"Who do?"
"Those two Spanish fellows that came into camp yesterday—the two generals. I've not seen 'em, but plenty of others have. They vow and declare that Castanos wasn't routed by any manner of means. Can't of course deny the fact of some slight reverses; but they have it that the spirit of Spain is unbroken. And they beg and beseech that Moore will give 'em another chance—not retreat to Portugal, and leave 'em to their fate."
"Will he?" demanded Roy breathlessly.
"Can't tell. Moore never speaks till he means to act. Good news for us all, if he does. I haven't overmuch faith in Spanish enthusiasm. Don't want the Spaniards to bolster us up, though. Twenty-four thousand British are equal any day to thirty or forty thousand French. But what can be done, Sir John will do."
"Just for once to get within reach of Soult, and have at him!" fervently uttered Roy. "Hallo, there's Bob coming full tilt."
"Something in the wind. Bob doesn't go that pace for nothing."
Full tilt indeed came Bob Monke, waving his cap frantically. Jack and Roy were standing on the great Salamanca bridge, formed of twenty-six arches, many of which dated back to Roman days. The strong river flowed below; and Roy had been leaning over as they talked, gazing into the water. Now he stood watching Bob's approach.
"What does he say?" as a shout was borne on the breeze. They were near the centre of the bridge, which measures five hundred feet from end to end, and Bob was distant still; but as he drew near, his fair face was seen to be flushed with excitement, and words became distinguishable.
"Hurrah! Order to advance! Retreat countermanded! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Roy, and three caps went up together.