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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 25. Towards Home |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. TOWARDS HOME Weeks followed of desultory warfare. One day messengers came bringing news to the little inn--which had gradually become head-quarters from the coming there of General Hedley, and the centre to which reinforcements were continually gathering--that the king's men were once more in force, and preparations were made for a hasty move. "Far sooner than I could wish, my boy," said the colonel, as he sat beside his son after a busy day. "But I feel quite strong again, father," pleaded Fred. "You are too anxious about me." "Too anxious, my boy? No, I think not. Well, you will have to try and sit your horse again, even if you are a non-combatant." "Which way shall we retreat?" asked Fred. "Retreat? Who said anything about retreat?" cried a stern voice, and General Hedley entered the room. "Oh, you, eh, boy?" he continued, shaking one of his buff gauntlets at the convalescent. "Don't you let Captain Miles hear you say that again. We may move to a different position, but we will not talk of retreat yet." Fred felt the colour burning once more in his pale cheeks, and the general went on-- "Forrester, I want a chat with you. Come into my room. I have fresh despatches." The colonel followed his leader out of the little parlour which had been devoted to the wounded lad by the general's command, he having insisted upon its being retained when he joined them there, and tents had sprung up in all directions upon the moor close to the inn. Directly after, there was a hoarse cough heard outside, in company with a heavy step. "Hem! Master Fred, sir." "You, Samson?" "Yes, sir. Alone, sir?" "Yes." "May I speak to you!" "Yes; go on." Samson's head appeared at the window, upon the sill of which he leaned his arms as he gazed in. "Getting quite tidy again, arn't you, sir!" he said, in a hoarse whisper. "Yes, quite strong; and you?" "Never better, sir; only wind feels a little short sometimes, and I gets too hot too soon." "You didn't come to tell me that, Samson." "No, sir; I come to tell you there's news in the camp." "What of?--a movement?" "Yes, sir; that's it." "Do you know where we're going next!" "No, sir; do you?" "No, Samson; and I should say that is the general's secret. We shall know when we get there." "Start to-morrow, don't we, sir?" "Impossible to say. What do they say in the camp?" "Weather-cockery." "What?" "Well, sir, it's just like a vane in a wind: now it's east, now it's west, and when it ain't east or west, it's north or south. Everybody says everybody else is wrong. But we are going somewhere directly; that's for certain. And, I say, Master Fred." "Yes?" "How do you feel about mounting your horse again?" "I long to, Samson. How are the poor beasts?" "Lovely, sir. The farrier doctored the cuts and scratches they got in the skirmish, and they're pretty well healed up now. It's a cowardly thing to cut at a horse. Then you feel strong enough to have a try, sir?" "You wait till we get the orders to start, Samson, and you shall see." Samson rubbed his hands and began to smile, but the pleasant look was ousted by a grotesque twitching of the countenance. "What's the matter?" "I always forget, sir. Wound reminds me when I go too fast, and aren't careful. All right again soon, though. Don't hear no noos of the war being over, sir, I s'pose?" "No, Samson, none. Tired of it?" "Tired, sir? I don't know about tired, but I can't help thinking of the manor now and then, and what sort of a state my garden will be in. Why, Master Fred, sir, you know that bit under the north wall, where the mistress's herbs and simples grow!" "Yes." "Well, sir, I shan't know that bit again. That there patch in partic'lar 'll be one big touzle o' weeds, and--" _Tantara, tantara, tantara_! A trumpet rang out, sending a thrill through Fred, as he grasped its meaning, and that of the blasts that followed, with the rush of feet and trampling of horses. For a messenger had come in bearing a despatch, and in an incredibly short space of time tents were struck, baggage waggons loaded, and the little force was marching slowly to the west, Fred having only time to shake hands with his little nurse, and assure the landlord for the fiftieth time that he forgave him for being the cause of his wounds, and was most grateful for the kindness he had received. Then, to his intense delight, he was once more mounted on his horse, which gave a whinny of recognition as his master patted his neck and smoothed his velvet muzzle. The trumpets rang out the advance, and with the sun flashing from the men's arms, the array moved slowly off, and the youth's eyes sparkled as he drew in long breaths of the soft sweet air, while he gazed wonderingly in the direction they were taking, his breast filled with new hopes, in which he was afraid to indulge, lest they should prove to be false. The longing to question his superior officers was intense, though he knew that even they would probably be in ignorance of their route; and never before had he felt so strongly that a soldier is only a portion of one great piece of mechanism moved by one--the general in command. As they settled down at last into the line of march, Fred found himself for the present with the staff, riding behind his father, who was General Hedley's most trusted follower, but hours went on before a word passed between father and son. Such conversation as did ensue was with Samson, who rode behind, neither being considered sufficiently recovered to go back to the regiment, but settling down to the work of aide-de-camp and orderly. And as they rode slowly on, the cavalry halting from time to time to give the infantry opportunities for keeping up and preserving their position in the column, it soon became evident that the Royalists, who had made no sign in their neighbourhood for weeks, must be somewhere near at hand. For the greatest precautions were taken, scouting parties were out, and a regiment of horse formed flankers well away on either side to guard against surprise. Fred was riding slowly on at a short distance behind his father, thinking with all a convalescent's freedom from fever and pain, of how beautiful everything around seemed to be, and longing to cast aside the trammels of discipline, so as to be a boy in nature once more, as well as in years, when a low voice behind him made him sharply turn his head. "Don't it seem a pity, Master Fred?" "Eh? What, Samson?" "Why, sir, that we should be all riding and walking along here over this moor, thinking about hoeing up and raking down people and mowing 'em off, instead of enjoying ourselves like Christians?" "Ah, yes," sighed Fred; "it does. It is very beautiful, though, all the same." "Beautiful, sir? Ah, Master Fred, how I should like to put away my tools--I mean this here sword and pistol--and for you and me to take off our boots and stockings, and wade up yonder stream after the trout." "Hah!" ejaculated Fred, with his eyes brightening. "Yes." "Or to go away north, and get out on that there short soft grass, as always looks as if it had been kept well-mown, out there by the Rill Head, and lie down on our backs, and look at the sun shining on the sea and ships a-sailing along, eh, Master Fred?" "Oh, Samson, Samson, don't talk about it!" sighed Fred, as he gazed right away in imagination at the scene his rough companion painted. "Can't help it, sir. Feel as if I must. Steady, my lad! you mustn't break away for a gallop. We're soldiers now." This was to his horse, which felt grass beneath its feet and the wind blowing, and wanted to be off. "'Member how the rabbits used to scuttle off up there, Master Fred, and show their white tails as they popped into their holes?" Fred nodded, and let his reins fall upon his horse's neck. "And that there hole up in the Rill, sir? 'Member how I come and found your clothes up beside it, and fetched my garden line to fish for your rope?" "Oh yes, yes, yes!" said Fred, sadly. "And we never went down that place again, after all, sir. Well, let's hope that we shall some day. I'm getting tired of soldiering, and feel as if it would be a real pleasure to have a mug of our cider again, and pull up a weed." "I'm afraid I am getting tired of it, too, Samson; but I cannot see the end." "And on a fine day like this, sir, with the blue sky up above, and the green grass down below, and the birds singing, it's just lovely. Why, I feel so well and happy this morning that I do believe, if he was here, I could go so far as to shake hands with my brother Nat." "Why, of course, Samson," said Fred, thoughtfully. "No," added Samson, "I don't think I could go so far as that." "And if Scarlett Markham were here," thought Fred, "I believe I could grasp his hand, and be like a brother again, as in the past." "Wonder where we are going, and whether it means another fight, sir?" said Samson, after a pause. "Look, sir!--the colonel. Master's waving his hand." Fred saw the motion, and trotted up to his father's side. "Fred, my boy, do you know where we are making for?" "No, father!" "Home." "Oh, father!" said Fred, with his pale face flushing. "I am glad." "Oh, Fred, my boy," replied his father, seriously, "I am very sorry." "Sorry, father? Why, we may have a chance to see them all again." "Yes--perhaps; but we are taking the horrors of war to the abode of peace, my boy." "Yes," said Fred, thoughtfully. "I did not think of that." "It was our duty and hope that we might keep the ruin and misery brought by war from our pleasant moors and lanes. Better not see those we love at such a cost." "Then, don't let's go, father." Colonel Forrester shook his head. "A soldier's duty is to obey, Fred. Our general has had his orders, and feels that for military reasons our district will be the most suitable place for intercepting a force which is threatening the west; and our duty is to go." "Yes, father. But shall we see my mother?" "I hope not, Fred." "Oh, father!" "Not yet awhile, my boy. We must only think of those we love when our duty to our country is done." They rode on in silence for a time, with Fred picturing, amid the trampling of hoofs and jingle of weapons, the scenes of his boyhood, but to be awakened from his dream by his father's voice. "Do not talk about our destination. I only tell you, my boy, because it is a matter which interests us both." "No, father. You may trust me." "I know that, or I should not speak. Our destination is--" "Not the Manor, father?" "No, my boy, the Hall." Fred sat staring wildly at his father, as bit by bit he grasped what this really meant to these who had always been their nearest friends; and then, bubbling over with excitement, he exclaimed-- "Oh, father, Sir Godfrey will think this is your doing." "Yes, my boy." "And is it, father?" There was a pause. "Oh, father, how could you?" "Don't misjudge me, boy," said the colonel, sternly. "I have done everything I could to stop it." "And--" "Failed, Fred. It is a strong position for many reasons, and I have been compelled, by my duty to my country, to hold my peace. Rein back." It was the officer speaking now, and Fred checked his steed till Samson was nearly abreast of him again, when, after quite a dozen attempts to draw his young master into conversation, Samson muttered to himself, "In the grumps;" and rode on in silence too. _ |
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