After the _reconnoissance_ of the 22nd, and after supplies had been thrown into Badajoz, the enemy took up the quarters he had occupied previous to the junction of the armies of Portugal and the South—the army of Soult in the neighbourhood of Seville, that of Marmont at Placentia. The 7th and 3rd Divisions of our army occupied Campo Mayor: and having got ourselves and our appointments into good order, we began to have all the annoyances of garrison duty, which was not lessened by the presence of three or four general officers. The mounting of guard, the salute, and all the minutiæ of our profession, were attended to with a painful particularity; and poor old General Sontag was near falling a sacrifice to his zeal on this particular point of duty. This officer was by birth either a German or Prussian, I don’t know which, but, from his costume, I should myself say that he was a disciple of the Grand Frederick; he was a great Martinet, and had all the appearance of one brought up in the school of that celebrated warrior, and might have passed, and deservedly so, for aught I know to the contrary, for one who had served in the “Seven Years' War.” His dress was singular, though plain; he usually wore a cocked hat and jacket, tight blue pantaloons, and brown top hunting-boots. One day, when it came to my tour of duty, General Sontag was the senior officer on the parade. Mounted on a spirited horse, he took his station in front to receive the “salute,” when the band of my regiment, much more celebrated for its harshness and noise than its sweetness, struck up as discordant a jumble of sounds as ever proceeded from the same number of wind instruments. The animal, a German horse, and no doubt with a good ear for music, took fright, and standing upright on his hinder legs, commenced pawing and snorting in a manner that astounded every one present, the old General alone excepted; he continued immovably steady in his saddle, from which a less skilful or an inexperienced rider must inevitably have been flung, and sawed his horse’s mouth with such effect as to compel him to resume his former and more natural position. But, unfortunately, at this moment the drum-major, who justly estimated the cause of the refractory movements of the brute, made a flourish with his mace as a token for the band—music I can’t call it—to desist, and so terrified the animal that he made a sudden plunge to get away, but was so firmly held by the grip of his rider, that his feet came from under him, and both the General and his charger were prostrate on the ground in a second.