In the house in which I had taken up my billet, the owner was a remarkably pretty woman, with two children; some of our men picking up a Carlist muster-roll, she confessed to me that her husband was a Captain in Don Carlos’s army, and had left her only a few nights before. The house was well stored with wine, and with every necessary comfort; myself, and my two subalterns, fared most sumptuously, our hostess spreading the table with every delicacy the place afforded. She was a very intelligent woman, and spoke the French language fluently; she placed herself under our protection to avoid the importunities of the men, but everything else these last “gentlemen” could lay their hands upon they did. We returned to the hills on which we were stationed the day before: but we still heard firing on our left, and remained here till twelve o’clock at night. After the men had collected wood, and lighted large fires, and laid down beside them for the night (it was severely cold, with frost and snow, and a number of men without even watch-coats), to our surprise, about midnight, the “word” was silently passed to “fall in” as quickly as possible, and make the best of our way from the camp-ground, as the Carlists were in great force around us. We quietly moved about a mile lower down, across a small river, where, as it was impossible to light fires, we remained, ankle-deep in snow, till the morning. This was one of the most distressing nights I ever experienced during my whole life. In the morning I felt alarmed for the safety of the Lieutenant of my company; who, being a favourite of the Colonel’s, was in the habit of remaining with him. On inquiry, the Colonel told me he had not seen him, and clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, “Good God! he must be taken and assassinated by the Carlists.” Fearing the truth of his supposition, I instantly started for the camp-ground we had left, with some of my company (such as were not frost-bitten by the inclemency of the night), and on my arriving near the camp, to my pleasing astonishment, I beheld Lieutenant Tottenham, my lost officer, with one or two others, who had not been disturbed by our silent retreat, but remained comfortably sleeping by the large fires the men had lighted, and most reluctantly left. All the honour gained by this Arlaban expedition, was about a dozen men, who happened to straggle from the regiments, most brutally butchered (by the Carlists); on one man in particular, whom Colonel de Rottenburg and myself had stripped, we counted no less than twenty-six stabs through his body; and about half a dozen of my own company also were severely frost-bitten: indeed from our having no other conveyance, some of these men were obliged to be carried on the backs of their comrades, to save them from falling into the hands of the Carlists. Thus ended the celebrated Arlaban expedition. Certainly it is, Cordova did not cause all this by his imputed treachery and bad faith.