nce, which
even since the night before seemed to have grown many years older, ere I
was myself dragged forward among the crowd.

Darkness now added its horror to the scene of riot and confusion. The
incessant cries of the fugitives told that the English cavalry were
upon them; the artillery came closer and closer, and the black sky was
traversed by many a line of fire, as the shells poured down upon the
routed army. The English guns, regardless of roads, dashed down on
the terrified masses, raining balls and howitzer-shells on every side.
Already the cheers of my gallant countrymen were within my hearing, and
amid all the misery and danger around me my heart rose proudly at the
glorious victory they had gained.

Meanwhile my escort, whose feeling towards me became more brutal as
their defeat was more perceptible, urged me forward with many an oath
and imprecation. Leaving the main road, we took the fields, already
crowded with the infantry. At last, as the charges of the English came
closer, my escort seemed to hesitate upon being any longer burdened by
me, and one, after interchanging some angry words with his companion,
rode off, leaving me to the care of him who passed the cord round my
wrist. For a second or two this fellow seemed to waver whether he might
not dispose of me more briefly, and once he half withdrew his pistol
from the holster, and turned round in his saddle to regard me more
steadily. A better feeling, however, gained the mastery; the hope, too,
of promotion, could he bring in an officer his prisoner, had doubtless
its share in his decision. He ordered me to jump up behind him, and,
dashing spurs into his troop-horse, rode forward.

I have, perhaps, lingered too long in my recollections of this eventful
night; it was, however, the last striking incident which preceded a long
captivity. On the third day of the retreat I was joined to a band of
Spanish prisoners marching towards Bayonne. Of the glorious victory
which rescued the Peninsula from the dominion of the French, and drove
their beaten armies beyond the Pyrenees, or of the great current of
events which followed the battle of Vittoria, I do not purpose to
speak. Neither will I trouble my reader with a narrative of hardship
and suffering; it is enough to mention that my refusal to give my parole
subjected me in all cases to every indignity. Wearied out at length,
however, I accepted this only chance of rendering life endurable; and
on reaching