That, in fact, was precisely what this ensign was, as was the case with many another officer in Wellington's army. Example is everything when men are engaged in strenuous operations; and if those in command show coolness, determination, sangfroid, and other virtues, their own particular men are wonderfully heartened. And here was this ensign coolly flicking dirt from his laced sleeve, while a foot overhead grapeshot swept past in a torrent. There he was, joking and laughing with the jovial Jack as if he had not so much as a serious thought in his head, and as if this were merely a game. But a minute later he was leading the way to an outwork, strolling negligently across a portion necessarily exposed to the bullets of the enemy, and showing not so much as a sign of haste. "Come along," he sang out to our hero. "It's a little warm crossing, but it's generally all right. We had three caught by the enemy's bullets yesterday, but that's because they would stop to star gaze. Ah, very neat shooting, eh? I declare, the beggar has cut one of my epaulettes off with his shot!" It was true enough. Tom had heard a shot fired from the fortress, for the trench they had just left was within long range of an outwork manned by the enemy. He had instantly seen the left epaulette of the ensign rise in the air, spin round merrily, and then fall to the ground. And the young officer only showed annoyance at such an injury being done to his uniform! As for the men stationed in the trench behind, and those in the earthwork for which they were making, they watched the little scene with grins of amusement and delight. "Dicky Silvester, ensign. That's him," growled one of the sappers hoarsely to his neighbours. "Joined us a year ago, or less, and looks and acts as if he were a born soldier, and didn't care a fig for bullets or anything else. Who are the other orficers? Ain't they cool 'uns too? My hat, Dicky ain't the only one as don't give a hang for bullets!" The cool behaviour of the three even raised a cheer before they had entered the earthwork, calling a sharp order from the ensign. "What's this?" he demanded, dropping slowly out of shot of the enemy, a manoeuvre which Tom and Jack followed. "Laughing and cheering when there's work to be done! Here----" Another patch of dirt on his uniform distracted his attention and cut short the speech. As for the men, they dashed their picks again into the ground and went on with their delving. Then whispers passed amongst them. "Blessed ef I don't think as the toff of an orficer in staff uniform ain't Mr. Tom Clifford, him as held up them Portuguese in a church, commanding the Frenchies who'd taken him as prisoner," said one. "Ain't that the one?" "And went right into Ciudad Rodrigo t' other day," agreed his comrade, "and come galloping out dressed as a gal. He's the boy. Law! He looks at Badajoz as if he was hungry to get inside, and had more almost to do with this siege than we have."