At half-past six we were within one mile of the city of Vittoria, the capital of Alava, situated in a fruitful valley; but the French army now drew up, and showed such an imposing array in front of the town, that our left centre facing _Ali_ was completely kept at bay, owing to the blazing of one hundred pieces of cannon vomiting forth death and destruction to all who advanced against them. This roaring of artillery continued for more than an hour on both sides, with unabated vigour: the smoke rolled up in such clouds, that we could no longer distinguish the white town of Vittoria; the liquid fire marked the activity of the French gunners. During this momentous struggle, the left centre of the French covered a bare hill, and continued for a considerable time immoveable; while, pouring their musketry into the now-thinned ranks of the third division, it was doubtful whether the latter would be able to keep their ground, under such a deadly fire from very superior numbers: however, they maintained this dangerous post with heroic firmness, having led the van throughout the thick of the battle. At this period of the action, it was absolutely necessary to strain every nerve to win it before nightfall. The fourth division, on our right, shot forward against a sugar-loaf hill, and broke a French division, who retired up it in a confused mass, firing over each other's heads, without danger to themselves, owing to the steepness of its ascent. I was laughing at this novel method of throwing bullets, when one struck me on the sash, and fell at my feet, thereby cooling my ardour for a short time: however, when a little recovered from the pain, I picked it up, and put the precious bit of lead into my pocket.