On the day of the 3rd an attack upon the enemy was commenced, by our battalions, when through some mistake, we were left almost unsupported; after crossing the river, we advanced up the hill, on the other side, and under a fleecy shower of rain, soon became hotly engaged with the French. They were at least four or five times our number, and compelled us to retire twice before their overwhelming masses. Led on, however, by our gallant Colonel, we fixed swords, and came to the charge and drove them up the hills before us. There a strong reserve was prepared for our reception. A third time we were obliged to give ground, until our second brigade coming to our aid, we again dashed at them, carried the position, and after a hard contest, obliged the enemy to retreat with the utmost precipitation, leaving behind them a howitzer, which had been twice taken and retaken. No one that day could have observed our Colonel during the heat of the action, and not have admired his cool and soldier-like bearing. “Steady, lads—show no hurry,” was his cheering exhortation, accompanied by a smile when we were obliged to retreat, the blood, at the same time, flowing copiously from a wound he had received across his forehead. Never, perhaps, in any action, did the Rifles display more consummate tact and resolution than in this. Lord Wellington was too just to pass over their services on this occasion, and in general orders passed a high encomium upon the gallantry of Colonel Beckwith, and the brigade under his command. We lost a fine young fellow, an officer, Lieutenant the Honourable —— Arbuthnot, whose head was smashed by a round-shot. At the conclusion of the battle the rain poured down in torrents, and obliged us to take such shelter as the walls and trees around afforded. The enemy, meanwhile, were in rapid retreat, and we should, in all probability, have continued in pursuit, but for the exhausted state of the men.