The Young Castellan: A Tale of the English Civil WarFenn, George Manville
History
The Young Castellan: A Tale of the English Civil War
Fenn, George Manville
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
It roused the jackdaws, too, from their resting-places, and sent them
sailing about in the clear sunny air, their black forms reflected from
the moat, and their sharp, petulant cries sounding like protests against
this disturbance.
For they had had a hard time of it lately. Under Ben's superintendence
every loop-hole had been cleared, every collection of nesting ruins
carefully removed, and they had no other married quarters but the holes
in the walls, half-shaded by the green pellitory which rooted and
flourished in company with the moss, that acted as sponges to retain
enough moisture for its sustenance.
Roy was not long in dressing, buckling on his sword, and hurrying down
to the tiny parade ground, for in his character of castellan he liked to
be present every morning when the men who were to relieve the garrison
assembled at the gate-way, across the moat, and waited for permission to
march in.
All this was rigorously carried out in true military style by the old
sergeant's management; and as Roy descended, it was to find the little
garrison drawn up fully armed under Ben's command, he and the three
troopers forming the regular staff who never left the castle.
Ben looked as fresh as if he had not made a night's rest out of two
hours on a form in the guard-room; and giving the word as Roy appeared,
there was the twinkling and glittering of headpiece and weapon as the
men presented arms, and then stood again at attention as it was carried
out some two hundred and fifty years ago.
Then a short inspection by the castellan followed, orders were given,
and four men marched to the door-way, tramped up the staircase, and a
few minutes later the ponderous drawbridge began to descend, till it
spanned the moat; and at a word the men fresh from their homes marched
across, to halt by the portcullis, which then began to rise slowly, the
capstans creaking and cracking, till the row of spikes alone was visible
as they hung like iron stalactites overhead.
Another sharp order rang out, and the new-comers filed into the
guard-room, from whence came the clashing of metal and the buzzing of
voices as the men assumed their arms and came out one by one to fall in
opposite to those whose places they were to take, and who would, in a
few minutes, go into the guard-room to deposit their arms in the racks,
and then be free till their short term of service recommenced, but of
course ready to hurry to the castle at the first summons should a
necessity arise.
Everything went on according to the regular routine; the fresh men were
all drawn up now, armed, the order given, and the relieved tramped into
the guard-room and soon began to straggle out again, eager to troop over
to a kind of buttery-hatch by the great kitchen, where a mug of milk and
a hunch of bread for a refresher would be waiting for distribution, by
Lady Royland's orders, for every man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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