“Who goes there?” cried a voice—­such a voice!  I swerved to the right and rode like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire came out of the darkness, and the bullets whizzed all round my ears.  That was no new sound to me, my friends, though I will not talk like a foolish conscript and say that I have ever liked it.  But at least it had never kept me from thinking clearly, and so I knew that there was nothing for it but to gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere.  I rode round the English picket, and then, as I heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightly that I had at last come through their defences.  For five miles I rode south, striking a tinder from time to time to look at my pocket compass.  And then in an instant—­I feel the pang once more as my memory brings back the moment—­my horse, without a sob or stagger, fell stone dead beneath me!

I had not known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal picket had passed through his body.  The gallant creature had never winced nor weakened, but had gone while life was in him.  One instant I was secure on the swiftest, most graceful horse in Massena’s army.  The next he lay upon his side, worth only the price of his hide, and I stood there that most helpless, most ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar.  What could I do with my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre?  I was far inside the enemy’s lines.  How could I hope to get back again?  I am not ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead horse and sank my face in my hands in my despair.  Already the first streaks were whitening the east.  In half an hour it would be light.  That I should have won my way past every obstacle and then at this last instant be left at the mercy of my enemies, my mission ruined, and myself a prisoner—­was it not enough to break a soldier’s heart?

But courage, my friends!  We have these moments of weakness, the bravest of us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the more you bend it the higher it springs.  One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice and a heart of fire.  All was not yet lost.  I who had come through so many hazards would come through this one also.  I rose from my horse and considered what had best be done.

And first of all it was certain that I could not get back.  Long before I could pass the lines it would be broad daylight.  I must hide myself for the day, and then devote the next night to my escape.  I took the saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor Voltigeur, and I concealed them among some bushes, so that no one finding him could know that he was a French horse.  Then, leaving him lying there, I wandered on in search of some place where I might be safe for the day.  In every direction I could see camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figures had begun to move around them.  I must hide quickly, or I was lost.

But where was I to hide?  It was a vineyard in which I found myself, the poles of the vines still standing, but the plants gone.  There was no cover there.  Besides, I should want some food and water before another night had come.  I hurried wildly onwards through the waning darkness, trusting that chance would be my friend.  And I was not disappointed.  Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has her eye always upon a gallant Hussar.