On the night of the 25th, a part of the third division, and also one hundred of the light division, carrying ladders, assailed Picurina, directed by General Sir James Kempt, and for a long time without success: no wonder! The ditch was terrifically deep, and narrow at the bottom. The soldiers walked round the fort, prying into all corners, and got upon the gate, which they broke down, and then entered, bayonets in advance. The French grenadiers would not give in—a desperate bayonetting took place, and much blood was spilt; already five hundred French soldiers from the town were at hand. The struggle continued with hard fighting, inside and outside of the fort. The enemy wished to vie with their comrades who had defended Fort St. Christoval at the former siege. Victory was some minutes doubtful; at length the fort was taken, and the reinforcements were beaten back into the town. I was sitting at the door of my tent, and witnessed all the firing. The garrison of Badajoz fired every morning, for a few days previously to the grand assault, a certain number of rounds, as if for practice, and to measure the ground. The first order for storming the breaches fixed it to take place on the 5th of April. I was informed that my turn for trench duty fell on that evening, because the officer just preceding me was out of the way. I resolved to play a like trick, and for a like reason, namely, not to miss the assault. I therefore got a friend to persuade the Adjutant to allow that the men should march off without me, promising to follow. This anecdote I relate, because of the curious circumstance that it led to. When I was quite certain that the assault was not to take place that night, I mounted my horse, and, riding to the entrance of the first parallel, I gave the animal to my batman, and proceeded on foot. I had just crossed the trench, and got into a field, taking a short cut, when I observed two figures making towards me. There was not any firing; a solemn silence reigned around. Coming up at a half run, I put my hand to my sword, for the night was clear, and I saw they were not soldiers; they soon closed on me, demanding boldly, and in Spanish, the way out of the trenches: I pointed out the road to them, but, an instant after, suspected they were not _Spaniards_, but spies. I noticed they kept their hands behind them, and I thought it also very _civil_ of them not to fire, for I am confident they were well armed. "_Buenas noches, Señor_," said they, and hastily retired. When I reached the great battery, and found every body in it asleep, I thought the place bewitched. This was my last trip to the trenches. Thirteen times I visited them during the siege.