Bending as we went--for the enemy's matches still glimmered in readiness to open fire--we cautiously made our way over the ground in the direction clearly indicated by the slain who fell during our brilliant charge. Here and there maimed horses still kicked and writhed in agony, while at intervals a man would implore our pity and help, though most of the slightly wounded had managed to regain the shelter of our lines. At length we came upon a confused jumble of men and horses, and pinned down by the weight of his dead charger lay our hapless friend. By our combined efforts we managed to extricate his body from beneath the animal, and to our great surprise and intense delight the brave colonel opened his eyes. A brief examination showed that his right leg had been cleanly hewn through, the upper part of his boot still remaining over his knee; but again with infinite surprise I noticed that there was no trace of blood, and the next instant the truth flashed across my mind. Colonel Nicholas Firestone had a wooden leg! Stooping down, Lawson grasped the colonel under his arms, while Granville lifted his remaining leg, and cautiously we began our perilous journey back to the camp; but hardly had we gone a few paces when Firestone whispered: "Bring the pieces with you, Humphrey. My severed leg, I mean, for 'tis of much consequence that this be done." Wondering what he meant, yet loth to thwart what I took to be the whim of a half-dazed man, I returned, picked up the severed boot with its wooden contents, and overtook my comrades, and half an hour later we were safely within the Royal lines. Here, with considerable difficulty, we procured a rough litter, and, placing our wounded friend upon it, we bore him towards the camp, in company with a constant stream of burdens, for the most part far sadder than our own. As we approached I noticed a group of officers standing in a respectful attitude at a short distance from a slender, heavily cloaked figure. Instinct told me it was our Sovereign, who, having by his courage inspired his troops to fight a brilliant though indecisive action, was not slow in sympathising with those who had fallen in his cause. "'Tis the King," I whispered to our wounded companion. "Then hand me my severed leg," he rejoined with astonishing imperativeness. My surprise prevented me from asking the reason, and without a word I did as he requested. As the litter approached His Majesty, I noticed Firestone feverishly employed in taking the remains of his wooden leg from the encasing leather boot, and, having done this, he began to unscrew a portion of the limb. A few turns and the leg came apart, disclosing a cavity, from which the colonel drew a lightly rolled packet of papers. "Art badly hurt?" asked His Majesty, as the glimmer of a lantern fell upon the figure in the stretcher. "No, sire," replied Firestone cheerfully. "'Tis not a case for the surgeon; a carpenter will suffice."