The brave fellows of my company stuck to me gallantly, and the instant I fell flew to my assistance and bore me to the rear. I was carried back to the lane, whence we started, and on my leg being dressed, I discovered that the ball had entered an old wound made by a French bullet at the action of Almeida, July 24th, 1810. But it had come out in a different direction. I was next placed on a stretcher and conveyed to my old quarters at San Sebastian. As the men were carrying me down the hill towards the town, I observed two steamers in full play, throwing shells into the Carlist redoubts. These mainly contributed to the success of the morning, by the skilful manner in which they directed their shells into the enemy’s works. When a little recovered from the loss of blood, after my arrival at my quarters, I wrote the following letter to my wife, which in some degree may serve to show my feelings and opinions at the time the action was fought: “San Sebastian, May 5, 1836. “My dear Charlotte, “I dare say by the time you receive this letter, the streets of London will be crowded with fellows bellowing out, ‘The unfortunate Legion is killed to a man, and poor Costello is no _more_.’ But if you have not purchased the widow’s weeds, I request you will not do so, as I am not yet half killed; certainly I have an extra ball through my old trunk: and this I should have escaped had I not exposed myself, perhaps rather unnecessarily, in endeavouring to keep the brave fellows of my company in something like military order. “All were commanders, from the Second Lieutenant to the Major. It appeared to me, in truth, the Legion is not a school for the young soldier to acquire knowledge, nor the old to get credit. How different, indeed, were things carried on in the British Army: there, in the very height of the most desperate conflict, all was cool and collected, and every officer’s word could be distinctly heard, at the slightest cessation of firing. “The officer who commanded our regiment to-day is a smart young fellow, and might be of some service in a country fair in Ireland, with a good shilelah; but to command four or five hundred men in action with fire-arms, against a hardy race of mountaineers well disciplined, is quite a different thing. I cannot say how many of our regiment were killed, as I was reluctantly compelled to leave them, by a ball passing through my right knee, yet I hope I shall not lose my limb. My kindest love to our dear children; but do not think the worst, my dear Charlotte,—you shall soon again hear from me. “Affectionately yours, “E. COSTELLO. “Mrs. Costello, 29, Hinden Street, Vauxhall Road, London.” CHAPTER XXXII.