"Well," rejoined Tom; "he was a private soldier like ourselves, and saved the life of Xenophon." "Be silent, my lads," said Captain Lindsay; "we have work in hand that requires you to be so." As we quitted our bivouac, I was more than ever struck with its picturesque aspect. Some regiments of infantry (among them the 8th, 20th, and 25th), which had not yet been ordered under arms, were lying around their watchfires in a green clover field. These fires could not have been less than ninety or a hundred in number, and their united glare fell redly on the sunburned faces and scarlet uniforms of the scattered groups who sat around them; on the lines of those who lay asleep with their knapsacks for pillows; on the long rows of muskets, piled with bayonets fixed, and on the silk colours, that drooped before the guarded tent of each commanding officer. Beyond these were the dark figures of the active artillery, limbering up, tracing their horses to the field guns, and preparing for immediate service; and as fresh fuel was cast on those watchfires, and the weird light flared up anew, it brought out in strong relief objects at a greater distance; trees and rocks were visible for a time, and then, as the flame wavered and sunk, they faded into obscurity. Add to all this, that the night was intensely dark, and the atmosphere dense and sulphury. Nor moon nor star were visible; the wind was still, and the flames of the crackling watchfires burned steadily and high. "Where are we going--what are we to be about?" we now inquired of each other as we rode on; and ere long, from mouth to mouth, as the staff officers, perhaps, unwisely informed those commanding troops, and these, in turn their subs, we learned that the Duke of Marlborough had, during the day, reconnoitred the harbour and suburbs of St. Malo, with the shipping and government stores, and had resolved on their destruction; so we were now to cover the advance of a body of infantry and artillery who were to perform this duty, with shot, shell, and hand grenades. While advancing, I overheard Captain Lindsay say to Cornet Keith of ours-- "Marlborough has heard that the youngest and favourite daughter of the Marshal de Broglie, who now commands in Germany, resides in a chateau near St. Malo; and he thinks she would prove an important capture." "Nay--pshaw--zounds, gallantry forbid!" responded the cornet, who was carrying the standard. "I heard him say he would give a hundred and fifty guineas for her," continued Lindsay. "For what purpose?" asked Keith, laughing. "To send to London as a trophy, like the brass guns we hope to take at Cherbourg." "A sorry capture, unless the girl is beautiful."