"So the newspapers said," replied Warriston. Quentin was silent, but the face of one of the dead dragoons whom he had seen at Herreruela--he who had been dragged by his stirrup--came vividly to memory; while, such is the effect of fancy, the moidores that remained in his pocket seemed to become heavy as lead. The hour was late now, and he was completely overcome by fatigue. With a knapsack for a pillow he dropped asleep, while his more hardy comrades sat smoking and drinking, and discussing the fortune of the coming struggle in Spain. As the light of the watch-fire waned and fell in flickering gleams on his features, they seemed pinched, pale, and wan. "God help the poor fatherless boy," said Captain Warriston, with considerable emotion; "what hard fate brings him here? He seems quite a waif among us, and one that is hardly used by you fellows of the 25th in particular. I wish I had him with me in the Scots Brigade. This last devilish piece of duty has broken him completely down!" "No, no, Warriston; there is good stuff in him yet," said Rowland Askerne, as he divested his broad shoulders of his own ample cloak, and kindly spread it over the sleeper. "At his age, I had neither father nor mother nor friend to do _this_ for me, and I too was, like him, a poor volunteer!" CHAPTER VI. THE ADVANCE INTO SPAIN. "Oh, life has many a varied tint, Has many a bright and lovely hue, Though care upon the brow may print A sadder, darker colour too. But hope still casts her rainbow wings O'er many a scene of care and strife, And gilds the hours round which she flings The bright and varied tints of life." CARPENTER. Sir John Horn's division continued to march by the strong old frontier town of Elvas, which crowns a rocky hill not far from where the Guadiana sweeps south towards the sea. "To-morrow," said Monkton, as he placed the glaring red cockade of Ferdinand VII. on his shako, "we shall be airing our most dulcet Spanish in Old Castile, learning to dance the bolero, to tilt up our legs in the fandango, and to twangle on the guitar." "I fear, Dick, that Marshal Soult will cut out more serious work for us," said Major Middleton. "Do we halt at Elvas?" asked some one, as the regiment approached the town. "Yes, thank Heaven!" exclaimed Monkton. "We have marched twenty miles to-day, and to-night I am going to the camp of the 28th." "On duty?" "No; but because they have fallen in with a cask of whisky." "Whisky!" exclaimed several voices. "Whisky here?" "The best Farintosh. It was taken from the wreck of a Scotch transport in Maciera Bay, and, may I never see morning, if I don't beg, borrow, or steal at least a canteenful. The Slashers won't refuse me, I am sure." Next morning, a march of ten miles brought them in sight of the great castle of Badajoz--that place of terrible but immortal memory!