The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea by James Fenimore Cooper (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📕

move. At length his orderly announced that substitutes for barrows were provided to sustain the wounded, and inquired if it were his pleasure to return to their quarters.

“Who has seen the horse?” demanded the captain; “which way did they march? Have they gained any tidings of the discovery of this party of the enemy?”

“Not from us, your honor,” returned the sergeant; “they had ridden along the coast before we left the cliffs, and it was said their officer intended to scour the shore for several miles, and spread the alarm.”

“Let him; it is all such gay gallants are good for. Drill, honor is almost as scarce an article with our arms just now as promotion. We seem but the degenerate children of the heroes of Poictiers;—you understand me, sergeant?”

“Some battle fou't by his majesty's troops against the French, your honor,” returned the orderly, a little at a loss to comprehend the expression of his officer's eye.

“Fellow, you grow dull on victory,” exclaimed Borroughcliffe: “come hither, I would give you orders. Do you think, Mister Drill, there is more honor, or likely to be more profit, in this little morning's amusement than you and I can stand under?”

“I should not, your honor: we have both pretty broad shoulders——”

“That are not weakened by undue burdens of this nature,” Interrupted his captain, significantly: “if we let the news of this affair reach the ears of those hungry dragoons, they would charge upon us open-mouthed, like a pack of famished beagles, and claim at least half the credit, and certainly all the profit.”

“But, your honor, there was not a man of them even——”

“No matter, Drill; I've known troops that have been engaged, and have suffered, cheated out of their share of victory by a well-worded despatch. You know, fellow, that in the smoke and confusion of a battle, a man can only see what passes near him, and common prudence requires that he only mention in his official letters what he knows can't be easily contradicted. Thus your Indians, and, indeed, all allies, are not entitled to the right of a general order, any more than to the right of a parade. Now, I dare say, you have heard of a certain battle of Blenheim?”

“Lord! your honor, 'tis the pride of the British army, that and the Culloden! 'Twas when the great Corporal John beat the French king, and all his lords and nobility, with half his nation in arms to back him.”

“Ay! there is a little of the barrack readings in the account, but it is substantially true; know you how many French were in the field that day, Mister Drill?”

“I have never seen the totals of their muster, sir, in print; but, judging by the difference betwixt the nations, I should suppose some hundreds of thousands.”

“And yet, to oppose this vast army, the duke had only ten or twelve thousand well-fed Englishmen! You look astounded, sergeant!”

“Why, your honor, that does seem rather an over-match for an old soldier to swallow; the random shot would sweep away so small a force.”

“And yet the battle was fought, and the victory won! but the Duke of Marlborough had a certain Mr. Eugene, with some fifty or sixty thousand High-Dutchers, to back him. You never heard of Mr. Eugene?”

“Not a syllable, your honor; I always thought that Corporal John——”

“Was a gallant and great general; you thought right, Mister Drill. So would a certain nameless gentleman be also, if his majesty would sign a commission to that effect. However, a majority is on the high road to a regiment, and with even a regiment a man is comfortable! In plain English, Mister Drill, we must get our prisoners into the abbey with as little noise as possible, in order that the horse may continue their gambols along the coast, without coming to devour our meal. All the fuss must be made at the war-office: for that trifle you may trust me; I think I know who holds a quill that is as good in its way as the sword he wears. Drill is a short name, and can easily be written within the folds of a letter.”

“Lord, your honor!” said the gratified halberdier, “I'm sure such an honor is more—but your honor can ever command me!”

“I do; and it is to be close, and to make your men keep close, until it shall be time to speak, when I pledge myself there shall be noise enough.” Borroughcliffe shook his head, with a grave air, as he continued: “It has been a devil of a bloody fight, sergeant! look at the dead and wounded; a wood on each flank—supported by a ruin in the centre. Oh! ink—ink can be spilt on the details with great effect. Go, fellow, and prepare to march.”

Thus enlightened on the subject of his commander's ulterior views, the non-commissioned agent of the captain's wishes proceeded to give suitable instructions to the rest of the party, and to make the more immediate preparations for a march. The arrangements were soon completed. The bodies of the slain were left unsheltered, the seclusion of the ruin being deemed a sufficient security against the danger of any discovery, until darkness should favor their removal, In conformity with Borroughcliffe's plan to monopolize the glory. The wounded were placed on rude litters composed of the muskets and blankets of the prisoners, when the conquerors and vanquished moved together in a compact body from the ruin, in such a manner as to make the former serve as a mask to conceal the latter from the curious gaze of any casual passenger. There was but little, indeed, to apprehend on this head, for the alarm and terror, consequent on the exaggerated reports that flew through the country, effectually prevented any intruders on the usually quiet and retired domains of St. Ruth.

The party was emerging from the wood, when the cracking of branches, and rustling of dried leaves, announced, however, that an interruption of some sort was about to occur.

“If it should be one of their rascally patrols!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe, with very obvious displeasure; “they trample like a regiment of cavalry! but, gentlemen, you will acknowledge yourselves, that we were retiring from the field of battle when we met the reinforcement, if it should prove to be such.”

“We are not disposed, sir, to deny you the glory of having achieved your victory single-handed,” said Griffith, glancing his eyes uneasily in the direction of the approaching sounds, expecting to see the Pilot issue from the thicket in which he seemed to be entangled, instead of any detachment of his enemies.

“Clear the way, Caesar!” cried a voice at no great distance from them; “break through the accursed vines on my right, Pompey!—press forward, my fine fellows, or we may be too late to smell even the smoke of the fight.”

“Hum!” ejaculated the captain, with his philosophic indifference of manner entirely re-established, “this must be a Roman legion just awoke from a trance of some seventeen centuries, and that the voice of a centurion. We will halt, Mister Drill, and view the manner of an ancient march!”

While the captain was yet speaking, a violent effort disengaged the advancing party from the thicket of brambles in which they had been entangled,