On the morning of 22 July 1812, Marechal Auguste Frederic Louis Viesse de Marmont, duc de Raguse [2] was feeling pretty pleased with himself. For over a month he had out manoeuvred Wellington, who was considered to be the best British general since Marlborough [3].

The battlefield of Salamanca consists of two long parallel ranges of high ground; each punctuated by a hill. The hill on the north was called the Lesser Arapile and its counterpart on the south, being some 100 feet higher, the Greater Arapile. Of Marmont's eight infantry divisions, he intended to pin Wellington with two, keep one in reserve and use the other five to march around the Allied army and attack it in the flank and rear (see map A).

Should this have come off, Marmont would have executed a perfect example of his master's "manoeuvre sur les derrieres" and no doubt cleared the Allies from Spain. By midday the plan was well into execution but Wellington had noticed the movements and started taking countermeasures of his own (see map B).

These led to a race along the inner and outer arcs of the hills.

The French out marched the Allies gaining the Greater Arapile whilst the Allies held the Lesser Arapile, but in so doing Marmont became strung out and invited defeat in detail. His invitation was graciously accepted (see maps C & D).

Seeing that a gap of a mile had opened up between Marmont's three leading divisions, Wellington, who was having a light lunch at the time suddenly threw the remains of a half-eaten chicken leg over his shoulder and exclaimed, "By God! That will do!" He turned to his Spanish liaison officer and remarked, "Mon cher Alava, Marmont est perdu."

With that, he galloped over to Edward Pakenham [4], the leader of the Allied Third Division and said calmly, "Ned, do you see those fellows over there? Throw your division into column and drive them to the devil." Thomieres' division was the first to feel the thunderbolt.

One moment it had been marching happily along expecting to come into the rear of the Allies, when suddenly the entire Third Division appeared from the folds in the ground in line of battle less than five hundred yards from its right flank. The shock to the French troops was so great that, although they had heard that in every corporal's knapsack there was a Marshal's baton, at this particular moment they would have settled for a change of underwear.

This was the beginning of a bad afternoon for Marmont. First, he saw his plans crumble before his eyes. Then, while running to his horse in an attempt to retrieve the situation he was severely wounded by shrapnel from a deliberately aimed round: an occurrence that was extremely rare in those days. His succesor, Bonnet, was equally unfortunate. He assurned the reigns of command only to be hit by a musket ball within minutes of his promotion. The task of leading the French now fell to Clausel.

While the French command was in tatters, the divisions of Maucune and Brennier were in turn routed by the assaults of Bradford and Leith with no little help from the British cavalry lead by Le Marchant's brigade. This cavalry charge was a prominent feature of the battle, and although it cost Le Marchant his life, contributed immensely to the outcome.

Wellington now assaulted the Greater Arapile. Clausel however proved himself equal to the occasion and not only repulsed the attack, but drove the Allies back almost to the foot of the Lesser Arapile with a counter attack of his own and seriously threatened their centre.

This stroke eventually petered out against the fresh troops of Clinton's Sixth Division which up until now had been held in reserve been committed by Wellington at just the right moment. By this time, five of the original eight French divisions had been accounted for and the remainder of their army fled the field covered by a masterly rearguard action under first Ferrey and then Foy. Total Allied casualties were 5,214 whereas those of the French, although impossible to determine accurately, were in the region of 14,000. In their haste to depart, they also left behind some 20 cannon.

Writing in his journal six days later, Foy was to compare Wellington's attack to Frederick The Great's famous assault in the oblique order at Leuthen .[5] A less exalted French officer put it more succinctly when he remarked that "Wellington had accounted for forty thousand Frenchmen in forty minutes."

Footnotes