vessels, both brigs—the Lisbon Packet, bound from London to Falmouth with a general cargo, and the Margaret, letter of marque of London, bound from Zante, laden with currants—to a lieutenant and a guard of foot soldiers. Not a man of them knew where they were bound. They set out through a main pretty country, where the wheat stood nearabouts knee-high, but the roads were heavy after the spring rains. Each man had seven shillings in his pocket, given him at parting by the captain of his vessel—the three captains had been left behind at Dieppe—and on they trudged for just a fortnight on an allowance of 1 Ib. of brown bread and twopence-halfpenny per man per day; the bread served out regular and the money, so to say, when they could get it. Mostly they came to a town for their night's halt, and as often as not the townsfolk drummed them to jail with what we call the "Rogue's March," but in France I believe it's "Honours of War," or something that sounds politer than 'tis. But there were times when they had to put up at a farm house by the road, and then the poor chaps slept on straw for a treat.
Well, on the last day of the fortnight they reached their journey's end—a great fortress on a rock standing right over the river, with a town lying around the foot of the rock, and a smaller town, reached by a bridge of boats, on the far side of the river. I can't call to mind the name of the river, but the towns were called Jivvy—Great and Little
