Chapter 18. A Cowardly Revenge

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_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A COWARDLY REVENGE

No word was spoken as they crossed the fields that separated them from the road, which they reached by the leading men turning their horses into the rapid stream, and letting them wade for a few yards through the flashing water knee-deep, and sending the drops foaming and sparkling in the bright morning sun.

"Left," shouted Fred, as the road was reached, and the next minute the little detachment was trampling up the dust which rose behind them.

"Did it hurt you much, Master Fred?" whispered Samson.

"Hurt me? I felt as if my leg was cut off; and it is just now as if the bone was broken."

"Perhaps you'd better not go, sir."

"Not go? I'd go if it was ten times as bad."

"And what are you going to do to Master Scar?"

"Half kill him some day."

"Why not to-day, sir? Draw up somewhere in a wood, and we'll all see fair. You can whip him, Master Fred; I know you can. We'll set them free for a bit, and I'll stand by you, and Nat shall stand by his young master."

"Don't talk nonsense, Samson."

"'Tisn't nonsense, sir. You nearly always used to whip him when you two fell out, and you're bigger and stronger now."

"But we are in different positions now, Samson," said Fred, thoughtfully; "and it is impossible."

"Don't say that, sir. The men would like to see you whip him for what he did."

"No, Samson. It could not be done."

"You aren't afraid of him, are you, sir?"

"Afraid? How dare you?"

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir. I was only saying so because I thought the men would think you were, for putting up with a crack like that."

Samson's words stung more deeply than he expected, though he had meant then to rankle, for to his mind nothing would have been more fairer or more acceptable than for his young leader to face the Royalist prisoner with nature's weapons, and engage in a regular up and down fight, such as would, he felt sure, result in victory for their side.

They rode on in silence for some time before Samson hazarded another word.

"Beg pardon, sir," he then said, humbly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"No, no; I know that, Samson."

"It was only because I thought that the men might think you afraid of Master Scarlett."

Fred turned upon him angrily.

"I beg your pardon again, sir," whispered Samson; "but it's just as I say. I know you aren't scared of him a bit, because I've knowed you ever since you was a little tot as I give pigabacks and rides a-top of the grass when I'd a barrow full. But the men don't know you as I do, sir. Call a halt, sir, and fight him."

"Samson, I am talking to you as my old friend now, not as your officer. It is impossible."

"Not it, sir. The men would like it. So would you; and as for me--let me fight brother Nat same time, and I'll give him such a beating as he won't know whether it's next We'n'sday or last We'n'sday, or the year before last."

"I tell you, man, it's impossible, so say no more."

"Very well, Master Fred. I only tell you the truth; and if you find the lads aren't so willing to follow you, mind, it's that."

"I have my duty to do, sir, so say no more."

"What a nuisance dooty is," said Samson to himself, as his young leader went slowly to the front, and rode for a time beside the leading file. "They'll set him down as a coward. 'Course I know he isn't, but they'll think so. Ha, ha, ha!"

"What are you laughing at?" said the man on his right.

"At him," cried Samson, pointing forward at his brother. "Looks just like a trussed turkey."

"Ah," said the man, quietly, "and who knows when it may be our turn to ride prisoners just the same? Knew him before, didn't you?"

"Eh? knew him? Well, just a little," said Samson, drily. "Come from the same part o' Coombeland. Me and him's had many a fight when we was boys."

"And the young captain and that long-haired popinjay met before, haven't they?"

"Often. I was gardener to our captain's father--the colonel, you know; and that fellow with his headpiece on wrong was gardener to his father as hit our officer."

"Took it pretty quiet, didn't he?" said the man.

"Well, just a little. That's his way."

"Wasn't afraid of him, was he?"

"Afraid? Why, he don't know what it means!"

"Humph! Looked as if he did," grumbled the man; and further conversation was stayed by Fred checking his horse, and letting the detachment pass on till he was in the rear.

They rode on hour after hour, till the horses began to show the need of water, and the men were eager for a halt to be called, so that they might dine and rest for a couple of hours under some shady tree; but for some time no suitable spot was found, and the advance and rear guards rode on, keeping a keen look-out for danger one minute, for a shady grove and water the next.

Once there was an alarm. One of the advance guard came galloping back after seeing a body of horsemen about half a mile away, their arms glittering in the sun; but the party, whatever it was, seemed to be crossing the road at right angles, and for safety's sake, Fred drew back his men and took refuge among some trees in a hollow a hundred yards from the road, where, to the great satisfaction of all, a spring was found rushing out of the rock.

Here in a regular military fashion the horses' girths were loosened, they were watered, and allowed to crop the grass. Outposts were planted, hidden by the trees; sentries were placed over the prisoners, whose bonds were not unloosed, and the men opened their wallets to partake of a hasty meal.

As soon as all the arrangements had been made, Fred saw that his prisoners were supplied with food, a man being deputed to attend to their wants, and this done, the young officer strolled off to the edge of the woodland, where the road could be seen east and west, and stood there watching for the first approach of danger.

His thoughts were divided between his charge and Scar's blow and insulting, contemptuous conduct, which rankled bitterly, for he could not help feeling that the men would judge him according to their lights; and, think of the matter how he would, he felt that he had placed himself at a disadvantage.

"If I had only struck him back I wouldn't have cared."

"Thought that over, sir?"

Fred started, and turned to find that Samson had followed him and approached over the soft moist ground beneath the trees unheard.

"Thought that over?" faltered the young officer.

"Yes, sir. Here's a splendid place for it just below among the big trees. Nice bit of open turf, quite soft for when you tumble down; and it would just please the men to see my young dandy cockerel's comb cut after what he did for you."

"Samson, you are talking nonsense. After serving so long in the army, you ought to know something of what an officer's duties are."

"No, sir; I shall never learn nothing about dooties. I can fight, because it comes nat'ral to a man, and I'm obliged to; but I shall never make a good soldier."

"You don't know, then, what you are saying."

"Oh yes, I do, sir; and I know what the men are saying; and if you won't fight, it must be me, for there's bound to be a rumpus if they go on saying you behaved as if you had a white feather in your cap."

"Who dared to say that?"

"Several of 'em, sir; and I wouldn't hit out, because I thought you would think better of it and fight."

Fred turned away angrily.

"Well, sir, I can't help speaking plainly; and I thought it better to tell you what the lads are saying about it."

"I cannot help what they say, sir; I am doing my duty. Now go back to yours."

"Yes, captain; but don't be angry with your old servant as followed you to the wars. Give me leave to fight Nat, and that will be something."

"Impossible, sir."

"But it would keep the men's tongues quiet, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour would do for me to thrash him, and it would be all right afterwards. The men wouldn't talk so much about you."

Fred marched up and down without a word.

"You see, sir, it's like this. Young Master Scar Markham's bouncing about and ordering and behaving as if he was everybody.--You won't fight him, sir?"

"No!"--emphatically.

"Then why not do something just to show him he isn't everybody, and that you are not afraid of him?"

"You know I am not afraid of him, Samson," cried Fred, hotly.

"Of course I do, sir; but the men don't know. How could they? There isn't one there as took you in hand from a little one, when you was always tumbling down and knocking the skin off your knees."

Fred made an impatient gesture.

"You see, sir, if you'd only do something it wouldn't so much matter. Any one would think, to see the airs he puts on, that he was Prince Rupert himself."

Fred turned away, and stood with his back to his henchman, lest Samson should see from his face how he longed to forget his duty, and to cease being an officer for a few minutes, becoming once more the careless boy who could retaliate sharply for the blow received.

"He's sitting yonder, sir, in his scarlet and gold and feathers, and tossing his head so as to make his ringlets shake all over his shoulders. Proud as a peacock he is, and looking down on us all like my brother Nat did till I sheared off his long hair, and made him a crop-ear too. It's done him no end of good. I only wish some one would serve his lordship the same."

Samson little thought what effect his words would have on his young leader, who again turned away and walked up and down to master the emotion which troubled him. The blow he had received seemed to smart; he pictured the faces of his men looking at him with covert smiles on their lips, and he seemed to see Scarlett sneering at him as some one so cowardly as to be utterly beneath his notice; and he was suffering all this because he believed it to be his duty.

The blood rushed up into Fred's cheeks, and then to his brain, making him feel giddy as he strode away to avoid temptation, for his nerves were all a-tingle, and the desire kept on intensifying to seize some stout staff and thrash his prisoner till he begged his pardon before all the men.

But he could not do such a thing. He told himself he must suffer and be strong. He had certain duties to perform, and he would do them, boy as he was, like a man. And to this end he walked quietly back to the little camp, giving a long look round to see that all was safe.

The mossy ground beneath the trees deadened his footsteps as he approached his prisoners to see that all were right; and there, as Samson had described, sat Scarlett, looking proud and handsome in his uniform, while he fanned his face with his broad-leafed felt hat and feathers, each waft of air sending his curls back from, his face.

Fred had involuntarily stopped short among the bushes to gaze at the prisoner, heedless of the fact that Nat and the other men were just before him, hidden by a screen of hazels.

Then the blood seemed to rush back to his breast, for a familiar voice said--

"Don't tell me. He used to be a decent young fellow when he came over to our place in the old days; but since he turned rebel and associated with my bad brother, he's a regular coward--a cur--good for nothing but to be beaten. See how white he turned when the captain hit him with that staff. White-livered, that's what he is. Do you hear, sentries? White-livered!"

The men on guard uttered a low growl, but they did not say a word in their officer's defence; and a bitter sensation of misery crept through Fred, seeming for the moment to paralyse him, and as he felt himself touched, he turned slowly to look in a despondent way at Samson, who stood close behind him, pointing toward the group as another prisoner said--

"Why, if we had our hands free, and our swords and pistols, we'd soon send these wretched rebels to the right-about. Miserable rabble, with a miserable beggar of a boy to lead them, while we--just look at the young captain! That's the sort of man to be over a troop of soldiers."

It was doubtful whether Scarlett heard them, as he sat there still fanning his face, till at last, in a fit of half-maddening pique, Fred turned again on Samson, and signed to him to follow.

Then, striding forward, he made his way to the sentry nearest to where Scarlett was seated.

"Why are your prisoner's arms at liberty, sir?" he cried.

"Don't know, sir," said the man, surlily. "I didn't undo them."

Fred gazed at him fiercely, for he had never been spoken to before like this, and he grasped the fact that he was losing the confidence of those who ought to have looked up to him as one who had almost the power of life and death over them.

"How came your lianas at liberty, sir?" cried Fred, sternly, as he turned now on Scarlett.

The latter looked in his direction for a moment, raised his eyebrows, glanced away, then back, in the most supercilious manner, and went on fanning himself.

"I asked you, sir, how your hands came to be at liberty?"

"And, pray, how dare you ask me, insolent dog?" flashed out Scarlett.

The altercation brought three more of the guard up to where they stood, and just in time to see Fred's passion master him.

"Dog, yourself, you miserable popinjay!" cried Fred. "Here, Samson! Another of you--a fresh rope and stake. You must be taught, sir, the virtue of humility in a prisoner."

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang at the young officer, and seized him by the wrists, but only to hold him for a moment before one hand was wrenched away, and a back-handed blow sent Fred staggering back.

He recovered himself directly, and was dashing at his assailant to take prompt revenge for this second blow; but Samson already had Scarlett by the shoulders, holding on tightly while the staff was thrust under his armpits, and he was rapidly bound as firmly as two strong men could fasten the bonds.

Fred woke to the fact that his followers were watching him curiously, as if to see what steps he would take now, after receiving this second blow; but, to their disgust, he was white as ashes, and visibly trembling.

"Be careful," he said. "Don't spoil his plumage. We don't have so fine a bird as this every day. Mind that feathered hat, Samson, my lad. He will want it again directly. Here, follow me."

Scarlett burst into an insulting laugh as Fred strode away--a laugh foreign to the young fellow's nature; but his position had half maddened him, and he was ready to do and say anything, almost, to one who, he felt, was, in a minor way, one of the betrayers of his father; while as Fred went on, gazing straight before him, he could not but note the peculiar looks of his men, who were glancing from one to the other.

Fred felt that he must do something, or his position with his men would be gone for ever. They could not judge him fairly; all they could measure him by was the fact that they had seen him struck twice without resenting the blows.

What should he do?

He could not challenge and meet his prisoner as men too often fought, and he could not fight him after the fashion of schoolboys, and as they had fought after a quarrel of old.

Fred was very pale as he stopped short suddenly and beckoned Samson to his side, the result being that the ex-gardener ran to his horse, was busy for a few moments with his haversack, and then returned to where his master was standing, looking a shy white now, and with the drops of agony standing upon his brow.

The next minute Fred had tossed off the heavy steel morion he wore, throwing it to his follower, who caught it dexterously, and then followed closely at his leader's heels.

"Master or Captain Scarlett Markham," he said, in a husky voice, "you have taken advantage of your position as a prisoner to strike me twice in the presence of my men. It was a cowardly act, for I could not retaliate."

Scarlett uttered a mocking laugh, which was insolently echoed by his men.

Fred winced slightly, but he went on--

"All this comes, sir, from the pride and haughtiness consequent upon your keeping the company of wild, roystering blades, who call themselves Cavaliers--men without the fear of God before their eyes, and certainly without love for their country. You must be taught humility, sir."

Scarlett laughed scornfully, and his men again echoed his forced mirth.

"Pride, sir," continued Fred, quietly, "goes with gay trappings, and silken scarves, and feathered hats. Here, Samson, give this prisoner a decent headpiece while he is with us."

He snatched off the plumed hat, and tossed it carelessly to his follower.

"And while you are with us, sir, you must be taught behaviour. You are too hot-headed, Master Scarlett. You will be better soon."

Scarlett was gazing fiercely and defiantly in his old companion's face, hot, angry, and flushed, as he felt himself seized by the collar. Then he sat there as if paralysed, unable to move, stunned, as it were mentally, in his surprise, and gradually turning as white as Fred as there were a few rapid snips given with a pair of sheep shears, and roughly but effectively his glossy ringlets were shorn away, to fall upon his shoulders.

Then he flung himself back with a cry of rage. But it was too late; the curls were gone, and he was closely cropped as one of the Parliamentarian soldiers, while his enemy-guard burst into a roar.

"There, Master Scarlett Markham," said Fred, quietly, "your head will be cooler now; and you will not be so ready to use your hands against one whose position makes him unarmed. Samson, the headpiece. Yes, that will do. Master Scarlett, shall I put it on, as your hands are bound?"

"You coward!" cried Scarlett, hoarsely, as he gazed full in Fred's eyes; and then again, with his face deadly pale, "You miserable coward! Bah!"

He turned away with a withering look of scorn, and, amid the cheering of his men, Fred tossed the shears to Samson, and strode away sick at heart and eager to walk right off into the wood, where, as soon as he was out of eye-shot, he threw himself down and buried his face in his hands.

"Miserable coward!" he said hoarsely. "Yes, he is right. How could I do such a despicable thing!" _

Read next: Chapter 19. A Clever Schemer

Read previous: Chapter 17. A Lesson In Self-Control

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