"Now for it!" whispered George, for he and Matthew were the two
rustics, "we can save the convoy. Our men, after trampling over the
burn here, will have turned as we agreed. We shall find them in the
next plantation."
He was right in his conjecture. The two regained their friends just as
the head of the convoy hove in sight. To lead the train in a different
direction, and to safety, was now easy. The supplies reached their
destination.
"Ton my honour, young sirs," the Colonel exclaimed, when he learnt the
story, "it was a smart trick, but a risky one--confoundedly risky,
gentlemen!"
The fall of Lille reduced France to desperation. Louis was at his
wits' end. To his credit, he sought earnestly to negotiate a peace for
his unhappy and exhausted country. The terms offered by the Allies,
however, were too exacting, and not a Frenchman but rose to the
occasion; this, however, was in the following year. So the campaign
ended, the enemy beaten and exhausted, but not in utter despair.
Captains Blackett and Fairburn were once more granted a term of leave
when late autumn came round. From London, which George saw now for the
first time, the two travelled all the way to Newcastle in the
wonderful stage-coach which ran from the English to the Scotch
capital.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148