"Indade, the whole army’s going to the dogs," said Captain O’Hare dejectedly; "all except the Gyards and the Reserve. Things are as bad as they can be, and there’s worse to come. The main body’s looting, and behaving worse than Pagans and Turks. They should be at Astorga by now, and we’re to follow them in an hour or so. The company’s falling in, and you’d better hurry up, or you run a risk of finding an escort like our friend Wilkes. And bedad," he added, as the dull sound of firing was heard in the direction of the river, "there’s the music again." Jack had by this time finished his breakfast, and, hurrying out with the captain, he found the 95th preparing to move off. "Hullo!" cried Smith, "you’ve turned up, then! What have you done with the wagon?" "Where are my boots?" asked Pomeroy. "And my best frilled shirt, the one with the ruffles?" continued Smith. "And my new highlows, the ones with the silver buckles?" added Pomeroy. "They are coming after us," returned Jack. "If you care to wait they’ll probably be here in half an hour—and Colbert’s dragoons inside them." As the regiment moved off, the firing behind them became more and more distinct and continuous. Bodies of mounted troops could be seen on the horizon; a smart cavalry action was apparently being fought, and the men of the 95th were again jealous of what they considered the better luck of the cavalry. But Jack’s company, marching away at the quick step, was soon beyond sight of the combatants, though for an hour afterwards the boom of guns could be plainly heard.