But, in front of this remarkable conveyance, the advanced guard halted with carbine on thigh, the officers saluting and the trumpets sounding, while the general and staff approached bare-headed, with hat in hand, for in the recesses of this apple-pie were the most Reverend Padres en Dios, the Archbishop of Santiago, the Bishop Suffragan of Compostella, Senores the Captain-general, the Alcalde of Badajoz, and a great many more, in civic robes and military uniforms, with crosses and medals, and all of these persons clambered out of the interior, and descended on terra firma by means of the three-legged stools aforesaid, coach-steps being as yet unknown in the realms of his Most Catholic majesty. "Well," said Monkton, "this turn-out beats all the buggies I ever saw. By Jove! it is like Noah's ark on wheels. Such a team it would be to 'tool' to Epsom with!" We shall skip the long and solemn, the flattering and bombastic speeches made by the Spanish officials, and the curt but manly responses given by the British on this auspicious occasion. Suffice it to say that, after a brief halt, the division continued its route by easy marches. The green hill of Albuera--the scene of a glorious battle three years after--ere long became visible on the right flank; but the day passed without any tidings being heard of the guerillas of Don Baltasar de Saldos, a circumstance which, in the course of conversation with Buckle the adjutant, the Master of Rohallion contrived that Quentin should know. Naturally he felt anxious about the matter, and feared in his heart that perhaps he had personally something to do with the non-appearance of this famous partisan chief. Twenty-four miles beyond Badajoz brought the division, with all the heavy artillery of the army, to Montijo, a little town of Estremadura, where a camp was formed for the night near the Guadiana. As contrasted with "the Granary of Portugal," through which they had latterly passed, the barrenness of wasted and long-neglected Estremadura impressed all with poor ideas of Spain. "The great Conde was right," said Warriston, as the little group of the other evening assembled again, in nearly a similar manner, to sup by their watchfire, which was lighted near a deserted pottery in a field where the Indian corn had grown and been reaped; "right indeed, when he said if you wish to know what actual want is, carry on a war in Spain!" "And the comforts of a Peninsular tour like ours are in no way enhanced when one's exchequer is low," said Monkton. "True, Willie, and there is a wonderful sympathy between the animal spirits and the breeches-pocket." "And I, for one, can show 'a regular soldier's thigh,' my purse has long since collapsed." "Line it with these, Monkton," said Quentin, slipping a half-dozen moidores into his hand.