At break of day, the music that we were now getting quite accustomed to—_i. e._ the cracking of the rifles of our outline picquet, gave intelligence of the enemy’s advance. Our company was immediately ordered to support them. Captain O’Hare accordingly placed us behind some dilapidated walls, we awaited the approach of the picquet then under the Hon. Captain Steward engaged about half a mile in our front, and slowly retreating upon us. They had already, as it afterwards appeared, several men killed, while Lieutenant M’Culloch had been wounded and taken prisoner with a number of others. We could distinctly see the enemy’s columns in great force, but had little time for observation, as our advance ran in upon us followed by the French tirailleurs, with whom we were speedily and hotly engaged. The right wing of the 52nd regiment, at this period, was drawn up about one hundred yards in our rear behind a low wall, when a shell, which with several others was thrown amongst us from the town, burst so near, that it killed several of our men, and buried a sergeant so completely in mud, but without hurting him, that we were obliged to drag him out of the heap, to prevent his being taken by the enemy[4]—at this moment also Lieutenant Cohen who stood close to me received a shot through the body. My old Captain, O’Hare, perceiving him roll his eyes and stagger, caught him by the arm, saying in a rather soft tone to the men about him: “Take that poor boy to the rear, he does not know what is the matter with him,” and with the same characteristic coolness, he continued his duties. While hotly engaged, however, with the French infantry in our front, one or two troops of their hussars which, from the similarity of uniform, we had taken for our German hussars, whipped on our left flank between our company and the wing of the 52nd, when a cry of “the French cavalry are upon us,” came too late as they charged in amongst us. Taken thus unprepared, we could oppose but little or no resistance, and our men were trampled down and sabred, on every side. A French dragoon had seized me by the collar, while several others, as they passed, cut at me with their swords. The man who had collared me had his sabre’s point at my breast, when a volley was fired from our rear by the 52nd, who, by this time had discovered their mistake, which tumbled the horse of my captor. He fell heavily with the animal on his leg, dragging me down with him.