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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 17. A Lesson In Self-Control |
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_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A LESSON IN SELF-CONTROL "You will take twelve men as escort, and guard those prisoners to Newton Abbott; there you will give them up, and return as quickly as you can to me." "Yes, sir. The men need not be bound?" "Yes; every one." "Scar Markham, father?" "Yes; you must run no risks. You might meet a party of the enemy, and if your prisoners fought against you, what then? Let them be bound while on the road. They will have comparative freedom when you have given them up." The stern school of war in which Fred Forrester was taking his early lessons of discipline and obedience had already taught him to hear and to obey. This was after a halt of three days in their temporary camp, during which the careful general of the little army had thought it better to rest and recruit his men than to weary them in a vain pursuit at a time when they were pretty well exhausted with previous work. Fred had seen a great deal of the prisoners during the time, but only for the estrangement between him and his old companion to grow greater. For Scarlett was suffering bitterly from the reverses which had befallen his party, and was in agony about his father's fate. He had tried to obtain some news of the division to which they had been attached, but all he could learn was that in the late engagement it had been cut to pieces, and its components who remained had fled in all directions, while he could not discover whether his father had been among the many slain. Stung by his sufferings, and irritable to a degree, he was in no mood to meet Fred's advances, looking upon him, as he did, as one of his father's murderers, and when he did not give him a fierce look of resentment, he turned his back upon him, and treated him with the greatest scorn and contempt. Their relations under these circumstances did not promise well, then, for their journey to Newton Abbott, and matters seemed to culminate for ill when the escort was ready, the prisoners' horses brought out, and Fred announced that the time of departure had come. Scarlett rose from where he had been lying upon his cloak in silence; but the sight of his old companion seemed to rouse him to speak; and in a bitterly contemptuous way he turned to his men, saying to Nat-- "They might have sent a man to take charge of us, my lads." Fred winced, and felt small in his military uniform. He bit his lip, and told himself that he would not notice the petty remark, but the words leaped out-- "I dare say I shall be man enough to take you safely to your prison, sir;" but Scarlett turned angrily away. The prisoners took their cue from their leader, and behaved in an exaggerated, swaggering manner, that was galling in the extreme. "Seem to have starved our horses," said Nat, to one of his fellows; and, less fall of control than his leader, Samson spoke out. "No, we haven't, for we've given the poor things a good fill out, such as they hadn't had for a month; and my word, Nat, you look quite respectable without those long greasy corkscrews hanging about your ears." Nat turned upon him fiercely. "Do I?" he cried. "Wait till our turn comes, and I'll crop you." "Don't want it," cried Samson, gleeful at his brother's rage. "Your hair don't, but your ears do, so look out." "Silence!" cried Fred, sternly; and then he gave the order for all to mount. As he was obeyed, and Scarlett swung himself into the saddle, his nostrils dilated, and as he felt the sturdy horse between his knees, he involuntarily glanced round at the surrounding country. Fred saw it, and smiled. "No, sir, not this time," he said. "I think you will be too well guarded for that." Scarlett showed that he was well dubbed; for his pale cheeks flushed the colour of his name as he turned away, feeling hot that his action should have been plain enough for his enemy to read his thoughts. Then he set his teeth fast, and they grated together, as he heard Fred's next orders, and saw a couple of men close up on either side of the prisoners, thrust a stake beneath their arms and across their backs, to which stake their arms were firmly bound, and the ends of the cords which formed their bonds made fast to their horses' necks. "No fear o' you cantering off, Master Nat," said Samson, as, with keen appreciation of his masterful position, he tied his brother as tightly as he could, while Nat resisted and struggled so that he had to be held by Samson's companion, his steel headpiece falling off in the encounter. "That's got him, I think," said Samson, tightening the last knot which held him to the horse. "Dropped your cap, have you? All right, you shall have it. There!" A burst of laughter followed Samson's act of politeness, for he had stuck on the steel jockey-like cap with its peak towards the back, and the curve, which was meant to protect the back of the head, well down over his eyes. "Only wait," grumbled Nat; "I'll save all this up for you." "Thank ye, Nat. I say, you haven't got a feather in your cap. Anybody got a feather? No. I've a good mind to cut off his horse's tail for a plume; the root of the tail would just stick upon that spike. Hallo, what's the matter there?" Nat turned sharply from his brother to where Scarlett was hotly protesting. "It is a mistake," he said, angrily, to the two men who had approached him on either side with stake and cord. "I am an officer and a gentleman, and refuse to be bound." "It's the captain's orders, sir," said one of the men, surlily. "Then go and tell him that you have mistaken his orders," cried Scarlett, ignoring the fact that Fred was seated within half a dozen yards. The men turned to their officer, who pressed his horse's sides and closed up. "What is the matter?" he said. "Of what do you complain, Master Markham?" "Tell your officer I am Captain Markham, of Prince Rupert's cavalry," said Scarlett, haughtily. "I beg your pardon, captain," said Fred, coldly. "Now, then, of what do you complain?" "Of your scoundrelly rabble, sir," cried Scarlett, turning upon him fiercely. "You see, they are about to treat me as if I were a dog." "They were going to bind you, sir, as your men are bound. In our army, the officers are not above suffering and sharing with their men." Scarlett winced at this, and flushed more deeply, but he tried to turn it off by a fierce attack. "Then this is some cowardly plot of yours to insult one who has fallen into your hands." "I am obeying the orders of my superior officer, who placed you and the other prisoners in my charge, with instructions that they were to be conveyed bound to their destination." "The men, not their officer, sir." "Ah," replied Fred, coldly. And then, laconically, "Bind him." "You insolent dog!" cried Scarlett, in his rage. "It is your malignant spite. You shall not bind me, if I die for it." As he spoke, he struck his spurs into his horse's flanks, snatched the stout ash stall one of the men held from his hand, leaned forward, and then, as Fred seized his horse's bridle to stop him from galloping off, struck his captor with all his might. The blow was intended for Fred's head, but the movement of the horses in the _melee_ caused the staff to fall heavily across the young officer's thigh. Unable to restrain a cry of rage and pain, Fred snatched his sword three-parts from its sheath, and then thrust it back, angry with himself for his loss of temper, while Scarlett sat struggling vainly, for the man who held the rope had skilfully used it just as a child would a skipping rope, throwing it over the prisoner's arms, crossing his hands, and passing one end to a soldier on the other side. In an instant, Scarlett's elbows were bound tightly to his ribs, and there held, while a couple more men thrust a fresh staff behind his back and under his arms, another rope was used, and with the rapidity which comes of practice upon hundreds of previous prisoners, the passionate young officer was literally bound and trussed, the ends of rope being made fast to the horse he rode. The men who were looking on, murmured angrily at the blow which they saw fall on their young officer. "Hang him to the nearest tree," shouted one of the party. "Silence!" cried Fred, sternly; and speaking quite calmly now, though he was quivering with pain, he pressed his horse closely to that upon which his prisoner rode. "That was a cowardly blow, Scar Markham," he said, in a whisper. "I was only doing my duty. You'll ask my pardon yet." "Pardon?" raged the lad; "never! Oh, if I only were free and had my sword, I'd make you beg mine for this indignity. Miserable wretch! Rebel! I shall live yet to see you and your traitor of a father hung." Fred started angrily at this, but he checked himself, reined back his horse, and looking very white now from anger and pain, he gave the word of command. Six of his men formed up in front of the prisoners, the other six took their places behind; swords were drawn, and the horses bearing the prisoners needed no guiding, but in accordance with their training as cavalry mounts, set off in rank as the word "March!" was given, the young leader waiting till all had passed, and then taking his place beside the last two men, one of whom was Samson. _ |
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