On the sixth day after our arrival at Atalaya, we were again in motion; the village of Albergaria was allotted for our quarters, and a court-martial was ordered to assemble for the trial of the deserters from our army found in Rodrigo. The men of the 60th, and the two men of the 88th (Mangin and Curtis) were amongst the number. The court held its sitting—the prisoners were arraigned, found guilty, and sentenced to be shot! All were bad characters, save one, and that one was Mangin. He received testimonials from the Captain of his company (Captain Seton—ever the soldier’s friend) highly creditable to him, and Lord Wellington, with his accustomed love of justice, resolved that his pardon should be promulgated at the time of the reading the proceedings and sentence of the court-martial. Three days after the trial it was made known to the prisoners, and the army generally, that they were to die the following morning. At eight o’clock the division was under arms, and formed in a hollow square of small dimensions; in the centre of it was the Provost-Marshal, accompanied by his followers, with pick-axes, spades, shovels, and all the necessary etceteras for marking out and forming the graves into which the unfortunate delinquents were to be deposited as soon as they received the last and most imposing of military honours—that of being shot to death! In a few moments afterwards the rolling of muffled drums—the usual accompaniment of the death-march—was heard, and the soldiers who guarded the prisoners were soon in sight. The division observed a death-like silence as the prisoners defiled round the inside of the square; every eye was turned towards them; but Mangin, from his well-known good character, was an object of general solicitude. The solitary sound of the muffled drums at last died away into silence; the guard drew up in the centre of the square, and the prisoners had, for the last time, a view of their companions from whom they had deserted, and of their colours which they had forsaken; but if their countenances were a just index of their minds, they seemed to repent greatly the act they had committed! The three men of the 60th were in their shirts, as was also Mangin of the 88th, but Curtis wore the “old red rag,” most likely from necessity, having, in all human probability, _no shirt to die in_—a circumstance by no means rare with the soldiers of the Peninsular army.