orse and foot, waggons, tumbrels, and
caissons--some endeavouring to hasten forward towards the road to
Bayonne; others as eagerly turned towards the plain of Vittoria, where
the deafening roll of artillery showed the fight was at its fiercest.
The dragoons issued forth, dragging a man amongst them whose enormous
stature and broad chest towered above the others, but who apparently
made not the slightest resistance as they hurried him forward, shouting,
as they went, '_A la grand' place!--a la place!_'

It was the celebrated Guerilla Guiposcoa, who had distinguished himself
by acts of heroic daring, and sometimes by savage cruelty towards the
French, and who had fallen into their hands that morning. Anxious to
catch a glance at one of whom I had heard so often, I pressed forward
among the rest, and soon found myself in the motley crowd of soldiers
and townspeople that hurried towards the Plaza.

Scarcely had I entered the square when the movement of the multitude was
arrested, and a low whispering murmur succeeded to the deafening shouts
of vengeance and loud cries of death I had heard before; then came the
deep roll of a muffled drum. I made a strong effort to press forward,
and at length reached the rear of a line of dismounted dragoons who
stood leaning on their carbines, their eyes steadily bent on a figure
some twenty paces in front. He was leisurely employed in divesting
himself of some of his clothes, which, as he took off, he piled in a
little heap beside him; his broad guerilla hat, his dark cloak, his
sheep's-wool jacket slashed with gold, fell one by one from his hand,
and his broad manly chest at last lay bare, heaving with manifest pride
and emotion, as he turned his dark eyes calmly around him. Nothing was
now heard in that vast crowd save when some low, broken sob of grief
would burst from the close-drawn mantillas of the women, as they offered
up their heartfelt prayers for the soul of the patriot.

A low parapet wall, surmounted by an iron railing, closed in this part
of the Plaza, and separated it from a deep and rapid river that flowed
beneath--a branch of the Ebro. Beyond, the wide plain of Vittoria
stretched away towards the Pyrenees; and two leagues distant the scene
of the battle was discernible, from the heavy mass of cloud that lowered
overhead, and the deep booming of the guns that seemed to make the air
tremulous.

The Spaniard turned his calm look towards the battlefield, and for an
instan