Fred Forrester was too much astonished at the result of his pursuit to
make any sharp retort, but sat holding his prisoner by the gorget,
staring wildly at his old playmate, who seemed wonderfully changed since
their last meeting, and who had looked, in spite of dust and sweat, tall
and handsome in his gay frippery, scarf, scarlet feather, and long
curling hair.
"Well, rebel," cried the prisoner; and Fred started from his reverie.
"Am I the first you ever had the luck to take that you stare in that
way? Don't choke me."
Fred's tanned cheeks grew crimson, and his brow was knit as he turned
away his face to look after his men, who in the meantime had taken the
whole of the little party, dismounted those who needed it, bound their
arms behind their back, and collected the horses.
"Look ye here, sir," cried Samson, dragging forward the man in the
morion, who came behind limping, "I've got him at last. This is my
wretch of a brother, who has taken up arms against me."
"Against you--you ill-looking dog!" cried Scarlett, fiercely. "How dare
you! Crop-eared rebel!"
"That will do, sir," said Fred, sternly; for, after being a little
overawed by the gallant aspect of his prisoner, he was recovering
himself, and recollecting his position. "Will you give your promise not
to escape, or must I have you bound?"
"Promise to a set of knaves like you?" cried the youth, fiercely. "No.
Do what you will; only, mind this--our time will come."
"Yes; and when it does," cried Nat, shaking his head to get rid of the
iron cap which was over his eyes, for his hands were bound, "we'll show
them what it is to be rebels, eh, Master Scarlett--captain, I mean?"
"Silence, sir!" cried Fred, angrily; and, after giving the men orders,
the little party returned with their prisoners in their midst, Scarlett
behind, gazing haughtily before him, and paying no heed to a few words
addressed to him at first by his captor, who reined back at the slight,
and followed afterwards at the rear of his little troop, angry and
indignant at Scarlett's contemptuous manner, and at the same time sorry
and glad, the latter feeling perhaps predominating, for he had
successfully carried out his father's commands.
"I wish it had been some one else," he was thinking, as the little party
rode on, the prisoners mounted on their horses, but looking in sorry
plight with their hands bound behind. "What will my father say when he
sees who it is?"
At that moment the sound of angry voices and a hoarse laugh from the
troopers made Fred urge his horse forward.
"What is this?" he said. "I will not have the prisoners insulted."
"It's the prisoners insulting us, Master Fred--I mean captain. It's
this ne'er-do-well of a brother o' mine bragging and bouncing because
his hair's grown a bit longer than mine. He keeps calling me crop-ears,
sir, and showing off as if he was a Cavalier."
"So you are a crop-ear and a rebel," said Nat, for his fall had hurt
him, and made him disagreeable.
"Silence, sir!" cried Fred, as he made a gesture as if to strike the
ex-gardener a blow with the flat of his sword.
"Shan't silence," said Nat. "You're not my master. Rebels can't be
masters, and you daren't hit me now I'm tied up, much as you'd like to.
Cowards, all of you!"
"Beg pardon, captain," said Samson, "but may I untie his arms, sir, and
have him down under the trees with our buffs off? I could give him such
a leathering in five minutes."
"Silence! Forward! Samson, rein back;" and they rode slowly on till
the outskirts of the camping place were reached, sentries challenging
and men cheering the little party as they came in with their captives
right to where the regiment lounged about the camp-fires.
Here Colonel Forrester strode out from his tent, followed by half a
dozen officers, all ready to cheer the boy who had so successfully
carried out the reconnaissance.
"Any one hurt?" asked the colonel, looking very cold and stern, and
hardly glancing at his son.
"Only a few scratches and bruises, sir. We took the whole party."
"That's well. Which is the leader? Here, you!"
Scarlett paid no heed to the command, but a couple of the troopers
seized his arms, and hurried him before the colonel.
"Which way has the main body of your forces gone, sir?"
"You had better follow and find out for yourself, Colonel Forrester,"
said the prisoner, coldly. "You will get no information from me."
"Scar Markham!" exclaimed the colonel, in astonishment. "My poor boy, I
am sorry that we should meet like this."
"And I am glad, sir," cried Scarlett, excitedly, "for it gives me an
opportunity to say that I, too, am sorry to see you like this, a rebel
and traitor to your king."
"Silence, sir! How dare you! Take the prisoners away, and see that
they are well used."
"Yes, father," replied Fred; and he saw the five men disposed of, and
then led Scarlett to his own little tent which he had placed at his
disposal, and saw that he had an ample supply of food.
He then took his own, of which he was in sore need, and began to eat in
silence, furtively watching the prisoner, who remained silent, and
refused the food, though he was famishing.
Fred's anger had subsided now, and remembering the old days before these
times of civil war and dissension, he said quietly--
"I am sorry I have nothing better to offer you."
Scarlett turned upon him sharply, with a flash of the eye, as if about
to speak; but he turned away again, and sat looking straight before him.
There was a long silence then, during which Fred thought how hard it was
for his old friend to be dragged there a prisoner, and he said softly--
"I was only doing my duty, Scar. I was sent out to take the party seen
from our outposts."
"Have the goodness to keep your pity for those who need it, crop-ear,"
said Scarlett, scornfully; "and recollect that I am, though a prisoner,
one of his Majesty's officers, one who holds no converse with rebels."
Fred's cheeks flushed again, and his brow wrinkled.
"Very well," he said angrily. "We are fighting on opposite sides, but I
did not know that we need insult each other when we met."
As he spoke he left the tent, and Scarlett winced, and his eyes
softened.
"Poor old Fred!" he said below his breath; "and I used to think he was
like a brother."
It was a glorious evening as Fred Forrester strolled away from the tent,
stopping to speak to one of the sentries about the prisoner in the
little tent, though he felt that he need hardly take any precaution, for
Scarlett was not likely to try to escape and leave his men behind.
"Wonder whether we shall ever be friends again," he thought, "and be
back at the old places as before. This terrible fighting cannot always
go on. What's that?"
A great deal of shouting and laughter in the centre of a little crowd of
soldiers took his attention, and one of the voices sounding familiar, he
walked slowly toward the group, hardly caring in which direction he went
so that it was away from his tent.
"What are they doing?" he asked of one of the men.
"Don't quite know, sir. Teasing one of the prisoners, I think."
Feeling that his father would be angry if the prisoners were annoyed in
any way, he walked sharply to the throng, and, as he reached it, he
heard a familiar voice say--
"Now, that's what I call behaving like a brother should, gentlemen. He
goes away into bad company and disgraces his name, lets his hair grow
ragged and greasy and long, and comes here a prisoner with a nasty dirty
face, so what have I done? I give him my supper because he was hungry,
and he ate it all, and called me a crop-eared rebel for my pains. So
after that I washed his face for him and cut his hair, and made him look
decent, but I didn't crop his ears, though the shears went very near
them two or three times. But look at him now."
There was a roar of laughter at this, and Fred could hardly keep from
joining in, so comical was the aspect of Sir Godfrey Markham's old
servant, as he stood there with his hands bound behind him.
For, as Samson said, his brother was now quite clean, and he had cut his
hair, which had grown long, in a bad imitation of a Cavalier's. But
this was not merely cut off now, but closely cropped, so that Nat's head
was round and close as a great ball.
"All right, Sam," he said, as his brother came close to him. "Wait a
bit till our side wins, and then perhaps I may take you prisoner, and if
so--"
"Well, if you do--what then?"
"Wait, my lad, and see."
Fred Forrester could never after fully explain his feelings. He left
the group feeling as if some spirit of mischief had taken possession of
him, and kept suggesting that he too had fed his brother, had given up
everything to him, and been reviled for his pains. Why should not he
show Scarlett Markham that courtesy was due to those who had made him
prisoner of war? As it was, his old companion seemed to have grown
arrogant and overbearing. He had spoken to him as if he were a dog, and
looked at him as if he were one of the most contemptible objects under
the sun.
"No," he said, with a half-laugh, "I could not do it."
Then he recalled a long list of injuries he had received from Scarlett,
things which had made his blood boil, and he felt tempted again.
But his better self prevailed the next minute, and, shaking his head, he
returned to his tent, to find that after all Scarlett had partaken of
the food, and had now thrown himself down on Fred's cloak and gone to
sleep.
As he lay there in the dim light, Fred gazed at his old companion's
handsome young face, flowing curls, and soiled but still handsome
uniform, with something like envy. But this passed away; and soon after
he lay down outside the tent, to fall into a fit of musing, which was
mingled with the pace of sentries, hoarse orders, and the blare of
trumpets. Then all was silent, and he fell fast asleep, out there on
the bare ground, only to awaken at the morning calls.