The French were making for the Pyrenees, laden with the loot of a kingdom and encumbered with a motley crowd of non-combatants--the wives and families of French officers, fair senoritas flying with their lovers, and traitorous Spaniards, who, by taking sides with the invaders, had exposed themselves to the vengeance of the patriots.

So overwhelming was the defeat of the French, that they were forced to abandon nearly the whole of their plunder and the greater part of their baggage, and leave the fugitives and camp-followers to their fate.
Never was witnessed so strange a sight as the valley of Vittoria presented at the close of that eventful day.

The broken remains of the French army hurrying toward the Pamplona road, eighty pieces of artillery, served with frantic haste, covering their retreat; thousands of wagons and carriages jammed together and unable to move; the red-coated infantry of England, marching steadily across the plain; the boom of the cannon, the rattle of musketry, the scream of women as the bullets whistled through the air and shells burst over their heads--all this made up a scene, dramatic and picturesque, it is true, yet full of dire confusion and Dantesque horror; for death had reaped a rich harvest, and thousands of wounded lay writhing on the blood-stained field.
Owing to the bursting of packages, the overturning of wagons, and the havoc wrought by shot and shell, valuable effects, coin, gems, gold and silver candlesticks and vessels, priceless paintings, the spoil of Spanish churches and convents, were strewed over the ground.

There was no need to plunder; our men picked up money as they matched, and it was computed that a sum equal to a million sterling found its way into their knapsacks and pockets.
Our Spanish allies, officers as well as privates, were less scrupulous.
They robbed like highwaymen, and protested that they were only taking their own.
While riding toward Vittoria to execute an order of the colonel's, I passed a carriage which a moment or two previously had been overtaken by several of Longa's dragoons, with the evident intention of overhauling it.
In the carriage were two ladies, one young and pretty the other good-looking and mature; and, as I judged from their appearance, both being well dressed, the daughter and wife of a French officer of rank.
They appealed to me for help.
"You are an English officer," said the elder in French; "all the world knows that your nation is as chivalrous as it is brave.

Protect us, I pray you, from these ruffians." I bowed, and turning to the Spaniards, one of whom was an officer, spoke them fair; for my business was pressing, and I had no wish to be mixed up in a quarrel.
"Caballeros," I said, "we do not make war on women.