A body of cavalry had been drawn across the upper edge of the ford, four deep--the horses' bodies forming a barrier against the swirling blocks of ice; and under this shelter we crossed, the water rising to my small ribs and touching my heart with a shiver that I recall as I write.
But the sergeant's hand was on my collar and steadied me over.
"How much farther ?" I made bold to whisper to him as we groped our way up the bank.
"Three miles, maybe: that's as the crow flies.

But you mustn't talk." And not another word did I say.

We plodded on--not straight for the fortress, the distant lights of which seemed to be waiting for us, but athwart and, for a mile and more, almost away from it.

By and by the road began to climb; and, a little later, we had left it and were crossing the shoulder of a grassy hill behind which the lights of Ciudad Rodrigo disappeared from view.
Here the dawn overtook us; and here at length, along the northern slope of the hill and close under its summit, we were halted.
Sergeant Henderson gave a satisfied grunt.

"Good for _The_ Division--the One and Only!" he remarked.