HAVING recovered from my wounds, I left the hospital and rejoined my regiment at Ituera, near Ciudad Rodrigo. An unfortunate accident here occurred to one of our men. He was playing at a game called “nine holes” with several comrades, and was bowling along the ground a grenade, used instead of a wooden-ball, believing it to have been filled with earth only, when a spark from his pipe fell into the hole, and instantly exploded, wounding him dreadfully. The poor fellow never recovered the injuries he received. A short time after I had rejoined, our division marched for Salamanca. On our first day’s march we encamped in a wood, on the right side of the road, leading to that city. The evening was beautiful, and the sun having lost its meridian heat, imparted a refreshing warmth to the wearied soldiers. The camp was all astir for some time—every one being busily engaged cooking and preparing for the night’s comfort; which being completed, the eve found us mostly seated and scattered about in small groups, earnestly intent on enjoyment of some sort. I am particular in my recollection of the time, for reasons which the following occurrence will sufficiently account for. I had finished my evening’s meal, and was sitting drinking a tot of wine, with a sergeant of ours named Battersby, who a few days previously had rejoined us from Belem, where he had been some time appointed hospital-sergeant. He brought with him a very pretty-looking Englishwoman, that passed for his wife, and who was present with us, and assisted much to keep up the spirit of our conversation. We had been seated for some time under the branches of a clump of cork trees, of which, indeed, the wood was principally composed, when we were interrupted by some of the men calling for Sergeant Battersby, and in a second, or so, up marched a tall, fine-looking grenadier of the 61st Regiment of Foot, then belonging to the sixth division, which lay encamped some two or three miles in our rear; as he approached, however, he did not notice us, but casting sundry determined glances about him, more in anguish than ferocity, he drew near the woman, and seated himself on a knapsack near her. The latter, from the moment he had first made his appearance, I had perceived, seemed wondrously confused, and changed colour several times. “Nelly,” said he, fixing a firm and deliberate look on her, his voice at first scarcely articulate with emotion, “Nelly, why do you treat me so? how can you stoop,” and here he cast an almost contemptuous glance of recognition on Battersby, “how can you stoop to such a disgraceful, so dishonourable a protection?” “I am with those,” said she, rather snappishly, “who know better how to treat me than you.” “That,” rejoined the grenadier, “may be your opinion; but why leave the child, it is but three years old, and what can I do with it?” To this she made no answer.