On the 23rd of November, it was deemed advisable to make some alteration in our line of posts; accordingly our first brigade formed at the château behind the village of Arcangues, and four companies of our regiment advanced to execute the mission entrusted to them; but, being led on by too great ardor, we came in front of a large farm-house, strongly entrenched near Bassussarry. Here the musketry was plied on both sides with unusual vivacity. Having pushed through a small plantation to our left of the fortified house, we found ourselves within twenty yards of it. A brave soldier sprang forward before he could be restrained, and, levelling his piece, cried out, "I have been at the storming of Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Saint Sebastian; there is no ball made for me[11]." As soon as he had fired, he fell dead, pierced with numerous bullets through his head and body. This was _indeed_ a skirmish; for in a very short time we lost ninety men killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. A brave young officer[12] seeing things going hard (and hearing the advance sounded) rushed across a field to our left, sword in hand, and, outstripping the company, when close to the enemy, who were formed behind a ditch, was shot through the head, and tumbled into it a lifeless corpse. The officer commanding the company jumped into it, and caught him in his arms; twenty soldiers had also followed and tried to clamber the wet clayey bank, but could neither do that nor extricate themselves from this awkward position. Overwhelmed by numbers, they were obliged to surrender themselves prisoners, as well as the commander[13] of the company, whose uniform was streaming with blood, while he was still supporting the dead lieutenant in his arms. We also were so near the enemy that I was obliged to give orders, in an under tone, for the men to cease firing, as the French threw twenty bullets to one. Fortunately the small trees were so thickly set, they could not distinguish us, and ceased firing, but we could distinctly see them leaning carelessly over a wall. While they were chattering away, I passed the word to our soldiers who were lying concealed amongst the small trees, and underwood, that when I should hold up my pocket handkerchief as a signal, a volley was to be fired. This took full effect. A sergeant of ours was lying on his breast, and had scarcely taken his fusee from the level, when a ball passed in at the centre of his forehead. He instantly rolled on his back, groaned heavily, and kicked out his legs, covering the spot with a liquid stream of blood. Sir James Kempt, ever first in the fight and last out of it, having taken his station at a house within musket-range, had now ordered a bugler to sound the "retire," after two hours' fighting; and it was quite time, for all the companies engaged had sustained a sad loss in killed and _hors de combat_.