After a pleasant ride of about sixteen miles, and as we had just got a glimpse of Tortosa, on reaching the summit of a hill we all at once entered a serpentine road, surrounded by high banks and ravines, which completely prevented our seeing beyond a short distance. Jogging on quietly, we met an old Spanish woman thumping two mules past us as hard as she could, calling out, “Los Franceses, los Franceses,” but not a word more could we get out of the _signora_. We, therefore, rode on to the next turn of the road, when, just at the corner, plump we came upon the advance guard of the French army, a regiment of cuirassiers. They for a moment stopped their horses, being as much surprised to see us as we were to meet them. With one glance they saw who we were--out came their carbines and swords--pop, pop, and a charge, which knocked over one of our dragoons, and “_sauve qui peut_,” or the devil take the hindmost, became the order of the day. Away we scampered--they after us, with a regular view halloa, and a flourish of French fashionable words, but not of the most select phraseology. Reader, if you wish to know them, I refer you to the scene of Madame Rambouillet and the Novice in Sterne’s “Sentimental Journey.” After a capital gallop of four miles, we regularly beat them, with the loss of only one of our party, who in the charge was knocked head over heels and taken prisoner. Luckily for us we had left a corporal’s guard of the 20th Light Dragoons about four miles in our rear upon a steep eminence, which commanded a good view of part of the road. The corporal, seeing how matters stood, and that we were coming back a deuced deal faster than we went, with a French regiment of cavalry after us, very cleverly came trotting up, and showed himself at the top of the hill with his men. The enemy, thinking we had a strong body of cavalry there, pulled up their horses and gave over the chase. Our ride had not been for nothing--we had had a good gallop, and found out where our neighbours were, who towards evening drove in our picket of dragoons, and established themselves not far from us. News was immediately sent to Lieutenant-General Sir John Murray, who was before Tarragona, of the arrival of the French army in our neighbourhood. Our situation was strong, and having the castle, which commanded the road, neither cannon nor cavalry could pass from Tortosa. Marshal Suchet came the next day and had a peep at the fortress, sent some light troops across the mountains to feel us, and halted his army a few miles off. Lieutenant-General Sir John Murray, as I said before, had nearly 20,000 men, but, unfortunately for him, only 5000 were British and Germans--the rest Spaniards and Sicilians, on whom he could place no dependence in the hour of need--otherwise no general ever had a better opportunity of beating a divided army.