re eagerly as each few steps took them clear of the
cloud of smoke which they left behind.

It was a completely unexpected change of position. The French officers
shouted their commands, and the _contrabandista_ captain gave forth his,
but in both cases it was in vain, for almost before he could realise the
fact a panic had seized upon chasseur and torch-bearer alike, and soon
all were in flight--a strangely weird medley of men whose way was lit up
by the lights that were borne and blazed fiercely on their side, while
their pace was hastened by the firing in their rear.

It was only a matter of some few minutes before the French officers
found that all their attempts to check the rout were in vain.

The hurry of the flight increased till the darkness of the mine-passage
was left behind and all raced onward through the great store-cavern and
out into the narrow gully, now faint in the evening light, and on past
the rough stone-piled defences, where the officers once more tried to
check the headlong flight.

Here their orders began to have some effect, for there were dead and
wounded lying in the way, and some from breathlessness, some from shame,
now slackened their pace and stooped to form litters of their muskets,
on which some poor wretch who was crying for help with extended hands
was placed and carried onward.

And somehow, in the confusion of the flight, as the fallen wounded were
snatched up in the semi-darkness from where they lay, the last burning
brand having been tossed aside as useless by those who could now see
their way, two of the wounded who lay with their arms secured behind
them with straps were lifted and borne onward, for those who were now
obeying their officers' orders were too hurried and confused, hastened
as they were in their movements by the rattle and crash of firearms in
their rear, to scrutinise who the wounded were. It was sufficient for
them that they were not wearers of the rough _contrabandista's_ garb;
and so it was that the dark-green uniform of the bandaged wounded was
enough, and the two young riflemen became prisoners and participators in
the chasseurs' rout.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

AFTER "WIGGLING."

"Where do you suppose we are, Punch?"

"Don't quite know," was the reply. "Chap can't think with his arms
strapped behind him and his wrists aching sometimes as if they were sawn
off and at other times being all pins and needles. Can you think?"

"Not very clearly;