Our infantry were encamped under canvas in the immediate vicinity of Warburg, the quaint old German streets of which presented a lively picture of campaigning life, for every house had been converted into a barrack; soldiers in British or Hanoverian uniforms appeared at all the windows, lounging, laughing, and smoking, or pipeclaying their belts or gaiters. Piles of muskets stood in long rows upon the pavements. Here and there a sentinel trod to and fro upon his post, indicating the quarters of a colonel or where the colours of a regiment were lodged. In the church were stalled our horses, and there stable duty and religious service went on together; for, as wounded men died every day in our hands, one seldom passed without a body being laid before the altar muffled in a cloak, greatcoat, or rug, prior to interment in the trench outside the gates. After our return from the night attack at Zierenberg, I slept profoundly on the bare floor of my billet, which was in an empty house. I think one does generally sleep sound after enduring great excitement or great calamity, for it is the _waking_ alone that brings back the sense of grief or danger. Prior to that came dreams, and again I seemed to hear the bayonet and sabre clashing, the shouts and the wild work of last night: but from these I was roused about raid-day by Tom Kirkton, our adjutant, who as yet was still accoutred. "Well, Gauntlet, old friend," said he, with a peculiar smile; "so you and I are to part at last?" "How--what do you mean, Tom?" "You have been chosen by the Commander-in-chief, on Colonel Preston's recommendation (a dear old fellow, isn't he?) to convey to London, and to the king's own hand, his despatches and the colours taken last night; and his orders say, you must start in an hour." "And I am to proceed--" "By our rear. See, here is your route; by Arensburg to Wesel, and thence down the Rhine to Nimeguen on the Waal; thence by boat to the mouth of the West Scheldt, where some of our gun-brigs are sure to be lying." "Zounds! Tom--a long and tiresome journey; alone too! and the money?" "Old Blount, the Paymaster-General, furnishes that. So come, rouse thee, friend Basil--let us have a parting glass ere you go, my dear boy." There was an unmistakeable moisture and sad expression in Tom's clear and usually merry eye as he spoke, for we had ever been the best of friends and comrades. Within an hour after this I had packed my valise, secured the French colours and the Prince's despatches in a large saddlebag--had bade adieu to our good old colonel,* to Tom Kirkton, Douglas, and others, and departed with sincere regret. Hob Elliot and many of the Greys--braver good, honest fellows--accompanied me to the town gate, and the farewell cheer they gave me as I passed through the Infantry camp rings yet in my ear and in my heart, as it did then when I waved my cap, and said "God bless you!"