A Young Hero Part 6

A sharp volley from another direction was followed by the pattering down of more twigs and leaves, and the Doctor uttered a groan and laid his hand upon Phil's head to press it closer to the ground.

"Are you hurt, Dr Martin?" whispered the boy, raising himself suddenly in the fear that he now felt for the first time.

"No, no, my child. Lie still. We must not stir yet."

It was not till nightfall that they could venture to leave the wood, and it was by guesswork, for the stars were clouded over, that the Doctor made for what he believed to be the south, but not to go far in the darkness, on account of the twinkling fires which shone out here and there as if all around them. That night they slept in another pine wood, to keep on starting up from time to time during the night, awakened now by a shot, and twice over by the sound of a bugle, which came from the direction of the watch fires.

There was no further engagement during the next day, but every attempt to get out of the wood in which they sheltered was in vain; for they were surrounded by the troops dotted here and there, as if watching for the next attack.

They had not come away empty-handed, but the food given to them by their French hostess had come to an end, and at a word from the Doctor, as evening fell, Phil sprang to his feet.

"Yes," he cried, "they won't see us now. Oh, how I wish I was different, Dr Martin! But I can't help it."

"Different?" said the old man, pressing his shoulder. "In what way?

Why?"

"I keep on getting so hungry and wanting to eat, when I know I ought to be patient and wait."

"Poor boy," said the Doctor, with a little laugh. "How strange that you should be perfectly natural, Phil, eh? There, we'll make a brave effort to get right away now, and perhaps we shall find another French friend whose husband is away in the fight."

"And then we could sleep in a bed once more," said Phil after a long silence, during which they had been pressing on, with the bushes through which they pa.s.sed rustling loudly.

"Yes, after a splendid supper," replied the Doctor, in French.

"Oui!" cried Phil, joyously, and then his heart seemed to stand still, for from just in front, where all looked dark, there was the rattle of muskets and a voice shouted in plain English:

"Halt! Who goes there?"

CHAPTER SIX.

"Stop! For pity's sake," cried the Doctor. "Don't fire!"

There was a rush and they were surrounded. Phil was seized roughly by two soldiers, while two more dragged the Doctor to his knees.

"I've got a monster, sergeant," cried one of the men. "Hold still, you wriggling little worm."

"Let me go," cried Phil, angrily.

"Now then, who are you?" cried a harsh voice out of the darkness.

"Spies from the French camp, sergeant; that's certain," said another voice.

"Silence in the ranks!" roared the sergeant. "Now then, sir, what are you?"

"Travellers going south to escape from the war," said the Doctor, huskily.

"Won't do," said the sergeant. "Bad attempt at English. Why, you were speaking in French just now."

"Yes; I am a French teacher--the tutor to my little pupil here, the son of an English officer."

"Bah!" cried the sergeant. "What a lame tale. You talked French or some other lingo, and I heard the boy say 'Oui!'"

"Yes, sir; we talk in French sometimes so that the boy may learn."

"Oh, indeed! Well, you're prisoners now, and he shall be taught to speak English. Bring them along."

"Pardon, sir. You belong to the English force?"

"I rather think we do, mounseer. Search them, my lads. No, wait till we get them to headquarters. What papers have you?"

"Papers, sir?"

"Yes, despatches. Letters."

"Only my pocket-book," said the Doctor.

"Got it, sergeant," said one of the men.

"Nothing else?"

"No, sergeant; not that I can find."

"Perhaps they're hidden upon the boy. Like enough."

Phil soon found that it was vain to resist, and he had to suffer being roughly searched.

"Eh? What's that?" said the sergeant.

"Says he wants to be taken to his father."

"Yes, I want to go to my father, to tell him Dr Martin has been taken prisoner by English soldiers."

"Then you can't go," growled the sergeant. "Here, who is your father, young shaver?"

"Captain Carleton, of the 200th Regiment, sir," said Phil, stoutly.

"The 200th Regiment, eh? I don't know any Captain Carleton. But bring them along."

The prisoners were marched off at once through the darkness towards where the fires were burning brightly, and after being challenged again and again, the sergeant led them to the front of a tent, out of which a couple of officers, evidently high in command, came quickly, and were about to hurry away, but stopped for a few moments to listen to the sergeant's report.

"You are sure they have no despatch upon them?"

"Certain, sir. They have been searched twice."

"Let them be detained," said the officer, sharply.

The sergeant marched them off to a large tent, and into this the two prisoners were ushered, to find themselves in company with some half a dozen French soldiers, one of whom lay wounded and in pain upon a truss of straw at the side, the dim light from a lanthorn swinging from the tent pole striking strangely upon the man's pallid face.