Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (7 page)

away, leave me to wear the red." He kissed Joan, feeling a swift stir at the softness of her lips.

Next day he herded his recruits aboard the Martha, unaware that for hours after he'd left Dalesview, its people had searched frantically for a little boy who had started afoot to follow Father back to the wars. It was Will who found Ram and carried him home on his pommel. There Hannah rated him stormily, then put him to bed and sat beside him until he fell into a lonely, tear-drained sleep.

CHAPTER 3

YORKSHIRE AND FLANDERS,

1708-12

When Ram was well again he realized that Gammer was indeed captain. Uncle Will was lieutenant, Aunt Joan was ensign and Old Poll was sergeant. Just as everyone in company obeyed Father, so here all obeyed Gammer.

At first he didn't like John and Rob because they laughed at his red coat. He'd sooner have played with Sue, who made him think of Carla, but she was always weeping or running away to hide. But when the brothers showed him their ponies and dogs and how to play tipcat and leapfrog, he liked them very much.

Then one day Uncle Will took him into the stables and there was a lovely black pony. "He's yours," Uncle said. "What'll ye call him, eh?"

His very own! It was so beautiful and shiny, with such soft big eyes, he didn't know what to say.

"Tell ye what," suggested Uncle. "Tha name's Ramillies, so let's call him Battle—Battle o' Ramillies, see?"

Ram clapped his hands. A lovely name, better than John's Smoke or Rob's White Lad. "Ram's Bakkle!" He savored it until, remembering manners, he made Will a leg. "Sarvent, sir."

After that every day was fun: riding all over the farm, with Owd Ruby and other hounds loping behind; watching the big horses in the paddock and the men working in the fields; trotting to meet the brothers coming back from school and racing them to the stables, wind whisthng through his long hair.

Then Hannah decided that he, too, should go to school. "If he don't now, before Dick gets back, likely he never will."

So one morning Ram trotted beside the boys as they rode toward the Reverend Squiller's small school in Gilmonby.

Jonas Squiller had fallen upon hard times. Originally a priest of the Established Church, his leanings toward fanatical independency had first brought him a reproof from his bishop and at last unfrocking. Sheer need having driven him to teaching, his pupils were his own large brood, the apothecary's son, the baker's two girls and a mere half dozen more. When, therefore, he knew he was to get another Anstmther child, he rubbed his hands in anticipation of an extra sixpence a week.

Chattering happily, Ram didn't notice that, as they neared the seat of learning, his cousins had grown glum. In fact, after hitching their ponies, they entered their dominie's house most reluctantly. "Sit ye there and say nowt." John indicated a bench, joining Rob on one in front. Obeying, Ram put down his new hornbook and looked around. He'd never before been among so many children. They stared back, the girls giggling and pointing.

"Stand!" At the order from the doorway, all rose. A tall, raw-boned man entered. Garbed in black, with eyes set deep under heavy brows, he looked most important to Ram.

On his part, the ex-reverend was predisposed toward his new pupil—and his weekly sixpence. But when he saw the small lad in red, his brow knitted. Intolerable that the child should wear the Devil's scarlet among God-fearing folk! He must warn Dame An-struther against this flaunting of evil.

"Here, boy," he beckoned from his high desk. "Your name?"

Ram made a polite leg. "Ram Anstruver, your honor."

"Ye lie, boy. That's no Christian name."

John raised a hand. " Tis Ramillies, Maister." But he was told harshly to be silent.

Squiller then asked Ram many puzzling questions: had his mother followed the False Faith; were his morals corrupted by evil living; did he hope for Salvation? Then: "Go to your seat, sirrah, and don't think to bring your foreign tricks here."

Ram scurried back to his bench, there to consider the strange letters on his hornbook and to listen flounderingly to history, arithmetic and geography.

He was glad when he was riding homeward. The farther they went, the more cheerful John and Rob grew. "He's a rare 'un, is Maister," John declared. "Never be saucy wi' him, lad, for he's reet fearsome when he's vexed."

Being disciplined and sharp-witted. Ram wasn't saucy. In a week he could read ab, eb, ib and ob on the hornbook, besides taking his first wobbling steps in Latin. But one day, as he was copying letters on his slate, pain lanced his bottom. Yelping, he looked back at Dot Jones. He didn't see Ralph Holthorpe, on Dot's left, hiding a ruler to which a pin had been affixed.

"I didn't do nothin,' " Dot squealed truthfully, though she well knew what Ralph had done, having tempted him to do it.

Ram returned to his slate, but soon another agonizing jab made him turn on Dot. "Damme, don't!" he shrilled. "Whore! Slut!"

"Silence!" Squiller strode over. "Did my ears deceive me? Did ye not use the filth of the camp to this chaste lass? Come, accursed spawn of the Amalekites!"

As angry Ram stared up at him in surprise, the dominie caught him by the collar. "Off with that livery of Satan!" He dragged his coat off. "Come in modest garb tomorrow or I'll tear this evil raiment to shreds."

Then he made a wooshing sound as a diminutive demon butted him in the stomach and small hands flailed him wildly.

"Goo it. Ram! Hit 'im!" John encouraged, standing on his bench.

"Bring the birch!" Squiller panted, throwing his attacker face down across a bench and unbuttoning his red breeches. "The birch, I say!" One of his frightened sons obeyed.

Ram, now terrified, screamed as the first stroke slashed his bare bottom. "So, ye'd murder me, eh?" In a gust of fury Squiller con-

tinued to thrash him until the bundle of twigs had disintegrated; by then Ram had fainted.

Eyes glittering, Squiller swung on John. "So, sirrah, ye encouraged his assault on me. Down with thy breeks too!"

But John, trembling, darted outside, flung himself upon his pony and didn't draw rein until he reached Dalesview, where he yelled that "maister" had cut Ram to pieces and was doing the same to all the other children, including himself.

Will, having often felt the birch when young, would have dismissed the tale as fantasy, but Hannah shook her head. "I'll see for myself." Soon she was riding pillion behind him, with John trailing, proud to be bringing Gammer and Dad to the rescue.

Back at school order had been restored, though the children's eyes kept sliding to the small boy lying face down on a bench, his own red coat thrown over him to hide his poor bottom. Ram was conscious but racked by shudders.

Squiller still tingled with the exultation of having meted Divine Punishment upon the godless little hellion. Yet, had he gone too far? Suppose the child should die? Dame Anstruther was said to be merciless to all who crossed her. He swallowed hard.

He swallowed harder when Hannah herself appeared, flanked by Will and with John tiptoeing behind.

"What's this you've been doing to our Ram?" Her demand brought an awed gasp from the cowed pupils.

He decided upon attack. Anstruther though she was, she was a woman and must give him deference. "I've scourged the corruption from the sinner, lest it destroy him." He retailed Ram's misdeeds: how, without cause, he'd turned upon angelic Dot and attacked her —he didn't say "carnally," though implied it. And when he himself had rushed to save her, the lust-crazed boy had actually attacked him!

Will was duly impressed, but Hannah went over to Ram. "Lad, Gammer's coom for thee." She lifted the coat.

"Butcher!" The impact of the word made Squiller gasp. Then the faded little woman was before him, her small eyes blazing.

"The child's not hurt," he managed. "I did but—"

"Will, thy whip!" She held out her hand. Will's jaw dropped.

Lord, she was going to thrash the dominie! She mustn't . . . Slowly he handed her his heavy crop.

Squiller's eyes sank deeper and glazed with horror. No, no! He, a late minister of God's Word, who'd . . .!

The first lash curled around his calves. Before he could even yell, the second stung him. He backed vainly, but this fiendish woman followed him, whipping, whipping.

"Mercy!" he implored and, in trying to escape, he tripped backward over a bench. Circling, Hannah caught him again and only when she was exhausted did she stop.

"Think thasen lucky I didn't have Will tak' down thy breeksl" she panted. She faced the awed but fascinated pupils. "Go home. Tell tha faithers what I've done. This bum-brusher won't be usin' t'birch on tha backsides more, I'll warrant . . . John, Rob, get mounted." She went to where Ram was now standing, his breeches still around his ankles, droplets of blood on his shaking legs. His breath came in gasps and his hazel eyes stared unseeingly.

An hour later he was in his truckle bed on his stomach, with greased linen over his wounds. He had a high fever, but when Joan suggested timidly that Dr. Blinkensop be sent for, Hannah sniffed. "Him, wi' his bloodletting an' all? Dost want Ram dead? Nay, get broth quick, to bring strength back in him."

Ram never went back to school. John and Rob now attended Bowes Grammar School, but Hannah wouldn't send him with them. They, she felt, were of her own plain yeoman stock, unimaginative, stolid. But Ram was of finer breed; further floggings might break his spirit. Best let him stay at home awhile and forget.

So he rode Battle, swam, met the boys returning from Bowes and grew stronger in wind and limb.

The news sheets told of a great Allied victory at Oudenarde, and later in the year that they were besieging Lille. But never a word came from Dick.

Will began to wonder. Were Dick killed, half-foreign Ram would be Dalesview's legal owner. Why then must he himself slave to build up the estate that could never belong to him or his? For the first time he knew the prickings of jealousy.

The snow was crisp and deep one afternoon, early in 1709, as

Ram rode through the gates. Yesterday, as he'd cantered all unsuspectingly around the lane's bend, the brothers had ambushed him with snowballs. Today was his turn. Tethering Battle before the bend, he began molding balls of his own.

The clopping of hoofs! Now! He let fly his squashiest snowball. At once he realized his mistake. His target wasn't a boy on a pony, but a red-coated rider wearing a high conical cap. Came an angry bellow: "Dammit, what's here?"

He had turned to run when the voice penetrated his memory.

"Father!"

"Hey, what, Ram, ye rogue? 'Od's life, boy!"

He stared up at the red face down which snow was dripping, for the ball had hit just above the band of Dick's grenadier cap, upon which was embroidered the insigne of Howe's Foot.

"Father, oh, Father!" He was weeping for sheer happiness. Father had come to take him back to the wars.

"Damme, ye've grown! Here, not too hard 'gainst my side, it's still sore from a French bullet!" Dick had hauled him up onto his saddle. "How did ye know I was coming?" When he heard of the proposed ambuscade, he whooped: "Blast me, ye're a soldier born! Down with ye now and we'll give 'em a hot reception."

Tying his mount beside Battle, he began making missiles of his own, while Ram gushed words like a mountain spring.

"Quiet. Here they come." Dick raised his throwing arm. "Give fire!" But again came heavy oaths and again there was a redcoat on a rearing horse. In fact, there were three of them, all wearing tall caps like Dick's own.

Dick laughed so hard he had to hold his wounded side. "Ecod, sergeant, I clean forgot you was at my heels! 'Twas smaller fry we expected. Aye, and here they are now, on your heels—my nephews. Damme, Ram, the trap's laid bare. Come, 'tis cold here and good cheer awaits us." He swung back into his saddle while Ram remounted Battle. "Tro-op, walk march!"

Tliis homecoming was far different from his last. Now he came demanding. For he'd won his promotion and was back to recruit for Howe's Grenadier Company which he, Captain Anstruther, commanded. Even as he was kissing Hannah, he was explaining that he'd come seeking ten tall lads and needed loo guineas for ex-

penses. He'd only a week to spare and he was taking Ram back with him,

Hannah agreed as to the money but snorted that the camp was no place for a child. But realization of Dick's desperate need for the boy made her give in at last.

Ram himself was sick with excitement, as were John and Rob, though with envy. Had Dick been recruiting boys under ten, he could have 'listed them and half of Bowes School as well.

But, flanked by Sergeant Hodges and the two drummers he'd brought, he rode daily around the villages, seeking tall men to serve the Queen. He also offered the magistrates to take all paupers and malefactors who were sound and 5 feet 10 inches tall. So, because everyone was sure France must surrender soon, and because serving under an Anstruther would be a welcome change from wifely nagging or farm work, he got his quota and two more besides.

A tailor came from York to make Dick and Ram new uniforms. But at Hannah's insistence Ram's fitted him more than loosely. "Dost think we're made of money?" she scolded. "The stuff's finest Yorkshire wool and will last years. The lad grows like a stalk and 'twill be small enough for him before tha knows."

Dick was all afire to be off, but snow came again and threatened to block the roads. "I must be back before March ends," he fretted, pacing Hannah's ofEce. "And here I am, with a dozen undrilled clods and scores of miles from a port!"

"Bide a few more days," she soothed and took a chinking bag from her escritoire. "Is it necessary, my fine captain, to march down all England to a port when one's not thirty miles off? Here's ample to charter passage for all from Stockton-on-Tees."

His eyed bulged. All his life he'd had to wring every slight concession from her, yet now she was offering him far beyond his dreams. He calculated: If he could get passage from Stockton, he'd gain at least two weeks.

"Ma'am, you're a master of strategy," he vowed. "Duke John himself couldn't find a more genteel way of moving us."