On the 8th November, to cover the retreat of the whole army, and to stay Soult’s advance, the first brigade was ordered to defend, to the last extremity, the town of Alba de Tormes, near the eastern borders of the ancient kingdom of Leon; a forlorn sort of duty, when it is remembered that so small a band were to oppose the concentrated French army, 90,000 strong, I believe. On being reinforced by General Hamilton’s Portuguese brigade, and two companies of Spaniards under the Condé de Truxillo, every means were taken to render the place as strong as possible by erecting trenches and barricading the streets,—almost useless precautions, as the town, which lies low, is commanded by two adjacent heights. Its appearance, when the brigade entered it, was indeed miserable and desolate, having been completely deserted by the inhabitants, into whose hearts the retreat of the British and the advance of the French had stricken terror. The soldiers had tasted nothing for thirty-six hours, and although drenched with rain, and wearied by a hard and forced march, had to remain under arms around the old and ruinous Moorish wall of Alba, during a very chill November night. About dawn, as no enemy had yet appeared, after guards had been posted, the troops were dismissed to take up their quarters in the dreary and empty houses, where every thing had been carried off or destroyed by the inhabitants before their flight. The drizzling rain which had fallen during the night had drenched them to the skin, but a dry article of clothing was not to be had, as the baggage was far away on the road to the rear. However, doors and shutters were torn down from the houses, and blazing fires kindled on the tiled floors, around which officers and soldiers crowded together without ceremony. Another day of starvation was before them,—untold gold could not have produced an ounce of flour in Alba. At night, by the great exertions of the commissary, some horse-beans were procured, and a handful given to every man; but early next morning some muleteers arrived from Corde Villar, bringing a few small bags of flour, which were received with wild demonstrations of thankfulness and joy by the starving brigade. Every man who could bake was set to work, and the ovens were speedily filled with tommies, as the poor fellows designated their loaves, and expectant crowds, with eager eyes and hollow cheeks, stood waiting around the bake-house doors.