Preliminary dispositions.—Marmont manoeuvres to turn the right of the Allies.—A false movement is seized on by Wellington, who instantly attacks.—Opening, progress, and close of the battle of Salamanca.

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 alignement, 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 manoeuvring—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 manoeuvre 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 dÉbouchement 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.185 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.

Pakenham186 commenced 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 Foy’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,187 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 their 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 stand-still, 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.”188

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 line delivered their volleys. A dense smoke hid all for a time from view. A loud and sustained cheer pealed from the English 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 appeared a disciplined body, almost too formidable to be assailed, became a disorganized 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 organization 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 Le Marchant’s victorious career until the ground became gradually obstructed with trees, embarrassing the movements of his 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 Le 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 English hands irresistible.189

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 battle-ground 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 every thing 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 battle-ground.

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!