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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 16. Teasing A Prisoner |
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_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN. TEASING A PRISONER Fred Forrester was too much astonished at the result of his pursuit to make any sharp retort, but sat holding his prisoner by the gorget, staring wildly at his old playmate, who seemed wonderfully changed since their last meeting, and who had looked, in spite of dust and sweat, tall and handsome in his gay frippery, scarf, scarlet feather, and long curling hair. "Well, rebel," cried the prisoner; and Fred started from his reverie. "Am I the first you ever had the luck to take that you stare in that way? Don't choke me." Fred's tanned cheeks grew crimson, and his brow was knit as he turned away his face to look after his men, who in the meantime had taken the whole of the little party, dismounted those who needed it, bound their arms behind; their back, and collected the horses. "Look ye here, sir," cried Samson, dragging forward the man in the morion, who came behind limping, "I've got him at last. This is my wretch of a brother, who has taken up arms against me." "Against you--you ill-looking dog!" cried Scarlett, fiercely. "How dare you! Crop-eared rebel!" "That will do, sir," said Fred, sternly; for, after being a little overawed by the gallant aspect of his prisoner, he was recovering himself, and recollecting his position. "Will you give your promise not to escape, or must I have you bound?" "Promise to a set of knaves like you?" cried the youth, fiercely. "No. Do what you will; only, mind this--our time will come." "Yes; and when it does," cried Nat, shaking his head to get rid of the iron cap which was over his eyes, for his hands were bound, "we'll show them what it is to be rebels, eh, Master Scarlett--captain, I mean?" "Silence, sir!" cried Fred, angrily; and, after giving the men orders, the little party returned with their prisoners in their midst, Scarlett behind, gazing haughtily before him, and paying no heed to a few words addressed to him at first by his captor, who reined back at the slight, and followed afterwards at the rear of his little troop, angry and indignant at Scarlett's contemptuous manner, and at the same time sorry and glad, the latter feeling perhaps predominating, for he had successfully carried out his father's commands. "I wish it had been some one else," he was thinking, as the little party rode on, the prisoners mounted on their horses, but looking in sorry plight with their hands bound behind. "What will my father say when he sees who it is?" At that moment the sound of angry voices and a hoarse laugh from the troopers made Fred urge his horse forward. "What is this?" he said. "I will not have the prisoners insulted." "It's the prisoners insulting us, Master Fred--I mean captain. It's this ne'er-do-well of a brother o' mine bragging and bouncing because his hair's grown a bit longer than mine. He keeps calling me crop-ears, sir, and showing off as if he was a Cavalier." "So you are a crop-ear and a rebel," said Nat, for his fall had hurt him, and made him disagreeable. "Silence, sir!" cried Fred, as he made a gesture as if to strike the ex-gardener a blow with the flat of his sword. "Shan't silence," said Nat. "You're not my master. Rebels can't be masters, and you daren't hit me now I'm tied up, much as you'd like to. Cowards, all of you!" "Beg pardon, captain," said Samson, "but may I untie his arms, sir, and have him down under the trees with our buffs off? I could give him such a leathering in five minutes." "Silence! Forward! Samson, rein back;" and they rode slowly on till the outskirts of the camping place were reached, sentries challenging and men cheering the little party as they came in with their captives right to where the regiment lounged about the camp-fires. Here Colonel Forrester strode out from his tent, followed by half a dozen officers, all ready to cheer the boy who had so successfully carried out the reconnaissance. "Any one hurt?" asked the colonel, looking very cold and stern, and hardly glancing at his son. "Only a few scratches and bruises, sir. We took the whole party." "That's well. Which is the leader? Here, you!" Scarlett paid no heed to the command, but a couple of the troopers seized his arms, and hurried him before the colonel. "Which way has the main body of your forces gone, sir?" "You had better follow and find out for yourself, Colonel Forrester," said the prisoner, coldly. "You will get no information from me." "Scar Markham!" exclaimed the colonel, in astonishment. "My poor boy, I am sorry that we should meet like this." "And I am glad, sir," cried Scarlett, excitedly, "for it gives me an opportunity to say that I, too, am sorry to see you like this, a rebel and traitor to your king." "Silence, sir! How dare you! Take the prisoners away, and see that they are well used." "Yes, father," replied Fred; and he saw the five men disposed of, and then led Scarlett to his own little tent which he had placed at his disposal, and saw that he had an ample supply of food. He then took his own, of which he was in sore need, and began to eat in silence, furtively watching the prisoner, who remained silent, and refused the food, though he was famishing. Fred's anger had subsided now, and remembering the old days before these times of civil war and dissension, he said quietly-- "I am sorry I have nothing better to offer you." Scarlett turned upon him sharply, with a flash of the eye, as if about to speak; but he turned away again, and sat looking straight before him. There was a long silence then, during which Fred thought how hard it was for his old friend to be dragged there a prisoner, and he said softly-- "I was only doing my duty, Scar. I was sent out to take the party seen from our outposts." "Have the goodness to keep your pity for those who need it, crop-ear," said Scarlett, scornfully; "and recollect that I am, though a prisoner, one of his Majesty's officers, one who holds no converse with rebels." Fred's cheeks flushed again, and his brow wrinkled. "Very well," he said angrily. "We are fighting on opposite sides, but I did not know that we need insult each other when we met." As he spoke he left the tent, and Scarlett winced, and his eyes softened. "Poor old Fred!" he said below his breath; "and I used to think he was like a brother." It was a glorious evening as Fred Forrester strolled away from the tent, stopping to speak to one of the sentries about the prisoner in the little tent, though he felt that he need hardly take any precaution, for Scarlett was not likely to try to escape and leave his men behind. "Wonder whether we shall ever be friends again," he thought, "and be back at the old places as before. This terrible fighting cannot always go on. What's that?" A great deal of shouting and laughter in the centre of a little crowd of soldiers took his attention, and one of the voices sounding familiar, he walked slowly toward the group, hardly caring in which direction he went so that it was away from his tent. "What are they doing?" he asked of one of the men. "Don't quite know, sir. Teasing one of the prisoners, I think." Feeling that his father would be angry if the prisoners were annoyed in any way, he walked sharply to the throng, and, as he reached it, he heard a familiar voice say-- "Now, that's what I call behaving like a brother should, gentlemen. He goes away into bad company and disgraces his name, lets his hair grow ragged and greasy and long, and comes here a prisoner with a nasty dirty face, so what have I done? I give him my supper because he was hungry, and he ate it all, and called me a crop-eared rebel for my pains. So after that I washed his face for him and cut his hair, and made him look decent, but I didn't crop his ears, though the shears went very near them two or three times. But look at him now." There was a roar of laughter at this, and Fred could hardly keep from joining in, so comical was the aspect of Sir Godfrey Markham's old servant, as he stood there with his hands bound behind him. For, as Samson said, his brother was now quite clean, and he had cut his hair, which had grown long, in a bad imitation of a Cavalier's. But this was not merely cut off now, but closely cropped, so that Nat's head was round and close as a great ball. "All right, Sam," he said, as his brother came close to him. "Wait a bit till our side wins, and then perhaps I may take you prisoner, and if so--" "Well, if you do--what then?" "Wait, my lad, and see." Fred Forrester could never after fully explain his feelings. He left the group feeling as if some spirit of mischief had taken possession of him, and kept suggesting that he too had fed his brother, had given up everything to him, and been reviled for his pains. Why should not he show Scarlett Markham that courtesy was due to those who had made him prisoner of war? As it was, his old companion seemed to have grown arrogant and overbearing. He had spoken to him as if he were a dog, and looked at him as if he were one of the most contemptible objects under the sun. "No," he said, with a half-laugh, "I could not do it." Then he recalled a long list of injuries he had received from Scarlett, things which had made his blood boil, and he felt tempted again. But his better self prevailed the next minute, and, shaking his head, he returned to his tent, to find that after all Scarlett had partaken of the food, and had now thrown himself down on Fred's cloak and gone to sleep. As he lay there in the dim light, Fred gazed at his old companion's handsome young face, flowing curls, and soiled but still handsome uniform, with something like envy. But this passed away; and soon after he lay down outside the tent, to fall into a fit of musing, which was mingled with the pace of sentries, hoarse orders, and the blare of trumpets. Then all was silent, and he fell fast asleep, out there on the bare ground, only to awaken at the morning calls. _ |
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