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
belt, climbed over the wall again, and lay down among the bushes.
He was now able to think clearly. Should he get up and surrender himself
as a prisoner to the first body of French troops that he came across? or
should he lie where he was until nightfall, and then try to get away? If
he surrendered, there was before him a march of seven or eight hundred
miles to a French prison; if he tried to get away, no doubt there were
many hardships and dangers, but at least a possibility of rejoining sooner
or later.
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