by Rory Muir
After the battle Foy made some interesting remarks in his diary on the relative merits of the two armies:
The English government has by good treatment made a national army from English troops enlisted for silver, German mercenaries without country, and Portuguese wounded in their pride. Our government on the contrary has by its bad treatment transformed our national army into a band of mercenaries. The soldiers have no enthusiasm, no courage, no attachment to their sovereign or their country; they lack physical strength. Their life is generally sad, and their prospects horrible.56
If nothing else, these comments show how deeply the defeat shook the pride and self-esteem of the French army, and this in turn helps explain the asperity of Foy's judgment of Marmont.
Chapter Three
Preliminary Manoeuvres and Skirmishing: Morning and Early Afternoon
Well before dawn on Wednesday 22 July 1812, the hundred thousand men and ten thousand horses of the two armies were stirring after their wet and uncomfortable night. The troops stood to arms an hour before break of day as a routine precaution against a surprise attack, necessary when their opponents were so close. But there was no immediate violence and, as the sun rose, promising a fine, hot day, the men were dismissed to clean their weapons and prepare their breakfast, while parties were sent out to gather wood and water. A corporal in the allied Fifth Division, John Douglas of the 3/1st or Royal Scots, remembered:
we had for a wonder some days' advance of rations, which caused a man to exclaim, ‘Well, if I am killed today I will be in with the Commissary for once.’ And killed he was. We had not been gone more than half-an-hour when the pickets began to pop at each other and so smartly that I climbed a tree to look into the valley to see how the play went. Scarcely was I mounted when the bugles called us in. The wood and water went to wreck while we double quicked it into line, on with the accoutrements, [and] fell in.1
This skirmishing did not signal the beginning of a battle; indeed neither general at this time expected a full-scale engagement. Wellington had made up his mind to fall back on Ciudad Rodrigo if the French continued to turn his flank. On the previous evening he had learnt that Marmont would soon be reinforced by a brigade of cavalry sent by Caffarelli which had already reached Pollos on the Duero, and this made him decide to break contact and make a clean retreat if no opportunity for turning the tide of the campaign occurred during the course of the day.2 However, it is evident that, even as he came to this coldly reasoned decision, his spirit was inclined to rebel against such a tame – if prudent – withdrawal before an inferior enemy. The prospect of a further retreat and of abandoning Salamanca, the one tangible prize of the campaign, was very unpopular in the army, which remained confident of its ability to defeat the French whenever it was permitted to fight. According to one officer, in a letter written a couple of days later, ‘the Army began to forget for an instant under whose command they were, and not only repine at their retreat, but to despond of a change of fortune.’3 But Wellington's determination and authority both held, and orders were given for the army's baggage and heavy equipment to begin its retreat, escorted by a regiment of Portuguese dragoons.
The allied retreat from the Duero had aroused growing apprehension in Salamanca, as it seemed ever more likely that the city would be abandoned to the French. Those citizens who had taken a prominent part in welcoming Wellington cursed their rash enthusiasm and prepared for a hasty flight. Of course, there were others who would welcome the return of the familiar and, in the town, fairly well-behaved French; but they naturally concealed their feelings as best they could. By 21 July some notables had already left, rumours abounded and the town was filled with stragglers and supernumeraries from the allied army: commissaries, camp-followers and even some officers and men who had left their units in search of food, liquor and other comforts. Many of these refused orders and remonstrances to leave the town until at last a staff officer deliberately spread a story that the French cavalry were at the gates. The result was a panic which naturally spread to the civilian population and, though the report was soon contradicted, nerves nonetheless remained frayed and the atmosphere tense, so that the retreat of the allied baggage on the following morning led to some bitterness from their warmest supporters.4
The irritation of the allies was matched by growing confidence on the part of the French. Marmont's campaign had already proved remarkably successful: another day's manoeuvring and he would regain Salamanca and force Wellington into a humiliating retreat. Already seven of the eight French infantry divisions had forded the Tormes: Marmont had left Sarrut's division on the northern bank overnight to protect his rear. The French had also discovered that the castle at Alba de Tormes was unoccupied, and the 27th Ligne from Clausel's division had been detached on the previous evening to occupy it and so secure the bridge over the river.
At first light on the 22 July patrols from Foy's division – the leading unit in the French army – pushed forward into the small village of Calvarrasa de Arriba. Marmont and Foy soon followed them, bringing up the main part of the division, while the light troops occupied the formidable position beyond. The heights of Calvarrasa de Arriba are a chain of steep bluffs rising perhaps 150 feet from the open valley to their west. The isolated chapel of Nuestra Señora de la Peña is built upon a shelf of flat ground towards their summit, while the Pelagarcia stream (or Rivera de Gaucete) winds northwards around their feet. The Pelagarcia is no more than a creek or small brook lined with reed beds; it is often dry in summer (although the storm of the previous night had left it full on the morning of the battle) and generally poses no obstacle to military movements – unlike the heights which could only be scaled by infantry in loose order.
The battlefield of Salamanca.
It was on these heights that the French voltigeurs encountered the outposts of Wellington's army, held by the Brunswick Oels light infantry of the Seventh Division, and a brisk skirmish developed. Both commanders valued the position and so reinforced their front line with fresh units, Wellington sending forward the 4th Caçadores from Pack's independent Portuguese brigade, and the 68th Foot from the Seventh Division. Meanwhile the skirmishing had spread further north along the banks of the Pelagarcia where the riflemen of the King's German Legion came into action, and even onto the plain near the river where the villages of Pelabravo and Calvarrasa de Abajo were held by outposts of the British cavalry.5
The best description of the skirmishing near Nuestra Señora de la Peña, where it was sharpest, comes from Private John Green of the 68th:
Early on the morning of the 22nd July, we heard the firing of the advanced guard, and in less than ten minutes our regiment, being light infantry, was ordered forward: having reached the front, we saw the French picquets advancing on ours, and both were sharply engaged. In a moment the left wing was ordered to the front: no sooner did our advanced picquets perceive that they were supported by such a number of light troops, than they advanced on the French picquets, and drove them in confusion to the summit of a high hill; but the enemy receiving strong reinforcements, bore down on my brave comrades, who contested every inch with them. At this period a General came to the front, to see how things were going on: in a fit of passion he enquired, ‘Who commands here?’ The answer was ‘General Hope’. He said, ‘Where is he? the whole of the advanced picquets will be taken prisoners.’ General Hope came up at the time, but did not appear at all afraid that the men would be taken: he sent one of his aid-de-camps [sic] with directions for a squadron of light dragoons to support the skirmishers immediately: they came forward, and had only just taken their stand, when one of them, a youth of about twenty-one years of age, was killed. The enemy now retired to the top of the hill, and brought six pieces of cannon to play on us. About this time the watering parties of the 7th division came to the valley for a supply of water: the French guns began to play on these unarmed and defenceless men; but not one of them was hurt, although shot and shell fell thickly amongst them. After this the enemy continued fi
ring on us for some hours. In this skirmish Major Miller and several privates were wounded, and one of the latter had to undergo amputation.
We remained in this position until afternoon, but were not allowed to take off our accoutrements. About three o'clock the 95th rifle corps arriving, took our places, and we immediately marched off to join the division.6
As Green implies, this skirmishing lasted throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, though generally in a desultory fashion, with neither side pressing the other after the first clash. The allies seem to have maintained control of the chapel, but did not push the French far beyond it, and it remained contested ground for most of the day. Casualties appear to have been light: for example, the 68th lost only four killed and sixteen wounded in the whole day, while the two battalions of King's German Legion light infantry lost only twenty-five casualties between them. Unfortunately, it is impossible to distinguish the losses of the Brunswick Oels or the 4th Caçadores from those suffered later in the day, and these regiments probably bore the brunt of the skirmishing. Equally the French casualties are merged with those suffered by Foy's division on the following day at Garcia Hernandez.7
Further north, the skirmishing of the French and allied cavalry was even less bloody, although at one point the appearance of some of Boyer's dragoons caused the allied light horse to fall back hastily, and the position was only restored with the aid of a detachment of Le Marchant's brigade of heavy cavalry.8 This cavalry affray was more a matter of manoeuvres and threats than of charges or hand-to-hand fighting, but the opposing horsemen did exchange carbine fire, and one French shot hit Major-General Victor Alten, commander of the leading brigade of allied cavalry, in the thigh. Command of the brigade devolved onto Lieutenant-Colonel Arentschildt of the 1st King's German Legion Hussars, and Alten was carried into Salamanca as soon as his wound had stopped bleeding. He left his ADC, Captain Lingsingen, with the brigade, under instructions to send him word if it seemed likely that the army would retreat, as he was determined to avoid capture whatever the risk to his life. In the middle of the afternoon Lingsingen sent him a warning, and Alten – defying both his surgeon and the pain – mounted and set off on the road to Ciudad Rodrigo, returning only when the sound of guns made it clear that the allies were gaining the victory. Remarkably he recovered from his wound, suffering no lasting consequences from his rashness.9
While the light infantry were beginning their skirmish, Marmont examined the allied line. Facing him, he could see little more than parts of the Seventh Division and Pack's brigade, which occupied the range of low hills on the opposite side of the valley, rather less than half a mile to the west of Nuestra Señora de la Peña. In the distance he could see that some allied troops (Pakenham's division and D'Urban's Portuguese dragoons) remained in the San Cristobal position on the north bank of the Tormes; while there was movement to the rear near Salamanca – the allied heavy baggage setting out on the road to Ciudad Rodrigo. The rest of the allied army was largely invisible, although it was not far away, breaking camp and shaking itself into formation in the low ground behind Pack and the Seventh Division. In general it occupied a line running roughly north–south, facing east, although some units were further to the rear, and the cavalry by the river were further forward.
Wellington's view was equally restricted – he was with the Seventh Division on the low heights opposite Marmont, and according to Foy the two commanders could see each other clearly. Foy's division and the skirmishers were obvious, and Wellington knew that Sarrut's division had yet to cross the Tormes; but the rest of the French army was concealed by the broken, wooded ground which lay between Foy and the river. According to the account he gives in his memoirs, Marmont's observations led him to believe that the allies were preparing to withdraw to a position at Tejares, three or four miles to their rear, immediately south of Salamanca, ‘and as his movements on Tejares would be difficult if our army was brought forward, I decided to concentrate in front of him in order to take advantage of any opportunities.’ But Foy goes much further than this, saying that Marmont was greatly tempted to make a frontal attack on the Seventh Division and Pack, fearing that they might otherwise escape him, and only gave up the plan ‘after much hesitation, as was customary’. Marmont's account is, of course, self-interested; but if he writes as the accused in the dock, eager to show that the disaster was not his fault, Foy writes more as a witness for the prosecution than as an objective observer: his whole account is pregnant with the impending defeat which he blames squarely on Marmont.10
The ground to the south of Salamanca is generally very open and bare, and is well suited to the movement of all arms. It is gently undulating, scarcely deserving the term ‘rolling’, while the hills, plateaus and ridges that abound in histories of the battle are mostly quite tame, although they still provide a skyline and a reverse slope of considerable significance. Two steep isolated hills, the Greater and Lesser Arapiles, are marked exceptions to this rule, for they stand out boldly on the battlefield, rocky and bare. The Greater Arapile is a short ridge, some three or four hundred yards long, with a flat narrow summit: its ends are very rocky and inaccessible, but the sides, although steep, can be climbed more easily. The Lesser Arapile lies some nine hundred yards north and a little to the west, that is, closer to Salamanca. It is smaller, rounder and slightly lower; more connected with other high ground near it, though it is much higher than these other rises. It was an integral and essential part of Wellington's position, whereas the Greater Arapile could never be more than a detached outpost of the allied line. About a mile to the west of these hills lies the small village of Los Arapiles which was to see some fighting. The land to its north rises in a hill called the Teso de San Miguel which has its highest point a little to the east, so that it fills part of the gap between the village and the Lesser Arapile. South of the village lies a broad tract of higher ground which runs east–west for about two miles and is known as the Monte de Azan – although the name is rather misleading, for it is not a single consistent feature. Directly opposite the village it presents a steep rounded hillside, five or six hundred yards from the houses. Beyond the summit is perhaps a thousand yards of open rolling countryside, before a second, gentler rise, after which the land falls away into open scrubby woodland. Half a mile further west, the first hillside has been elongated into a long, open slope, although the tableland beyond remains much the same – if anything, flatter and more open. Lateral undulations in the ground restrict the view to the east and west. Continuing to the west, the far end of the Monte de Azan, known as the Pico de Miranda, is different again. Here the plateau has contracted to a narrow ridge with steep sides whose flat summit is barely fifty yards across. A low ridge runs off at right angles to the north, while some detached outlying hills continue the line of the Monte de Azan to the west, and the village of Miranda de Azan lies close to the south-west. To the south of the Monte de Azan the land is more broken and partly wooded. The trees are mostly holm-oaks (or ilex), the tattered fringe of an extensive, straggling wood which covered most of the rough country between the battlefield and Alba de Tormes, some eight miles to the south-east. Further south and east, on the edge of the main wood, was a long, low ridge, known as El Sierro, which proved important towards the end of the battle.
Early morning, 22 July 1812 (all troop positions approximate, many conjectural).
Resisting any temptation he may have felt to attack the allied position directly, Marmont gave orders to continue the movement of the previous days to turn the right wing of the allied army by extending his own left. He chose not to make a wide turning movement, which would risk allowing the allies to slip away before he could bring his forces to bear upon them; and instead decided to move across the face of the allied army with only a couple of miles separating the two forces. In practice this meant bringing Sarrut's division across the Tormes, while the other divisions moved south and west in a semicircle girdling Wellington's position. Foy had a good position from which to cover the
early stages of this march, and Marmont brought Ferey's division of infantry and Boyer's dragoons up to support him. He did not expect Wellington to take the offensive suddenly, but manoeuvring so close to the enemy was dangerous and Marmont was taking sensible precautions. The remaining divisions advanced around the edge of the woods in two columns, that nearest the allies being led by Bonnet's 8th Division.
Bonnet's immediate object was to seize the Greater Arapile, which could act as a strong point around which the whole French army could pivot, like a door on its hinge. The possession of the Greater Arapile would protect the flank of the French march as it swung from mainly south to mainly west, while if the allies seized it, Marmont's army would have to swing out in a much wider arc, probably with El Sierro guarding its flank. Not only would the men have to march further, but they would have to move through the forest rather than skirt its edges, and so be further delayed.11
The Lesser Arapile formed the natural southern termination of the line of low heights occupied by Wellington's army on the morning of the 22nd. As the highest point in the chain, it dominated these hills, and if the French seized it the whole allied position would become untenable. A detachment of Cole's Fourth Division had therefore occupied it at first light. The Greater Arapile was separate from this range and in the early morning light looked more distant than it really was, so that at first neither Cole nor Wellington, who joined him as it was growing light, recognized its importance. According to Napier, it was not until Colonel Waters noticed French troops stealing towards the hill, that Wellington reacted by sending the 7th Caçadores from Cole's division to secure it, but they arrived too late.12 Charles Cathcart, writing privately to Sir Thomas Graham only a few days after the battle, gives an unexpurgated account of what happened: