"When we have the horses ready," he said, "pull this carcass aside, and then let those in charge lead the beasts down the steps and direct to the left. Turn sharp to the left again at the end of a wall and you will come to a doorway; lead them in there. Now, hasten. Those fellows beyond there are merely waiting for the rain to cease. We shall be in clover, and eating a substantial breakfast, my lads--yes, for I have discovered a store of provisions--before the enemy guess what is happening." Soldiers are not the class of individuals to be upset by surprise. A constantly changing life such as a campaign brings accustoms them to quick and unexpected changes. Moreover, here they had confidence in the young Englishman who had so suddenly taken command of the party. There was, therefore, not so much as a question. In less than five minutes all were ready, while Mr. Riley was by then halfway up the steep flight of steps leading to the house. Andrews stood beside the carcass of the horse, the perspiration streaming from him; for he had raced round the church and inspected every corner. "Ready, sir?" he asked. Tom nodded. "Then heave," called Andrews, tugging at one of the legs of the dead animal. The troopers threw themselves upon the carcass at once, and in a trice it had been dragged aside. "Now out with them 'ere horses," commanded Andrews hoarsely. "Beg pardon, sir, but I don't know what you're up to. This is certain though: there's not a drop of water in the church." "There's heaps where we're going," answered Tom laconically. "Heaps." "And grub, beggin' pardon again, sir?" "Could you eat ham, well-cooked ham, Andrews?" asked Tom, without a smile. "Ham! Bust me----!" began the rifleman. "And preserves. Perhaps the wine of Portugal wouldn't be good enough for you, though. There's at least one barrel of it where we're going." Andrews' eyes shone with expectation. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Food and drink, sir," he gasped, as if the news were too good. "Plenty of it, too. Why--bust me!----" He could get no further than that expression; it conveyed his whole meaning. But the eyes which looked Tom Clifford up and down an instant later had, if possible, just a little more respect in them. "If he don't walk right off with the palm," spluttered the rifleman. "Here's he, a civilian--yes, a civilian--and he jest takes this little lot by the hand as you might say, and shepherds them. When there's trouble with the peasants, he sets about and gives 'em proper snuff. And when things is getting queer, and grub's scare, and water run clean out, why here he makes a man dance with news of hams--yes, hams he did say--and wine--why, it's Wellington hisself couldn't have done better!"