About three in the morning we slowly moved through the gates towards the enemy’s lines, which were not more than three-quarters of a mile distant. The Rifles were on the extreme left of the Legion, and our battalion marched left in front, so that my company brought up the rear. The morning was very dull and heavy, being ushered in by a kind of Scotch mist. The men, however, were in great spirits, and seemed determined to prove themselves worthy of their British name: my confidence in them was such, that I almost imagined myself in the midst of my old comrades, and panted like an old hunter for the course. In a few minutes we commenced ascending the hills, when the enemy opened a brisk fire on us, thus showing they were not to be caught napping; and now the well-known sound—the whistling balls passed over my head—that music at one time so familiar to my ears, that I have often been obliged to breakfast, dine, and sup upon its harmony; this brought my younger days to recollection, as if I had recoiled twenty years; the Rifles, however, took possession of their first lines, without firing a shot or losing a man. Meanwhile, we could hear a very smart firing on our right, where the 7th, 9th, and 10th regiments were hotly engaged; however, as the morning cleared, and the Carlists discovered where we were, they began to play very warmly amongst us. The more the shots flew, the greater confusion among the officers, for each imagining his tactics better than his neighbour, assumed the command (especially the Pedroites). This was further encouraged by “certain drops” which the rawness of the morning, and the “business in hand,” had influenced them to sip rather plentifully, while waiting in the Plaza. In this hullabaloo, Lieutenant Macintosh of our regiment, then aide-de-camp to General Reid coming up restored some little order, and actually took command of the regiment, ordering us to march down a lane, a little to our right, where he placed the battalion behind a bank, opposite a Carlist breast-work; here we formed right in front—the enemy at this time appearing not more than four or five hundred yards off. We had scarcely formed and got into order, when our commanding officer, Major Fortescue, cried out, “No. 1 Company, quick march!”