"Nay, my lord," said Colvin, "let us not carry back imperfect tidings. I have a battery an hundred yards in advance, covering the access to this hollow way; let us see if my German cannoneers are at their post, and I think I can swear that we shall find them so. The battery commands a narrow pass, by which alone the camp can be approached, and if my men are at their duty, I will pawn my life that we make the pass good till you bring up succours from the main body." "Forward, then, in God's name!" said the Earl of Oxford. They galloped, at every risk, over broken ground, slippery with ice in some places, incumbered with snow in others. They came to the cannon, judiciously placed to sweep the pass, which rose towards the artillery on the outward side, and then descended gently from the battery into the lower ground. The waning winter moon, mingling with the dawning light, showed them that the guns were in their places, but no sentinel was visible. "The villains cannot have deserted!" said the astonished Colvin. "But see, there is light in their cantonment. Oh, that unhallowed distribution of wine! Their usual sin of drunkenness has beset them. I will soon drive them from their revelry." He sprang from his horse, and rushed into the tent whence the light issued. The cannoneers, or most of them, were still there, but stretched on the ground, their cups and flagons scattered around them; and so drenched were they in wassail, that Colvin could only, by commands and threats, awaken two or three, who, staggering, and obeying him rather from instinct than sense, reeled forward to man the battery. A heavy rushing sound, like that of men marching fast, was now heard coming up the pass. "It is the roar of a distant avalanche," said Arthur. "It is an avalanche of Switzers, not of snow," said Colvin. "Oh, these drunken slaves! The cannon are deeply loaded and well pointed--this volley must check them if they were fiends, and the report will alarm the camp sooner than we can do. But, oh, these drunken villains!" "Care not for their aid," said the Earl; "my son and I will each take a linstock, and be gunners for once." They dismounted, and bade Thiebault and the grooms look to the horses, while the Earl of Oxford and his son took each a linstock from one of the helpless gunners, three of whom were just sober enough to stand by their guns. "Bravo!" cried the bold master of ordnance, "never was a battery so noble. Now, my mates--your pardon, my lords, for there is no time for ceremony,--and you, ye drunken knaves, take heed not to fire till I give the word, and, were the ribs of these tramplers as flinty as their Alps, they shall know how old Colvin loads his guns."