But at least it had never kept me from thinking clearly, and so I knew that there was nothing for it but to gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere.

I rode round the English picket, and then, as I heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightly that I had at last come through their defences.

For five miles I rode south, striking a tinder from time to time to look at my pocket compass.
And then in an instant--I feel the pang once more as my memory brings back the moment--my horse, without a sob or stagger, fell stone dead beneath me! I had not known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal picket had passed through his body.

The gallant creature had never winced nor weakened, but had gone while life was in him.

One instant I was secure on the swiftest, most graceful horse in Massena's army.