nly danger
was lest their fiery daring should lead them into foolhardiness. Their
desire was to hurl themselves upon the enemy like a horde of Moslem
fanatics, and it was no easy matter to drill such hot-headed fellows
into the steadiness and caution which war demands.

Provisions ran low upon the third day of our stay in Bridgewater, which
was due to our having exhausted that part of the country before, and
also to the vigilance of the Royal Horse, who scoured the district round
and cut off our supplies. Lord Grey determined, therefore, to send
out two troops of horse under cover of night, to do what they could to
refill the larder. The command of the small expedition was given over
to Major Martin Hooker, an old Lifeguardsman of rough speech and curt
manners, who had done good service in drilling the headstrong farmers
and yeomen into some sort of order. Sir Gervas Jerome and I asked leave
from Lord Grey to join the foray--a favour which was readily granted,
since there was little stirring in the town.

It was about eleven o'clock on a moonless night that we sallied out
of Bridgewater, intending to explore the country in the direction of
Boroughbridge and Athelney. We had word that there was no large body
of the enemy in that quarter, and it was a fertile district where
good store of supplies might be hoped for. We took with us four empty
waggons, to carry whatever we might have the luck to find. Our commander
arranged that one troop should ride before these and one behind, while a
small advance party, under the charge of Sir Gervas, kept some hundreds
of paces in front. In this order we clattered out of the town just as
the late bugles were blowing, and swept away down the quiet shadowy
roads, bringing anxious peering faces to the casements of the wayside
cottages as we whirled past in the darkness.

That ride comes very clearly before me as I think of it. The dark loom
of the club-headed willows flitting by us, the moaning of the breeze
among the withies, the vague, blurred figures of the troopers, the dull
thud of the hoofs, and the jingling of scabbard against stirrup--eye and
ear can both conjure up those old-time memories. The Baronet and I rode
in front, knee against knee, and his light-hearted chatter of life in
town, with his little snatches of verse or song from Cowley or Waller,
were a very balm of Gilead to my sombre and somewhat heavy spirit.

'Life is indeed life on such a night as this,' quoth he, as