Now, I am not prepared to assert that this was the same individual with my Christophe or Hookey; but, supposing it so, we may give some such sketch of his services as the following. In the early part of 1813, the period of my voyage from Falmouth to Lisbon, the French authorities in Spain, civil and military, were not a little perplexed as to our Commander’s plans for the ensuing campaign. This mystery he solved ere long, by breaking forth from the north of Portugal, advancing on the line of the Douro, marching across the north of Spain, winning the battle of Vittoria, investing San Sebastian and Pampeluna, liberating the Peninsula, crowning the Pyrenees, completing the great circle that was closing round Napoleon, and menacing the south of France. Precisely when we may suppose the curiosity of the Gallic leaders to have been most intense, that is, in the early spring of 1813, just previous to Lord Wellington’s advance, Hookey—Christophe, said his cambric handkerchief—came off to us in the Oporto boat, and, under the assumed character of a courier, obtained a passage by the Falmouth packet from Oporto to Lisbon—in other words, from the left to the right of the position then occupied by the British troops. Subsequently, a Christophe makes his appearance at Bilbao, in the November of the same year; and, on account of his suspicious conduct there, and afterwards at headquarters, is arrested, and delivered over to the Spaniards, for transmission to Madrid. The Spaniards, of course, let him escape; and he then returns to his old trade. He cannot, however, appear again at headquarters, therefore hangs about the line of march on the look-out for a job; falls in with a greenhorn in charge of treasure; gets out of him all the information he can; tries to divert him from his route; tampers with his personal attendant; opposes his passage of a river; makes his escort drunk; and musters a rural force, with the aid of which he hopes to realise more by ready cash, than he did by his cheque on the “Biscayan provinces.” Thus he went on, prying, plotting, and meddling, till he found his end. We proceeded quietly on our march, Gingham and I riding side by side, while Pledget and Mr Chesterfield preceded us. “Yes,” said Gingham, resuming the thread of our conversation where our rencontre with the enemy had broken it off; “I know that you have formed schemes connected with military service; and those, I presume, are the plans you allude to.” I really did not understand, at the moment, what Gingham meant; and, fancying he referred to our recent operations in the presence of the foe, answered wide of the mark.