Our bugles struck up merrily as we crossed the field of battle early in the morning, on the 29th of July. The scene, however, was most appalling, especially to the young soldiers; we had partaken in no encounter as yet, and here had missed the interest which blunted the feelings of the men engaged. We “raw ones,” indeed, had as yet scarcely seen the enemy, and recognised no comrades among the fallen. The ice still remained to be broken which the experience of one engagement would have done effectually. The field of action had occupied an extensive valley, situated between two ranges of hills, on which the British and French armies were posted. It was now strewn with all the wreck of the recent battle. The dead and dying, to the amount of some thousands, conquerors and conquered, lay diversely in little heaps, interspersed with dismounted guns, and shattered ammunition-waggons, while broken horse-trappings, and blood-stained chacots, and other torn paraphernalia of military pomp and distinction, completed the reality of the battle scene. The long grass which had taken fire during the action was still burning, and added dreadfully to the sufferings of the wounded and dying of both armies; their cries for assistance were horrifying, and hundreds might have been seen exerting the last remnant of their strength, crawling to places of safety. In the midst of this, it was that I saw, for the first time, our immortal chief Sir Arthur Wellesley. I also then beheld that deformed-looking lump of pride, ignorance and treachery, General Cuesta. He was the most murderous-looking old man I ever saw. On our arrival we were immediately ordered upon outpost duty: in executing which we had to throw out a line of sentinels facing the French position. Another and a more painful duty that devolved upon us, was to carry the wounded men into the town of Talavera. Many of these poor fellows, I remarked, were dreadfully burnt. In consequence of the increasing weakness of the British army at this period, the ranks of which were daily thinned through the scantiness and wretched quality of the food with which they were, of necessity, supplied, as well perhaps as by the accession of strength which the French had received, Lord Wellington was induced to retire. After retracing, for a few days, the route by which we had arrived, our brigade was left by the main army encamped upon a rocky eminence partly surrounded by wood, and overlooking the river Tagus. It was a wild and beautiful scene, with several corn-fields in our immediate neighbourhood.