A less fortunate attempt by Ballasteros, was made on the French works on the line of the Guadalete. A division of the army of Andalusia, of four thousand five hundred men, under General Corvoux, having occupied Bornos, the Spanish general assembled a force of six thousand at Majada de Ruiz over night, and crossed the Guadalete unnoticed. But, notwithstanding a surprise, the French easily repulsed the attack; and Ballasteros was driven across the river in confusion, and with the loss of a fourth of his entire force.
Nothing can prove the miserable inefficiency of the Spanish troops more strongly, than the result of this wretched attempt on Bornos. Every circumstance favoured it: in force they were stronger by a fourth; and yet an enemy inferior in number, and taken by surprise, not only routed their assailants, but would have literally destroyed them, had not the friendly waters of the Guadalete covered their ignominious flight.
ADVANCE FROM THE AGUEDA, TO THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA.
Lord Wellington crosses the frontier.—Advances on Salamanca.—The convents besieged.—Marmont attempts their relief.—Operations of the French army.—Assault on Cayetano fails.—San Vicente set on fire.—Cayetano breached.—Both carried by the allies.—Marmont retires.—Is reinforced and advances.—Wellington falls back.—Operations on both sides.—A tempestuous night.—Observations.
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,[181] 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.
The Duke of Ragusa, aware of the advance of the allies, collected all his disposable force, and occupied the heights south of the river; but during the night he evacuated the city—leaving the forts he had constructed, amply stored with provisions and ammunition, and garrisoned by eight hundred men.