"No, Tim, I'm afraid we're going to stop where we are, for a bit. The council of war have decided not to fight."
"Shure and that's bad news," Tim said. "The worst I've heard for many a day. What if there be fifty thousand of 'em, Mister Charles, haven't we bate 'em at long odds before, and can't we do it agin?"
"I think we could, Tim," Charlie replied; "but the odds of fifty-three heavy cannon, which the spies say they've got, to our ten popguns, is serious. However, I'm sorry we're not going to fight, and I'm afraid that you must make up your mind to the wet, and Hossein his to giving me bad dinners for some weeks to come; that is to say, if the enemy don't turn us out of this."
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Peters entered the tent.
"Is it true, Charlie, that we are not going to fight, after all?"
"True enough," Charlie said. "We are to wait till the rains are over."
"Rains!" Peters said, in disgust; "what have the rains got to do with it? If we had a six weeks' march before us, I could understand the wet weather being a hindrance. Men are not water rats, and to march all day in these heavy downpours, and to lie all night in the mud, would soon tell upon our strength. But here we are, within a day's march of the enemy, and the men might as well get wet in the field as here. Everyone longs to be at the enemy, and a halt will have a very bad effect.
"What have you got to drink, Charlie?"
"I have some brandy and rum; nothing else," Charlie said. "But what will be better than either for you is a cup of tea. Hossein makes it as well as ever. I suppose you have dined?"
"Yes, half an hour ago."