"Hush! what's that?" said Sergeant Jones, a little man known familiarly as "The Weasel".
A bugle-call was sounding. Every man started to his feet. Surely the two hours' halt was over and the battle was at hand. But no; there was no sound of movement among the troops, no cheer from the men near the general's quarters. While the men stood in a tense attitude of expectancy, Jack came up out of the darkness.
"Men," he said quietly, "we are ordered back to Grajal. Fall in!"
Not a word broke from them. Back to Grajal? But the French were not there. Was the battle postponed again? No one appeared to know the meaning of this new order. They collected their kits, strapped on their heavy knapsacks, and trudged despondently back over the frozen roads.
At six o'clock that evening a note had been brought to Sir John Moore from the Marquis of La Romana. It read:
LEON, Dec. 22.
SIR,
The confidential person whom I had placed on the River Douro has written to me on the 18th inst. that he is assured that the enemy's troops posted at the Escurial are moving in this direction.
He adds that if the person who gave him this intelligence should not arrive the same day he would go himself to Villacastin, twelve leagues from Madrid, to watch the two roads, the one of which leads to Zamora, and the other to Segovia.
I hasten to give this information to your Excellency that you may judge what measures are requisite to be taken.