“Three cheers for bonnie Coombeland and its boys,” said the Cavalier. “Why, Scarlett, my lad, we shall have to get him away from these wretched rebels. Can’t it be done?”
“No,” said Scarlett, gravely. “Fred is too staunch and true.”
And staunchly enough, Fred, with his trumpeter behind, was riding back to camp with his message, which he delivered to General Hedley and his father.
There was a pause after he had done, and the general sat gazing straight before him.
“Well, Forrester,” he said at last, “I have done my duty so far, and I must go on. We cannot leave this little nest of hornets in our rear to act as a point to which other insects will gather for the destruction of those who are fighting for their homes. It is of no use to give them time.”
“No,” said Colonel Forrester, sternly. “I agree with you. They must fall, or be taken to a man.”
“And their blood be upon their own heads.”
“Amen,” said Colonel Forrester, in a deep voice; and as Fred glanced at him he saw that he was very pale, while a cold chill of dread ran through the lad’s veins as, in imagination, he seemed to see stout, handsome Sir Godfrey Markham borne down by numbers, with Scarlett making frantic efforts to save him; and then all seemed to be dark—a darkness which hung over his spirit, so that he led his horse mechanically to the improvised stabling beneath the trees, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, till a voice said—
“No, no, Master Fred, I’ll see to your horse;” and he turned and found Samson there, and this set him thinking about poor Nat lying helpless in the wood.