At this instant the trumpet sounded “boot and saddle,” and like one man the whole mass rose up, when the scene, late so tranquil, became one of excited bustle and confusion. An aide-de-camp galloped past towards the river, followed by two orderly sergeants; and the next moment Sparks rode up, his whole equipment giving evidence of a hurried ride, while his cheek was deadly pale and haggard. Power presented to him a goblet of sherry, which, having emptied at a draught, he drew a long breath, and said, “They are coming,--coming in force!” “Who are coming?” said Power. “Take time, man, and collect yourself.” “The French! I saw them a devilish deal closer than I liked. They wounded one of the orderlies and took the other prisoner.” “Forward!” said a hoarse voice in the front. “March! trot!” And before we could obtain any further information from Sparks, whose faculties seemed to have received a terrific shock, we were once more in the saddle, and moving at a brisk pace onward. Sparks had barely time to tell us that a large body of French cavalry occupied the pass of Berar, when he was sent for by General Cotton to finish his report. “How frightened the fellow is!” said Hixley. “I don’t think the worse of poor Sparks for all that,” said Power. “He saw those fellows for the first time, and no bird’s-eye view of them either.” “Then we are in for a skirmish, at least,” said I. “It would appear not, from that,” said Hixley, pointing to the head of the column, which, leaving the high road upon the left, entered the forest by a deep cleft that opened upon a valley traversed by a broad river. “That looks very like taking up a position, though,” said Power. “Look,--look down yonder!” cried Hixley, pointing to a dip in the plain beside the river. “Is there not a cavalry picket there?” “Right, by Jove! I say, Fitzroy,” said Power to an aide-de-camp as he passed, “what’s going on?” “Soult has carried Oporto,” cried he, “and Franchesca’s cavalry have escaped.” “And who are these fellows in the valley?” “Our own people coming up.” In less than half an hour’s brisk trotting we reached the stream, the banks of which were occupied by two cavalry regiments advancing to the main army; and what was my delight to find that one of them was our own corps, the 14th Light Dragoons! “Hurra!” cried Power, waving his cap as he came up. “How are you, Sedgewick? Baker, my hearty, how goes it? How is Hampton and the colonel?” In an instant we were surrounded by our brother officers, who all shook me cordially by the hand, and welcomed me to the regiment with most gratifying warmth. “One of us,” said Power, with a knowing look, as he introduced me; and the freemasonry of these few words secured me a hearty greeting.