The only instance of the kind, exclusive of that related, that I witnessed in the course of my service, was in the person of a woman who lived as the wife of a captain of one of the light companies of our brigade. She accompanied him through the campaign, exposed to all the dangers and privations attending on such a life, with a devotedness that no legally-married woman could have surpassed. At the battle of Vittoria, when the army was engaged, she was left with the baggage; but hearing from some of the disabled men that the captain was wounded, she mounted her horse, and galloped down into the scene of action, regardless of the danger, to seek out and relieve him wherever he might be. She found him when he had breathed his last, and stopped by him until he was buried. This was an appalling blow for her: she was left friendless in a strange country; but those who paid her any little attention in the captain’s lifetime, now felt no compassion for her. Her gold watch, her favourite pony, and all that she formerly held through her protector, were taken from her, and a short time after, I saw her struggling through the mud on the line of march, with the shoes torn off her feet. She soon after disappeared, but what became of her I do not know. FOOTNOTES: [21] Since the publication of this work, her husband is dead, and she is now living in the poor-house of Glasgow. CHAPTER XIX. A LETTER. I had letters from home that my father had been in bad health for some time, and I now received one, saying, that no hope was entertained of his recovery, and if a furlough could be procured, to come home without delay, as he had expressed an anxious wish to see me. I lost no time in making the necessary application, and being successful, I went in search of a vessel. I found one that had put in to Dublin through contrary winds, and was now ready to sail the moment it was fair. I was impatient to get forward; but as there was some prospect of the wind coming round in our favour, I took lodging in a house on the quay. I had been acquainted with the people who kept it, as they had lived in Wexford previous to their coming to Dublin. Having mentioned the vessel that I intended to take my passage by, Mrs L—— asked her husband if that was the vessel Eliza was going in. On his replying in the affirmative, ‘I am glad of it,’ said she, ‘our friend may be able to pay her some attention on board, and perhaps be of some service to her when she lands at Glasgow. I know I can trust you with her story,’ said she to me; ‘and when you hear it, I am sure you will feel as much interest in the fate of the poor creature as I do.’ Without following Mrs L—— through all the various digressions and windings of her story, I have taken the liberty to relate it, according to the knowledge I afterwards had an opportunity of acquiring:—