The
help of these alone saved him from defeat.
At last! Blackett and his comrades were ordered to advance, and moved
towards the Nebel. The ground was in a shockingly bad state. At its
best marshy and water-logged, it was now a sea of mire. The worst
spots had been bridged over, as it were, by the help of fascines, with
here and there pontoons. By this time, however, many of these had been
shifted from their places by the passage of so many thousands of
horse, and the road became worse and worse as the burn was neared. In
one place the men were compelled to come to a full stop, the ground
being simply impassable.
"We cannot advance, gentlemen," cried the colonel commanding the
regiment, "till we have done some repairs. Now for willing hands!"
Some of the officers glanced dubiously at the mud in which the horses
were standing knee-deep, and they did not budge. Not so Matthew
Blackett; with a bound he sprang to the ground, and waded through the
mire, half of his long legs submerged, his brethren endeavouring to
keep their countenances.
"That's the right way!" sang out the colonel in high commendation, and
a little crowd of the men following the example of the young
lieutenant, the work of repairing the road was soon in rapid progress,
the colonel standing by to direct the operations.
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