As we got up to proceed, we saw a number of Frenchmen guarded by our soldiers, coming over the bridge. They were the prisoners taken in Fort St. Christoval, which but an hour or two previously had surrendered. These were soon surrounded by our men, who began examining their knapsacks, from whence a number of watches, dollars, &c., were quickly extracted. A short distance further on we came up with a mule, tied to a door, which, in my crippled state, and wishing to relieve my poor prisoner, I immediately appropriated for my own use, but I afterwards sold it to Lieutenant Jackson, of the 83rd regiment. Mounted on the animal, led by the Frenchman, we pursued our way until near the gates that led to the camp, when rather an affecting scene came under my eye. A little fellow, a drummer-boy, belonging to the 88th regiment, was lying wounded and crying bitterly, his leg being broken by a shot. On telling him I would get him carried by the Frenchman if he wished, “Oh no!—oh no!” said the boy; “I don’t care for myself. Look at my poor father, where he lies!” pointing to a man shot through the head, lying weltering in a gore of blood. Poor little fellow! I gave him a couple of dollars, and called some men to his assistance, when I was compelled to leave him. We soon arrived at the camp ground of the third division. I dismounted, and while sitting on one of the men’s knapsacks, a soldier of the 83rd regiment was engaged in cleaning his firelock, when the piece went off and shot a corporal through the head, wounding also the hand of another man. The Frenchman seemed dreadfully frightened: he turned pale as marble, perhaps thinking the shot was aimed at him, as the corporal fell dead at his side. This accident struck me as a forcible instance of the casualties that attend a soldier’s life. I could not, indeed, help feeling for the poor corporal, who after surviving the dangers of the preceding night, had lost his life by a clumsy hand cleaning a firelock. It may appear strange that I did not wish to remain in Badajoz, but I was suffering from my wound, and preferred the quiet of the camp. We had no sooner arrived there than I was obliged to part with my faithful Frenchman, who was sent to join the other prisoners. I gave him a few dollars, which most likely he was deprived of before he got many yards. He left me with many expressions of gratitude for the protection I had afforded him. I have been in many actions, but I never witnessed such a complication of horrors as surrounded me on the forlorn-hope at Badajoz.