After this we had a succession of fights or skirmishes with the enemy for the five or six days following, which is called the battle of Bayonne, but without eliciting any particular result. We still kept up an excellent private feeling on both sides at the outposts. As an instance, although I must remark a general order had been promulgated prohibiting all intercourse with the enemy on pain of death, our company was on picquet near a dwelling called Garrett’s house, when we clubbed half a dollar each, and sent a man into the French picquet-house to purchase brandy. It was, I recollect, Christmas-night. Grindle, the name of the man who was our messenger, staying longer than was usual, we became alarmed, and imagining something must have happened to him, sent two other men in quest of him. These learnt from the nearest French sentry that Grindle was lying drunk in their picquet-house. Fearful that the circumstances should come to the knowledge of Lieutenant Gardiner, the officer of our picquet, they went and brought Grindle back with them quite drunk; but just as they were emerging from the French lines, who should ride down to the front post but Sir James Kempt, who commanded our division at that time. He instantly ordered Grindle to be confined; he was so fortunate as to escape, however, with only a slight punishment. About the beginning of January, 1814, the enemy were seen advancing, as we understood, to straighten our lines, that were in a half circle. With three or four others, I was ordered to hold possession of a small farm-house that communicated with some cross roads, and to keep up a brisk fire until the _assemblée_ sounded, in which case we were to retreat upon the company, who occupied a hedge two hundred yards in our rear. On our right was a high stone wall, and on our left, in parallel, was a hedge also that served as a cover for the French who, by this time, had possession of it. Between was an open field, our only passage. As soon as the _assemblée_ was heard, we of course, were on the alert to retreat, but this was to be accomplished only at very imminent risk, for the moment we showed our noses, we were saluted with a regular hailstorm of bullets, which put us all in rather moody condition. It was proposed, however, to retire by independent files. The first to “run the gauntlet” was a tall, gaunt Irishman, and such a shower whizzed about him as almost unnerved the rest of us. Johnny Castles, who had figured at Badajoz with a rope round his neck, and yet had escaped, was one of the party. He was particularly at a stand-still; since the “hanging business” he had made up his mind to live for ever, and had grown fat on it; but his corpulency now threatened to mark him out.