guerillas. These people had kept a safe distance all the winter,
but now that our horses were foundered they were as thick as
flies all round our outposts, and no man's life was worth a sou
when once he fell into their hands. I could name a dozen
officers of my own acquaintance who were cut off during that
time, and the luckiest was he who received a ball from behind a
rock through his head or his heart. There were some whose deaths
were so terrible that no report of them was ever allowed to reach
their relatives. So frequent were these tragedies, and so much
did they impress the imagination of the men, that it became very
difficult to induce them to leave the camp.

There was one especial scoundrel, a guerilla chief named Manuelo,
"The Smiler," whose exploits filled our men with horror. He was
a large, fat man of jovial aspect, and he lurked with a fierce
gang among the mountains which lay upon our left flank. A volume
might be written of this fellow's cruelties and brutalities, but
he was certainly a man of power, for he organised his brigands in
a manner which made it almost impossible for us to get through
his country. This he did by imposing a severe discipline upon
them and enforcing it by cruel penalties, a policy by which he
made them formidable, but which had some unexpected results, as I
will show you in my story. Had he not flogged his own
lieutenant--but you will hear of that when the time comes.

There were many difficulties in connection with a retreat, but it
was very evident that there was no other possible course, and so
Massena began to quickly pass his baggage and his sick from
Torres Novas, which was his headquarters, to Coimbra, the first
strong post on his line of communications. He could not do this