CHAPTER XIV
OFF TO THE WARS
As they rode along the way to Storringham, Munn gave Merrylips good advice.
"Look to it thou dost not swagger nor seek to play the man," he checked some fine schemes that she had hinted at.
"Be just as thou art, and let them think thee a timid little lad, and one that hath been reared among women. I'll say thou art not overstrong, and under that pretext will keep thee close, for the most part, in mine own chamber, till I find means to send thee unto Walsover. Ay, ay! We may win through in safety. For Stephen, I know, will be faithful and hold his tongue."
"Trust me for that, sir," cried the ex-serving-man, who rode close behind. "I'll never betray the little mistress—the little master, I should say."
Presently Munn spoke again, telling Merrylips what people she would meet at Monksfield, and how she should bear herself toward them.
"Our senior captain," said he, "that commandeth our garrison, is called Tibbott Norris. He is a soldier of fortune—that is, he hath been a soldier all his life for hire in foreign armies. He is a harsh, stern man, and one of whom many folk stand in fear, and with reason. So do thou be civil to him and keep thyself out of his path."
This Merrylips promised to do, most earnestly. She was a little frightened at the mere thought of this Captain Norris, of whom her big brother Munn seemed himself to be afraid. She found his very name fearful.
"Tibbott!" she repeated. "I never heard of any one that was called Tibbott."
"Why, no doubt he was christened Theobald," said Munn. "That is quite a common name, whereof Tibbott is a byname."
But Merrylips still thought Tibbott an odd name, so odd that she said it over to herself a number of times.
"Of our other officers," Munn went on, "the junior captain is called George Brooke. He loveth a jest and may well try to tease thee, but do not fear him. Neither do thou be too saucy and familiar, for he is shrewd and may guess that thou art not what thou dost seem. Miles Digby is his lieutenant, a rough companion and apt to bully, but I'll see to it that he try not his tricks with thee. And Brooke's cornet is one Nick Slanning, somewhat a braggart, but a good heart and will do thee no harm. That's our officers' mess at Monksfield, save for Eustace Crashaw, Captain Norris's lieutenant, and him thou soon shalt see, for we now are drawing nigh unto Storringham."
In the last moments they had left the shelter of the wood, through which Munn had prudently shaped their course. They now were riding over some low, bare hillocks. As they reached the top of one that was higher than the rest, they saw, right below them, a clump of trees, and rising through the branches were a shingled church spire and a number of thatched roofs. Over all, trees and spire and roofs, hung a murky film which thickened at the centre to a black smear.
"My life on't!" cried Munn. "Lieutenant Crashaw hath been smoking these pestilent rebels."
So saying, Munn put spurs to his horse, and at a round trot they swung down the hill into Storringham. Then they found that the smoke which they had seen came from a great pile of corn that had been heaped in the open space before the church, where four roads met, and set afire. Near by stood three great wains, heaped high with corn, and hitched each to six horses. Farther along, herded in one of the narrow roads, a drove of frightened cattle were plunging and tossing their heads.
Everywhere there were dismounted troopers. They herded the cattle, with loud shouts and curses. They piled corn upon the wains. They went at will in and out of the cottages, the doors of which stood open. Oftenest of all they went in and out of the largest cottage, which seemed a tavern, and when they came out, they were wiping their mouths on their sleeves.
In the midst of this hurly-burly, where men hurried to and fro, and cattle plunged, and horses stamped, and dogs barked, a little group of people stood sadly by the smouldering heap of wasted corn. They were village folk, Merrylips saw at once.
Most of them were women, and of these some wrung their hands and wept, and some cried out and railed at the troopers. Almost all had young children clinging to them. There were not many men among them, and these were mostly old, white-headed gaffers in smock frocks. But one or two were lusty young fellows. Of these one had his arm bandaged, and another sat nursing his broken head in his two hands.
Now when Merrylips looked at these unhappy people, she was much surprised. She had thought that Storringham, which the gallant Cavaliers had taken, would be a strong fort with walls, and that the people in it would be fierce and wicked Roundheads. But now she saw that Storringham was like Cuckstead, and the Storringham folk were like the Cuckstead folk who were her friends, and she was sorry for them.
"How did it chance that all their corn was burned?" she asked her brother.
"Faith," said Munn, quite carelessly, "Lieutenant Crashaw bade bring all the corn hither, and then, it seemeth, he must have bidden waste what we could not bear away for our own use."
Merrylips turned where she sat before him, and looked up into his face.
"But, Munn," she said, "what will they do when winter cometh, and they have no corn to make them bread?"
"Why, little limber-tongue," Munn answered, "that concerneth us not at all. These folk are all rebels, and they fired upon us when we rode into their village this morn. So we have punished them, as thou seest. 'Tis the way of war, child."
At that word Merrylips remembered how in her heart she had longed for war. But she had thought that war was all gallant fighting and brave deeds. She had never dreamed that it meant wasting poor folk's food and making women cry.
By this time Munn had pulled up before the tavern, and now there came across the open space and halted by his stirrup a fair-haired gentleman, with a drooping-mustache and a scrap of beard.
"W-what news?" said he, speaking with a little stammer.
Munn saluted him and told him that he had seen no sign of the enemy to eastward. So respectfully did he speak that Merrylips judged, quite rightly, that the fair-haired gentleman was Munn's superior officer, Lieutenant Crashaw.
When Munn had done speaking, the lieutenant looked at Merrylips, and said, with a smile:—
"W-what! Have you b-been child-stealing, C-Cornet Venner?"
Then Munn stiffened himself, holding Merrylips tight, for he knew that the minute of trial had come.
"This is my young brother," he said slowly. "He hath been reared among Puritan kinsfolk and kept from us by the fortunes of war. This day I chanced upon him—"
"Ch-chanced, eh?" said Crashaw, and his smile deepened, so that Munn grew red.
"Well, well!" Crashaw went on, "you d-did wisely to snatch this b-bantling out of rebel hands. Fetch him along, and we'll m-make a m-man of him—if Captain Norris l-let him live to grow up! Now l-let him down and stretch his l-legs, for we'll not m-march hence for an hour."
Merrylips found herself lifted to the ground, where she stood looking about her. She was not quite sure what she should do. She would have chosen to stick close to Munn's heels, but she feared that would not be like a boy. So she stood where she was left, and anxiously watched Munn, as he went a little aside and spoke with Lieutenant Crashaw.
While the two young men were talking together, a little girl ran out from the group of village folk and halted before them. She was about Merrylips' own age, with a shock of tawny hair and chapped little hands. Her gown was old and patched. She wore no stockings, and her little apron, which she kept twisting between her hands, was all soiled with dirt.
"Kind gentlemen," she said, in a scared voice, "will ye not be good to give back our cow—the spotted one yonder with the crumpled horn. For there's Granny, and Popkin, and Hodge, and Polly, and me, and we've naught but the cush-cow to keep us—sweet gentlemen!"
"R-run away with thee, little rebel!" said Crashaw, not unkindly, but much as he would have spoken to a little dog that was troublesome.
And Merrylips' own brother Munn, that was so good to her, said carelessly:—
"If you'll believe these folk, every cow in the herd is the only maintenance of seven souls at least."
The little girl turned away, with her grimy apron twisted tight in her hands, and so sorry for her did Merrylips feel that she started after her.
"Little maid!" she said, and fumbled in her pocket.
In that pocket, when she had changed into Herbert's clothes, she had remembered to put her own whittle and three half-pence that Mr. Lowry had given her. She pulled out the half-pence now, and said she:—
"Prithee, take these, and I would they were more, and I be main sorry for thy cush-cow."
But the little girl with the tawny hair turned upon her like a little fury.
"I do hate thee for one of 'em!" she cried. "I'd fain see thee dead, thou wicked boy!"
As she spoke, smack! she struck Merrylips a sounding blow right across the face.
"Hey! Hey!" said Lieutenant Crashaw, laughing. "C-close with her, young Venner! Strike for the k-king!"
Merrylips blinked and swallowed hard, for the blow had not been a light one.
"I am—a gentleman," she answered jerkily. "I may not strike—a girl."
She turned away and sat down on a bench by the tavern door. Presently she picked up a bit of stick and marked with it in the dirt at her feet.
In this fashion she was busied, when she heard a step beside her. She looked up, and found the lieutenant standing over her. She saw, too, that Munn was gone, and Stephen with him, and she felt afraid, but she tried not to show it.
"So thou art too good a g-gentleman to strike a g-girl, eh?" said Lieutenant Crashaw.
Merrylips stood up civilly when he spoke.
"Ay, sir," she said, and looked him full in the face.
"And too young a g-gentleman yet to k-kiss a girl, I take it?" the lieutenant laughed, and then he looked sober and half-ashamed.
"Thou hast r-ridden far," he said, in a kind voice. "Art hungry, b-belike?"
Then he called in at the open window of the tavern, and speedily a flurried serving-man came out. In his hands he brought a great piece of bread, on which a slice of beef was laid, and a hunch of cheese, and a pot of beer, which he placed on the bench by Merrylips.
"'Tis g-good trooping fare," said Crashaw. "D-down with it, my gallant, and till thy b-brother cometh again, I'll have an eye to thee."
So Merrylips sat down, and in spite of the bustle round her and the anxiety which she felt at finding herself without Munn in this strange place, she made a hearty meal, for indeed she was hungry.
While she ate, she saw a squadron of the troopers mount on horseback and set the herd of cattle in motion. Soon horses and cattle and men had all disappeared in a cloud of dust. Next the wains full of corn were started from the village. Then, at last, when Merrylips had long since eaten her luncheon and had kicked her heels for a weary while, Munn Venner, on a fresh horse, came clattering through the village and reined up before the tavern.
Munn leaped from the saddle, and ran to speak to the lieutenant. What he said, Merrylips had no way of knowing, but she saw Lieutenant Crashaw turn to his trumpeter, who stood near. The trumpeter blew a blast that echoed through the village, and speedily troopers began to straggle in from cottages and lanes and rick-yards and get to horse.
Then Munn beckoned to Merrylips, and she ran to him, and waited for his orders.
"Were it not best, sir," Munn said to the lieutenant, "that this little one be placed in the van?"
"Munn!" whispered Merrylips. "Am I not to ride with thee?"
"Hush!" he bade. "I shall be in the rear of the troop, where my place is. There is no danger," he added hastily, "but 'tis better thou shouldst be in the front of our squadron. Have no fear! With Lieutenant Crashaw's good leave, I'll give thee into the care of a trooper I can trust."
The lieutenant nodded, as he turned away to give some orders, and Munn raised his voice:—
"Hinkel! Come hither!"
At that word a burly, thick-set man, who had been bent down, tightening a saddle-girth, at the farther side of the way, came hurrying across to Munn and stood at salute.
"Take this lad, my brother," bade Munn, "and bear him on your horse, and see to it, Hinkel, that you bring him safely unto Monksfield."
"Ja, mein Herr!" said Hinkel.
At the sound of that guttural voice Merrylips gave a little cry. Looking up, she looked into a low-browed face that she remembered. In the trooper Hinkel she saw the same man that months before at Larkland she had known as the runaway Claus.