"Where the deuce do you come from?" asked the sergeant in charge, letting go his hold of Jack’s collar. "Look here, my man, I’m Lieutenant Lumsden of the 95th, and— "Beg pardon, sir," said the sergeant hastily. "No offence. ’Twould need cat’s eyes to tell a dook from a dustman in a night like this." "What’s going on, sergeant? I want to get to the bridge with my men. Can you put us in the road?" "Heavens above, sir, you’d be shot in a winking. The bridge is half a mile up-stream, and we’re holding these heights while t’other half of the brigade knocks a hole in it. We’re the last picket this way, and as, judging by the sound of it, the Frenchmen are dismounted and a-trying to pass us, and we expect ’em here direckly minute, I’m afeard you’ll have to stay here till morning light, sir." "Oh, all right! I’ll take a hand if there’s any fighting. What has been going on this afternoon, then?" "Troops all crossed, sir, except our half-brigade." "Are the cavalry over?" "Yes, sir. They came up rather late; and directly they and the guns was got over, the general had a hole knocked in one of the arches—cut completely through, sir—so that the rest of us will have to swim across, I expect, if we get through the night. And we’ll all be drownded, sure as fate. Hark to the water a-rushing and raving behind us!" His voice, indeed, was almost smothered by the roar of the swollen river. Getting what shelter was possible, Jack and his men passed a miserable night with the picket of the 43rd, and were glad when the darkness cleared, and they saw once more the grim dawn of another wintry day. It brought little comfort. The wind had risen to a furious gale, beating sheets of snow and sleet in their faces. Jack and his men were shivering with cold and ravenous with hunger, though the men of the 43rd shared with them the scanty rations they had. During the whole of that day, and far into the night, they had to hold their position, ever on the alert to repel a flanking attack of the French cavalry, who several times galloped close up to the bridge, always retiring more quickly than they came before the volleys of the British infantry who lined the heights. More than once Jack thought of making his way along the embankment and rejoining his regiment, but the picket of the 43rd was always outnumbered; it had lost several men, and he decided, every time the opportunity of leaving occurred, that he would stay, thinking that, after all, he could probably do more good in the fighting line than in security on the other side of the bridge. At the bridge General Craufurd kept his men unremittingly at the task of mining the arches. There had been no time to send an engineer forward to make the necessary preparations; the men lacked the proper tools; and the material of the bridge was so strong, and the construction of the Roman engineers centuries before so solid, that the task of penetrating the massive masonry was of unusual difficulty.