Our next attempt was upon the left of Fuentes, where one company was detached, while the remainder of the regiment was ordered to take possession of the town. The section to which I belonged were posted near the banks of the river Das Casas. The 79th Highlanders had suffered very severely here, as the place was strewn about with their bodies. Poor fellows! they had not been used to skirmishing, and instead of occupying the houses in the neighbourhood, and firing from the windows, they had, as I heard, exposed themselves, by firing in sections. The French, who still occupied part of the town, had not escaped a rough handling, as their dead also evinced. During the latter part of the day the enemy had made some prisoners, which they exhibited to us as they marched them along their lines. One man we saw make a determined attempt to obtain his liberty. He had loitered in the rear as the party were going over a small bridge that crossed the Das Casas by a mill, when, turning suddenly upon a Frenchman behind him, he threw him into the water, and immediately made a dash for our position, but owing to several of the French being between him and us, we had the mortification of seeing the poor fellow recaptured, without being enabled to render him any assistance; we could see by his kilt that he belonged to the 79th regiment. That same evening, the enemy evacuated the town, and a flag of truce was sent us to bury the dead. While occupied in this, at all times melancholy duty, some idea may be formed of the loss sustained by the 79th alone, when a man of our company brought in his two arms full of the sable plumes which he had taken from their bonnets, strewn about the town. The opposing lines of sentries were very close to each other: the French being divided from us only by a narrow plank thrown across the mill-dam, which was occupied on one side by our company, who were now on picquet. A blacksmith of ours of the name of Tidy, who had erected his forge in the old mill, was at work close by, shoeing the officers’ horses. The French sentry had crossed the plank to light his pipe, and was standing carelessly chatting with me, when who should I see approaching, but General Crauford, inquiring if Tidy had shod his horse. The Frenchman’s red wings soon attracted the General’s notice, and he suddenly with his well-known stern glance, inquired, “Who the devil’s that you’re talking with, rifleman?” I informed him the French sentry, who had come over for a light for his pipe. “Indeed,” replied Crauford, “let him go about his business, he has no right here, nor we either,” said he, in a low whisper to his aide-de-camp, and away he walked.