I REJOINED my regiment at Barba del Puerco, a small village near the banks of the river Coa, on the other side of which the enemy had taken up their position. Our regiment was cantoned in the surrounding villages, while nightly we mounted a captain’s picquet on a height facing a bridge, on the other side of which the French had thrown out their advanced sentry. Two of our sentries were posted on the bridge, while a third was stationed half-way down the steep, to keep up the communication with our picquet above. On the 19th of May, the company to which I belonged was on picquet. It was a fine, though windy night, a fleecy scud occasionally obscuring the light of the moon. About twelve o’clock, while our men were mostly asleep, we were suddenly woke by the rifle reports of our sentries, and the French drums playing their advance “rub-a-dub-dub,” which our men designated with the name of “old trowsers.” I was now, as it were, but a young sleepy-headed boy, and as yet had been scarcely aroused to a true sense of the profession I had embraced. I had never been under the fire of a French musket, and I felt an indescribable thrill on this occasion. The chilly hour of the night and peculiar inclination to sleep, at the time, had sunk my senses below zero. But I was speedily startled out of my lethargy by the whizzing of the enemies’ bullets, as they greeted my astonished hearing. My surprise soon, however, gave place to perfect recollection, and in less than a minute we were all under arms, the balls of the French whistling about us as a column came rushing over the bridge to force our position. Captain O’Hare, with his characteristic coolness, immediately gave us the word to “seek cover,” and we threw ourselves forward among the rocky and broken ground, from whence we kept up a galling fire upon those who had commenced storming our heights. We were exceedingly hard pressed when three companies of our regiment, under Colonel Beckwith, came up to our relief, and the contest for a while was both doubtful and bloody. But, after about half an hour’s hard fighting, the enemy were obliged to retreat with much precipitation, and under a close and murderous fire from us. During this brief conflict some incidents occurred that, perhaps, are worth mentioning. Colonel Beckwith actually employed himself, at one time, in heaving large fragments of stone upon the French as they attempted to ascend the acclivity on which we were placed, and, while so engaged, got a musket-shot through his cap. Another officer of ours, the Adjutant Lieutenant Stewart, a fine tall fellow, was engaged in a personal contest with two or three grenadiers, a number of whom had managed to ascend the hill on our right; at this critical moment one of our men, named Ballard, fortunately came to his aid, and shot one of his assailants, at which the other instantly surrendered. The above gallant officer, however, afterwards fell on our advance from Santarem the following year.