A. T. Quiller-Couch

“ I seem'd to grow a full two inches taller; and when, in the vale, we parted, he directing me to the left, where through a gap I could see Sir Bevill's troop forming at some five hundred paces' distance, I felt a very desperate warrior indeed; and set off at a run, with Billy behind me.
'Twas an open space we had to cross, dotted with gorse-bushes; and the enemy's regiments, plain to see, drawn up in battalia on the slope above, which here was gentler than to the south and west. ”

“ Both men were more than ordinary tall and soldier like: only the bigger wore a scarlet cloak very richly lac'd, and was shouting orders to his men; while the other, drest in plain buff suit and jack-boots, had a map spread before him, which he studied very attentively, writing therein with a quill pen.
“What a plague have we here?” cries the big man, as we drew up. ”

“ Before I had the sand well out of my eyes, my comrade was up and had his pike loose; and in a twinkling, the rebel was spitted through the middle and writhing. 'Twas sickening: but before I could pull out my pistol and end his pain (as I was minded) , back came our front rank a-top of us again, and down they were driven like sheep, my companion catching up the dead man's musket and ammunition bag, and I followed down the slope with three stout rebels at my heels. “What will be the end of this?” ”

“ Further, meeting, in Sir Bevill's troop, with some north-coast men of his acquaintance, he fell to talking, and so learnt about me and my ride toward Braddock, which (it seem'd) was now become common knowledge. This led him to seek Sir Bevill, with the result that you know: “for,” as he wound up, “'tis a desirable an' rare delight to pay a debt an' see some fun, together.” ”

“ At the same moment, Billy, who was running at my shoulder, plumps down on his knees and begins to whine and moan most pitiably.
“Art hurt, dear fellow?” asked I, turning.
“Oh, Jack, Jack—I have no stomach for this! A cool, wet death at sea I do not fear; only to have the great hot shot burning in a man's belly—'tis terrifying. I hate a swift death! Jack, I be a sinner—I will confess: I lied to thee yesterday—never kiss'd the three maids I spoke of—never kiss'd but one i' my life, an' her a tap-wench, that slapt my face for 't, an' so don't properly count. I be a very boastful man!” ”