offered the support of his arm, which the
general accepted, and retained for an hour, under
a hot fire. And now, gentlemen, I recommend
you to go to bed. We must start at four."

It was scarcely worth while to undress. We
threw ourselves on some extempore beds; the
colonel and I in one large vaulted chamber, our
friend in another. I had very little inclination
to sleep. Fancy perpetually conjured up the
sound of heavy guns, and every distant
movement of the town seemed to connect itself with
the impending battle. The colonel (to the manner
born) slumbered like a happy child.

About two o'clock I was aroused from an
incipient doze by an alarmed voice—that of
our friend from the outer room—ejaculating,

"Colonel!—colonel! Hallo!"

The colonel was on his feet in a second, instinctively
snatching at his sword, and hurried out.
There was an anxious murmur, then:

"Good Heaven!" said the colonel's voice,
"it cannot be. It is inconceivable!"

A night surprise?—the army annihilated?—
Garibaldi slain?—Italy again at the foot of her
tyrant? What could have happened?

The colonel returned with an agitated step.
He set down the lamp, and announced:

"The cat has eaten the chicken, and there's
nothing left for breakfast!"

A cup of coffee, and the tip of a tongue which
the cat had considerately spared, sufficed us,
however, and by half-past four we were on our
way towards St. Angelo, the scene of expected
action. It was a lovely tranquil morning, and
the cloud-wreaths on the mountains rolled slowly
up, as though raising the curtain upon the
majestic drama we had long desired to witness. In
Caserta itself, lately crowded, scarcely a
soldier was to be seen. Two companies of
Piedmontese occupied the square. All besides had
been pushed on to the front. Things looked
promising.

As we passed over the ground between Caserta
and Santa Maria, described in all the newspapers
as having been the scene of such panic and
confusion on the eighteenth, the colonel said:

"All I know is, that a friend of mine dined
that day, in charge of three ladies, on the top
of the ancient amphitheatre, where they had
a tolerable view of all that passed. My friend
was perfectly aware of the state of matters,
and saw no reason for either alarm or haste.
They finished their dinner, and returned to
Caserta at their leisure. If the eminent
barrister expected to find, in the rough-and-ready
heroes of Milazzo and Calabria, the drill and
discipline of a Guards' parade, he was naturally
disappointed. As some apology for their
short-comings in formation, these fellows have shown
that no regular troops in Europe are fonder of
the bayonet, or more apt, when once launched,
to charge home."

At Santa Maria, the colonel received orders to
visit the outposts on the centre and left; and,
farther, to ascertain, as minutely as possible, the
height of the walls and depth of the ditch of
Capua. How this latter little commission was
to be effected was a puzzle to us civilians, but
the colonel took it so much as a matter of course,
that we felt but little anxiety for his personal
safety; certainly, before the evening, he had,
by some mysterious means, possessed himself
of every particular.

Although heavy guns were heard at intervals
from the direction of St. Angelo, we had
ascertained by this time that there was to be no battle
to-day. A tour of the outposts was the next
best thing, as it would make us well acquainted
with the ground.

The first we visited was established on the
railway running into Capua, whose walls, and
the white buildings rising within, were clearly
distinguishable at something less than a mile.
This post had been the scene of a painful
accident on the previous night, an engine and
two carriages having started off without a
driver, and dashed over a party of nine soldiers
who were sleeping on the rail. One man had
been lying with his head on a comrade's breast.
These two were killed on the spot, and broad
lines of blood upon the sand-bags which made
their bed almost marked the attitude in which
the poor fellows lay. The remaining seven were
fearfully injured: two, mortally. But, bad as this
was, the mishap must have been infinitely greater
but for a little parapet of sand-bags, placed in a
bold curve across the line, which threw the
engine off the rail and saved the entire picket—
three hundred men, who were stretched on the
rail but a few paces beyond.

Passing our sentries, we walked on till within
three-quarters of a mile of the town, when
prudence whispered "Return." This railway formed
nearly the left of Garibaldi's position: the thickly
wooded country beyond being occupied in
considerable force by the enemy, whose patrols
could be seen moving among the trees.

About this time, the firing towards St. Angelo
became somewhat brisker. It is not easy, at
first, for the civil mind to accept the assurance
that four or five heavy guns a minute mean
"nothing particular," and we were not sorry
when the course of the colonel's duties led us
fairly in that direction.

The post was at a large farm-château, named
Della Corte, divided only by the high road from
the fine bold height of St. Angelo. Here were
the three batteries whose deep voices we had
heard since morning—one on the road itself, one
on the crest of the hill, and another half way
down. To these the enemy replied with a like
number, and so effectually as to have rendered
it necessary, just before our arrival, to withdraw
the guns from the battery on the hill-side.

The château was large and comfortable, and,
though certain orifices, which were neither doors
nor windows, reminded us that we were not
beyond range, there was very good cover. Here
we found several friends: among others Captain
Hoffman, an excellent engineer officer, and in
high favour with the general. He showed us
portions of the bridge that was to have played
so prominent a part in the proceedings of the
day. But the bridge had broken down. One