The right flank of Joseph’s army extended northward from Vittoria, across the stream of the Zadorra, and rested on the hills above the villages of Gamarra Mayor and Abechuco, covered there by strong redoubts. Between the right and centre was a thick cork wood, into which were thrown many corps of infantry to keep open the line of communication. The right centre rested on a height which commanded the vale of the Zadorra, and which was strengthened by nearly one hundred pieces of artillery. Their left and centre occupied the bold ridges above the village of Subijana de Alava, with a _corps de reserve_ posted at Gomecha, and a brigade thrown forward on the lofty and rocky mountains of Puebla to protect their centre, which might have been outflanked by the main road where it crosses the Zadorra. Joseph Buonaparte in person commanded the whole, having Marshal Jourdan acting under him as lieutenant-general. The armies were pretty well matched, each mustering from 70,000 to 75,000 men, the French having the advantage in occupying a strong position, which every means had been taken to strengthen. Each regiment of Hill’s division, on its debouching from the Vittoria road, formed line from close column, and advanced in that order towards the enemy. To the latter the view of the allied army at that hour must have presented a grand and imposing spectacle; so many dense masses moving successively into the plain, and deploying into line by companies obliquely, with all the steadiness and regularity of a review; the bright barrels and bayonets of upwards of 70,000 musquets shining in the rays of the morning sun; the silken standards of many colours,—red, buff, white, blue, and yellow, waving over them; the bright scarlet uniforms, relieved by the varied green of the landscape; and then the many warlike sounds increased the effect of the scene. The neighing of cavalry horses, the roll of tumbrils and gun-carriages, the distant yet distinct word of command,—the mingling music of many bands, the trumpets of the horse, the bugles of the riflemen, and the hoarse wailing war-pipe of the Highland regiments, ever and anon swelled upon the breeze, pealing among the heights of Puebla, and dying away among the windings in the vale of Zadorra. The prospect before them must have been one of no ordinary interest to the martial legions of France. At the moment that the distant bells of the convent of Santa Clara de Alava struck a quarter to ten, the memorable battle of Vittoria began. "There go the Spaniards,—the soldiers of old Murillo!" exclaimed Seaton, as a loud and continued discharge of musquetry rang among the ridges of Puebla. The sound caused every heart to bound, for the day was big with the fate of many!