The mingled mass of fugitives fled to the woods and to the river for safety, and under cover of the night succeeded in gaining the pass of Alba over the Tormes. It was now ten o’clock at night: the battle was ended. At this point it had been confined to a small space, and the ground, trampled and stained deep, gave ample evidence of the havoc that had taken place. Lord Wellington, overcome as he was with fatigue, placed himself at the head of the 1st and Light Divisions and a brigade of cavalry, and following closely the retreating footsteps of the enemy, with those troops who had not fired a shot during the conflict, left the remnant of his victorious army to sleep upon the field of battle they had so hardly won.[[35]]
[35]. The reader will note a considerable number of echoes from Napier in this interesting and well-written chapter. But the narrative differs in many points from that of Napier, especially as to the sequence of events in that part of the field where the 88th served—notably as to the moment at which Le Marchant’s dragoons charged. Grattan, being an eye-witness, is probably nearer the truth than Napier, who was on the other wing in the ranks of the Light Division. On the other hand, he makes some slips, especially in stating that Pakenham’s second assault was made upon Thomières' division instead of Maucune’s.
CHAPTER XXI
Importance of the battle of Salamanca—Anecdotes of the 88th—Gallantry of Captain Robert Nickle—Pursuit of the defeated army of Marshal Marmont—French infantry in square broken and destroyed by cavalry—March on Madrid—Frolics at St. Ildefonso—Sudden attack of the French Lancers—Disgraceful conduct of the Portuguese Dragoons.
No battle since that of Marengo, in 1800, which opened the gates of Vienna to the first Consul of France, had been fought whose consequences ought to be more duly appreciated than the battle of Salamanca.
Had that battle been lost, the disasters of the French army before Moscow would have been of little account in the scale of the south, and the imperial eagles would have soared with the same splendour, from Madrid to Cadiz, or perhaps to Lisbon, as if no event of importance had occurred beyond the Vistula. Portugal would have been then open to invasion—the siege of Cadiz continued—the lines of Lisbon once more invested—and what then?—why, the probable withdrawal of the British army from the Peninsula. Portugal would be thus conquered—Spain laid prostrate—England in utter dismay—and one hundred and fifty thousand veteran French troops marched across the Pyrenees to take a part in the combats of Lutzen and Leipsic. These would have been the results of a defeat at Salamanca; and who is the man bold enough to say what the results in the north of Europe would have been, had such an augmentation of force—which would have been certain—joined Napoleon in the end of 1812, or even in the spring of 1813? As it was, he gained the battle of Lutzen with a “green army.” Had he been backed by one hundred and fifty thousand veteran troops from Spain, it requires no conjuror to tell what the upshot would have been. These are the consequences which would have followed a defeat at Salamanca. The gaining that battle placed matters on a different footing. Portugal had nothing to dread—Soult was forced to raise the siege of Cadiz—Madrid was evacuated, and Castille and Andalusia were freed from the presence of a French force; but, above all, no reinforcement of any account durst leave Spain to succour the French army in the north of Europe; and the European struggle was brought to a favourable result, and England saved from invasion—perhaps ultimate conquest! But those services of the Peninsular army are forgotten, and unrewarded.
At ten o’clock at night, Lord Wellington at the head of twelve thousand infantry, and two thousand horsemen, was in pursuit of the routed and discomfited army of Marmont, while the bulk of his own soldiers lay on the field of battle. The results of that battle were—prisoners, one hundred and thirty officers, seven thousand five hundred men, two eagles, and fourteen guns. The field of battle was heaped with the slain, and the total loss of the enemy may be estimated at seventeen thousand: it has been reckoned by some writers as exceeding twenty thousand; but I apprehend I am nearer the mark, and that seventeen thousand was the outside. The dead and wounded on the side of the British and Portuguese (for the Spanish army, commanded by Don Carlos de España, lost four men!) were nearly five thousand; but the greater number of the Portuguese either fell in their feeble attempt against the Arapilles height, or by the shot that passed over the first line, composed of British, which fell at random amongst the Portuguese placed in the rear.
The troops that had gained the victory lay buried in sleep until two o’clock of the morning following, when the arrival of the mules carrying rum aroused them from their slumber, but the parties sent out in search of water had not yet reached the field. The soldiers, with parching lips, their tongues cleaving to their mouths from thirst, their limbs benumbed with cold, and their bodies enfeebled by a long abstinence from food, and the exertion of the former day, ran to the casks, and each man drank a fearful quantity. This for a short time satisfied them, but a burning thirst followed this rash proceeding, and before any water arrived, we were more in need of it than at the close of the battle.