After wandering about for an hour, Walter rejoined his father. Captain Davenant was sitting with the two officers of his troop, Lieutenant O'Driscoll and Cornet Heron, by a fire, the materials for which the three troopers who acted as their servants had collected. There was no cooking to be done, for sufficient cold provisions had been brought with the troop.
"You are just in time, Walter," his father said. "We are going to fall to, at once, at our meal.
"Hand over that cold chicken, Larry; and do you, Tim Donelly, broach that keg of claret. Give me the bread, Fergus--that's right.
"Now, gentlemen, here's a hunk each. Plates are a luxury which we must do without, in the field. Now let us fall to."
Walter seated himself on a truss of straw beside his father, and thought he had never enjoyed a meal so much, in his life, as the bread and cold chicken, eaten as they were in the open air in front of the crackling fire. Each was provided with a horn, and these were filled from the keg.
"Here's to the king, gentlemen. Success to his arms!"
All stood up to drink the toast, and then continued their meal. Three chickens vanished rapidly, and the troopers kept their horns filled with claret.
"If we always do as well as that," Captain Davenant said, as they finished the meal, "we shall have no reason to grumble. But I fear that's too much to expect.
"Bring me my pipe and tobacco, Larry. You will find them in the holsters of my saddle.
"Fergus, do you undo these trusses, and lay the straw out even--that will do.