While going through the small town of Villa Franca, which is seated in the midst of a chain of mountains, a dépôt of clothing and provisions was thrown open, and the contents thereof flung out quickly to the troops, who, having no time to halt, were puzzled as to how those things were to be disposed of. Shoes were eagerly grasped at, the men trying them on as they hastily passed along. There was no fastidious picking and choosing here, nor were we over nice as to the shape and quality of the article; whether they were the handy-work of Hoby or of humbler origin was never enquired about. Such as they were they proved to many a boon most welcome. Yet some discomfort arose from them in several instances. Here might be seen a man pinched and tottering along, making such wry faces as though he were undergoing a course of torture; while not far from him shuffled along another, in shoes, or rather churns, that were capacious enough for the feet of the Irish giant. It was painful to behold the anxiety of the poor fellows to get some relief to their hunger; and when the pieces of salt beef and pork were thrown to them, by the commissary from the storehouse gates, they were seized upon with the same avidity with which John Bull would pounce upon plum-pudding or fat bacon; how these delicacies were to be cooked, was a difficult question to be resolved. Speared on points of swords, or transfixed with bayonet, pike, or other weapon, the exquisite morsels of junk were borne aloft triumphant to the first halting place. Few of them, however, found their way to the end of the day's march; for the men, fearing that time would not permit the dressing of the tempting viands, pitched most of them to the crows and vultures, resorting to the more accustomed and feasible luxuries of tommy (bread) and rum. Flour was likewise doled out to them in scanty pittance; but no means of culinary operation being at hand, the pulverized allowance was scattered to the winds, the luckless warriors being left to feast upon their own melancholy thoughts, or take their dinners with Duke Humphrey. A few of the more cunning among the oldest stagers mixed up a sort of tough consistence of this same flour, with a solution of snow in dirty water, and with the aid of a flat smooth stone, by way of table, manufactured a composition, something in form and substance not unlike a nine pound shot, and which might be converted to the same use. This bit of delicate pastry, which was called a doughboy, was sometimes crammed into the haversack for future provender, and the unfortunate genius who could not manage to bake the treasured lump, devoured it ravenously in its moist and tender state. The hard sea-biscuit, soaked in rum, was a much more agreeable article of food, and it was more convenient and more readily attained than any thing else.