the general hurriedly took up a position of advantage, one which gave him the choice of advance or retreat.“Dismount!” was the next order, so as to rest the horses as much as possible.“More fighting,” said Samson, in a low, grumbling tone. “Well, if one don’t get enough to eat, one get’s enough hard knocks, and I never felt miserly over them. Look here, Master Fred, are we going to have another scrummage?”“Hush! Yet, I think so.”“So do I, sir,” said Samson, taking up his belt another hole. “Very well, then; I’m that hungry, that I’m regularly savage now, and this time I mean to hit with all my might.”“Silence, there!” said a deep stern voice, and General Hedley rode along the regiment, scrutinising his little force, and waiting the return of the men sent out before deciding whether he should make a bold advance or a cautious retreat.The horses took advantage of the halt to begin cropping the tender growth around, and as Fred listened and watched the movements of the scouts far away on the hillside, it seemed hard to realise that he was in the midst of war, for high overhead a lark was singing sweetly, as it circled round and round, ever rising heavenward; and at his feet there was the regular tearing sound of the grass.These recollections of home and peace came back as, with a look of boyish pleasure on his face, Samson pointed to the lovely little copper butterflies flitting here and there, their dotted wings glistening in the sun.“Look at ’em, Master Fred,” he whispered; and then stood with his hand upon his horse’s withers, the stern man of war once more, as his master made a gesture bidding him hold his peace.For quite half an hour they stood there by their horses’ sides, every minute being of value in the rest and refreshment it afforded the weary beasts.The scouts could be seen following up, as it were, the movements of some force hidden by the hills from where the regiment had halted, and by degrees they began to work over the eminence and disappeared, while the general seemed to be fretting with impatience, till all at once those near him heard him utter a low “Hah!” and he gave the order to his men to prepare to mount.A thrill ran through the long line of men, and Fred heard his follower utter a low, adjuration to his unwilling steed.“Leave off eating, will you? Hold your head up. Who are you, that you are to go on feasting while your master starves?”The horse looked at him reproachfully, and had to content itself with chewing a few strands of grass off his bit.The reason for the general’s order was plain enough directly, for they could see one of the advance men coming back at full gallop down the distant hill, and long before he could reach them the other scouts appeared, retiring slowly in two lines, one sitting fast and facing the approaching force, while the other careered by them, and took up a fresh position in their rear.There were only ten men out, at a distance of sixty or seventy yards apart, but as they drew nearer to their goal their lines contracted, and this was continued so that they could ride in as a compact little knot.Meanwhile the first man came tearing in as fast as his horse could go, and when he was a few hundred yards away, the order was given, and the dismounted men sprang into the saddle.“Don’t seem to have a bit of fight left in me now,” muttered Samson. “No dinner, and no Nat here to make a man feel savage. Wish I was back at the Manor, digging my bit o’ ground. Anybody might fight for me.”At that moment a fresh order was given, and every man sat stern and ready for the advance or retreat, wondering which way they would go, and of what nature the force was, evidently advancing fast.
Unscathed, in spite of the terrible dangers of themêlée, Fred, after succeeding in reaching his companions, joined them in their charge, and was driven back in their reverse, riding headlong as they rode in what was hardly a retreat, but rather a running fight, till seeing his opportunity, he made for where he could see General Hedley striving, in company with the officers, to check the retrograde movement, but striving in vain.
For there was a wild valour and dash exhibited by the Cavaliers, which for the time being carried all before them. No sooner had something like a rally been made by the Parliamentarians, than the Royalists charged at them in a headlong rush, which would have ended in almost total destruction with some troops.
But there was a sturdy solidity about the followers of General Hedley, and the result of these charges was that, while some fell, the others were merely moved here and there, and as soon as their assailants had passed on they seemed to hang together again, driven outward always, but not scattered. In fact, for mile after mile the running fight was continued, growing slower and slower as horse and man were wearied out, till, had a minute’s grace been afforded them, General Hedley felt that he could have gathered his men together, and by one vigorous charge have changed the state of affairs.
But the opportunity for re-formation was never afforded, and the great crowd of mounted men of both parties rode on mingled together in confusion, right over the wild moorland countryside. The number of individual combats was almost countless, and their track was marked by the heather being dotted with fallen men, the wounded, and often the dismounted, and by exhausted or hopelessly foundered horses.
And still the fight went on, with the attacks growing more feeble, till the Cavaliers’ horses could hardly be spurred into a canter, and many a one stopped short.
It was a strange flight, in which the beaten gave way slowly, and with an obstinate English tenacity of purpose, which made them cling to their enemies, and refuse to acknowledge their rout. They were broken up, and, according to all preconceived notions of cavalry encounters, they ought to have scattered and fled, but they only went on as they were driven and broken up in knots, and the Cavalier leader knew perfectly well that the moment he ceased his efforts, the other party would, as it were, flow together again and return their charge, perhaps with fatal results to his little force, for his men were growing completely exhausted.
“If I could only get a troop together!” muttered General Hedley between his teeth; and again and again he tried to rally his men. But the Cavaliers dashed at them directly, the efforts proved vain, and themêléecontinued—a struggle in which order was absent, and men struck and rode at each other, broke their weapons, and often engaged in a mounted wrestling bout, which ended in a pair of adversaries falling headlong to the ground. Fred would have been out of the skirmish early in the engagement from the exhaustion of his horse, but as the pace grew slower, the poor brute recovered itself somewhat, and whenever flight or attack grew more rapid, exerted itself naturally to keep as near as could be in the ranks.
The scene was terrible for one so young, as he sat there grimly, often in the middle of a confused crowd, his sword drawn ready more for defence than offence, for now that the excitement of the flight was over, and he had rejoined his regiment, there was little of the blind desire to strike and slay in Fred Forrester’s breast. He contented himself with turning aside thrusts and meeting blows with a clever guard, as some Cavalier tried to reach him, while twice over he found another sword interposed on his behalf.
The fight must have lasted for half an hour, when about a dozen of the Cavaliers raised a shout, and made a dash at where General Hedley was slowly retreating, their object being evidently to take him prisoner before, from sheer exhaustion, the pursuit was given up.
But the idea was not so easy to carry out, though for the moment the general was alone. The horse he rode was strong and fairly fresh, those of his would-be captors pretty well foundered, and, in addition, there was help at hand.
Fred had just had a narrow escape, for a stout Cavalier had forced his own horse alongside, contriving, in spite of the lad’s efforts, to get upon his left or weaker side, and pressing him sorely. Fred had need for all the skill with the sword he had picked up since he had been with the army, and he had dire need for more power in his muscles, for after a minute’s foining and thrusting, he found his guard beaten down through his adversary’s superior strength, a hand was outstretched, catching him by the collar of his jerkin, and in spite of his efforts he was dragged sidewise toward the pommel of his enemy’s horse.
“I’ll have one prisoner, at all events,” growled the man, fiercely; and he gave Fred’s horse a savage kick in the ribs, with the intention of making him start away.
Had the horse followed the enemy’s wishes, his rider would have been unseated, but, instead of starting away, the well-drilled beast pressed closer alongside the horse by his side, and Fred still clung to the saddle.
“Ah, you wretched young Puritan spawn! Would you sting?” growled the man, as Fred made a desperate effort to use his sword. “Then take that.”
The Cavalier rose in his stirrups, and was in the act of striking with all his might, when a fresh sword parted the air like a flash, swung as it was by a muscular arm, and the middle of the blade caught the Cavalier trooper right upon the plated cheek-strap of the morion he wore, dividing it so that the steel cap flew off, and the man dropped back over the cantle of his saddle, his frightened horse making a bound forward and carrying his master a dozen yards before he fell heavily on the heath.
“Who says I can’t use a sword as well as a scythe?” cried a familiar voice.
“Oh, Samson, you’ve saved my life,” cried Fred.
“Serve you right, too, my lad—I mean, serve him right, too. Trying to chop down a boy like you.”
“I am sorry. Look, look, look!” cried Fred, excitedly.
“Eh? Look? What at?”
“Over yonder, where all those Cavaliers are crowding together to make another charge.”
“Yes, I see ’em. What a state their horses are in!”
“But don’t you see Scarlett Markham? And who’s that with them? I see now. Your brother.”
“What, Nat? Where, where? Let me get at him. There’s going to be a prisoner took now, Master Fred, and he’ll have to look sharp to get away.”
Samson set spurs to his horse, but Fred checked him by seizing the bridle.
“No, no,” he said; “keep by me, and let’s close up to the general. This is no time for personal feelings, Samson. We must think only of our party.”
“Ah, well, I won’t hurt him, Master Fred; but how would you like your brother to be hunting you about the country, as Nat has been hunting us? Wouldn’t you like to have a turn at him?”
“I have no brother, Samson,” replied Fred, as he glanced in the direction where, about a hundred yards away, Scarlett was in the midst of a group of the Cavaliers, who were steadily driving the grim Cromwellian troopers before them, and effectually keeping them from combining so as to retaliate with effect.
Then Scarlett was hidden from his sight, and yielding slowly step by step, the Parliamentarians kept up a defiant retreat.
It might be supposed that at such a time the slaughter would be terrible; but, after the first onset, when men went down headlong, the number of killed and wounded were few. For there were no withering volleys of musketry, no field-pieces playing upon the disorganised cavalry from a distance; it was a sheer combat of mounted men armed with the sword, against whose edge and point defensive armour was worn; and in consequence many of the wounds were insignificant, more injuries being received by men being dismounted than by the blades.
The officers of the retreating party kept up their efforts to rally their little force, but always in vain, for the gathering together of a cluster of men resulted in the Cavaliers making that the point for which they made, and they carried all before them.
“They are more than two to one, literally,” growled the general, fiercely, as he felt that there was nothing to be done but to summon his men to follow, and, taking advantage of the fresher state of their horses, put on all the speed they could, and make for a valley right ahead, where they might elude their pursuers, and accepting the present defeat endeavour to make up for it another time.
Giving the order then, the trumpet rang out, and the men sullenly obeyed, setting spurs to their horses, and for the most part extricating themselves from their pursuers, whose horses began to stagger and even stop as their masters urged them to the ascent of a slope, up which the Parliamentarians were retreating.
This being the case, their own leader ordered his trumpeter to sound a halt, and the successful party set up a tremendous cheer as they waved their hats and flashed their swords in the sunshine.
“Yes,” muttered General Hedley, as he looked back at his triumphant enemies exulting over his defeat, but too helpless to pursue, “make much of it; a reverse may come sooner than you expect.”
“I don’t like being beaten like this, Master Fred,” grumbled Samson, leaning over to smooth the reeking coat of the horse his young master rode; “and it’s all your fault.”
“My fault? How?”
“Holding me back as you did, and letting that brother of mine get away sneering and sniggering at me, with his nose cocked up in the air, and swelling with pride till he’s like the frog in the fable.”
“How do you know he was sneering at you?” said Fred, who felt stiff, sore, and as if he would give anything to dismount and lie down among the soft elastic heather.
“How do I know, sir? Why, because it’s his nature to. You don’t understand him as I do. I can’t see him, because I can’t look through that hill, but I know as well as can be that he’s riding on his horse close to Master Scarlett, and going off.”
“Going off?”
“Yes, sir, in little puffs of laughing. It’s his aggravating way. And he’s keeping on saying, ‘Poor old Samson!’ till it makes my blood bile.”
“What nonsense! He is more likely to be riding away jaded, and sore, and disheartened.”
“Not he, sir, because he aren’t got no heart, and never had none—leastways, not a proper sort of heart. I can feel it, and I always could. He’s a-sneering at us all, and thinking how he has beaten us, when, if you had let me have my head, I could have gone at him sword in hand—”
“And cut his head off?”
“Cut his head off, sir? Why, it aren’t worth cutting off. I mean to keep my sword, which is a real good bit o’ stuff, and as sharp as a scythe, for better heads than his. I wouldn’t stoop to do it. No, Master Fred, I tell you what I’d have done: I’d have ridden up to him right afore ’em all, and I should have said, ‘Nat, my lad, your time’s come;’ and I should have laid hold of him by the scruff of the neck, and beat him with the flat of the blade till he went down on his knees and said he wouldn’t do so any more.”
“Do what any more, Samson?”
“Everything as he have been doing.”
“And suppose he wouldn’t have let you beat him before all the others?”
“Wouldn’t have let me, Master Fred? He’d have been obliged to. I should have made him.”
“You are too modest, Samson,” said Fred, laughing.
“Oh no, I’m not, sir—not a bit. I wish sometimes I was a bit more so. But you should have let me go at him, sir. I’d have made him run, like a sheep with a dog at his heels.”
“Ah, Samson,” cried Fred, wearily, “it’s sore work when brothers are fighting against each other.”
“No worse, sir, than two such friends as you and Master Scarlett was. Why, you was more than brothers. Oh, I don’t like this here at all.”
“What?”
“Running away with our tails between our legs, like so many dogs with stones thrown at ’em.”
“It is miserable work, but better than being taken prisoners.”
They rode on down into the coombe, and followed its wanderings with rear and advance guards, though they felt but little fear of pursuit, and for a long time hardly a word was spoken along the ranks. The horses were going at a foot-pace, and as they went the troopers played surgeon to each other, and bound up the slight wounds they had received, for these were many, though not enough to render them beyond fighting if necessity should occur.
Once the general called a halt, and posted scouts on the hills around, while he gave his men an opportunity to water their horses at the running stream at the bottom of the coombe, and to attend to the wounds the poor beasts had received, many a sword-cut intended for the rider having fallen upon his horse.
The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, passing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, “Don’t hurt me more than you can help.” Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.
The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.
“What are you thinking about, Master Fred?”
“I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his.”
“He’d better,” said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, “Oh, I don’t feel afraid about that, sir. He’s sure to. You see, he’s a gentleman, and there’s a deal in being a gentleman. He’ll take care of her, never fear. That’s not what I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking, then?” said Fred, anxiously.
“Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener—”
“Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson,” said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.
“Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren’t neglecting anything, and there’s nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one’s self speak.”
“Then speak out, and say what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now.”
“A horse? Why?”
“So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green grass.”
“Why, Samson!”
“Ah, you don’t know, Master Fred. I’m that hungry, it wouldn’t be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I’d eat ’em raw.”
“I’m sorry, Samson, and I haven’t a scrap of food with me.”
“No, sir, nor nobody else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren’t the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry.”
“Because you are so hungry?”
“No, sir; but when I think of what we’ve left behind at the Hall. Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!” groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, “those hams!”
Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Well, Master Fred,” said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse’s neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, “I did think better of you than to s’pose you’d laugh at other folk’s troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn’t so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn’t got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat’s bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn’t so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales.”
“What of, Samson?”
“My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir,” said Samson, triumphantly.
“Told tales of your brother—of Nat?”
“Yes, sir. There was a twang in that cider that said quite aloud, ‘Dirty barrel,’ and that he hadn’t taken the trouble to properly wash it out before it was used; but all the same, though it was half spoiled by his neglect, I’d give anything for a mugful of it now, and a good big home-made bread cake.”
“So would I, Samson,” said Fred, smiling.
“And them enemies with my brother are all riding comfortably back to feast and sleep; and while we’re camping cold and miserable on the hills, they’ll all be singing and rejoicing.”
“I hope they are thinking more of the poor wounded fellows they will have to pick up on their way back. Hallo! Look! Steady there. Halt!”
He passed the word received from the front, for half a mile ahead, on one of the hills, a scout was signalling.
Fresh men were sent forward, and as the signals evidently meant danger ahead, the general hurriedly took up a position of advantage, one which gave him the choice of advance or retreat.
“Dismount!” was the next order, so as to rest the horses as much as possible.
“More fighting,” said Samson, in a low, grumbling tone. “Well, if one don’t get enough to eat, one get’s enough hard knocks, and I never felt miserly over them. Look here, Master Fred, are we going to have another scrummage?”
“Hush! Yet, I think so.”
“So do I, sir,” said Samson, taking up his belt another hole. “Very well, then; I’m that hungry, that I’m regularly savage now, and this time I mean to hit with all my might.”
“Silence, there!” said a deep stern voice, and General Hedley rode along the regiment, scrutinising his little force, and waiting the return of the men sent out before deciding whether he should make a bold advance or a cautious retreat.
The horses took advantage of the halt to begin cropping the tender growth around, and as Fred listened and watched the movements of the scouts far away on the hillside, it seemed hard to realise that he was in the midst of war, for high overhead a lark was singing sweetly, as it circled round and round, ever rising heavenward; and at his feet there was the regular tearing sound of the grass.
These recollections of home and peace came back as, with a look of boyish pleasure on his face, Samson pointed to the lovely little copper butterflies flitting here and there, their dotted wings glistening in the sun.
“Look at ’em, Master Fred,” he whispered; and then stood with his hand upon his horse’s withers, the stern man of war once more, as his master made a gesture bidding him hold his peace.
For quite half an hour they stood there by their horses’ sides, every minute being of value in the rest and refreshment it afforded the weary beasts.
The scouts could be seen following up, as it were, the movements of some force hidden by the hills from where the regiment had halted, and by degrees they began to work over the eminence and disappeared, while the general seemed to be fretting with impatience, till all at once those near him heard him utter a low “Hah!” and he gave the order to his men to prepare to mount.
A thrill ran through the long line of men, and Fred heard his follower utter a low, adjuration to his unwilling steed.
“Leave off eating, will you? Hold your head up. Who are you, that you are to go on feasting while your master starves?”
The horse looked at him reproachfully, and had to content itself with chewing a few strands of grass off his bit.
The reason for the general’s order was plain enough directly, for they could see one of the advance men coming back at full gallop down the distant hill, and long before he could reach them the other scouts appeared, retiring slowly in two lines, one sitting fast and facing the approaching force, while the other careered by them, and took up a fresh position in their rear.
There were only ten men out, at a distance of sixty or seventy yards apart, but as they drew nearer to their goal their lines contracted, and this was continued so that they could ride in as a compact little knot.
Meanwhile the first man came tearing in as fast as his horse could go, and when he was a few hundred yards away, the order was given, and the dismounted men sprang into the saddle.
“Don’t seem to have a bit of fight left in me now,” muttered Samson. “No dinner, and no Nat here to make a man feel savage. Wish I was back at the Manor, digging my bit o’ ground. Anybody might fight for me.”
At that moment a fresh order was given, and every man sat stern and ready for the advance or retreat, wondering which way they would go, and of what nature the force was, evidently advancing fast.
Chapter Thirty Two.The Hall Changes Masters Again.The cheering and triumphant congratulation amongst the Royalist party was mingled with regret at being unable to crown their little victory by taking their opponents prisoners to a man. But their horses were exhausted, and they had the mortification of seeing the little body under General Hedley ride away.Then the order to return was given, and a strong party was told off to the painful duty of picking up the wounded, and bearing them back to the Hall.Sir Godfrey Markham gave the order that they should be taken there, and Scarlett was deputed to see that the work was properly carried out—a gruesome task enough; but he was growing used to such scenes, and the feeling of doing good and affording help to those in need robbed the duty of much of its terrors.In this case the task was comparatively light, for there were very few dead, and of the wounded, fully one-half were able to limp slowly back toward the Hall, the troops remaining to cover them till they had reached one of the great barns which was set apart for the temporary hospital.To the credit of all concerned, be it said that, principally due to the action of Sir Godfrey Markham, who was in command of the two regiments which had routed the late occupants of the Hall, the wounded were treated as wounded men, no distinction being made as to whether they were Cavalier or Roundhead.All this took some time, and at last Scarlett rode up to where his father was standing among a group of dismounted officers, whose followers were letting their tired steeds crop the grass in the same way as that practised by their enemies, when one of the outposts came galloping in with news which sent the Cavaliers once more into their saddles, when lines were formed, and Sir Godfrey gave the order to advance.“Could you hear what he said?” whispered Scarlett to Nat, who was close behind him.“Coming back, sir, three times as strong,” whispered Nat. “Means another fight.”The hurried orders and the excitement displayed on the part of the officers endorsed Nat’s words; though, had there been any doubt, the summons Scarlett had to his father’s side cleared it away at once.“Listen, my boy,” said the general, as Scarlett cantered up; “the enemy are upon us, and we shall perhaps have to retreat, for, jaded as we are, they will be too much for us. Be cautious, and don’t let your men get out of hand through rashness. We must give way as they did to-day.”“Run, father?”“No; bend back right to the earth if necessary, so that the rebound may be the stronger. Now, to your place.”As Scarlett regained his troop, the young officer over him was talking loudly to his men.“They’re not satisfied with the beating they have already had,” he was saying. “Let’s show them now what we can do when we are in earnest. It was a mistake to show the rascals mercy this morning. Why, if I had been in command of the men, instead of Sir Godfrey, I would not have left two of the rebels together. Now you see the mistake.”“I have no doubt that my father and Colonel Grey did what was right,” said Scarlett, hotly.“And what does a boy like you know about it, sir?” cried the young officer, fiercely. “To your place.”Scarlett felt ready to retort angrily, but he knew his duty, young soldier as he was, and resumed his place without a word.It was none too soon, for directly after there was a glint of steel over the edge of one of the undulations of the moor, and seen at the distance they were, with the western sun shining full upon them, it seemed as if a long array of armed men was rising from the earth, as first their helmets, then their shoulders, breastplates, and soon after the horses’ heads appeared, and then more and more, till a line of well-mounted troops appeared advancing at a walk, while behind them, gradually coming into view in the same way, a second line could be seen.As they approached over the moor, a third line came into view, while, in obedience to their orders, the Cavaliers retired by troops in slow order, each in turn having the duty of facing the advancing enemy.When it came to Scarlett’s turn to sit there motionless watching their approach, he could not help letting his eyes stray over the moor, every foot of which was familiar. Away behind him to the left the ground rapidly descended to the park, with its lake and woods, through which he had made his way so short a time before. There, hidden by the noble trees which flourished as soon as the moorland proper, with its black peaty soil, was passed, lay the Hall, and a feeling of sadness and depression came over him as he thought of his home being made the scene of a bloody fight, and again falling into the enemy’s hands.“May I speak a word, Master Scarlett?” said a voice behind him, in a whisper.“Yes; what is it?” said the young officer, without turning his head.“Hit hard, Master Scarlett, and do your best. I don’t like killing folk, and you needn’t do that; but do hit hard.”“For the king,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.“Yes, I suppose so, sir,” said Nat, mournfully; “but I was thinking about the old home and my garden.”“Silence, there!” came in a stern voice from the leader of the troop; and the next instant the trumpet rang out, and they had to face about and trot behind the foremost troop of all, leaving another to face the coming enemy.This went on till the slope was reached upon which General Hedley’s men had been going through their evolutions in the morning; and here, in full view of the old Hall, Sir Godfrey Markham and the colonel of the other regiment drew up in a favourable position for receiving the charge which seemed to be imminent from the action of the enemy.This position would force the Parliamentarians to gallop up a hill, and it was the intention of Sir Godfrey to meet them half-way with theélangiven by a rapid descent, when he hoped to give them a severe check, one which would enable him to either rid himself of his enemies or give him time to make good his retreat on one of the towns in his rear, where he hoped to find reinforcements.All turned out as he expected, with one exception. The troop in which Scarlett rode was selected by him, naturally enough, to go on in front on the line of retreat, while the rest of his little force sat fast on the hill slope, waiting the moment when the enemy were coming up the hill for their own advance to be made.The young officer at the head of the little troop of about forty men muttered angrily at having such a task thrust upon him, but he did his duty steadily and well, riding slowly on over the moor down toward the Manor, which, like the Hall, would be left upon their right.As they passed over the top of the hill, Scarlett glanced back to see that the enemy were evidently about to deliver their charge; and his heart beat painfully as he felt that he would have to imagine what would take place, and pray that no harm might happen to his father.The next minute the long slope with its dotted trees was out of sight, and he was descending steadily, his ears strained to catch the sound of the impending shock, as the notes of a trumpet, softened by the distance, fell upon his ear, and then his heart gave a sudden bound, and seemed to stand still.For at that moment their advance guard came galloping back, and before they could more than realise their danger, a line of fully a hundred and fifty men wheeled into sight, right in their front, from behind a patch of wood a hundred yards away, and came sweeping down upon them.To have retreated would have meant annihilation, and with a ringing cheer the little band dashed down to meet their advancing foes.Then, in the midst of the wild excitement, as the moor seemed to quiver beneath their horses’ feet, there was a cheer, a clash of steel, and amidst shouts and the blaring of trumpets, the stronger prevailed over the weaker, and Scarlett found himself in the midst of a confused group of his men being driven back upon the main body higher and higher up the hill, till he reached the summit among a scattered party of his own side, through whose ranks the Puritans were riding furiously.One glance showed him where his leaders were, and he made for the spot, fully realising that the Royal force had been driven back by the bold charge delivered, and then in the midst of the confusion consequent thereon, utterly routed and scattered by the dashing attack on their rear, while, to fulfil the truth of the adage about misfortunes never coming singly, a fresh troop wheeled up on their flank and completed the downfall.“Ah, quick, my boy! Here!” cried a familiar voice, as Scarlett rode up, and a party of about fifty dashed down the slope, headed by Sir Godfrey, and, hotly pursued by a squadron of the enemy, galloped round the head of the lake, leaping the stream and then the low stone wall of the Hall garden, to take refuge there.As they reached this haven, a trumpet sounded a recall, and the pursuing squadron missed their opportunity of capturing the flying band, while, when they advanced again, it was to find that the horses were well secured within the Hall yard, whose stout oaken gates were closed, and that the old house was garrisoned by a desperate little force ready to withstand a siege.“Better than giving up as prisoners, Scar, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, sadly; “and better than being hunted down. All was over, and it was in vain to keep up the fight. It only meant the useless loss of brave men.”“Will they attack us here, sir?” said Scarlett.“Most likely, and if they do, we’ll fight till the very end—fight for our hearth and home, my boy. But there, we must do all we can to make the place more secure before night comes.”“Look!” said Scarlett, pointing.“Yes, I see, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, sadly; “completely scattered, and a strong body in pursuit. Ah, they are going to bivouac there, and we shall have them here directly foraging for food and shelter. Well, cheer up. These are times of reverses. They were here yesterday; it is our turn to-day.”And without another word, Sir Godfrey went into the hall, to pay the double part of commander and host, his words and example soon putting spirit in the disheartened band.“But we shall have to surrender, Sir Godfrey, shall we not, unless we wait till dark, and then take our horses and try to get away?”“You may depend upon one thing, gentlemen,” said Sir Godfrey, “the enemy are far stronger than we think. Every path will be carefully guarded, our horses are worn-out, and we are safe to be taken.”“But we cannot defend this place, sir,” said another.“Why not? I say, defend it as long as one stone stands upon another.”“But food—ammunition.”“Plenty, sir, for a month,” continued the general, “unless all was carried off by our friends. No fear. Their occupation was too short, and we took them too much by surprise. Why, look there,” he said, pointing to one corner of the hall, “there are enough of their pieces there to arm us all. What is it to be, gentlemen? Surrender or fight?”For answer, hats were tossed in the air, and the carved beams of the roof rang with the hearty cheers of the Cavaliers, and the cry of—“God save the king!”
The cheering and triumphant congratulation amongst the Royalist party was mingled with regret at being unable to crown their little victory by taking their opponents prisoners to a man. But their horses were exhausted, and they had the mortification of seeing the little body under General Hedley ride away.
Then the order to return was given, and a strong party was told off to the painful duty of picking up the wounded, and bearing them back to the Hall.
Sir Godfrey Markham gave the order that they should be taken there, and Scarlett was deputed to see that the work was properly carried out—a gruesome task enough; but he was growing used to such scenes, and the feeling of doing good and affording help to those in need robbed the duty of much of its terrors.
In this case the task was comparatively light, for there were very few dead, and of the wounded, fully one-half were able to limp slowly back toward the Hall, the troops remaining to cover them till they had reached one of the great barns which was set apart for the temporary hospital.
To the credit of all concerned, be it said that, principally due to the action of Sir Godfrey Markham, who was in command of the two regiments which had routed the late occupants of the Hall, the wounded were treated as wounded men, no distinction being made as to whether they were Cavalier or Roundhead.
All this took some time, and at last Scarlett rode up to where his father was standing among a group of dismounted officers, whose followers were letting their tired steeds crop the grass in the same way as that practised by their enemies, when one of the outposts came galloping in with news which sent the Cavaliers once more into their saddles, when lines were formed, and Sir Godfrey gave the order to advance.
“Could you hear what he said?” whispered Scarlett to Nat, who was close behind him.
“Coming back, sir, three times as strong,” whispered Nat. “Means another fight.”
The hurried orders and the excitement displayed on the part of the officers endorsed Nat’s words; though, had there been any doubt, the summons Scarlett had to his father’s side cleared it away at once.
“Listen, my boy,” said the general, as Scarlett cantered up; “the enemy are upon us, and we shall perhaps have to retreat, for, jaded as we are, they will be too much for us. Be cautious, and don’t let your men get out of hand through rashness. We must give way as they did to-day.”
“Run, father?”
“No; bend back right to the earth if necessary, so that the rebound may be the stronger. Now, to your place.”
As Scarlett regained his troop, the young officer over him was talking loudly to his men.
“They’re not satisfied with the beating they have already had,” he was saying. “Let’s show them now what we can do when we are in earnest. It was a mistake to show the rascals mercy this morning. Why, if I had been in command of the men, instead of Sir Godfrey, I would not have left two of the rebels together. Now you see the mistake.”
“I have no doubt that my father and Colonel Grey did what was right,” said Scarlett, hotly.
“And what does a boy like you know about it, sir?” cried the young officer, fiercely. “To your place.”
Scarlett felt ready to retort angrily, but he knew his duty, young soldier as he was, and resumed his place without a word.
It was none too soon, for directly after there was a glint of steel over the edge of one of the undulations of the moor, and seen at the distance they were, with the western sun shining full upon them, it seemed as if a long array of armed men was rising from the earth, as first their helmets, then their shoulders, breastplates, and soon after the horses’ heads appeared, and then more and more, till a line of well-mounted troops appeared advancing at a walk, while behind them, gradually coming into view in the same way, a second line could be seen.
As they approached over the moor, a third line came into view, while, in obedience to their orders, the Cavaliers retired by troops in slow order, each in turn having the duty of facing the advancing enemy.
When it came to Scarlett’s turn to sit there motionless watching their approach, he could not help letting his eyes stray over the moor, every foot of which was familiar. Away behind him to the left the ground rapidly descended to the park, with its lake and woods, through which he had made his way so short a time before. There, hidden by the noble trees which flourished as soon as the moorland proper, with its black peaty soil, was passed, lay the Hall, and a feeling of sadness and depression came over him as he thought of his home being made the scene of a bloody fight, and again falling into the enemy’s hands.
“May I speak a word, Master Scarlett?” said a voice behind him, in a whisper.
“Yes; what is it?” said the young officer, without turning his head.
“Hit hard, Master Scarlett, and do your best. I don’t like killing folk, and you needn’t do that; but do hit hard.”
“For the king,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.
“Yes, I suppose so, sir,” said Nat, mournfully; “but I was thinking about the old home and my garden.”
“Silence, there!” came in a stern voice from the leader of the troop; and the next instant the trumpet rang out, and they had to face about and trot behind the foremost troop of all, leaving another to face the coming enemy.
This went on till the slope was reached upon which General Hedley’s men had been going through their evolutions in the morning; and here, in full view of the old Hall, Sir Godfrey Markham and the colonel of the other regiment drew up in a favourable position for receiving the charge which seemed to be imminent from the action of the enemy.
This position would force the Parliamentarians to gallop up a hill, and it was the intention of Sir Godfrey to meet them half-way with theélangiven by a rapid descent, when he hoped to give them a severe check, one which would enable him to either rid himself of his enemies or give him time to make good his retreat on one of the towns in his rear, where he hoped to find reinforcements.
All turned out as he expected, with one exception. The troop in which Scarlett rode was selected by him, naturally enough, to go on in front on the line of retreat, while the rest of his little force sat fast on the hill slope, waiting the moment when the enemy were coming up the hill for their own advance to be made.
The young officer at the head of the little troop of about forty men muttered angrily at having such a task thrust upon him, but he did his duty steadily and well, riding slowly on over the moor down toward the Manor, which, like the Hall, would be left upon their right.
As they passed over the top of the hill, Scarlett glanced back to see that the enemy were evidently about to deliver their charge; and his heart beat painfully as he felt that he would have to imagine what would take place, and pray that no harm might happen to his father.
The next minute the long slope with its dotted trees was out of sight, and he was descending steadily, his ears strained to catch the sound of the impending shock, as the notes of a trumpet, softened by the distance, fell upon his ear, and then his heart gave a sudden bound, and seemed to stand still.
For at that moment their advance guard came galloping back, and before they could more than realise their danger, a line of fully a hundred and fifty men wheeled into sight, right in their front, from behind a patch of wood a hundred yards away, and came sweeping down upon them.
To have retreated would have meant annihilation, and with a ringing cheer the little band dashed down to meet their advancing foes.
Then, in the midst of the wild excitement, as the moor seemed to quiver beneath their horses’ feet, there was a cheer, a clash of steel, and amidst shouts and the blaring of trumpets, the stronger prevailed over the weaker, and Scarlett found himself in the midst of a confused group of his men being driven back upon the main body higher and higher up the hill, till he reached the summit among a scattered party of his own side, through whose ranks the Puritans were riding furiously.
One glance showed him where his leaders were, and he made for the spot, fully realising that the Royal force had been driven back by the bold charge delivered, and then in the midst of the confusion consequent thereon, utterly routed and scattered by the dashing attack on their rear, while, to fulfil the truth of the adage about misfortunes never coming singly, a fresh troop wheeled up on their flank and completed the downfall.
“Ah, quick, my boy! Here!” cried a familiar voice, as Scarlett rode up, and a party of about fifty dashed down the slope, headed by Sir Godfrey, and, hotly pursued by a squadron of the enemy, galloped round the head of the lake, leaping the stream and then the low stone wall of the Hall garden, to take refuge there.
As they reached this haven, a trumpet sounded a recall, and the pursuing squadron missed their opportunity of capturing the flying band, while, when they advanced again, it was to find that the horses were well secured within the Hall yard, whose stout oaken gates were closed, and that the old house was garrisoned by a desperate little force ready to withstand a siege.
“Better than giving up as prisoners, Scar, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, sadly; “and better than being hunted down. All was over, and it was in vain to keep up the fight. It only meant the useless loss of brave men.”
“Will they attack us here, sir?” said Scarlett.
“Most likely, and if they do, we’ll fight till the very end—fight for our hearth and home, my boy. But there, we must do all we can to make the place more secure before night comes.”
“Look!” said Scarlett, pointing.
“Yes, I see, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, sadly; “completely scattered, and a strong body in pursuit. Ah, they are going to bivouac there, and we shall have them here directly foraging for food and shelter. Well, cheer up. These are times of reverses. They were here yesterday; it is our turn to-day.”
And without another word, Sir Godfrey went into the hall, to pay the double part of commander and host, his words and example soon putting spirit in the disheartened band.
“But we shall have to surrender, Sir Godfrey, shall we not, unless we wait till dark, and then take our horses and try to get away?”
“You may depend upon one thing, gentlemen,” said Sir Godfrey, “the enemy are far stronger than we think. Every path will be carefully guarded, our horses are worn-out, and we are safe to be taken.”
“But we cannot defend this place, sir,” said another.
“Why not? I say, defend it as long as one stone stands upon another.”
“But food—ammunition.”
“Plenty, sir, for a month,” continued the general, “unless all was carried off by our friends. No fear. Their occupation was too short, and we took them too much by surprise. Why, look there,” he said, pointing to one corner of the hall, “there are enough of their pieces there to arm us all. What is it to be, gentlemen? Surrender or fight?”
For answer, hats were tossed in the air, and the carved beams of the roof rang with the hearty cheers of the Cavaliers, and the cry of—
“God save the king!”
Chapter Thirty Three.What Fred Found in the Wood.“Why, Fred, my boy, what a long face. What’s the matter?”For answer, Fred pointed to the trampled garden, the litter in the park, and the desolation visible at the Hall, where window casements had been either smashed or taken off, and rough barricades erected; so that where all had once been so trim and orderly, desolation seemed to reign.For the little band of devoted Royalists, under Sir Godfrey Markham, had offered a desperate defence to every attempt made by the attacking party, which for want of infantry and guns, had settled down to the task of starving them out.The prisoners and the wounded from the barn, irrespective of party, had been sent to the nearest town; and as no immediate call was being made upon his services, and his orders were to wait for reinforcements, so as to render the men under his command something like respectable in number, General Hedley set himself seriously to the task of crippling the Royalist forces, by securing the person of Sir Godfrey Markham, whose influence in the district was very great, and whose prowess as a soldier had worked terrible disaster to the Puritan cause.The little siege of the Hall had been going on four days, when Colonel Forrester, who had been with the relieving party, found his son contemplating the ruin.“Yes,” he said, “it is bad; but better so than that these Royalists should be destroying our home, my boy.”“Is it, father?” said Fred, doubtingly.“Is it, sir? Of course. That is the home of our most deadly enemy, a man who has wrought endless mischief to our cause and country. Why, you do not sympathise with him?”“I was not thinking of sympathy, father, but of the happy days Scar Markham and I used to spend here.”“Pish! Don’t talk like a child, sir. You are growing a man, and you have your duty to do.”“Yes, father, and I’m going to try and do it.”“Of course. That’s better, Fred. As to Markham, we are behaving nobly to him by having his wife and daughter at the Manor, and caring for them there.”“I don’t see much in that, father.”“What, sir?”“Men do not make war upon women, and I think it was our duty to protect Lady Markham, and I acted accordingly.”Colonel Forrester turned fiercely upon his son, but checked himself.“Humph! Yes. I suppose you were right, Fred. There, we need not argue such points as these. Too much to do.”“Of course, father; but one cannot quite forget the past.”“No, certainly not. But do your duty to your country, my boy, and leave the rest.”“Yes, father,” said Fred; “but are we going to attack the place again soon?”“Yes; and this time most vigorously. The nest of hornets must be cleared out, eh, Hedley?” he said, as the general came up from the rough tent erected under one of the spreading trees.“Of what are you talking?”“My boy, here, asks me if we are going to attack the Hall again.”“Yes; if they do not march out by to-night, and give themselves up, I shall attack, and as I shall send them word, they must expect little mercy. By the way, Forrester, I want to talk to you.” The pair marched slowly away, leaving Fred to his contemplation of the Hall and its surroundings; and he seated himself upon the mossy roots of a huge beech on the slope facing the old red stone building, and gazed eagerly at the distant figures which appeared at the window openings from time to time, wondering whether either of them was Scarlett, if he was with his father, for he was not among the wounded, or whether he had escaped among the scattered Royalists after that last fierce charge.“He is sure to be there,” said the lad to himself, as he sat on the rough buttress with his sword across his knees. “Poor old Scar! how I remember our taking down the swords and fighting, and Sir Godfrey coming and catching us. It seemed a grand thing to have a sword then—much grander than it seems now,” he added, as he looked gloomily at the weapon he held.He gazed moodily across the lake again, and then thought of his father’s words about his duty to his country; and his young brow grew more and more wrinkled.“Yes,” he said; “I ought to do my duty to my country. Those people can hold us off, and there’ll be a desperate fight, and some of our men will be killed, and nearly all theirs. I could stop it all and make an end of the fight easily enough by doing my duty to my country. But if I did, I should be sending Sir Godfrey and poor old Scar to prison, perhaps get them killed, because they would fight desperately, and I should make Lady Markham and poor little Lil miserable, and be behaving like a wretch. I don’t like doing such duty.”“Let me see,” continued Fred, as he gazed across the lake, “how should I do it? Easily enough. Get thirty or forty men, and take them in the old boat across to the mouth of the passage, ten at a time. What nonsense! March them after dark round to the wilderness, pull away the boughs, drop down, and thread our way right along the old passage into the Hall, surprise every one, and the place would be ours.“And a nice treacherous thing to do; and I should fail,” he cried joyously, “for Scar will have given me the credit of planning such a thing, and I’ll be bound to say he has blocked the place up with stones.“No; I couldn’t do that, and if ever we meet again as friends, and Scar tells me he was sure I should attack them there, and that he guarded against it, I’ll kick him for thinking me such a dishonourable traitor.”Fred sat musing still—wondering what the garrison were doing, and fighting hard to keep the thought of the secret passage out of his mind.What would his father say if he knew of the secret he was keeping back? and conscience ran him very hard on the score of duty to his country.“But,” he said at last, “duty to one’s country does not mean being treacherous to one’s old friends. I’m obliged to fight against them; but I’ll fight fairly and openly. I will not, duty to my country or no duty, go crawling through passages to stab them in the dark.”It was a glorious day, succeeding two during which a western gale had been blowing, drenching the attacking party, and making everything wretched around; and as Fred lose from where he had been seated and walked slowly along by the edge of the lake towards its eastern end, the water, moor, and woodlands looked so lovely that there was a mingled feeling of joy and misery in the lad’s breast.He thought of the besieged, then of those who were in all probability still at the Manor, from which duty had kept him absent, even his father having refrained from going across, though they had had daily information as to Mistress Forrester’s welfare. Fred thought then of his own position, and all the time he was gazing down into the clear water, where he could see the bar-sided perch sailing slowly about, and the great carp and tench heavily wallowing among the lily stems, and setting the great flat leaves a-quiver as they floated on the surface. Ah, how it all brought back the pleasant old days when he and Scar used to spend so much time about the water-side!“I wonder whether he can see me now,” he muttered, as he came up to one of the little patches of woodland, and stood gazing across the lake at the ivy and bush-grown bank where the secret passage had its opening.“No; I don’t suppose Scar would know me at this distance,” he said; and he took half a dozen steps forward, to be stopped short by the rattle of arms and a sharp “Halt!”For the moment Fred thought himself in the presence of one of the enemy, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he realised directly after that it was one of their own men posted there, and he shivered as he wondered whether the sentry had noted the direction of his gaze.“Only taking a stroll round, my man,” said Fred, as he gave the password.“Not going into the wood, are you, sir?”“Yes; right on, towards the Hall.”“Better take care, sir. There are some clever marksmen there, and I should get into trouble if you were hurt.”“Don’t be alarmed,” replied Fred, smiling. “I’ll take care.”He pushed on, and the sentinel remained at his hidden post, while, as if he found a certain pleasure in revisiting the spots familiar to him in the boyish adventures with his old companion, Fred wandered listlessly here and there, meeting sentry after sentry, posted so that the besieged should not have an opportunity of getting away, or sending a messenger in search of help.“And all the time,” muttered Fred, “I know how easily a messenger could be sent, and help obtained.”He stopped short at last, with his head in a whirl, wondering which course he ought to pursue, as the thought occurred to him that he should be answerable for the injury to his own party if Scarlett did send for assistance, making use of the passage as a means by which he could avoid the sentries.“But he would not avoid the sentries, for they would catch the messenger all the same,” he cried; “and I am driving myself half crazy about nothing, and— What’s that?”He stood listening, for it seemed to him that a low harsh moan had come from out of the dark shady woodland near where he stood.He listened, but there was no further sound, and then he looked round, puzzled for the moment as to where he was. But he recognised certain features in the dense piece of forest directly after, and found that he had during his musings wandered in and in among the trees till he was in the old wilderness, close to the great fallen tree where they had made the discovery of the broken way into the hole.He turned angrily away, for the thought of the secret passage brought back his mental struggle, as to which course he ought to pursue, and flight being certainly the easiest, he was about to hurry off, when once more the low harsh moan smote his ear.“Two boughs rubbing together,” he muttered, after listening for a repetition of the sound, recalling the while what peculiarly strange noises two fretting branches would make.“But there’s no wind,” he said to himself; and directly after there came the sharp chirp of a bird, and then the low moan.It was so unmistakably a cry of pain, that Fred took a few steps forward among the dense bushes, and then looked around.There was nothing visible, but he was not surprised, for he was close now to the hidden hole down which he had fallen when he made his jump, and crushed through part of the touchwood trunk, and everywhere there was a dense thicket of undergrowth, through which, after another pause, he forced his way.Nothing to see—nothing to hear; and he paused again, listening intently, and bending forward in the direction of the hidden opening, as the thought struck him that the cry might come from there.Still, there was no further sound, and feeling convinced that he had hit upon the true source of the noise, and with a shiver of dread running through him as a dozen terrible suggestions offered themselves in connection with the sound and with Scarlett, he was about to force his way to the hole and drag away some of the broken branches which they had heaped there, and which he could now see were intact, and with the ferns and brambles and ivy growing luxuriantly, when a fresh moan met his ear, evidently from quite another direction.It was with a feeling of relief that he turned from the way to the passage, and forcing his way on for some little distance, he paused again, and listened with almost a superstitious dread, for the sounds heard were in the midst of the gloomy wilderness, where the foot of man rarely trod, and appealed strongly to the superstitious part of the youth’s nature.In fact, after listening some time, and hearing nothing, the uncomfortable sensation increased, and he began to back away, when the sound was again heard—a harsh, wild, but very subdued cry from quite a different direction, thrilling the lad’s nerves, and making him turn hastily to flee from the dark precincts.For it was like no other sound which he had ever heard. No animal or bird could cry like that. The hedgehog, if shut up in a pit, would sometimes utter a wild strange noise, which, heard in the darkness, was startling as the shriek or hoot of an owl. But it was none of these, and giving way for the moment to ignorant superstition, Fred began to get out of the wilderness as fast as he could, till he stumbled over a briar stretched right across his way, fell heavily, and as he struggled up again, he heard the cry repeated.“Oh, how I wish some one was here to knock me over!” he muttered angrily. “What a miserable coward I am!”And now, fully convinced that some unhappy wounded man had crawled into the thicket to die, he went sharply back to where he had seemed nearest to the sound, and began to search once more.It was for some time in vain, and probably he would have had to give up what seemed to be a hopeless task, had he not suddenly seen a bramble strand feebly thrust aside, and the point of a rusty sword directed toward him.He drew his own weapon, and beat the rusty blade away, hacking through a few bramble strands, and there, deep down in a tunnel of strands and boughs, was the ghastly blood-besmeared countenance of a man, with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and a look of weakness that strongly resembled that which, to his sorrow, he had so often seen upon the field of battle.The wretched man seemed to make an effort to raise his rusty sword again, but it fell from his grasp, and he lay staring wildly at his finder.“Who are you? How came you here?” began Fred, involuntarily, though he felt that he knew; and then, with a cry of surprise and horror, he dropped upon his knees beside the wounded man. “Nat, my poor fellow,” he cried, “is it you?”The man looked at him wildly for a few moments, as if he were dreaming, before the light of recognition came into his sunken eyes.“Master Fred!” he whispered. “You? That’s right. Put me out of my misery at once.”“Are you wounded?”“Water—for Heaven’s sake, water!”Fred started up.Water? How could he get water?The lake was close at hand, if he could reach it unseen, for he shrank from calling help, which meant condemning the poor fellow to a prisoner’s life as soon as he grew better. So, forcing his way along as cautiously as he could, he contrived to reach one of the trees whose boughs overhung the lake, and taking advantage of the shelter, he lay down upon his chest, grasped a stout hazel, lowered himself to where he could reach the surface, where he took off his steel morion, dipped it full, and rose carefully to bear the refreshing fluid to the suffering man.It was not an easy task, for the undergrowth seemed to be more tangled than ever; but by stepping cautiously, he managed to bear almost every drop, and kneeling down, he gave the poor fellow a little at a time, an appealing look in the sufferer’s eyes seeming to ask for more and more.“Can you speak, Nat?” Fred said at last, as the man lay back with his eyes closed, and without opening them he softly bent his head.“Are you wounded?”“Yes; badly,” came in a faint whisper.“You were hurt at the last encounter?”“Yes, and crawled here. Water!”Fred administered more, every drop seeming delicious to the fevered lips of the wounded man.Just then Fred remembered that he had a little bread in the wallet at his side; and breaking it up, he soaked a small piece in the water, and placed it between poor Nat’s lips.This was eaten, and a few more scraps, the refreshment seeming to revive the sufferer wonderfully, and he looked up now in Fred’s eyes, as he whispered faintly—“I was dying of thirst. I hid here—after the fight—and used to crawl at night to my old garden for food. Then I grew too weak. Master Fred, it would have been all over, if you had not come.”“Thank Heaven! I heard you,” said Fred, giving the poor fellow a few more scraps of the moistened bread till he signed to him to cease, and then he looked up in his benefactor’s face with a faint smile on his parched and cracked lips.“Oughtn’t you to kill me, Master Fred?” he whispered.“Oh, Nat, don’t talk like that, my lad! I can’t forget the past.”“Nor can I, Master Fred. But tell me, lad, Master Scarlett? Don’t say he’s dead.”“No, no; I believe he’s alive and well,” cried Fred, eagerly. And he saw the poor fellow close his eyes and lie back, with his lips moving as if he were in prayer.But he opened them again, and looked round wildly, as if he were slightly delirious, but as his eyes rested on Fred’s face he grew calm, his lips parted, and he looked earnestly at him who was playing the good Samaritan where he lay.“Ah, that seems to put life in me!” he sighed; “but you’ll get in trouble, Master Fred, for helping such a one as me. We’re enemies, don’t you see?”“Wounded men cease to be enemies, Nat,” said Fred, bluntly, “so don’t talk about that. You were separated from your master?”“Yes, sir, with a sword. I don’t know whose it was; but it went through my shoulder and laid open my head.”“Ah, well, don’t talk. Drink a little more water, and I’ll go and bring some men with a litter to fetch you away, and you shall be tended carefully; rest assured of that.”“No, no, Master Fred; let me bide here. How do I know but what Master Scar will come looking for me with some of our lads. I’ve been expecting them every minute, ever since I crawled in among the bushes; but it seemed a long time, and no one came, and no one—”He ceased speaking, and lay back fainting.Fred sprinkled and bathed his face for a few minutes, and then becoming alarmed at the poor fellow’s long-continued swooning, he was about to get up and run for help, when Nat slowly opened his eyes again and his lips moved.“Where’s that Samson?” he whispered faintly.“With my regiment.”“Not hurt badly like me, is he, Master Fred?”“No; he has escaped wonderfully.”“I’m glad of that, sir, because I shouldn’t like for anybody else to give him his lesson. That’s to be my job, as soon as I get better. I’m going to take him in hand, Master Fred, and weed him. He’s full o’ rubbish, and I’m going to make him a better man. A villain! fighting again his own brother.”“There, Nat, drink a little more water, and eat some of this cake, and then I’ll go and get help to have you carried up to camp.”“What? A prisoner? No, Master Fred. Sooner die where I am, than let that Samson see me like this, and jump upon me.”“Nonsense! Samson’s a good fellow at heart, and as soon as he sees you in trouble, he’ll be only too glad to help you.”“Not he, sir; he’s my born enemy.”“He’s your brother, and I shall send him, for one, to fetch you.”“No, Master Fred, don’t; don’t, pray don’t, sir. Let me lie here. I don’t feel the cold and wet much, and if you’d come once a day and bring me a bit o’ bread and a drop o’ water, I shall soon get well. Don’t have me made a prisoner, sir.”“But I can’t leave you helpless, and—”He was about to add dying, but he checked himself.“And free, Master Fred? Why not? You let me alone, sir. You’ve saved me this time, for I was going to die to-night. Now I’m going to live. Rather strange for enemies, sir, isn’t it? Hark!”Fred was already listening to a trumpet call, and springing to his feet, he prepared to go.“I shall send a litter for you to be borne up to camp,” he said.“No, Master Fred, please. I’m a poor helpless thing now, not strong enough to lift a spade, but if you leave me the rest of that bread, I shall do; and if you can come and look at me once or twice, that will be all I shall want. But, Heaven bless you, sir! don’t have me made a prisoner.”“Well, Nat, I shall leave you to-night, as it’s going to be fine. But let me look at your wounds.”“No, sir, let them bide. I did all I could to them. Come back to-morrow, sir, and if I ain’t better then, you may talk of sending me away a prisoner, with my brother Samson to stand and sneer because I am so weak.”A second trumpet call rang out, and, unable to stay longer, Fred hurried back into the open, and made his way over to the little camp, asking himself whether he had not better disregard the poor wounded man’s prayers, and have him fetched out, always coming back to the conclusion that he would at all events leave him for another day, when he would take him an ample store of provision, if possible, and decide then as to his future course.
“Why, Fred, my boy, what a long face. What’s the matter?”
For answer, Fred pointed to the trampled garden, the litter in the park, and the desolation visible at the Hall, where window casements had been either smashed or taken off, and rough barricades erected; so that where all had once been so trim and orderly, desolation seemed to reign.
For the little band of devoted Royalists, under Sir Godfrey Markham, had offered a desperate defence to every attempt made by the attacking party, which for want of infantry and guns, had settled down to the task of starving them out.
The prisoners and the wounded from the barn, irrespective of party, had been sent to the nearest town; and as no immediate call was being made upon his services, and his orders were to wait for reinforcements, so as to render the men under his command something like respectable in number, General Hedley set himself seriously to the task of crippling the Royalist forces, by securing the person of Sir Godfrey Markham, whose influence in the district was very great, and whose prowess as a soldier had worked terrible disaster to the Puritan cause.
The little siege of the Hall had been going on four days, when Colonel Forrester, who had been with the relieving party, found his son contemplating the ruin.
“Yes,” he said, “it is bad; but better so than that these Royalists should be destroying our home, my boy.”
“Is it, father?” said Fred, doubtingly.
“Is it, sir? Of course. That is the home of our most deadly enemy, a man who has wrought endless mischief to our cause and country. Why, you do not sympathise with him?”
“I was not thinking of sympathy, father, but of the happy days Scar Markham and I used to spend here.”
“Pish! Don’t talk like a child, sir. You are growing a man, and you have your duty to do.”
“Yes, father, and I’m going to try and do it.”
“Of course. That’s better, Fred. As to Markham, we are behaving nobly to him by having his wife and daughter at the Manor, and caring for them there.”
“I don’t see much in that, father.”
“What, sir?”
“Men do not make war upon women, and I think it was our duty to protect Lady Markham, and I acted accordingly.”
Colonel Forrester turned fiercely upon his son, but checked himself.
“Humph! Yes. I suppose you were right, Fred. There, we need not argue such points as these. Too much to do.”
“Of course, father; but one cannot quite forget the past.”
“No, certainly not. But do your duty to your country, my boy, and leave the rest.”
“Yes, father,” said Fred; “but are we going to attack the place again soon?”
“Yes; and this time most vigorously. The nest of hornets must be cleared out, eh, Hedley?” he said, as the general came up from the rough tent erected under one of the spreading trees.
“Of what are you talking?”
“My boy, here, asks me if we are going to attack the Hall again.”
“Yes; if they do not march out by to-night, and give themselves up, I shall attack, and as I shall send them word, they must expect little mercy. By the way, Forrester, I want to talk to you.” The pair marched slowly away, leaving Fred to his contemplation of the Hall and its surroundings; and he seated himself upon the mossy roots of a huge beech on the slope facing the old red stone building, and gazed eagerly at the distant figures which appeared at the window openings from time to time, wondering whether either of them was Scarlett, if he was with his father, for he was not among the wounded, or whether he had escaped among the scattered Royalists after that last fierce charge.
“He is sure to be there,” said the lad to himself, as he sat on the rough buttress with his sword across his knees. “Poor old Scar! how I remember our taking down the swords and fighting, and Sir Godfrey coming and catching us. It seemed a grand thing to have a sword then—much grander than it seems now,” he added, as he looked gloomily at the weapon he held.
He gazed moodily across the lake again, and then thought of his father’s words about his duty to his country; and his young brow grew more and more wrinkled.
“Yes,” he said; “I ought to do my duty to my country. Those people can hold us off, and there’ll be a desperate fight, and some of our men will be killed, and nearly all theirs. I could stop it all and make an end of the fight easily enough by doing my duty to my country. But if I did, I should be sending Sir Godfrey and poor old Scar to prison, perhaps get them killed, because they would fight desperately, and I should make Lady Markham and poor little Lil miserable, and be behaving like a wretch. I don’t like doing such duty.”
“Let me see,” continued Fred, as he gazed across the lake, “how should I do it? Easily enough. Get thirty or forty men, and take them in the old boat across to the mouth of the passage, ten at a time. What nonsense! March them after dark round to the wilderness, pull away the boughs, drop down, and thread our way right along the old passage into the Hall, surprise every one, and the place would be ours.
“And a nice treacherous thing to do; and I should fail,” he cried joyously, “for Scar will have given me the credit of planning such a thing, and I’ll be bound to say he has blocked the place up with stones.
“No; I couldn’t do that, and if ever we meet again as friends, and Scar tells me he was sure I should attack them there, and that he guarded against it, I’ll kick him for thinking me such a dishonourable traitor.”
Fred sat musing still—wondering what the garrison were doing, and fighting hard to keep the thought of the secret passage out of his mind.
What would his father say if he knew of the secret he was keeping back? and conscience ran him very hard on the score of duty to his country.
“But,” he said at last, “duty to one’s country does not mean being treacherous to one’s old friends. I’m obliged to fight against them; but I’ll fight fairly and openly. I will not, duty to my country or no duty, go crawling through passages to stab them in the dark.”
It was a glorious day, succeeding two during which a western gale had been blowing, drenching the attacking party, and making everything wretched around; and as Fred lose from where he had been seated and walked slowly along by the edge of the lake towards its eastern end, the water, moor, and woodlands looked so lovely that there was a mingled feeling of joy and misery in the lad’s breast.
He thought of the besieged, then of those who were in all probability still at the Manor, from which duty had kept him absent, even his father having refrained from going across, though they had had daily information as to Mistress Forrester’s welfare. Fred thought then of his own position, and all the time he was gazing down into the clear water, where he could see the bar-sided perch sailing slowly about, and the great carp and tench heavily wallowing among the lily stems, and setting the great flat leaves a-quiver as they floated on the surface. Ah, how it all brought back the pleasant old days when he and Scar used to spend so much time about the water-side!
“I wonder whether he can see me now,” he muttered, as he came up to one of the little patches of woodland, and stood gazing across the lake at the ivy and bush-grown bank where the secret passage had its opening.
“No; I don’t suppose Scar would know me at this distance,” he said; and he took half a dozen steps forward, to be stopped short by the rattle of arms and a sharp “Halt!”
For the moment Fred thought himself in the presence of one of the enemy, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he realised directly after that it was one of their own men posted there, and he shivered as he wondered whether the sentry had noted the direction of his gaze.
“Only taking a stroll round, my man,” said Fred, as he gave the password.
“Not going into the wood, are you, sir?”
“Yes; right on, towards the Hall.”
“Better take care, sir. There are some clever marksmen there, and I should get into trouble if you were hurt.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” replied Fred, smiling. “I’ll take care.”
He pushed on, and the sentinel remained at his hidden post, while, as if he found a certain pleasure in revisiting the spots familiar to him in the boyish adventures with his old companion, Fred wandered listlessly here and there, meeting sentry after sentry, posted so that the besieged should not have an opportunity of getting away, or sending a messenger in search of help.
“And all the time,” muttered Fred, “I know how easily a messenger could be sent, and help obtained.”
He stopped short at last, with his head in a whirl, wondering which course he ought to pursue, as the thought occurred to him that he should be answerable for the injury to his own party if Scarlett did send for assistance, making use of the passage as a means by which he could avoid the sentries.
“But he would not avoid the sentries, for they would catch the messenger all the same,” he cried; “and I am driving myself half crazy about nothing, and— What’s that?”
He stood listening, for it seemed to him that a low harsh moan had come from out of the dark shady woodland near where he stood.
He listened, but there was no further sound, and then he looked round, puzzled for the moment as to where he was. But he recognised certain features in the dense piece of forest directly after, and found that he had during his musings wandered in and in among the trees till he was in the old wilderness, close to the great fallen tree where they had made the discovery of the broken way into the hole.
He turned angrily away, for the thought of the secret passage brought back his mental struggle, as to which course he ought to pursue, and flight being certainly the easiest, he was about to hurry off, when once more the low harsh moan smote his ear.
“Two boughs rubbing together,” he muttered, after listening for a repetition of the sound, recalling the while what peculiarly strange noises two fretting branches would make.
“But there’s no wind,” he said to himself; and directly after there came the sharp chirp of a bird, and then the low moan.
It was so unmistakably a cry of pain, that Fred took a few steps forward among the dense bushes, and then looked around.
There was nothing visible, but he was not surprised, for he was close now to the hidden hole down which he had fallen when he made his jump, and crushed through part of the touchwood trunk, and everywhere there was a dense thicket of undergrowth, through which, after another pause, he forced his way.
Nothing to see—nothing to hear; and he paused again, listening intently, and bending forward in the direction of the hidden opening, as the thought struck him that the cry might come from there.
Still, there was no further sound, and feeling convinced that he had hit upon the true source of the noise, and with a shiver of dread running through him as a dozen terrible suggestions offered themselves in connection with the sound and with Scarlett, he was about to force his way to the hole and drag away some of the broken branches which they had heaped there, and which he could now see were intact, and with the ferns and brambles and ivy growing luxuriantly, when a fresh moan met his ear, evidently from quite another direction.
It was with a feeling of relief that he turned from the way to the passage, and forcing his way on for some little distance, he paused again, and listened with almost a superstitious dread, for the sounds heard were in the midst of the gloomy wilderness, where the foot of man rarely trod, and appealed strongly to the superstitious part of the youth’s nature.
In fact, after listening some time, and hearing nothing, the uncomfortable sensation increased, and he began to back away, when the sound was again heard—a harsh, wild, but very subdued cry from quite a different direction, thrilling the lad’s nerves, and making him turn hastily to flee from the dark precincts.
For it was like no other sound which he had ever heard. No animal or bird could cry like that. The hedgehog, if shut up in a pit, would sometimes utter a wild strange noise, which, heard in the darkness, was startling as the shriek or hoot of an owl. But it was none of these, and giving way for the moment to ignorant superstition, Fred began to get out of the wilderness as fast as he could, till he stumbled over a briar stretched right across his way, fell heavily, and as he struggled up again, he heard the cry repeated.
“Oh, how I wish some one was here to knock me over!” he muttered angrily. “What a miserable coward I am!”
And now, fully convinced that some unhappy wounded man had crawled into the thicket to die, he went sharply back to where he had seemed nearest to the sound, and began to search once more.
It was for some time in vain, and probably he would have had to give up what seemed to be a hopeless task, had he not suddenly seen a bramble strand feebly thrust aside, and the point of a rusty sword directed toward him.
He drew his own weapon, and beat the rusty blade away, hacking through a few bramble strands, and there, deep down in a tunnel of strands and boughs, was the ghastly blood-besmeared countenance of a man, with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and a look of weakness that strongly resembled that which, to his sorrow, he had so often seen upon the field of battle.
The wretched man seemed to make an effort to raise his rusty sword again, but it fell from his grasp, and he lay staring wildly at his finder.
“Who are you? How came you here?” began Fred, involuntarily, though he felt that he knew; and then, with a cry of surprise and horror, he dropped upon his knees beside the wounded man. “Nat, my poor fellow,” he cried, “is it you?”
The man looked at him wildly for a few moments, as if he were dreaming, before the light of recognition came into his sunken eyes.
“Master Fred!” he whispered. “You? That’s right. Put me out of my misery at once.”
“Are you wounded?”
“Water—for Heaven’s sake, water!”
Fred started up.
Water? How could he get water?
The lake was close at hand, if he could reach it unseen, for he shrank from calling help, which meant condemning the poor fellow to a prisoner’s life as soon as he grew better. So, forcing his way along as cautiously as he could, he contrived to reach one of the trees whose boughs overhung the lake, and taking advantage of the shelter, he lay down upon his chest, grasped a stout hazel, lowered himself to where he could reach the surface, where he took off his steel morion, dipped it full, and rose carefully to bear the refreshing fluid to the suffering man.
It was not an easy task, for the undergrowth seemed to be more tangled than ever; but by stepping cautiously, he managed to bear almost every drop, and kneeling down, he gave the poor fellow a little at a time, an appealing look in the sufferer’s eyes seeming to ask for more and more.
“Can you speak, Nat?” Fred said at last, as the man lay back with his eyes closed, and without opening them he softly bent his head.
“Are you wounded?”
“Yes; badly,” came in a faint whisper.
“You were hurt at the last encounter?”
“Yes, and crawled here. Water!”
Fred administered more, every drop seeming delicious to the fevered lips of the wounded man.
Just then Fred remembered that he had a little bread in the wallet at his side; and breaking it up, he soaked a small piece in the water, and placed it between poor Nat’s lips.
This was eaten, and a few more scraps, the refreshment seeming to revive the sufferer wonderfully, and he looked up now in Fred’s eyes, as he whispered faintly—
“I was dying of thirst. I hid here—after the fight—and used to crawl at night to my old garden for food. Then I grew too weak. Master Fred, it would have been all over, if you had not come.”
“Thank Heaven! I heard you,” said Fred, giving the poor fellow a few more scraps of the moistened bread till he signed to him to cease, and then he looked up in his benefactor’s face with a faint smile on his parched and cracked lips.
“Oughtn’t you to kill me, Master Fred?” he whispered.
“Oh, Nat, don’t talk like that, my lad! I can’t forget the past.”
“Nor can I, Master Fred. But tell me, lad, Master Scarlett? Don’t say he’s dead.”
“No, no; I believe he’s alive and well,” cried Fred, eagerly. And he saw the poor fellow close his eyes and lie back, with his lips moving as if he were in prayer.
But he opened them again, and looked round wildly, as if he were slightly delirious, but as his eyes rested on Fred’s face he grew calm, his lips parted, and he looked earnestly at him who was playing the good Samaritan where he lay.
“Ah, that seems to put life in me!” he sighed; “but you’ll get in trouble, Master Fred, for helping such a one as me. We’re enemies, don’t you see?”
“Wounded men cease to be enemies, Nat,” said Fred, bluntly, “so don’t talk about that. You were separated from your master?”
“Yes, sir, with a sword. I don’t know whose it was; but it went through my shoulder and laid open my head.”
“Ah, well, don’t talk. Drink a little more water, and I’ll go and bring some men with a litter to fetch you away, and you shall be tended carefully; rest assured of that.”
“No, no, Master Fred; let me bide here. How do I know but what Master Scar will come looking for me with some of our lads. I’ve been expecting them every minute, ever since I crawled in among the bushes; but it seemed a long time, and no one came, and no one—”
He ceased speaking, and lay back fainting.
Fred sprinkled and bathed his face for a few minutes, and then becoming alarmed at the poor fellow’s long-continued swooning, he was about to get up and run for help, when Nat slowly opened his eyes again and his lips moved.
“Where’s that Samson?” he whispered faintly.
“With my regiment.”
“Not hurt badly like me, is he, Master Fred?”
“No; he has escaped wonderfully.”
“I’m glad of that, sir, because I shouldn’t like for anybody else to give him his lesson. That’s to be my job, as soon as I get better. I’m going to take him in hand, Master Fred, and weed him. He’s full o’ rubbish, and I’m going to make him a better man. A villain! fighting again his own brother.”
“There, Nat, drink a little more water, and eat some of this cake, and then I’ll go and get help to have you carried up to camp.”
“What? A prisoner? No, Master Fred. Sooner die where I am, than let that Samson see me like this, and jump upon me.”
“Nonsense! Samson’s a good fellow at heart, and as soon as he sees you in trouble, he’ll be only too glad to help you.”
“Not he, sir; he’s my born enemy.”
“He’s your brother, and I shall send him, for one, to fetch you.”
“No, Master Fred, don’t; don’t, pray don’t, sir. Let me lie here. I don’t feel the cold and wet much, and if you’d come once a day and bring me a bit o’ bread and a drop o’ water, I shall soon get well. Don’t have me made a prisoner, sir.”
“But I can’t leave you helpless, and—”
He was about to add dying, but he checked himself.
“And free, Master Fred? Why not? You let me alone, sir. You’ve saved me this time, for I was going to die to-night. Now I’m going to live. Rather strange for enemies, sir, isn’t it? Hark!”
Fred was already listening to a trumpet call, and springing to his feet, he prepared to go.
“I shall send a litter for you to be borne up to camp,” he said.
“No, Master Fred, please. I’m a poor helpless thing now, not strong enough to lift a spade, but if you leave me the rest of that bread, I shall do; and if you can come and look at me once or twice, that will be all I shall want. But, Heaven bless you, sir! don’t have me made a prisoner.”
“Well, Nat, I shall leave you to-night, as it’s going to be fine. But let me look at your wounds.”
“No, sir, let them bide. I did all I could to them. Come back to-morrow, sir, and if I ain’t better then, you may talk of sending me away a prisoner, with my brother Samson to stand and sneer because I am so weak.”
A second trumpet call rang out, and, unable to stay longer, Fred hurried back into the open, and made his way over to the little camp, asking himself whether he had not better disregard the poor wounded man’s prayers, and have him fetched out, always coming back to the conclusion that he would at all events leave him for another day, when he would take him an ample store of provision, if possible, and decide then as to his future course.