Then he sat suddenly upright.

"The sun is shining," he said. "It was getting dusk when I was riding back
to the village. I must have lain here all night."

Suddenly he heard a gun fired; it was quickly followed by others. He rose
on his knees and looked cautiously over the bushes.

"It is away there," he said, "on those heights above the harbour. The army
must have embarked, and the French are firing at the ships."


[Illustration: "POOR OLD JACK! HE HAS CARRIED ME WELL EVER SINCE I GOT HIM
AT TORRES VEDRAS."]


His conjecture was speedily verified, for, looking along the crest which
the British had held during the fight, he saw a large body of French
troops just reaching the top of the rise. He stood up now and looked
round. No one could be seen moving in the orchards and vineyards round. He
peered over the wall; his horse lay there in a huddled-up heap.

"A round shot in the head!" he exclaimed; "that accounts for it. Poor old
Jack! he has carried me well ever since I got him at Torres Vedras."

He climbed down and got what he was in search of--a large flask full of
brandy-and-water, which he carried in one of the holsters. He took a long
drink, and felt better at once.

"I may as well take the pistols," he said, and, putting them into his