Crown and Sceptre Part 40

Before they had gone a dozen yards, Nat, who was fidgeting about in his saddle, evidently in a state of considerable mental perturbation, wrenched himself round and looked after the Manor people, to see that Samson was waiting for him to do so; and as soon as he did look, it was to see a derisive threatening gesture, Samson, by pantomime, suggesting that if he only had his brother's head under his arm, he would punch his nose till he made it bleed.

"Ur-r-r-r!" snarled Nat, with a growl like that of an irritated dog.

"What's the matter, Nat?"

"Matter, sir? See that Samson--ah, he's a rank bad 'un--shaking his fist at me, and pretending to punch me? Here, I must go and give it him now."

"No, no," cried Scar, catching at Black Adder's rein. "Your orders are to follow your colonel."

"But are we to let that brother of mine insult his majesty's troops?"

"We can afford to treat it with contempt," said Scarlett, solemnly, though Nat's words and allusions made him feel disposed to laugh.

"But I want to treat it to a big leathering, Master Scar. Here, sir, mayn't I ride after him and fetch him off his horse?"

"No; certainly not."

"But, Master Scar, what could your father be thinking of? Here had we got three of the ugliest Philistines in Coombeland in our hand, and we've let 'em go to blight and freeze and blast everything. What could Sir G.o.dfrey be thinking about?"

"Nat."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what is a soldier's first duty?"

"To fight, sir."

"No: to obey orders."

"But we aren't soldiers yet."

"I think we are; so be silent."

"Yes, sir; but if I only had leave, I'd draw my sword, gallop after that bad brother of mine, and fetch him off his horse, or jacka.s.s, or whatever the miserable beast is that he has his legs across."

"And kill him? Your own brother?"

"Kill him? Not I, sir. He arn't worth it. No; I'd take him prisoner, nearly knock his head off, and then I'd tie his hands to the tail of my horse, and drag him to the king's camp in triumph."

Scarlett made no answer, for he had no faith in his servant's threats; and together they rode on and on after Sir G.o.dfrey, over the pleasant moor, and on to the cultivated lands, and then on and on still into the darkness, which seemed, as it thickened, like the gross darkness of war and destruction, sweeping down upon the fair and sunny west.

So thought Scarlett Markham, as he still rode on through the darkness, and then his thoughts returned to home, and his mother's att.i.tude as she flung herself upon her knees, her clasped hands toward heaven, as she uttered a prayer for the protection of those she loved.

Sir G.o.dfrey made no sign. He merely turned from time to time to see if those he led were close behind, and then rode slowly on to join those whose hands were raised against their brothers--father and sons to plunge into the terrible warfare, which, once begun, seemed to know no end.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WARLIKE EXPERIENCES.

A year rapidly pa.s.sed away, during which, young and slight as they were, Scarlett Markham and Fred Forrester seemed to have changed into boyish young men. The excitement of a soldier's life had forced them on, and with great rapidity they had mastered the various matters of discipline then known to the army. Sir G.o.dfrey and Colonel Forrester were received by the opposing factions with delight, their old military knowledge making them invaluable, and they were at once placed in command of regiments of horse, newly raised, and whose training caused them immense effort.

But the men were of splendid material, and before long Forrester's and Markham's Horse were looked upon with respect; soon after with envy.

In these two regiments the boys from Coombeland served six months as ordinary soldiers, till, partly for their ability, partly from the dash they had shown, they were nominally raised to the rank of officers, the men of their troops willingly following the lead of the brave boys who rode with them into dangers many enough.

For, in those stern times, no father could spare his son. Those who elected to serve had to run all risks, and the consequence was that on either side the making of a good fighting army took but little time.

"It do me good to see you, Master Scar," Nat used to say, as he rode always at his young master's heels. "Think of a boy like you being an orficer!"

"A very poor one, Nat."

"Nay, Master Scar, I don't know another in the regiment the men would sooner follow."

Equality of situation brings similarity of remark, and it was in like words that Samson, after a tirade about his unnatural brother for fighting against him, would address his young master from the Manor.

And so another six months pa.s.sed away, with the war-tide setting here and there on the borders of Coombeland, but never spreading its devastating influence there. The two lads grew more and more imbued with the war-faith of their parties, and as they became st.u.r.dier and more manly, hardened as they were by the rough, open air life they led, a feeling of bitterness foreign to their natures rapidly increased, till they were ready to speak with hate and contempt of the enemy they blamed for destroying the peace of the land.

And all this time, to Fred and Scar, home was becoming rapidly a memory.

By the merest chances, they heard that all was well, and, compelled to be content with this scanty news, they plunged into their work again, till the roar of cannon and clash of steel became familiar as were the terrors of the scene of some desperate fight, such as modern soldiers would speak of as a desultory skirmish.

Eighteen months with the army, and, in spite of exposure, neither of the Coombeland lads had met, or, as far as they knew, been near each other, and neither of the two little parties from Hall and Manor had met with a wound.

But sterner times were near at hand. After much desultory fighting, the Parliamentary forces were mustering strongly in the far west, and those of the king had made Bristol a stronghold, and were moving on.

There were two leaders of opposing ideas, who prayed that the war might not sweep their way, but, as they prayed, they felt that the prayer was vain, and their brows grew rugged as they read how surely what they dreaded must follow, and felt how likely a battle-ground the moor would prove in the neighbourhood of their peaceful homes.

The little petty encounters kept on day after day, week after week, as if each side was practising its men and trying their strength for some great fight to come, and all the while, round and about Barnstaple and away toward Exeter, the forces were gathering, till all at once, when least expected, scouts came in from east and west with news that told of a probable encounter, perhaps before another sun had set.

Those who knew best, however, were not so sanguine till after that sun had set, and among those was General Hedley, who gradually and cautiously advanced, feeling his way step by step, each step being a natural stronghold, which would help him against the dashing onslaughts of Charles's cavaliers.

But forty-eight hours had not elapsed before the rival forces were face to face, when a little skirmishing took place, and then darkness put an end to the varied encounters, the combatants waiting for daylight, when a battle was bound to ensue. This fight must inevitably prove serious to one or the other side, and either the Parliamentarian forces would be driven back into the far west, where their scattered strength could be quenched as the remains of a fire are beaten out, or else the king's men would be driven towards Exeter, after what must prove a deadly blow.

That night the occupants of Hall and Manor lay down to sleep within hearing of the sentinels of each army, and the two lads, worn out with fatigue, slept heavily, to dream of the homes they were so near--dreams full of trouble and anxiety, as they seemed to see the sweet faces of those they loved anxiously listening to the roar of gun and clash of sword, and wondering what was to be their fate and where they could flee if matters came to the worst.

A trumpet roused Scarlett Markham from his dream of home. The deep roll of drums awakened Fred, and as daylight came, and the larks sprang from the dewy moor to carol high in the soft, grey, gold flecked sky, there was the trampling of men and the snorting of horses, and then the first gun belched forth its destroying message against the advancing forces of the king.

Needless to tell of that fight of brother against brother with the horrors of the field. Hour after hour went by, hours of manoeuvring and change of front, and always with the king's men gaining ground, and driving back the Parliamentarians, whose position seemed to be growing desperate. And as the Royalist leaders saw their advantage, they grew more reckless, and urged their men on, till it seemed as if a dozen lesser fights were in progress, the grim men of the Commonwealth fighting hard to hold their own.

This went on till the afternoon, when, in their exhaustion, the king's men paused almost with wonder at the stubborn front still presented to their steel.

"It is their last despairing stand," said the Royalist general to himself, and he gathered his men for a final advance upon the low hill crowned by the enemy.

The advance was made by men wearied out, against those who had not done half the marching and counter-marching, and as they swept on, they saw the change in the front for which they had looked so long--at first with triumph, then with despair. For now General Hedley sent forward his grim squadrons, held so long in reserve, and, raging with their long inaction, they dashed down the slope like a thunderbolt which met the Cavaliers half-way, broke through them, rode them down, and before the two parts into which they were divided could recover in the slightest degree, from the right and left flanks fresh squadrons broke down upon them, and in five minutes the imaginary triumph had become a rout.

The king's banner that day lay low, the royal standard trailing in the dust, as a wild shout of victory was raised by the soldiers of the Parliament, and the gaily caparisoned Cavaliers in bitter despair fled broken and in disorder for their lives.

"Oh, evil fortune!" groaned Sir G.o.dfrey, as he reluctantly galloped away beside his son, their jaded horses going heavily, with heaving flanks.

"Quick, my boy, quick!"