CHAPTER XVII.

THE PRISONER OF WAR.

Colonel Wimpleton was just landing from a boat, in which he had been ferried over from the main shore, having come from Centreport to this point in his chaise. As soon as he landed, he dismissed the man who had brought him over. The two great men of the vicinity were both on the island.

As soon as I left Captain Briscoe’s company, and moved towards the landing-place, Bayard, in command of the Wimpleton company, evidently suspected my purpose, though I really had no intention of meddling with the boats, but only of making a demonstration. Half a dozen soldiers were sent in a hurry to guard the fleet. This was Briscoe’s opportunity. The force before him was now reduced so that an attack was hopeful. I heard him shouting, and a moment later the company of Bayard came helter-skelter over the summit of the hill. Our fellows, mortified by their first defeat, had made a desperate charge, and driven the enemy before them. It was not safe, therefore, for me to meddle with the boats, even if I had intended to do so.

“How goes the battle, Wolf?” asked the colonel, with a smile, as I met him on the beach.

“Just now it seems to be going in favor of Toppleton,” I replied; “though our boys were just driven half way across the island by yours.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“But I can’t stay here now, sir; I am afraid I shall be captured,” I added, glancing at the six soldiers who were coming down the hill towards me.

“Don’t be alarmed, Wolf; I will see that you are not hurt,” laughed the colonel.

“I don’t wish to be captured.”

“You shall leave when you please. After thinking over the matter, I concluded that I should take our boys off the island,” added the great man of Centreport; “but I don’t intend to have them driven off.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, sir.”

“Where is Waddie?”

I explained the situation to him, and informed him of what had already transpired on the island. He was pleased with the victory which those who bore his name had achieved, and with this brilliant record of the Wimpleton battalion he was ready to retire. But while we were talking about the matter, the din of battle from the high ground saluted us. It appeared that Tommy Toppleton, too impatient to wait for the result of the flanking movement, had charged upon the company of Wimpletonians in front of him. Our fellows had wiped out the disgrace of the early part of the action, and had driven the enemy up the hill, over its summit, regaining all the ground lost, and taking the summit of the slope, which was “the key to the situation.”

“This won’t do,” said Colonel Wimpleton, as he saw with dismay that his party was defeated. “I can’t take them away under these circumstances.”

But the battle was lost to the Wimpletonians. Major Tommy had gained the crown of the hill, and held it with his whole force. The ground was so steep in front of him that double the number of the foe could not dislodge him. The enemy had not yet pitched their tents, and their baggage was now in danger of capture. Major Waddie consolidated his battalion, and formed a line at the foot of the hill, ready to defend his camp equipage. He was furious at his defeat, and when he saw me his eyes flashed fire.

“Arrest that traitor!” said he, flourishing his sword, and pointing to me.

“Not yet, Waddie!” interposed his father. “I have given him a safe conduct.”

“You are not in command here,” replied the ungracious son. “What are you doing down here, Wolf Penniman?”

“I should have gone before if your father had not detained me.”

“Keep cool, Waddie,” said the colonel. “You have enough to do to whip the Toppletonians.”

“That’s what I’m going to do,” added Major Waddie, as he glanced at the summit of the hill.

“I will take care of Wolf, and see that he don’t whip the whole of you.”

“I will hang him as a traitor if he don’t start quick. He has no business over here.”

“He is a non-combatant,” laughed the colonel.

I do not know what the gallant commander of the Wimpleton battalion would have deemed it necessary to do with me, if the exigency of battle had not called his attention to other matters. I do not pretend to be a brave fellow, but I am willing to say I was not afraid of being hanged, even independently of the powerful protection of the colonel. Major Tommy, flushed with his recent success, was intent upon following up his victory. I heard him call his battalion to the charge, and the words induced my feathery persecutor to leave me. Tommy evidently intended to drive the enemy into the lake, or to force them to surrender on the shore.

“Charge--bayonets! Forward--march!” yelled he; and down came the Toppletonians at a furious pace.

“Now stand up to it, fellows!” screamed Waddie. “This is your last chance. Don’t run if they punch you through.”

Not only Waddie, but the two captains in his battalion, who had more real influence than the commander, urged the Wimpletonians to stand firm, and not be driven from their position. But the time for argument was short. The victorious Toppletonians swept down the hill, and rushed furiously at the foe. This time I am quite sure there were some wounds given on both sides. Major Tommy, mortified, no doubt, by the taunts of Putnam, and perhaps of others, did not march in the rear of his column, but very imprudently placed himself in advance of it. Fortunately for him, there were several privates near him who were inspired by his gallant example, and the centre of the column broke through the enemy’s front. This would have been a success to the Toppletonians if the right and left wings had supported the movement with equal zeal. They did not, and were forced back by the desperate Wimpletonians, and in a moment more were retreating up the hill, closely pursued by the enemy.

When it was too late, Tommy saw where he was. He was standing, supported by only half a dozen privates, several rods in advance of his battalion. A squad of the enemy, led on by Captain Pinkerton, charged upon him. The daring little major defended himself with zeal and courage, slashing right and left with his sword. His supporters, seeing the situation, fell back and joined their companions. Closely pressed by his exultant foe, Tommy struck savage blows against the muskets of his assaulters; but suddenly his sword blade snapped off near the hilt.

“Capture him! Capture him!” shouted Pinkerton; and sending part of his squad behind Tommy, he cut off his retreat.

The gallant major was now unarmed, and incapable of making any defence. His companions in arms had been forced back to the summit of the hill.

“Surrender!” cried Pinkerton.

“Never!” yelled Tommy, with tragic grandeur, as he made a dive at the captain, with the intention apparently of wresting his sword from him.

Such bravery deserved a better fate; but two of the enemy came behind the impetuous major, and, grasping him by the shoulders, threw him down. The whole squad then fell upon him, and poor Tommy was a prisoner of war. Two of the stoutest of his captors, each of them half a head taller than he was, were detailed to guard the major, and he was marched to a tree near the camp baggage.

The Toppletonians were driven to the top of the hill, and resumed their position upon its summit. It was useless for the Wimpletonians to attempt to drive them beyond the ridge, and they returned to their former halting-place on the level ground. I began to be a little uneasy about the fate of Tommy when Major Feathers returned, for I was afraid the latter, inspired by no lofty ideas of military honor, would subject his prisoner to some indignities. I saw Waddie hold a conference with his two captains, the result of which was soon apparent. Captain Bayard, attended by a single private, who carried a white handkerchief suspended on a pole, as a flag of truce, walked up the hill. I was not informed until afterwards of the nature of their mission; but, in the opinion of the Wimpletonians, the capture of Tommy decided the fate of the day, and they regarded the battle as ended, with victory perched upon their banners. Major Waddie was graciously pleased to declare that he did not wish to pursue his conquest any farther, and if the Toppletonians would retire from the island, their commander should be returned to them unharmed.

By the misfortune of Major Tommy, Captain Briscoe was the ranking officer, and the message of Major Waddie was delivered to him. By the advice of Major Toppleton, senior, the terms of peace were promptly rejected, and an intimation given that the Toppletonians intended to recapture their commander, and drive the invaders into the deep waters of the lake. While these negotiations were in progress, Colonel Wimpleton left me, and went to the headquarters of the battalion. Doubtless he saw his powerful rival on the top of the hill, and wished to counteract the influence of his counsels with his own.

When the flag of truce returned, I saw a private run to the tree where Major Tommy had been secured with a rope taken from one of the boats. Then the two stout fellows in charge of him conducted him to a boat, and pushed off. It was intended that the commander of the Toppleton battalion should not be recaptured, and the threat of his forces was rendered futile. But his command immediately repeated the assault, when the nature of Colonel Wimpleton’s advice was evident. The beach in the rear of the Centreport battalion was covered with small round stones, with which the soldiers had plentifully supplied themselves. The onslaught of the Toppletonians was received with a volley of these missiles. They reeled under this unexpected reception, and being on the grass they could not procure any similar ammunition. Captain Briscoe, imitating the example of his illustrious commander, marched in front. The stones seemed to be aimed at him, and he actually fell, hit by one of them. His forces, appalled at this savage warfare, and by the fall of their leader, halted, and then fell back beyond the reach of the mischievous missiles. Briscoe was picked up, and borne to the top of the hill. The affair was becoming more serious, and, I may consistently add, more disgraceful, especially as the contending parties were now virtually directed by Major Toppleton and Colonel Wimpleton, who were old enough to have known better.

It was plain enough that our boys could not stand up against these volleys of stones, and that the Wimpletonians could hold their ground for the rest of the week. The battle was now to be a matter of strategy and manœuvring. On the hill, as they saw Major Tommy sent off in the boat, they concluded that he was safe enough for the present, and were not disposed to accept any ignominious terms of peace. The two fellows in charge of the prisoner of war had pulled off a quarter of a mile from the shore, and were watching the issue of the combat. I was curious to know what would be done next, but I concluded to operate a little on my own account. Following the shore round the island, I reached the pier, and went on board of the yacht. Skotchley and Grace, in the standing-room, were watching the action, while Tom Walton and Joe Poole had gone up to the mast-head, where they could obtain a better view of the field of battle.

“All hands, unmoor!” I called, and my ready crew descended to the deck.

The mainsail had not been lowered, and we had only to get up the anchor and hoist the jib. Before the fresh breeze we stood down the channel towards the boat in which Tommy was an unwilling passenger.