The 88th was a regiment whose spirit it was scarcely possible to break, and the many curious incidents which occurred during this retreat afforded them ample food for that ready humour for which they were proverbial, and for which they got _full credit_; but, nevertheless, they still are _in arrear_, and they owe a debt to themselves which they must pay off—no matter what the price may be. It was well for them that they had food for their humour, for they had little for their stomachs; but that did not cause them much uneasiness. The state in which some of the officers were placed was quite pitiable. Many were obliged to throw off their boots, their feet having become so swollen that they could not bear them. Those so circumstanced were necessitated to look to the soldiers for a new fit-out. But where could that be found? The men themselves, not caring much whether they had or had not shoes, left those they had worn in the muddy roads, and it would not be an easy matter to find on this same retreat a second pair with any man. However, by hook or by crook, those who wanted shoes were supplied; yet, though the soldiers might be termed the _shoemakers_ of their officers, they never got the _upper_ hand of them! [Illustration: SERGEANT AND PRIVATE IN WINTER MARCHING ORDER 1813. London, Edward Arnold, 1902 ] To describe the state of the officers would be impossible; for myself, I can truly say I was in rags. I wore a frock-coat, made out of a dress belonging to a priest that was captured by my man Dan Carsons at Badajoz. I wore it during our sojourn at Madrid: it was lined with silk, and might be termed a good turn-out there; but, as it turned out on the retreat, it was the worst description of clothing I, or rather my man Dan, could have pitched on. Every copse I passed, and they were many, took a slice off my Madrid frock, and by the time I had undergone three marches, it was reduced to a spencer! My feet never quitted the shoes in which they were placed, from the moment of the retreat until its close. I knew too well their value, and if I once got my feet out of them (no easy matter), I knew right well it would take some days to get them back again, they were so swollen; and even if I were dead, much less crippled, there were many to be found anxious to stand in my shoes—to boot!