“Put me up a tree,” said Charlie, “perhaps I could see.”
“You’ve no business to speak,” said Bevis; but he used the idea, and told two of them to “bunt” (shove) Charlie up one of the ash-trees till he could grasp a branch. Then Charlie, agile as a squirrel, was up in a minute.
“There’s no one in their camp,” he shouted down. “Cecil’s rushing on it. Pompey, O! I can see him.”
“Where?”
“There by the copse,” pointing to the left and partly behind them.
“Which way is he going?” asked Bevis.
“That way,”—to the left.
“Our camp,” said Mark.
“That’s it,” said Bevis. “Come down, quick. Turn to the left,” (to the army). “No, stop. Charlie, how many are there with Pompey?”
“Six, ten—oh, I can’t count: I believe it’s all. I can’t see any anywhere else.”