And then, from the farther side of the encampment, there came a little whistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was complete.
Bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring upon his arms, Dick hailed him.
“Bennet,” he said—“Bennet, old friend, yield ye. Ye will but spill men’s lives in vain if ye resist.”
“’Tis Master Shelton, by St. Barbary!” cried Hatch. “Yield me? Ye ask much. What force have ye?”
“I tell you, Bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt,” said Dick. “Cæsar and Charlemagne would cry for quarter. I have two score men at my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows I could answer for you all.”
“Master Dick,” said Bennet, “it goes against my heart; but I must do my duty. The saints help you!” And therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth and wound a rousing call.
Then followed a moment of confusion; for while Dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, Hatch’s little band sprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce resistance. In the hurry of their change of place, Joanna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to her lover’s side.
“Here, Dick!” she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers.
But Dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the thought of old Lady Brackley checked the command upon his tongue. His own men became restive. Some of them cried on him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor Bennet bit the dust. Then Dick awoke.
“On!” he cried. “Shoot, boys, and keep to cover. England and York!”