Under the StormYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
History
Under the Storm
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
"If the young dog would have spoken," began the corporal, but somehow he
did not like the look of Blane's iron bar, and thought it best to look
up at the sun, and discover that it was time to depart if the party were
to be in time for roll-call. As it was a private marauding speculation,
it might not be well to have complaints made to Captain Venn, who never
sanctioned plunder nor unnecessary violence. Even Jeph had to march off,
and Steadfast, who had no mind to be pitied, nor asked by the neighbours
what was the real fact, had picked up his spade and jerkin, and was out
of sight while the villagers were watching the soldiers away.
The first thing he did was to give thanks in heart that he had been
aided thus far not to betray his trust, and then to feel that Corporal
Dodd's flogging was a far severer matter than the worst chastisement he
had ever received from his father, even when he kept Jeph's secret about
the stolen apples. Putting on his coat was impossible, and he was so
stiff and sore that he could not hope to conceal his condition from
Patience.
At home all were watching for him. They ran up in anxiety, for one
of the ever ready messengers of evil had rushed down the glen to tell
Patience that the soldiers were beating Stead shamefully, and Jeph
standing by not saying one word. Little Ben broke out with "Poor, poor!"
and Rusha burst into tears at sight of the blood, while Emlyn said "Just
what comes of going among the rascal Roundheads," and Patience looked up
at him and said "Was it--?" he nodded, and she quietly said "I'm glad."
He added, "Jeph's coming soon," and she knew that the trial was not
over. The brother and sister needed very few words to understand one
another, and they were afraid to say anything that the younger ones
could understand. Patience washed the weals with warm water and milk,
and wrapped a cloak round him, but even the next morning, he could not
use his arms without fresh bleeding, and the hindrance to the work
was serious. He could do nothing but herd the cattle, and he was much
inclined to drive them to the further end of the moorland where Jephthah
would hardly find him, but then he recollected that Patience would be
left to bear the brunt of the attack, so that he would not go far
off, never guessing, poor fellow, that in his dull, almost blundering
fashion, he was doing like the heroes and the martyrs, but only feeling
that he must keep his trust at all costs. Jeph, however, did not come
that day or the next, so that inwardly, the wound-up feeling had passed
into a weariness of expectation, and outwardly the stripes had healed
enough for Stead to go about his work as usual only a little stiffly.
He went into Bristol on market day as usual, and then it was, on his way
out that Jeph joined him, saying it was to bid Patience and the little
ones farewell, since the marching orders were for the morrow. He was
unusually kind and good-natured; he had a load of comfits for Rusha and
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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