The greatest annoyance we experienced during the siege arose from the shells thrown at us from the town. Our works effectually screened us from the round-shot; but these dangerous missiles, falling into the trenches where we worked, and exploding, frequently did great mischief. Immediately a shell fell, every man threw himself flat upon the ground until it had burst. Tom Crawley, I remember, though tolerably fearless with reference to other shot, had a most inveterate dislike to those deadly visitors. His fears made him believe, that more of them were thrown where he chanced to be, than in any other part of the trenches. At night in particular, Tom was always on the _qui vive_: as soon as he beheld a shell coming he would call out, “Here’s another brute—look out!” and instantly fall on his face. This, however, did not always protect us, for the head was no sooner on the ground, than its presence was again required, to watch the falling splinters. These, from their composing large portions of the metal of the missile, descended with great violence, and were sometimes of themselves sufficient to crush a man into the earth. Lord Wellington used occasionally to pay us a visit during the work, to make observations, and to examine the trenches, &c. One day when Crawley and myself were working near each other in the trenches, a shell fell inconveniently close to us. Tom was instantly half buried in mud, awaiting the explosion. Perceiving it had sunk itself deep into the earth, the fuse being too long, I intended availing myself of the opportunity, to play a trick upon Crawley, by throwing a large lump of clay on his head directly the shell exploded, and so make him believe himself wounded. To obtain the clod I sprang at the other side of the trench, but exposed myself to a shot from the walls of the town, which immediately came in the form of grape, splashing me with mud from head to foot, and forcing me to throw myself back into the trench upon Crawley, who, in his fears, made sure that a shell had fixed itself upon his rear, and roared like a bull; in an instant, however, the sunken missile really burst; on the smoke dispersing, who should I behold but the Duke himself, crouched down, his head half averted, drily smiling at Crawley and me. Shot and shell pay no respect to persons, but the enemy did, as they seemed awake to the near vicinity of his Grace, and poured in shells, grape, and canister, with other delicacies of the kind, with unusual liberality, whenever he came amongst us; which they always appeared alive to. But the fact is, the Duke, like his renowned contemporary, had a remarkable cast of feature, which made him ever distinguishable, at an almost incredible distance. Before I go further into my narrative I must detail an anecdote of Major O’Hare, my old Captain, who was noted for his excellent soldierly qualities.