I was in a sort of a maze while the general so good-naturedly explained his plans and orders: in which I felt very little satisfaction. My thoughts were at the villa. To leave Calabria at present was, perhaps, to leave Bianca: a deadly blow to my air-built castles; unless Massena’s legions marched south in time to change the intentions of our leader. Relying on the general’s friendship, I had no doubt that my return to Sicily might be delayed for a time; therefore I did not hesitate to solicit the appointment of commandant at Scylla, with the local rank of major in Italy. "You are but a young officer, and the charge is a most important one," said he, impressively: "but you are getting tired of me, Dundas?" "Far from it, Sir John; the staff——" "I am afraid I task you too severely: well, as a punishment for your discontent, you shall have Scylla to keep, so long as our friend Massena will permit. His advance will soon scare the garrison out of it. I cannot refuse you that which you underwent so many toils and risks to attain: the nomination will appear shortly in general orders," (he made a memorandum) "but on _one_ condition it is granted, that you do not spend too much of your time at St. Eufemio." I coloured at the inuendo, while the old fellow laughed at what he considered a hit, and held the decanter of glowing Zante between him and the sunlight. He shook me heartily by the hand, and, buckling up the despatches in my sabre-tache, I hurried back to my billet to desire my servant to pack my valise, and have all in order for starting by daybreak. *CHAPTER XV.* *THE CAVALLO MARINO.* The report of the morning gun had scarcely pealed away from the ramparts ere Brown appeared by my bedside, and the reveillé rang through the echoing stillness of the castle above me. In barracks there are few sensations more agreeable than that of being awakened by the reveillé on the dawn of a summer’s day: gradually its sweet low wail steals upon the waking senses, sadly and slowly at first, then increasing in strength and power till the full body of music floats through the morning air, redoubled by the echoes of the empty barrack-courts; when as the measure from the slowness of a Scottish lament increases to the rapidity of a reel, the drams roll impatiently as if to rouse the tardy sleepers. "Well, Bob, what kind of morning is it?" said I, scrambling up, shivering and yawning. "Cold and raw, sir—the drums sound as if muffled, a sure sign of a damp morning. The galley’s boat is at the castle stairs, sir."