[Illustration:  THE HAMOAZE, SEPARATING DEVON AND CORNWALL]

We were obliged to walk quickly, for we knew we had a long walk before us that day and must get past the Highlanders, who fortunately were in no hurry.  We passed one group after another until we reached the narrow road along which we had been directed to turn.  Here we saw the soldiers going the same way, now walking in twos and threes, and presently the road developed into one of the deep, narrow lanes so common in Devonshire.  We continued to pass the soldiers, but there was now a greater distance between the small groups.  Presently we were accosted by a sergeant, one of the most finely proportioned men we had ever seen—­a giant, as we thought, amongst giants, for all the soldiers were very big men—­who said to us, “Now, my lads! if you see any of the enemy, tell them we are two or three miles away, will you?” We wondered what he meant, but as he smiled, we considered it a joke, and replied, “All right!” as we moved on.  We had passed all the soldiers except the first two, who were about fifty yards ahead.  They had climbed up the high bank on the left-hand side of the lane, and were apparently looking over the country and shading their eyes with their hands so as to get a better view, when we saw a number of others belonging to the same regiment file quietly down-the opposite side.  Crossing the lane, they ran up the bank where the two soldiers were still standing, and almost before they realised what was happening their bonnets had been taken off their heads and they found themselves prisoners.  It was a clever capture, and as it took place immediately before our eyes, we remained standing there looking on with astonishment, for we had no idea what was about to happen.

But immediately the scene changed, and soldiers appeared in front, both in the lane and high up above the road.  But the worst feature was that they began firing their guns; so here we were in a deep lane from which there was no escape, and, as we afterwards ascertained, between the two halves of one of the most famous regiments in the British army, one ambuscaded by the other!  We were taken completely by surprise, as we had never seen or heard of a sham fight before, and it appeared a terrible thing to us, as the fiery eyes and fierce countenances of the soldiers were fearful to see, and we became greatly alarmed, expecting every minute to be taken prisoners.  I consoled my brother by telling him the guns were only loaded with blank cartridges, but his only remark was, “But suppose one of them isn’t, and we get shot,” and he began to walk onwards more quickly than I had ever seen him walk before.  Keeping as near one side the road as possible, and dodging between the soldiers, with myself following closely behind his heels, perspiring profusely with fear and exertion until there was scarcely a dry thread upon us, we managed at last to escape, and were profoundly thankful when we got clear of the Black Watch and so ended one of the most exciting adventures we ever had.  It reminded my brother of the Charge of the Light Brigade, a story he was very familiar with, an Irish friend of his named Donoghue being one of the trumpeters who sounded it, and of Tennyson’s words: