The roads were likewise crowded with wounded officers and soldiers, pouring down from the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles. Those who were able to move, were ordered to retire to Vittoria, which had already been converted into a vast hospital, and crowded to excess with the wounded of the great battle; and the miseries these unfortunates suffered, travelling without baggage or money in a strange country, weary, sick, and wounded, for a distance of one hundred miles during a hot season, are utterly inconceivable. Many wounds mortified, and became incurable; hundreds of men perished by the way-side of starvation and loss of blood, or reached Vittoria only to expire in the streets. Every medical officer had from ninety to a hundred patients on his list, and many lives were lost from the want of proper attendance. The astounding intelligence that the Duke of Dalmatia had forced the Pyrenean passes, reached Lord Wellington at night, and promptly as usual he took means to concentrate his army, providing at the same time for the siege of San Sebastian, and the blockade of Pampeluna. The right wing was in full retreat from the mountains when he directed it to halt, and soon arrived himself to direct measures for covering Pampeluna, within a few miles of which Soult, eager for its relief, had now arrived. The discomfited troops from Maya were ordered to march on the position before Pampeluna, and moved accordingly from Barrueta on Tuesday the 27th. A melancholy spectacle the parade of the Gordon Highlanders presented on that morning! The colours, which had been shot almost to rags, were cased, and carried by non-commissioned officers; two young lieutenants had the command, and as the solitary piper, Ranald Macdonuildhu, blew the ’gathering,’ he watched with a stern and louring visage the few survivors of the late conflict, as they paraded on the hill-side, falling one by one into their places. Here were five men of the grenadiers, twenty men of another company, ten of a third, two of a fourth, and many others were totally annihilated, neither officer nor private being present. The Serjeant-major, with his arm in a sling, presented a list of the casualties to Lieutenant Logan, who commanded,—Logan of that Ilk, as he was named by the mess. "Where is Captain Mac Ivor?" "Killed, sir. I saw him lying dead, close by Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Macdonald." "Where is Captain Bevan?" "He retired, sir, with his arm shattered near the elbow, and expired at the moment Dr. Stuart attempted to remove the limb at the shoulder-socket." "Where is Gordon?" "Severely wounded, and gone to the rear." "Grant?" "Shot through the side." "Macpherson and Macdonald,—Ranald Macdonuil, I mean?" "Missing, sir." And so on—killed, wounded, and missing, was the answer to every question.