It was on that night's duty that I last saw powder burned in the Seven Years' War.
Our infantry were encamped under canvas in the immediate vicinity of Warburg, the quaint old German streets of which presented a lively picture of campaigning life, for every house had been converted into a barrack; soldiers in British or Hanoverian uniforms appeared at all the windows, lounging, laughing, and smoking, or pipeclaying their belts or gaiters. Piles of muskets stood in long rows upon the pavements. Here and there a sentinel trod to and fro upon his post, indicating the quarters of a colonel or where the colours of a regiment were lodged.
In the church were stalled our horses, and there stable duty and religious service went on together; for, as wounded men died every day in our hands, one seldom passed without a body being laid before the altar muffled in a cloak, greatcoat, or rug, prior to interment in the trench outside the gates.
After our return from the night attack at Zierenberg, I slept profoundly on the bare floor of my billet, which was in an empty house. I think one does generally sleep sound after enduring great excitement or great calamity, for it is the waking alone that brings back the sense of grief or danger. Prior to that came dreams, and again I seemed to hear the bayonet and sabre clashing, the shouts and the wild work of last night: but from these I was roused about raid-day by Tom Kirkton, our adjutant, who as yet was still accoutred.
"Well, Gauntlet, old friend," said he, with a peculiar smile; "so you and I are to part at last?"
"How—what do you mean, Tom?"
"You have been chosen by the Commander-in-chief, on Colonel Preston's recommendation (a dear old fellow, isn't he?) to convey to London, and to the king's own hand, his despatches and the colours taken last night; and his orders say, you must start in an hour."
"And I am to proceed—"
"By our rear. See, here is your route; by Arensburg to Wesel, and thence down the Rhine to Nimeguen on the Waal; thence by boat to the mouth of the West Scheldt, where some of our gun-brigs are sure to be lying."
"Zounds! Tom—a long and tiresome journey; alone too! and the money?"