of thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible and pressing
need. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety depended on my
action, and my choice of alternatives coming now with almost every step
I took, and yet I could not but think of the strange dogged persistency
of these old men. Their silent resolution, their steadfast, grim,
persistency even in such a cause commanded, as well as fear, even a
measure of respect. What must they have been in the vigour of their
youth. I could understand now that whirlwind rush on the bridge of
Arcola, that scornful exclamation of the Old Guard at Waterloo!
Unconscious cerebration has its own pleasures, even at such moments; but
fortunately it does not in any way clash with the thought from which
action springs.

I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object, my
enemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on three
sides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where there was
already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I accepted the
alternative--it was a case of Hobson's choice and run. I had to keep the
lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher places. However, though
the ooze and broken ground impeded me my youth and training made me able
to hold my ground, and by keeping a diagonal line I not only kept them
from gaining on me but even began to distance them. This gave me new
heart and strength, and by this time habitual training was beginning to
tell and my second wind had come. Before me the ground rose slightly. I
rushed up the slope and found before me a waste of watery slime, with a
low dyke or bank looking black and grim beyond. I felt that if I could
but reach that dyke in safety I could there, with solid ground under my
feet and some kind of path to guide me, find with comparative ease a way
out of my troubles. After a glance right and left and seeing no one
near, I kept my eyes for a few minutes to their rightful work of aiding