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But our luck proved better than we hoped. For as we drew near the exit of the lane, I heard a voice challenge. The chorus, which had lasted us all the way, ceased on a sudden, and was taken up by a pistol-shot. At once I guessed that here must be help, and, feeling for my trumpet, found it and blew the call. Naked of weapons as my comrades were, we charged down on the rear, broke it, and flung it upon the darkness, where by this time we could hear the voice of Wilkins, our sergeant-major, bellowing above the tumult.

Within five minutes this double charge settled all. The pack-horses were ours again, with twenty-one inebriate prisoners. My mare, galloping home with the third pack-horse at her heels, had alarmed the picket, and Wilkins, with twenty men, had turned out to scour the Alton road.

So, while we secured our drunkards to the last man, I had leisure to bless my fortune.

CHAPTER IV.

By this time dawn had begun to grow in the sky behind us. I handed over the prisoners to Wilkins and Carey, and gave Wyld and Masters leave to return with them to Farnham: ‘for,’ said I, ‘they seem the weariest, and Shackell and Small Owens will serve well enough for escort by daylight.’

Wilkins stared. ‘You are not telling me,’ said he, that you intend going forward with that silly wine, and you in such plight!’

‘There’s my orders, to begin with,’ said I; ‘and–bless the man!–you don’t suppose, after this night’s work, I mean to miss the fun of it, now that the luck is turned and is running. As for the wine, Lord Crawford will get but three firkins for his hogshead; but if his rascals choose to play highwaymen upon a peaceful convoy, that is his look-out. And as for my plight, I shall present myself with these bandages and ask him what manner of troops he commands, that do violence upon a trumpet honourably sent to him and on his own petition.’

And this (to shorten my tale) I did. With Shackell and Small Owens I herded my two pack-horses along the road to Alton, and arrived at the earl’s outposts without mishap and within half an hour past daybreak. There I sounded my trumpet, and was led without ado to his lordship’s headquarters.

I found him seated with his secretary and with a grave, handsome man, Colonel John Bolle, that commanded his regiment of infantry, and was killed next day defending Alton Church (I have heard), in the very pulpit. This Colonel Bolle bowed to me very courteously, but the earl (as one could tell at first sight) was sulky: belike by deprivation of his favourite drink. Or perhaps the ale he took in lieu of it–he had a tankard at his elbow–had soured on his stomach.

‘Hey?’ he began, frowning, as he broke the seal of my letter. ‘Are all General Waller’s troopers in this condition? Or does he think it manners to send me a trumpeter in such trim?’

‘My lord,’ said I, ‘your wine and my poor self have come by a roundabout road, and on the way have been tapped of a trifle.’

‘By whom, sir?’

‘By certain of your men, my lord.’

‘I’ll hang ’em for it, then.’

‘I thank you, my lord; but for that you must treat with General Waller.’ And I told him the tale, or so much of it as I thought was good for him.

At the close he eyed me awhile angrily, with his brows drawn down.

‘You are an impudent knave, sir, to stand and tell me this to my face. Look ye here, Bolle’–he swung round upon the colonel, who had put forth a hand as though to arrest this unseemly abuse. ‘How do I know that this dog has not tampered with the wine? By God!’ he broke out as a servant entered with a stoup of it, ‘I’ll not drink it–I’ll not drink a drop of it–until this fellow has first tasted it, here, in our presence.’