Tom Cringle's Log by Michael Scott
page 41 of 773 (05%)
page 41 of 773 (05%)
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ditch, and cutting down the short scrubby hedge; and presently, the
artillery coming up also, filed off sharply to the right, and formed on the very summit of the hill, distinctly visible between us and the grey cold streaks of morning. By the time we had noticed, this, the clatter in our immediate neighbourhood was renewed, and a group of mounted officers dashed past us, up the path, like a whirlwind, followed at a distance of twenty yards, by a single cavalier, apparently a general officer. These did not stop, as they rode at speed past the spot where the artillery were in position, but, dipping over the summit, disappeared down the road, from which they did not appear to diverge, until they were lost to our view beyond the crest of the hill. The hum and buzz, and, anon, the "measured tread of marching men," in the valley between us and Hamburgh, still continued. The leading files of a light infantry regiment, now appeared, swinging along at a round trot, with their muskets poised in their right hands--no knapsacks on their backs. They appeared to follow the route of the group of mounted officers, until we could see a puff of white smoke, then another and a third from the field--pieces, followed by thudding reports, there being no high ground nor precipitous bank nor water in the neighborhood to reflect the sound, and make it emulate Jove's thunder. At this, they struck across the fields, and forming behind the guns, lay down flat on their faces, where they were soon hid from our view by the wreaths of white smoke, as the sluggish morning breeze rolled it down the hill--side towards us. "What the deuce can all this mean--is it a review?" said I, in my innocence. "A reconnoissance in force," groaned my friend. "The Allied troops must be at hand--now, God help us!" |
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