The changes of clothes were quickly made, not without
some struggles on the part of our victims, and a vast deal of
violent language from the captain, whom Joe again half choked with
straw. We soon had him and his men rigged up, gagged and manacled
as deserters; we borrowed (without leave) kerchiefs of various
colors which the Frenchmen had about them, and of them made
bandages for those who were to pass as wounded. Joe donned the
sergeant's clothes, and the bosun those of the largest of the
company, though they were a sad misfit.
It struck us that we should make the imposture more complete if we
got a cart in which to convey our wounded men, so when the
preparations were otherwise complete I, attired as the French
captain, mounted his horse and, accompanied by two of the quondam
deserters (now appearing quite respectable infantrymen), set off to
find a farm where in the name of King Lewis I might demand what we
needed. We had to go some three miles before we came to a likely
looking farmhouse, and there, assuming an authoritative and
hectoring manner quite foreign to my amiable disposition, I secured
a wagon and two horses, for which I gave the farmer a formal
receipt.
The sight of his dairy reminded me that I was hungry, and I added
to my requisition a good store of food, for which I knew my
comrades would bless me. For driver I picked out the stupidest
looking yokel I could find among the farmer's men, and then we
returned to the ruined farmhouse in triumph and not a little haste,
for I was eager to set my teeth in the bread and cheese we were
conveying.
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