An order having been issued for a general attack on the enemy’s position at the Nive on the morning of the 9th of December, an hour before day-break the allied army got under arms, in high spirits and glee at the prospect of fighting monsieur on his own ground, and prosecuting their victorious career still farther into France. But as it is not my purpose to give an account of that brilliant affair, I will confine myself to the adventures of our friends. In Stuart’s quarter, or billet, a miserable and half-ruined cottage, the officers who were to be under his command on a certain duty, sat smoking cigars and carousing on the common wine of the country, until the signal "to arms" was given. The party consisted of his own subs,—of Blacier and a Spanish captain, Castronuno, a tall and sombre cavalier, lank, lean, and bony, and who might very well have passed for the knight of La Mancha. Their supper consisted of tough ration _carne_ (beef), broiled over the fire on ramrods, and eaten without salt,—an article which was always so scarce, that a _duro_ would have been given for a tea-spoonful. This poor fare Blacier improved by swallowing an ample mess of chopped cabbage and vinegar, and by puffing assiduously at his meerschaum. After having stuffed himself until belt and button strained almost to starting, he deposited in his havresack a quantity of spare bread and meat for his breakfast. Castronuno, who had been observing his gluttony with quiet wonder, recommended him to eat his breakfast then, as it would save trouble on the morrow. This advice Stuart enforced by adding, that he might be knocked on the head before day broke, and perhaps all his good provender would go to swell some other man’s paunch. "_Mein Gott!_" groaned the German, "vat you say is right. I veel eat vile I can. _Hagel! mein Herr_, you hab gibben de soond advice." And he commenced a fresh attack on the viands, and quickly transferred them from the havresack to his distended stomach. He had scarcely finished, and let out four holes in his sword-belt, before the sharp Celtic visage of Serjeant Macrone was seen peering through the clouds of tobacco-smoke, as he informed Stuart, "Tat ta lads were a’ standin’ to their airms on the plain-stanes."