The gallantry of Blanco, the revengeful Spaniard, whom I have previously mentioned at Vittoria, was conspicuous on this occasion. He had been an intimate friend of Mauley. Seeing the danger his countrywoman was exposed to, he rushed boldly from his cover, and placing himself in front of her, continued loading and firing at the enemy, loudly swearing all the time such oaths only as a Spaniard can do justice to. Notwithstanding the real horrors of the scene, it was impossible to resist the impulse of laughter at the fierce grimaces and oaths of Blanco, who escaped as it were almost by a miracle. A part of our division at this time were endeavouring to enter the French lines on our right. But the enemy seemed determined to defend their huts, which they had doubtless been at considerable trouble to construct, and the action there was close and sanguinary; part of our battalion taking them on the right flank, they were eventually obliged to yield. As soon as we had arrived at the huts, which they had arranged in most excellent order, and from which they had reluctantly been compelled to retreat, in passing along a row of them I heard a scuffle going on in one, and on entering it I beheld a huge French grenadier, with red wings, and my old acquaintance Tom Crawley struggling together on the ground. The Frenchman had been surprised, but was getting the better of Tom, when my appearance at once determined the matter, and the grenadier surrendered. It appeared from what I could make out that the Frenchman in his hasty retreat from the hut had forgotten some of his needfuls, and on his return for them, was met at the doorway by Tom, who, according to his old custom, was preparing to explore its interior. Crawley was immediately attacked by the grenadier with fixed bayonet. Poor Tom, in his attempt to parry off a thrust, received the blade through his right hand, and bled profusely. We did not kill the Frenchman but left him to the mercy of the Caçadores, who were following close behind us. Tom went to the rear, and I never saw him afterwards, nor can I say I have since heard of him. Many an anxious inquiry was made, many an old scene was revived, and passed current amongst us, and Tom Crawley will live in our recollections as long as we can enjoy the good company of a comrade. The enemy, although retreating, did so in an orderly manner, keeping up a tolerably brisk fire. I had no sooner regained the line of skirmishers than I received a severe hit just about the centre of my waist, that nearly knocked me down, and for the moment I imagined myself mortally wounded through the body; however, on my examining, I found myself only slightly bruised. A ball had actually stuck in the serpent[21] of my waistbelt, from whence it was afterwards taken out with difficulty.