CHAPTER II.


The stroke of one in the morning, sounding after us from Farnham
clock through the fine frosted air, overtook us well upon the road.
I had made speed, and so had the quartermaster and cellarer. As for
Sergeant Orlando Rich, if he had not achieved speed he had at least
made haste. Before I started my pack-horses from the guardroom door
the cellarer came to me and reported him drunk as a fly; and stepping
into the great kitchen for a slice of pasty, to fortify me against
the night's work, I saw my hero laid out and snoring, with his
shoulder-blades flat on the paved floor. So I left him to sleep it
off.

A fellow of the general's own guard helped me lead my horses to the
door of the Bear, and there I tumbled out my substitute, and six
passably good troopers I had chosen to take with me. They were
Carey, our youngest sergeant, and as good-natured a fellow as I knew;
Randles, who stood well for advancement to the post my own promotion
had left vacant; and four other privates--Shackell, Wyld, Masters,
and Small Owens (as we called him), a Welshman from the Vale of
Cardigan. To prime them for the ride I called up the landlord and
dosed them each with a glass of hot Hollands water; and forth we set,
in good trim and spirits.

For two miles after passing our picket we ambled along at ease.
The moon was low in the south-west, but as yet gave us plenty of
light; and the wind--from the quarter directly opposite--though
bitter and searching, blew behind our right shoulders and helped us
cheerfully along. Our troubles began in a dip of the road on this