In two or three days more, Marmont would have been joined by two other French corps, augmenting his force by nearly 20,000 men. But then he apprehended the arrival of either King Joseph, or Jourdan, the senior Marshal then in Spain, either of whom would have superseded him in the command. His object, therefore, was either to force the English to retreat from Salamanca, or else to fight a battle, and if possible gain a victory, before either of his superiors in command could arrive.
On the 22nd of July, some change of position on the part of the English army gave Marmont the impression that Wellington was about to retire towards Ciudad Rodrigo. Eager not to let the English thus escape him, the French General ordered Maucune’s division, which formed his left, to march forward so as to fall upon the flank of the British in their expected retreat. They did so; but in so advancing a chasm intervened between them and the division of Bonnet, which formed part of the French centre. Word was brought to Wellington of this movement. “Starting up, he repaired to the high ground, and observed their movements for some time with stern contentment. Their left wing was entirely separated from the centre. The fault was flagrant, and he fixed it with the stroke of a thunderbolt.” Turning to the Spanish General Alava who stood by his side, he exclaimed, “Mon cher Alava, Marmont est perdu!”
A few orders issued suddenly from his lips like the incantations of a wizard, and suddenly the dark mass of troops seemed animated by some mighty spirit. Rushing down the slope of the mountain, they entered the great basin. And now, after long coiling and winding like angry serpents, the armies suddenly fastened together in deadly strife.
Marmont saw the country beneath him suddenly covered with enemies when he was in the act of making a complicated evolution; and when by the rash advance of his left, his troops were separated into three parts, each at too great a distance to assist the other. In this crisis, despatching officer after officer, some to hasten up his troops from the forest, some to stop the march of his left wing, he still looked for victory, till he saw Pakenham with his division penetrate between his left and his centre; then hope died within him, and he was hurrying in person to the fatal spot, when an exploding shell stretched him on the field, with two deep wounds in his side.”
This naturally augmented the confusion of the French; but they still fought manfully. It was just five o’clock when Pakenham fell on Maucune, who, little thinking of such an onset, expected to see, from the summit of a hill he had just gained, the Allies in full retreat. Still, his gunners stood to their guns, and his cavalry charged; but both were killed or repulsed; the infantry endeavoured to form a front, but in the midst of its evolution it was charged and broken. The British cavalry fell upon the rear, while Leith, with the fifth division, bore down on the right flank. For awhile, the French veterans maintained some kind of order, but at last the cavalry broke them; Thomiere, one of their Generals, was killed, 2000 of the French threw down their arms, and the whole division was utterly routed.
The next portion of the French line, Clausel’s division, while warmly engaged with the English under Cole and Leith, had to sustain a charge from 1200 British dragoons. The whole French division was broken in an instant. Five guns and 2000 prisoners were taken in a few minutes. The entire of the left wing of the French army was now only a helpless mob of fugitives. In the centre the struggle was a more arduous one. The French still held a strong position on a hill—the Arapiles. Two attacks by the Portuguese and English were repelled. Beresford, Cole and Leith, were all wounded, and the English centre for a moment was shaken and in danger. But Wellington, whose eye was always where the peril was greatest, immediately ordered up Clinton’s division from the rear, and restored the battle. The ridge of the Arapiles was regained, “And now the current once more set in for the British. Pakenham continued to outflank the French left; Foy retired from the ridge of Calveriza, and the Allied host, righting itself like a gallant ship after a sudden gust, again bore right onwards, holding its course through blood and gloom.”
There remained only the division of Foy, which formed the extreme right of the French line, and still maintained a gallant fight. It seemed difficult for this General to extricate his division, but he did it with great dexterity. Just as the darkness fell, he increased his skirmishers, and brought forward some cavalry, as if for a charge. But when the English had prepared themselves for a real encounter, the skirmishers fell back, and the English pursued; but when they reached the top of the hill, the main body of the French had escaped into a forest hard by, where darkness gave them safety.
Another failure on the part of a Spaniard, here, again, favoured the French. The castle of Alba, on the Tormes, was garrisoned by a Spanish force, under Carlos d’Espana. This, if maintained, would have stopped the French in their flight by the main road, and have forced them to take the fords. But d’Espana, without informing Wellington, had withdrawn the garrison, and left the road open! “Had the castle of Alba been held,” says Napier, “the French could never have carried off a third of their army.” But by this piece of Spanish folly or cowardice, they were permitted to escape.
As it was, their loss was enormous. They went into action with 43,800 infantry and 4000 cavalry. Three weeks after, their General, Clausel, who succeeded Marmont in the command, wrote to the Minister of War at Paris, “The army consists of 20,000 infantry, and 1800 horse.” So that, by death or wounds or capture, it had lost more than half of its numbers. On the part of the Allies, the loss was 3176 British, 2018 Portuguese, and eight Spanish. One General was killed, and five were among the wounded. Wellington himself was struck in the thigh by a spent ball, which passed through his holster. This was one of the last incidents of this great battle; in which the English leader, to use a French officer’s expression, “defeated 40,000 men in forty minutes.” “Late in the evening of that great day,” says Sir William Napier, “I saw him behind my regiment, then marching towards the ford. He was alone; the flush of victory was on his brow, his eyes were eager and watchful, but his voice was calm and even gentle. More than the rival of Marlborough,—for he had defeated greater Generals than Marlborough ever encountered, he seemed with prescient pride to accept this victory only as an earnest of future glory.”