ou to my friend on my right," continued Baker, "for my
Spanish is only a skeleton battalion; but he's a trump,--that I'll vouch
for; never flinches his glass, and looks as though he enjoyed all our
nonsense."

The Spaniard, who appeared to comprehend that he was alluded to, gravely
saluted me with a low bow, and offered his glass to hobnob with me. I
returned the curtesy with becoming ceremony, while Hampden whispered in my
ear,--

"A fine-looking fellow. You know who he is? Julian, the Guerilla chief."

I had heard much of both the strangers. Tom Marsden was a household word
in every cavalry brigade; equally celebrated were his contracts and his
claret. He knew every one, from Lord Wellington to the last-joined cornet;
and while upon a march, there was no piece of better fortune than to be
asked to dine with him. So in the very thick of battle, Tom's critical eye
was scanning the squadrons engaged, with an accuracy as to the number of
fresh horses that would be required upon the morrow that nothing but long
practice and infinite coolness could have conferred.

Of the Guerilla I need not speak. The bold feats he accomplished, the aid
he rendered to the cause of his country, have made his name historical. Yet
still with all this, fatigue, more powerful than my curiosity, prevailed,
and I sank into a heavy sleep upon the grass, while my merry companions
kept up their revels till near morning. The last piece of consciousness I
am sensible of was seeing Julian spreading his wide mantle over me as I
lay, while I heard his deep voice whisper a kind wish for my repose.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D'ONORO.

So soundly did I sleep that the tumult and confusion of the morning never
awoke me; and the Guerilla, whose cavalry were stationed along the edge of
the ravine near the heights of Echora, would not permit of my being roused
before the last moment. Mike stood near me with my horses, and it was only
when the squadrons were actually forming that I sprang to my feet and
looked around me.

The day was just breaking; a thick mist lay upon the parched earth, and
concealed everything a hundred yards from where we stood. From this dense
vapor the cavalry defiled along the base of the hill, followed by the
horse artillery and the Guards, disappearing again as they passed us,
but proving, by the mass of troops now assembled, that our position was
regarded as the probable point of attack.

While the troops c