ce to the left of the wood, rode on in the direction of the
horsemen. When I came within the distance of three hundred yards I examined
them with my glass, and could plainly detect the scarlet coats and bright
helmets. "Ha," thought I, "the 1st Dragoon Guards, no doubt." Muttering
to myself thus much, I galloped straight on; and waving my hand as I came
near, announced that I was the bearer of an order. Scarcely had I done so,
when four horsemen, dashing spurs into their steeds, plunged hastily out
from the line, and before I could speak, surrounded me. While the foremost
called out, as he flourished his sabre above his head, "Rendez-vous!" At
the same moment I was seized on each side, and led back a captive into the
hands of the enemy.

"We guess your mistake, Capitaine," said the French officer before whom I
was brought. "We are the regiment of Berg, and our scarlet uniform cost us
dearly enough yesterday."

This allusion, I afterwards learned, was in reference to a charge by a
cuirassier regiment, which, in mistaking them for English, poured a volley
into them, and killed and wounded about twenty of their number.

CHAPTER LII.

QUATRE BRAS.

Those who have visited the field of Quatre Bras will remember that on the
left of the high road, and nearly at the extremity of the Bois de Bossu,
stands a large Flemish farm-house, whose high pitched roof, pointed gables,
and quaint, old-fashioned chimneys, remind one of the architecture
so frequently seen in Tenier's pictures. The house, which, with its
dependencies of stables, granaries, and out-houses, resembles a little
village, is surrounded by a large, straggling orchard of aged fruit-trees,
through which the approach from the high road leads. The interior of this
quaint dwelling, like all those of its class, is only remarkable for a
succession of small, dark, low-ceiled rooms, leading one into another;
their gloomy aspect increased by the dark oak furniture, the heavy
armories, and old-fashioned presses, carved in the grotesque taste of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Those who visit it now may mark the
trace of cannon-shot here and there through the building; more than
one deep crack will attest the force of the dread artillery. Still the
traveller will feel struck with the rural peace and quietude of the scene;
the speckled oxen that stand lowing in the deep meadows; the splash of the
silvery trout as he sports in the bright stream that ripples alon