THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA.
1812.
Early in June, the British divisions began to concentrate; and on the
13th the cantonments on the Agueda were broken up, and Lord Wellington
crossed the frontier.
The condition of the army was excellent, and the most exact discipline
was preserved, while all unnecessary parades were dispensed with. The
march ended, the soldier enjoyed all the comforts he could command;
if foot-sore, he had rest to recruit; if untired, he had permission
to amuse himself. His arms and appointments were rigidly inspected,
his supper cooked, his bivouac formed, and at sunrise he rose at the
_reveille_, to resume, with light heart and “gallant hope,” the march
that was to lead to victory.
The weather was fine, and as the route lay principally through forest
lands, nothing could be more picturesque and beautiful than the country
which the line of march presented. The wooded landscape displayed its
verdure under the sunny influence of a cloudless sky, and singularly
contrasted its summer green with the snow-topped pinnacles of the
Sierra de Gata. No enemy appeared; for days the march was leisurely
continued, until, on clearing the forest at Valmasa, the German Hussars
in advance, had a slight skirmish with a French picket in front of
Salamanca.
This city, celebrated for its antiquity, and noted in the middle
ages as foremost among the most celebrated schools of learning, was
destined to witness a fresh triumph of British bravery. The situation
of Salamanca is bold and imposing, standing on high ground on the
right bank of the Tormes, and surrounded by a fine champaign country,
divested of wood, but interspersed with numerous clay-built villages.
A Roman road can still be traced without the town, while a portion of
the bridge across the Tormes, consisting of twenty-seven arches, is
supposed to have been constructed when the Eternal City was mistress of
the world.
Ultimately it was generally believed that a battle on the plains of
Valesa was inevitable; and the troops bivouacked in two lines, and
before daybreak were under arms. But with the first light, Marmont
was seen extending by his left, and the allies moved consequently in
a parallel direction. Either commander might provoke an action, but
neither seemed inclined to risk one. The French marshal’s design was
very apparent. He kept the high ground, manœuvred to out-flank his
opponent, and, should opportunity permit, attack him at advantage.
His able antagonist, however, never gave the chance. Some time passed
in manœuvring, and the French held Babila, Fuente, and Villamesa; the
allies, Cabesa and Aldea Lingua.
The 21st July was also spent in flank marching, during which both
commanders crossed the Tormes; the French by the fords of Alba and
Huerta, and the allies by Santa Martha and the bridge of Salamanca.
The hostile armies bivouacked again that night, and such a night can
scarcely be imagined.
The evening was calm and sultry, but the extreme verge of the horizon
became heavily overcast, and persons conversant with “skyey influences”
might have easily foretold a coming storm. Suddenly a torrent fell, the
wind rose and swept across the open hills with amazing violence, the
thunder-clouds burst, and, by the glare of lightning, the sparkling
arms of infantry masses were visible over the whole extent of the
position, as the last brigades pressed through the tempest to occupy
their ground. No shelter the allied army could obtain could have
averted a summer shower, and all in a few minutes were drenched to the
skin; while the cavalry horses, scared by the lightning, broke from
their picketings, and trampling upon their riders rushed madly to and
fro, occasioning indescribable confusion.
Nothing could be more imposing than the parallel movements of the
rival armies during the last three days. Far as the eye could range,
masses, apparently interminable, pursued their march with beautiful
regularity, now displayed in brilliant sunshine as they swept over a
contiguous height, now lost where an accidental dipping of the ground
for a time concealed the column. Generally both armies abstained from
hostile collision, by a sort of mutual consent; and excepting where
the line of march brought the light troops into immediate proximity,
or the occupation of a village produced a trifling fusilade, the grand
movements of the rival hosts exhibited a “ceaseless march,” the leading
columns pressing forward toward the Tormes, and the rear hidden from
view “by dust and distance.”
The whole system of manœuvres which marked the operations of the
French marshal since Bonnet’s division had joined him on the Douro,
showed clearly that he only waited for a fitting moment to attack.
The French army were in high spirits; while in numerical force they
were formidable indeed, numbering forty-five thousand men, of whom
four thousand were cavalry. Other circumstances were favourable to the
commencement of active aggression by the French. The communications
with the capital were open, reinforcements constantly arriving,
while a powerful accession of strength had approached the immediate
neighbourhood of the scene of operations from the army of the North; a
part of its cavalry and horse-artillery having already reached Pollos.
If Marmont was anxious to offer battle, the British general, for
obvious reasons, was as willing to accept it. Aware of his opponent’s
abilities in tactics, and apprised of the fine _matériel_ of the army
he commanded, Lord Wellington was as confident in his own resources as
in the indomitable courage of that soldiery which, under his leading,
had been frequently assailed and never beaten. His own position was
daily becoming more unsafe. For security, the stores deposited at
Salamanca had been removed to the rear, consequently the maintenance
of his army was endangered, as supplies from the depots were tardily
obtained.
No difficulty, however, was experienced by the French in provisioning
their army; every procurable necessary was exacted from the wretched
inhabitants, who might curse, while they durst not oppose those who
despoiled them of their property.
Both commanders were anxious to try the issue of a contest. Vanity,
in the one, urged Marmont to offer battle upon ground favourable for
the movements of a force superior in number and perfect in every arm.
Prudence, in Lord Wellington, aimed at results only to be effected by
a victory. No wonder, then, that with such dispositions a conflict
was inevitable. The decree had gone forth; a fiery trial of skill and
valour must ensue, and well did a fearful night harbinger “a bloody
morrow.”
The morning was cloudy and threatening, and the dawn was ushered in
by a sharp fusilade, in the direction of Calvarasa de Arriba. The
enemy’s tirailleurs had occupied the heights of Senora de la Pena in
considerable force, and part of the seventh division, with the light
cavalry of Victor Alten, were opposing their farther advance.
The British right was appuied upon the nearest of the Arapiles, and
united itself with the extremity of a ridge, on which the divisions had
taken their position on the preceding evening. Another hill, similarly
named, rose from the plain at a distance of five hundred yards, and as
it commanded the right of the alignment, it was deemed advisable to
possess it.
The French marshal, however, had entertained a similar design; and a
wood favouring the unobserved advance of part of Bonnet’s division,
the summit was occupied by the French with their 122nd regiment, and a
brigade of guns.
Meanwhile the enemy commenced extending to the left, in the rear of
the Arapiles, and formed on the skirts of a wood. As the movement of
the columns brought them within cannon range, General Leith advanced
a battery to a height in front of his position, and it opened with
considerable effect. The French, obliged to retire, brought up a
brigade of artillery to check the British guns. Their diagonal fire
silenced the British battery, and it was necessary, without delay,
to retire the guns, and withdraw a troop of the 16th light dragoons,
which, for their protection, had been drawn up under shelter of the
hill. This perilous evolution was executed with complete success, the
ravine was passed at speed, and with little loss, the artillery and
light cavalry regained the position.
The day wore on; the late tempest apparently had cleared the
atmosphere, all was bright and unclouded sunshine, and over a wide
expanse of undulating landscape, nothing obscured the range of sight
but dust from the arid roads, or wreathing smoke occasioned by the
spattering fire of the light troops. Marmont was busily manœuvring,
and Lord Wellington coolly noticing from a height the dispositions of
his opponent, which as he correctly calculated would lead to a general
engagement.
At noon, a combination of at least eight thousand men moved from the
rear of the Arapiles, and formed in front of the fifth division. Lord
Wellington rode to the ground, and there found the division in perfect
readiness for the anticipated attack. Perceiving at once that this
movement was only a demonstration of the French marshal to mask his
real designs, his lordship returned to the right, which was now the
interesting point of the position.
Finding his feint upon the fifth division unsuccessful, Marmont put
his columns into motion, and marching rapidly by his left, endeavoured
to turn the right of the allies, and thus interpose between them and
Ciudad Rodrigo. Under a heavy cannonade, his front and flank, covered
by a cloud of skirmishers, and supported by a cavalry force that drove
in the British dragoons and light troops, pressed forward to gain the
Rodrigo road. But that hurried movement was badly executed by Marmont’s
generals of division. Their extension was made with careless haste,
the line consequently weakened, and this false manœuvre brought on the
crisis of the day. The moment for action had come, and Lord Wellington
seized the opportunity and struck the blow.
At two o’clock, when the French commenced extending by their left,
the allied army was thus disposed. On the right, the fifth division
(Leith’s) had moved behind the village of Arapiles, and had taken
ground on the right of the fourth (Cole’s); the sixth and seventh,
under Generals Clinton and Hope, formed a reserve; the third division
(Pakenham’s), D’Urban’s cavalry, two squadrons of the 14th light
dragoons, and a corps of Spanish infantry, were in position near
Aldea Tejada. Bradford’s brigade, with Le Marchant’s heavy cavalry,
were formed on the right, and in the rear of the fifth. The light
division (Barnard’s) and the first (the Guards and Germans) were drawn
up between the Arapiles and the Tormes, in reserve. Cotton’s cavalry
were formed in the rear of the third and fifth divisions; an artillery
reserve, posted behind the dragoons, and in the rear of all the
Spaniards, under Don Carlos D’Espana, appeared in the extreme distance,
but entirely out of fire.
Marmont had remarked, and rode forward to correct the irregularity of
his flank movement, and personally direct the debouchement of his third
and fourth divisions from the wood that had partially concealed them.
At that moment, Lord Wellington was seated on the hill-side, eating his
hurried meal, while an aide-de-camp in attendance watched the enemy’s
movements with a glass. The bustle then perceptible in the French line
attracted his lordship’s notice, and he quickly inquired the cause.
“They are evidently in motion,” was the reply.
“Indeed! what are they doing?”
“Extending rapidly to the left,” was answered.
Lord Wellington sprang upon his feet, and seized the telescope; then
muttering that Marmont’s good genius had deserted him, he mounted his
horse, and issued the orders to attack.
All was instantly on the alert. The staff went off at speed to bring
up the fifth and sixth divisions. The infantry stood to arms, primed
and loaded, fixed bayonets, uncased the colours, and abandoning the
defensive system, hitherto so admirably employed, prepared for an
immediate attack.
Pakenham commended the action by advancing in four columns along the
valley, assailing the left flank of the enemy, and driving it before
him in great confusion. D’Urban’s Portuguese dragoons, and Harvey’s
light cavalry (the 14th), protected the flank during the movement,
and, when the French became disordered, charged boldly in and sabred
the broken infantry. Nothing could be more brilliant than Pakenham’s
advance. A level plateau of nearly eight hundred yards was to be
crossed before the assailants could reach the heights, whither Fox’s
division were marching hastily to occupy the ground.
A heavy fire from the French guns was showered on the advancing
columns, while the British batteries, under Captain Douglass, replied
by a furious cannonade. Wallace’s brigade--the 45th, 74th, and
88th--formed the first line, and moved forward in open column. The face
of the height was covered with tirailleurs, who kept up an incessant
fusilade, while grape and canister ploughed the ground, occasioning a
heavy loss, and more particularly to the centre. They suffered, but
they could not be checked; not waiting to deploy, the companies brought
forward their right shoulders in a run, forming line from open column
without halting, while the wings of the brigade, having moved up the
hill with less impediments than the centre, were more advanced, and
the line thus assumed rather the figure of a crescent. All the mounted
officers, regardless of a withering fusilade, were riding in front of
the battalions, and the men following with their muskets at the rest.
At last they reached the brow. Foy’s division, beating the _pas de
charge_, advanced, and threw in a murderous volley. Half the British
front rank went down. Staggered by that deadly fire, the brigade
recoiled a step or two, but, instantly recovering, the rear rank
filled the places of the fallen. On it went with imposing steadiness,
regardless of the irregular fusilade, for the French continued to pour
in their fire with more rapidity than effect.
Foy’s division, alarmed by this movement, became unsteady. The daring
advance of an enemy, whom the concentrated fire of five thousand
muskets could not arrest, was indeed astounding. All that brave men
could do was done by the French officers. They strove to confirm the
courage of their troops, and persuade them to withstand an assault that
threatened their wavering ranks. The colonel of the 22nd _légère_,
seizing a musket from a grenadier, rushed forward, and mortally wounded
Major Murphy of the 88th. Speedily his death was avenged; a Ranger shot
the Frenchman through the head, who tossing his arms wildly up, fell
forward and expired. The brigade betrayed impatience; the 88th, excited
to madness by the fall of a favourite officer, who passed dead along
the front, as his charger galloped off with his rider’s foot sticking
in the stirrup, could scarcely be kept back.
Pakenham marked the feeling, and ordered Wallace “to let them loose.”
The word was given, down came the bayonets to the charge, the pace
quickened, a wild cheer, mingled with the Irish slogan, rent the skies,
and unable to stand the shock, the French gave ground. The Rangers, and
the supporting regiments, broke the dense mass of infantry, bayoneting
all whom they could overtake, until, run to a regular standstill, they
halted to recover breath and stayed the slaughter.
Nor were the operations of the fifth division less marked and
brilliant. For an hour they had been exposed to a heavy cannonade,
sheltering occasionally on the ground from the shot and shells, which
fell in showers upon the height they occupied, and ricochetted through
their ranks. At last the order to advance was given. They moved in
two lines, the first entirely British, the second composed of the
Portuguese infantry of General Spry. Bradford’s brigade, having united
itself for the attack, formed on the right of the fifth.
In mounting the height where the French division was posted, the
assailing columns were annoyed by a sharp discharge of artillery, and
the fire of a swarm of sharpshooters, who in extended order occupied
the face of the hill. The British light infantry pushed on to clear
the line of march, and, if practicable, make a dash at the enemy’s
artillery. The tirailleurs were speedily driven back, the cannon
removed from the crest of the height to the rear, and unimpeded, the
division moved up the hill with a perfect regularity in its formation,
and the imposing steadiness of men who marched to victory. In the front
of the centre of that beautiful line rode General Leith, directing its
movements, and regulating its advance.
The enemy were preparing for the struggle. He retired his columns from
the ridge, and formed continuous squares, fifty paces from the crest
of the heights, which the assailants must crown previous to attacking.
The artillery from the French rear cannonaded the advancing columns,
but nothing could check the progressive movement of the British. The
men marched with the same orderly steadiness as at first; no advance
in line at a review was ever more correctly executed; the dressing
was admirable; and spaces were no sooner formed by casualties than
closed up with the most perfect regularity, and without the slightest
deviation from the order of march.
When General Leith reached the summit of the hill, the enemy were
observed formed in supporting squares, with their front rank kneeling.
Their formation was complete, their fire reserved, and till the drum
rolled, not a musket was discharged. Nearly at the same moment, the
French squares and the British delivered their volleys. A dense smoke
hid all for a time from view. A loud and sustained cheer pealed from
the British ranks; no shout of defiance answered it; while, rushing
forward, the British broke the squares, and pressing on with dauntless
impetuosity, every attempt at opposition ceased, and what just now had
appeared a disciplined body, almost too formidable to be assailed,
became a disorganised mass, flying at headlong speed from the fury of
its conquerors. To increase the confusion, a portion of Foy’s division
crossed the _déroute_, and mingled with it, while the rush of advancing
cavalry was heard, and that sound, so ominous to broken infantry,
confirmed the panic.
Presently the heavy brigade--the 3rd and 4th dragoons, and 5th dragoon
guards--galloped across the interval of ground, between the heights
where the third division had made its flank attack, and the fifth
its more direct one. Sweeping through a mob of half-armed fugitives,
the brigade rode boldly at the three battalions of the French 66th,
which had formed in six supporting lines to check the advance of the
conquerors, and afford time for the broken divisions to have their
organisation restored.
Heedless of its searching fire, the British dragoons penetrated and
broke the columns; numbers of the French were sabred; while the
remainder were driven back upon the third division and made prisoners.
Still pressing on, another regiment, in close order, presented itself;
this, too, was charged, broken, and cut down. Nothing arrested the
victorious career until the ground became gradually obstructed with
trees, embarrassing the movements of the cavalry, while it afforded a
broken infantry ample time to rally, and engage horsemen at evident
advantage.
Although the regiments of the heavy brigade in the course of these
brilliant charges had of necessity become intermixed, and their line
crowded, without intervals between the squadrons, they still pushed
forward without confusion to charge a brigade that had formed under
cover of the trees. The French steadily awaited the attack, within
twenty yards their reserved fire was thrown in, and on a concentrated
body of horse and at this short distance, its effect was fatal. General
Marchant was killed, Colonel Elley badly wounded, while one-third of
the brigade were brought to the ground by that close and murderous
volley. Still, those of the heavy dragoons who could keep their saddles
sustained nobly the reputation they had earned that day, and charging
the French column home, penetrated and dispersed it. A furious _mêlée_
succeeded, the scattered infantry fighting desperately to the last,
while the long straight sword of the trooper proved in British hands
irresistible.
While the remnant of the cavalry brigade continued their pursuit, a
small battery of five guns was seen upon the left. Lord Edward Somerset
instantly galloped down, charged, and brought them off. The brigade was
then retired, after a continued succession of brilliant charges that
had lasted nearly an hour.
Of course the loss sustained was great. From three splendid regiments
that had ridden into action, at least one thousand strong, with
difficulty three squadrons were formed in the evening, such being the
number of men and horses rendered _hors de combat_ during its late
scene of brilliant but dear-bought success.
With such decided advantages, the battle might have been considered
gained, and the French defeat inevitable. But the splendid successes
attendant on the third and fifth divisions, with Bradford’s Portuguese
brigade, and the light and heavy cavalry, were nearly counterbalanced
by the total failure of Pack’s attack on the Arapiles, and the repulse
of Cole’s division by that of Bonnet.
The 1st and 16th Portuguese advanced to carry the height; it was
occupied by a French battalion, and protected by a battery of guns.
A force of nearly two thousand men, led on in person by a “fighting
general,” should have wrested the hill from such inferior force,
no matter how strong the ground might naturally have been. On this
occasion, however, the attack proved totally unsuccessful; the
Portuguese regiments recoiled from the fire, and their officers
endeavoured to rally them in vain. The attack on the Arapiles was
consequently abandoned, the French left in undisturbed possession,
and, unassailed themselves, they turned their musketry and cannon upon
the flank and rear of Cole’s division, who, under the impression that
Pack’s assault must have succeeded, had fearlessly advanced across
the plain, driving Bonnet’s corps before it, with the promise of as
glorious results as had attended the gallant operations of the third
and fifth.
At that moment, even when the fourth division believed itself
victorious, its position was most dangerous--its very existence more
than doubtful. Bonnet perceiving Pack’s failure, reformed his division,
still numerically superior to his opponent’s, advanced boldly against
the fourth, and furiously attacked it, while from the crest of the
Arapiles, the French troops poured upon the now retreating columns a
withering fire of grape and musketry. General Cole was carried off the
field; Beresford, who had come to his relief, with a Portuguese brigade
of the fifth, was also badly wounded. The British were falling fast;
while the French heavy cavalry, under Boyer, moved rapidly to support
Bonnet, who was momentarily gathering strength from the junction of
the scattered soldiers who had escaped the slaughter of the fourth and
seventh French divisions already _dérouted_ on the left.
Wellington marked the emergency, and ordered Clinton’s division to
advance. This fine and unbroken corps, numbering six thousand bayonets,
pushed rapidly forward, confronted the victorious enemy, who, with
loud cheers, were gaining ground on every point, as the hard-pressed
fourth division was driven back by overwhelming numbers. Bonnet,
determined to follow up his temporary success, met Clinton’s division
manfully, and for a time neither would give ground, and a close and
furious conflict resulted. The ceaseless roll of musketry, and the
thunder of fifty guns told how furiously the battleground was disputed.
Both fought desperately, and though night was closing, the withered
grass, blazing on the surface of the hill, threw an unearthly glare
upon the combatants, and displayed the alternations that attended the
“heady fight.”
But the British bayonet at last opened the path to victory. Such a
desperate encounter could not endure. The French began to waver, the
sixth division cheered, pushed forward, gained ground, while, no longer
able to withstand an enemy who seemed determined to sweep everything
before it, the French retired in confusion, leaving the hard-contested
field in undisputed possession of the island conquerors.
Darkness fell. The remains of Bonnet’s division found shelter in
the woods, or crossed the Tormes at the ford of Alba, which, from
its natural strength, the Spaniards could have easily defended. The
conflict, at different points, had raged six hours with unabated fury;
and those of the divisions which had been engaged, exhausted with
fatigue and suffering dreadfully from heat and thirst, rested on the
battleground.
The guards, Germans, and light brigade, who had been in reserve during
the day, however, pushed forward in pursuit. Distant musketry was heard
occasionally, gradually this spattering fire ceased, and the groans of
dying men and wounded horses succeeded the headlong rush of cavalry,
the thunder of a hundred guns, the shout of proud defiance, and, wilder
still, the maddening cry of victory!
Salamanca, whether considered with regard to its merits as a battle, or
its results as a victory, probably stands foremost among the Peninsular
contests, and many and peculiar traits distinguish it from every
previous encounter. It was coolly and advisedly fought, by commanders
confident in themselves, satisfied with the strength and _matériel_ of
their armies, jealous of each other’s reputation, and stimulated by
every longing after military glory, to exhaust the resources of their
genius and experience to secure a successful issue. Nothing could
surpass Marmont’s beautiful manœuvring for consecutive days while
moving round the British flank, except the countervailing rapidity with
which his talented opponent defeated every effort to outflank him, and
held the marshal constantly in check.
At two on the 22nd, the French marshal threatened an attack; at four,
he was himself the assailed, and the same mistake that lost Marengo,
involved ruin and defeat at Salamanca. One false movement that might
have been easily corrected before a slower leader could see and seize
the momentary advantage, brought on a crisis that clouded the French
destinies in Spain by removing the delusory belief that their arms
should eventually prove invincible.
A conflict, close and desperate, like that of Salamanca, conferred
a sanguinary victory, while it involved a still bloodier defeat.
The allied loss, in killed and wounded, exceeded five thousand men,
and this, of course, fell chiefly on the British. The Portuguese,
comparatively suffered little, and the Spaniards, being entirely
non-combatant, had very few casualties to record. The only post
intrusted--and that most unhappily--to their charge, was the castle of
Alba; and this was abandoned without a shot, leaving Clausel a safe
retreat, while its vigorous occupation must have involved its total
ruin.
The French loss was never correctly ascertained. Two eagles,
eleven pieces of cannon, seven thousand prisoners, and as many
dead soldiers left upon the field, were the admitted trophies of
British victory. Among the commanding officers of both armies the
casualties were immense; of the British, Le Marchant was killed;
Beresford, Cole, Leith, Cotton, and Alten wounded. The French were
equally unfortunate--the generals of brigade, Thomières, Ferrey, and
Desgraviers were killed; Marmont, early in the day, mutilated by a
howitzer shell; Bonnet severely, and Clausel slightly wounded.
Clausel, who commanded _en chef_ after Marmont was disabled, retreated
with great rapidity. Viewed from the summit of La Serna, the French
exhibited a countless mass of all arms, confusedly intermingled.
While the range permitted it, the horse-artillery annoyed them with
round shot, but by rapid marching they gradually disappeared, while,
opportunely, a strong corps of cavalry and a brigade of guns joined
from the army of the North, and covered the retreat until they fell
back upon their reserves.
Although Salamanca was in every respect a decisive battle, how
much more fatal must it not have proved, had darkness not shut in,
and robbed the conquerors of half the fruits of victory? The total
demolition of the French left was effected by six o’clock, and why
should the right attack have not been equally successful? Had such been
the case, in what a hopeless situation the broken army must have found
itself!
Salamanca was a great and influential victory. Accidental circumstances
permitted Clausel to withdraw a beaten army from the field, and a
fortunate junction of those arms which alone could cover his retreat
enabled him, with little loss, to out-march his pursuers, preserve his
communications, and fall back upon his reserves. But at Salamanca
the delusory notion of French superiority was destroyed. The enemy
discovered that they must measure strength with opponents in every
point their equals. The confidence of wavering allies was confirmed;
while the evacuation of Madrid, the abandonment of the siege of Cadiz,
the deliverance of Andalusia and Castile from military occupation, and
the impossibility of reinforcing Napoleon during his northern campaign,
by sparing any troops from the corps in the Peninsula--all these great
results were among the important consequences that arose from Marmont’s
defeat upon the Tormes.