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, coarse
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 passed 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?
But he felt no inclination to speak, but lay listening to the chirping
of the sparrows, and moved his head slightly to find that it was resting
upon a piece of sacking laid over the straw.
That movement brought on the dizzy sensation again, and his head
throbbed painfully for a time.
But the pain grew easier, and he lay perfectly still, watching the
beautiful beam of sunshine which came through the open window, above
which the roof went into a point, showing him that this was the gable
end of the loft where he lay.
This did not surprise him, for he had been accustomed for months past to
sleep in shed, stable, or loft, as well as in houses with decent rooms.
At one time for a month a church had been the barracks where he had
lain. Rough quarters had become a matter of course, and he lay quite
still, for how long he did not know, to be roused once more by a deep
groan.
"Do you hear, lad? What's the good of going on like that?" said the
familiar voice again.
"My head--my head!" moaned some one.
"Well, and my head, and my ribs, if you come to that; but I don't howl
and groan."
"Samson!"
"Master Fred! Captain, I mean. Hey, but it does a man good to hear you
speak, again. Don't die this time, dear lad."
"Die? I don't understand you."
"Then the Lord be praised, you are not going to die!"
Fred lay wondering, for there came something like a sob from close at
hand, though when he tried to turn towards the sound the horrible
dizziness came back.
"Samson!"
"Yes, Master Fred."
"What are you doing there?"
"Blubbering, dear lad, like a great calf as has lost its mother; but
it's only because I'm so glad."
"But, Samson, what does it all mean?"
"What, don't you know, my lad?"
"No."
"Not that you are badly wounded--cut down same as I was when we
charged?"
"When we charged?"
"Yes, when they took us front and rear in the dark wood."
"Dark--wood?"
"Yes, lad. Some of us killed--I don't mean us--Smithers and Pelldike.
The advance escaped, and so did the rear. All of us with the prisoners
got hurt more or less."
"Oh!"
The scene in the gloomy wood came back now clearly enough; and in an
excited tone Fred exclaimed--
"And the prisoners, Samson?"
"Oh, they were taken again! They're right enough."
"Scarlett Markham?"
"Yes; he came up here yesterday to see how we were."
"Oh!"
"What's the matter, my lad?"
"My father--my charge. Samson, I'm disgraced for ever."
"What, because about sixty men surprised us in that hollow road, and cut
us all down? I don't see no disgrace in fighting like a man, and being
beaten by five to one, or more than that."
"But how came we to be surprised so suddenly?"
"Dunno, Master Fred. Some one must have known we were going through
that wood, and set a trap for us."
"And I allowed my poor fellows to walk right into it. Oh, Samson, I can
never look my father in the face again!"
"Hark at him! Nonsense! It's all ups and downs--sometimes one side
wins, sometimes t'other side. We had the best of it, and then they have
the best of it, and we're prisoners. Wait till we get well, and it will
be our side again. Long as we're not killed, what does it matter?"
"Then you are wounded, Samson?"
"Well, yes, lad; I got a tidy chop aside of the head, and a kick in the
ribs from a horse in the scrummage. Leastwise, it wasn't a kick, 'cause
it was done with a fore leg, when somebody's horse reared up after I'd
cut his master down."
"And there is some one else wounded?"
"Yes, sir--Duggen."
"Badly?"
"Tidy, sir; tidy chop. But we shall soon mend again. Bark 'll grow
over, same as it does when we've chopped an apple tree. I was afraid,
though, as you was badly, sir?"
"Was I wounded, Samson? I feel so weak."
"Wounded, sir! Well, it was a mercy you wasn't killed!"
"It seems all so confused. I cannot recollect much."
"Of course you can't, sir. All the sense was knocked out of your head.
But it'll soon come back again."
"Samson!"
"Yes, sir."
There was a pause, and Fred's henchman rose painfully on one arm to try
and make out the reason of the silence, but he could only see that the
young officer was staring at the window.
"Poor boy!" said Samson to himself. "Seems hard for him to be made into
a soldier at his time o' life. Ought to be at school instead of wearing
a sword."
"Yes, sir," he said aloud.
"Yes?"
"You called me, sir."
"Did I?" said Fred, vacantly.
"Yes, sir; you said `Samson.'"
"Oh yes, I remember. Did you see much of the fight, Samson?"
"As much as any one could for the dark."
"We were attacked front and rear, weren't we?"
"That's it, sir. Trapped."
"It was all my fault, I suppose," said Fred, with a sigh.
"Fault, sir; not it. Nobody's fault. People can't do impossibilities.
Why, there was sixty-five of 'em in the troop, and of course they
regularly rode us down!"
"But you did see something of the fighting?"
"To be sure I did, sir."
"Did--did I disgrace myself, Samson?"
"Did you what yourself, sir? Come, I like that! If digging your spurs
into your horse, and shouting to us to come on, and then going to work
with your sword as if it was a scythe, and the pleasaunce hadn't been
cut for a month in June's disgracing yourself, why, I suppose you did!"
"Then I did fight?"
"Fight! I should think you aid."
"Like a man, Samson--like an officer should?"
"Why, of course you did, sir!"
"As my father would have liked to see me fight, if he had been there?"
"Well, sir, that question's a puzzler. You see, fathers is fathers,
and, as far as ever I've been able to find out, they don't like their
boys to fight. Why, my father was always giving me and Nat the strap
for fighting, because we was always at it--strap as he wore round his
waist, when he wasn't banging our heads together. You see, Nat was
always at me, and knocking me about. We never did agree; but our old
man wouldn't let us fight, and I don't believe your father would have
liked to see you trying to cut people's heads off with that sword of
yours."
"Well, then," said Fred, smiling faintly, "would my colonel have been
satisfied with what I did to save the prisoners and my men?"
"Wouldn't be much of a colonel if he wasn't. There, dear lad, don't you
fret yourself about that. I've heered the men here say you did wonders
for such a boy, and a big sergeant who fetched you off your horse was up
here yesterday--"
"Yesterday?" interrupted Fred. "Why, we were travelling yesterday!"
"That we were not, my lad, for we've been lying here two days."
"Oh!" ejaculated Fred.
"While you've been off your head."
"Oh, Samson!"
"Well, sir, that's better than your head being off you."
"Then you are sure I did my duty?"
"Duty, sir? Yes; that's what I was going to tell you. The big six-foot
sergeant who fetched you off your horse with a great cut of his heavy
sword was up here yesterday to see you; and I heered him say to himself,
`Poor boy! I feel ashamed of myself for cutting him down. What would
his poor mother say to me if she knew?'"
"I can lie patiently now till I get well," said Fred, after a pause. "I
was frightened by my thoughts, Samson."
"Yes; them's what frightens most of us, sir."
"I mean by the thought that I had not done my duty by my charge."
"But you did, sir; and it's the fortune o' war. They was prisoners the
other day; now we're prisoners this day."
"And Master Scarlett Markham, and your brother, and the other men?"
"All here, sir. There's about a thousand of the enemy about, waiting, I
suppose, to drop upon our side, if our side doesn't drop upon them.
Fortune o' wars sir--fortune o' war."
Samson waited for Fred to speak again; but as he remained silent, the
ex-gardener went on--
"I've been expecting to hear some news of my beautiful brother, but I
haven't heered a word, only that he's about somewhere. Oh, I am proud
of him, Master Fred! I shouldn't wonder if we was to be sent off
somewhere--Exeter or Bristol, maybe, and Master Scarlett and my brother
had charge of us. Be rum, wouldn't it?"
Fred sighed as he recalled the past.
"Couldn't cut our hair short, sir, could they?"
Fred remained silent, and his follower went on.
"Nat said first chance he had, he'd crop my ears. That's like him all
over. But he dursn't, sir. Not he. I should just like to catch him at
it. Pst! some one coming."
Fred had already heard steps below, and then the creaking of a rickety
ladder, as if some one were ascending.
Directly after a door on his left was thrown open, a flood of sunshine
burst into the cobweb-hung loft, and an officer and a private of cavalry
came rustling through the straw till they were within the scope of the
wounded lad's gaze, and a chill of misery ran through him like a shudder
as he saw Scarlett Markham, followed by Samson's brother Nat.