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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 35. Samson Visits His Brother |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. SAMSON VISITS HIS BROTHER No orders were given for attack that night, and Fred went to the rough shelter that served him for tent, to lie down, but not to sleep, for his thoughts were either at the Manor, which was to him as if it were a hundred miles away; at the Hall, where he knew that the little Royalist party were doing everything to resist the impending attack; or in the gloomy old patch of ancient forest they called the wilderness, where poor Nat lay helpless, and very little removed from death. "I can't sleep," said Fred, at last, as he rose from his bed, which consisted of a pile of heather, over which his horseman's cloak was thrown, and impetuously hurrying out, he stood gazing up at the bright stars, with the cool moist wind from the north-west bearing to his hot cheeks the freshness of the sea. "Perhaps dying," he said to himself at last. "I can't lie there thinking about it. I will go, at all costs, and he shall go with me." He stepped back into his rough tent, buckled on his sword, threw the strap of a wallet over his head, and then took the remainder of his evening meal and a small flask, which he placed in the wallet. This done, he paused for a few moments, and then sought a scarf and a couple of handkerchiefs, which he also thrust into the wallet. The next minute he was groping his way toward the place in a thick grove where the horses were picketed; and he had not far to look, on reaching his own, before finding Samson curled up in a half-sitting, half-lying position between the mossy buttresses formed by the roots of a huge beech. Stooping down, he seized his henchman's shoulder, and shook him, but only elicited a grunt. He shook him again, but though his act was more vigorous, it only elicited a fresh series of grunts. "You idle pig!" cried Fred, angrily, as he administered a kick; "get up!" _Snore_! A long-drawn, deep-toned snore. "Samson! I want you." No response. Samson's senses were so deeply steeped in sleep that nothing seemed to rouse him. "I wish I had a pin," muttered Fred, as he kicked and shook again, without effect. "And there isn't a thorn anywhere near. Spurs!" he exclaimed. "No," he added in a disappointed tone--"too blunt. There's no water to rouse him nearer than the lake; and if there was, it would be too bad to let him go about drenched. What shall I do? Samson, get up; I want you. I'll prick you with my sword, if you don't wake up." "Tell him the enemy's here, sir," said a sleepy man lying close by. "Wouldn't wake him, if he did," grumbled another. The men's remarks suggested an idea which made Fred smile, as he went down on one knee, placed his lips close to Samson's ear, and whispered-- "Well, I wouldn't let him meddle with my garden. Your brother Nat." That one word, "Nat," seemed to run echoing through all the convolutions of Samson Dee's brain, and he started up at once, full of eagerness and thoroughly awakened, as if by a magic touch. "Nat?" he said. "Who spoke of Nat? Here, where is he?" "Are you awake?" "Awake, sir? Yes, sir. I was dreaming about my brother Nat coming and interfering with our garden. Beg pardon, Master Fred, but I was dead asleep. Want me, sir? Your horse?" "I want you to come with me." "Yes, sir, of course," cried Samson, "Ready in a minute." He was ready in less, for all the dressing he had to do consisted in buckling on the sword, which hung from a knot in the beech-tree, and sticking on his steel cap. "Don't ask questions, Samson, but come along." Fred led the way out of the camp and down by the lake, which he skirted till he had passed round the extreme end, when, to Samson's astonishment, Fred struck out straight for the wilderness. "We going to surprise them up at the Hall, sir, and take it all by ourselves?" Samson whispered at last, for he could contain himself no longer. "No; I am going to surprise you, Samson," was the reply, in a low whisper, as they went on, their way lying between two lines of sentinels, the outposts being posted further away, and those who hemmed in the little garrison being run right up as near as possible to the Hall, so as to guard against any sally or attempt at evasion. "Nothing won't surprise me now," muttered Samson, as he tramped on slowly behind his leader in a very ill humour, which he did not display, for it was not pleasant for a heavy sleeper to be roused from his rest. "But it don't matter. I'm about ready for anything now. Why, what's he going to do up in the old wilderness? Oh, I know; after rabbits. Well, that's better. A biled rabbit for dinner to-morrow, and a bit o' bacon, will be like a blessing to a hungry man. Heigh--ho! ha--hum! how sleepy I do feel." "Hist!" "Right, Master Fred." "There are sentinels a hundred yards to the right, and a hundred yards to the left," whispered Fred, in his companion's ear. "Which as you haven't measured it, sir, you don't know," said Samson to himself. But replying in a whisper, he said, "Yes, Master Fred, but you didn't fetch me out of bed to tell me that." "No; I tell you now, to keep you from yawning like the Silcombe bull." "Well, I couldn't help it, sir; but I won't do so no more." "Keep close behind me, tread softly, and as soon as we get up to the wilderness move every bough as carefully as you can." "Rabbits, sir?" "No, no. Silence! Follow me." "'Course I'll follow him; but what's he going after? Well, I aren't surprised. Nothing surprises me now that the place is turned upside down. I don't believe I should feel surprised if my brother Nat was to want to shake hands, though that would be a startler." Samson went on musing after his fashion, as he kept close to Fred's heels, and they went quickly and silently on over the soft wet grass, till a great black patch began to loom over them, grew more dark, and then, after a few moments' hesitation and trying to right and left, Fred plunged in, to force his way as carefully as possible, but making very slow progress toward the spot he sought, for to a great extent it was guess-work in the utter blackness which reigned around. "I say, Master Fred?" whispered Samson, as a pause was made. "Yes." "You said something just now about the Silcombe bull." "Well?" "I wish he was here." "Why?" "So as to go first and make a way. I'm getting scratched all to bits." "I think we are right. Come along." "Come along it is, sir; but I'm getting so thirsty." They went on for a few minutes more, and then Samson uttered an exclamation. "Hush!" whispered Fred. "But didn't you hear that, sir? It's the guytrash." "Here, this way," whispered Fred. "I can find the place now." "No, no, dear lad, don't go near it," said Samson, under his breath. "You never know what may happen, if you go near it. Don't, pray don't go." Samson emphasised his appeal by holding tightly to his young master's jerkin, impeding his movements to such an extent that Fred turned upon him fiercely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said, "with your guytrashes and goblins, and witches and nonsense." "What, sir! Why, didn't you hear it moan yonder?" "I heard a sigh." "Well, sir, that was the guytrash calling to you to come, so as to get hold of you; and if it did I should never see you again." "Not if it keeps as dark as this, you stupid old grub. I know what made that sound. Come along." "What, are you going to risk it, sir, in spite of all I said?" "Yes; I am going on there." "Very well, sir. I didn't want to die like this in the dark, and I don't know whether weapons is of any use against things like that; but I'll stand by you, Master Fred, to the end." As he spoke, there was a faint grating sound which attracted Fred's attention. "Were you drawing your sword?" he whispered. "Yes, sir." "What for?" "To cut the guytrash down, if I can." "Put it away," whispered Fred, angrily. "What you have come to see wants no cutting down. It's a wounded man." "Oh!" ejaculated Samson, as he thrust his sword back into its sheath. "Why didn't you say so sooner, Master Fred?" "This way--this way," came back to him, accompanied by the rustling of branches and the sharp tearing noise made by thorns. "Yes; here we are." Samson followed closely, with his arms outstretched, and in a minute or two he heard a sound which made him bend down to feel that Fred was kneeling, and the next moment talking to some one prostrate there in the darkness. "Well, how are you?" "Is that you, Master Fred?" came in a husky whisper, which made Samson start. "Yes; I've brought you some bread and wine. How are the wounds?" "Don't give me much pain, sir, now." "Master Fred." "Well?" "Who's that?" "Can't you hear, Samson? Your brother Nat." There was utter silence for a minute, during which it seamed as if Samson was holding his breath, for at the end of that pause, he gave vent to a low hissing sound, which continued till it seemed wonderful that the man should have been able to retain so much air. "Drink some of this," Samson heard Fred whisper; and there was the peculiar gurgling sound as of liquid escaping from a bottle, followed by another whisper bidding the sufferer eat. "Look here, Master Fred," said Samson, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise to speak. "What is it?" "Do you know who it is you're talking to there in the dark?" "Yes; your brother Nat." Samson remained silent and motionless as one of the trees for a minute. Then he caught Fred by the shoulder. "What is it, Samson? Do you hear any one?" "No, sir; I was only thinking about what I ought to do now. Just stand aside, and let me come." "What for?" "Well, sir, that's what I don't know. Ought I to--? You see, he's an enemy." "Samson, we can't leave him here, poor fellow! He may die for want of attention." "Well, sir, then there'd be one enemy the less." "Yes. Shall we leave him to die?" "No, sir; that we won't," said Samson, severely. "We've got to make him prisoner, taking him up to my quarters, let the doctor make him well, and then I've got to spend an hour with him, just to set him to rights and pay him all I owe. Here, you sir, do you know who I am?" "Yes," said the wounded man, feebly. "Then look here; you've got to come on my back, and I'm going to carry you up to the camp." "Master Fred." "Yes, my lad." "Don't let him touch me," whispered Nat. "I couldn't bear to be moved, sir." "Not if we carried you gently?" "No, sir; I feel as if it would kill me. If you could leave me some bread, sir, and some water, and let me alone, I should get well in time. I'm only doing what the dogs do, sir, when they're hurt. I've crawled into a hole, sir, and I shall either die or get well, just the same as they do." Fred refused to be convinced, but on trying to raise the poor fellow he seemed to inflict so much agony that he gave up, and felt disposed to return to his first ideas of coming to see the poor fellow from time to time, and giving him food. "Better, after all, Samson," he said. "What, leaving him, sir?" "Yes. You do not want to see him a prisoner?" "I don't want to see him at all, sir. He has disgraced his family by fighting against his brother. Did you bring anything to cover him up, sir?" "No, Samson, I did not think of that." "Well, sir, you mustn't let him die," muttered Samson; and there was a peculiar rasping sound. "What are you doing?" "Only getting off my leather coat, sir. Lay that over him. It may rain again any time, and he might be getting cold." Fred caught the coat, laid it gently over the wounded man, and he was in the act of bending down to hear what he whispered by way of thanks, when there was a sharp report close at hand. "Quick! An attack," said Fred, excitedly; and the next moment he and Samson were struggling out of the wilderness, just as shot after shot ran along the line, as the alarm spread, and directly after the ear-piercing call rang out on the clear night air, and was echoed again and again among the distant hills. _ |
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