Читать книгу A Pageant of Victory - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Coming forth into the open air Anthony drew a deep breath, mopped damp brow and looked up and around him, upon the peaceful landscape, like one a little dazed.

"Lord love me!" he ejaculated, then turned as the gigantic frontiersman came striding, rifle on shoulder.

"Ha, Mist' Anthony, you missed it!" he cried. "Bunker Hill! You missed it ... and them redcoats! But I were there, along wi' my old 'Blastem' here!" And he patted the stock of his rifle lovingly. "By heck, but there's a purty good few o' them British soldiers won't fight never no more, seem' as they'm buried nice and quiet on Bunker Hill!"

"Tell me of it, Septimus. Was it a hard fight?"

"While it lasted 'twas purty hot. And why them soldiers must march close and in red coats wi' white crossbelts and brass buckles as no man couldn't help but hit, I dunno."

"Was it a very bloody business, Sep?"

"Ay, for these bloodybacks it shore was! Twice they come up at us nice and reg'lar like they was on parade, Mist' Anthony, and twice we druv 'em back, they was laying dead in their ranks all the way 'long the hill! Twice we licked 'em, Mr. Anthony, druv 'em down that bloody slope, trippin' over their own dead they was, and scarce a man of us teched, snug in our trenches we was. They give us a volley or so, but heck! what's a smooth-bore musket agin a frontier rifle? All their shot, purty nigh, flew wide! And it's--'Hold y'r fire, boys! Wait for the word an' aim low--at their belts!' On they came, up and over their dead, cheerin', bay'nets twinklin', up an' up till we could see the very whites o' their eyes. Then: Fire's the word! Aha, our rifles cracked all along the trenches an' when the smoke cleared there was mighty few o' them on their feet an' them staring about wild-like, ah, like lost children ... and down the hill they went again. And we thought they was licked for good. But no, by heck! They throws off their packs, ay, an' ca'tridge belts, they forms up shoulder to shoulder and up they come again at the double, but nary a cheer now, savin' their breath this time d'ye see. Up they comes at us, bay'nets at the charge, nary a shot from 'em now! We waits till we can see their eyes, we fires into 'em point-blank and then, afore our smoke clears, they're at us--all that's left on 'em--on us and into us with their bay'nets. And 'twas then as we had our losses, for a bay'net's quicker nor a clubbed rifle! And so, because we'd no time to reload, we give way at last and left 'em to it. But, by the Lord, Mist' Anthony, we made 'em pay cruel dear for it. Aha, we showed 'em the old Brown Bess as won for 'em so many battle-fields ain't no manner o' good agin a Yankee rifle, we did!"

"But," said Anthony, "they won the hill and trenches."

"Well ... ye see, Mist' Anthony, our shot was nigh all spent."

"Still, they captured the position at the point of the bayonet, eh, Sep?"

"Which I ain't denyin', Mist' Anthony. But it cost 'em precious dear, it did, so sure as my name be Septimus Tutt."

"And what now, Sep? What shall you do?"

"Well, over the border in Caroliny I got six brothers as can line a rifle as good as me, or purty nigh, and I'm going to 'list 'em all, ah and others like 'em, and we're a-goin' to hunt them redcoats till we've buried 'em all or drove 'em back where they belongs. And what o' yourself, Mist' Anthony?"

"Oh I shall be deep in this bloody business ... somehow, somewhere ... sooner or later, I suppose. Though, instead, I would to God we were off on another hunting trip, you and I, Sep."

"Why so we be!" laughed Tutt, patting his rifle again. "The finest hunting as ever was, we're a-going to hunt them sojers into the sea. Redcoats is better sport than bufflers or moose and jest as easy to kill. And you know as my ol' Blastem here don't never miss. S'long, Mist' Anthony, and good luck!"

"Good-bye, old friend!" said Anthony grasping the great hand Septimus held forth to him. "May we meet again soon."

"Amen, Mist' Anthony! Maybe I'll show ye some English hair along o' these yer Injun scalps. Good-bye and good huntin'!"

So saying this young giant grinned, nodded, shouldered Old Blastem and went striding away, his hunter's feet soundless in their moccasins.

And now beckoning the Sagamore beside him, Anthony went wandering on very pensively a while.

"War!" sighed he at last, in the soft Indian dialect. "War is a vile and terrible thing, Mahtocheega!"

"My brother speaketh truly!" answered the Sagamore. "Verily war is ever a very bad thing for cowards and those who are captured or conquered."

"Nay, my friend," said Anthony smiling somewhat ruefully, "war is an evil for both victor and vanquished, I think. To spill and waste this precious thing we call life, to kill a man is ever an awful business, Mahtocheega."

"Truly, brother, except that man be an enemy. To kill an enemy is good! And a man that is a man must ever have enemies!"

"Ay, faith it would seem so!" nodded Anthony despondently. Then, hearing a sound behind him, he turned, to behold Priscilla Worth speeding across the lawn towards him.

"Oh, Anthony," she gasped, "they say you are a webel, but I don't care! I couldn't let you go without telling you that ... that you are my dear fwend and that I shall always love you ... as a fwend. And, oh Tony, dear ... Charles has positively pwoposed to me, yes while they were all shouting and cheering so fuwiously ... and I said 'yes.'"

"Why then, God bless you, Priscilla! Congratulations, my dear, and may you both be very happy."

"Thank you, Anthony. But oh, my dear, I ... I was thinking ... if you are twooly a webel and go to battle ... you and my Charles may have to fight each other--"

"God forbid!" said Anthony, very fervently.

"Yes, God forbid!" said she, clasping her hands about his arm. "But oh, dear Anthony, I want you to pwomise me you would never, never hurt him ... even if you had to. Pwomise me, Anthony!"

"I do promise, with all my heart!" he answered, taking her small hand to kiss it very solemnly.

"Thank you!" she sighed. "And God bless you, dear Wanthony. Now I must fly back or Charles will be looking for me and ... oh dwat it, there he is now!" Glancing whither she looked, Anthony saw his cousin approaching, very stately, very youthful but extremely grave.

"Priscilla," he demanded, never so much as glancing at Anthony, "what do you in company with this ... this ... gentleman?"

"Thank you!" said Anthony. "I had expected a less kind epithet, Charles."

"And pon my life, sir, you deserve one!" quoth my lord. "Yes ye do, demme if ye don't. For, as my father said, you are a demd rebel and ... so forth."

"No, Charles, I am an American! So are you and all the rest of us. Any man who lives in and by this rich land of America, is and must be an American. But enough o' this. Pray believe, Charles, that I am heartily sorry to have grieved the earl, I beg you will tell him this.... And whatever may chance in the future, know that in my heart I am as much your friend as ever I was in our boyhood days, indeed even more so. Therefore, Charles, if you ... care to have it, here's my hand, old fellow."

Lord Charles frowned, hesitated, then grasped his cousin's outstretched hand very suddenly.

"Right, Tony!" he muttered. "If we must be enemies well ... blood's thicker than water ... old schooldays and ... oh demme, you know what I mean!"

"And just for this," cried Priscilla, slipping a hand within the arm of each, "just for this, Charles, I shall kiss you, because you are my generous man and a weal nobleman; and then I shall kiss Anthony, because he is my fwend and such a lonely soul." So she kissed them both and thereafter they stood viewing each other very wistfully in a silence more eloquent than any speech.

"Oh," she whispered at last, "may God be kind and keep you safe both ... both of you! Good-bye, Anthony, and oh wemember your pwomise."

"Bless you, I'll not forget!" answered Anthony, little guessing the cruel tricks this bloody war was to play him.