On our arrival at hospital, we were allowed to take in no spirits or
wine, which, as we had lately had so much of them, seemed to be more
of a hardship to us than our wounds: but we were not long in working a
system by which we were enabled to procure something to drink. The
window of our ward looked out into one of the streets, on the opposite
side of which was a wine shop, which for some time tormented us
horribly: it was something like the fable of the fox and the grapes,
sour because it was out of reach. The man of the house was often at
his door on the look out, the natives there seeming to suffer from
that general complaint as much as in our own country villages, where
if there is anything fresh in the streets, perhaps only a strange man,
or even one of the inhabitants in a new coat or hat, the whole place
works itself into an uproar.

We soon devised a plan to gain our desired end. There was in the ward
a tin kettle, holding nearly two gallons, and having procured a long
string we put our money into this, and lowered it to the Portuguese,
who soon getting used to our plan would put the money's value in the
shape of wine into the kettle and again tie it to the string, so that
we could hoist it up to the window again. After that we arranged for
our ward to be pretty well supplied with grog too in the same way.
Some suspicions being entertained by the doctor on the inflamed
appearance of our wounds, he told us two or three times that he knew
we had been drinking something we ought not, and blew the sergeant of
the guard up for not being more strict in his search at the door,
little dreaming how we had contrived another way to get this
aggravator of our wounds in. But the appearance of our wounds did not
stop us from lowering the kettle, which soon went down twice and
sometimes three times a day, for the neighbouring wards got scent of
the affair, and sent money to be lowered as well.

Thus I passed about six weeks before I recovered sufficiently to get
out of the hospital; but many were in a much worse state than myself,
some losing their arms, some their legs, and some even dying of their
wounds. One of the slug shots, however, could never be extricated from
my knee, having settled into the bone. I felt it for some time, but in
the end it ceased to trouble me, the bone having probably grown over
it.

I was let out of the hospital as a convalescent, and billeted in the
place at a house occupied by a widow and he