We remained thus for five weeks; every day, when off duty, forming defensive works, or breaking up the roads; it being a place that no army could pass, save upon the highway. The advanced picquet of the French lay in a windmill: ours, consisting of one captain, two subalterns, and 400 men, in a small village. There was only a distance of about 150 yards between us. We learned, from the deserters, that the French were much in want of provisions. To provoke them, our sentinels, at times, would fix a biscuit to the point of their bayonets, and present to them. One day the French had a bullock, in endeavouring to kill which their butcher missed his blow, and the animal ran off right into our lines. The French looked so foolish. We hurraed at them, secured the bullock, brought him in front, killed him in style. They looked on, but dared not approach to seize him. Shortly after an officer and four men came with a flag of truce, and supplicated, in the most humble manner, for the half of the bullock, which they got for godsake. On the evening of the 14th November the French made their outposts stronger than they had yet been, and kindled great fires after dark. We were all under arms an hour before day, expecting to be attacked; but when the day dawned there was not a Frenchman to be seen. As soon as the sun was up, we set off after them. When we arrived at Sobral, we found a great number of our men, who had been wounded on the 14th and 15th October, besides a greater proportion of French wounded and sick. We were told by our men, that the weakly men, and the baggage of the French army, had been sent off eight days before. We were halted at Sobral until provisions came up; when three days allowance was served out to each man. We again commenced our advance. The weather was very bad. It rained for a great part of the time without intermission. On the fourth day we took about 100 prisoners, who had concealed themselves in a wood. This retreat brought to my mind the Corunna race. We could not advance 100 yards without seeing dead soldiers of the enemy stretched upon the road, or at a little distance from it, who had lain down to die, unable to proceed through hunger and fatigue. We could not pity them, miserable as they were. Their retreat resembled more that of famished wolves than men. Murder and devastation marked their way; every house was a sepulchre, a cabin of horrors! Our soldiers used to wonder why the Frenchmen were not swept by heaven from the earth, when they witnessed their cruelties. In a small town called Safrea, I saw twelve dead bodies lying in one house upon the floor! Every house contained traces of their wanton barbarity. Often has a shade of doubt crossed my mind, when reading the accounts of former atrocities; often would I think--they are exaggerated--thank God we live in more civilized times. How dreadfully were my doubts removed. I cease to describe, least I raise doubts similar to my own.