Crown and Sceptre Part 49

"He's--he's out."

"Who sent him out?"

"I--I did, father."

"Oh, you did, did you--without my leave?"

"Oh, father--father," cried the girl, sobbing, "don't--don't be angry with me!"

"Not I, Polly," he cried, bending down and kissing her. "Only I don't know anything, and I don't want to know anything, mind."

"And you're not cross about it?"

"I'm not cross about anything; but I shall be if I don't have a mug of cider, for I've been thinking, and thinking's thirsty work."

"Then you had been thinking that--"

"Never you mind what I had been thinking, my la.s.s. My thoughts are mine, and your thoughts are yours, so keep 'em to yourself. When I've had my drop o' cider, I think I shall go out for a ride."

"Oh father!" cried the girl.

The old man chuckled.

"Don't you tell me that the pony has gone out, too," he said. "There, it's all right, Polly, only I don't know anything, and I won't be told."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A SUDDEN REVERSE.

And all this time Fred Forrester rode on at the rear of his little detachment, longing to get to Newton Abbot and be rid of his painful charge. The evening grew more pleasant and cool, the moths came out, and with them the bats, to dart and flit, and capture the myriad gnats which danced here and there beneath the trees. Then, as they pa.s.sed beneath some umbrageous oak, which stretched its ponderous and gnarled arms across the road, a night-hawk swooped from where it had been resting upon its parrot toes, its beak toward the bole of the tree, and skimmed round and round for a time to capture a great moth or two in its widespread, bristly-edged gape, before swiftly darting back to its perch, where it commenced its loud, continuous purring noise, which died softly away as the party rode on.

Sweet moist scents rose from the dewy ground, and as they neared a marshy pool, a low, musical whining and croaking told that the frogs which made the stagnant place their home had a full belief that before long it would rain.

Tired though the party were, it was pleasant travelling now, and as some horse, feeling freshened by the cool moist air, snorted and tossed its head, there followed a loud tinkling of accoutrements and an uncalled-for increase of pace.

As they rode on deep down in a hollow between mighty hedges, a loud hail seemed to come from the road on the hillside, "Hoi, hoi!" which was followed by another on the opposite slope, but no one stirred. The call of the hoot-owl was too familiar to the Coombeland men to deceive.

It was so dark at times down there amid the trees that the horses' heads were hardly visible, and when fire was struck by an impatient hoof from a loose stone, the flash given forth seemed by comparison to lighten up the lane.

Half an hour's increasing darkness was followed by a glow in the east, and then, slowly rolling up, came the moon, to silver the patches of firs, to lighten the pensile birches, and make the glossy-leaved beeches glisten as if wet with rain or frosted with silver. The little river which ran at the bottom of the valley, meandering on its way, shone out with flashes of light, as the moon rose higher; and once, in the midst of Fred's gloomiest thoughts, came, like a gleam of the moon on the water to lighten all around, the feeling that the world was, after all, a very beautiful place, and that it was man himself who made it miserable.

"I mean boy," said Fred, in his musings. "No, I do not; I mean man, for he is to blame for all this terrible war in which we are going against the king. But my father says it is just, so I have no right to think differently."

"How far are we from Newton, Samson?" he asked his follower.

"'Bout four miles now, sir. We've got to turn out of the main west road, and go through the wood next. Soon be there now."

The turning was reached at the end of another half mile, and the advance guard soon after came to the edge of the wood, through which a good road had been cut, the only drawback being that the overhanging trees made it dark.

Upon this occasion, though, the moon was rising higher and higher, pouring down a flood of silver light, which lit up the denser part with its soft diaphanous rays.

The solemn beauty of the scene, with its velvety shadows and silvery light, impressed every member of the party, so that they rode on in silence, the horses' hoofs sounding loudly, and the night being so still that the patter of the advance guard and of those in the rear was plainly audible.

"How much more is there of this woodland, Samson?" asked Fred, after a time.

"Not much more, sir, though I can't be sure--it's so many years since I rode through it with your father--when I was quite a boy."

"What's that?"

"Nothing, sir. Fox, perhaps, or a deer. Everything sounds so plainly on a night like this. Hear the advance?"

"Yes. Keep close, my lads," cried Fred. "No straggling in the darkness."

The men closed up, and they were going steadily on, congratulating themselves on the fact that they would soon be out in the open. A keen eye was kept upon the prisoners, though there was very little chance for their escape. The bonds were secure, and their horses' bridles out of their reach, while, had there been a disposition to urge a horse away from the rest, and make a dash for it in the darkness, the chances were that the poor beast would have declined to stir from his companions.

The horse is by nature an animal which, for mutual protection, goes with a drove of his fellows; and, allowing for the formality of cavalry movements, there is something in the formation of troops and squadrons so similar to the natural habits of the horse, that they keep together, to such an extent that in warfare the "trooper" that has lost his rider regains the regiment and keeps in his place.

They were so near the edge of the wood now that the advance guard had pa.s.sed through into the clear moonlight, and were going calmly on in full security, as they believed, when all at once a clear sharp order rang out on the night air; there was a quick trampling of horses, and the road in front was occupied by a strong body of men, whose position was between Fred's little detachment and their advance guard.

To have gone on burdened with their prisoners would have meant failure, to have plunged to right or left into the dense black wood no better than madness. There was only one course open--retreat; and in the emergency, young as he was in military evolutions, Fred proved himself worthy of his charge.

Setting spurs to his horse, he dashed to the front, giving his orders promptly. The men faced round ready for action, and, in defiance of the loudly shouted commands to surrender, the prisoners' bridles were seized and a rapid retreat commenced; but only for the little party to realise that they were in a trap, for in the darkness ahead they heard fresh shouts to surrender, from a second body of hors.e.m.e.n, who had been hidden in the wood till they had pa.s.sed, and now occupied the road--how strong it was impossible to tell.

However, here lay their route now. If he had known that he had an enemy in his rear, Fred would have made a dash forward to try and reach his advance guard. Under the circ.u.mstances, it would have been fresh waste of time to turn, so again rushing to the front, he cheered on his men, and, sword in hand, charged, hoping by a bold manoeuvre to reach his rear guard now, and gallop back with his prisoners.

It was a vain hope. He had time to get his men well in hand, and the compact little body charged along the dark road, captors and captives together, for about a hundred yards, when there was the shock of meeting an advancing troop of the Royalist cavalry. The clashing of swords and the sharp rattle of blows struck at helmet and breast-piece; the plunging of horses, yells, and shouts; the deep groans of wounded men; and then, in the midst of the wild turmoil and hopeless struggle, it seemed to Fred that there was a short sharp crash of thunder, accompanied by a mingling of tiny flashes of lightning, and then the noise and confusion of the skirmish died away--and that was all.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE.

It was quite in keeping with his life for Fred Forrester to be awakened by the blast of a trumpet, and, according to his habit, he made one turn and was about to spring from his rough pallet.

But he did nothing of the kind. He let his head fall back and his arm drop, as he uttered a groan of pain and weakness, which seemed to be echoed from close at hand.

Then there was a peculiar dizzy feeling of sickness; mists floated before his eyes, and, in a confused, feverish, dreamy fashion, he lay wondering what it all meant.

After a time he felt clearer, and found himself gazing at a small square window, unglazed, one through which a great beam of sunshine fell, making a widening bar of light which cast a distorted image of the opening upon a rough brick wall. That beam of light was full of tiny motes which rose and fell and danced into the brightest part, and away into the gloom till, as they skurried and floated here and there, it seemed as if he were gazing at a miniature snowstorm, of which all the flakes were gold.

There were sounds outside of trampling feet; of hoofs and the snorting of horses; but all seemed distant and confused, as if his ears were stopped or the sounds were coming from a distance; but directly after a very familiar note arose--the sharp, cheery chirping of a sparrow, followed by a low groan.

But it did not seem to matter, for he was tired and sleepy and in pain, and he seemed to drop off to sleep and wake again wondering what it all meant, and why it was, and how he came to be lying there.

After a time he stretched out one hand in a feeble way, to find that he was touching straw, and that beneath the straw there were boards. But there was straw everywhere; even the ceiling seemed to be straw, coa.r.s.e straw, till he realised that it was reed thatch, and by degrees that he must be in the upper part of a stable--the loft, for he could smell hay; and as he satisfied himself that he was right so far, he discovered something more--that there were horses somewhere below, for there was a loud snorting and the rattle of a headstall.

But still it did not seem to matter, for everything connected with the war and his duties had pa.s.sed entirely from his mind, till he heard once more a groan from somewhere close at hand, and then a familiar voice said--

"Don't go on like that, lad. I dare say you're very bad, but so am I; and you'll disturb the captain."

"Captain? what captain?" thought Fred, dreamily, and who was he that he should not be disturbed?