But though Fred strained his eyes eagerly, the distance kept him from recognising any familiar faces, and a terrible sense of heart-sinking increased as he hurried on.
All at once the thundering of horses’ hoofs was heard behind, and a familiar voice shouted Fred’s name.
He turned to see that it was his father, who slightly checked his powerful horse as he came up.
“Quick! you two,” he cried; “lay hold of the mane, and run.”
Fred grasped the idea in an instant, seized the horse’s thick mane, and dropped into step as the sturdy beast trotted on. But the mane was all on Fred’s side, and Samson missed his opportunity, but as the horse passed on, he made a snatch at the tail, twisted his hand in the thick hair, was nearly jerked off his feet, but recovered himself, and held on, improving his position by degrees, and contriving to keep up.
“They must have done this themselves, Fred,” said Colonel Forrester, in a deeply troubled voice. “Hah! that’s right. We must save the place.”
“What are they doing, father?”
“Our men are joining line toward the stable yard, and getting buckets, I think. Hold on tightly.”
“I’m quite right, father,” panted Fred; and he kept up till they reached the men who surrounded the prisoners, and who burst into a cheer as the colonel came up.
Fred’s position prevented him from seeing exactly who were numbered among the prisoners, and at that moment the general drew rein at their side.