In the rural districts the distress was not yet so great as in the larger towns; consequently at King's Cliffe, when the first detachment halted for rest in the long straggling street of the typical English village, the bells of the quaint old church were rung, and villagers gave their defenders bread, cheese, and draughts of ale. While the men were standing at ease and eating heartily, two officers entered Bailey's, the village grocery store, which served as post office, and received a cipher telegraphic despatch. They emerged into the roadway immediately, and their faces showed that some unforeseen event had occurred. A third officer was summoned, and a hurried and secret consultation took place as they stood together opposite the Cross Keys Inn. "But can we do it?" queried the youngest of the trio, aloud, pulling on his gloves, and settling the hang of his sword. The grave elder man, commander of the brigade, glanced quickly at his watch, with knit brows. "Do it?" he replied, with a marked Irish accent. "We must. It'll be a dash for life; but the boys are fresh, and as duty calls, we must push onward, even though we may be marching to our doom. Go," he said to the youngest of his two companions, "tell them we are moving, and that our advance guard will reach them at the earliest possible moment." The young lieutenant hurried over to the little shop, and as he did so the colonel gave an order, and a bugle awoke the echoes of the village. Quick words of command sounded down the quaint, ancient street, followed by the sharp click of arms. Again officers' voices sounded loud and brief, and at the word "March!" the great body of stern loyalists moved onward over the bridge, and up the School Hill on to the long winding road which led away through Apesthorpe and historic Fotheringhay to Oundle. The message from the front had been immediately responded to, for a few minutes later the excited villagers stood watching the rearguard disappearing in the cloud of dust raised by the heavy tread of the thousand feet upon the white highway. [Illustration: IRISH VOLUNTEERS HALTING IN KING'S CLIFFE.] CHAPTER XVIII. RUSSIAN ADVANCE IN THE MIDLANDS. Through the land the grey-coated hordes of the White Tsar spread like locusts--their track marked by death and desolation. Both French and Russian troops had taken up carefully selected positions on the Downs, and, backed by the enormous reinforcements now landed, were slowly advancing. Every detail of the surprise invasion had apparently been carefully considered, for immediately after the fierce battle off Beachy Head a number of French and Russian cruisers were despatched to the Channel ports in order to threaten them, so as to prevent many of the troops in Hampshire, Dorset, and Devon from moving to their place of assembly. Consequently large bodies of British troops were compelled to remain inactive, awaiting probable local attacks.