One, a handsome man with a white moustache, on whose breast several orders glittered, spoke sharply to his companions, some of whom spoke in reply. Then the scoundrel whom the Lancers had bound was discovered, on which the Russian officers spoke rapidly together.
Then a couple of soldiers came and felt over Jack’s and Will’s uniforms, as though to find out whether they had any ill-gotten gains concealed about their persons.
The action was so significant that Jack cried out, ‘Good Heavens, they can’t think we’ve anything to do with that vile wretch! Can’t they see by our uniforms we’re English soldiers?’
‘If you are,’ said a voice in excellent English, ‘why are you prowling about on the battlefield? Do you not know you are liable to be shot as spies?’
Jack turned in surprise and saw he was addressed by an officer in a handsome uniform of green and silver.
‘You cannot mistake us for spies, sir,’ he said respectfully, ‘seeing we are in uniform.’
The white-moustached officer now spoke, and the officer in green said, ‘General Liprandi wants to know at once who you are, and what you are doing here?’
‘We are English Lancers, and we came to see if we could succour any of our wounded comrades.’
‘You are both very young.’
‘We are trumpeters.’