to
embark passengers, and start at 2 a.m. on the excursion up the river
to our rendezvous at Lerryn. Nay!" the Major turned at the head of
the steps and lifted a hand--"I will accept of you no thanks but
this, that during the few arduous hours ahead of us we carry your
wishes, ladies, as a prosperous breeze behind our banners!"

"Now isn't he a perfect duck?" demanded Miss Sally Tregentil, turning
in the darkness and addressing Miss Pescod, whose strongly marked and
aquiline features she had recognised in the last far-flung ray of the
Major's lantern.

"My good Sarah! _You_ here?" answered Miss Pescod, divided between
surprise, disapproval and embarrassment.

"At such a period--a crisis, one might almost say--when the fate of
Europe . . . and after all, if it comes to that, so are you."

"For my part--" began Miss Pescod, and ended with a sigh.

"For my part," declared Miss Sally, hardily, "I shall go to Lerryn."

"Sally!"

"It used to be great fun. In later years mamma disapproved, but
there is (may I confess it?) this to be said for war, that beneath
its awful frown--under cover of what I may venture to call the
shaking of its gory locks--you can do a heap of things you wouldn't
dream of under ordinary circumstances. Life, though more precarious,
becomes distinctly less artificial. Two years ago, for instance,
lulled in a false security by the so-called Peace of Amiens, I should
as soon have thought of flying through the air."

"Has it occurred to you," Miss Pescod suggested, "what might happen
if the Corsican, taking advantage to-night of our dear Major's
temporary absence--"

"Don't!" Miss Sally interrupted with a shiver. "Oh, decidedly I
shall go to Lerryn to-night! On second thoughts it would be only
proper."

On the dark waters below them, beyond the Quay, a hoarse military
voice gave the command to "Give way!" One by one on the
fast-dropping tide the boats, keeping good order, headed for the
harbour's mouth. The Major led. _O navis, referent_ . . .

Think, I pray you, of Wolfe dropping down the dark St. Lawrence; of
Wolfe and, ahead of him, the Heights of Abraham!

CHAPTER VII.

THE BATTLE OF TALLAND COVE.

"Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. . . ."

The _avant-garde_ of the Looe Diehards occupied, and had been
occupying for two dark hours--in a sitting posture--the ridge of rock
whi