Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story

not?"

  "No, sir, only a pony; and if I took the short cut it would not be along journey."

  "But could the pony do the journey to-day?"

  "Do it to-day, sir? Yes; she's as hard as a stag."

  "That will do for the present," said Colonel Forrester.

  "Shall I ride over for the doctor, sir?"

  "No. Send up your master."

  The lad went down quite sulkily, and delivered his message, whileColonel Forrester smiled at his son.

  "Well, Fred," he said, "I suppose you see now?"

  Fred's answer was cut short off by the heavy step of the landlord, whocame up with a sympathising look in his face, and seemed eager to serve.

  "The young gentleman's not worse, sir, I hope."

  "You are sorry for him, then?" said the colonel, quietly.

  "Sorry for him, sir? Why of course I am."

  "As sorry as you were for the young prisoner he brought by here."

  "Oh yes, sir, I was sorry for him, too; but he was not wounded."

  "You treacherous dog!" cried the colonel, in a voice of thunder, as heseized the landlord by the throat, and forced him to his knees; "sonothing would do but you must bid that boy take the pony and ride overto Brownsand so as to betray the fact that an escort of prisoners hadhalted at your house and were gone on by the Brownsand road."

  "No, sir; I never--I never did."

  "You lie, you old villain: tell the truth before I hand you over to mymen, and have you hung for a spy on the nearest tree."

  "I swear, colonel, I never did anything of the kind," cried thelandlord, piteously.

  "No, sir, it is not true," cried a girlish voice; and the landlord'slittle daughter appeared in the doorway.

  "Then pray who did?" cried Colonel Forrester.

  "I did, sir," said the girl, undauntedly.

  "And pray, why?"

  "Because I heard that the young officer was Sir Godfrey Markham's son,and it seemed so horrible that he should be dragged off a prisoner."

  "What do you know of Sir Godfrey Markham?" asked the colonel, sternly.

  "I had heard my father speak of him, sir."

  "And so you planned all this and executed it yourself?"

  "Yes, sir; I sent our lad off with a message to where the king's menlay."

  "I need not ask, I suppose, whether you are telling the truth," said thecolonel, grimly.

  "No, sir. Why should I tell a lie?" replied the girl, quietly; and shelooked unflinchingly in her questioner's face.

  "And at the first opportunity, I suppose, you will betray us into theenemy's hands?"

  "Oh no, sir," said the girl, with the tears in her eyes, as she glancedat Fred. "I would sooner try and save you, though you are the enemiesof our king."

  "Silence, girl! there is no king now in England, only a man who callshimself king. A tyrant who has been driven from the throne."

  The girl flushed and held up her head.

  "It is not true," she cried, proudly. "God save the king!"

  "What!" cried Colonel Forrester, in a voice of thunder; and for thefirst time the innkeeper spoke, his ruddy face now mottled with white,and his hands trembling as he placed them together beseechingly.

  "Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a foolish, wilfulgirl, sir. I've been a miserable coward to hold my tongue so long, butI will speak now. It was all my doing. I held back so as not to seemin the business, because I wanted to be friends with both sides, sir;but I could not bear to see the young squire carried off a prisoner, andI winked at it all. It was my doing, sir. Don't believe a word shesays."

  "Father, what have you said?" cried his child, clinging to him.

  "Hush! Hold your tongue," he whispered angrily.

  "So we have the truth at last," said the colonel. "You convict yourselfof being a spy and traitor; and you know your fate, I suppose?"

  As Colonel Forrester spoke, he rose and walked to the window, made asign with his hand, and directly after heavy steps were heard upon thestairs, accompanied by the clank of arms.

  In an instant the girl was at the colonel's feet.

  "Oh, sir, what are you going to do?" she shrieked. "He is my father."

  The guilty innkeeper's lips were quivering, and the white portions inhis face were gradually increasing, to the exclusion of the red, for thesteps of the soldiers on the stairs brought vividly before his eyes thescene of a spy's fate. He knew what such a traitor's end would be, and,speechless with terror, he could hardly keep his feet, as he looked fromhis child to the stern colonel and back again.

  "Father!" she cried, "why don't you speak? Why don't you ask him toforgive us?"

  "Mercy--mercy!" faltered the wretched man.

  "What mercy did you have on my poor boy?" cried the colonel, fiercely."Through your treachery, he was surrounded by five times the number ofhis own men; and, for aught you cared, instead of lying wounded here hemight have been dead."

  "Mercy! I did not know," gasped the miserable culprit.

  "Mercy? Yes; you shall have the choice of your own trees on which tohang," cried the colonel.

  "No, no; mercy!" gasped the trembling man, dropping on his knees; "formy child's sake--for Heaven's sake--spare me!"

  "Father!" cried Fred, excitedly.

  "Silence, boy! I am their judge," said Colonel Forrester, sternly."Yes, man, for your child's sake, I will spare you, in spite of yourcowardly treachery."

  "Father, father!" cried the girl, excitedly; but he could not speak.

  "Yes, I will spare you for your child's sake," said the colonel again."There, little woman, I forgive you, for you are as brave andtrue-hearted as can be. I believe you--every word. Your little heartwas moved to pity for the prisoner, as it has been moved to pity for mypoor boy here, and for my men."

  He took her hand in his, and held it.

  "I have heard of all your busy nursing, and I do not blame you; I wouldrather praise. There, help the old man downstairs, and I am not afraidof your betraying us."

  The girl raised his hand and kissed it before rushing to her father,flinging her arms about him, and helping him away, so weak andsemi-paralysed by fright that he could hardly totter from the room, thecolonel following to the door, and signing to the soldiers to go down.

  "There, he has had his punishment," said the colonel, smiling; "and nowyou will be able to rest in peace."

  "Thank you, father, thank you," whispered Fred, huskily.

  "You see you were not to blame now."

  "Not so much as I thought, father."

  "Not to blame at all. There, make haste and grow strong, my boy, beforewe are driven out in turn by the enemy."

  "Are they near, father?"

  "No; as far as I know, my boy. But the victors of yesterday are thedefeated to-day, perhaps to win again to-morrow. Ah, my boy, it isfratricidal work! and, though I love my cause as well as ever, I wouldgive all I possess as one of the richest men in our county to see homesmiling again in peace."

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

  TOWARDS HOME.

  Weeks followed of desultory warfare. One day messengers came bringingnews to the little inn--which had gradually become head-quarters fromthe coming there of General Hedley, and the centre to whichreinforcements were continually gathering--that the king's men were oncemore in force, and preparations were made for a hasty move.

  "Far sooner than I could wish, my boy," said the colonel, as he satbeside his son after a busy day.

  "But I feel quite strong again, father," pleaded Fred. "You are tooanxious about me."

  "Too anxious, my boy? No, I think not. Well, you will have to try andsit your horse again, even if you are a non-combatant."

  "Which way shall we retreat?" asked Fred.

  "Retreat? Who said anything about retreat?" cried a stern voice, andGeneral Hedley entered the room. "Oh, you, eh, boy?" he continued,shaking one of his buff gauntlets at the convalescent. "Don't you letCaptain Miles hear you say that again. We may move to a differentp
osition, but we will not talk of retreat yet."

  Fred felt the colour burning once more in his pale cheeks, and thegeneral went on--

  "Forrester, I want a chat with you. Come into my room. I have freshdespatches."

  The colonel followed his leader out of the little parlour which had beendevoted to the wounded lad by the general's command, he having insistedupon its being retained when he joined them there, and tents had sprungup in all directions upon the moor close to the inn.

  Directly after, there was a hoarse cough heard outside, in company witha heavy step.

  "Hem! Master Fred, sir."

  "You, Samson?"

  "Yes, sir. Alone, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "May I speak to you!"

  "Yes; go on."

  Samson's head appeared at the window, upon the sill of which he leanedhis arms as he gazed in.

  "Getting quite tidy again, arn't you, sir!" he said, in a hoarsewhisper.

  "Yes, quite strong; and you?"

  "Never better, sir; only wind feels a little short sometimes, and I getstoo hot too soon."

  "You didn't come to tell me that, Samson."

  "No, sir; I come to tell you there's news in the camp."

  "What of?--a movement?"

  "Yes, sir; that's it."

  "Do you know where we're going next!"

  "No, sir; do you?"

  "No, Samson; and I should say that is the general's secret. We shallknow when we get there."

  "Start to-morrow, don't we, sir?"

  "Impossible to say. What do they say in the camp?"

  "Weather-cockery."

  "What?"

  "Well, sir, it's just like a vane in a wind: now it's east, now it'swest, and when it ain't east or west, it's north or south. Everybodysays everybody else is wrong. But we are going somewhere directly;that's for certain. And, I say, Master Fred."

  "Yes?"

  "How do you feel about mounting your horse again?"

  "I long to, Samson. How are the poor beasts?"

  "Lovely, sir. The farrier doctored the cuts and scratches they got inthe skirmish, and they're pretty well healed up now. It's a cowardlything to cut at a horse. Then you feel strong enough to have a try,sir?"

  "You wait till we get the orders to start, Samson, and you shall see."

  Samson rubbed his hands and began to smile, but the pleasant look wasousted by a grotesque twitching of the countenance.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I always forget, sir. Wound reminds me when I go too fast, and aren'tcareful. All right again soon, though. Don't hear no noos of the warbeing over, sir, I s'pose?"

  "No, Samson, none. Tired of it?"

  "Tired, sir? I don't know about tired, but I can't help thinking of themanor now and then, and what sort of a state my garden will be in. Why,Master Fred, sir, you know that bit under the north wall, where themistress's herbs and simples grow!"

  "Yes."

  "Well, sir, I shan't know that bit again. That there patch inpartic'lar 'll be one big touzle o' weeds, and--"

  _Tantara, tantara, tantara_! A trumpet rang out, sending a thrillthrough Fred, as he grasped its meaning, and that of the blasts thatfollowed, with the rush of feet and trampling of horses. For amessenger had come in bearing a despatch, and in an incredibly shortspace of time tents were struck, baggage waggons loaded, and the littleforce was marching slowly to the west, Fred having only time to shakehands with his little nurse, and assure the landlord for the fiftiethtime that he forgave him for being the cause of his wounds, and was mostgrateful for the kindness he had received.

  Then, to his intense delight, he was once more mounted on his horse,which gave a whinny of recognition as his master patted his neck andsmoothed his velvet muzzle. The trumpets rang out the advance, and withthe sun flashing from the men's arms, the array moved slowly off, andthe youth's eyes sparkled as he drew in long breaths of the soft sweetair, while he gazed wonderingly in the direction they were taking, hisbreast filled with new hopes, in which he was afraid to indulge, lestthey should prove to be false.

  The longing to question his superior officers was intense, though heknew that even they would probably be in ignorance of their route; andnever before had he felt so strongly that a soldier is only a portion ofone great piece of mechanism moved by one--the general in command.

  As they settled down at last into the line of march, Fred found himselffor the present with the staff, riding behind his father, who wasGeneral Hedley's most trusted follower, but hours went on before a wordpassed between father and son. Such conversation as did ensue was withSamson, who rode behind, neither being considered sufficiently recoveredto go back to the regiment, but settling down to the work ofaide-de-camp and orderly.

  And as they rode slowly on, the cavalry halting from time to time togive the infantry opportunities for keeping up and preserving theirposition in the column, it soon became evident that the Royalists, whohad made no sign in their neighbourhood for weeks, must be somewherenear at hand. For the greatest precautions were taken, scouting partieswere out, and a regiment of horse formed flankers well away on eitherside to guard against surprise.

  Fred was riding slowly on at a short distance behind his father,thinking with all a convalescent's freedom from fever and pain, of howbeautiful everything around seemed to be, and longing to cast aside thetrammels of discipline, so as to be a boy in nature once more, as wellas in years, when a low voice behind him made him sharply turn his head.

  "Don't it seem a pity, Master Fred?"

  "Eh? What, Samson?"

  "Why, sir, that we should be all riding and walking along here over thismoor, thinking about hoeing up and raking down people and mowing 'emoff, instead of enjoying ourselves like Christians?"

  "Ah, yes," sighed Fred; "it does. It is very beautiful, though, all thesame."

  "Beautiful, sir? Ah, Master Fred, how I should like to put away mytools--I mean this here sword and pistol--and for you and me to take offour boots and stockings, and wade up yonder stream after the trout."

  "Hah!" ejaculated Fred, with his eyes brightening. "Yes."

  "Or to go away north, and get out on that there short soft grass, asalways looks as if it had been kept well-mown, out there by the RillHead, and lie down on our backs, and look at the sun shining on the seaand ships a-sailing along, eh, Master Fred?"

  "Oh, Samson, Samson, don't talk about it!" sighed Fred, as he gazedright away in imagination at the scene his rough companion painted.

  "Can't help it, sir. Feel as if I must. Steady, my lad! you mustn'tbreak away for a gallop. We're soldiers now."

  This was to his horse, which felt grass beneath its feet and the windblowing, and wanted to be off.

  "'Member how the rabbits used to scuttle off up there, Master Fred, andshow their white tails as they popped into their holes?"

  Fred nodded, and let his reins fall upon his horse's neck.

  "And that there hole up in the Rill, sir? 'Member how I come and foundyour clothes up beside it, and fetched my garden line to fish for yourrope?"

  "Oh yes, yes, yes!" said Fred, sadly.

  "And we never went down that place again, after all, sir. Well, let'shope that we shall some day. I'm getting tired of soldiering, and feelas if it would be a real pleasure to have a mug of our cider again, andpull up a weed."

  "I'm afraid I am getting tired of it, too, Samson; but I cannot see theend."

  "And on a fine day like this, sir, with the blue sky up above, and thegreen grass down below, and the birds singing, it's just lovely. Why, Ifeel so well and happy this morning that I do believe, if he was here, Icould go so far as to shake hands with my brother Nat."

  "Why, of course, Samson," said Fred, thoughtfully.

  "No," added Samson, "I don't think I could go so far as that."

  "And if Scarlett Markham were here," thought Fred, "I believe I couldgrasp his hand, and be like a brother again, as in the past."

  "Wonder where we are going, and wh
ether it means another fight, sir?"said Samson, after a pause. "Look, sir!--the colonel. Master's wavinghis hand."

  Fred saw the motion, and trotted up to his father's side.

  "Fred, my boy, do you know where we are making for?"

  "No, father!"

  "Home."

  "Oh, father!" said Fred, with his pale face flushing. "I am glad."

  "Oh, Fred, my boy," replied his father, seriously, "I am very sorry."

  "Sorry, father? Why, we may have a chance to see them all again."

  "Yes--perhaps; but we are taking the horrors of war to the abode ofpeace, my boy."

  "Yes," said Fred, thoughtfully. "I did not think of that."

  "It was our duty and hope that we might keep the ruin and misery broughtby war from our pleasant moors and lanes. Better not see those we loveat such a cost."

  "Then, don't let's go, father."

  Colonel Forrester shook his head.

  "A soldier's duty is to obey, Fred. Our general has had his orders, andfeels that for military reasons our district will be the most suitableplace for intercepting a force which is threatening the west; and ourduty is to go."

  "Yes, father. But shall we see my mother?"

  "I hope not, Fred."

  "Oh, father!"

  "Not yet awhile, my boy. We must only think of those we love when ourduty to our country is done."

  They rode on in silence for a time, with Fred picturing, amid thetrampling of hoofs and jingle of weapons, the scenes of his boyhood, butto be awakened from his dream by his father's voice.

  "Do not talk about our destination. I only tell you, my boy, because itis a matter which interests us both."

  "No, father. You may trust me."

  "I know that, or I should not speak. Our destination is--"

  "Not the Manor, father?"

  "No, my boy, the Hall."

  Fred sat staring wildly at his father, as bit by bit he grasped whatthis really meant to these who had always been their nearest friends;and then, bubbling over with excitement, he exclaimed--

  "Oh, father, Sir Godfrey will think this is your doing."

  "Yes, my boy."

  "And is it, father?"

  There was a pause.

  "Oh, father, how could you?"

  "Don't misjudge me, boy," said the colonel, sternly. "I have doneeverything I could to stop it."

  "And--"

  "Failed, Fred. It is a strong position for many reasons, and I havebeen compelled, by my duty to my country, to hold my peace. Rein back."

  It was the officer speaking now, and Fred checked his steed till Samsonwas nearly abreast of him again, when, after quite a dozen attempts todraw his young master into conversation, Samson muttered to himself, "Inthe grumps;" and rode on in silence too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  A PETITION TO THE GENERAL.

  It seemed to Fred Forrester a strange stroke of fate, when, after threedays' slow and steady advance, feeling their way cautiously, as if atany hour they might meet the enemy, he rode with the advance to takepossession of the Hall, for in spite of the colonel offering his ownhome again, the general kept to his decision that the Hall was the moresuitable place for head-quarters.

  The day was bright as one of those when, full of boyish spirits, he usedto run over to spend the day with Scarlett Markham; and where was henow? A fugitive, perhaps; who could say where? And Sir Godfrey, wherewas he?

  Fred felt very sad as he rode on, with the horses' hoofs tramplingdeeply into the soft green turf. But how beautiful it all seemed, withthe rich red-brown stone of the old house contrasting so well with thegreen of the stately trees. The lake glistened like a sheet of silverin the sunshine, and all seemed familiar and welcome, and yet somehow asthough connected with his life long, long ago, and as if it wasimpossible it could have been so short a time since he was a boy, andplayed about there.

  "I hope the men will be careful," he found himself thinking; "and thatevery one will be respectful to Lady Markham."

  He had not much time for thought after that, for the men were halted onthe level grass land in front of the terrace garden, and he foundhimself one of the officers who, after an advance guard had ridden up tothe front, and others had been despatched to form piquets surroundingthe place, rode up in the train of the general.

  To Fred's surprise, Lady Markham and her daughter came to the broad stepin front of the entrance, and the general touched his horse's sides withthe spurs, and rode up.

  Fred was so near that he heard every word, and he bent forward, lookingin vain for some token of recognition from the pale, careworn lady andher shrinking daughter, who received the general.

  The latter saluted Lady Markham gravely.

  "I regret to trouble you, madam," he said; "but we are compelled to takepossession of your house for the present."

  Lady Markham bowed coldly.

  "We are at your mercy, sir," she said.

  "Nonsense, madam!" cried the general, shortly. "You and the prettyyoung lady there by your side need not talk about mercy. The sternnecessities of war bring us here, so all I have to say is, be goodenough to reserve such apartments as you need for yourselves. You andyour servants will be perfectly unmolested."

  Lady Markham bowed once more.

  "The housekeeper is here," she said, "and will provide all we have. Wehave no men-servants now, to show where the stables and granary lie."

  "Pray don't trouble yourself about these matters, madam. My men willfind what they want, and I dare say," he added sarcastically, "unlessGeneral Markham comes to look us up, and forces us to make morereprisals, we shall ride away, and you will find the Hall little theworse for our visit."

  A sudden change came over Lady Markham at the mention of her husband'sname, and after a few minutes' hesitation, she stepped out to stand withjoined hands, looking supplicatingly at the general.

  "My husband?" she said imploringly, "is--is he well?"

  "You ask me a question I cannot answer, madam," said the general, takingoff his morion, and speaking in a quiet sympathising voice. "But thereis one of my young followers who may be able to give you someinformation."

  He turned and made a sign to Fred, who touched his horse's flanks, androde forward with a peculiar singing noise in his ears.

  "You!" said Lady Markham, looking at the young officer in a startledmanner, and then turning from him with a look of disgust, while he sawthat Lil shivered.

  "They look upon me as if I were some one who had been the cause of allthis," he thought; but his countenance lightened directly, as LadyMarkham turned to him again, and said gently--

  "Forgive me, Fred. This meeting brought up the past. It seemed soterrible that my boy's companion should be among our enemies."

  As she spoke, she held out her hand, which Fred seized and held for afew moments before he could speak, and when he did give utterance to hiswords, they were in a voice broken by emotion.

  "I am not your enemy, Lady Markham," he said. "I would do anything tospare you pain. Lil, won't you shake hands?"

  The girl hesitated for a few moments, and then held out her little handtimidly, but only to turn to her mother directly, and cling to her asshe strove to keep back her sobs.

  "Ask him--ask him," she whispered.

  "Yes. Tell us, Fred--my poor boy," said Lady Markham, in a low voice,so as to be unheard by the soldiers close at hand. "Where is myhusband?"

  "The last I heard of him, Lady Markham, was that he was with the Cornishmen beyond Plymouth. They are all on the king's side there."

  "But was he safe and well?"

  "Yes; quite safe and well, and Scarlett--"

  "Yes; pray go on. I dared not ask, for fear of hearing bad news."

  "I heard that he was quite well, too, and acting as his father'saide-de-camp."

  "Thank Heaven!" sighed Lady Markham, piously. "It is so long since wehad heard from them. Now I can feel more at rest."

  She seemed to gain strength from the news;
and after a pause she wenton--

  "Tell your leader," she said, "that I am grateful, for my child's sake.He has been most courteous. I did not expect this consideration."

  "Oh, Lady Markham, I am sure that you have nothing to fear. Thediscipline is so strict among our men. They will only take food andshelter for a night or two. Any act of disorder would be punished."

  Lady Markham drew a breath of relief.

  "You are our enemy, Fred," she said softly, "and when we meet again, Ishall not forget to tell my husband of the treatment we have received.There, Lilian and I will go to our room. You know the place by heart.See that everything is done for your officers' comfort. Let them learnthat Sir Godfrey Markham can show hospitality, even to his foes."

  She bowed stiffly, and, taking her daughter's hand, was withdrawing intothe house, when Lil snatched her hand away, and stepped quickly toFred's side.

  "I hate you," she whispered. "You are dear father's and Scar's cruelenemy; but please, please, Fred, don't let them do us any harm."

  "Don't be afraid, dreadful enemy," said Fred, smiling, as he saw thedepth of his old playmate's hatred. "I'll do everything I can, Lildear, for all your sakes. Good-bye, if I do not see you again."

  She gave him a quick look, which seemed in an instant to bring up sunnydays when he had swung her on the lawn, rowed on the lake, and climbedthe apple-trees to get her fruit; and then she was gone, and he waslistening to the trampling of horses, the shouting of orders, and he wascalled away.

  Directly after, he was making use of his