Nanny now adopted a new style of attitude—rearing, as when at play, with arched neck and combative front, still, at times, subsiding into the quadruped; now bleating, now stamping, now wagging her tail with intense vivacity; then walking back, stamping again, advancing; gazing all the while on the low ground in front. “If Nanny takes a view, why shouldn’t Sancho?” I cantered up, and speedily cantered down again. “Mr Chesterfield, I think, sir, we had better halt.” Indeed there was reason. In front was the enemy, drawn up to receive us, in military array. The road, I must explain, led down to a lower level. Just at the bottom, another road crossed it; and, where the two roads cut, they spread out round a large pond. About this pond, but principally in advance of it, appeared a large concourse of the rural population. “_Tout Français est soldat._” I never felt the force of the phrase as I did at that moment. They were armed, and stood in line; their number formidable, their aspect decidedly pugnacious. Oh, you plucky villains! won’t we be down upon you presently? I stated to Mr Chesterfield what I had seen, and he immediately halted our whole party. “If you will ride up with me,” said I, “you may see the whole lot of them.” I returned to Nanny’s look-out post, but Mr Chesterfield did not follow. Had I known what he was about to do, I should certainly have remonstrated. He chose to take a nearer look at the enemy, and for that purpose rode forward alone. On the eminence on which I stood, I heard the rattle of his horse’s hoofs in the hollow way; and presently I saw him emerge below, at its further extremity. He then reined in his horse, and sat viewing the foe, who greeted his appearance with shouts and yells. Having quietly made his observations, he turned, and began to come back at a walk. As he withdrew, three or four shots were fired after him from below, but without effect. After he again disappeared in the hollow road, though, on his way to rejoin us, I heard, with great uneasiness, other shots fired—the report much nearer. They were evidently from rascals ambushed in the underwood of the two banks, between which he was passing. I rejoined the convoy just as he rode up. His look was perfectly calm and self-possessed, but pale as ashes. He held the bridle in his right hand, while his left hung helpless at his side. Pledget at once tumbled off his mule, stepped up, and addressed him with a tone and aspect of unfeigned concern—“Not serious, sir, I hope?” “Oh, nothing,” said he, his manner a little hurried; “a mere graze—nothing. Corporal Fraser, the infantry must load immediately. Let them fix bayonets, though. We must begin by clearing those two banks.”