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Updated: May 9, 2025
All Coombeland boys, every man-jack of 'em, and you can't stop them when they mean business." "No," said Fred between his teeth, as he tried to keep down the feelings of elation engendered by the gallantry of the attack, by forcing himself to think of how it would be were he Scarlett Markham, and these men enemies attacking his home.
In these two regiments the boys from Coombeland served six months as ordinary soldiers, till, partly for their ability, partly from the dash they had shown, they were nominally raised to the rank of officers, the men of their troops willingly following the lead of the brave boys who rode with them into dangers many enough. For, in those stern times, no father could spare his son.
"No, Samson; but don't stand there talking. Did you bring a rope?" "How could I bring the rope, when you'd got it?" "Go and fetch another." "There isn't one that'll bear you. Can't you throw up the end of that one?" "Impossible! You must fetch another." "And who's to do my gardening while I'm hunting all over Coombeland for ropes as nobody won't lend?" "Look here, Samson," cried Scarlett.
"Looks just like a trussed turkey." "Ah," said the man, quietly, "and who knows when it may be our turn to ride prisoners just the same? Knew him before, didn't you?" "Eh? knew him? Well, just a little," said Samson, drily. "Come from the same part o' Coombeland. Me and him's had many a fight when we was boys." "And the young captain and that long-haired popinjay met before, haven't they?"
As they rode on deep down in a hollow between mighty hedges, a loud hail seemed to come from the road on the hillside, "Hoi, hoi!" which was followed by another on the opposite slope, but no one stirred. The call of the hoot-owl was too familiar to the Coombeland men to deceive.
Not much of a matter for consideration, in modern days; but to the dwellers in that retired part of Coombeland, far away from a town, the coming of a strange horseman was an event, and, regardless of where he put his feet, Fred went on trying to keep the mounted man in view, as he disappeared at times in the hollows, and then came into sight again, evidently moving at a foot's pace.
"Yes, he's as true as steel," said Scarlett, flushing. "He always was." "You know him?" "It's Fred Forrester, Colonel Forrester's son, from the Manor. We were companions till the war broke out." "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.
The nicking sound ceased on the instant, and Samson began indignantly "Well, I do like that, Master Fred. I mayn't be a scholar, and I never larnt Latin, and that sort of stuff, but I'll grow vegetables and make cider with any man in Coombeland." "What has making cider to do with tinder, you great oaf!" cried Fred, angrily, so as to hide his emotion.
"Oh, I know it could be done," said Samson. "If Master Fred makes up his mind to do it, and asks me to help him, it's as good as done. Hear that, you ugly Coombeland ruffian?" he added in a whisper, as he pressed his doubled first in the semi-darkness against his brother's nose.
Eighteen months with the army, and, in spite of exposure, neither of the Coombeland lads had met, or, as far as they knew, been near each other, and neither of the two little parties from Hall and Manor had met with a wound. But sterner times were near at hand.
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