He rode
forward boldly, however, keeping his eyes upon the stars, and
steering, so far as the circuitous lanes would allow him, north by
west.
Bearing away too far to the right, as men are apt to do in the
darkness, he missed the cross-ways by Ashen-cross, whence his true
line ran straight through Pelynt; and after an hour or so of
blind-man's-buff in a maze of cornfields, the gates of which seemed
to hide in the unlikeliest corners, emerged upon a fairly good high
road, which at first deceived him by running west-by-north and then
appeared to change its mind and, receding through west, took a
determined southerly curve back towards the coast. In short, Captain
Arbuthnot had entirely lost his bearings.
Deciding once more to trust the stars, he left the high road, struck
due north across country again and by and by found himself entangled
in a valley bottom beside the upper waters of the same stream which
Gunner Sobey had forded two hours before and some miles below.
The ground hereabouts was marshy, and above the swamp an almost
impenetrable furze-brake clothed both sides of the valley.
The Dragoons fought their way through, however, and were rewarded, a
little before dawn, by reaching a good turf slope and, at the head of
it, a lane which led them to the small village of Lanreath.
The inhabitants of Lanreath, aroused from their beds by the tramp of
hoofs and with difficulty persuaded that their visitors were not the
French, at length directed Captain Arbuthnot to the village inn, the
"Punchbowl," where he wisely determined to bait and rest his horses,
which by this time were nearly foundered.
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