It was no easy task to run the gauntlet of the sentinels, now that the
alarm had spread, for they were falling back upon the camp, and twice
over Fred was challenged, and had to run the risk of a bullet; but
partly by knowing the ground far better than those who challenged, and
partly from the darkness, the pair succeeded in reaching the little
camp, to find all in commotion, horses saddled, men ready to mount, and
an intense desire existent to know from which side to expect the attack.
After a time the hurry and excitement quieted down, for after scouts and
patrols had done their work, the whole alarm was traced to one of the
sentinels, who had heard whispering in the wood near which he was
stationed, and had fired at once, his nearest fellow having taken up the
signal, fired, and slowly fallen back.
"Better too much on the _qui vive_ than too drowsy," said the general,
at last, good-humouredly. "I was afraid, Forrester, it was an attempt
on the part of the enemy to escape."
"And we could clear it all up with a word, Samson," said Fred, who was
full of self-reproach.
"But don't you speak it, Master Fred," whispered Samson, who had
contrived to get another jerkin. "If you tell, they'll go down to the
wood, and find that brother of mine, and bring him in, and here he'll be
lying in clover, and doctored up, and enjoying himself, while poor we
are slaving about in sunshine and rain, and often not getting anything
to eat, or a rag to cover us."
"I shall not speak, Samson, for there was no harm done," said Fred,
quietly; "but I wonder at your covering your enemy from the cold."
"Needn't wonder, sir. Didn't I always cover my tender plants from the
cold? It wasn't because I liked them, but so as they'd be useful
by-and-by. My brother Nat will be useful by-and-by. I want him. I
shall give him such a lesson one of these days as shall make him ashamed
of himself."
A trumpet rang out again on the night air, and men dismounted, picketed
their horses once more, and some lay down to snatch a few hours' rest,
while others sat together talking and asking one another questions about
the attack they foresaw would most probably take place that day, for the
night was waning, and they knew that before long the dawn would be
showing in the east, and that it would be morn; while, in spite of
plenty of sturdy courage and indifference to danger, there were men
there who could not refrain from asking themselves whether they would
live to see the next day.
It was somewhere about sunrise when Fred fell asleep, to dream of being
in the dense thicket, carrying Nat, the Hall gardener, on his back to
the hole broken through into the secret passage, where he threw him
down, and covered him up with bushes to be out of the way till he got
better; but, as fast as he threw him down, he came back again,
rebounding like a bladder, till Samson came to his help, drew his sword,
and pricked him, when he sank down to the bottom and lay still. Then
Scarlett seemed to come out of the hole and reproach him for being a
coward and a rebel, seizing him at last and shaking him severely, and
all the while, though he struggled hard, he could not free himself from
his grasp. So tight was his hold that he felt helpless and half
strangled, the painful sensation of inability to move increasing till he
seemed to make one terrible effort, seized the hands which held him,
looked fiercely in his assailant's eyes, and exclaimed, "Coward,
yourself!"
"Well, sir, dare say I am," was the reply; "but what can you expect of a
man when you take him out of his garden and make a soldier of him all at
once."
"Samson!"
"Yes, sir. Breakfast's ready, sir, such as it is. What's the matter
with you? I never had such a job to waken you before."
"I--I was very sound asleep," stammered Fred, rising hastily. "Did--did
I say anything?"
"Pitched an ugly word at my head about not being so brave as you thought
I ought to be, that's all."
"Don't take any notice of what I said, I must have been dreaming."
"That's what I often wake up and feel I've been doing," said Samson. "I
often don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels; it seems so
strange. Wonder how that Nat is. He always gets the best of it. Lying
there with nothing to do. Just his way, sir, curling himself up snug,
and letting other people do his work. There you are, sir, bucket of
clean water from the lake. Have a good wash, and you'll feel like a new
man. What a difference it must make to you, sir, dressing yourself out
here, after having your comfortable room at home, and you so near it,
too. Why, sir, the colonel might have told you to go home to sleep.
Say, sir!"
"Well?" said Fred, taking his head out of the bucket of clear cold
water, and feeling afterwards, as he rubbed himself dry, that new life
was running through his veins.
"Wouldn't it be nice for you to run down to the Manor to breakfast, sir,
and bring back a few decent things to eat? I wouldn't mind coming with
you and carrying the basket."
Fred looked hard at Samson, whose face was perfectly stolid for a few
moments; but a little ripple gradually spread over his left cheek, and
increased till it was a broad grin.
"Well, sir, you see it is so tempting. I'd give anything for a bowl of
new warm milk. When are we going to have a good forage again, so as we
might catch some chickens and ducks or a young pig?"
"I'm afraid there'll be other work on hand to-day, Samson," replied
Fred, sadly, as he glanced in the direction of the Hall. "There, take
away that bucket."
"Yes, sir. Done you good, hasn't it? and you can dry your head. Puzzle
some of them long-haired chaps to get theirs dry."
Samson went off with his young master's simple toilet arrangements, and
Fred joined his brother-officers in their frugal meal, after which he
spent the morning in a state of indecision.
"I will do it," he said, when afternoon had come; and, giving his
sword-belt a hitch, and thrusting his morion a little on one side, he
began striding forward, planting his boots down heavily on the soft
heather, in which his great spurs kept catching till he at last nearly
fell headlong.
Recovering himself, he went on, hand upon hip, and beating his gloves
upon his thigh, till he came to where Colonel Forrester was slowly
pacing up and down, with his hands clasped behind his back.
As Fred drew nearer, an orderly came up to the colonel, and presented a
letter, which brought the lad to a standstill. He had been having a
long struggle with self, and had mastered his shrinking, but he was so
near the balance of vacillation still, that he felt glad of the excuse
to hang back, and walked aside, feeling like one who has been reprieved.
"How do I know what he will say?" thought Fred, glancing back at his
father's stern, wrinkled countenance as he read his despatch. "It isn't
like the old days, though I used sometimes to feel shrinking enough
then. It is not between father and son, but between colonel and one of
his followers."
Fred felt as if he would like to walk right off; but there were those at
the Hall occupying his thoughts, and he made an effort over his moral
cowardice and stopped short, meaning to go to his father as soon as the
messenger had left.
He had not long to wait, for the orderly saluted and rode off, but there
was something else now to check him. His father looked so very severe,
and as if there was something very important on his mind.
"I have chosen a bad time," thought Fred. "I'll go away and wait."
"No, no," he said, half aloud; "how can I be so foolish? I will go up
and speak to him like a man. It is mean and cowardly to hang back."
He stepped toward the colonel again, but there was another reprieve for
him, the general riding up; and for the next quarter of an hour the two
officers were in earnest converse.
"Yes," said Fred; "I have chosen a bad time. I'll go."
But he did not stir, for at the same moment he felt that the general
might be planning with his father that which he sought to prevent.
"I'll go and speak now they are together," he said to himself,
desperately. "General Hedley likes me, I think, and he could not be
very cross."
"No, I dare not," he muttered; and he paced to and fro again till the
general touched his horse's flanks, and rode slowly away, Colonel
Forrester following him thoughtfully for some distance, till in a fit of
desperation Fred hurried to his side.
"Want me, my boy?" said the colonel, gravely.
"Yes, father. I want to ask you something."
"Yes; go on. I am very much occupied just now."
Fred looked at him piteously, his words upon his lips, but refusing to
be spoken.
"Well, my boy, what is it? Are you in some great trouble?"
The words came in so much more kindly a tone, that Fred made a step
toward his father, and the barrier of discipline gave way, and it seemed
to be no longer the stern officer but the father of the old Manor house
days he was longing to address.
"Well, my boy, what is the trouble?" said Colonel Forrester, kindly.
"It is about--"
Fred did not finish his sentence, but pointed across the lake.
"Ah, yes, about the Hall!" said the colonel, with a sigh. "Well, my
boy, what do you wish to say?"
"Are they keeping to what was in Sir Godfrey's message, father?"
"Yes, my boy," sternly.
"But don't you think they could be persuaded to surrender?"
"Yes, Fred."
"Oh, father, I am glad," cried the boy, joyously.
"Yes, persuaded," continued Colonel Forrester, in measured tones, "with
sword and gun, not till they are utterly helpless. Then they may."
"Oh, father!"
"Yes, my boy; it is very sad, but they will not see that their case is
desperate."
"Is the attack to be made to-day, father?"
"I am not the general in command, my boy. That is a matter for another
to decide."
"Yes; but you know, father, and you can trust me."
"Of course I can, Fred, and I will. Yes; the attack is to be made
directly."
"And will it succeed?"
"It must. It shall. No. I will not interfere," he added to himself a
moment later.
"And you, father?" said Fred, anxiously.
"Well, my boy, what of me?"
"You--Oh, father. Must I speak out. Don't be angry with me. I have no
right to say such things to you, but I always looked upon Scar Markham
as a brother, and they always treated me at the Hall as if I was a son;
and it does seem so terrible for you to be going up at the head of armed
men to attack our dear old friends."
Colonel Forrester stood with his brow knit.
"You are angry with me, father; but I can't help speaking. I say it
seems so terrible. You ought not to do this thing."
Fred's hesitation had gone. He had taken the plunge, and now he felt
desperate, and ready to speak on to the end. He gazed full in the stern
face with the lowering brows, but it checked him no longer. His words
came fast, and he caught his father by the arm.
"If you speak to General Hedley, he will listen to you, for Sir Godfrey
is your oldest friend; and think, father, how horrible it would be if
the Markhams were to be killed."
The brows appeared to be knit more closely, and Colonel Forrester's gaze
seemed fierce enough to wither his son.
But Fred kept on, begging and importuning his father to do something to
change the general's purpose, without obtaining any reply.
"Then you are going to lead the attack on the Hall, father?" said Fred
at last.
The colonel turned upon him sharply.
"You must not, you shall not," cried Fred, excitedly. "Yes; I see you
are angry with me; but--"
"No, my boy, not angry," said the colonel, gravely; "but very, very
proud of you. No, my boy, I am not going to head the fight."
"Father!" cried Fred, joyously.
"And I have done more than beg General Hedley to excuse me from all
participation in to-day's work."
"Then it really will be to-day?"
"Yes, my boy, it really will be to-day, and I'd give anything for this
day to be past, and the worst known."
"But they will give them quarter, father?"
"Yes, my boy, of course, but who can say what may happen in dealing with
fierce, reckless men, fighting as they believe for their lives. Those
with whom they are engaged may be willing to take them prisoners, but
they will fight with terrible desperation, incited by Sir Godfrey's
example, and no one can say how the attack will end."
"Yes, father, I see," said Fred, sadly, "but could you not persuade
General Hedley to give up the attack?"