One day when, with his little band, he was halting at a village, some ten
miles in rear of the camp, a peasant ran in.
"A party of their horse have just seized some carts laden with potatoes
at Kilcowan, and are driving them off. The boys are mustering to attack
them on their way back."
"It is too bad," Walter exclaimed. "Only three days ago, Ginckle issued
another proclamation guaranteeing that no provisions, or other goods,
should be taken by his soldiers without payment.
"To horse, lads! We will ride out and give the peasants a helping hand,
if they really mean to attack the enemy."
Kilcowan was two miles away and, having learned from the peasant that the
people intended to attack at a point where the road passed between two
hills, a mile and a half beyond the village, he galloped on at full
speed. He arrived, however, too late to take any part in the fight. The
peasants had rushed suddenly down the hillsides, armed with scythes and
pikes, upon the convoy as it passed below them. Several of the cavalry
had been killed, and the rest were riding off, when Walter with his
troopers dashed up. They continued the pursuit for a mile, cutting off a
few stragglers, less well mounted than the rest, and then returned to
Kilcowan, where the peasants had just arrived in triumph with the rescued
carts of potatoes.
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