He pointed to Hope and Neal.
“Ought to have a baggage waggon,” said the officer, “or ought to put the fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could tell by looking at them.”
“I’d expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere,” said Major Barber, “but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a company of yeomen.”
The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay’s house. Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for his eyes, his face was grave.
“Now,” he whispered, “we’ve got to slip out of the ranks and make our way into North Street.”
As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal—
“Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again.”
He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, allowed the yeomen to march past.
“Did you hear Major Barber say that he’d be ready to bet that these cases held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men than him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will be wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won’t have another company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, we’d better get something to cover these up. There’s a man here in charge of a carman’s yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which will suit us very well.”
He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard.