Chapter 31. Samson To The Rescue

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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. SAMSON TO THE RESCUE

Unscathed, in spite of the terrible dangers of the _melee_, Fred, after succeeding in reaching his companions, joined them in their charge, and was driven back in their reverse, riding headlong as they rode in what was hardly a retreat, but rather a running fight, till seeing his opportunity, he made for where he could see General Hedley striving, in company with the officers, to check the retrograde movement, but striving in vain.

For there was a wild valour and dash exhibited by the Cavaliers, which for the time being carried all before them. No sooner had something like a rally been made by the Parliamentarians, than the Royalists charged at them in a headlong rush, which would have ended in almost total destruction with some troops.

But there was a sturdy solidity about the followers of General Hedley, and the result of these charges was that, while some fell, the others were merely moved here and there, and as soon as their assailants had passed on they seemed to hang together again, driven outward always, but not scattered. In fact, for mile after mile the running fight was continued, growing slower and slower as horse and man were wearied out, till, had a minute's grace been afforded them, General Hedley felt that he could have gathered his men together, and by one vigorous charge have changed the state of affairs.

But the opportunity for re-formation was never afforded, and the great crowd of mounted men of both parties rode on mingled together in confusion, right over the wild moorland countryside. The number of individual combats was almost countless, and their track was marked by the heather being dotted with fallen men, the wounded, and often the dismounted, and by exhausted or hopelessly foundered horses.

And still the fight went on, with the attacks growing more feeble, till the Cavaliers' horses could hardly be spurred into a canter, and many a one stopped short.

It was a strange flight, in which the beaten gave way slowly, and with an obstinate English tenacity of purpose, which made them cling to their enemies, and refuse to acknowledge their rout. They were broken up, and, according to all preconceived notions of cavalry encounters, they ought to have scattered and fled, but they only went on as they were driven and broken up in knots, and the Cavalier leader knew perfectly well that the moment he ceased his efforts, the other party would, as it were, flow together again and return their charge, perhaps with fatal results to his little force, for his men were growing completely exhausted.

"If I could only get a troop together!" muttered General Hedley between his teeth; and again and again he tried to rally his men. But the Cavaliers dashed at them directly, the efforts proved vain, and the _melee_ continued--a struggle in which order was absent, and men struck and rode at each other, broke their weapons, and often engaged in a mounted wrestling bout, which ended in a pair of adversaries falling headlong to the ground. Fred would have been out of the skirmish early in the engagement from the exhaustion of his horse, but as the pace grew slower, the poor brute recovered itself somewhat, and whenever flight or attack grew more rapid, exerted itself naturally to keep as near as could be in the ranks.

The scene was terrible for one so young, as he sat there grimly, often in the middle of a confused crowd, his sword drawn ready more for defence than offence, for now that the excitement of the flight was over, and he had rejoined his regiment, there was little of the blind desire to strike and slay in Fred Forrester's breast. He contented himself with turning aside thrusts and meeting blows with a clever guard, as some Cavalier tried to reach him, while twice over he found another sword interposed on his behalf.

The fight must have lasted for half an hour, when about a dozen of the Cavaliers raised a shout, and made a dash at where General Hedley was slowly retreating, their object being evidently to take him prisoner before, from sheer exhaustion, the pursuit was given up.

But the idea was not so easy to carry out, though for the moment the general was alone. The horse he rode was strong and fairly fresh, those of his would-be captors pretty well foundered, and, in addition, there was help at hand.

Fred had just had a narrow escape, for a stout Cavalier had forced his own horse alongside, contriving, in spite of the lad's efforts, to get upon his left or weaker side, and pressing him sorely. Fred had need for all the skill with the sword he had picked up since he had been with the army, and he had dire need for more power in his muscles, for after a minute's foining and thrusting, he found his guard beaten down through his adversary's superior strength, a hand was outstretched, catching him by the collar of his jerkin, and in spite of his efforts he was dragged sidewise toward the pommel of his enemy's horse.

"I'll have one prisoner, at all events," growled the man, fiercely; and he gave Fred's horse a savage kick in the ribs, with the intention of making him start away.

Had the horse followed the enemy's wishes, his rider would have been unseated, but, instead of starting away, the well-drilled beast pressed closer alongside the horse by his side, and Fred still clung to the saddle.

"Ah, you wretched young Puritan spawn! Would you sting?" growled the man, as Fred made a desperate effort to use his sword. "Then take that."

The Cavalier rose in his stirrups, and was in the act of striking with all his might, when a fresh sword parted the air like a flash, swung as it was by a muscular arm, and the middle of the blade caught the Cavalier trooper right upon the plated cheek-strap of the morion he wore, dividing it so that the steel cap flew off, and the man dropped back over the cantle of his saddle, his frightened horse making a bound forward and carrying his master a dozen yards before he fell heavily on the heath.

"Who says I can't use a sword as well as a scythe?" cried a familiar voice.

"Oh, Samson, you've saved my life," cried Fred.

"Serve you right, too, my lad--I mean, serve him right, too. Trying to chop down a boy like you."

"I am sorry. Look, look, look!" cried Fred, excitedly.

"Eh? Look? What at?"

"Over yonder, where all those Cavaliers are crowding together to make another charge."

"Yes, I see 'em. What a state their horses are in!"

"But don't you see Scarlett Markham? And who's that with them? I see now. Your brother."

"What, Nat? Where, where? Let me get at him. There's going to be a prisoner took now, Master Fred, and he'll have to look sharp to get away."

Samson set spurs to his horse, but Fred checked him by seizing the bridle.

"No, no," he said; "keep by me, and let's close up to the general. This is no time for personal feelings, Samson. We must think only of our party."

"Ah, well, I won't hurt him, Master Fred; but how would you like your brother to be hunting you about the country, as Nat has been hunting us? Wouldn't you like to have a turn at him?"

"I have no brother, Samson," replied Fred, as he glanced in the direction where, about a hundred yards away, Scarlett was in the midst of a group of the Cavaliers, who were steadily driving the grim Cromwellian troopers before them, and effectually keeping them from combining so as to retaliate with effect.

Then Scarlett was hidden from his sight, and yielding slowly step by step, the Parliamentarians kept up a defiant retreat.

It might be supposed that at such a time the slaughter would be terrible; but, after the first onset, when men went down headlong, the number of killed and wounded were few. For there were no withering volleys of musketry, no field-pieces playing upon the disorganised cavalry from a distance; it was a sheer combat of mounted men armed with the sword, against whose edge and point defensive armour was worn; and in consequence many of the wounds were insignificant, more injuries being received by men being dismounted than by the blades.

The officers of the retreating party kept up their efforts to rally their little force, but always in vain, for the gathering together of a cluster of men resulted in the Cavaliers making that the point for which they made, and they carried all before them.

"They are more than two to one, literally," growled the general, fiercely, as he felt that there was nothing to be done but to summon his men to follow, and, taking advantage of the fresher state of their horses, put on all the speed they could, and make for a valley right ahead, where they might elude their pursuers, and accepting the present defeat endeavour to make up for it another time.

Giving the order then, the trumpet rang out, and the men sullenly obeyed, setting spurs to their horses, and for the most part extricating themselves from their pursuers, whose horses began to stagger and even stop as their masters urged them to the ascent of a slope, up which the Parliamentarians were retreating.

This being the case, their own leader ordered his trumpeter to sound a halt, and the successful party set up a tremendous cheer as they waved their hats and flashed their swords in the sunshine.

"Yes," muttered General Hedley, as he looked back at his triumphant enemies exulting over his defeat, but too helpless to pursue, "make much of it; a reverse may come sooner than you expect."

"I don't like being beaten like this, Master Fred," grumbled Samson, leaning over to smooth the reeking coat of the horse his young master rode; "and it's all your fault."

"My fault? How?"

"Holding me back as you did, and letting that brother of mine get away sneering and sniggering at me, with his nose cocked up in the air, and swelling with pride till he's like the frog in the fable."

"How do you know he was sneering at you?" said Fred, who felt stiff, sore, and as if he would give anything to dismount and lie down among the soft elastic heather.

"How do I know, sir? Why, because it's his nature to. You don't understand him as I do. I can't see him, because I can't look through that hill, but I know as well as can be that he's riding on his horse close to Master Scarlett, and going off."

"Going off?"

"Yes, sir, in little puffs of laughing. It's his aggravating way. And he's keeping on saying, 'Poor old Samson!' till it makes my blood bile."

"What nonsense! He is more likely to be riding away jaded, and sore, and disheartened."

"Not he, sir, because he aren't got no heart, and never had none-- leastways, not a proper sort of heart. I can feel it, and I always could. He's a-sneering at us all, and thinking how he has beaten us, when, if you had let me have my head, I could have gone at him sword in hand--"

"And cut his head off?"

"Cut his head off, sir? Why, it aren't worth cutting off. I mean to keep my sword, which is a real good bit o' stuff, and as sharp as a scythe, for better heads than his. I wouldn't stoop to do it. No, Master Fred, I tell you what I'd have done: I'd have ridden up to him right afore 'em all, and I should have said, 'Nat, my lad, your time's come;' and I should have laid hold of him by the scruff of the neck, and beat him with the flat of the blade till he went down on his knees and said he wouldn't do so any more."

"Do what any more, Samson?"

"Everything as he have been doing."

"And suppose he wouldn't have let you beat him before all the others?"

"Wouldn't have let me, Master Fred? He'd have been obliged to. I should have made him."

"You are too modest, Samson," said Fred, laughing.

"Oh no, I'm not, sir--not a bit. I wish sometimes I was a bit more so. But you should have let me go at him, sir. I'd have made him run, like a sheep with a dog at his heels."

"Ah, Samson," cried Fred, wearily, "it's sore work when brothers are fighting against each other."

"No worse, sir, than two such friends as you and Master Scarlett was. Why, you was more than brothers. Oh, I don't like this here at all."

"What?"

"Running away with our tails between our legs, like so many dogs with stones thrown at 'em."

"It is miserable work, but better than being taken prisoners."

They rode on down into the coombe, and followed its wanderings with rear and advance guards, though they felt but little fear of pursuit, and for a long time hardly a word was spoken along the ranks. The horses were going at a foot-pace, and as they went the troopers played surgeon to each other, and bound up the slight wounds they had received, for these were many, though not enough to render them beyond fighting if necessity should occur.

Once the general called a halt, and posted scouts on the hills around, while he gave his men an opportunity to water their horses at the running stream at the bottom of the coombe, and to attend to the wounds the poor beasts had received, many a sword-cut intended for the rider having fallen upon his horse.

The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, passing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me more than you can help." Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.

The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.

"What are you thinking about, Master Fred?"

"I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his."

"He'd better," said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, "Oh, I don't feel afraid about that, sir. He's sure to. You see, he's a gentleman, and there's a deal in being a gentleman. He'll take care of her, never fear. That's not what I was thinking."

"What were you thinking, then?" said Fred, anxiously.

"Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener--"

"Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson," said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.

"Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren't neglecting anything, and there's nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one's self speak."

"Then speak out, and say what you were thinking."

"I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now."

"A horse? Why?"

"So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green grass."

"Why, Samson!"

"Ah, you don't know, Master Fred. I'm that hungry, it wouldn't be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I'd eat 'em raw."

"I'm sorry, Samson, and I haven't a scrap of food with me."

"No, sir, nor nobody else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren't the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry."

"Because you are so hungry?"

"No, sir; but when I think of what we've left behind at the Hall. Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!" groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, "those hams!"

Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Well, Master Fred," said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse's neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, "I did think better of you than to s'pose you'd laugh at other folk's troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn't so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn't got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat's bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn't so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales."

"What of, Samson?"

"My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir," said Samson, triumphantly.

"Told tales of your brother--of Nat?"

"Yes, sir. There was a twang in that cider that said quite aloud, 'Dirty barrel,' and that he hadn't taken the trouble to properly wash it out before it was used; but all the same, though it was half spoiled by his neglect, I'd give anything for a mugful of it now, and a good big home-made bread cake."

"So would I, Samson," said Fred, smiling.

"And them enemies with my brother are all riding comfortably back to feast and sleep; and while we're camping cold and miserable on the hills, they'll all be singing and rejoicing."

"I hope they are thinking more of the poor wounded fellows they will have to pick up on their way back. Hallo! Look! Steady there. Halt!"

He passed the word received from the front, for half a mile ahead, on one of the hills, a scout was signalling.

Fresh men were sent forward, and as the signals evidently meant danger ahead, the general hurriedly took up a position of advantage, one which gave him the choice of advance or retreat.

"Dismount!" was the next order, so as to rest the horses as much as possible.

"More fighting," said Samson, in a low, grumbling tone. "Well, if one don't get enough to eat, one get's enough hard knocks, and I never felt miserly over them. Look here, Master Fred, are we going to have another scrummage?"

"Hush! Yet, I think so."

"So do I, sir," said Samson, taking up his belt another hole. "Very well, then; I'm that hungry, that I'm regularly savage now, and this time I mean to hit with all my might."

"Silence, there!" said a deep stern voice, and General Hedley rode along the regiment, scrutinising his little force, and waiting the return of the men sent out before deciding whether he should make a bold advance or a cautious retreat.

The horses took advantage of the halt to begin cropping the tender growth around, and as Fred listened and watched the movements of the scouts far away on the hillside, it seemed hard to realise that he was in the midst of war, for high overhead a lark was singing sweetly, as it circled round and round, ever rising heavenward; and at his feet there was the regular tearing sound of the grass.

These recollections of home and peace came back as, with a look of boyish pleasure on his face, Samson pointed to the lovely little copper butterflies flitting here and there, their dotted wings glistening in the sun.

"Look at 'em, Master Fred," he whispered; and then stood with his hand upon his horse's withers, the stern man of war once more, as his master made a gesture bidding him hold his peace.

For quite half an hour they stood there by their horses' sides, every minute being of value in the rest and refreshment it afforded the weary beasts.

The scouts could be seen following up, as it were, the movements of some force hidden by the hills from where the regiment had halted, and by degrees they began to work over the eminence and disappeared, while the general seemed to be fretting with impatience, till all at once those near him heard him utter a low "Hah!" and he gave the order to his men to prepare to mount.

A thrill ran through the long line of men, and Fred heard his follower utter a low, adjuration to his unwilling steed.

"Leave off eating, will you? Hold your head up. Who are you, that you are to go on feasting while your master starves?"

The horse looked at him reproachfully, and had to content itself with chewing a few strands of grass off his bit.

The reason for the general's order was plain enough directly, for they could see one of the advance men coming back at full gallop down the distant hill, and long before he could reach them the other scouts appeared, retiring slowly in two lines, one sitting fast and facing the approaching force, while the other careered by them, and took up a fresh position in their rear.

There were only ten men out, at a distance of sixty or seventy yards apart, but as they drew nearer to their goal their lines contracted, and this was continued so that they could ride in as a compact little knot.

Meanwhile the first man came tearing in as fast as his horse could go, and when he was a few hundred yards away, the order was given, and the dismounted men sprang into the saddle.

"Don't seem to have a bit of fight left in me now," muttered Samson. "No dinner, and no Nat here to make a man feel savage. Wish I was back at the Manor, digging my bit o' ground. Anybody might fight for me."

At that moment a fresh order was given, and every man sat stern and ready for the advance or retreat, wondering which way they would go, and of what nature the force was, evidently advancing fast. _

Read next: Chapter 32. The Hall Changes Masters Again

Read previous: Chapter 30. A Desperate Gallop

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