Having descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or the enemy's fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly and distinctly.

In the valley he saw before him something like a river, but when he reached it he found it was a road.

Having come out onto the road he reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or cross it and ride over the black field up the hillside.

To keep to the road which gleamed white in the mist would have been safer because it would be easier to see people coming along it.