The heat of the weather was almost past endurance. On our arrival at Celorico, with an empty room for my quarter and the floor for my resting place, I remained sixty days nearly immoveable, my only covering a filthy blanket, which had been stained all over from my mule's sore back. On the journey it had been placed under the animal's pack saddle to save its back, by day, while in turn I had the benefit of it as a covering by night. In this miserable plight, what with bleeding and blistering, and long confinement, I had become a perfect skeleton, and reduced to the most wretched condition. Five medical officers came to hold a consultation at the foot of my mattress, and, having examined my now lank legs, and big feet, they assured me, that they could not hold out any hope of a speedy recovery, and even doubted whether I should ever again be enabled to straighten my right leg, the knee of which had become contracted during the pains of my rough journey. The staff doctors held out every inducement to persuade me to go to England, by first offering a spring waggon to convey me to Lisbon. My suffering had been great, my arms hung nearly useless by my side, my legs refused their office: yet I still cherished the hope, that they would again, carry me forward. Doctor Mac Lean most kindly pressed me to acquiesce in their advice, but without effect: (poor gentleman—I understood he died a few days subsequently of a fever!)—how could I leave the army, whom I found amongst mountains feeding on hard biscuit and drinking rum impregnated with the mosquitoes? A pretty warlike story to recount at home! The very thought was frightful! More bleeding and blistering were therefore resorted to, by which means, added to a good constitution, at the expiration of another month I was enabled with the assistance of crutches to reach my window, the trellis work of which being thrown open offered me ineffable delight at once more enjoy the sight of a few living objects in the street.