The funeral of the Duke himself could not have made a greater stir, for cavalier and foot soldier, from the drum-boy to the trumpeter, and all the women, children and camp-followers in the locality, flocked to follow his remains, the town became unusually alive, and the variegated throng, headed by the deceased sergeant, borne by four bearers, and the usual complement of soldiers with their arms reversed, slowly wound their way through the city of Salamanca. Many a jest made the streets ring with laughter, as the crowd followed the coffin, till they reached the burial-ground (near the French battery taken by us some time previously.) The bearers here proceeded to enter the gateway, when they were suddenly aroused by a slight cry from within the coffin, with a kind of scraping noise, like an effort to open it. They suddenly halted, paused, and listened. It was surely Mike scraping. On they moved again doubtfully. A second time the voice broke upon their ears. “Whist!” ejaculated the bearers, their caps moving almost off their heads. “Oh blood and ouns! where am I? Oh bad luck to yer souls, let me out, won’t you? oh, merciful Jasus, I’m smoothered.” In a twinkling out bolted the bearers from under the coffin, and a dozen bayonets in an instant were sunk under and lifted the lid. The crowd crushed dreadfully to take a look. But there lay Sergeant Michael Connelly, sure enough as stiff as a fugleman but something colder, and my old friend, that blackguard Josh Hetherington, the cockney ventriloquist, who had been one of the bearers, as “innocent” as you please, joining in the astonishment of the rest of us. Josh winked at me and I at Josh. “Ned,” said he, “I’m blessed if I think he’s dead. Why don’t some of them chaps go for a doctor.” “To be sure,” cried the crowd, “send for the doctor.” Meanwhile a regular rush was made to press him to swallow some of his favourite liquor, but his teeth as obstinately opposed the draught, so that poor Mike was already pronounced “not himself,” when the doctor arrived. While here, I got acquainted with a pleasant and intelligent man who belonged to the 13th Light Dragoons, and was fast recovering from a wound he had received in the shoulder. We used frequently to alleviate as much as we could the unpleasantness of our situation by a little conversation. His history both amused and interested me.