ing with four squadrons of the Imperial Guards, who had already formed on the bank. The 10th Hussars were sent for. On their arrival, General Stewart, with them and the picquets, charged and drove the Imperial Guard into the river. They crossed in the utmost confusion, but formed on the opposite bank. Some pieces of artillery that had been placed at the bridge soon dispersed them. General Lefebvre, commander of the Imperial Guards, and seventy prisoners, were the fruits of this action. We were told by the Spaniards, that Buonaparte saw this affair from the heights.

On the 30th, we reached Astorga, which we were led to believe was to be our resting-place, and the end of our fatigues. Here we found the army of General Romana. I can convey no description of it in words. It had more the appearance of a large body of peasants, driven from their homes, famished, and in want of every thing, than a regular army. Sickness was making dreadful havoc amongst them. It was whispered we were to make a stand here. This was what we all wished, though none believed. We had been told so at Benevente; but our movements had not the smallest appearance of a retreat, in which we were to face about and make a stand; they were more like a shameful flight.

From Astorga to Villa Franca de Bierzo, is a bout sixty miles. From Salamanca to Astorga may be called the first and easiest part of this tragedy, in which we endured many privations andmuch fatigue; from Astorga to Villa Franca, the second, and by far the more severe part. Here we suffered misery without a glimpse of comfort. At Astorga there were a great many pairs

of shoes destroyed. Though a fourth of the army were in want of them, and I amongst the rest, yet they were consumed alongst with the other stores in the magazines.

The first sixteen miles the road lay wholly up the mountain, to the summit of Foncebadon; and the country was open. At this time it was a barren waste of snow. At the top of the mountain is a pass, which is one of the strongest, they say, in Europe. It is about eight or nine miles long. All the way through this pass the silence was only interrupted by the groans of the men, who, unable to proceed farther, laid themselves down in despair to perish in the snow; or where the report of a pistol told the death of a horse, which had fallen down, unable to proceed. I felt an unusual listlessness steal over me. Many times have I said, "These men who have resigned themselves to their fate, are happier than I. What have I to struggle for? Welcome death! happy deliverer!" These thoughts passed in my mind involuntarily. Often have I been awakened out of this state of torpor by my constant friend, Donald, when falling out of the line of march to lie down in despair. The rain poured in torrents; the melted snow was half knee-deep in many places, and stained by the blood that flowed from our wounded and bruised feet. To add to our misery, we were forced, by turns, to drag the baggage. This was more than human nature could sustain. Many waggons were abandoned, and much ammunition destroyed. Our arrival at Villa Franca closed the second act of our tragedy.

From Villa Franca we set out on the 2d Janu

ary 1809. What a New-year's day had we passed! Drenched with rain, famished with cold and hunger, ignorant when our misery was to cease. This was the most dreadful period of my life. How differently did we pass our hogmonay, from the manner our friends were passing theirs, at home? Not a voice said, "I wish you a happy new year;" each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an abridgment to his own comforts. His looks seemed to say, "One or other of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; your shoes are better than those I possess: if you were dead, they would be mine!"

Before we set out there were more magazines destroyed. Great numbers would not leave the town, but concealed themselves in the wine cellars, which they had broken open, and were left there; others, after we were gone, followed us. Many came up to the army dreadfully cut and wounded by the French cavalry, who rode through the long lines of these lame, defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a school-boy does among thistles. 1 Some of them, faint and bleeding, were forced to pass alongst the line as a warning to others. Cruel warning! Could the urgency of the occasion justify it? There was something in the appearance of these poor emaciated, lacerated wretches, that sickened me to look upon. Many around me said, "Our commanders are worse than the French will they not even let us die in peace, if they cannot help us?" Surely this was one way to brutalize the men, and render them familiar to scenes of cruelty.

:

Dreadful as our former march had been, it was * The last day of the year is so called in Scotland.

from Villa Franca that the march of death may be said to have begun. On the day after we left that place, we were attacked by the French, but drove them back, and renewed our forlorn march.

our wants.

From Villa Franca to Castro, is one continued toil up Monte del Cebiero. It was one of the sweetest scenes I ever beheld, could our eyes have enjoyed any thing that did not minister to There was nothing to sustain our famished bodies, or shelter them from the rain or snow. We were either drenched with rain, or crackling with ice. Fuel we could find none. The sick and wounded that we had been still enabled to drag with us in the waggons, were now left to perish in the snow. The road was one line of bloody foot-marks, from the sore feet of the men; and, on its sides, lay the dead and the dying. Human nature could do no more.-Donald M'Donald, the hardy Highlander, began to fail. He, as well as myself, had long been barefooted and lame; he that had encouraged me to proceed, now himself lay down to die. For two days he had been almost blind, and unable, from a severe cold, to hold up his head. We sat down together; not a word escaped our lips. We looked aroundthen at each other, and closed our eyes. We felt there was no hope.-We would have given in charge a farewell to our friends; but who was to carry it? There were, not far from us, here and there, above thirty in the same situation with ourselves. There was nothing but groans, mingled with execrations, to be heard, between the pauses of the wind. I attempted to pray, and recommend myself to God; but my mind was so confused I could not arrange my ideas. I almost

think I was deranged. We had not sat half an hour; sleep was stealing upon me, when I perceived a bustle around me. It was an advanced party of the French. Unconscious of the action, I started upon my feet, levelled my musket, which I had still retained, fired, and formed with the other stragglers. The French faced about and left

us. There were more of them than of us. The action, and the approach of danger, in a shape which we had it in our power to repel, roused our dormant feelings, and we joined at Castro.

From Castro to Lugo is about forty-eight miles, where we were promised two days rest. Why should I continue longer this melancholy narrative? Donald fell out again from sickness, and I from lameness and fatigue. When the French arrived, we formed with the others as before, and they fell back. I heard them, more than once, say, as they turned from the points of our bayonets, that they would rather face a hundred fresh Germans, than ten dying English,- -so great was the alarm we caused in them. How mortifying to think, at these moments, that we were suffering all our misery, flying from an enemy who dared not fight us, and fled from us, poor wretches as we were! How unaccountable was our situation! None could be more galling to our feelings. While we ran, they pursued: the moment we faced about, they halted. If we advanced, they retired. Never had we fought but with success ; never were we attacked but we forced them to retire. "Let us all unite, whether our officers will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and show our country it is not our fault that we run thus; let us secure our country from disgrace,