On the evening of the 9th the 6th Division descended through the Pass of Maya, which we had guarded with such anxious care for upwards of three months; and marching the whole of that night we found ourselves on the memorable morning of November 10th close in front of the enemy’s position, which they had been incessantly strengthening during the whole of that period. It was still dark; and here we halted in columns, awaiting the progress of our left and left centre, who were pushed forward before daybreak. At length the auspicious dawn appeared, cheering and renovating after a harassing night march over deep and slobbery roads. Although in our present position we appeared to be well sheltered by forest trees, yet as soon as the misty haze of dawn was dispelled by clearer light our columns were discovered by the enemy’s redoubts, which frowningly looked down from the heights above. After a short cannonade, which they immediately opened, their range became so accurate that their shells were falling amongst us rather quickly, causing many casualties. I saw one shell drop in the midst of a Portuguese regiment in close column immediately in our rear; it blew up twelve men, who became so scorched and blackened that on their fall they resembled a group of mutilated chimney-sweeps. The 36th Regiment lost several men by the bursting of shells. Sir H. Clinton, who commanded the division, perceived that although the huge trunks of the trees amid which we were formed might stop a solid round-shot propelled horizontally, yet their open branches afforded no protection against shells descending from a height above us. Considering therefore the place no longer tenable, he marched us out of the wood and drew up in line on its skirts in full view of the enemy’s redoubts, judging that even this open exposure would not be attended with so severe a loss as continuing to be shelled in column.