THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA.
1809.
The immediate consequence of the embarkation, was the surrender of
Corunna on the second day from that on which the once proud army of
Britain quitted the coast of Spain. Ferrol soon followed the example,
and in both these places an immense supply of stores and ammunition was
obtained. All effective resistance was apparently at an end, and French
dominion seemed established in Gallicia more strongly than it had ever
been before.
In every part of Spain the cause of freedom appeared hopeless. One
campaign was closed, and never did one end more hopelessly; an
unvarying sense of misfortune from the commencement, it seemed to have
withered every national feeling that might have existed in Spanish
breasts. Fortresses that should have held out, provisioned, garrisoned,
and open to receive supplies from Britain, surrendered to a weak
army, who could not command “a battering gun or siege store within
four hundred miles.” In fact, Spanish resistance seemed a mockery.
Their military force was now the ruins of Romana’s army, and some
half-starved fugitives who occasionally appeared in Estremadura and La
Mancha, while the French had nearly two hundred thousand veteran troops
covering the whole country, and these too in masses, that set any
hostile demonstration at defiance.
Portugal, in its military footing, was nearly on a par with Spain.
A British corps, under Sir John Craddock, garrisoned Lisbon, and,
that place excepted, there were no troops in the kingdom on which
the slightest dependence could be placed. The appointment of Marshal
Beresford to a chief command produced in time a wonderful reformation.
The British system of drill was successfully introduced, and, before
the war ended, the Portuguese, when brigaded with the British, were
always respectable in the field, and sometimes absolutely brilliant.
At this period, there was but one national force in the least degree
formidable to the invaders, and that was the Spanish Guerillas.
The Spanish armies in the course of the Peninsular campaign had met
so many and discouraging defeats, that their military reputation sunk
below the standard of mediocrity. They were despised by their enemies,
and distrusted by their allies, and whether from the imbecility of
the government, the ignorance of their leaders, or some national
peculiarity, their inefficiency became so notorious, that no important
operation could be entrusted to them with any certainty of its being
successful. As an organised force, the Spanish army was contemptible;
while, in desultory warfare, the peasantry were invaluable. With few
exceptions, the history of Spanish service would be a mere detail
of presumption and defeat; while their neighbours, the Portuguese,
merited the perfect approbation of their officers, and proved worthy of
standing in the battlefield by the side of British soldiers.
Under such unpromising circumstances as we have described, intelligence
was received that three French armies were about to move on Portugal;
Soult from Gallicia, Lapisse from Salamanca, and Victor from the Tagus.
In fact, Portugal would have been soon at the mercy of the enemy, and
Spain could have offered but a feeble resistance, when Sir Arthur
Wellesley arrived to take the chief command.
He instantly proceeded to adopt measures that should enable him to
take the field, and the army was concentrated, with the exception of
Mackenzie’s brigade, at Coimbra, and reviewed. The entire numbered
twenty-six thousand men, of which six thousand formed the separate
corps under Marshal Beresford. With the Germans, the British brigades
mustered about seventeen thousand; the detached corps under Mackenzie,
amounting to nearly three thousand, of which one-half was cavalry; and
a farther augmentation was effected by brigading one Portuguese, with
every two of the British battalions.
In the meantime Soult’s position became extremely dangerous. A British
army in his front, bands of guerillas in his rear; one flank hemmed
in by Silviera at Amarante; and the ocean on the other. But that able
marshal perceived the difficulties of his situation, and deciding
at once to secure an open road in his rear, he despatched Delaborde
and Loison to recover Amarante. The task was a tedious and doubtful
operation; and for twelve days the place was assaulted and maintained.
At last, Soult in person came forward in strength, and Silviera was
driven from the bridge over the Tamaga, with the loss of his cannon,
and the French retreat was for the present secured.
From the moment Sir Arthur Wellesley landed in Portugal, the
character of the war had changed; and, notwithstanding the numerous
and discouraging drawbacks upon a bold career which the obstinacy of
the Spaniards and the deficiency of his own means were continually
presenting, before the masterly decision of the British general,
all obstacles ultimately gave way; and victory, which had hovered
doubtfully over many a hard-contested field, at last rested on his
banners, and wreathed her laurels round his brows.
The crossing of the Douro was, in military estimation, as bold and
well-arranged an operation as any that marked Wellesley’s Peninsular
career. The passage of a river in the face of an enemy with every
assistance from pontoons and ferryage, is considered a hazardous
undertaking; but, circumstanced as the British commander was, the thing
was generally set down as impracticable, and Soult was unprepared for
the attempt. When the news was brought that the enemy was crossing
at Villa Nova, the marshal ridiculed the notion, and remained in his
quarters until two in the afternoon. He was then obliged precipitately
to quit the city; and so suddenly were Wellesley’s measures executed,
that the dinner prepared for the duke of Dalmatia, was served up to the
British general and his staff. War is, certes, a game of chances; and
little did the French marshal suppose, when at noon he regulated the
_carte_ presented by his _maître d’hôtel_, that he was then civilly
arranging an excellent repast for his opponent. Yet such was the case.
Wellesley succeeded Soult--and within a few hours the same roof
covered the victor and the vanquished.
Nothing could exceed the irregularity of the French retreat. Before
they could be persuaded that the passage of the Douro was seriously
designed, the British were charging through the suburbs; and instead
of retiring with an orderly formation on the advance of the enemy,
the French rear-guard got mobbed together on the road, and allowed an
opportunity to the cavalry of their pursuers to act with an audacity
and success that the weakness of their squadrons could never have
warranted, had not a considerable panic been previously occasioned,
by the precipitation with which Soult’s divisions were hurried from
the city. Night came most opportunely, and ended the pursuit, enabling
the French marshal to unite himself with Loison, from whom he received
the unwelcome intelligence that the bridge of Amarante was destroyed.
Soult’s situation was almost desperate; his only line of retreat was
by a mountain track; and, by taking it, he was obliged to cross the
pass of Ruivans, a long narrow bridge, without a parapet on either
side, spanning a frightful precipice. Should this be occupied, and no
doubt Beresford was marching thither, nothing could save his army. With
excellent judgment, he abandoned his artillery and baggage, pushed
rapidly forward, and, having forced the Portuguese pickets which here
and there occupied the mountain passes, he out-marched Silviera by
several hours, and halted his rear-guard at Salamonde, to cover the
bridges of Saltador and Porto Nova, while his columns were defiling.
Here, however, he was overtaken and brought to action, on the 16th
June, by Sir Arthur. Although the position was strong, and the
brigade of Guards were the only infantry come up, the British general
instantly made his dispositions for attack. The left was turned by the
rifle corps, the Guards advancing boldly in front. After delivering
a volley at the head of the column when it showed itself, the French
precipitately fled--and, hurrying through the village in their rear,
succeeded, under cover of darkness, in escaping. Some delay in clearing
a defile allowed the horse artillery to come up, and their rapid fire
did considerable execution before the crowd of fugitives could get
beyond its range.
The next morning’s dawn renewed the pursuit; and every turn of the
road, cumbered with broken vehicles and deserted baggage, showed how
severely the French army had been pressed. The bridge was nearly
impassable from dead men and slain horses laid there in heaps by the
grape and canister of the British guns. Arms, accoutrements, ham-strung
mules, guns, tumbrils, knapsacks filled with silver plate, tapestry,
and other valuable plunder were strewn indiscriminately along the line.
To add to this scene of waste and suffering, the villages the advancing
army entered were either in a blaze, or already reduced to ashes; for
between the French troops and peasantry a deadly war of extermination
was being carried on, and on both sides deeds of cruelty were every
day perpetrated that can hardly be credited or described. Indeed, the
French retreat through the Gallician mountains was only paralleled by
the British on Corunna; with this exception, that many a straggler from
the British columns was saved by the humanity of the Spaniards, while
the unhappy Frenchman who lagged but a few hundred yards behind the
rearguard, was butchered by the infuriated peasantry, bent on the work
of slaughter and burning for vengeance on an enemy, who, in his day of
conquest, and dominion, had taught the lesson of cruelty now practised
so unrelentingly on himself.
Soult turning from Montalegre towards Orense, and a French corps from
Estremadura having moved on Alcantara, induced Sir Arthur Wellesley to
discontinue the pursuit. The French marshal crossed the frontier on the
18th with barely nineteen thousand men, his guns, stores, and baggage
abandoned to the conquerors. Ten weeks, perfect in every arm, that army
had passed through Orense on its march to Oporto, mustering twenty-six
thousand veteran soldiers. A short period had wrought a fearful change,
and even the debris of that once splendid corps was only extricated
from total destruction by the admirable tact and unbending _hardiesse_
of their brave and gifted leader.
On reaching Abrantes on the 7th July, it was correctly ascertained
that, instead of retiring on Madrid, Victor was concentrating at
Merida, intending, probably, to cross the Guadiana, and attack Cuesta
before the British could come to his assistance. Propositions therefore
for a combined movement were made by Sir Arthur Wellesley to the
“Spanish general,” and willingly acceded to, and the British moved
forward to the Teitar, to unite, as it was believed, in an operation
upon Madrid.
A most able plan for marching at once for the recovery of the capital
was arranged at a conference between the allied commanders. The British
and Spanish armies, taking the right bank of the Tagus, were to advance
directly forward. Venegas, with fourteen thousand Spaniards, was
to threaten Aranjuez, and, if possible, take possession of Toledo;
while two other Spanish divisions should hold the passes of Banos and
Perales; and five thousand Portuguese, under Sir Robert Wilson, were to
act independently, and annoy the French flanks and rear as they best
could.
The British consequently moved by Salvatiera and Placentia, effecting a
junction with Cuesta at Oropesa on the 20th of July. On the 22nd Victor
had retired and taken a position on the Alberche. The opportunity was
at once given for attacking him, but Cuesta obstinately declined; and
Victor, hearing that Wilson was already in his rear at Escalona, made
a night march on Torrijos.
Cuesta was a singular medley of opposite qualities. He was exceedingly
brave, had some daring, overweening pride, and a most asinine
obstinacy. Finding it desirable for the prosperity of the common
cause to submit to the old man’s folly, Sir Arthur Wellesley acted
with singular forbearance. It had been arranged that Victor should
be attacked on the 23rd, and when the British general reached his
confederate’s quarters to arrange the necessary details on the evening
of the 22nd, Cuesta was asleep, and no one dared to waken him. At
dawn, the British divisions were under arms, but Cuesta could not be
disturbed till seven! At last an interview did take place, and then
the weak old man positively declined to fight, because the day was
_Sunday_. Victor had but twenty thousand men with him at the moment.
The Alberche was fordable--the right and centre assailable; Cuesta’s
army numbered forty-seven thousand, and Wellesley’s about twenty-one.
Was ever such an opportunity lost? and all, too, through the stupid
bigotry of a sleepy-headed Spaniard.
While Sir Arthur halted at Talavera, having two divisions across the
river at Casa Leguas, Cuesta followed the French, who as he persuaded
himself were retreating, but Sebastiani had marched from Toledo and
joined Victor, while Joseph Buonaparte, having united his corps to
Jourdan’s, was hastening to a common centre. The whole united at
Torrijos, forming a corps _d’armée_ of nearly fifty thousand men.
Cuesta, with all his Spanish obstinacy, would still insist that the
French were not concentrating, but retreating, but the delusion was
short. Victor suddenly attacked him, and as his retreat was most
disorderly, nothing but prompt assistance from Sherbrooke’s division
could have saved the stupid old man from destruction. When this was
effected, the Guards crossed the river, leaving Mackenzie’s division in
possession of the wood and convent on the right bank of the Alberche.
A recent deliverance seemed to have had no effect upon Spanish
obstinacy. Though certain of being attacked, Cuesta lay loosely on the
Alberche, into which, had his army been defeated, it must have been
driven pell-mell. Happily, Sir Arthur, in reconnoitring the ground in
the neighbourhood, discovered an extensive line on which both armies
might be placed to their mutual disadvantage. He took his measures
with such promptitude, and issued his orders with such coolness and
perspicuity, that every battalion, Spanish as well as British, stepped
into the very spot which his admirable foresight had marked out for it.
The position was about two miles in length, extending perpendicularly
from the Tagus, on which the right rested in the town of Talavera.
It was partially retrenched, having an intersected and most difficult
country in its front. The centre was more open; but the left terminated
favourably on a bold and commanding height, overlooking a considerable
valley, which separated the left of the position from a range of rocky
mountains. To the Spaniards the right was allotted, it being considered
nearly unattackable, while the British defended the more accessible
ground upon the left.
Talavera stands on the northern bank of the Tagus, the houses reaching
down to the water’s edge. The two armies were drawn up in line; the
British on the left, extending from the town nearly to the Sierra
de Gata, its extreme flank occupying a bold height near Alatuza de
Segusella, and having in its front a difficult ravine, and on its
flank a deep valley. To the Spaniards the right was assigned. Their
battalions were stationed among olive groves, with walls and fences
interspersed, and an embankment running along the road, that formed an
excellent breastwork, and rendered their position nearly unassailable.
It was necessary to secure the point of junction where the British
right touched Cuesta’s left, and to effect this, ten guns were placed
in battery on the summit of a bold knoll, with a British division to
protect them, and a strong cavalry corps in reserve. In the general
disposition of the troops Campbell’s division was on the right of the
British, Sherbrooke’s division adjoining; Mackenzie occupied the next
portion of the battle-ground, while the height upon the left, the key
of the position, was intrusted to General Hill.
During the morning of the 27th July, the troops had been marching on
the different points marked for their occupation, and had taken ground
hitherto unmolested by the enemy; but at noon Mackenzie’s division was
suddenly and furiously assailed by two heavy columns, which attacked
the wood and convent. Partially surprised, the 87th and 88th regiments
were thrown into a momentary confusion; and the French penetrated
between the two brigades which formed the division. Immediately, by
the exertions of their officers, the 31st, 45th, and 60th rifles were
brought forward, and these regiments covered their companions, while
they retired from the wood into the plain, retreating in beautiful
order along the heights on the left of the position which they were
directed to occupy.
The enemy continued their attack, and it had now extended partially
along the whole line, growing more animated as the evening began to
fall. The left, where the British stood, at once appeared the grand
object of the marshals. They directed a strong force against it,
forming their infantry into columns of battalions, which advanced in
double quick, supported by a furious cannonade.
Mackenzie’s division having retired a little, and, at the moment,
forming a second line, the brunt of the assault fell upon a smaller
brigade under General Donkin, then in possession of the height. The
French, though they came on with imposing bravery, were checked in
front; but from the weakness of his brigade, Donkin’s flank was turned
on the left, and the hill behind crowned by the enemy.
But that success was momentary. Hill instantly led up the 48th, 29th,
and 1st battalion of detachments. A close and murderous volley from
the British was followed by a charge. The French were forced from the
position with great loss; and the ridge was again carried by a wing of
the 29th with the bayonet.
There was a brief space of quiet; but determined to win the key of the
position, though darkness had now set in, the French in great force
once more rushed forward to wrest the height from its defenders, and in
the gloom the assailants and the assailed nearly touched each other.
The red flash of a well-delivered volley disclosed to the British the
dark array that threatened them. The order was given to advance, and
again the British bayonet drove the columns down the hill.
No fighting could have been more desperate than that which marked this
night attack. A feint had been made by Lapisse upon the Germans in the
centre, while, with the _élite_ of their infantry, Ruffin and Vilatte
ascended the heights, which, at every loss, they seemed more resolute
in winning. A terrific slaughter ensued. Could it be otherwise? So
desperately was this night fighting maintained, and the regiments were
so closely engaged, that in the _mêlée_, some of the men fought with
clubbed muskets.
These signal repulses of a powerful and gallant enemy could not but
cost a heavy expenditure of blood. Many brave officers had fallen,
and at this period of the conflict the killed and wounded amounted to
upwards of eight hundred men.
The troops rested upon their arms, and each battalion on the ground it
had occupied the preceding day. The cavalry were stretched beside their
horses; all were ready for an attack; but the night passed with some
slight alarms, and no serious disturbance.
The morning was ushered in by a tremendous cannonade, while the
grenadiers of Lapisse’s division, in two columns, advanced again to
attack the height upon the left. They were bravely led forward by
their officers, and made many desperate but unavailing efforts to win
the summit of the hill, but nothing could shake the firmness of the
British. They allowed the columns to mount the rugged ascent, until
they had nearly touched the ridge, then a close volley, a loud huzza,
followed by rapid charge, broke the formation of the French, and sent
them precipitously down the hill. Again and again the attempt was
made with equal ill fortune; until, totally disheartened by repeated
repulses and leaving the ground heaped with dead, the enemy abandoned
all hope of carrying this well-defended position, and retreated out of
fire.
It was now half-past eight, and the fighting had never intermitted from
five that morning. The loss on both sides was frightful; the French
infinitely greater than the British. Their repeated attacks on the
height occasioned immense loss; and their troops, dispirited by want of
success, and wearied by constant but unavailing exertion, showed little
inclination to renew the battle.
The heat of the sun had become intolerable, and the movements, on the
French part, were stayed. Indeed, the firing had ceased over the field,
and the work of slaughter, by a sort of mutual consent, was for a time
suspended. The French commenced cooking their dinners, and the British
and their allies produced their scantier rations. During this temporary
cessation of hostilities, it was a matter of some deliberation with the
British commander, whether in turn he should become the assailant, or
remain quietly and await the result of the enemy’s decision; and it was
a fortunate circumstance that the latter was his determination.
At this time a curious incident occurred, that for a brief space
changed the character of the war, and, even on a battlefield covered
with the dead and dying, produced a display of kindly feeling between
two brave and noble-minded enemies.
A small stream, tributary to the Tagus, flowed through a part of the
battle-ground, and separated the combatants. During the pause that
the heat of the weather and the weariness of the troops had produced,
both armies went to the banks of the rivulet for water. The men
approached each other fearlessly, threw down their caps and muskets,
chatted to each other like old acquaintances, and exchanged their
brandy-flasks and wineskins. All asperity of feeling seemed forgotten.
To a stranger they would have appeared more like an allied force, than
men hot from a ferocious conflict, and only gathering strength and
energy to recommence it anew. But a still nobler rivalry for the time
existed; the interval was employed in carrying off the wounded, who lay
intermixed upon the hard-contested field; and, to the honour of both
be it told, that each endeavoured to extricate the common sufferers,
and remove their unfortunate friends and enemies without distinction.
Suddenly, the bugles sounded, the drums beat to arms, many of the rival
soldiery shook hands, and parted with expressions of mutual esteem, and
in ten minutes after they were again at the bayonet’s point.
Having ascertained the part of the position, and the extent of it
that was occupied by the British brigades, the marshals determined to
direct their undivided energies against that portion of the line, and,
if possible, crush the British divisions by bearing on them with an
overwhelming force. They formed in four columns of attack; the first
was destined against that part of the ground where the British and
Spaniards united; the second against Sherbrooke and Cameron’s brigades;
the third was directed against Mackenzie’s and the Germans; and the
fourth, in great strength, and accompanied by a mass of cavalry, moved
up the valley to the left.
A fire from eighty pieces of artillery announced the forward movement
of the columns, which soon presented themselves, covered by a cloud
of light infantry. A destructive cannonade was borne by the British
brigades patiently; in vain the tirailleurs kept up a biting fire, but
not a shot was returned by the British. Their orders to reserve their
fire were strictly obeyed, and the files steadily and quietly closed
up, for the men were falling by dozens. Their assailants approached,
their officers called “_En avant!_” and the drums beat the _pas de
charge_. Nothing could be more imposing than the advance, nothing more
complete than their discomfiture. Within twenty paces a shattering
volley was delivered from the British line, the word “_Charge!_” was
given, and the bayonet did the rest.
Campbell’s division, on the right, totally defeated the attack, and
charging boldly in return, drove the French back, and captured a
battery of ten guns. The enemy endeavoured to retake them, but the
Spanish cavalry charged home, the cannon remained with the captors, and
the right of the British was victorious everywhere.
The left attack failed totally. The British cavalry were posted in
the valley where the hostile movement was being made; and Anson’s
brigade, consisting of the 23rd light dragoons, and the 1st King’s
German hussars, were ordered to charge and check the advance. It was
gallantly attempted, and though in point of fact the charge failed,
and the 23rd were nearly cut to pieces, the daring courage exhibited
under circumstances perfectly desperate, so completely astounded the
enemy, that their attack on the height was abandoned. If there was an
error in the mode that charge was made, it arose from its fearless
gallantry; and under common circumstances, its result would have been
most glorious. Colonel Napier thus describes the affair:--
The ground upon which this brigade was in line is perfectly level, nor
did any visible obstruction appear between it and the columns opposed.
The grass was long, dry, and waving, concealing the fatal chasm that
intervened. One of General Villatte’s columns stood at some distance
to the right of the building occupied by the light troops. These were
directly in front of the 23rd dragoons. Another was formed rather to
the rear, and more in front of the German hussars, on the left of the
line. Such were the immediate objects of the charge.
For some time the brigade advanced at a rapid pace, without receiving
any obstruction from the enemy’s fire. The line cheered. It was
answered from the hill with the greatest enthusiasm; never was anything
more exhilarating or beautiful than the commencement of this advance.
Several lengths in front, mounted on a grey horse, consequently very
conspicuous, rode Colonel Elley. Thus placed he, of course, first
arrived at the brink of a ravine, which, varying in width, extended
along the whole front of the line. Going half-speed at the time, no
alternative was left him. To have checked his horse, and given timely
warning, would have been impossible. With some difficulty he cleared
it at a bound, and on gaining the opposite bank, endeavoured by
gesture to warn the 23rd of the dangerous ground they had to pass; but
advancing with such velocity, the line was on the verge of the stream
before his signs could be either understood or attended to. Under any
circumstances this must have been a serious occurrence in a cavalry
charge; but when it is considered that four or five hundred dragoons
were assailing two divisions of infantry, unbroken, and fully prepared
for the onset, to have persevered at all was highly honourable to the
regiment.
At this moment the enemy, formed in squares, opened his tremendous
fire. A change immediately took place. Horses rolled on the earth;
others were seen flying back dragging their unhorsed riders with them;
the German hussars coolly reined up; the line of the 23rd was broken.
Still the regiment galloped forward. The confusion was increased; but
no hesitation took place in the individuals of this gallant corps. The
survivors rushed forward with, if possible, accelerated pace, passing
between the flank of the square, now one general blaze of fire, and the
building on its left.
Still the remainder of the 23rd, led on by Major Ponsonby, passing
under this withering fire, assailed and overthrew a regiment of
chasseurs; and, though attacked in turn by a squadron of Westphalian
horse and some Polish lancers, it cut its way through these, and riding
past the intervals of the infantry, reached the base of the mountain,
where the Spanish corps of observation secured it. Its loss was awful.
In an affair that lasted but a few minutes, nine officers, twelve
sergeants, two hundred rank and file, and two hundred and twenty-four
horses, were rendered _hors de combat_.
On the centre, the attack was made with great steadiness and
determination. The French columns deployed before they attempted to
ascend the heights, and, regardless of broken ground, advanced to
the charge with imposing gallantry. General Sherbrooke, having fully
prepared his men, received them with a volley of musketry, which
staggered their resolution, and the whole division rushing forward with
the bayonet, the French were driven back with prodigious loss. But the
Guards came loosely on. The French observed it; perceived an opening in
the line, and threw in a tremendous fire on the Germans, that caused a
momentary confusion. The affair is thus narrated by an officer of the
48th. The celerity with which a mistake, that to other troops might
have proved fatal, was remedied by the coolness of the commander and
the heroism of his army, could never be better exemplified.
At this period of the battle, and in nearly their last attempt, the
enemy had been repulsed and followed. The Guards, carried onwards by
victorious excitement, advanced too far, and found themselves assailed
by the French reserve, and mowed down by an overwhelming fire. They
fell back, but as whole sections were swept away their ranks became
disordered, and nothing but their stubborn gallantry prevented a total
_déroute_. Their situation was most critical; had the French cavalry
charged home nothing could have saved them. Lord Wellington saw the
danger, and speedily despatched support. A brigade of horse was ordered
up, and our regiment moved from the heights we occupied to assist our
hard-pressed comrades. We came on at double-quick, and formed in the
rear by companies, and through the intervals in our line the broken
ranks of the Guards retreated. A close and well-directed volley from
us arrested the progress of the victorious French, while with amazing
celerity and coolness the Guards rallied and reformed, and in a few
minutes advanced in turn to support us. As they came on, the men gave a
loud huzza. An Irish regiment to the right answered it with a thrilling
cheer. It was taken up from regiment to regiment, and passed along the
British line, and that wild shout told the advancing enemy that British
valour was indomitable. The leading files of the French halted, turned,
fell back, and never made another effort.
In every place the British were victorious, and had one forward
movement of the Spaniards been made, Talavera would have proved the
most decisive defeat that ever the French armies on the Peninsula had
sustained, for a rapid flanking march from Cuesta’s right upon the
Alberche must have compromised half the French army. But with troops
so wretchedly disciplined, it was impossible to change any previous
formation in face of an enemy; and thus the French marshals were
enabled to retreat in perfect order, with the greater portion of their
baggage, the whole of their wounded, and all their artillery, with the
exception of ten guns taken by Campbell’s brigade, and seven abandoned
in the woods, and afterwards secured.
As victory is ever damped by individual suffering, an event well
calculated to increase the horrors of a battle-field occurred, that
cannot be recollected without the liveliest sorrow for those who
suffered.
From the heat of the weather, the fallen leaves were parched like
tinder, and the grass was rank and dry. Near the end of the engagement
both were ignited by the blaze of some cartridge-papers, and the whole
surface of the ground was presently covered with a sheet of fire. Those
of the disabled who lay on the outskirts of the field managed to crawl
away, or were carried off by their more fortunate companions who had
escaped unhurt; but, unhappily, many gallant sufferers, with “medicable
wounds,” perished in the flames before it was possible to extricate
them.
The battle was ended at about six o’clock, and after that hour scarcely
a shot was heard. Both armies occupied the positions of the morning,
and the British bivouacked on the field, with little food and no
shelter; while the dead lay silently around, and the moans of the
wounded broke sadly on the ear, as they were conveyed all through the
night to the hospitals in Salamanca.
The French were evidently about to retire, but, from a great
inferiority in cavalry, pursuit was impossible. On the next morning,
two of their divisions only were seen beyond the river, and these
retreated on the night of the 31st, and followed the remainder of the
beaten _corps d’armée_.
The British loss was extremely severe, and from the heavy cannonade
regiments not otherwise exposed, suffered much. The whole force,
exclusive of the Spaniards, did not exceed nineteen thousand, and of
these fully four thousand men were killed and wounded. The Spanish loss
was inconsiderable, as they were never seriously engaged, not reaching
altogether to a thousand _hors de combat_.
The casualties of Joseph Buonaparte’s army it would be difficult to
ascertain with anything like correctness. It has been stated at six,
eight, and even ten thousand. The intermediate estimate would probably
be the truest, and certainly the French loss exceeded the allied by a
third if not a half.
On the morning after the battle, the light brigade were reinforced
by three splendid regiments, the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th, under General
Craufurd, who reached the army accompanied by a troop of horse
artillery. Its march was remarkable--sixty-three English miles were
accomplished in twenty-seven hours. Advancing under a burning sun,
over a sandy country, badly supplied with water, with bad rations and
scarcely any bread, the movement was extraordinary. When the weight a
soldier in heavy marching order carries is considered, the distance
these splendid regiments achieved was certainly a surprising effort.
Aware that the armies were in presence of each other, and apprised
that a battle was inevitable, an ardent wish to share the glory of the
field stimulated these soldiers to exertions that hunger, fatigue, and
thirst could not abate; and though efforts almost beyond belief failed
to bring them to the battleground before the struggle terminated, the
rapidity of their march, and the fine condition in which they joined
the army, justly obtained for them the admiration of the victors of
Talavera.