But what attracted my attention most was the presence of a number of men-of-war, their lofty yellow and black sides shining in the brilliant sunshine as they rode at anchor about a mile from the shore.
"There," exclaimed Sergeant Widdicombe, indicating the ships—"there is the reason why we could not sail round. The rebel fleet keeps a strict blockade upon Dartmouth."
"Then I cannot take ship from Dartmouth?" I asked.
"A small vessel might slip out and stand in between the rocks you see yonder," he replied. "But that is no affair of mine, though you'll find out soon enough."
"Think we can manage it, Fox?" he continued, addressing a trooper, "or shall we take the inland road, though 'tis far more hilly?"
"'Twill be safe enow if half the troop ride inside the waggon and the rest follow us later with the led horses," replied the man addressed.
"Very well, then," said Widdlcombe, "we can but try."
So half the soldiers dismounted and took their seats under the covered waggon; two more, putting waggoners' smocks over their buff coats and stowing their iron caps under the seat, accompanied the cart, one driving, the other sheltering close to the side of the hood.
The rest of the troopers, with their comrades' horses, remained behind under cover of a clump of trees, and at the word of command the waggon began to descend the hill.
Directly it gained the level road, the driver whipped up the horses, and the cumbersome wain jolted along at a quick pace but barely had it gone a hundred yards than we saw boats being lowered from the rebel ships.