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Marcus: The Young Centurion, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. In The Snowy Pass |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. IN THE SNOWY PASS Serge's announcement was quite correct, for while the Romans rested, the enemy had been gathering together again among the hills, and were coming on in force to attack the camp; but what they had failed to do by their night attack proved doubly difficult in the light of day. The little Roman force, though vastly outnumbered and surrounded, was well commanded by a skilful officer, who was able, by keeping his well-disciplined men together, to roll back the desultory attacks delivered on all sides, till, quite disheartened, the enemy retreated in all directions and the march was resumed again. That day's tramp and the many that followed were a succession of marches through an enemy's country, with the foe always on the watch to harass the little force, and cut it off from joining the main invading body far ahead. Every day brought its skirmishes, with victory constantly on the Roman side. There was no want of bravery on the enemy's part, but the discipline of the little civilised division with its strong coherence was too much for the loose dashes, ambushes, and traps that were laid. The consequence was a slow, steady advance that nothing could impede, through the fertile plains of the South and ever onward, with the snow-capped mountains growing nearer and nearer, till the great pass was at hand that had been traversed by the main army, and no difficulty was then experienced as to the route, for its passage was marked plainly enough by the traces of the many encounters and the ruin and destruction that indicated its way. "Shall we never overtake them?" said Marcus, one evening. "Well, if we keep on I suppose we shall," replied the old soldier. "But what's your hurry? Are you tired out?" "Oh, no," cried the boy; "we don't go fast enough for that; but I am anxious to join father once again." "Humph!" grunted Serge. "I don't feel so much in a hurry myself. Perhaps we shan't overtake him at all." "But we are going to join the army." "We are going just where our captain takes us, boy. He's doing his work splendidly, and so are we." "What, keeping on with these little petty skirmishes?" "Of course, boy. Don't you see how we are keeping the enemy from closing in about the army's rear, and saving them from destroying and burning every homestead and village whose supplies are wanted for our men?" "Oh, I don't quite understand," cried Marcus, impatiently. "Leave it to your leader, then, boy. That's what a good soldier ought to do. But what's the matter with you? Cold?" "Yes, horribly. Why, it was as hot as could be in the valley this morning." "Well, no wonder," said Serge, with a grim smile. "We were all amongst the trees and pleasant grass down there, and now on each side and straight before you--" "Yes," said Marcus, as he glanced around him. "It looks all very bleak and bare down here." "Up here, boy. We have been steadily rising all the day. Look at the ice and snow up yonder and straight before us. This time to-morrow we shall be shivering amongst the snow." "But we can't get the horses and the baggage right over that mountain in front." And he pointed at the jagged peaks and hollows which were glistening like gold in the last rays of the setting sun. "No, boy, but we can go on along this rugged valley, which leads right through, and then when we get to the top of the pass begins to go down again, when we shall find it getting warmer every hour till we are once more in the plains amongst the green fields and forests of the enemy's country. Look there at that stream," and the old soldier pointed to the dingy-coloured rushing waters which flowed by the side of the level which their leader had chosen as the site of that night's camp. "Yes, I see; and it isn't fit to drink," said Marcus. "Snow water," said the old man, shortly. "Well, which way does it run?" "Why, towards us, of course." "Well, by this time to-morrow, if it's like one that I tramped by with your father years ago, we shall have found it coming out from underneath a bed of ice, left it behind, and on the other side of the hill come upon another flowing right away to the north and west; and alongside of that road will be our road, right into the enemy's country, and the enemy posted every here and there to stop us from reaching the plain-- that is, if Julius and your father have not driven them right away. But most likely they have, and all our troubles now will come from the rear." Serge's remarks, based upon old experience, proved to be pretty correct, for the troubles of the little force began to come thick and fast. Up to the time of that last halt the attacks had been made by the little parties, each under its own leader, and they came from front, rear, and flanks, in all directions, for the rush made by one portion of a tribe would act as the signal for others to follow suit, and it frequently happened that the Roman soldiers were completely surrounded. But now as they moved on towards the north and west, the pass they had entered and which wound or zig-zagged its way more into the mountain chain which divided the land of the Gauls from the Roman dominions, closed in more and more, beginning as a beautiful open valley and gradually changing its nature as it rose till it assumed the nature of a gorge or rift. The sides were no longer soft grassy slopes broken by little vales which afforded shelter for the enemy, and from which they made their fiercest rushes, coming down like furious torrents from the hills and often in company with the streams by whose sides they made their way, but hour by hour grew steeper till they assumed the nature of rugged walls, impassable to any but climbers or the goats that browsed their sterile paths in herds. The mountains here towered up higher and higher in their stern frowning majesty, scantily furnished with growth, save here and there the earth that had been washed down from above afforded sustenance to a patch of spear-like pines with their dark, sombre, blackish green needles. The roughest of rough stony tracks was now the detachment's path, and it became hard work, approaching to climbing, for the heavily-armed foot soldiers, difficult for the cavalry--whose horses needed the sure-footedness of mules to get along, their riders having to dismount and lead their steeds--while for the little train of chariots the difficulties were almost insurmountable. The pony-like pairs that drew them were safer footed and got on better than the heavier animals that bore the Roman mounted men, but the chariots were always in need of help. Sometimes one wheel would be high in the air, sometimes the other, while often the drivers and riders had to make a rush to help drag or push the low, heavy vehicles over some more rugged spot. For there was no regular road now that they were beyond the Roman dominions, where directly a country was conquered the new owners set themselves to form a level military road, but simply a rough, rock-encumbered track. "Yes, it's bad going," Serge said, "but it would want a far worse way than this to keep back a Roman army. Our men with all their baggage have been along here, as you see, so of course we can follow; and it's splendid for us in the way of safety." "Yes," agreed Marcus; "every attack must come now from the front or rear. These mountain walls make splendid allies to guard our flanks." "Front--rear--flanks! Well done!" cried Serge. "I like that. You're getting quite the soldier, my boy." Matters proved to be better still as they moved higher up the pass, not in the way of the road improving, but respecting the difficulties with the enemy, for after the latter had made a brave stand in one spot where the pass widened out for a space, and fought stubbornly for a while, the little Roman force cut their way through and into the narrow portion where the walls of the gorge closed quite up on either side, leaving only room for the grey muddy stream and the road track along which Marcus and his friends made their way, completely freed from all attack save from the rear, where a fierce pursuit was kept up, fresh parties of the enemy giving up and retreating after delivering their attack and being rolled back. The fighting was sharp, the brunt of it being borne by the foot soldiers, who protected the rear, while the chariots were forced over the many difficulties and the horses helped along, a portion of the foot being far in advance, ready for any body of the enemy which might be blocking their way in ambush. It had been rough work that day, and the men, after the amount of fighting they had gone through, were beginning to look dispirited and feel disheartened, for in addition to the length of the struggle, the supplies had run short, and everyone knew that no more food could be obtained until they had forced their way through the desolate pass, over the summit, and down the other side to the cultivated and inhabited regions below. But their leader was well suited to his task, and he seemed to be everywhere, with a word or two of encouragement and praise, stopping to help the men with the baggage animals, heading a party sent forward to lever the great blocks of stone that impeded progress, and ready directly after to urge his trembling horse back among the rocks the moment the echoes of the shouts behind warned him that there was a fresh attack in the rear. There were two of these, one directly after the start at sunrise, and a second high up the pass at mid-day, when as he bade the horsemen and the chariots pass on, he laughingly in Marcus' hearing told his soldiery to make use of the loose rocks to form a rough breastwork behind which they could fight, and all the better for the cavalry being out of their way. That fight was bitter and long sustained, and as the turmoil came echoing up the gorge to where Marcus and Serge were striving hard to master the difficulties before them and urge their willing little chariot horses on, the latter frowned as he rubbed his blue nose and responded to something Marcus had said. "No, my lad," he replied; "they're not getting the better of our men, and they will not. We hear so much of what is going on because the sound comes up as if through a trumpet." "Comes up, Serge?" "Yes, my lad; we're a couple of thousand feet higher than they are below yonder, and the reason the fight lasts so long is because the enemy keep on bringing up fresh men." "Think so?" said Marcus. "I'm sure of it, my lad. Yesterday and before there were thousands of them scattered in droves all about us; now the pass is so narrow that they are all squeezed up together; and so much the better for us." "Why?" asked Marcus. "Because we've got such a narrow front to defend. Why, you know what a scrap of road there was where the captain halted his men." "Yes," said Marcus; "just like a gash cut through the rock." "That's right," said the old soldier. "Well, a line of twenty men would have been sufficient to guard that bit." "More than enough," said Marcus. "Right, boy. Well, he has got six or seven hundred there, and no army that the enemy can bring up can drive our men from that stronghold. There are only two things that can master them." "What are they?" said Marcus, anxiously. "Cold and hunger." "Ah!" sighed Marcus. "There, don't groan like that, boy," cried the old soldier, sharply. "It sounded as if you hadn't had anything to eat for a week, and I'm sure you're not cold." "Then you're wrong," cried Marcus, "for I am bitterly cold." "That shows you haven't worked hard enough. Come on and let's get behind the chariot and help the horses with a push." "Yes, presently," said Marcus, as he glanced at the brave little beasts, which looked hot in spite of the fact that a chilly wind was blowing down the gorge, and that they were standing up to their knees in snow. "I'm a bit out of breath too." "Don't talk, then, boy," growled Serge. "Save your wind." "But I want to talk," continued Marcus. "You've been over this pass before?" "Nay, not this one, boy, but one like it farther east." "Like this? But was it so strange?" "What do you mean by strange, my lad?" "Why, for us to be going to rest last night with the country all round seeming to be in summer, while as we've come along to-day we've got into autumn, and now we're going right into the depth of winter." "Yes, my lad, but it's summer all the same. It's only because we're so high up, same as you used to see it at home when you looked up towards the mountains and saw them covered with snow." "But this doesn't look like snow, Serge," said the boy, kicking up the icy particles. "It is more like piled-up heaps of hail after a heavy storm. Ugh! It does look winterly! Ice and snow everywhere, and not a green thing to be seen." "All the more reason, boy, why we should push on, get over the highest bit, and then every step we take will be for the better." "Shall we be out of this cutting icy wind that comes roaring up between these two great walls of rock?" "To be sure we shall," said Serge, cheerfully; "and it'll be something to talk about when we've done it and are down below in the warm sunshine to-morrow morning, eating new bread and drinking milk." "I don't want to talk about it, Serge," said Marcus, beginning to talk in a dull, drowsy way. "I shall want to sleep and rest. I feel as if I could do so now." "Do you? Then you mustn't; and we must stop anyone who tries to. Why, it reminds me, boy, of old times when we crossed that other pass. Some of our men would lie down to sleep, but they never got up again." "Why?" cried Marcus, in a horrified tone. "Frozen stiff, boy. Once you're up amongst the snow you can't stop, only to get breath; you must push on; and I wish someone would give me orders to go on now." Marcus was silent for a few moments, as if thinking deeply. "Don't feel more sleepy, boy, do you?" said Serge, sharply. "No; that seems to have woke me up," was the reply; and taking a few steps forward with difficulty, for his feet sank right in at every step, Marcus leaned over into the car and caught Lupe by the ear where he lay curled up with his rough coat on end. The boy's movement was quickly and excitedly performed, a feeling of dread having attacked him that the dog might have been frozen stiff; but at the touch the animal gave a cheery bark, bounded out of the car, and began to plough his way through the snow, at first after the fashion of a pig, and then by throwing himself down first on one side and then upon the other. "I was half afraid, Serge," said Marcus. "You needn't have been, boy," replied the old soldier. "You see, Nature's given him a warm, thick coat, and he makes it thicker whenever he likes by setting his bristles up on end." "But that would make it more open and thinner, Serge." "Nay, but it don't, boy. Somehow it keeps warm all inside between the hairs, and the cold can't get through." "I don't understand why that should be, Serge," said Marcus, thoughtfully. "I don't neither," said the man, "but it is so. It's one of those funny things in Nature. Why, look at the birds. What do they do when a snow storm comes down from the mountains in winter? They don't squeeze their feathers down tight, do they?" "No," said Marcus, thoughtfully; "they seem to set them all up on end, just as they do when they go to roost, and they look twice as big." "To be sure they do, boy. You don't feel sleepy now?" "No, not a bit. But I say, Serge, will there be more snow higher up the pass?" "Most likely, boy; and I want to get at the job of fighting our way through it. We ought to be going on. Hallo! Hear that?" "Yes. What does it mean?" "It's the reason why we with the horses are not pushed on. That's what I was afraid of." "Afraid?" "There, don't take a man up short that way," growled Serge. "I didn't mean afraid; I meant expected. The enemy have attacked our men right up yonder in the front, and they've got us between them. Well, all the better. Something for us to do, and keep us warm." "But I was hoping that we might be pushed on now." "So was I, boy, but it won't be yet," growled Serge. "I say, don't let your mouth get watering for the new bread and warm milk just yet." "No," groaned Marcus, rather piteously. "But it will be all the nicer and sweeter when it comes, boy. I say, there was only one thing that could possibly have happened to make us worse off." "What, having to fight in this snow, Serge?" "Nay, that would have warmed us, lad. I meant, come on to snow." "Snow at this time of year?" cried Marcus. "It snows up in the mountains at all times of the year, boy," growled Serge. "Down below in the plains it only rains, but up here it snows; and here it comes, and someone else too. I expect things are going wrong in the rear, or else he has heard the attack in front, and has come to see." For a blinding and dense squall of snow came raging through the pass, leaving horsemen and chariots as white as their chief, whose horse came churning its way through the hail-like coating that stood half way up the wheels, close to which its rider reined in. "Find it cold, my lads?" he cried cheerily, and was answered by a chorus of assent. "Well, I've brought you up news to warm you. The men below are holding the enemy in check, and they have begun to retire, which means to support us and drive those back who are trying to stop us at the head of the pass. Make ready. Ah, my boy, you there? Well, are you tired of seeking your father?" Marcus shook his head. "Well," said the captain, "tired or not there is no going back, for you could not cut through two or three thousand of the enemy alone. There, we shall soon be through this frozen pass, and making our way down into the sunny plains. Winter now, and summer this time to-morrow. Ready there, advance!" As their chief spoke loudly, Marcus caught sight through the haze of snow which seemed to hold the darkness of night above, the head of a column of the foot soldiers making a steady advance, looking as if they were wearing a fresh form of decoration, every man's helmet plume being increased in size by a trimming of the purest, whitest swans-down or filmy, flocculent silver itself. But there was no time for studying appearances; all now was stern, earnest work. At the first order given by the chief, Lupe seemed to take it that he was concerned, and set up a hoarse barking, which seemed to animate the chariot horses, notably his friends attached to Marcus' chariot, which began to stamp and paw up the snow beneath their feet, while when their driver took his place by their heads they plunged forward, tugging the heavy vehicle out of the ruts into which the wheels had cut for themselves. Then with the snow squall driving on before them leaving the trampled snow ahead freshly smoothed, and lighting the darkness of the night, there was a dull, grinding, creaking sound of wheels and yielding snow as it was trampled down into a better road, and good progress was made, for the slope in advance was more gradual, and the hollows and pitfalls between the rugged stones that strewed the way were levelled down. It was a strange and weird procession, as Marcus tramped on step by step with Serge, behind the chariot, into which Lupe had suddenly leaped to stand with his paws planted upon the front of the vehicle, which now looked as if it had been turned into silver. And there were moments when the boy felt that it must all be part of a dream. But there was nothing dream-like in the sounds that came downward between the great snowy walls, for they were those of desperate fighting--the shouts of defiance of the Roman soldiers mingled with the barbarous cries of the Gauls, who had gathered together again in the great gateway from which they had been driven by the troops of Caius Julius, and were now striving to prevent the descent of the Roman rear-guard into their fruitful plains, and if possible entrap these new troops between their own forces, which were holding them shut in the deep, long, wintry gorge. _ |
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