"And then up comes Mad Jack with the rest—Hearts of Oak, sailors, soldiers, the whole bloody rag, tag and bobtail—and hurrying on to that ridge beyond will wait there for Gabriel, poor old Gabriel, who's been wearing his men out in his hurry to catch us before we're gone. Down he goes too, with his hundred thousand with him. And away to the west, Michael will hear Gabriel's death-yowl, but won't be able to chip in, for there's a man there I know," and here Graeme looked directly at Roy, who nodded slightly in answer, "a cove with a long pole, who says to him 'Keep off, Michael, old bird, leave Jack and Gabriel to fight it out; it's their bloody scrap, not yours.'"
He stopped abruptly, and then went on:
"I beat them in detail, you see, blokes, what the Austrians should have done before Königgratz, and would have, had Hector G. been driving the coach and not Benedek. Now, go back to your divisions and pull them and their arms out of the mud they're in. Your orders will be sent you later, go. Fellowes and Roy stay behind; I want you both. You first, Fellowes; Roy, wait outside." All except Fellowes saluted, and went silently out.
"You said, Fellowes, you wanted another go at them. You shall have it; you'll attack at dawn to-morrow with three divisions, your own guards, the Highlanders, and Irish. Move off to-night and be at this point," indicating a spot on the map, "at 3 a.m. to-morrow morning. You'll give the orders to your command yourself. Off you go, Roy."
"Sir?"
"You'd like the pole job?"
"Yes."
"The other fellow's much bigger than you. He'll break your pole and kill you for certain, Roy."
"It's the luck of the game, sir."
"There'll be no luck for you—and no retreat either, mind that. Roy, it's a fight to a finish, and the finish will be only one way."