Sitting down upon my baggage, I loaded my pistols, as the house was full of ill-looking Portuguese and Spanish muleteers and peasantry, nearly all armed, and half drunk, and making a great noise. Some people I was informed had been robbed a few hours before of everything, near this very place. Although very much tired, sleeping was out of the question; I was therefore glad when daylight arrived. While my cattle were being saddled, I was fain to undress by the road-side, and shake off some score of fleas that were scampering over me in all directions: then mounting my horse, a cool ride of five hours brought me to a small village called Vendas Novas, where I remained a short time to get something to eat, and rest the animals. Here we were fortunate enough to get tea and eggs for breakfast, and I heard to my great joy, that the detachment was only three hours’ march ahead of me. At half-past nine we left this place, and after riding sixteen miles in the heat of the day, almost broiled, reached a tolerably good town called Montemor Novo, built on a hill. At this place are the remains of a Moorish castle. I joined the troops going to the army under the Hon. Major Butler, with whom I took up my quarters, and the next day sent the dragoon back with the mules. On the following morning at five we marched for a town called Arryoles, where we arrived at ten. Most of the Portuguese villages and towns in the Alemtejo are dull and uninteresting, at least they appeared so to me. The next morning early, we moved to a small clean town called Vemeiro, only eight miles distant, which, losing our way, we did not reach until noon. I found it very pleasant marching with the troops, not but that it was distressing to put the inhabitants to so much trouble and inconvenience turning them out of their rooms to quarter officers and soldiers in them. It is but justice however to say that the British officers and men generally conducted themselves with so much propriety, forbearance, and good feeling towards the natives of the different towns where they were billeted, that mutual regrets frequently took place at parting. God forbid, old England ever should be the scene of warfare. Contending armies are one of the greatest scourges with which Divine providence can afflict a nation. Even your allies cannot avoid bringing with them desolation for a time, by destroying crops of all kinds, to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy. In short, ruin and devastation follow in the train of an army, whether friend or foe.