and: but during
the twelve days the siege lasted there was always a call for boys to
watch the explosions from the town and warn the workmen when a shell
was coming: and, on the whole, since Ciudad Rodrigo contained plenty
of ammunition and did not spare it, I enjoyed myself amazingly.

On the night of the 9th, while the First Division dug at the
trenches, our men helped with the building of three counter-batteries
a little ahead of the convent; and, because the French guns began to
make our hill uncomfortable, we shifted camp and laid a shallow
trench from it, along which we could steal to work under fair cover.
On the 10th the Fourth Division took over the siege trenches, and on
the 11th the Third Division relieved: on the 12th came our turn.

The day breaking with a thick fog, Lord Wellington determined to
profit by it and hurry on the digging, which the bitter frost was
now miserably impeding. To him, or to someone, it occurred that
by scooping pits in front of the trenches our riflemen (the 95th)
might give ease to the diggers by picking off the enemy's gunners.
And with this object we were hurried down in force to take up the
work as the Third Division dropped it.

Now I knew the North Wilts to belong to this Division, and it had
occurred to me on the way down that as likely as not I might run
across Leicester. And keeping a sharp look-out as his regiment filed
forth from the trench, I spied him before he caught sight of me.
He recognised me at once; but instead of passing with a scowl (as I
had expected) he treated me to a grin as nearly humorous as his
sallow face allowed, and came to a halt.

"D'ye know who's in there?" he asked, jerking his thumb back towards
Ciudad Rodrigo.

"No, sir," I answered, scarcely grasping the question, but quaking as
this man always made me quake.

"Thought you mightn't. Well then, our friend is in there."

"Our friend?" I echoed. "Who?"

"Whitmore." His grin became ferocious now. "We have him, now--have
him sure enough, this time--eh?"

But how on earth could Mr. Whitmore have come in Ciudad Rodrigo?
Leicester read the question in my eyes, and answered it, pushing his
face close to mine in the fog.

"He's a deserter. If the river don't come down in flood, we'll have
him sure enough. And it won't, you mark my words! Two or three days
of flood would let up Marmont upon us and spoil everything. But this
weather's going to hold, and--it's a bad death for deserters