Death to the French [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEHalf a dozen horsemen were picking their way up a breakneck path. The leader of them was most conspicuous by the excellence of his mount, for his saddle fittings were severely plain and he wore a plain blue cape and coat and an unglazed cocked hat in sharp contrast with the scarlet coats and plumes of several of his followers. But when he pulled up at the brow of the hill and peered keenly forward across the tangled countryside some hint might be gained of the qualities which constituted him the leader. He had an air of authority and of composed self-reliance, and his blue eyes swept across the valley in a glance which noted its features instantly. The big, arrogant nose told the reason why the men in the ranks called him 'Conky' and 'The long-nosed beggar that beat the French', just as the hauteur of his expression explained why his subordinates alluded to him half ruefully, half deferentially, as 'The Peer'.Drawn up below him was a column of scarlet-coated infantry, standing at ease; right ahead keen sight could discern iittle clusters and groups of men in green, mere dots on the landscape, sheltering behind trees and in dips in the ground. An occasional puff of smoke told that beyond the skirmishing line was the enemy. Lieutenant-General Lord Wellington hitched his sabretache on to his saddlebow, opened a notebook on it, and scribbled a few words on one of its pages, which he tore out. A scarlet-coated dragoon officer walked up his horse alongside as he did so, and took the folded sheet.'For General Craufurd,' was all that was said to him.The dragoon mechanically repeated 'For General Craufurd' and set his horse at the steep slope before them.'Time for Craufurd to get back, Murray,' said Wellington. 'Now I want to see the columns across the river.'He wheeled his horse and set spurs to him, and next moment they were clattering down the stony path again, sparks flying and accoutrements clashing as the rest of the7