THE PRISONER OF WAR.
Colonel Wimpleton was just landing from a boat, in which he had been
ferried over from the main shore, having come from Centreport to this
point in his chaise. As soon as he landed, he dismissed the man who had
brought him over. The two great men of the vicinity were both on the
island.
As soon as I left Captain Briscoe’s company, and moved towards the
landing-place, Bayard, in command of the Wimpleton company, evidently
suspected my purpose, though I really had no intention of meddling
with the boats, but only of making a demonstration. Half a dozen
soldiers were sent in a hurry to guard the fleet. This was Briscoe’s
opportunity. The force before him was now reduced so that an attack
was hopeful. I heard him shouting, and a moment later the company of
Bayard came helter-skelter over the summit of the hill. Our fellows,
mortified by their first defeat, had made a desperate charge, and
driven the enemy before them. It was not safe, therefore, for me to
meddle with the boats, even if I had intended to do so.
“How goes the battle, Wolf?” asked the colonel, with a smile, as I met
him on the beach.
“Just now it seems to be going in favor of Toppleton,” I replied;
“though our boys were just driven half way across the island by yours.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“But I can’t stay here now, sir; I am afraid I shall be captured,”
I added, glancing at the six soldiers who were coming down the hill
towards me.
“Don’t be alarmed, Wolf; I will see that you are not hurt,” laughed the
colonel.
“I don’t wish to be captured.”
“You shall leave when you please. After thinking over the matter, I
concluded that I should take our boys off the island,” added the great
man of Centreport; “but I don’t intend to have them driven off.”
“I’m very glad to hear it, sir.”
“Where is Waddie?”
I explained the situation to him, and informed him of what had already
transpired on the island. He was pleased with the victory which those
who bore his name had achieved, and with this brilliant record of the
Wimpleton battalion he was ready to retire. But while we were talking
about the matter, the din of battle from the high ground saluted us. It
appeared that Tommy Toppleton, too impatient to wait for the result of
the flanking movement, had charged upon the company of Wimpletonians in
front of him. Our fellows had wiped out the disgrace of the early part
of the action, and had driven the enemy up the hill, over its summit,
regaining all the ground lost, and taking the summit of the slope,
which was “the key to the situation.”
“This won’t do,” said Colonel Wimpleton, as he saw with dismay that his
party was defeated. “I can’t take them away under these circumstances.”
But the battle was lost to the Wimpletonians. Major Tommy had gained
the crown of the hill, and held it with his whole force. The ground
was so steep in front of him that double the number of the foe could
not dislodge him. The enemy had not yet pitched their tents, and their
baggage was now in danger of capture. Major Waddie consolidated his
battalion, and formed a line at the foot of the hill, ready to defend
his camp equipage. He was furious at his defeat, and when he saw me his
eyes flashed fire.
“Arrest that traitor!” said he, flourishing his sword, and pointing to
me.
“Not yet, Waddie!” interposed his father. “I have given him a safe
conduct.”
“You are not in command here,” replied the ungracious son. “What are
you doing down here, Wolf Penniman?”
“I should have gone before if your father had not detained me.”
“Keep cool, Waddie,” said the colonel. “You have enough to do to whip
the Toppletonians.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” added Major Waddie, as he glanced at the
summit of the hill.
“I will take care of Wolf, and see that he don’t whip the whole of you.”
“I will hang him as a traitor if he don’t start quick. He has no
business over here.”
“He is a non-combatant,” laughed the colonel.
I do not know what the gallant commander of the Wimpleton battalion
would have deemed it necessary to do with me, if the exigency of battle
had not called his attention to other matters. I do not pretend to
be a brave fellow, but I am willing to say I was not afraid of being
hanged, even independently of the powerful protection of the colonel.
Major Tommy, flushed with his recent success, was intent upon following
up his victory. I heard him call his battalion to the charge, and the
words induced my feathery persecutor to leave me. Tommy evidently
intended to drive the enemy into the lake, or to force them to
surrender on the shore.
“Charge--bayonets! Forward--march!” yelled he; and down came the
Toppletonians at a furious pace.
“Now stand up to it, fellows!” screamed Waddie. “This is your last
chance. Don’t run if they punch you through.”
Not only Waddie, but the two captains in his battalion, who had more
real influence than the commander, urged the Wimpletonians to stand
firm, and not be driven from their position. But the time for argument
was short. The victorious Toppletonians swept down the hill, and rushed
furiously at the foe. This time I am quite sure there were some wounds
given on both sides. Major Tommy, mortified, no doubt, by the taunts of
Putnam, and perhaps of others, did not march in the rear of his column,
but very imprudently placed himself in advance of it. Fortunately for
him, there were several privates near him who were inspired by his
gallant example, and the centre of the column broke through the enemy’s
front. This would have been a success to the Toppletonians if the right
and left wings had supported the movement with equal zeal. They did
not, and were forced back by the desperate Wimpletonians, and in a
moment more were retreating up the hill, closely pursued by the enemy.
When it was too late, Tommy saw where he was. He was standing,
supported by only half a dozen privates, several rods in advance of his
battalion. A squad of the enemy, led on by Captain Pinkerton, charged
upon him. The daring little major defended himself with zeal and
courage, slashing right and left with his sword. His supporters, seeing
the situation, fell back and joined their companions. Closely pressed
by his exultant foe, Tommy struck savage blows against the muskets of
his assaulters; but suddenly his sword blade snapped off near the hilt.
“Capture him! Capture him!” shouted Pinkerton; and sending part of his
squad behind Tommy, he cut off his retreat.
The gallant major was now unarmed, and incapable of making any defence.
His companions in arms had been forced back to the summit of the hill.
“Surrender!” cried Pinkerton.
“Never!” yelled Tommy, with tragic grandeur, as he made a dive at the
captain, with the intention apparently of wresting his sword from him.
Such bravery deserved a better fate; but two of the enemy came behind
the impetuous major, and, grasping him by the shoulders, threw him
down. The whole squad then fell upon him, and poor Tommy was a prisoner
of war. Two of the stoutest of his captors, each of them half a head
taller than he was, were detailed to guard the major, and he was
marched to a tree near the camp baggage.
The Toppletonians were driven to the top of the hill, and resumed
their position upon its summit. It was useless for the Wimpletonians
to attempt to drive them beyond the ridge, and they returned to their
former halting-place on the level ground. I began to be a little uneasy
about the fate of Tommy when Major Feathers returned, for I was afraid
the latter, inspired by no lofty ideas of military honor, would subject
his prisoner to some indignities. I saw Waddie hold a conference with
his two captains, the result of which was soon apparent. Captain
Bayard, attended by a single private, who carried a white handkerchief
suspended on a pole, as a flag of truce, walked up the hill. I was not
informed until afterwards of the nature of their mission; but, in the
opinion of the Wimpletonians, the capture of Tommy decided the fate of
the day, and they regarded the battle as ended, with victory perched
upon their banners. Major Waddie was graciously pleased to declare
that he did not wish to pursue his conquest any farther, and if the
Toppletonians would retire from the island, their commander should be
returned to them unharmed.
By the misfortune of Major Tommy, Captain Briscoe was the ranking
officer, and the message of Major Waddie was delivered to him. By the
advice of Major Toppleton, senior, the terms of peace were promptly
rejected, and an intimation given that the Toppletonians intended
to recapture their commander, and drive the invaders into the deep
waters of the lake. While these negotiations were in progress, Colonel
Wimpleton left me, and went to the headquarters of the battalion.
Doubtless he saw his powerful rival on the top of the hill, and wished
to counteract the influence of his counsels with his own.
When the flag of truce returned, I saw a private run to the tree where
Major Tommy had been secured with a rope taken from one of the boats.
Then the two stout fellows in charge of him conducted him to a boat,
and pushed off. It was intended that the commander of the Toppleton
battalion should not be recaptured, and the threat of his forces was
rendered futile. But his command immediately repeated the assault,
when the nature of Colonel Wimpleton’s advice was evident. The beach
in the rear of the Centreport battalion was covered with small round
stones, with which the soldiers had plentifully supplied themselves.
The onslaught of the Toppletonians was received with a volley of these
missiles. They reeled under this unexpected reception, and being on the
grass they could not procure any similar ammunition. Captain Briscoe,
imitating the example of his illustrious commander, marched in front.
The stones seemed to be aimed at him, and he actually fell, hit by one
of them. His forces, appalled at this savage warfare, and by the fall
of their leader, halted, and then fell back beyond the reach of the
mischievous missiles. Briscoe was picked up, and borne to the top of
the hill. The affair was becoming more serious, and, I may consistently
add, more disgraceful, especially as the contending parties were now
virtually directed by Major Toppleton and Colonel Wimpleton, who were
old enough to have known better.
It was plain enough that our boys could not stand up against these
volleys of stones, and that the Wimpletonians could hold their ground
for the rest of the week. The battle was now to be a matter of strategy
and manœuvring. On the hill, as they saw Major Tommy sent off in the
boat, they concluded that he was safe enough for the present, and
were not disposed to accept any ignominious terms of peace. The two
fellows in charge of the prisoner of war had pulled off a quarter of a
mile from the shore, and were watching the issue of the combat. I was
curious to know what would be done next, but I concluded to operate
a little on my own account. Following the shore round the island, I
reached the pier, and went on board of the yacht. Skotchley and Grace,
in the standing-room, were watching the action, while Tom Walton and
Joe Poole had gone up to the mast-head, where they could obtain a
better view of the field of battle.
“All hands, unmoor!” I called, and my ready crew descended to the deck.
The mainsail had not been lowered, and we had only to get up the anchor
and hoist the jib. Before the fresh breeze we stood down the channel
towards the boat in which Tommy was an unwilling passenger.