The night passed without alarm—all remained quiet until the following day—when, at two o’clock, Marmont again marched by his left on Tanazora, endeavouring to turn the right of the allies. A counter movement was made by Lord Wellington, both armies marching in nearly parallel lines,—while an occasional cannonade, and an extensive conflagration of corn ready for the sickle, told, at an immense distance, that the game of war was going on.
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 again 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. The day passed in manœuvring, and that night the French held Babila, Fuente, and Villamesa; the allies, Cabesa and Aldea Lingua.
The 21st 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. It was now dusk—big drops began to fall, some of the brigades had already reached the ground marked out for their night positions, the guns were parked, and the horses of the cavalry picketed. Others were, however, only moving to their bivouacs; and Pakenham’s, the third division, being separated from the remainder of the army by the Tormes, had guarded against sudden attack by intrenching the commanding height it rested on. 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. Many of the animals were recovered by the exertions of the dragoons, but numbers of the men were injured in the attempt, and thirty horses, having got within Marmont’s lines, were secured by the French. The allied position had its right upon one of two hills called the Arapiles; its left below the ford of Santa Martha; while its cavalry held Calvarasa de Abaxo. Marmont occupied Calvarasa de Arriba and a contiguous hill, called Neustra Senora de la Pena.
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, shewed 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 depôts 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.”
BATTLE OF SALAMANCA.
Preliminary dispositions.—Marmont manœuvres 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.