We halted for an hour about three miles from the city; we were joined by a number of Spanish troops, both infantry and cavalry, who had marched out to meet us; as soon as the chief part of the Legion had come up, we proceeded to march into the town, with Spanish bands at our head, playing their national airs. The inhabitants had placed over the gates an illuminated globe and festoons of laurels &c.; on the former was an inscription in variegated lamps, “To the brave and generous English Who fight for the liberty of Nations.” The windows were crowded with old and young, with beauty and deformity, some perhaps from curiosity, some to welcome, but most of them waving handkerchiefs, shouting vivas and giving other demonstrations of what we supposed to be a universal welcome—to thousands a welcome to their last home. Banners were hoisted from tower and steeple, and bells jingled in every one of them, and as the darkness set in, the whole town was illuminated, and a display of fireworks in the Plaza finished the evening. But alas! how soon the Spaniards changed their tune; we had not been three weeks in this sepulchre of the unfortunate Legion, before they wished us, General and all, at the devil. I was billeted, as luck would have it, on an old Colonel who formerly belonged to the Spanish service and who had fought under the Duke of Wellington. He had for some years retired on half pay, and as he was very proficient in the French language and I also had some knowledge of it, we made the time pass very agreeably, entertaining each other with anecdotes of our respective services. CHAPTER XXVIII. Vittoria as it then was—A bad wind that blows nobody any good—Rifles rather comfortable at first—Severe weather—Morning scenes and cries in Vittoria—The flogging system—Men not starved—A comparison of facts—Hospitals get crammed with sick—Singular economy—The old Colonel’s two sons—The Chapelgorris decimated by order of Espartero—The Rifles march to Matuca—The whole Legion assemble at Matuca—Cordova engaged—A Carlist village—A confession—A night retreat—Colonel’s anxiety—Arlaban—Change of looks both in the men and the inhabitants—March to Trevina—Sharp winter of 1835. THE morning after our arrival, I took the earliest opportunity to look about the town, and I passed through the gates on the great road, leading to Pampeluna. On coming to the spot where I fell in with the carriage of Joseph Bonaparte, I found that a convent had been built over it, which was now converted into a hospital for the Spanish soldiers. The city and its suburbs, however, were much improved, which was accounted for in the immense quantity of money and valuables left by the French, in their hurried flight before the British troops. Indeed, as the old Colonel assured me, the conquerors in that battle were the making of Vittoria and had greatly enriched the inhabitants.