“This way, Sir; mind the ditch.”
“Where? ah! all ri–ight!”
The last syllable was shot out of me like a bullet as I plunged into the ditch.
The Nimrod who carried the lantern opened the slide for a moment, revealed the rugged nature of the ground, and closed it when I had risen.
“It’s better farther on,” he said, encouragingly.
“Is it? Ah, that’s well.”
We came to a piece of ground which my feet and legs told me was covered with long rough grass and occasional bushes. Over this we stumbled, and here the rays of the lantern were directed far in advance of us, so as to sweep slowly round, bringing bushes, and grassy tufts, and stumps, and clods, into spectral view for a moment as the focus of light moved on.
“We never see their bodies,” said the lantern-bearer, slowly, as he peered earnestly in front, “we only see the sparkle of one eye when the light falls on it, and—then—we—fire—at—there, that’s one! Look, don’t you see his eye? Fire, Sir, fire!”
I raised my gun, and looked eagerly with all my eyes, but saw nothing. Never having been in the habit of firing at nothing, I hesitated.
“Ah, he’s gone! Never mind, we’ll soon see another.”