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[Illustration: (front cover)]




    THE STORY OF
    WELLINGTON




_Uniform with this Volume_


THE STORY OF NAPOLEON

    By HAROLD F. B. WHEELER,
        F.R.Hist.S. With 16 full-page Illustrations.

    THE STORY OF NELSON
        By HAROLD F. B. WHEELER, F.R.Hist.S. With 16 full-page
        Illustrations.

    FAMOUS VOYAGES OF THE GREAT DISCOVERERS
        By ERIC WOOD. With 16 full-page Illustrations.

    THE STORY OF THE CRUSADES
        By E. M. WILMOT-BUXTON, F.R.Hist.S. With 16 full-page
        Illustrations by M. MEREDITH WILLIAMS.

    STORIES OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER
        By Mr and Mrs WILLIAM PLATT. With 16 full-page Illustrations
        by M. MEREDITH WILLIAMS.


[Illustration: The Duke writing his Waterloo Despatch

    _Fr._       Lady Burghersh
]




                              THE STORY OF
                               WELLINGTON

                                  _BY_
                    HAROLD F. B. WHEELER F.R.Hist.S.

                  MEMBER OF THE HISTORICAL ASSOCIATION
                            JOINT-AUTHOR OF
              ‘NAPOLEON AND THE INVASION OF ENGLAND’ ETC.
                               AUTHOR OF
            ‘THE MAXIMS OF NAPOLEON’ ‘THE MIND OF NAPOLEON’
           ‘THE STORY OF NAPOLEON’ AND ‘THE STORY OF NELSON’


                  ‘_For this is England’s greatest son,
                He that gain’d a hundred fights,
                  Nor ever lost an English gun_’

                                                  TENNYSON


                                 LONDON
                       GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
                   3 PORTSMOUTH STREET KINGSWAY W.C.
                                 MCMXII




    _Illustrations by Ballantyne & Co., Ltd., London_
    _Printed by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_




                              DEDICATED TO
                        C. ALFRED HAMILTON, ESQ
                          MY LIFE-LONG FRIEND

                    “_Vera amicitia sempiterna est_”




Foreword


In this, the last of a trio of volumes dealing with three great
contemporary men of action, I have attempted to tell the story, in its
main lines, of the crowded life of Wellington. The narrative provides
as substantial a view of Wellington as is possible within the limits of
my space, but I hope that readers of my book will be so interested that
they will go on to the perusal of its companions, for the careers of
Napoleon, Nelson, and Wellington should be studied together. They are
the three sides of a triangle of which Napoleon is the base.

The Duke’s career, when compared to the others, is “a plain,
unvarnished tale,” not altogether devoid of romance, certainly not of
adventure, but lacking in many of the qualities which have endeared
less notable men. It would be obviously untrue to state that Wellington
lacked humanity, but he was certainly deficient in that attractive
personal magnetism so evident in Nelson. Speaking broadly, he did not
repose that confidence in his subordinates which was one of the great
sea-captain’s most marked characteristics, and he often said hard
things of the men under him. Nelson is “the darling Hero of England”;
Wellington will always be known as the Iron Duke. If it ever became
the fashion to canonize military and naval men, Nelson’s nimbus would
be of rosemary, Wellington’s of steel. The mob never broke the windows
of Merton Place, but it shattered every exposed pane in Apsley House.
The incident arose from his conscientious opposition to reform, and
occurred in 1831, sixteen years after the battle of Waterloo. A little
over a decade later, an immense mob cheered him as he proceeded up
Constitution Hill. His acknowledgment was to point to the iron shutters
of his house when he reached Hyde Park Corner. They had been put up
after the bombardment by brickbats, and were never taken down during
his lifetime.

In a way, Wellington is the typical John Bull of our fancy. He gloried
in an open-air life, he enjoyed sport, he was a man wedded to duty,
stern and uncompromising once his mind was made up. We love to imagine
that the average Briton displays the same characteristics, although
we know at heart that he does not do so, and that the secret of our
material success as a nation is our extraordinary power of absorption,
of “setting our sail to every passing breeze,” of compromising provided
we get the best of the bargain.

This is how the Duke appeared to a foreigner, the Duchesse de Dino,
Talleyrand’s niece: “He has a very exact memory, and never quotes
incorrectly. He forgets nothing, and exaggerates nothing, and if his
conversation is a little dry and military, it attracts by its fairness
and perfect propriety. His tone is excellent, and no woman has ever
to be on her guard against the turn that the conversation may take.”
In later years Wellington’s memory failed somewhat. He was invariably
precise, always a soldier, and never given to what is generally known
as small talk. In a word, he commanded.

A more intimate and less familiar view of Wellington is afforded us in
the diary of Benjamin Robert Haydon, who painted the Duke’s portrait
at Walmer Castle in the autumn of 1839. During breakfast, he tells us,
“six dear, healthy, noisy children were brought to the windows. ‘Let
them in,’ said the Duke, and in they came, and rushed over to him,
saying, ‘How d’ye do, Duke? How d’ye do, Duke?’ One boy, young Grey,
roared, ‘I want some tea, Duke!’ ‘You shall have it if you promise not
to slop it over me, as you did yesterday.’ Toast and tea were then in
demand. Three got on one side, and three on the other, and he hugged
’em all. Tea was poured out, and I saw little Grey try to slop it over
the Duke’s frock coat. Sir Astley [Cooper] said, ‘You did not expect to
see this.’

“They all then rushed out on the leads, by the cannon, and after
breakfast I saw the Duke romping with the whole of them, and one of
them gave his Grace a tremendous thump. I went round to my bedroom. The
children came to the window, and a dear little black-eyed girl began
romping. I put my head out and said, ‘I’ll catch you.’ Just as I did
this the Duke, who did not see me, put his head out at the door close
to my room, No. 10, which leads to the leads, and said, ‘I’ll catch ye!
Ha, ha, I’ve got ye!’ at which they all ran away. He looked at them and
laughed and went in.”

That is a very human picture of the grim warrior when the sword had
been put aside for ever and the smoke of battle was cleared. “I hit
his grand, upright, manly expression,” Haydon adds. “He looked like an
eagle of the gods who had put on human shape, and had got silvery with
age and service.... His colour was fresh. All the portraits are too
pale.... ’Twas a noble head. I saw nothing of that peculiar expression
of mouth the sculptors give him, bordering on simpering. His colour was
beautiful and fleshy, his lips compressed and energetic.”

From this passive scene in the evening of his days let us turn to the
more stirring days of the storming of Badajoz for our final portrait
of the Duke, for it is in the field that we like to remember him.
The glimpse is afforded us by Robert Blakeney, one of the boy heroes
of the Peninsular War. “I galloped off,” he writes, “to where Lord
Wellington had taken his station: this was easily discerned by means of
two fireballs shot out from the fortress at the commencement of the
attack, which continued to burn brilliantly along the water-cut which
divided the 3rd from the other divisions. Near the end of this channel,
behind a rising mound, were Lord Wellington and his personal staff,
screened from the enemy’s direct fire, but within range of shells. One
of his staff sat down by his side with a candle to enable the general
to read and write all his communications and orders relative to the
passing events. I stood not far from his lordship. But due respect
prevented any of us bystanders from approaching so near as to enable
us to ascertain the import of the reports which he was continually
receiving; yet it was very evident that the information which they
conveyed was far from flattering; and the recall on the bugles was
again and again repeated. But about half-past eleven o’clock an officer
rode up at full speed on a horse covered with foam, and announced the
joyful tidings that General Picton had made a lodgment within the
castle by escalade, and had withdrawn the troops from the trenches to
enable him to maintain his dearly purchased hold. Lord Wellington was
evidently delighted, but exclaimed, ‘What! abandon the trenches?’ and
ordered two regiments of the 5th Division instantly to replace those
withdrawn. I waited to hear no more, but, admiring the prompt genius
which immediately provided for every contingency, I mounted my horse.”

I shall not attempt to enumerate the lengthy list of authorities I
have consulted in writing this volume, but special mention must be
made of Professor Oman’s monumental “History of the Peninsular War,”
which corrects Napier in many important points. Four volumes have now
been published, and I am under obligation to the eminent scholar whose
name appears on the title-pages for his kindness in allowing me to
use without reserve the labour of many years. The “Cambridge Modern
History” (vol. ix.), Rose’s “Napoleon,” Croker’s “Correspondence and
Diaries,” Siborne’s “Waterloo Letters,” the “Lives” of Wellington by
Sir Herbert Maxwell, W. H. Maxwell, Gleig, Hooper, Yonge, and many
others have been laid under contribution, as well as contemporary works
by soldiers who fought with the Iron Duke. As I have endeavoured to let
Wellington speak for himself whenever possible, Gurwood’s “Dispatches”
have been frequently consulted, and for sidelights I have had access
to a large number of volumes of correspondence, autobiography, and
biography in which he plays a part, however insignificant.

Finally, I must express the hope that my readers, as they progress over
the field which I have endeavoured to open up to them, will share the
love of the strong, silent Man of Duty which has grown upon me as I
have become more intimate with the story of his life.

    _The path of duty was the way to glory.
            His work is done.
    But while the races of mankind endure,
    Let his great example stand
    Colossal, seen of every land._

            HAROLD F. B. WHEELER

  NORTHWOOD, MIDDLESEX.




Contents


    CHAP.                                                      PAGE

      I. THE FOOL OF THE FAMILY (1769-93)                        17

     II. WELLINGTON’S BAPTISM OF FIRE (1794-97)                  28

    III. THE CAMPAIGN OF SERINGAPATAM (1797-1800)                35

     IV. WAR WITH THE MARHATTÁS (1801-3)                         47

      V. LAST YEARS IN INDIA (1803-5)                            58

     VI. SERVICE IN ENGLAND, IRELAND, AND DENMARK (1805-7)       68

    VII. THE FIRST BATTLES OF THE PENINSULAR WAR (1808)          76

   VIII. VICTORY ABROAD AND DISPLEASURE AT HOME (1808-9)         90

     IX. SIR ARTHUR’S RETURN TO PORTUGAL (1809)                  99

      X. TALAVERA (1809)                                        110

     XI. WELLESLEY’S DEFENCE OF PORTUGAL (1809-10)              119

    XII. THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS (1810)                      128

   XIII. MASSÉNA BEATS A RETREAT (1810-11)                      137

    XIV. THE SIEGE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO (1811-12)                  154

     XV. BADAJOZ AND SALAMANCA (1812)                           165

    XVI. THE CLOSING BATTLES OF THE PENINSULAR WAR (1812-14)    181

   XVII. THE PRELUDE TO THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN (1814-15)         200

  XVIII. LIGNY AND QUATRE BRAS (1815)                           210

    XIX. WATERLOO (1815)                                        218

     XX. WELLINGTON THE STATESMAN (1815-52)                     236

         INDEX                                                  253

         MAPS--

           (1) WELLINGTON’S CAMPAIGNS IN INDIA                   37

           (2) WELLINGTON’S PENINSULAR CAMPAIGNS                 77

           (3) THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO                           219




Illustrations


                                                                  PAGE

  THE DUKE WRITING HIS WATERLOO DISPATCH
                                (_Lady Burghersh_)      _Frontispiece_

  ARTHUR AND THE MARQUIS DE PIGNEROL         (_George W. Joy_)      20

  “THE FULL FORCE OF THE BLAST”             (_Thomas Maybank_)      32

  “HE WAS HURLED DOWN BY THE DEFENDERS”     (_Thomas Maybank_)      54

  SIR HARRY SMITH AND THE SPANISH PATRIOT
                                            (_Thomas Maybank_)      82

  THE GALLANT PIPER AT VIMIERO              (_Thomas Maybank_)      92

  “YOU ARE TOO YOUNG, SIR, TO BE KILLED!”
                                            (_Thomas Maybank_)     128

  THE RETREAT FROM COIMBRA                  (_Thomas Maybank_)     138

  WELLINGTON AT BADAJOZ CONGRATULATING COLONEL WATSON
                                        (_R. Caton Woodville_)     168

  THE END OF BREAKFAST                      (_Thomas Maybank_)     172

  CHARGE OF PAKENHAM’S THIRD DIVISION AT SALAMANCA
                                        (_R. Caton Woodville_)     178

  FLIGHT OF THE FRENCH THROUGH VITTORIA (_Robert Hillingford_)     190

  THE FRENCH RETREAT OVER THE PYRENEES
                                        (_R. Caton Woodville_)     198

  FARM OF MONT ST JEAN    }
                          }
  CHÂTEAU OF HOUGOUMONT   }
                          } (_Photographs by C. A. Hamilton_,}
  LA BELLE ALLIANCE INN   }     _Hornsey_)                   }     222
                          }
  FARM OF LA HAYE SAINTE  }

  THE DESPERATE STAND OF THE GUARDS AT HOUGOUMONT
                                        (_R. Caton Woodville_)     226

  Charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo
                                        (_R. Caton Woodville_)     234




The Story of Wellington




CHAPTER I

The Fool of the Family

(1769-93)

  “_I don’t know what I shall do with my awkward son Arthur._”

            LADY MORNINGTON.


Gathering clouds, dark and ominous, obscured the political horizon in
the year 1769. The habitués of London coffee-houses discussed one of
three things--“The Letters of Junius,” the most remarkable series of
political exposures ever penned; the election of the notorious John
Wilkes for Middlesex; and the rebellious conduct of the North American
colonists. On the other side of the Channel the Duc de Choiseul was
skilfully planning ways and means of fanning into a fierce outburst
the flames of discontent now flickering in the West. To heap coals of
fire on the country which, during the Seven Years’ War (1756-63), had
enforced her claims to Canada and India, would be a triumph worthy
of the statesman who had banished the Jesuits from the hereditary
possessions of Louis XV.

Had the people who lived in those stirring times been gifted with the
power of penetrating the future, their eyes would have turned in the
eventful year of 1769 from the larger stages to the comparatively
insignificant islands of Corsica and Ireland, for the former was the
birthplace of Napoleon and the latter of Wellington, and both were born
in 1769.

There are other remarkable coincidences connected with the childhood
of Napoleon and Wellington. Their respective fathers were easy-going,
unpractical men, their mothers were women of marked force of character,
left widows early in life with large families. In addition, the hero of
Austerlitz was the fourth child of Letizia Bonaparte, his conqueror at
Waterloo the fourth son of the Countess of Mornington.

A certain amount of obscurity is associated with their juvenile days.
Although the date of the entrance into the world of “the little
Corporal” is now fairly well established, it was long before historians
ceased to discuss it. There is still much uncertainty as to that of
Wellington. The Duke was always vague on the point, and celebrated
his birthday on the 1st May, which is the day following that on which
he was baptized at St Peter’s, Dublin, presuming the parish register
to be correct.[1] Lady Mornington announced that Arthur was a Mayday
boy, but her nurse as stoutly maintained that the event took place on
the 6th March. Dangan Castle, West Meath, and Mornington House, Marion
Street, Dublin, contest the honour of being his birthplace. The witness
for the country home is the afore-mentioned nurse; a prescription of
the physician who attended Lady Mornington about the period was sent
to a chemist in Ireland’s capital, and attests the claim of the town
mansion. The matter is not of prime importance, but serves to show the
somewhat casual habits of a less practical generation than our own.
The real family name of the Westleys, Wesleys, or Wellesleys--the
different forms were all used--was Colley or Cowley, but the Duke’s
grandfather inherited the estates of his kinsman, Garret Wesley, on
condition that he assumed that surname. He became Baron Mornington in
1747. It was the son of this fortunate individual, also a Garret, who
was created the first Earl of Mornington in the year previous to his
marriage to the eldest daughter of Viscount Dungannon. They became the
parents of the future Duke of Wellington as well as of several other
children.

Of Arthur Wellesley’s scholastic career little can be ascertained
with certainty. We know that he spent a little while at a preparatory
school in Chelsea, then a very different place from what it is now, and
that he and his eldest brother, Lord Wellesley, who had succeeded his
father on his sire’s death in 1781, were at the same house at Eton.
Unfortunately the two rooms which they occupied are now demolished.
While it would be incorrect to call Arthur a dull boy, he certainly
displayed little interest in learning. Indeed, his mother was so
cynical regarding his ability, or want of it, that she called him “the
fool of the family.”

The dictum that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton may have
been true so far as other officers were concerned, but the younger
Wellesley showed not the slightest interest in games. He preferred the
fiddle to cricket, for he inherited his father’s passion for music.
“I was a player on the violin once myself, sir,” he mentioned to an
acquaintance in after years, “but I soon found that fiddling and
soldiering didn’t agree--so I gave it up, sir! I gave it up!” He was a
great admirer of Handel’s compositions.

One precious anecdote regarding his life at the famous public school
has been spared to posterity, and appropriately enough it is a record
of his first serious fight--not with a sword, but with fisticuffs.
Robert Smith, brother of Sydney Smith, the witty divine and essayist,
happened to be bathing in the river when Wellesley was passing.
Prompted by some evil or jocular spirit the latter picked up a handful
of small stones and began to pelt his fellow student. Smith yelled
that he would thrash him if he did not stop. Wellesley defiantly dared
him to do so. The enraged “Bobus” promptly waded out and accepted the
challenge, which he regretted before many rounds had been fought.

Although Wellesley was by no means of a pugnacious disposition, a
second fight, in which he was not victorious, took place during a
holiday spent at the Welsh home of his maternal grandfather, Lord
Dungannon. His opponent was a young blacksmith, named Hughes, who lived
to hear of the mighty exploits of the Iron Duke. He was never tired of
telling how he once conquered the vanquisher of Napoleon. It was his
one title to fame.

[Illustration: Arthur and the Marquis de Pignerol

George W. Joy]

After leaving Eton, Wellesley was taken to Brussels in 1784 by his
mother, who found the many attractions of London society a heavy tax
on a slender purse, for she had removed to the Metropolis on the
death of her husband. As her son seemed to take little or no interest
in anything but the army, and as that service was then considered a
desirable alternative to the Church for the fool of the family, Lady
Mornington accepted the offer of some friends to provide for his
military education. Whatever ability her fourth son displayed seems to
have been less obvious to her than to others, as frequently happens.
“They are all,” she writes with reference to her family, “I think,
endowed with excellent abilities except Arthur, and he would probably
not be wanting, if only there was more energy in his nature; but he is
so wanting in this respect, that I really do not know what to do with
him.” However, the youth whom she described as being “food for powder
and nothing more” was packed across the frontier to Angers. She herself
returned to London in 1785, Wellesley proceeding to the quaint
old town associated with King John of England. Here he had his first
encounter with the French, and there is a celebrated picture showing
him in conversation with the Marquis of Pignerol.

Pignerol, who presided over an Academy, not exclusively devoted to the
training of would-be soldiers as some writers have assumed, was an
engineer officer, and did his best to initiate the Irish lad into some
of the mysteries of the science of war. As his pupil only remained at
Angers for about twelve months, he cannot have learned more than the
rudiments, but he assimilated French with comparative ease. Unlike
Napoleon, who was never happier than when he was poring over military
books at Brienne, Wellesley enjoyed much good society. He made the
acquaintance of the Duc de Brissac, who seems to have been a delightful
foster-father of the scholars, for he frequently entertained them at
his château. The Duc de Praslin, the Abbé Siéyès, later one of the
French Consuls, D’Archambault, Talleyrand’s brother, Jaucourt, who
afterwards became Secretary for Foreign Affairs under Louis XVIII,
were all on his visiting list. It is quite probable that among his
schoolmates was Chateaubriand, destined to fill an honoured place in
the world of letters, but of this, said the Duke, he was not absolutely
certain.

The British army was not then the skilfully organised fighting-machine
it has since become. Entrance into its ranks as an officer was not
difficult, provided one had financial support and influence. This
explains the rapid promotion of Wellesley. At the age of seventeen he
began his military career as an ensign in a Foot regiment, his gazette
being dated the 7th March 1787. Nine months later he was promoted
lieutenant into the 76th. By successive steps he rose to be captain
(1791), major (1793), lieutenant-colonel (1793), and colonel (1796). A
colonel at twenty-seven is beyond the dreams of mortal men to-day, and
this advancement contrasts oddly with the slow progress of Nelson,
Wellesley’s great naval contemporary, who had to depend upon his own
unaided merits for promotion. In 1793, six years following his first
appointment, he was placed in command of the 33rd Foot, after having
experience of the cavalry by serving in both the 12th and 18th Light
Dragoons.

A little influence went a long way in those casual times; there was
nothing so valuable as “a friend at court.” Unlike many aristocratic
nobodies who secured high position, Wellesley afterwards proved his
worth, but he scarcely would have ascended the military ladder with
such astonishing quickness had not his brother Richard held office
under the younger Pitt. Lord Westmorland, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland,
also took a fancy to him and made him one of his _aides-de-camp_.

In 1790, when he was still in his twenty-first year, he entered the
Irish House of Commons as Member of Parliament for Trim, County Meath,
a “pocket borough” of the Wellesley family. We are told by Sir Jonah
Barrington, who made his acquaintance some three years later, that
the young soldier “was then ruddy-faced and juvenile in appearance,
and popular enough among the young men of his age and station. His
address was unpolished; he occasionally spoke in Parliament, but
not successfully, and never on important subjects; and evinced no
promise of that unparalleled celebrity and splendour which he has
since reached, and whereto intrepidity and decision, good luck, and
great military science have justly combined to elevate him.” The same
authority then proceeds to introduce us to Lord Castlereagh, and adds:
“At the period to which I allude, I feel confident nobody could have
predicted that one of those young gentlemen would become the most
celebrated English general of his era, and the other one of the most
mischievous statesmen and unfortunate ministers that has ever appeared
in modern Europe.[2] However, it is observable that to the personal
intimacy and reciprocal friendship of those two individuals they
mutually owed the extent of their respective elevation and celebrity:
Sir Arthur Wellesley never would have had the chief command in Spain
but for the ministerial manœuvring and aid of Lord Castlereagh; and
Lord Castlereagh never could have stood his ground as a minister, but
for Lord Wellington’s successes.”

Another contemporary tells quite a different story of Wellesley’s
ability, and as he also heard him in 1793 it is printed here in order
that the reader may not be prejudiced by Barrington’s opinion. So
much is determined by the point-of-view of the witness. The occasion
was a debate on the perennial question of the Roman Catholics.
Captain Wellesley’s remarks, we are told, “were terse and pertinent,
his delivery fluent, and his manner unembarrassed.” Gleig, who was
intimately acquainted with the Duke, says that he “seems to have
spoken but rarely, and never at any length. His votes were of course
given in support of the party to which he belonged, but otherwise he
entered very little into the business of the House.” He mentions but
one incident connected with this period, namely, Wellesley’s attachment
to the Hon. Catherine Pakenham, an acknowledged Society beauty and a
daughter of Baron Longford. His Lordship, possessing a keen eye for the
practical affairs of life, objected to the match on the score of lack
of money, but there is little doubt that the couple came to a mutual
understanding.

That Wellesley took more than a casual interest in his military
duties is evident, and if he did not display the inherent genius of
Napoleon he certainly went about his duties in a highly commendable and
workmanlike manner. For instance, he had scarcely donned the uniform
of his first regiment before he entered into calculations regarding
the weight of the accoutrements, ammunition, and other paraphernalia
carried by a private when in marching order. For this purpose he
ordered a soldier to be weighed both with and without his trappings.

“I wished,” he says, “to have some measure of the power of the
individual man compared with the weight he was to carry and the work
he was expected to do. I was not so young as not to know that since I
had undertaken a profession I had better endeavour to understand it.”
He adds, “It must always be kept in mind that the power of the greatest
armies depends upon what the individual soldier is capable of doing
and bearing,” a maxim which still holds good, notwithstanding the many
changes effected in the course of a century and a quarter. However
excellent the gun, it is the man behind it which determines the issue.

It was not until 1794 that Wellesley underwent the hardships of active
service. Before that phase of his career is detailed we must make a
hasty and general survey of the wide and scattered field of action.
The occasion was the second year of the great strife which occupied
the attention of Europe, with little intermittance, for over twenty
years. The gauntlet had been flung down by France in 1792, when war was
declared against the Holy Roman Empire, with which Prussia made common
cause. The campaign was an eye-opener to all Europe, for although
the Prussians and Austrians began well they did not follow up their
advantages, particularly when the road to Châlons and Paris lay open
to the former. At Valmy the Prussians were defeated, and subsequently
withdrew across the frontier in a deplorable condition of dearth and
disease. Dumouriez then invaded Flanders, and was victorious over the
Austrians at Jemappes, a success followed by the fall of Mons, Malines,
Ghent, Brussels, Antwerp, and Namur, while smaller towns, such as
Tournay, Ostend, and Bruges welcomed the victorious troops with open
arms as the heralds of a new era.

In Savoy the scanty Sardinian forces were routed by Montesquiou, and
the country annexed, as was Nice by Anselme. With the dawning of 1793
Belgium shared a similar fate, and the occupation of Dutch territory
was decided on. This latter was an extremely foolish move, as events
soon proved.

England and Holland became involved in the second month of the new
year, when the French Convention announced hostile intentions to
both Powers. Previous to this, Great Britain had maintained a strict
neutrality. She now commenced proceedings by sending 10,000 troops to
Holland under the incompetent Duke of York, where they united with a
similar force of Hessians and Hanoverians, whose expenses were met by
English gold, a plentiful supply of which also found its way into the
coffers of other Powers. The Island Kingdom and Russia had already
allied themselves, although the Czarina’s designs on Poland precluded
immediate co-operation, and during the next few months Sardinia, Spain,
Naples, Prussia, the Holy Roman Empire, and Portugal joined in mutual
support.

Dumouriez duly appeared on Dutch territory, but was compelled to
retreat on Flanders by the defeat of the general engaged in besieging
Maestricht. On resuming offensive operations he himself lost the
battle of Neerwinden. Within a fortnight the French had abandoned all
their conquests in Belgium, which again passed into the possession of
Austria. Dumouriez took refuge in the camp of the Imperialists after
negotiating with Coburg, the commander of the “White Coats,” to place
the frontier fortresses into his hands and to unite the two armies.
Neither arrangement was carried through, for the defeated general
found it more prudent to fly the country.[3] Mayence, on the Rhine,
was invested by the Prussians, to whom it eventually capitulated, and
Valenciennes and Condé were successfully besieged by the Austrians and
British. All three fortresses fell during July 1793.

The tide was beginning to turn even in France, for Toulon and Lyons
openly revolted, and civil war broke out in La Vendée. Had the Allies
made a concerted effort, the defeat of the Republican cause could
scarcely have failed to follow, but they quarrelled amongst themselves
instead of following up their advantage. They squandered their strength
by dividing their army into detachments, and much precious time was
wasted by the diversion on Dunkirk made by the English, Hanoverian,
Hessian, and some of the Austrian forces, about 37,000 strong.

The Revolutionary Government, augmenting its fighting body, instructed
General Houchard to attack the enemy before the historic seaport. As
a sequel to this movement the Duke of York was forced to retreat and
abandon forty guns and much of his baggage. Houchard’s triumph was
short-lived. He met with disaster at the hands of the Austrians, and
paid the price of failure with his head. With the Convention defeat
spelt death. Professing the Cause of Humanity, it refused to be
humanitarian.

By the middle of September all the important fortresses which blockaded
the way of the Allies to the Capital had fallen, with the exception
of Maubeuge. The victory of Jourdan, the successor of Houchard, over
the covering force at Wattignies saved the situation, and on the
17th October the French marched into Maubeuge. On the Upper Rhine
the Allies found themselves in possession of Metz only, at the end
of 1793. In the south-west of Europe the campaign made no further
progress, and the Republican cause gained fresh impetus by the crushing
of the royalist risings at Lyons and Toulon. It will be remembered
that Napoleon won his first laurels in helping to subjugate the great
arsenal in the south of France, and in forcing the withdrawal of the
British fleet under Hood which had gone to support the rebellious
inhabitants.

These facts, dry as dust though they may be, are essential to a correct
understanding of the part played by Wellington in the early days of the
Great War detailed in the following chapter.




CHAPTER II

Wellington’s Baptism of Fire

(1794-97)

  “_I learnt what one ought not to do, and that is always something._”

            WELLINGTON.


The pages of military romance teem with references to the disappointed
lover who seeks to assuage his sorrow by active service. In actual
life one doubts whether such things often happen, but it appears that
it was true of Arthur Wellesley. He asked his eldest brother to use
his influence with Pitt to persuade Lord Westmorland to send him “as
major to one of the flank corps,” his own regiment being “the last
for service.” The request was refused, and the young officer had to
wait until May 1794. Orders were then issued for the 33rd to proceed
on foreign service as part of a contingent under Lord Moira which was
urgently required to reinforce the Duke of York.

The Allies had not only experienced a series of defeats, but Prussia
had withdrawn many of her forces on the Rhine for service in Poland,
the dismemberment of which seemed to offer more tangible advantages
than the protracted warfare against “armed opinions.” As a member of
the Holy Roman Empire she had of necessity to supply 20,000 troops--a
mere handful--and she announced her intention of merely fulfilling
this obligation. Again British gold came to the rescue, and Prussia,
by a treaty signed on the 19th April 1794, agreed to keep 62,000 men
at the disposal of the Allies in return for a handsome subsidy. The
unfortunate Austrian general, Mack, was then given command of the new
campaign. The fatal mistake was repeated of dividing the army, with
the result that while the Imperialists under Clerfait were forced to
retreat on Tournay, the Duke of York, aided by Prince Schwartzenberg,
secured an advantage at Troisville. A series of actions around
Tourcoing followed on the 16th to the 18th May, during which his
Highness narrowly escaped being made a prisoner, owing partly to his
having been left isolated by the cutting off of his communications,
and partly to a praiseworthy determination to hold the positions his
troops had gained. At Pont-à-chin, near Tournay, the repeated attempts
of Pichegru to secure the village ended in disaster. On the 26th June
the Austrians, in their endeavour to relieve Charleroi, which had
surrendered to the growing forces of the French under Jourdan a few
hours before, were forced to retreat from the plains of Fleurus. “The
loss of Flanders,” says Alison, “immediately followed a contest which
an enterprizing general would have converted into the most decisive
triumph.” The Duke of York, having sustained a reverse at Oudenarde,
was also retreating, intent upon covering Antwerp and Holland.

Wellesley arrived at Ostend with his regiment in June 1794, from whence
he was sent to Antwerp, on which the Duke of York and the Prince of
Orange shortly afterwards fell back, while Moira marched to Malines.
The Colonel held that his senior officer would have been better advised
had he and his troops proceeded up the Scheldt or the Maes in boats, an
opinion subsequently confirmed by events.

After settling necessary matters Wellesley carried out his instructions
and reached the Duke of York several days before Moira was in touch
with him. It was a moral victory for the young officer, and doubtless
served the very useful purpose of stimulating his ambition.

For three months the Duke of York and the Prince of Orange remained
at Antwerp. The Commander of the Dutch troops then retired towards
the Rhine, and the former moved towards Holland. During the march
General Abercromby was told to secure the village of Boxtel, captured
on the previous evening by one of Pichegru’s divisions. A desperate
affray ensued, and notwithstanding the intrepid bravery of the British
infantry, cavalry, and artillery, it ended in disaster. It is extremely
probable that the entire force would have been annihilated but for
Wellesley’s promptitude in covering the retreat. No opposition was
offered until the British were passing through a wood, when a masked
battery opened fire. A little later there was considerable confusion,
and a body of French Hussars charged forward only to meet Wellesley’s
battalion drawn across the road. They were repulsed, thanks to the
valour of the young commander.

Throughout an extremely severe winter the British were continually
pressed by the ardent Republicans. From October to January 1795
Wellesley held a post on the Waal, and the arduous nature of his duties
is described by him in letters written at the time. “At present,” he
says on the 20th December 1794, “the French keep us in a perpetual
state of alarm; we turn out once, sometimes twice, every night; the
officers and men are harassed to death, and if we are not relieved,
I believe there will be very few of the latter remaining shortly. I
have not had the clothes off my back for a long time, and generally
spend the greatest part of the night upon the bank of the river,
notwithstanding which I have entirely got rid of that disorder which
was near killing me at the close of the summer campaign. Although
the French annoy us much at night, they are very entertaining during
the daytime; they are perpetually chattering with our officers and
soldiers,[4] and dance the _carmagnol_ upon the opposite bank whenever
we desire them; but occasionally the spectators on our side are
interrupted in the middle of a dance by a cannon ball from theirs.”

It is a genial, good-natured message, but Wellesley always held his
feelings well under control. In the above he chose to reveal the
humorous aspect of the long-drawn-out agony. There was plenty to
complain about had he desired. The food supply was deficient; the
wounded had to bear their agonies with the patience of Stoics, because
the stock of medicines ran short; and the general privation was
terrible. A pitiful lack of foresight characterised the whole campaign.
What could be expected of a Commander-in-Chief who gave preference to
the pleasures of the table if a dispatch arrived during a meal, and
contemptuously remarked, “That will keep till the morning”? During the
time of his sojourn on the Waal, Wellesley “only saw once one general
from the headquarters,[5] which was old Sir David Dundas.... We had
letters from England, and I declare that those letters told us more of
what was passing at headquarters than we learnt from the headquarters
ourselves.... It has always been a marvel to me how any of us escaped.”

That “old Sir David Dundas” thought very highly of the young officer’s
conduct is evident. When he succeeded as Commander-in-Chief of the
British forces, on the recall of the Duke of York in the following
December, Wellesley was appointed Brigadier and given command of the
rear guard. By a series of retreats the tattered army eventually
reached Bremen. It embarked for England early in 1795.

In summing up Wellesley’s first experience of field service, Earl
Roberts states that it was, “no doubt, extremely valuable to
Wellington in after years. It must have taught him that soldiers even
of the best quality, well drilled, disciplined and equipped, cannot
hope to be successful unless proper arrangements are made for their
supply and transport; and unless those who direct the operations have
formed some definite plan of action, and have sufficient zeal and
professional knowledge to carry it out. If the French generals had
taken full advantage of the opportunities which the incapacity of the
English and German commanders threw in their way, the British force
must have been annihilated.”

One is inclined to doubt whether the troops were “well drilled,
disciplined and equipped” at this period. The gross incompetence of
many of the highest officers is abundantly proved, and continued lack
of success speedily reduces the vital strength of any regiment.

As already noted, the commissariat was execrable. We have it on the
authority of one who was present that during the retreat hundreds of
invalids succumbed, “whilst the shameful neglect that then pervaded
the medical department, rendered the hospitals nothing better than
slaughter-houses for the wounded and the sick.”

[Illustration: “The full force of the blast”

Thomas Maybank]

Shortly after Wellesley reached England he decided to leave the Army.
The cause is unknown, but it seems highly probable that either his
recent experience had disgusted him with the service as constituted, or
he wished to obtain more remunerative employment so that he might be
in a position to marry the lady of his choice. He also owed money to
his brother, who had made advances for his promotion. This sum could
be repaid by the sale of his commission. Although Wellesley was always
scrupulous in money matters, the reason seems scarcely credible. We
are therefore forced to accept one of the other alternatives, perhaps
both, for mention is made of the miserable state of the Army in
his letter to Lord Camden[6] regarding the desired appointment. He
consulted Mornington on the matter, and it was decided that a position
under the Revenue or Treasury Boards would serve his purpose. “If your
Excellency,” he writes to the Viceroy, “is of opinion that the offices
at these boards are too high for me, of course you will say so; and
as I am convinced that no man is so bad a judge of a claim as he who
makes it, I trust you will not believe that I shall feel otherwise
towards you than as I have always felt, with sentiments of the greatest
regard.... You will probably be surprised at my desiring a civil
instead of a military office. It is certainly a departure from the line
which I prefer, but I see the manner in which the military offices are
filled, and I don’t want to ask you for that which I know you cannot
give me.”

Research has failed to discover what answer, if any, was vouchsafed
this communication. Wellesley remained in the Army. In October 1795
he and his regiment sailed from Southampton as part of an expedition
against the French settlements in the West Indies. The vessels
encountered a terrible gale, still known as “Christian’s Storm,” after
the name of the admiral who commanded the fleet. While it might be
untrue to say that the ships were in an unseaworthy condition, their
sanitary state was deplorable, for they had but recently returned from
a long voyage as hospital and prison transports. Scarcely forty-eight
hours after they had sailed, and when they were off Weymouth, the full
force of the blast struck them. One vessel foundered with all hands,
half-a-dozen or more were totally dismasted, and hundreds of soldiers
went to their death in a battle with the elements against which all the
drill in the world was ineffectual. Fortunately Wellesley escaped, but
when he received orders, in April 1796, to embark his men for India he
was too ill to accompany them. However, he set sail for Calcutta in
June, and overtaking the 33rd Regiment at the Cape of Good Hope, duly
reached his destination in February 1797. “The station is so highly
advantageous to him that I could not advise him to decline it,” says
Lord Mornington.[7] The good-natured Earl little knew what advantage,
both to Wellesley and the Empire, was to accrue as the result of the
failure of his brother’s civil ambitions.




CHAPTER III

The Campaign of Seringapatam

(1797-1800)

  _India, “a country fertile in heroes and statesmen._”

            CANNING.


The proverb to the effect that “History repeats itself” is not strictly
true. The further we study the subject, the more we find that like
causes do not necessarily bring about similar effects. The ill success
which attended the expedition to the West Indies, ere it left the
English Channel, has a fitting parallel so far as its practical utility
is concerned in the force placed at General St Leger’s disposal to
attack Manilla, the Philippine Islands then being in the possession of
Spain, with whom Great Britain was now at war. Fortunately it did not
meet with disaster, but neither expedition reached its destination.
Wellesley accepted the offer of Sir John Shore, the Governor-General
of India, to command a brigade, and the troops were embarked. They had
not proceeded farther than Penang before an order was issued for their
recall owing to troubles brewing in India itself.

Shortly after his return to Calcutta the Colonel was placed in command
of the forces in Madras. He also heard that his eldest brother
had been offered the extremely responsible and difficult post of
Governor-General in succession to Sir John Shore. It was now his turn
to feed the flames of Mornington’s ambition. He writes: “I strongly
advise you to come out. I am convinced that you will retain your
health; nay, it is possible that its general state may be improved,
and you will have the fairest opportunity of rendering material
service to the public and of doing yourself credit.” Mornington lacked
self-confidence, and a thousand and one doubts and fears possessed his
mind. The Colonel reminded him that if he refused so advantageous a
position on account of his young family, “you forego both for yourself
and them what will certainly be a material and lasting advantage.”

Mornington accepted, and arrived at Calcutta with his youngest brother,
Henry, as private secretary in the middle of May 1798. He speedily
found an antidote for home-sickness in endeavouring to unravel the
tangled skein of affairs in Mysore, where Tipú Sultan was intriguing
with the French Republic for assistance in attacking the possessions
of the East India Company in Southern India. The pugnacious character
of the son of Hyder Ali was typified by the tiger’s stripes on his
flag. He possessed the fanaticism and barbarity of the Oriental at his
worst, and when opportunity occurred would feed a beast of prey with an
English prisoner.

[Illustration: WELLINGTON’S CAMPAIGN IN INDIA.]

To secure either the friendship or the neutrality of the Nizám,
whose territory abutted that of the bloodthirsty Tipú, now became of
paramount importance. His army was officered by Frenchmen, which was
proof positive that in the event of war it would assist Britain’s
enemy, although the Nizám had a distinct leaning towards the English.
As it happened, the native troops mutinied against their officers,
and, seizing his opportunity, the Nizám dismissed them. They were sent
to England as prisoners, and subsequently allowed to return to their
own country, a most humane consideration, for which Mornington was
largely responsible. The military positions they formerly occupied
were promptly filled by our own officers. A new treaty was made to
preclude the Marhattás from allying themselves with Tipú, and a force
of 6000 British troops was maintained by the Nizám at Hyderabad.

Meanwhile Wellesley had proceeded with his regiment to Madras, and,
owing to the death of the senior officer, was placed in temporary
command of the troops. In communication with Lord Clive, the Governor
of the Presidency, and General Harris, the Commander-in-Chief, he
busied himself with the multitudinous arrangements necessary for
an advance upon Seringapatam, the capital of the Mysore Dominions.
Horses, bullocks, and elephants had to be provided for the purpose of
transport; forts equipped and provisioned; the siege train properly
organized. He drew up a plan of campaign, and bent himself to the task
with exacting energy. Notwithstanding the preparations for war, he
still hoped that a resort to arms would prove unnecessary. Those who
are apt to think that all military men delight in strife for the mere
love of it will do well to remember this fact and judge less harshly,
for Wellington is the typical representative of the British Army. But
he believed in being ready, and hated nothing so much as “muddling
through.”

There was still a possibility, though scarcely a probability, that Tipú
would repent. He had received word that Napoleon, then on his famous
Egyptian expedition, was coming to his aid with an “invincible army.”
So far he had refused a definite statement of policy. Not until it was
abundantly evident that the protracted negotiations of the Sultan of
Mysore with the Government were merely to gain time, was a declaration
of war issued on the 22nd February 1799. According to Wellesley,
General Harris “expressed his approbation of what I had done, and
adopted as his own all the orders and regulations I had made, and then
said that he should mention his approbation publicly, only that he was
afraid others would be displeased and jealous. Now as there is nothing
to be got in the army except credit, and as it is not always that the
best intentions and endeavours to serve the public succeed, it is hard
that when they do succeed they should not receive the approbation which
it is acknowledged by all they deserve. I was much hurt about it at the
time, but I don’t care now, and shall certainly do everything to serve
General Harris, and to support his name and authority.”

Wellesley never feared to speak his mind, as his voluminous dispatches
abundantly testify. In a letter to Mornington he admits that he had
“lectured” the Commander-in-Chief because he allowed the Madras
Military Board too much license in the matter of appointments. On the
other hand, he had “urged publicly to the army (in which I flatter
myself I have some influence) the necessity of supporting him, whether
he be right or wrong.” In his opinion it was “impossible” to hold the
General “too high, if he is to be the head of the army in the field.”

Harris certainly compensated Wellesley to some extent by placing him
in command of thirteen regiments, including the Nizám’s contingent,
with the rank of brigadier. The strength of this force was about 16,000
men, that of the whole army 35,000, excluding 120,000 camp followers,
the bugbear of the old-time commander. The Bombay corps under General
Stuart attacked a portion of the enemy, commanded by the wily Tipú, in
the vicinity of Sedasser, on the 6th March. This success augured well,
for the Sultan was forced to retire.

Harris’s first serious engagement took place near Malavelly on the
27th, Wellesley advancing to the attack and turning Tipú’s right flank.
After an engagement lasting three hours the enemy withdrew, with the
loss of some 2000 men by death or wounds against the British 7 killed
and 53 wounded. Tipú was a skilful soldier, and had not neglected to
throw up a line of entrenchments before Seringapatam, into which city
he now withdrew. To drive in the advanced outposts before definitely
besieging the place was Harris’s first object. This duty was intrusted
to Wellesley and Colonel Shaw respectively, each having charge of a
detachment. It was the task of the former to carry a tope, or thicket,
and a village called Sultanpettah. He failed, for reasons explained in
the following letter:

“On the night of the 5th, we made an attack on the enemy’s outposts,
which, at least on my side, was not quite so successful as could have
been wished. The fact is, that the night was very dark, that the
enemy expected us, and were strongly posted in an almost impenetrable
jungle. We lost an officer, killed, and nine men of the 33rd wounded,
and at last, as I could not find out the post which it was desirable
I should occupy, I was obliged to desist from the attack, the enemy
also having retired from the post. In the morning they re-occupied it,
and we attacked it again at day-light, and carried it with ease and
with little loss. I got a slight touch on the knee, from which I have
felt no inconvenience, and I have come to the determination never to
suffer an attack to be made by night upon an enemy who was prepared
and strongly posted, and whose posts had not been reconnoitred by
daylight.” It should be added that twelve soldiers were taken prisoner
and executed by the brutal method of nails being driven through their
heads, and that Wellesley had previously given it as his opinion that
the projected attack on the thicket would be a mistake. The operation
undertaken by Colonel Shaw was successful.

The siege now proceeded in earnest, but a breach was not made in the
solid walls surrounding Seringapatam for three days. On the 4th May the
place was stormed by General Baird. General Sherbrooke’s right column
was the first to ford the Cauvery River. His men speedily scaled the
ramparts, and engaged that part of the Sultan’s 22,000 troops stationed
in the immediate vicinity. The defenders fought with the fatalistic
energy and determination so characteristic of the natives of India. The
left column followed, but found the way more difficult. Tipú, mounting
the ramparts, fired at the oncoming red-coats with muskets handed to
him by his attendants. It was his last battle; his body was afterwards
discovered in a covered gateway, together with hundreds of others.
Wellesley, with his corps, occupied the trenches as a first reserve.

“About a quarter past one p.m.,” says an eye-witness, “as we were
anxiously peering, telescope in hand, at the ford, and the intermediate
ground between our batteries and the breach, a sharp and sudden
discharge of musquetry and rockets, along the western face of the
fort, announced to us that General Baird and the column of assault
were crossing the ford; and immediately afterwards, we perceived our
soldiers, in rather loose array, rushing towards the breach. The
moment was one of agony; and we continued, with aching eyes, to watch
the result, until, after a short and appalling interval, we saw the
acclivity of the breach covered with a cloud of crimson,--and in a
very few minutes afterwards, observing the files passing rapidly to
the right and left at the summit of the breach, I could not help
exclaiming, ‘Thank God! the business is done.’

“The firing continued in different parts of the place until about two
o’clock, or a little afterwards; when, the whole of the works being
in the possession of our troops, and the St George’s ensign floating
proudly from the flagstaff of the southern cavalier, announced to us
that the triumph was completed.”

On the 5th, Wellesley took over the command from Baird, who had
requested temporary leave of absence, and without delay began to
restore some kind of order among the British troops, whose one object
after victory was plunder, in which matter they showed little delicacy
of feeling. The city was on fire in several places, but the flames
were all extinguished within twenty-four hours, and the inhabitants
were “retiring to their homes fast.” Having stopped, “by hanging,
flogging, etc.,” the insubordination of the troops and the rifling of
the dead by the camp followers who had flocked in, Wellesley proceeded
to bury those who had fallen.

During the four weeks of the siege the British lost 22 officers and
310 men, and no fewer than 45 officers and 1164 men were reported as
wounded and missing.[8] The Commander mentions that jewels of the
greatest value, and bars of gold, were obtained. As the prize agents
assessed the treasure taken at £1,143,216, the wealth of Seringapatam
must have been astounding. Wellesley’s share came to about £4000.[9]
Hundreds of animals were required to carry the rich stuffs, plate,
and richly-bound books from this city of opulence. A little humorous
relief to so much sordidness is afforded by Wellesley’s difficulties
regarding some of the late Sultan’s pets. “There are some tigers here,”
he writes, “which I wish Meer Allum would send for, or else I must give
orders to have them shot, as there is no food for them, and nobody to
attend to them, and they are getting violent.” Tipú’s 650 wives gave
less trouble than the wild beasts. They were removed to a remote region
and set at liberty.

Wellesley’s next appointment was as Commander of the Forces in Mysore.
He proved himself to be particularly well fitted for the post, which
obviously required a man of infinite tact, who could be lenient or
severe as circumstances demanded. It was Wellesley’s testing-time, and
he did not fail either in administration or the rough and tumble of
the “little war” so soon to fall to his lot. He had already served on
a commission appointed to go into the question of the partition of the
conquered Dominions, a small part of which was made over to the Peshwá,
and larger shares to the Nizám and the East India Company respectively.
The dynasty overturned by Tipú’s father was restored. As the new
Rájá of Mysore was only five years of age, he was scarcely able to
appreciate the fact that his territory was so greatly diminished.

We now come to a story worthy of a place in the Arabian Nights. It
concerns an adventurer who, later, assumed the truly regal title of
King of the World. Dhoondia Waugh, to give him the name by which those
who were unfortunate enough to make his acquaintance first knew him,
was the chief of a band of robbers whom Tipú had captured and thrown
into prison. Recognizing in him a brave man, the Sultan remitted the
sentence of death and gave him a military appointment, thus turning his
acknowledged abilities into a less questionable channel, for a thief
must needs be fearless and daring if he is to succeed. For some reason
not altogether clear, Dhoondia Waugh was again imprisoned, and he did
not regain his liberty until the fall of Seringapatam, when he was
liberated, together with a number of other gaol-birds. The old thieving
instinct reasserted itself, and as he encountered no difficulty in
collecting a band of the late Tipú’s cavalry, he speedily resorted to
means and measures which alarmed the inhabitants of every place he
visited. When pressed by the troops sent after them the horde took
refuge in the territory of the Peshwá, the nominal head of the Marhattá
confederacy. There they received anything but a cordial welcome,
although it seems probable that reinforcements were obtained among
the malcontents. However that may be, Dhoondia Waugh duly appeared
near Savanore. Having the safety of the Mysore Dominions very much at
heart, for he had supreme civil and military control, Wellesley started
in pursuit of the freebooter. Several fortresses held by Dhoondia’s
unlawful bands were stormed, his baggage taken, and a number of guns
captured.

An affray which took place near the Malpurda River at the end of
July 1800, not only reduced the chief’s forces, but caused many of
his followers to forsake the cause, although their strength in the
following September was considerably more than that at Wellesley’s
command; in actual figures, some 5000 against 1200. The operation on
the 10th of that month, which proved decisive, was extremely difficult,
for the enemy was strongly posted at a village called Conahgull. The
Colonel charged with such cool daring and so determined a front, that
after having stood firm for some time the enemy made off, closely
pursued for many miles by the British cavalry. A dire and just
retribution was exacted; those who were not killed “were scattered in
small parties over the face of the country.” The King of the World had
fought his last battle. He was found among the slain.

It is frequently asserted that Wellesley held but a low opinion of
the troops which he commanded, and he certainly passed harsh judgment
on those who shared his later campaigns. Not so in this particular
instance, however. In the dispatch detailing “the complete defeat and
dispersion” of the forces of Dhoondia, he expressly remarks on the
“determined valour and discipline” of the soldiers, the patience and
perseverance displayed in “a series of fatiguing services,” and the
excellent organization of the commissariat department.

Wellesley also showed that a kind heart is not necessarily the
attribute of a weak nature. With a humanity entirely worthy so great
a man, he had Dhoondia’s “supposed or adopted son” cared for, and
afterwards placed £400 in the hands of trustees for his future
use.[10] “Had you and your regicide army been out of the way,” writes
Sir Thomas Munro to Wellesley, “Dhoondia would undoubtedly have become
an independent and powerful prince, and the founder of a new dynasty of
cruel and treacherous Sultauns.”

This short campaign likewise furnishes us with one of the secrets of
the success of our national military hero. Just before he set out on
the long chase after the King of the World, he was offered a position
particularly rich in prospects, namely, the military command of an
expedition for the surrender of the Dutch island of Batavia. The sole
condition was that Lord Clive, the Governor of Madras, to whom he was
responsible, could spare him. A man who was moved by purely personal
ambition would have had no hesitation in bringing all his influence to
bear on the Governor in order to secure so good an opening. Wellesley,
however, recognizing that he had already begun preparations for the
running to earth of the bloodthirsty and cruel Dhoondia--an end much
to be desired--asked Clive to accept or decline for him as he thought
best. He neither pleaded for nor against, although he hoped that if
Admiral Rainier were not starting at once he might be able to join him
when the work on hand was finished. “I am determined that nothing shall
induce me to desire to quit this country, until its tranquillity is
ensured. The general want of troops, however, at the present moment,
and the season, may induce the Admiral to be desirous to postpone the
expedition till late in the year. In that case it may be convenient
that I should accompany him....”

The Governor of Madras refused his permission, and there the matter
ended. Months afterwards, when there seemed a probability of operations
in the Marhattá Territory, Wellesley wrote a lengthy Memorandum on
the means of carrying such a campaign to a successful issue. “The
experience,” he notes in his opening remarks, “which has been acquired
in the late contest with Dhoondia Waugh, of the seasons, the nature of
the country, its roads, its produce, and its means of defence, will be
of use in pointing them out.”

Thus it will be seen that the knowledge gained by Wellesley during
the performance of an individual duty was stored up for future use. A
march or a campaign was not simply carried out and then dismissed. It
was a lesson learned and to be remembered. In military matters he was
to a very appreciable extent self-taught. No drill-book in existence
can furnish skill or assure victory, and genius itself is valueless
on the battle-field without a clear perception based on things
ascertained--“the experience which has been acquired” referred to in
the above communication. Napoleon, against whom Wellesley was to fight
in the years to come, early recognized the supreme importance of this
principle. “The adroit man,” he says, “profits by everything, neglects
nothing which can increase his chances.”

The “Sepoy General” was such a man.




CHAPTER IV

War with the Marhattás

(1801-3)

  “_We must get the upper hand, and if once we have that, we shall
  keep it with ease, and shall certainly succeed._”

            WELLINGTON.


That disappointments are frequently blessings in disguise had already
been proved by Arthur Wellesley. Unfortunately, it is easier to forget
such a precept than to practise it, and each apparent failure to climb
another rung of ambition’s ladder is apt to be regarded as a definite
set back. It was so with Wellesley, and a time of trial and perplexity
followed the campaign of Seringapatam and the defeat of Dhoondia.

He eventually weathered the storm of depression which pressed upon him,
as he weathered many another, but it must be admitted that he bent
before it. It came about in this way. The French army in Egypt was
still very active, although Napoleon had long since left it. He was
now First Consul, and gradually preparing himself and the nation for
the assumption of the Imperial crown. The Governor-General, henceforth
to be known as Marquis Wellesley,[11] was of opinion that a small
expedition should be sent either to Batavia or the Mauritius, or to
assist Sir Ralph Abercromby in his attempt to drive the French out of
Egypt.

With one of these desirable objects in view his brother Arthur was
given 5000 troops. He at once set off for Trincomalee, in the island
of Ceylon, the headquarters of the little army, intent on personally
superintending the arrangements. Shortly afterwards instructions came
to hand from the Home Government that 3000 men were to be sent to
Egypt. Colonel Wellesley was informed of this decision, and determined
to lose no time in forwarding the project. Without receiving official
word to do so, and still believing he held the premier post, he
embarked the men and sailed for Bombay, where he had ordered an ample
supply of provisions to be ready.

When off Cape Comorin, Wellesley received a letter from his brother,
stating that he had appointed Major-General Baird to the command of the
troops destined for the island of Batavia, which made it clear that the
Governor-General had not then received the dispatches of the Secretary
of State. Knowing that some at least of the troops on the transports
would be required for Egypt, he proceeded on his way, and wrote to
Baird of his intention. A little later a further letter came to hand
from another source; but the fleet was in want of water, some of the
troops had died, and “I was induced to adhere to my original plan.”

Baird, who, on arriving at Trincomalee, found “the cupboard was
bare,” was deeply incensed at Wellesley’s high-handed behaviour. The
“culprit’s” feelings as to the Governor-General’s new appointment were
also far from pacific. That he acted in perfect good faith is evident
from the preceding, which is borne out in a lengthy dispatch in which
he sought to justify his action in the eyes of his brother.

“I have not been guilty of robbery or murder,” he writes to Henry
Wellesley from Bombay on the 23rd March 1801, “and he has certainly
changed his mind; but the world, which is always good-natured towards
those whose affairs do not exactly prosper, will not, or rather does
not, fail to suspect that both, or worse, have been the occasion of my
being banished, like General Kray, to my estate in Hungary.[12] I did
not look, and did not wish, for the appointment which was given to me;
and I say that it would probably have been more proper to give it to
somebody else; but when it was given to me, and a circular written to
the governments upon the subject, it would have been fair to allow me
to hold it till I did something to deserve to lose it.

“I put private considerations out of the question, as they ought and
have had no weight in causing either my original appointment or my
supercession. I am not quite satisfied with the manner in which I have
been treated by Government upon the occasion. However, I have lost
neither my health, spirits, nor temper in consequence thereof. But it
is useless to write any more upon a subject of which I wish to retain
no remembrance whatever.”

Baird would have been scarcely human had he not felt hurt by finding
himself head of a force which had disappeared, especially as the
Colonel had already superseded him as Governor of Seringapatam. But
he forgave, if he did not forget, and so did Wellesley. Some thirty
years afterwards, when Baird’s days of active soldiering were over, he
remarked, during the course of a chat with Sir John Malcolm, who had
himself done good service in India: “Time’s are changed. No one knows
so well as you how severely I felt the preference given on several
occasions to your friend Wellesley, but now I see all these things from
a far different point of view. It is the highest pride of my life that
anybody should ever have dreamed of my being put in the balance with
him. His name is now to me joy, and I may almost say glory.”

It is satisfactory to know that Arthur Wellesley was not foolish enough
to allow the iron to enter into his soul to such an extent as to
prevent him from co-operating with Baird, into whose hands he placed a
“Memorandum on the Operations in the Red Sea,” accompanied by a letter
acknowledging “the kind, candid, and handsome manner in which you have
behaved towards me.” When the expedition was ready, Arthur Wellesley
was laid low with a fever, consequently the Commander-in-Chief
was obliged to sail without his lieutenant, not altogether to his
discomfiture one would surmise.

An attack of the dreaded Malabar itch did not tend to a speedy recovery
of the invalid, but he was sufficiently well in May 1801 to resume his
former duties at Seringapatam, where he had been reinstated by his
brother. By living moderately, drinking little or no wine, avoiding
much medicine, taking exercise, and keeping his mind employed, he
eventually recovered. As Baird saw no fighting, his rival lost nothing
by remaining in India.

Sir Herbert Maxwell[13] assumes that Arthur Wellesley’s fever
was caused by disappointment, but as the latter expressly states
that Baird’s “conduct towards me has by no means occasioned this
determination (namely, to resign the appointment), but that it has
been perfectly satisfactory,”[14] the statement is obviously based on
a surmise that the Colonel was diplomatically lying. Everybody fully
appreciates the influence of mind over matter, and thwarted desire may
have weakened Wellesley’s health, but surely the facts of the case
scarcely justify so definite an assertion.

Colonel Wellesley remained in Mysore for nearly two years, during
which he did his work both wisely and well, showing favour to none and
justice to all. It was in February 1803 that the future Wellington,
now a Major-General, received news that he was required for active
service against the Marhattás. The war-like intentions of this powerful
confederacy, which alone could challenge British supremacy, had not
escaped the notice of Government. The nominal head of the five native
princes who constituted it was Baji Rao, the Peshwá of Poona, the
others being Daulat Rao, Sindhia of Gwalior; Jeswant Rao, Holkar of
Indore; the Gaikwár of Baroda, and the Bhonsla Rájá of Berar. Sindhia
was the most powerful, and possessed a fine army drilled by French
officers and commanded by Perron, a deserter from the French Marine.

Holkar had at his disposal no fewer than 80,000 splendidly-equipped
men, mostly cavalry, likewise organized by European soldiers. Intense
rivalry existed between these princes, and when, in October 1802, the
latter invaded Poona, the armies of Sindhia and the Peshwá met with
disaster. The Peshwá sought refuge with the British, and forthwith
entered into an offensive and defensive alliance with Lord Wellesley
as the only means of saving his territory. The chief clauses were that
6000 British troops should be kept at Poona, the expense being met by
the assignment to the East India Company of certain territory; that the
Peshwá would not make war with the other princes or allow them to prey
on each other without the consent of Government; and that he should be
reinstated in his capital. This arrangement, known as the Subsidiary
Treaty of Bassein, soon had the effect of drawing together the
remaining members of the Marhattá confederacy, cementing a friendship
between Sindhia and Holkar, and an alliance between Sindhia and the
Bhonsla Rájá. It is clear that the continued acknowledgment of the
Peshwá as head of the confederacy, now that he was under the ægis of
the British, would have been to admit the supremacy of the conquering
Power they so much resented. Lord Wellesley had already signed a
defensive alliance with the Gaikwár of Baroda, and in order to be ready
for eventualities, men from the armies of the three Presidencies,
namely, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta, were concentrated at various
points, the first for operation on the north-west frontier of Mysore,
the second for action about Surat and Broach, and the third for the
occupation of Cuttack. A large force was also ordered to assemble at
Cawnpore under General Lake, the Commander-in-Chief in India, while
three corps were held in reserve. Major-General Wellesley was placed in
command of a detachment of some 10,600 troops, to which must be added
the Nizám’s contingent of 8400 men under Colonel Stevenson, making
19,000 in all. His orders were to secure Poona, now held by a small
garrison of Holkar’s soldiers totalling not more than 1500. He was
already on the march when he heard of the intention of the Governor,
acting on Holkar’s instructions, to burn the town on the approach of
the British.

“We were within forty miles of the place”--Wellesley himself tells
the story[15]--“when this resolution of Holkar’s lieutenant was
communicated to me. My troops had marched twenty miles that day under
a burning sun, and the infantry could no more have gone five miles
farther than they would have flown. The cavalry, though not fresh,
were less knocked up, so I got together 400 of the best mounted among
them, and set off. We started after dark on the night of the 19th of
April, and in the afternoon of the 20th we got close to the place.
There was an awful uproar, and I expected to see the flames burst out,
but nothing of the kind occurred. Amrut Rao--that was the Marhattá’s
name--was too frightened to think of anything except providing for his
own safety, and I had the satisfaction of finding, when I rode into the
town, that he had gone off with his garrison by one gate as we went in
by another. We were too tired to follow, had it been worth while to do
so, which it was not. Poona was safe, and that was all I cared for.”
In the following month the Peshwá returned to his capital.

Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar now busied themselves with gathering a
large army at Burhanpur, ready to threaten the Deccan, Holkar retiring
to Indore. Wellesley was no less active at Poona; his experience in
Holland had taught him the all-important lesson that an efficient
organization is a powerful ally. In addition, he was busy endeavouring
to come to terms with Sindhia and the Rájá, for which purpose he had
been given chief command of the British forces in the Marhattá states,
with the fullest political authority. Similar powers were vested in
General Lake in Northern India. After wasting as much time as possible
in the negotiations so as to gain it for military preparations,
Wellesley anticipated the inevitable. “I offered you peace on terms
of equality,” he writes on the 6th August 1803, “and honourable
to all parties: you have chosen war, and are responsible for all
consequences.” On the following day hostilities were declared against
Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar.

The stone-built fortress of Ahmednuggur, the capture of which would
safeguard his communications with Poona and Bombay and prevent
reinforcements from Southern India reaching the enemy, was his first
object of attack. The main body of Sindhia’s men was threatening
Hyderabad, but the place was well garrisoned and so solidly constructed
that it looked as though it would defy whatever artillery could be
brought to bear on it. Wellesley said that with the exception of
Vellore, in the Carnatic, it was the strongest country fort he had
ever seen. However, he began operations against the outworks on the
8th, after having made proposals for its surrender without favourable
result. “The Arabs,” we are told, “defended their posts with the
utmost obstinacy,” but towards evening were forced to quit the wall.
On the following day the ground in the neighbourhood of the fort was
reconnoitred and a commanding position seized, on which a battery
of four guns was constructed for use during the attack. The first
shots were fired on the 10th at dawn, and the storming party speedily
began its work. Three times an officer ascended a scaling ladder
propped against one of the walls, and thrice he was hurled down by the
defenders. The fourth attempt was successful, and, followed by some of
his men, the gallant soldier literally hewed a way into the town. The
remaining troops, pressing on, took the place of those who fell. At
length the Commander of the enemy’s forces surrendered, “on condition
that he should be allowed to depart with his garrison, and that he
should have his private property.” His fourteen hundred men marched out
of the fort, and Wellesley’s troops took possession.

[Illustration: “He was hurled down by the defenders”

Thomas Maybank]

On the 23rd September the General found himself and his small
contingent of some 8000 soldiers face to face with the whole combined
army of Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar, a state of affairs brought
about by unreliable information, causing the separation of Wellesley
and Stevenson. At least 50,000 of the enemy were posted in a strong
position behind the river Kaitna, near the village of Assaye. As
Wellesley had received no reinforcements, and had only 17 guns compared
with 128 commanded by skilful French officers at the disposal of the
Marhattás, the disproportion of the forces was sufficiently obvious.
To a general less experienced or daring the situation would have been
considered sufficient cause for an instant retreat; even he called
the attack “desperate.” The problem for him to settle was, should he
wait a few hours for Stevenson, or begin immediately with the scanty
resources at his disposal? Although only 1500 of his men were British,
the Commander-in-Chief decided on the latter alternative, ignoring the
information vouchsafed by his guides that the river was absolutely
impassable. Yet it was only by crossing the stream that he could take
advantage of the opportunity to attack. Here Wellesley’s native wit
and acute intelligence--he himself called it “common sense”--assisted
him. His telescope merely revealed a village on either side of the
stream. This fact suggested the probability of a neighbouring ford.
On investigation such proved to be the case, and if the passage was
difficult the General was at least fortunate in being able to carry
out the operation without severe molestation by the enemy, who had
foolishly neglected to guard this point. They repaired the omission so
far as was possible by firing upon the oncoming army as it slowly waded
across, but the losses were comparatively trivial. “All the business of
war,” Wellesley once told Croker, “and indeed all the business of life,
is to endeavour to find out what you don’t know by what you do.”

The battle began well by the routing of some of the infantry and
artillery by the Highlanders and Sepoys. This advantage was almost
immediately counterbalanced by the mistaken zeal of the officer
commanding the pickets, supported by the 74th Regiment. He foolishly
led his men against the village, thereby exposing them to the
concentrated fire of the enemy’s artillery and musketry stationed
there. Had he taken a less direct route, this could not have happened,
but his enthusiasm overruled his caution. Men dropped down like
ninepins in a skittle-alley when the ball is thrown by a skilful
player. They fell by the dozen as they came within the zone of fire.
Their comrades filled up the tell-tale gaps and continued to push
on with a dogged tenacity entirely worthy their intrepid commander.
Meanwhile what few British guns remained pounded away, and were
silenced one by one as the men who worked them fell dead at their post.
The enemy’s cavalry then proceeded to decimate the already sorely
depleted ranks of the 74th.

At this moment the 19th Light Dragoons, under Colonel Maxwell, were
hurled at Sindhia’s troops. The charge turned the fate of the day.
What remained of the 74th rallied under the support thus given, and
when Wellesley led the 78th into action the village fell. An attempt
was made by the enemy to rally, but it was too late. Men who, with true
Oriental cunning, had fallen as though killed in order to avoid the
oncoming British cavalry as they charged, and had escaped the iron-shod
hoofs of the horses, rejoined the ranks, only to find that the day
had been lost. The whole body was soon flying helter-skelter from the
blood-stained field towards Burrampur, abandoning artillery, baggage,
ammunition--everything that precluded swift movement. Twelve hundred of
the Marhattás breathed their last on this memorable day.

In fighting this battle--“the hardest-fought affair that ever took
place in India”--o’er again in the twilight of his days, the Duke
of Wellington made light of the indiscretions of the officers at
Assaye and remembered only their bravery. “I lost an enormous number
of men: 170 officers were killed and wounded, and upwards of 2000
non-commissioned officers and privates;[16] but we carried all before
us. We took their guns, which were in the first line, and were fired
upon by the gunners afterwards, who threw themselves down, pretending
to be dead, and then rose up again after our men had passed; but they
paid dearly for the freak. The 19th cut them to pieces. Sindhia’s
infantry behaved admirably. They were in support of his cannon, and we
drove them off at the point of the bayonet. We pursued them as long as
daylight lasted and the exhausted state of the men and horses would
allow; and slept on the field.”[17]

Wellesley himself, although not wounded, lost two horses. An
eye-witness has recorded that he had never seen “a man so cool and
collected as he was the whole time.” Stevenson arrived on the
following evening, and set out almost immediately to follow the enemy,
Wellesley being forced to remain owing to his lack of transport for the
wounded, whom he refused to leave. The Colonel seconded Wellesley’s
magnificent victory by reducing the fortress of Burrampur on the
16th October, and that of Asseerghur on the 21st. Wellesley covered
Stevenson’s operations and defended the territories of the Nizám and
the Peshwá. “I have been like a man who fights with one hand and
defends himself with the other,” he notes on the 26th October. “I have
made some terrible marches, but I have been remarkably fortunate:
first, in stopping the enemy when they intended to press to the
southward, through the Casserbarry ghaut; and afterwards, by a rapid
march to the northward, in stopping Sindhia, when he was moving to
interrupt Colonel Stevenson’s operations against Asseerghur; in which
he would otherwise have undoubtedly succeeded.”




CHAPTER V

Last Years in India

(1803-5)

  “_Time is everything in military operations._”

            WELLINGTON.


Bhonsla Rájá now became the immediate object of Wellesley’s attention.
While proceeding in quest of him the General received envoys from
Sindhia requesting an armistice. This was granted on the 23rd November
1803, the principal condition imposed by Wellesley being that the
enemy’s army should retire forty miles east of Ellichpúr. This clause
was not fulfilled, the cavalry of the wily Sindhia encamping at
Sersooly, some four miles from the position occupied by Manoo Bappoo,
brother of the Rájá, ready for immediate co-operation. Having again
united their divisions, Wellesley and Stevenson pushed towards them. “A
confused mass” about two miles beyond Sersooly proved to be the enemy’s
armies on the march. A little later the General made out “a long line
of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, regularly drawn up on the plains
of Argaum, immediately in front of that village.”

“Although late in the day,” says Wellesley in describing the events
of the 29th November, “I immediately determined to attack this army.
Accordingly, I marched on in one column, the British cavalry leading in
a direction nearly parallel to that of the enemy’s line; covering the
rear and left by the Mogul and Mysore cavalry. The enemy’s infantry and
guns were in the left of their centre, with a body of cavalry on their
left. Sindhia’s army, consisting of one very heavy body of cavalry,
was on the right, having upon its right a body of pindarries and other
light corps. Their line extended above five miles, having in their rear
the village and extensive gardens and enclosure of Argaum; and in their
front a plain, which, however, was much cut by watercourses, etc.

“I formed the army in two lines; the infantry in the first, the cavalry
in the second, and supporting the right; and the Mogul and Mysore
cavalry the left, nearly parallel to that of the enemy; with the right
rather advanced in order to press upon the enemy’s left. Some little
time elapsed before the lines could be formed, owing to a part of the
infantry of my division which led the column having got into some
confusion. When formed, the whole advanced in the greatest order; the
74th and 78th regiments were attacked by a large body (supposed to be
Persians), and all these were destroyed. Sindhia’s cavalry charged
the 1st battalion, 6th regiment, which was on the left of our line,
and were repulsed; and their whole line retired in disorder before
our troops, leaving in our hands 38 pieces of cannon and all their
ammunition.

“The British cavalry then pursued them for several miles, destroyed
great numbers, and took many elephants and camels and much baggage. The
Mogul and Mysore cavalry also pursued the fugitives, and did them great
mischief. Some of the latter are still following them; and I have sent
out this morning all of the Mysore, Mogul, and Marhattá cavalry, in
order to secure as many advantages from this victory as can be gained,
and complete the enemy’s confusion.... The troops conducted themselves
with their usual bravery....”

One of the bravest deeds performed during the battle of Argaum was
that of Lieutenant Langlands, of the 74th. Wounded in the fleshy
part of the leg by a spear, he promptly pulled out the weapon and
thrust it through the body of the Arab who had thrown it. A Sepoy who
witnessed this extraordinary display of self-possession, forgetting all
discipline, rushed from the ranks and patted the young officer on the
back, yelling in his native tongue, “Well done, sir; very well done!”

Wellesley next marched on the mountain fort of Gawilghur, strongly
garrisoned by the Rájá’s troops. This defence consisted of an outer and
inner fort, the former protected by strongly-built walls, and the whole
by ramparts and towers. Admittance was gained only by three gates, all
extremely difficult of access by an invading army owing to the roads
leading to them. That to the south, communicating with the inner fort,
was long and steep, and could only be negotiated on foot; the second
was exposed to the guns mounted on the west side and was extremely
narrow and scarped by rock; the third, or north gate, communicated with
the village. Wellesley chose the last as being the most practicable for
his purpose, although he did not blind his eyes to the fact that “the
difficulty and labour of moving ordnance and stores from Labada would
be very great.”

From the 7th December, when the corps under Wellesley and Stevenson
marched from Ellichpúr by different routes, till the 12th, “on which
Colonel Stevenson broke ground near Labada, the troops in his division
went through a series of laborious services, such as I never before
witnessed, with the utmost cheerfulness and perseverance. The heavy
ordnance and stores were dragged by hand over mountains, and through
ravines, for nearly the whole distance, by roads which it had been
previously necessary for the troops to make for themselves.”

On the night of the 12th, Stevenson erected two batteries in front of
the north face of the fort, and Wellesley one on the mountain, “under
the southern gate.” Although firing was begun on the following morning,
the breaches in the walls of the outer fort were not sufficiently
large for practical purposes until the 14th. Next day, while the
storming party was getting to work, Wellesley made two attacks from
the southward so as to draw the enemy’s fire upon himself as much as
possible. The north-west gate was carried, and a detachment entered
without difficulty. Captain Campbell, with the light infantry of the
94th, then succeeded in fixing ladders against the wall of the inner
fort. They “escaladed the wall, opened the gate for the storming party,
and the fort was shortly in our possession.” In a later communication
Wellesley mentions that he never knew a place taken by storm which
was so little plundered, “and it is but doing justice to the corps to
declare that in an hour after having stormed that large place, they
marched out with as much regularity as if they had been only passing
through it.”

Bhonsla Rájá had already sent his vakeel[18] to sue for peace. This
was granted by his ceding to the Company the province of Cuttack, with
the district of Balasore, and dismissing the European officers who
had played so important a part in the drilling of his army. Sindhia
also “began to be a little alarmed respecting his own situation,” and
shortly afterwards concluded hostilities, handing over all the country
between the Jumna and the Ganges, and several important fortresses.
These happenings did not relieve Wellesley from active service.
Several bands of freebooters, “the terror of the country,” consisting
mainly of fugitive soldiers from the defeated armies, were carrying
on lawless practices in the West Deccan. After crossing the Godavery,
he and some of his troops marched many weary miles along bad roads,
often at accelerated speed, in order to attack them, only to find
that the enemy had received intelligence of their approach, probably
from a traitor in Wellesley’s own ranks. With set purpose the General
continued to follow where the marauders led, and eventually broke up
the bands, securing the whole of their guns, ammunition, and baggage,
thus depriving them of their means of warfare: “they have lost every
thing which could enable them to subsist when collected.” Wellesley
afterwards asserted that his chase of the freebooters was the greatest
march he ever made.

Towards the end of May 1804 Wellesley received instructions from the
Governor-General to break up the army in the Deccan, the task of
running to earth Holkar, the sole remaining enemy of the confederacy,
being given to Lake. In the following month he relinquished his
command, and after a short visit to Calcutta returned to Seringapatam.
He had already requested that he might be allowed to leave India “when
circumstances will permit it,” and the Commander-in-Chief had given him
the necessary permission. He was dissatisfied because he had not been
promoted since he became Major-General, “and I think that there appears
a prospect of service in Europe, in which I should be more likely to
get forward.” In addition, he was suffering from rheumatism, “for which
living in a tent during another monsoon is not a very good remedy.” He
sailed for the Homeland on the 10th March 1805, after six years of hard
work, and still harder fighting, in the interests of British rule in
India.

The following contemporary pen-portrait of “the Sepoy General,”
sketched for us by Captain Sherer, will enable us to visualize him as
he appeared at this time:

“General Wellesley was a little above the middle height, well limbed,
and muscular; with little incumbrance of flesh beyond that which
gives shape and manliness to the outline of the figure; with a firm
tread, an erect carriage, a countenance strongly patrician, both in
feature, profile, and expression, and an appearance remarkable and
distinguished: few could approach him on any duty, or on any subject
requiring his serious attention, without being sensible of a something
strange and penetrating in his clear light eye. Nothing could be more
simple and straightforward than the matter of what he uttered; nor did
he ever in his life affect any peculiarity or pomp of manner, or rise
to any coarse, weak loudness in his tone of voice. It was not so that
he gave expression to excited feeling.”

To what extent did the Governor-General influence his brother’s career
in India? First of all we must understand the position of the Marquis
Wellesley. It was naturally one of tremendous power and responsibility.
The glamour attached to the post was sufficiently evident to the
general public. There it ended, for it was glitter rather than gold to
its holder. The Directors of the East India Company, ever on the side
of rigid economy and large dividends, expressly forbade the costly
system of conquest and annexation, yet this was necessarily the sheet
anchor of Wellesley’s policy, as former chapters have shown. When
pacific measures were tried and failed, it would have been disastrous
to continue them. As it usually took over three months[19] for a
communication from India to reach England, it follows that the same
period was necessary for a reply. The consequences of indecision on
the part of the Viceroy, of waiting for advice from home in matters
requiring urgency, were therefore fraught with dire peril. On the
other hand, if he showed too despotic tendencies he ran a grave risk
of incurring displeasure. Indeed, this is exactly what happened, for
Lord Wellesley was recalled in 1805 and censured by the Court of
Proprietors. When, after thirty years, it became evident that his
administration had been wise and not foolish, that he had carried
out what would have had to be done eventually to establish British
influence, the Directors relented and voted him a grant of £20,000.

Fortunately there was “a barrier state” in London between the
Governor-General and the Directors in the person of the President of
the Board of Control, the said Board consisting of Cabinet Ministers.
This position had been occupied since July 1802 by Lord Castlereagh,
who, on taking office, found that Wellesley had come to the conclusion
that resignation was better than humiliation. He did much to smooth
over the difficulties, and from that time until Wellesley’s return to
England Castlereagh loyally supported the Viceroy on every possible
occasion. For instance, when the reduction of the Indian establishment
to 10,000 troops was seriously mooted by the Directors and the Cabinet
at home, notwithstanding the threatening attitude of the Marhattá
confederacy, it was largely due to Castlereagh’s support of Lord
Wellesley’s demands that so absurd a policy was prevented.

The President of the Board of Control never interfered in the matter
of patronage, knowing full well that the Governor-General on the spot
was better able to recognize merit for the special requirements of the
service than a man thousands of miles away. This brings us back to our
proper subject.

We have noted how Lord Mornington discerned the opportunity awaiting
his brother in India, and how that brother reciprocated when the former
was diffident in the matter of accepting the chief official post there.
It is true that Wellesley was made Governor of Seringapatam over the
head of Baird, his senior officer, but whether this appointment was due
to the fact that Mornington influenced General Harris in the matter of
his choice is not sufficiently evident. There is a strong suspicion
that it was,[20] because Arthur Wellesley had only served as commander
of the reserve, whereas Baird was the leader of the assault, and as
such military tradition unquestionably favoured his appointment.

Again, in the matter of the Batavian expedition, the Governor-General
offered Wellesley the appointment as military commander: “The King
has given me the power of selecting the persons who are to conduct
this expedition; ... and a conscientious sense of duty induces me
to think that you are the most fit person to be selected for that
service, provided you can safely be spared from Mysore for the period
of the expedition....” In Mornington’s opinion, “the expedition will
be very advantageous to the naval and military commanders.” On the
other hand, we know that when the project was abandoned for a diversion
on the coasts of the Red Sea, he superseded his brother. One wonders
what would have happened when Wellesley set off for Bombay without
instructions, had he not been closely related to the Governor-General.
The Marquis certainly did not minimize Arthur’s successes to those at
home. Writing to Addington, then Speaker of the House of Commons, in
October 1800, he says, “My brother Arthur has distinguished himself
most brilliantly in an expedition against an insurgent, who had
collected a great force of predatory cavalry--the wreck of Tippú’s
army.” Three years later, when Addington was Prime Minister, he again
drew attention to his brother’s achievements, as follows:--

“My public duty will not permit me to be silent respecting
Major-General Wellesley. His march from Mysore to Poona, his able
conduct of the measures adopted for restoring the Peishwah, for
conciliating the feudatory Mahratta chiefs who maintained their
allegiance to the Peishwah, for preserving the dominions of the
Nizám, and our interests at Hyderabad, combined with his sieges of
Ahmednuggur, Burrampur, and Asseerghur, his glorious and splendid
victories at Assaye and on the plains of Argaum, with the entire ruin
of Sindhia’s French troops and powerful artillery in the Deccan,
must place the name of General Wellesley among the most bright and
distinguished characters that have adorned the military history of
the British power in India. He is now employed in reducing the main
fortress of Perar, and in negotiating, with the utmost judgment and
skill, the conditions of peace. I leave his merits to your justice, and
to the judgment of his King and country. The pride and honour of being
allied by the nearest ties of blood to such an officer cannot absolve
me from the obligations of my public station, as the representative
of the supreme civil and military authority in India; and I cannot,
therefore, omit this testimony to the merits of General Wellesley
without a positive violation of my duty.”[21]

Whatever may be thought of such glowing praise from a brother on the
score of good taste, it evidently achieved its purpose, for before he
left India, Arthur Wellesley was appointed an extra Knight Companion of
the Bath and received the thanks of the King and Parliament.

Earl Roberts,[22] in summing up this phase of the future Duke’s career,
remarks: “On his arrival in India he found himself in a country where
in almost every matter the power and influence of the Governor-General
were supreme, and the Governor-General being his brother, he was
quickly placed in a position of responsibility, which gave him the
opportunity of developing his talents as a soldier and statesman in
the best of all schools--the school of practice. It cannot be denied
that in early life Wellington owed much to family influence,[23] and
to a system of promotion which would now be stigmatized as jobbery.
On the other hand, he took full advantage of every chance that was
thrown in his way, and by his industry and capacity fully justified the
exceptional favour with which he was treated.”

With this conclusion the present writer heartily agrees; whatever Sir
Arthur gained from his relative’s assistance was amply repaid in his
achievements. British India owes much to the brothers Wellesley.




CHAPTER VI

Service in England, Ireland, and Denmark

(1805-7)

  “_I am not afraid of responsibility, God knows, and I am ready to
  incur any personal risk for the public service._”

            WELLINGTON.


When, in 1803, the short-lived Peace of Amiens came to an end, and
Great Britain and France again resorted to the sword, Napoleon’s first
feat of arms was the conquest of Hanover. Thus, at the very beginning
of the second phase of the Great War, George III found himself not only
minus his hereditary continental possessions, but deprived of a very
useful base for those futile military excursions so beloved of the
British Government.

That His Majesty received the tidings of his loss “with great
magnanimity, and a real kingliness of mind,” may or may not be true.
His ministers asserted that such was the case; considerations of policy
would have precluded them from saying otherwise.

However this may be, two months after Sir Arthur Wellesley landed in
England, that is to say, in November 1805, he was given the command of
a brigade in an expedition to Hanover about to be undertaken by Lord
Cathcart. The object was to rout the comparatively few French troops
left to garrison the country, and to co-operate with Russian, Swedish,
and Danish troops in ridding Germany of the common enemy. The surrender
of Mack at Ulm, and Napoleon’s wonderful victory at Austerlitz,
although it followed within a few weeks of Nelson’s signal triumph at
Trafalgar,[24] completely shattered this desirable object, just as
the negotiations that followed put an end to the ambitious hopes of
the Third Coalition. The recall of the troops before they had been
able to carry out any of the objects of the diversion, beyond gaining
some thousands of adherents to the rank and file, therefore became
imperative, and was duly effected.

Sir Arthur Wellesley now spent a short time in command of his brigade
at Hastings, and he was gazetted colonel of the famous 33rd Regiment,
which post had become vacant on the death of the venerable Marquis
Cornwallis, his brother’s successor in India. The next important
event in his life, if not in his career, was his marriage to the Hon.
Catherine Pakenham, thus consummating a romance begun many years
before,[25] and his single ambition apart from the Army. The ceremony
was performed in Dublin on the 10th April 1806, the bridegroom being
nearly thirty-seven years of age. One wishes it were possible to add
that “they lived happy ever after.” Biography, the twin sister of
History, tells us that it was not so, and Gleig suggests that a broken
engagement with a second suitor, of which Wellesley was not informed
on his return from India, was partly the cause.[26] Two days after the
wedding Wellesley was elected Member of Parliament for Rye, his main
object in seeking political distinction being that he might defend
his brother’s administration in India, where his system of making
recalcitrant States subsidiary to England, whilst retaining their own
rulers, was the subject of an embittered attack. The “high crimes and
misdemeanours” alleged against Lord Wellesley were referred to from
time to time, but on the 17th March 1808, the following motion was
carried by 182 votes against 31: “That it appears to this House that
the Marquis Wellesley, in his arrangements in the province of Oude,
was actuated by an ardent zeal for the service of his country, and an
anxious desire to promote the safety, interests, and prosperity of the
British Empire in India.” This did not altogether end the unsavoury
affair, for another unsuccessful attempt to incriminate the statesman
was made some time later.

Sir Arthur was by this time Chief Secretary for Ireland, having
been appointed in the previous year. Once again we see two members
of this distinguished family holding prominent appointments, for
Henry Wellesley became one of the Secretaries to the Treasury in the
newly-appointed Portland ministry.

Barrington, whose acquaintance we have already made, relates an
interesting anecdote of the soldier at this time. He met Lord
Castlereagh, accompanied by a gentleman, in the Strand. “His lordship
stopped me,” he writes, “whereat I was rather surprised, as we had not
met for some time; he spoke very kindly, smiled, and asked if I had
forgotten my old friend, Sir Arthur Wellesley? whom I discovered in his
companion, but looking so sallow and wan, and with every mark of what
is called a worn-out man, that I was truly concerned at his appearance.
But he soon recovered his health and looks, and went as the Duke of
Richmond’s[27] secretary to Ireland, where he was in all material
traits still Sir Arthur Wellesley, but it was Sir Arthur Wellesley
judiciously improved. He had not forgotten his friends, nor did he
forget himself. He said that he had accepted the office of secretary
only on the terms that it should not impede or interfere with his
military pursuits; and what he said proved true....”

Obviously his duties in Ireland bear no comparison with those he so
successfully undertook in India, but following his own maxim, “to do
the business of the day in the day,” he got through a vast amount of
routine labour, frequently important, sometimes trivial. Under the
former head we must put his investigation of the military defences of
the island. It must not be forgotten that although the invasion of the
United Kingdom by Napoleon was no longer a standing menace, there was
always a likelihood of its resurrection, and Ireland was the danger
zone.

The Peace of Tilsit, signed between France and Russia on the 7th July
1807, and between France and Prussia on the 9th of the same month,
was a most serious blow to British interests. By a secret treaty the
Emperor Alexander undertook to aid Napoleon against England if that
Power refused to make peace within a certain period, to recognize the
equality of all nations at sea, and to hand back the conquests made by
her since 1805. As a bait--it really savoured of insult--Great Britain
was to be offered Hanover. Should she refuse these terms the Autocrats
of France and of Russia agreed to compel Denmark, Sweden, and Portugal
to join them in a vast naval confederacy against Great Britain, and
to close their ports against her. In addition, the reigning monarchs
of Spain and Portugal were to be deposed in favour of the Bonaparte
family. For his connivance in the matter Alexander was to be handsomely
compensated in the Ottoman Empire and by territorial acquisitions in
Western Europe.

Fortunately, or otherwise, according to the point of view, the British
Cabinet was put in possession of certain facts regarding these
plans. Canning, who was Minister for Foreign Affairs, realizing the
responsibilities of his unenviable position, as also of that of his
country, determined to forestall the plotters. He felt that some kind
of arrangement with Denmark was essential, especially as the Prince
Regent of Portugal had communicated news to the effect that Napoleon
purposed to invade England with the Portuguese and Danish fleets.
Canning suggested to Denmark that her fleet should be put in the safe
custody of England until peace was restored. In addition, he promised
a subsidy of £100,000, and the assistance of troops should Denmark be
attacked. Mr F. J. Jackson was sent to open negotiations; the Prince
Royal promptly vetoed them. “I stated plainly,” says Jackson, “that I
was ordered to demand the junction of the Danish fleet with that of
England, and that in case of refusal it was the determination of His
Majesty to enforce it.”

Lord Cathcart was put in command of an army of 27,000 troops, the
naval portion of the expedition being placed in the hands of Admiral
Gambier. No sooner had Sir Arthur Wellesley heard of the project than
he communicated with Castlereagh, then at the War Office and ever his
staunch supporter, for an opportunity to take part. He was given charge
of a division. On the 3rd August a formidable array of twenty-five
sail-of-the-line and over fifty gunboats and transports appeared off
Elsinore. Gambier and Cathcart were told by Jackson “that it now
rested with them to carry out the measure prescribed by the British
Government.” In a letter to his brother the diplomatist adds, “The
Danes must, I think, soon surrender, for they are without any hopes
of succour, are unfurnished with any effectual means of resistance,
and are almost in total want of the necessaries of life, as far as I
could learn or was able to see for myself during my few hours’ stay
there.[28] There were no droves of cattle or flocks of sheep; no
provisions of any sort being sent in the direction of the city. No
troops marching towards the town; no guns mounted on the ramparts; no
embrasures cut, in fact, no preparations of any sort. What the Danes
chiefly rely on is the defence by water. They brought out this morning
several _praams_[29] and floating batteries, and cut away one or two of
the buoys.

“The garrison of Copenhagen does not amount to more than four thousand
regular troops. The _landwehr_ is a mere rabble, as indeed all _levées
en masse_ must be.

“The people are said to be anxious to capitulate before a conflagration
takes place, which must happen soon after a bombardment begins, when,
not improbably, the fleet as well as the city will become a prey to the
flames.”

Jackson’s prophecy came true, but against his statement that the army
disembarked at Veldbeck “in grand style,” we must set that of Captain
Napier: “I never saw any fair in Ireland so confused as the landing;
had the enemy opposed us, the _remains_ of the army would have been on
their way to England.”[30] Wellesley’s first affray--it can scarcely
be termed a battle--took place at Roskilde. Like almost everything
connected with the expedition, Jackson has something to say about
it, and that “something” in this particular instance is anything but
complimentary. “Sir Arthur Wellesley,” he tells his wife, “has had an
affair which you will probably see blazoned forth in an extraordinary
_Gazette_. With about four thousand men he attacked a Danish corps of
armed peasantry, and killed and wounded about nine hundred men, besides
taking upwards of fifteen hundred prisoners, amongst whom were sixty
officers. One was a General officer. I spoke to him this morning,
for he and his officers are let off on their parole. The men are on
board prison ships, and miserable wretches they are, fit for nothing
but following the plough. They wear red and green striped woollen
jackets, and wooden _sabots_. Their long lank hair hangs over their
shoulders, and gives to their rugged features a wild expression. The
knowing ones say that after the first fire they threw away their arms,
hoping, without them, to escape the pursuit of our troops. In fact,
the _battle_ was not a very glorious one, but this you will keep for
yourself.”[31]

Wellesley himself afterwards referred to the event as “the little
battle at Kiöge,” and mentioned that “the Danes had made but a
poor resistance; indeed, I believe they were only new raised
men--militia.”[32]

The bombardment of Copenhagen began on the 2nd September 1807, and
concluded three days later, when an armistice was granted in order
that terms might be discussed. On the 7th, Copenhagen capitulated.
The conditions imposed by Sir Arthur Wellesley, Sir Home Popham, and
Lieutenant-Colonel Murray were that the British should occupy the
citadel and dockyards for six weeks, and take possession of the ships
and naval stores. Their troops would then evacuate Zealand. “I might
have carried our terms higher ... had not our troops been needed at
home,” Wellesley writes to Canning. The various clauses were carried
out, and fifteen sail-of-the-line, fifteen frigates, and thirty-one
smaller vessels of the Danish fleet, as well as 20,000 tons of naval
stores, were escorted to England. “That the attack was necessary,” says
a recent historian, “no one will now deny. England was fighting for her
existence; and, however disagreeable was the task of striking a weak
neutral, she risked her own safety if she left in Napoleon’s hand a
fleet of such proportions. In Count Vandal’s words, she ‘merely broke,
before he had seized it, the weapon which Napoleon had determined to
make his own.’”[33] Dr J. Holland Rose disapproves, and points out
that “In one respect our action was unpardonable: it was not the last
desperate effort of a long period of struggle: it came after a time of
selfish torpor fatal alike to our reputation and the interests of our
allies. After protesting their inability to help them, Ministers belied
their own words by the energy with which they acted against a small
State.”[34]

Canning’s hope for an alliance with Sweden, in order to keep open the
Baltic, was destined never to be fulfilled. Sir John Moore was sent to
assist Gustavus in his efforts to resist the attacks of Russia, but
the nation deserted the King, deposed him, and joined Napoleon. War
speedily broke out between Sweden and Denmark, and also between the
latter and Great Britain. The Czar’s overtures to England on behalf of
France, as arranged at Tilsit, came to nothing. He was not anxious for
them to have any other ending, so enraptured was he with Napoleon’s
grandiloquent schemes. Enraptured? Yes, but only for a few short years.




CHAPTER VII

The First Battles of the Peninsular War

(1808)

  “_In war _men_ are nothing: it is a _man_ who is everything._”

            NAPOLEON.


On his return from Copenhagen, Wellesley, never happy unless his mind
was fully occupied, resumed his duties as Chief Secretary for Ireland.
Special mention of the services he had rendered to his country was made
in the House of Commons, and there was some talk of a second period in
India, where affairs were far from settled. Before long, however, it
became increasingly evident that his knowledge and ability would be
required nearer home.

[Illustration: WELLINGTON’S PENINSULAR CAMPAIGNS.]

Portugal, our old ally, had been forced by Napoleon to declare war
against Great Britain on the 20th October 1807. Bent on pursuing
the rigid restrictions on trade imposed by his Continental System,
he had also peremptorily ordered the confiscation of the property
of the British merchants. Fortunately for those most concerned, the
Prince Regent remembered past friendship and may have discerned future
possibilities. He temporized, and this enabled many of the English
residents to settle their affairs and sail for home before the Dictator
could enforce obedience. The sequel was the overrunning of the
kingdom by French troops under the intrepid Junot, who met with no
resistance, and the desertion of their subjects by the Royal Family,
who sailed for Brazil.

Although this plan was carried out at the earnest request of the
British Government, as represented by Lord Strangford, the Ambassador
at the Portuguese Capital, it cannot be regarded as a pleasing example
of patriotism on the part of the House of Braganza.

In October 1807, Junot, in command of the French Army, and strengthened
by a few regiments of the Spanish corps placed at Napoleon’s disposal
for the dismemberment of the western portion of the Iberian Peninsula,
began his march on Lisbon. He concluded it on the 30th November with
only 1500 troops, the remainder following slowly by reason of the
terrible sufferings they had endured during a forced march made at
Napoleon’s urgent behest.

Here it should be mentioned that the presence of the Spanish troops
was due to the infamous Treaty of Fontainebleau, signed the previous
October. In this arrangement the Emperor had promised Godoy, the
real ruler of Spain and an intensely ambitious man, a large slice of
territory in the country about to be conquered in return for favours
rendered. It is more than probable that Napoleon never intended this
particular clause to be taken seriously by anyone but his dupe; the
gift was so much dust thrown in the eyes of the favourite for the
purpose of securing the entry of French troops into Spain.[35] In this
he was pre-eminently successful. Once in Lisbon Junot speedily removed
any fear of the national army by breaking up many of the regiments and
sending the remainder on service outside the kingdom. The flames of
rebellion were not yet kindled. So far so good.

Unhappily the chief prizes which the Emperor had hoped to secure at
Lisbon were beyond his reach. Even the squadron which was to have
seized the Portuguese and British shipping in the harbour was held in
check by the hated English.

Napoleon, pretending to be the friend of Spain, was in reality her
worst enemy. He merely used her as a useful tool to pick Portuguese
locks, and then pursued the same course with his friend’s lockers.
He began his unwelcome attentions by seizing the important frontier
fortresses of Pampeluna, Barcelona, San Sebastian, and Figueras, and
invading the country by a force which speedily numbered 116,000 men,
mostly conscripts, for he thought the country easy prey. Murat entered
Madrid as Junot had entered Lisbon. By the most unscrupulous methods,
namely, the enforced abdication of Charles IV and his son Ferdinand,
the Emperor secured the throne, permanently as he fondly imagined, for
his brother Joseph, King of Naples.

In July 1808 the eldest Bonaparte was proclaimed King, and entered his
capital. Within a month he found it desirable to retire behind the
Ebro; his subjects had not only broken into open revolt, but a French
army of over 17,000 troops under Dupont had been forced to capitulate
at Baylen, in Andalusia. Riots, assassinations, and massacres made it
evident that the Spanish temper was considerably more dangerous than
that of the Portuguese; it soon became obvious, moreover, that the
people had employed some of their time in organizing, on a necessarily
rough and ready principle, such forces as they possessed.

The inhabitants of the Asturias, in the north, were the first of the
provincials to apply the torch to the tinder of revolt, after a riot in
Madrid on the 2nd May 1808, and its Junta General called into being a
levy of 18,000 men to protect the principality. It sent two deputies to
England for assistance, which was readily given in money and military
stores. Other provinces likewise selected Juntas, and Galicia also
dispatched representatives to plead its cause in London. Galicia,
adjoining the Asturias on the west, lost little time in following the
warlike example of its neighbours, and the arsenals of Coruña and
Ferrol, made memorable by the Trafalgar campaign, threw in their lot
against Napoleon and contributed no fewer than thirty-two battalions of
regulars and militia to the general forces. Leon and Old Castile also
rose in rebellion, though with less energy. There were too many French
in the Basque Provinces and Navarre for much to be attempted there.
Coming still farther to the east, Catalonia sheltered 16,000 regulars
and many irregular levies, but Aragon, Valencia, and Murcia were very
weak. Andalusia, in the extreme south of the country, was almost as
fortunately placed with regard to troops as Galicia, and the remains of
the French fleet which had escaped Nelson and Collingwood were taken as
they rode in Cadiz harbour.

There was nothing approaching united action, provinces and towns often
vieing in more or less friendly rivalry. They did not understand, or
if they understood they did not realize, that patriotic cliques do
not make for strength. They fought for themselves rather than for the
nation as a whole. Throughout the struggle we find a lack of cohesion.

When we come to look at the earliest available statistics[36] of the
various Spanish armies which formed the front line, we find that their
total strength in regulars, militia battalions, and newly-raised corps
was 151,248. They were divided into five chief armies, namely, of
Galicia, Aragon, Estremadura, the Centre, and Catalonia, under Generals
Blake, Palafox, Galluzzo, Castaños, and Vives respectively. The troops
of the second line numbered about 65,000, and included the Army of
Granada, under Reding, the Army of Reserve of Madrid, commanded by San
Juan, the Galician, Asturian, Estremaduran, Andalusian, Murcian and
Valencian reserves, and the 3000 odd men in garrison in the Balearic
Isles.

The gross total of the French Army of Spain at this period dwarfs the
above figures for all their brave show; it reached 314,612. From this
must be deducted 32,643 detached troops and 37,844 in hospital or
missing, making the “effective” no fewer than 244,125. Of the eight
corps, Victor commanded the 1st, Bessières[37] the 2nd, Moncey the
3rd, Lefebvre the 4th, Mortier the 5th, Ney the 6th, St Cyr the 7th,
and Junot the 8th. There were also Reserve Cavalry and Infantry, the
Imperial Guard, troops marching from Germany, and National Guards
inside the French frontier.[38]

When we consider that on the 31st May 1808 Napoleon had only 116,000
men in Spain and that within six months he had found it necessary to
more than double that number, the desperate nature of the undertaking
becomes plain.

To enter fully into the doings of the various armies throughout the war
would deflect us far out of our proper course, but we shall hear of
them whenever Wellesley was involved.

If you would know the ferocious spirit of the patriots, the hate they
cherished for Napoleon and the French, you have only to turn to any one
of the many Memoirs of men who fought in the Peninsular War. Captain,
later Sir Harry, Smith, who was with Sir John Moore in 1808 and
remained with Wellesley until March 1814, gives many instances in his
vivacious “Autobiography,”[39] but the following must suffice. Smith’s
guide happened to be the owner of the house in which his wife and
baggage were quartered in the village of Offala:

“After I had dressed myself,” he relates, “he came to me and said,
‘When you dine, I have some capital wine, as much as you and your
servants like; but,’ he says, ‘come down and look at my cellar.’ The
fellow had been so civil, I did not like to refuse him. We descended by
a stone staircase, he carrying a light. He had upon his countenance a
most sinister expression. I saw something exceedingly excited him: his
look became fiend-like. He and I were alone, but such confidence had we
Englishmen in a Spaniard, and with the best reason, that I apprehended
no personal evil. Still his appearance was very singular. When we got
to the cellar-door, he opened it, and held the light so as to show
the cellar; when, in a voice of thunder, and with an expression of
demoniacal hatred and antipathy, pointing to the floor, he exclaimed,
‘There lie four of the devils who thought to subjugate Spain! I am a
Navarrese. I was born free from all foreign invasion, and this right
hand shall plunge this stiletto in my own heart as it did into theirs,
ere I and my countrymen are subjugated!’ brandishing his weapon like
a demon. I see the excited patriot as I write. Horror-struck as I
was, the instinct of self-preservation induced me to admire the deed
exceedingly, while my very frame quivered and my blood was frozen,
to see the noble science of war and the honour and chivalry of arms
reduced to the practices of midnight assassins. Upon the expression
of my admiration, he cooled, and while he was deliberately drawing
wine for my dinner, which, however strange it may be, I drank with
the gusto its flavour merited, I examined the four bodies. They were
Dragoons--four athletic, healthy-looking fellows. As we ascended, he
had perfectly recovered the equilibrium of his vivacity and naturally
good humour. I asked him how he, single-handed, had perpetrated this
deed on four armed men (for their swords were by their sides). ‘Oh,
easily enough. I pretended to love a Frenchman’ (or, in his words,
‘I was an Afrancesado’), ‘and I proposed, after giving them a good
dinner, we should drink to the extermination of the English.’ He then
looked at me and ground his teeth. ‘The French rascals, they little
guessed what I contemplated. Well, we got into the cellar, and drank
away until I made them so drunk, they fell, and my purpose was easily,
and as joyfully, effected.’ He again brandished his dagger, and said,
‘Thus die all enemies to Spain.’ Their horses were in his stable. When
the French Regiment marched off, he gave these to some guerrillas in
the neighbourhood. It is not difficult to reconcile with truth the
assertion of the historian who puts down the loss of the French army,
during the Spanish war, as 400,000 men, for more men fell in this
midnight manner than by the broad-day sword, or the pestilence of
climate, which in Spain, in the autumn, is excessive.”

[Illustration: Sir Harry Smith and the Spanish Patriot

Thomas Maybank]

That there was considerable cause for complaint on the part of the
Spaniards is also borne out by other eye-witnesses. Napier records that
a captain and his company came across a peasant’s hut and demanded
provisions, as was their wont. The father explained that his children
were half-starving, and he had but little food left. He was told that
he would be hanged to a beam. Should he give a sign that he repented of
his decision he would be cut down, but not otherwise. He was strung up
without further ado. Then the cries of his wife and children overcame
his noble act of self-sacrifice, and he was released. The soldiers
then took every scrap of food in the miserable dwelling and departed.
A similar method was adopted by a second body of plunderers, and
when they could find nothing they spitefully killed the poor fellow,
doubtless on the charge that he was hiding his stock.

Robert Blakeney, in noticing that most writers have referred to the
Spanish army as “ragged, half-famished wretches,” cautions us that
the men themselves must not be blamed for their unkempt appearance.
“The scandal and disgrace,” he writes, “were the legitimate attributes
of the Spanish Government. The members of the Cortez and Juntas were
entirely occupied in peculation, amassing wealth for themselves and
appointing their relatives and dependents to all places of power and
emolument, however unworthy and unqualified; and although it was
notorious that shiploads of arms, equipments, clothing, and millions
of dollars were sent from England for the use and maintenance of the
Spanish troops, yet all was appropriated to themselves by the members
of the general or local governments or their rapacious satellites,
while their armies were left barefoot, ragged and half-starved. In
this deplorable state they were brought into the field under leaders,
many of whom were scarcely competent to command a sergeant’s outlying
piquet; for in the Spanish army, as elsewhere, such was the undue
influence of a jealous and covetous aristocracy, that, unsupported
by their influence, personal gallantry and distinction, however
conspicuous, were but rarely rewarded.”[40] The same officer, who
joined the 28th Regiment as a boy of fifteen and saw much service in
the Peninsular War, assures us that “Courage was never wanting to the
Spanish soldiers; but confidence in their chiefs was rare.”[41]

An expedition against the American colonies of Spain had been mooted
several times by the British Cabinet, and Sir Arthur Wellesley had
reported on ways and means. The scheme had developed sufficiently for
some 8000 troops to be assembled at Cork preparatory to embarking for
the voyage. It was finally decided that the troops should be used for
a descent on Portugal, with the immediate intention of expelling the
French and raising the enthusiasm of the population against Napoleon.

The force sailed on the 12th July 1808 with Wellesley, now a
Lieutenant-General, in command.

John Wilson Croker, who served his country as Secretary to the
Admiralty from 1809 to 1830, dined with Sir Arthur and Lady Wellesley
in Harley Street on the evening before the General set out for Cork.
After settling some business connected with Ireland, Wellesley “seemed
to lapse into a kind of reverie,” his guest informs us, “and remained
silent so long that I asked him what he was thinking of. He replied,
‘Why, to say the truth, I am thinking of the French that I am going to
fight. I have not seen them since the campaign in Flanders, when they
were capital soldiers, and a dozen years of victory under Buonaparte
must have made them better still. They have besides, it seems, a new
system of strategy, which has out-manœuvred and overwhelmed all the
armies of Europe. ’Tis enough to make one thoughtful; but no matter:
my die is cast, they may overwhelm me, but I don’t think they will
out-manœuvre me. First, because I am not afraid of them, as everybody
else seems to be; and secondly, because if what I hear of their system
of manœuvres be true, I think it a false one as against steady troops.
I suspect all the continental armies were more than half beaten before
the battle was begun. I, at least, will not be frightened beforehand.”

Wellesley made the voyage to Portugal in a fast frigate, and landed
at Coruña on the 20th July 1808, ahead of his troops. This gave him
sufficient time to make a preliminary study of the situation at first
hand, and to be ready for immediate operations on the arrival of his
men.

The first news he received was not encouraging, for it told of the
battle of Medina de Rio Seco, which Bessières had won against the Army
of Galicia on the 14th July. A little relief was afforded by rumours
of success elsewhere, and “the arrival of the British money,” speedily
renewed the flagging spirits of the patriots who were fighting under
such adverse conditions.

The Junta of Galicia, while keenly appreciative of gold, ammunition,
and arms, showed no disposition to avail themselves of the Commander’s
services, and suggested his landing in the north of Portugal as
the government of Oporto was collecting native troops in that
neighbourhood. “The difference between any two men,” Wellesley writes
on the 21st July, the day before he sailed from Coruña, “is whether
the one is a better or a worse Spaniard, and the better Spaniard is
the one who detests the French most heartily. I understand that there
is actually no French party in the country; and at all events I am
convinced that no man now dares to show that he is a friend to the
French.”

To sum up the situation was not an arduous task for Wellesley. He came
to the conclusion without further ado that the only reasonable way to
assist the Spaniards was “to get possession of and organize a good army
in Portugal.” He proceeded to the fleet off Cape Finisterre, spent a
few hours there, and then went to Oporto, where he had an important
conference with the Bishop, who was also head of the Portuguese Junta,
and a number of military officers. It was eventually decided that about
5300 troops, chiefly infantry, stationed at Coimbra under Bernardino
Freire, should be used to co-operate with Wellesley, and that the
remaining forces, namely, 12,000 peasants, should either be employed
in the neighbourhood or in the province of Tras os Montes, where a
French attack seemed probable. Finally a spot in Mondego Bay was chosen
as the most suitable point for disembarkation, especially as it had
the additional advantage of being near Coimbra. On the 1st August the
business commenced, tiresome, and not unattended by danger because of
the heavy surf.

Wellesley had much to think about while this was proceeding. He had
just received the amazing news that he had been superseded by Sir
Hew Dalrymple, with Sir Harry Burrard as second in command, that Sir
John Moore was on his way with 10,000 men, and that he (Wellesley) and
Lieut.-Generals the Hon. J. Hope, Sir E. Paget, and Mackenzie Frazer
were to command divisions. Whatever agitation the new arrangements may
have occasioned Wellesley, he did not allow it to shake his purpose or
lessen his enthusiasm for the cause he had now so much at heart. He
writes to Castlereagh, “Whether I am to command the army or not, or
am to quit it, I shall do my best to insure its success; and you may
depend upon it that I shall not hurry the operations, or commence them
one moment sooner than they ought to be commenced, in order that I may
acquire the credit of the success. The Government will determine for
me what way they will employ me hereafter, whether here or elsewhere.”
He then goes on to sketch a campaign suitable for an army “of 30,000
Portuguese troops, which might be easily raised at an early period; and
20,000 British, including 4000 or 5000 cavalry.”

“The weather was so rough and stormy,” writes one of the soldiers of
the 71st Regiment, “that we were not all landed until the 5th. On our
leaving the ship, each man got four pound of biscuit, and four pound
of salt beef cooked on board. We marched, for twelve miles, up to the
knees in sand, which caused us to suffer much from thirst; for the
marching made it rise and cover us. We lost four men of our regiment,
who died of thirst. We buried them where they fell. At night we came to
our camp ground [Lugar], in a wood, where we found plenty of water, to
us more acceptable than anything besides on earth. We here built large
huts, and remained four days. We again commenced our march alongst
the coast, towards Lisbon. In our advance, we found all the villages
deserted, except by the old and destitute....”

On the night of the 8th, General Spencer and his corps of 4500 men
joined Wellesley from Cadiz, where he had landed at the request of
the Junta of Seville. By the 11th the whole army had arrived at
Leiria, and on the following day it was augmented by 2300 of Freire’s
Portuguese troops, their commander refusing point blank to march with
his remaining forces unless certain impossible demands were met. “My
object,” writes Wellesley, “is to obtain possession of Lisbon, and to
that I must adhere, whatever may be the consequences, till I shall have
attained it, as being the first and greatest step towards dispossessing
the French of Portugal.”

Meanwhile, Junot had sent instructions to Generals Loison and Delaborde
to effect a junction and attack Wellesley. This was prevented by the
timely arrival of the British troops at Leiria, for the former was
some sixteen miles to the south-east and the latter about the same
distance to the south-west. Wellesley was consequently between them.
This necessitated Loison’s return to the southward if he wished to join
Delaborde, and the British General determined to prevent the operation.
On the 14th, Wellesley was at Alcobaço, from whence the French had
retreated but a few hours before.

Although a small engagement took place near Obidos, Wellesley did not
offer battle until two days later because his whole force had not yet
come up. The conflict occurred at Roliça, where Delaborde’s army was
awaiting him on a hill. We know that the allied force totalled 15,000;
the strength of the enemy is uncertain, Wellesley believing it to be
6000, while Professor Oman[42] gives the figure as “about 4350 men,”
basing his conclusion on known official returns previous to the fight
and making allowance for probable losses by sickness.

“On the morning of the 17th,” says the eye-witness already quoted, “we
were under arms an hour before day. Half an hour after sunrise, we
observed the enemy in a wood. We received orders to retreat. Having
fallen back about two miles, we struck to the right, in order to come
upon their flank, whilst the 9th, 29th, and 5th battalion of the 60th,
attacked them in front. They had a very strong position on a hill. The
29th advanced up the hill, not perceiving an ambush of the enemy, which
they had placed on each side of the road. As soon as the 29th was right
between them, they gave a volley, which killed, or wounded, every man
in the grenadier company, except seven. Unmindful of their loss, the
regiment drove on, and carried the entrenchments.[43] The engagement
lasted until about four o’clock, when the enemy gave way. We continued
the pursuit, till darkness put a stop to it. The 71st had only one
man killed and one wounded. We were manœuvring all day, to turn their
flank; so that our fatigue was excessive, though our loss was but
small.”

Such was the battle of Roliça, Wellesley’s first victory over the
French. He was perfectly satisfied with the fighting and moral
qualities of his men as displayed in this engagement.

“I cannot sufficiently applaud the conduct of the troops throughout
this action,” he tells Castlereagh. Although he had a superiority of
strength, the number of soldiers “actually employed in the heat of the
action,” namely, 4635, was, “from unfavourable circumstances ... by
no means equal to that of the enemy.” The returns showed 479 British
killed, wounded, and missing, and the French about 600.




CHAPTER VIII

Victory Abroad, and Displeasure at Home

(1808-9)

  “_From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step._”

            NAPOLEON.


With a mere handful of soldiers, Junot, big with ideas of a future
kingship, and underestimating the strength and fighting powers of the
enemy, left Lisbon and entered the field against Wellesley, whose
troops were now encamped at Vimiero to cover the landing of 4000
additional men under Generals Anstruther and Acland. Having joined
forces with the unfortunate Loison and Delaborde and thereby brought up
the total strength of his army to 13,056 men, the Marshal prepared to
attack.

Wellesley, who had over 18,000 troops, including 2000 Portuguese, was
well prepared, nay eager, for the encounter, but, unfortunately for
him, Burrard arrived on the evening of the 20th August. When Wellesley
explained to him his scheme of operations he showed no disposition to
fall in with it. Wellesley had wished Sir John Moore to proceed to
Lisbon by land in order to cut off Junot’s retreat, but the less-active
Burrard would have none of it, and ordered him to wait until Moore’s
arrival. “Whether we advance or not,” replied the General, “we shall
have to fight. For the French will certainly attack us if we do not
attack them.”

This prophecy was fulfilled about 8 o’clock on the morning of the
21st August 1808, when squadrons of the enemy’s cavalry appeared. An
attack was made on the British advanced guard. The French were driven
back at the point of the bayonet, while other troops, stationed in the
churchyard of Vimiero, prevented them from reaching the village of that
name, and Acland’s brigade attacked them in flank. “A most desperate
contest” was necessary before the enemy recoiled in confusion, during
which they lost heavily in killed and wounded, and in _material_
seven pieces of cannon. Other French troops, supported by a large
body of cavalry, turned their attention to the heights on the road to
Lourinhão, where Ferguson’s brigade was stationed. The latter charged
with praiseworthy coolness, and again there was a tale of disaster to
tell when the enemy fell back, while half a dozen guns were captured.
An attempt to recover part of the lost artillery resulted in the French
being obliged to retire “with great loss.”

Burrard, who had slept on the vessel which had brought him out, did
not arrive on the field till late in the day, and took no part in
the direction of the battle until Wellesley wished to pursue the
enemy to Torres Vedras and cut them off from Lisbon. “Sir Harry,” he
said, “now is your time to advance, the enemy is completely beaten,
and we shall be in Lisbon in three days.” This his senior officer
absolutely forbade. Had the former been allowed to follow his own
wishes he believed that, “in all probability, the whole would have
been destroyed.” As it was, at least 1800 of the enemy were rendered
_hors de combat_, including 300 or 400 troops who were made prisoners.
The British lost in killed and missing 186 men, and 534 were wounded.
The General was again delighted with the behaviour of his men, and in
communicating with the Duke of York, he averred that “this is the
only action I have ever been in, in which every thing passed as it was
directed and no mistake was made by any of the Officers charged with
its conduct.”

One splendid incident, one altogether human touch, affords relief
to the story of the battle of Vimiero. A piper of the gallant 71st
Highlanders, severely wounded in the thigh and deeply in need of
surgical aid, continued to blow his pibroch for the encouragement of
his colleagues, until exhaustion finally conquered his determined
spirit. Seated on the ground he declared that “the lads should nae
want music to their wark,” and went on with his weird music as though
parading within the walls of Edinburgh Castle.

“I afterwards saw him,” relates Lieut.-General Sir William Warre, “in
a hovel, where we collected the wounded ... both French and English. I
shook him by the hand, and told him I was very sorry to see so fine a
fellow so badly hurt; he answered, ‘Indeed, captain, I fear I am done
for, but there are some of those poor fellows,’ pointing to the French,
‘who are very bad indeed.’”

Such coolness, typified in successive instances, although not always
under such conditions,[44] has made our Empire what it is to-day. The
“common” British soldier, sowing the highway with his bones, enables a
later generation to reap a golden harvest.

[Illustration: The Gallant Piper at Vimiera

Thomas Maybank]

It is due to the French to record that they were not without men
equally as cool as Piper Mackay. A typical example is furnished by
Major Ross-Lewin, who fought in the 32nd, and it occurred immediately
after the battle of Vimiero:

“An officer of my regiment,” he relates, “happened to pass near an old
French soldier, who was seated by the roadside, covered with dust,
and desperately wounded; a cannon-shot had taken off both his feet
just above the ankles, but his legs were so swollen that his wounds
bled but little. On seeing the officer, the poor fellow addressed him,
saying, ‘_Monsieur, je vous conjure donnez moi mes pieds_.’ and at the
same time pointed to his feet, which lay on the road beyond his reach.
His request met with a ready compliance. The pale, toilworn features of
the veteran brightened up for an instant on receiving these mutilated
members, which had borne him through many a weary day, and which it
grieved him to see trampled on by the victorious troops that passed;
and then, as if prepared to meet his fast-approaching fate becomingly,
by the attainment of this one poor wish, he laid them tranquilly
beside him, and, with a look of resignation, and the words, ‘_Je suis
content_,’ seemed to settle himself for death.”

Many years afterwards, when in a reminiscent mood, the Duke of
Wellington recapitulated the events of the 21st August 1808. “The
French,” he told his guests, “came on at Vimiero with more confidence,
and seemed to _feel their way_ less than [smiling] I always found them
to do _afterwards_. They came on in their usual way, in a very heavy
column, and I received them in line, which they were not accustomed to,
and we repulsed them there several times, and at last they went off
beaten on all points, while I had half the army untouched and ready to
pursue; but Sir H. Burrard--who had joined the army in about the middle
of the battle, but seeing all doing so well, had desired me to continue
in the command now that he considered the battle as won, though I
thought it but half done--resolved to push it no further. I begged very
hard that he would go on, but he said enough had been done. Indeed,
if he had come earlier, the battle would not have taken place at all,
for when I waited on him on board the frigate in the bay the evening
before, he desired me to suspend all operations, and said he would do
nothing till he had collected all the force which he knew to be on the
way. He had heard of Moore’s arrival, but the French luckily resolving
to attack us, led to a different result. I came from the frigate about
nine at night, and went to my own quarters with the army, which, from
the nearness of the enemy, I naturally kept on the alert. In the dead
of the night a fellow came in--a German sergeant, or quartermaster--in
a great fright--so great that his hair seemed actually to stand on
end--who told me that the enemy was advancing rapidly, and would be
soon on us. I immediately sent round to the generals to order them
to get the troops under arms, and soon after the dawn of day we
were vigorously attacked. The enemy were first met by the (50th ?),
not a good-looking regiment, but devilish steady, who received them
admirably, and brought them to a full stop immediately, and soon drove
them back; they then tried two other attacks ... one very serious,
through a valley on our left; but they were defeated everywhere, and
completely repulsed, and in full retreat by noon, so that we had time
enough to have _finished them_ if I could have persuaded Sir H. Burrard
to go on.”

On the day following the battle of Vimiero, Dalrymple arrived.
While pondering over the situation he received a proposal for an
armistice from Junot, which developed into the Convention of Cintra,
preliminarily signed on the 30th August 1808. The most important
conditions were--the surrender of all places and forts in Portugal
occupied by the French troops, the evacuation of the country, and the
transport of the army, its munitions and “property,” to France in
British ships. By a strange oversight the important question of future
service was overlooked, consequently there was nothing to prevent an
early return of the troops to the Peninsula should Napoleon think fit
for them to do so.

We have now to consider Wellesley’s part in this much discussed
transaction. The Convention was definitely signed on the 30th August
1808, but previous to this a meeting of the General Officers was
called to deliberate upon it. “The result of the meeting,” Wellesley
writes on the 29th inst., “was a proposal to make certain alterations,
which I acknowledge I do not think sufficient, although the treaty
will answer in its amended form.... At the same time I must say that
I approve of allowing the French to evacuate Portugal, because I see
clearly that we cannot get them out of Portugal otherwise, under
existing circumstances, without such an arrangement; and we should
be employed in the blockade or siege of the places which they would
occupy during the season in which we ought and might be advantageously
employed against the French in Spain. But the Convention, by which they
should be allowed to evacuate Portugal, ought to be settled in the
most honorable manner to the army by which they have been beaten; and
we ought not to be kept for 10 days on our field of battle before the
enemy (who sued on the day after the action) is brought to terms.

“I am quite annoyed on this subject.”

Wellesley signed the preliminary Memorandum at the request of
Dalrymple, but had nothing to do with the final settlement. “I lament
the situation of our affairs as much as you do,” he writes on the 5th
September, “and I did every thing in my power to prevent it; but my
opinion was overruled. I had nothing to do with the Convention as it
now stands; and I have never seen it to this moment.... I have only to
regret that I put my name to an agreement of which I did not approve,
and which I did not negotiate: if I had not done it, I really believe
that they would not have dared to make such a Convention as they have
made: notwithstanding that that agreement was never ratified, and is
now so much waste paper.”[45]

His letters at this period teem with allusions to the unfortunate
treaty. He tells Castlereagh that “It is quite impossible for me to
continue any longer with this army; and I wish, therefore, that you
would allow me to return home and resume the duties of my office, if I
should still be in office, and it is convenient to the Government that
I should retain it; or if not, that I should remain upon the Staff in
England; or, if that should not be practicable, that I should remain
without employment. You will hear from others of the various causes
which I must have for being dissatisfied, not only with the military
and other public measures of the Commander-in-Chief, but with his
treatment of myself. I am convinced it is better for him, for the army,
and for me, that I should go away; and the sooner I go the better.”

On the 6th October Wellesley was in London, and at once resumed his
office as Chief Secretary for Ireland. The newspapers teemed with
unsavory references to the unpopular Convention; the caricaturists, not
to be rivalled by their journalistic brethren, produced the grossest
lampoons for the benefit of the indignant public. In one of them
Wellesley and his colleagues are hanging on gibbets, in another the
former is shown urging his troops to glory:

    _This is Sir Arthur (whose valour and skill, began so well, but
          ended so ill)
    Who beat the French, who took the Gold, that lay in the City of
          Lisbon._

Windham, writing in his Diary under date of the 16th September,
probably sums up the thoughts of most British statesmen of the time:
“At Chesterford heard report of news; said to be excellent, but without
particulars. Feasted upon the hopes of what I should meet at Hockrill.
Alas! _quanti de spe decidi!_ it was the news of the convention with
Junot. _There never was surely such a proceeding in the history of wars
or negotiations._ There is no bearing the thought of it.”

A Court of Inquiry was instituted. Dalrymple and Burrard were recalled,
and together with Wellesley, were examined before a board of officers,
which included General David Dundas and Lord Moira, at Chelsea
Hospital. The finding of the Court was non-committal “respecting
the fitness of the Convention in the relative situation of the two
armies,” doubtless because a unanimous “verdict” could not be arrived
at, but the members definitely declared “that unquestionable zeal and
firmness appear throughout to have been exhibited by Lieut.-Generals
Sir Hew Dalrymple, Sir Harry Burrard, and Sir Arthur Wellesley....”
In commenting on the judgment thus expressed, Sir Herbert Maxwell
notes that the two senior officers were never employed again, adding,
“Similar eclipse might have fallen upon Sir Arthur, but for the efforts
of Castlereagh and other powerful friends, whose confidence in their
General was never shaken.”

In the following January (1809) the House of Lords and the House of
Commons expressed their thanks to General Wellesley for the victories
of Roliça and Vimiero.

“It is your praise,” said the Speaker in the Commons, “to have inspired
your troops with unshaken confidence and unbounded ardour; to have
commanded, not the obedience alone, but the hearts and affections of
your companions in arms; and, having planned your operations with the
skill and promptitude which have so eminently characterized all your
former exertions, you have again led the armies of your country to
battle, with the same deliberate valour and triumphant success which
have long since rendered your name illustrious in the remotest parts of
this Empire.

“Military glory has ever been dear to this nation; and great military
exploits, in the field or upon the ocean, have their sure reward in
Royal favour and the gratitude of Parliament. It is, therefore, with
the highest satisfaction, that, in this fresh instance, I now proceed
to deliver to you the thanks of this House....”

Wellesley’s reply was made in three well-chosen sentences, without the
slightest attempt at rhetoric. In the House of Lords Vimiero was spoken
of as “a signal victory, honorable and glorious to the British arms.”
The resolutions of the peers, which included high appreciation of the
behaviour of the non-commissioned officers and privates, were conveyed
to Sir Arthur by the Lord Chancellor, and acknowledged by their
recipient in a short letter, the most important paragraphs of which are
as follows:

“I have received the mark of distinction which the House of Lords
have conferred upon me with sentiments of gratitude and respect
proportionate to the high sense I entertain of the greatness of the
honor which it carries with it; and I shall have great pleasure in
communicating to the Officers and the troops the distinguished reward
of their exemplary conduct which their Lordships have conferred upon
them.

“I beg leave, at the same time, to express to their Lordships my thanks
for the expressions of personal civility with which your Lordship has
conveyed to me the commands of the House.”

These signs of approval must have been entirely satisfactory to
Sir Arthur after the bitter criticisms of the previous months, but
what he particularly valued was a handsome service of plate, worth
intrinsically £1000, but sentimentally beyond price, presented to him
by the brigadier and field officers who were associated with him in
the victory at Vimiero. They, at any rate, had implicit faith in their
General.




CHAPTER IX

Sir Arthur’s Return to Portugal

(1809)

  “_We are not naturally a military people; the whole business of an
  army upon service is foreign to our habits, and is a constraint
  upon them, particularly in a poor country like this._”

            WELLINGTON.


Baron de Frénilly, travelling to Paris in December 1808, notes that
“the roads along which we passed were crowded with splendid troops
who were on their way to find a grave in the Peninsula.” Napoleon, in
the Constitution he granted to Spain, assumes for himself not only
the so-called “divine right of kings,” but the special favour of
Providence. “God,” he says, “has given me the power and the will to
overcome all obstacles.” Frénilly, writing after the Emperor’s death,
merely states an historical fact; Napoleon, at the height of his
stupendous power, regards himself as omnipotent, and proves within a
few years that he is not.

Yet it must be conceded that the Dictator of Europe--apart from moral
considerations, which never troubled him to any extent--had a certain
right to infer from his past experience that the Almighty was on his
side. It was not for him to foresee that the Peninsula was to prove a
running sore of the Imperial body politic. To be sure, Joseph had not
been particularly successful on the throne of the Spanish Bourbons,
Murat had displayed many foolish qualities, Dupont had surrendered,
Junot had evacuated Portugal, and eleven millions had rebelled either
practically or theoretically against French domination, but there was
still himself, and God was “on the side of the heaviest battalions!”
“I may find in Spain the Pillars of Hercules, but not the limits of
my power.” Thus he endeavoured to encourage his brother, and there is
no reason to suspect that he imagined otherwise. He announced that he
would pour between 300,000 and 400,000 troops across the Pyrenees--he
actually began the new campaign with over 200,000, which compared more
than favourably with the 120,000 ill-organized patriots under Castaños,
Palafox, Vives, Belvedere, Blake, and La Romana, who usually acted
without any idea of the value of co-operation.

The number of those ready and willing to engage in a guerilla warfare
cannot be given.[46] Statistics fail in such a matter as this. Names
indelibly associated with Napoleon’s greatness were either present or
coming--Victor, Bessières, Moncey, Lefebvre, Ney, St Cyr, Mortier, and
Junot.

When Dalrymple, Burrard, and Wellesley sailed from Portugal the
British command devolved upon Sir John Moore. This being a biography
of Wellington, Moore’s astounding campaign can only be referred to in
the briefest way, but it is necessary to mention the more important
incidents if we are to understand the various phases of the war.
Leaving 9000 men at Lisbon with Lieutenant-General Sir John Cradock,
and taking with him 14,000 troops, Moore advanced into Spain to
co-operate with the Spaniards according to his instructions. His own
columns reached Salamanca, the point of concentration, in November
1808, but Baird, who, with a reinforcement of 13,000 men, was to
effect a junction with him, found it impossible to do so. There was
much delay in consequence.

In the first week of the following month the Emperor was at Madrid, and
the Spanish capital once again in the hands of the French. Disaster
after disaster had followed hard in the tracks of the national forces.

It was Moore’s hope that by slowly retreating northward the enemy would
follow, and thus enable his allies in the south to recover. Having
united with Baird, and learned that Soult, with not more than 20,000,
was near Sahagun, Moore was on the eve of combat when the startling
intelligence reached him that Napoleon was in pursuit. The Emperor had
told the Senate, “I am determined to carry on the war with the utmost
activity, and to destroy the armies that England has disembarked in
that country.” With wonderful promptitude Moore turned towards Coruña,
where he believed the British fleet awaited him. Napoleon, hearing
disconcerting news from Paris, made off for his capital, leaving Soult,
“the Iron Duke of France,” and Ney to pursue the red-coats.

On the 16th January 1809, the battle in which Moore received his
death-wound was fought. Within twenty-four hours the victorious troops
embarked for the homeland. Not a British soldier, other than deserters
or stragglers, was left in Spain. In the sister kingdom there were
some 12,000, of whom 9000 had been left at Lisbon by Moore when he had
set out for Salamanca; the remainder had arrived from England in the
previous November and December. In addition, Sir Robert Wilson had
succeeded in equipping some 1300 men at Oporto for his Loyal Lusitanian
Legion.

It soon became evident that war would shortly break out between
France and Austria, thus precluding any thought on Napoleon’s part of
going back to the Peninsula. Castlereagh, notwithstanding previous
experiences, was as enthusiastic as ever. Baird and his ragged troops
were no sooner home than it was remarked that the Secretary for War
and Wellesley were very frequently together. Wiseacres foretold an
early return of the latter to Spain and Portugal.

Sir Arthur prepared a lengthy Memorandum on the defence of Portugal,
which was placed in the hands of the Cabinet for careful consideration.
“I have always been of opinion,” it begins, “that Portugal might be
defended, whatever might be the result of the contest in Spain; and
that in the meantime the measures adopted for the defence of Portugal
would be highly useful to the Spaniards in their contest with the
French.”

Wellesley suggested the thorough reorganization of the native
Portuguese troops, part of the expense being borne by Great Britain,
and the employment of not less than 30,000 British troops, including
4000 or 5000 cavalry and a large body of artillery. The entire army
was to be commanded by British officers. Riflemen and 3000 British or
German cavalry should be sent as additional reinforcements as soon as
possible, in addition to a corps of engineers for an army of 60,000.
He perfectly understood that the French would not be caught napping,
for “it may be depended upon that as soon as the newspapers shall have
announced[47] the departure of Officers for Portugal, the French armies
in Spain will receive orders to make their movements towards Portugal,
so as to anticipate our measures for its defence. We ought therefore to
have every thing on the spot, or nearly so, before any alarm is created
at home respecting our intentions.”

Thanks in no small measure to Castlereagh, Wellesley was appointed
to the supreme command of the new expedition. He left England on
the 14th April 1809, a few weeks after Soult’s vanguard had crossed
the Portuguese frontier, and landed at Lisbon on the 22nd, after
a most eventful voyage, having encountered terrible weather off
the Isle of Wight which threatened to drive his vessel ashore. The
Commander-in-Chief thus sums up the situation in the Peninsula: “At
that time,” he says, “the French had got possession of Zaragoza,
Marshal Soult held Oporto and the northern provinces of Portugal. The
battle of Medellin had been fought on the 29th March; and General
Cuesta was endeavouring to recover from its effects, and to collect
an army again at Monasterio, in the mountains of the Sierra Morena.
The French, under Marshal Victor, were in possession of the Guadiana,
and had their advanced posts as forward as Los Santos. Sebastiani
was at Ciudad Real, and held in check the army of La Carolina, at
that time under the command of General Venegas, consisting of about
12,000 men. Ney was in possession of Galicia; Salamanca was held by a
small detachment of French troops; St Cyr was at Catalonia with his
corps of 25,000 men; and Kellermann, who had succeeded to Bessières
in the command of the 6th corps, was at Valladolid. Mortier, with his
corps,[48] and the Duc d’Abrantès (Junot), with the 8th corps, at
Zaragoza. The Portuguese army was totally disorganized, and nearly
annihilated; and the Spanish troops were scarcely able to hold their
positions in the Sierra Morena. The Marquis de la Romana, who had been
with his corps on the frontiers of Portugal, near Chaves, from the
period of the embarkation of the British army at Coruña, in the month
of January, till the month of March, had moved from thence when Soult
invaded Portugal by Chaves, and afterwards moved towards the Asturias
with his army, and went himself into that province.”

The greeting the Commander-in-Chief received at the hands of the
populace of Lisbon would have been embarrassing to one possessing
a less cool head, but Wellesley knew perfectly well that applause
to-day is apt to become condemnation to-morrow. He was appointed
Marshal-General in the Portuguese Army, which was now placed in the
capable hands of General Beresford by the British Cabinet, Wellesley’s
one second-in-command being Major-General Rowland Hill. According to
his instructions, “the defence of Portugal you will consider as the
first and immediate object of your attention. But, as the security
of Portugal can only be effectually provided for in connection with
the defence of the Peninsula in the larger sense, his Majesty on this
account, as well as from the unabated interest he takes in the cause
of Spain, leaves it to your judgment to decide, when your army shall
be advanced on the frontier of Portugal, how your efforts can be best
combined with the Spanish, as well as the Portuguese troops, in support
of the common cause. In any movements you may undertake, you will,
however, keep in mind that, until you receive further orders, your
operations must necessarily be conducted with especial reference to the
protection of that country.”

Of British troops the Commander-in-Chief now had at his disposal
23,455, namely, 18,935 infantry, 4270 cavalry, and 250 attached
to the wagon train; Portugal contributed 16,000 men. Costello, a
non-commissioned officer of the 95th Rifles, and later a Captain in
the British Legion, has nothing good to say of the Portuguese troops.
In his record of the Peninsular War[49] he gives several instances of
their unreliability and treacherous nature. One example must suffice:

“The sanguinary nature of the Portuguese,” he says, “during the whole
period of the war was notorious. When crossed or excited, nothing but
the shedding of blood could allay their passion. It was always with
the greatest difficulty that we could preserve our French prisoners
from being butchered by them, even in cold blood. They would hang upon
the rear of a detachment with prisoners, like so many carrion birds,
waiting every opportunity to satiate their love of vengeance, and it
required all the firmness and vigilance of our troops to keep them in
check. It was well known that even our men fell in stepping between
them and the French whom they had marked out as victims. Indeed, it was
not unfrequent for our men to suffer from the consequences of their
ferocity, and I myself, while at Vallée, had a narrow escape. I had
crossed the hills to purchase some necessaries at the quarters of the
52nd Regiment, and on my return fell in with several of the soldiers
of the 3rd Caçadores. One of them, a fierce-looking scoundrel, evinced
a great inclination to quarrel, the more particularly as he perceived
that I was unarmed and alone. Having replied rather sharply to some
abuse they had cast upon the English, by reflecting on their countrymen
in return, he flew into a rage, drew his bayonet, and made a rush at
me, which I avoided by stepping aside, and tripping him head foremost
on the ground. I was in the act of seizing his bayonet, when a number
of his comrades came up, to whom he related, in exaggerated terms, the
cause of our disagreement. Before he had half concluded, a general cry
arose of ‘Kill the English dog’; and the whole, drawing their bayonets,
were advancing upon me when a party of the 52nd came up, the tables
were turned, and the Caçadores fled in all directions.”

Wellesley at once prepared to advance, and had not been at Lisbon a
week before representations were made to him by the Junta of Spanish
Estremadura for aid in behalf of the southern provinces. He replied
that until “the enemy who has invaded Portugal shall have been removed”
he could not hope to lend them the requisite assistance. “The enemy”
consisted of the corps under Soult and Victor. The army of the former,
which had left Coruña and invaded Portugal by Napoleon’s imperative
orders, now occupied Oporto. This, the second city in the kingdom
and the centre of the most prosperous district, fell after a gallant
if unscientific resistance on the part of the inhabitants under the
Bishop. The Marshal took dire vengeance on the insurgents during the
journey from Galicia, perhaps because he had suffered from the guerilla
warfare, now almost universal throughout the Peninsula. Victor’s army
was to take Badajoz and afterwards Seville, while Sebastiani held the
south in check. Wellesley decided to attack Soult, which necessitated
a march of over eighty miles of difficult country. Leaving two small
detachments of his own and of Portuguese troops upon the Tagus to
watch the movements of Victor, he set out with 13,000 British, 9000
Portuguese, and 3000 Germans--25,000 in all.

The right column, consisting of 9000 men under Beresford, was sent to
Lamego, on the Douro, so as to be ready to cut off Soult’s retreat,
the left making for Oporto with Wellesley. On the 10th May the cavalry
and advanced guard of the latter crossed the Vouga, hoping to surprise
the French troops at Albergaria and the neighbouring villages, but the
movement was not completely successful, although a number of prisoners
and cannon were taken.

The advanced guard reached Vendas Novas on the following day, and
drove in the outposts of the French advanced guard. The latter were
vigorously attacked in the woods and village, and defeated with
considerable loss. All this augured well for the ensuing operations,
and on the 12th the vanguard reached the southern bank of the Douro.
The French were stationed on the opposite bank, having taken the
precaution to burn the bridge after crossing, and to withdraw all the
boats they could discover.

Unfortunate in this matter, Wellesley was favoured in another. His
army was screened by cliffs and a hill called the Serra. This bold
rock was surmounted by a Franciscan convent, where the Commander
posted batteries and made his observations. As the river winds a great
deal, his movements were unobserved by those on the look-out at the
French headquarters, to the left of Wellesley as he peered through his
glass across the wide waterway. He had already perceived an extensive
building, known as the Seminary, surrounded by high walls with but one
entrance on the landward side, and open to the river. This he knew
would be an excellent position to secure, especially as it was almost
opposite to him.

There was in the army a certain Colonel Waters, a keen-eyed officer
with an infinite amount of resource and a ready wit. He contended that
it was scarcely probable that Soult could have secured every boat, and
interrogated a refugee on the point. He found that the man had crossed
in a small skiff.[50] With the aid of the prior of Amarante, the
fugitive, and several peasants, he heaved the boat out of the mud, and,
crossing the stream, brought back a number of barges. In these three
companies of the Buffs, under Lieut.-General Paget, effected a landing
on the opposite side. This excellent officer was seriously wounded
almost immediately afterward, but the passage of the Douro had been
secured.

General Murray, who had been ordered to cross at Barca d’Avintas, also
managed to get over, and signally failed to check the retiring columns
after the battle. As additional troops gained the opposite shore the
French made repeated attempts to hurl them back, but were ultimately
obliged to retreat “in the utmost confusion” towards Amarante.
According to a letter from General Stewart to his brother, Lord
Castlereagh, the French fled with such haste that “Sir Arthur Wellesley
dined at their headquarters on the dinner which had been prepared for
Marshal Soult.”

On the 19th May, Soult was across the frontier, having been compelled
to abandon over fifty guns and his baggage. In making his way across
the Sierra Catalina to escape the pursuing troops, his rear-guard was
defeated at Salamonde, with severe loss. He eventually reached Orense,
in Galicia, minus some 5000 men, including the sick and wounded he had
left behind him in Oporto.

“The road from Penafiel to Montealegre,” says Wellesley, “is strewed
with the carcases of horses and mules, and of French soldiers, who were
put to death by the peasantry before our advanced guard could save
them. This last circumstance is the natural effect of the species of
warfare which the enemy have carried on in this country. Their soldiers
have plundered and murdered the peasantry at their pleasure; and I
have seen many persons hanging in the trees by the sides of the road,
executed for no reason that I could learn, excepting that they have not
been friendly to the French invasion and usurpation of the government
of their country; and the route of their column, on their retreat,
could be traced by the smoke of the villages to which they set fire.”

Within a fortnight Wellesley was writing of the defects of his own men.
“I have long been of opinion,” he says, “that a British army could
bear neither success nor failure, and I have had manifest proofs of
the truth of this opinion in the first of its branches in the recent
conduct of the soldiers of this army. They have plundered the country
most terribly, which has given me the greatest concern....

“They have plundered the people of bullocks, among other property, for
what reason I am sure I do not know, except it be, as I understand
is their practice, to sell them to the people again. I shall be very
much obliged to you if you will mention this practice to the Ministers
of the Regency, and bid them to issue a proclamation forbidding the
people, in the most positive terms, to purchase any thing from the
soldiers of the British army.”

The Commander-in-Chief relates the same terrible facts to Castlereagh.
“The army behave terribly ill,” is his expression. “They are a rabble
who cannot bear success any more than Sir J. Moore’s army could bear
failure. I am endeavoring to tame them; but, if I should not succeed, I
must make an official complaint of them, and send one or two corps home
in disgrace. They plunder in all directions.”

Meanwhile Victor, far from taking Badajoz and marching on Seville as
the Emperor wished, had found it necessary to move in the direction
of Madrid, where he could secure much needed assistance. He therefore
took up his position at Talavera. Wellesley, intent upon crushing him,
arrived at Abrantes about the same time as the Marshal was evacuating
Estremadura and consequently abandoning the fruits of his victory over
Cuesta at Medellin. For Wellesley to have followed Victor with the
relatively few men at his disposal would have been to court disaster,
and he therefore acquiesced in a new plan of operations suggested
by Cuesta, in which the Spaniards were to be given an opportunity
of showing their capabilities or proving their incapacity. This,
says Professor Oman, was “the first and only campaign which he ever
undertook in company with a Spanish colleague and without supreme
control over the whole conduct of affairs.”




CHAPTER X

Talavera

(1809)

  “_The battle of Talavera was the hardest fought of modern times._”

            WELLINGTON.


The potentialities of the new project were distinctly promising. After
uniting with Cuesta, Wellesley was to follow the course of the Tagus
and cut off Victor’s army of 33,000 troops while the attention of
Sebastiani and Joseph Bonaparte, who had but 17,000 men all told, was
occupied by Venegas.

When last heard of Soult and Ney were in Galicia busily engaged in
suppressing an insurrection, so no opposition was anticipated from
them. In this matter after events proved the facts to be far different
from the surmise. There seemed every likelihood of a successful issue
provided there was no snapping of individual links of the chain of
operations. Wellesley did not find Cuesta a particularly affable
colleague, but he was not the man to assert his own opinion unless he
thought it imperative. He characterized him as having “no military
genius,” which is certainly more favourable than “that deformed-looking
lump of pride, ignorance, and treachery,” which is the description
given to us by Costello. “He was,” the latter adds, “the most
murderous-looking old man I ever saw.” They came together at Oropesa
on the 20th July, their forces totalling 55,000, of which 35,000 were
Spanish. It was the task of Venegas and his 26,000 men to approach
Madrid from the south, and, by a demonstration in force, distract
the attention of Sebastiani. He proved far too slow, and ere he was
able to interfere, Victor, Sebastiani, and Joseph concentrated in the
neighbourhood of Toledo. On the 26th July the last batch of their
50,000 troops came together.

Had Wellesley been allowed to attack on the 23rd July, as he wished,
it is probable that he would have crushed Victor, whose reinforcements
did not begin to arrive until the following day. Cuesta had already
shown his incompetency, and some of his advanced guard had been roughly
handled by a French cavalry division. It was Wellesley’s opinion
that the psychological moment had arrived, but the Spanish commander
objected. “Had we fought then,” Wellesley afterwards averred, “it
would have been as great a battle as Waterloo, and would have cleared
Spain of the French for that time.” The formidable task before him was
not made lighter by the knowledge that the commissariat and transport
arrangements had utterly broken down.

At Talavera, evacuated by Victor, who moved a few miles to the east,
Wellesley was obliged to halt, and even threatened to withdraw from
Spain because of the ill-treatment accorded his famishing troops. “I
have never seen an army,” he says, “so ill-treated in any country, or,
considering that all depends upon its operations, one which deserved
good treatment so much. It is ridiculous to pretend that the country
cannot supply our wants. The French army is well fed, and the soldiers
who are taken in good health, and well supplied with bread, of which
indeed they left a small magazine behind them. This is a rich country
in corn, in comparison with Portugal, and yet, during the whole of my
operations in that country, we never wanted bread but on one day on
the frontiers of Galicia. In the Vera de Plasencia there are means to
supply this army for 4 months, as I am informed, and yet the alcaldes
have not performed their engagements with me. The Spanish army has
plenty of every thing, and we alone, upon whom every thing depends, are
actually starving.”

After considerable trouble Cuesta consented to Wellesley assuming
supreme command of the combined forces. On the afternoon of the
27th the British General mounted his horse and, accompanied by his
staff, rode out of the town to an old château, known as the Casa de
Salinas. His object was to obtain a bird’s-eye view from the roof of
the movements of the enemy on the Alberche. He apprehended no danger,
because Spanish troops occupied the adjacent woods. In this he was
deceived, for a number of French _tirailleurs_ suddenly appearing, the
troops beat a hasty retreat. The Commander-in-Chief jumped from the
wall and regained his horse not a moment too soon. Had it not been for
the near presence of a body of English infantry, who immediately opened
fire, it is extremely probable that Wellington and his staff would have
been captured.

At five o’clock the opposing forces were within touch, the French
having crossed the river and driven in the British piquets, who lost
about 400 men.

One of the finest descriptions of the ensuing battle--or more
correctly, series of battles--is that of Captain M. de Rocca, a French
officer of Hussars, which has the advantage of giving the point of view
of the enemy, and how Wellesley was regarded by one at least of his
combatants.

“The Spaniards,” he says, “were posted in a situation deemed
impregnable, behind old walls and garden-fences, which border and
encompass the city of Talavera.[51] Their right was defended by the
Tagus, and their left joined the English, near a redoubt constructed
on an eminence. The ground in front of the Anglo-Spanish armies was
very unequal, and intersected here and there by ravines, formed by the
rains of winter. The whole extent of their position was covered by the
channel of a pretty deep torrent, at that time dry. The English left
was strengthened by a conical eminence that commanded the greater part
of the field of battle, and which was separated by a deep extensive
valley from the Castilian chain of mountains.

“This eminence was thus in a manner the key to the enemy’s position,
and against this decisive point of attack, an experienced general,
possessed of that intuitive glance which insures success, would
immediately have led the principal part of his disposable force, to
obtain possession of it. He would either have taken it by assault,
or have turned it by the valley. But King Joseph, when he should
have acted, was seized with an unfortunate spirit of indecision and
uncertainty. He attempted only half measures, he distributed his forces
partially, and lost the opportunity of conquering while feeling the way
for it. Marshal Jourdan, the second in command, had not that spur of
patriotism in the Spanish war, which inspired him when he fought in the
plains of Fleurus, to achieve the independence of France.

“The French commenced the engagement by a cannonade and rifle-fire in
advance of their right; and they despatched a single battalion only,
and some sharp-shooters, by the valley, to take the eminence which
defended the English left, never thinking they would do otherwise
than yield. This battalion, however, having to contend with superior
numbers, was repulsed with loss, and compelled to retire. A division of
dragoons, which had gone to reconnoitre Talavera, found the approaches
to that city strongly fortified with artillery, and could not advance.

“At nightfall, the French made another attempt to gain the hill. A
regiment of infantry, followed at a short distance by two others,
attacked the extreme left of the English with unexampled ardour,
arrived at the summit of the hill, and took possession of it. But
having been fiercely assaulted, in its turn, by an entire division
of the English, just, when having conquered, it was breathless with
exertion, it was immediately obliged to give way. One of the two
regiments, commanded to assist in this attack, had lost its way in a
wood on account of the darkness; the other not getting soon enough over
the ravine, which covered the enemy’s position, had not arrived in time.

“Both these attacks had miscarried, though conducted with intrepid
bravery, because they had been made by an inadequate number of
troops. A single battalion had been sent, and then one division, when
a great proportion of the whole army should have been despatched.
These unsuccessful attempts revealed to the English what we designed
next day; and still more evidently demonstrated the importance of
the station they held. They passed the greater part of the night in
fortifying it with artillery.

“The sun rose next morning on the two armies drawn up in battle order,
and again the cannonade commenced. The defence of Portugal being
entrusted to the English army, the fate of that country, and, perhaps,
of all the Peninsula, was now to be decided by this contest. The
veterans of the first and fourth French corps, accustomed for years to
conquer throughout Europe, and always to witness their ardour seconded
by the combined skill of their chiefs, burned with impatience for
orders to engage, and thought to overthrow all before them by one well
conjoined assault.

“One division alone, of three regiments of infantry, was sent by the
valley to storm the position, of which we had, for a moment, obtained
possession the preceding evening. After considerable loss, this
division reached the top of the eminence, and was just about taking
it. One of the regiments had already advanced as far as the artillery,
when their charge was repulsed, and the whole division was forced to
retire. The English, apprehending by this renewed attack that the
French designed to turn their left by the valley, stationed their
cavalry there; and caused a division of the Spaniards to occupy the
skirts of the high Castilian mountains beyond it. The French receded
to the ground they first occupied. The cannonade continued for another
hour, and then became gradually silent. The overpowering heat of
mid-day obliged both armies to suspend the combat, and observe a kind
of involuntary truce, during which the wounded were removed.

“King Joseph, having at last gone himself to reconnoitre the enemy’s
position, gave orders, at four o’clock, for a general attack against
the army of England. A division of dragoons was left to observe the
Spaniards in the direction of Talavera. General Sebastiani’s corps
marched against the right of the English, while Marshal Victor’s three
divisions of infantry, followed by masses of cavalry, charged against
their left, to attack the eminence by the valley. King Joseph and
Marshal Jourdan took part with the reserve, in the rear of the 4th
division. The artillery and musketry were not long in being heard.

“The English Commander, stationed on the hill which overlooked the
field of battle, was present always where danger demanded his presence.
He could survey, at a glance, every corps of his army, and perceive
below him the least movement of the French. He saw the line of battle
formed, the columns disposed for the conflict; he penetrated their
designs by their arrangements, and thus had time to order his plans,
so as to penetrate and prevent those of his foes. The position of the
English army was naturally strong and difficult of approach, both in
front and flank; but in the rear it was quite accessible, and gave
ample freedom to their troops to hasten to the quarter threatened.

“The French had a ravine to pass before they could reach the enemy.
They had to advance over ground much intersected, very rugged and
unequal, obliging them frequently to break their line; and the
positions they attacked had been previously fortified. The left
could not see the right, or know what was passing there, for the
rising ground between them. Every corps of the army fought apart,
with unparalleled bravery, and ability too, but there was no
co-operation in their efforts. The French were not then commanded by a
General-in-chief, the resources of whose genius might have compensated
for the advantages which the nature of the ground denied them and
yielded to their enemies.

“The division of Lapisse first passed the ravine, attacked the
fortified eminence, ascended it in defiance of a fire of grape-shot
which mowed down its ranks, but was repulsed with the loss of its
General and a great number of officers and soldiers. In retreating,
it left the right of the fourth corps uncovered, which the British
artillery took in flank, and forced for a moment to retire. The left
of General Sebastiani’s corps advanced under a most intense fire of
artillery to the fort of a redoubt on the right of the English, and
between the combined armies. It was too far advanced, and too soon
forward--it was encountered and driven back by the united corps of the
English right and the Spanish left. Assistance came, and the combat
was renewed. In the centre, Marshal Victor rallied the division of
Lapisse at the foot of the hill, and abandoned all further attempt to
gain possession of it. The French then tried to turn it either by the
right or left. Villatte’s division advanced in the valley, and Ruffin’s
moved to the right of this by the foot of the Castilian mountains.
The cavalry, forming a second line, were in readiness to debouch into
the plain in the rear of the enemy whenever the infantry could open a
passage.

“Just as the French began to move, the English, with two regiments
of cavalry, made a charge against their masses. They engaged in the
valley, passed onwards regardless of the fire of several battalions
of infantry, between the divisions of Villatte and Ruffin, and fell
with impetuosity never surpassed on the 10th and 26th regiments of
our chasseurs. The 10th could not resist the charge. They opened their
ranks, but rallied immediately, and nearly the whole of the 23rd
regiment of light dragoons at the head of the English cavalry was
either destroyed or taken captive.

“A division of the English Royal Guards, stationed on the left and
centre of their army, being charged by the French, at first repulsed
them vigorously; but one of its brigades, being too far advanced, was
in its turn taken in flank by the fire of the French artillery and
infantry, sustained considerable loss, and retreated with difficulty
behind their second line. The French took advantage of this success;
they again moved forward, and but one other effort was necessary to
break through into the plain, and combat on equal ground. But King
Joseph thought it was too late to advance with the reserve, and the
attack was delayed till the following day.[52] Night again closed over
us, and the conflict ceased from exhaustion, without either side having
won such a decided advantage as to entitle it to claim the victory.

“The corps of Marshals Victor and Sebastiani withdrew successively
during the night towards the reserve, leaving an advanced guard of
cavalry on the scene of the engagement, to take care of the wounded.
The English, who expected a new attack in the morning, were greatly
surprised when day dawned to see that their enemies, leaving twenty
pieces of cannon, had retreated to their old position on the Alberche.
The English and Spaniards, according to their own accounts, lost 6,616
men.[53] The French had nearly 10,000 slain.”

Wellesley characterizes the battle as “a most desperate one ... we had
about two to one against us; fearful odds! but we maintained all our
positions, and gave the enemy a terrible beating.” Very few of the
Spanish troops were engaged in any real sense, although those who took
an active part behaved well, and one of the cavalry regiments “made
an excellent and well-timed charge.” The majority of them were in a
“miserable state of discipline” and “entirely incapable of performing
any manœuvre, however simple.” There was a sad lack of _morale_,
qualified officers were few, and seemed either unable or unwilling to
follow their allies in the matter of subjecting their men to definite
regulations. When the British soldiers were engaged in removing
the wounded and in burying the dead after Talavera, “the arms and
accoutrements of both were collected and carried away by the Spanish
troops.”

The exhausted condition of his army prevented Wellesley from following
the enemy, but as Venegas was on the move and threatening Madrid, this
was not regarded as of consummate importance. Of more immediate concern
was the alarming intelligence received by the Commander-in-Chief a few
hours later that Soult’s army was no longer in Galicia, but marching to
intercept the British communications with Portugal.




CHAPTER XI

Wellesley’s Defence of Portugal

(1809-10)

  “_If I fail, God will, I hope, have mercy upon me, for nobody else
  will._”

            WELLESLEY.


Soult, joined by Mortier and Ney, had some 50,000 men with which to
face the victor of Talavera. Had Cuesta guarded the mountain passes as
he was supposed to do, Wellesley would not have found himself in so
awkward a predicament. Both his front and rear were threatened, the
former by Victor and Sebastiani and the latter by Soult. While his
ranks were sadly depleted, those of the French were augmented. By great
good fortune General Craufurd and his celebrated Light Division arrived
on the morning of the 29th July, the day following the conclusion of
the battle.

Rumour proved on this occasion a powerful ally of the
Commander-in-Chief, for had not Craufurd heard of the supposed death
of Sir Arthur, it is scarcely likely that he would have urged his men,
each loaded with forty pounds weight on his back, to march forty-three
English miles in twenty-two hours. Wellesley made up his mind to
advance against Soult, but was forced to abandon the idea when he
heard that the enemy had entered Plasencia in great force, thereby
severing the British communications with Lisbon. A retreat “to take up
the defensive line of the Tagus” became eminently necessary. “We were
in a bad scrape,” he writes on the 8th August, “from which I think I
have extricated both armies; and I really believe that, if I had not
determined to retire at the moment I did, all retreat would have been
cut off for both.” “Both,” of course, includes the Spaniards, whose
“train of mismanagement,” added to Soult’s advance, were contributing
causes of his withdrawal.

The Spaniards promised to remain at Talavera to watch the movements of
the enemy and to assist the wounded. No sooner was Wellesley out of the
way than Cuesta felt that the position was untenable, with the result
that many British soldiers, rendered unable to keep up with the Spanish
troops by reason of their wounds, were made prisoners by Victor, who
soon afterwards took possession of the town.

The Tagus was crossed at Arzobispo, and a rearguard of 8000 Spaniards,
under Cuesta, left to defend the passage. At Almarez the bridge of
boats was broken to arrest Soult’s advance from Naval Moral, no great
distance away, and on the high road. As it happened, the French
Marshal was able to cross the river at Arzobispo by means of a ford.
He promptly defeated the Spanish force there and captured their guns.
Not a few of the defenders fled, throwing away their arms and clothing,
a very usual device. This was followed by the defeat of Venegas by
Joseph and Sebastiani at Almonacid, near Toledo, where several thousand
men were either killed, wounded, or captured, and of a Portuguese and
Spanish column which had been detached from the main army, under Sir
Robert Wilson, by Ney at the Puerto de Baños.

In the middle of August 1809 the various armies were occupying the
following positions: British, Jaraicejo; Eguia, Deleytosa; Vanegas, La
Carolina; Ney, Salamanca; Kellermann, Valladolid; Soult, Plasencia;
Mortier, Oropesa and Arzobispo; Victor, Talavera and Toledo;
Sebastiani, La Mancha.

The storm was followed by a lull, for the contesting armies were all
but worn out and required rest. Wellesley made his headquarters
first at Deleytosa, and, when that place was vacated on the 11th, at
Jaraicejo; the Spanish made the former town their headquarters, and the
Portuguese army, under Beresford, withdrew within their home frontier.

“While the army remained in this position,” namely, Deleytosa, General
Sir George T. Napier records: “We suffered dreadfully from want of
food; nothing but a small portion of unground wheat and (when we could
_catch them_) about a quarter of a pound of old goats’ flesh each man;
no salt, bread, or wine; and as the Spaniards had plundered the baggage
of the British army during the battle of Talavera, there was nothing
of any kind to be procured to help us out, such as tea or sugar.”[54]
These defects the General determined to remedy, for “no troops can
serve to any good purpose unless they are regularly fed,” a maxim
equivalent to that of Napoleon that “an army moves on its stomach.”

Cuesta resigned his command, which was given to Eguia, but from
henceforth the British Commander placed his sole reliance on his own
forces. The lack of co-operation in the combined army was also evident
in that of the French, for the various marshals had separated, and, to
Napoleon’s disgust, lost a golden opportunity of crushing the hated
English, which was never again vouchsafed to them. “Force Wellesley
to fight on every possible occasion,” was his frequent cry. “Win if
you can, but lose a battle rather than deliver none. We can afford to
expend three men for every one he loses, and you will thus wear him
out in the end.” Wellesley preferred to conserve his energy, not to
squander it.

After repeated requests for provisions and means of transport, all
more or less evasively answered by the Spanish authorities, Wellesley
carried out his threat and fell back upon the frontiers of Portugal.
Not without a certain suggestion of irony, he was at this time
appointed a Captain-General in the Spanish service, and received six
Andalusian horses “in the name of King Ferdinand the VIIth.” Shortly
afterwards he was notified that he had been elevated to the Peerage,
with the titles of Baron Douro of Wellesley, and Viscount Wellington of
Talavera. From henceforth we shall style him Wellington, a signature he
first adopted on the 16th September 1809.

“Nothing,” he writes from Merida, on the 25th August, to Castlereagh,
“can be worse than the officers of the Spanish army; and it is
extraordinary that when a nation has devoted itself to war, as this
nation has, by the measures it has adopted in the last two years,
so little progress has been made in any one branch of the military
profession by any individual, and that the business of an army should
be so little understood. They are really children in the art of war,
and I cannot say that they do any thing as it ought to be done, with
the exception of running away and assembling again in a state of
nature.” In his opinion the Portuguese, under English officers, were
better than the Spaniards, but both “want the habits and spirit of
soldiers--the habits of command on one side, and of obedience on the
other--mutual confidence between officers and men; and, above all, a
determination in the superiors to obey the spirit of the orders they
receive, let what will be the consequence, and the spirit to tell the
true cause if they do not. In short, the fact is, there is so much
trick in the Portuguese army....”

At the beginning of September he was at Badajoz, on the frontier,
the advantage being, as Wellington says, “that the British army was
centrically posted, in reference to all the objects which the enemy
might have in view; and at any time, by a junction with a Spanish corps
on its right, or a Portuguese or Spanish corps on its left, it could
prevent the enemy from undertaking any thing, excepting with a much
larger force than they could allot to any one object.” Here he heard
that there was a likelihood of Soult attacking Ciudad Rodrigo. This
information he obtained from an intercepted letter to Joseph. “The
success of this scheme,” he avers, “would do them more good, and the
allies more mischief, than any other they could attempt; and it is most
likely of all others to be successful.” For this reason he ordered
Wilson to stay north of the Tagus so as to watch Soult’s movements.

In the middle of the month the Spanish army of Estremadura, stationed
at Deleytosa, was reduced to 6000 soldiers, the remainder, with Eguia,
marching towards La Mancha. About the same time an army of some 13,000
men, under La Romana, whom Wellington describes as “more intelligent
and reasonable” than most of his countrymen, moved from Galicia to
the neighbourhood of Ciudad Rodrigo. La Romana himself proceeded to
Seville and was succeeded by the Duque del Parque, who marched towards
Salamanca.

Wellington watched del Parque’s forward movements with dismay, and
ordered magazines to be prepared upon the Douro and Mondego “to assist
in providing for these vagabonds if they should retire into Portugal,
which I hope they will do, as their only chance of salvation.”

On the 10th October Wellington was at Lisbon to arrange future
operations, and where he studied “on the ground” the possibility of
defending Portugal. This reconnaissance resulted in the defence known
as the “Lines of Torres Vedras,” of which particulars will be given as
the story proceeds.[55]

By the end of the month he was back at Badajoz, writing endless
dispatches relative to the thousand and one concerns--military,
political and financial--of the two armies. By the beginning of
November del Parque was obliged to retire owing to the arrival from
Estremadura of some 36,000 men under Mortier in Old Castile. Eguia’s
entry into La Mancha from Estremadura two months before had been
followed by the arrival of 30,000 of the enemy’s troops under Victor
in that province, whereupon the Spanish commander had withdrawn to the
Sierra Morena, and the French to the Tagus.

The Spanish Government now entertained the hope of gaining the complete
possession of Madrid. Two forces were to be honoured with the carrying
out of this ambitious project. The army of La Mancha, now under the
inexperienced General Areizaga, joined by the greater part of the army
of Estremadura, and consisting of 50,000 men, was to march from the
Sierra Morena. Del Parque, with the army of Galicia, 20,000 strong, was
to take Salamanca and then present himself before the capital. Areizaga
met with some temporary success, but on the 19th November some 4000
of his men were either lying dead or wounded on the bloody field of
Ocaña, within easy distance of Madrid. No fewer than 18,000 were taken
prisoners by King Joseph’s troops. When the distressed General gathered
together the fragments of his shattered army in the Sierra Morena, only
a half of the original number were present, which means that 3000 had
deserted. He must have been sadly deficient in cannon, for the French
had captured over fifty pieces.

Del Parque was scarcely more successful. He was attacked at Tamames
on the 19th October by troops under Marchand, whom he defeated. Thus
encouraged, he advanced to Salamanca, which the French had occupied,
and taken possession of. In the last week of November he was beaten
at Alba de Tormes, to which he had retreated, with a loss of 3000
men. Some of his troops retired on Galicia, the remainder on Ciudad
Rodrigo.[56]

With the object of giving the Spanish Government time to repair their
losses in southern Spain, and surmising that whatever reinforcements
the French might receive would be for use against the British now that
the armies under Blake, Areizaga, and del Parque were scattered,
Wellington prepared to move the greater part of his army north of the
Tagus, towards the frontiers of Castile, but leaving a body of troops
under Lieutenant-General Hill at Abrantes, so that the Lower Tagus
might not be left unguarded. Early in January 1810, Wellington made
his headquarters at Coimbra, on the Mondego, and within comparatively
easy distance of the sea, conceivably a useful ally now that Napoleon
was sending additional reinforcements, and Soult had 70,000 men at his
disposal.

The passes of Despeña Perros, and Puerto del Rey through the Sierra
Morena, but weakly defended by Spanish troops under Areizaga, were
forced by the French without difficulty. On the last day of January
1810, Seville capitulated. That Wellington anticipated this is proved
by a letter he wrote on that date to Lord Liverpool. Cadiz was saved
from a similar fate by the Duke of Albuquerque, who reached the city
in the nick of time, although Victor’s outposts had been seen on the
banks of the Guadalquivir. Major-General the Hon. W. Stewart was sent
to assist in the defence of the place, and arrived towards the end of
February with some 5000 British and Portuguese troops, while a British
fleet lay in the Bay.

Meanwhile Wellington was able to report considerable progress in
some of the regiments in the Portuguese army, thanks very largely to
the exertions of Marshal Beresford. Fifteen regiments he had seen
while marching from Badajoz to Coimbra showed decided improvement in
discipline, and he had “no doubt that the whole will prove an useful
acquisition to the country.” They were “in general unhealthy.” The
conduct of his own troops was “infamous” when not under the inspection
of officers. “They have never brought up a convoy of money that they
have not robbed the chest; nor of shoes, or any other article that
could be of use to them, or could produce money, that they do not steal
something.”

The failure of the Walcheren Expedition[57] not only led to a
duel between Canning and Castlereagh and the fall of Portland’s
administration, but caused the British public to lose faith in things
military. It seemed not at all improbable that the new Ministry formed
by Perceval, in which Lord Wellesley became Foreign Secretary, and
Lord Liverpool Secretary for War and the Colonies, would withdraw the
British army from the Peninsula, especially as Talavera had aroused
little or no enthusiasm, and a retreat was regarded by the man in
the street as scarcely better than a defeat. In this connexion it
is interesting to note that when Wellington was asked what was the
best test of a great general, he gave as his answer, “To know when to
retreat; and to dare to do it.” Aware of the state of public opinion,
he did not press for further reinforcements.

In a letter to the Rt. Hon. John Villiers, dated Viseu, 14th January
1810, the Commander-in-Chief definitely states “that in its present
state” the army was “not sufficient for the defence of Portugal.” He
anticipated having 30,000 effective British troops when the soldiers
then on their way from England and those in hospital were available:
“I will fight a good battle for the possession of Portugal, and see
whether that country cannot be saved from the general wreck.”

“I conceive,” he concludes, “that the honor and interests of the
country require that we should hold our ground here as long as
possible; and, please God, I will maintain it as long as I can; and I
will neither endeavor to shift from my own shoulders on those of the
Ministers the responsibility for the failure, by calling for means
which I know they cannot give, and which, perhaps, would not add
materially to the facility of attaining our object; nor will I give to
the Ministers, who are not strong, and who must feel the delicacy of
their own situation, an excuse for withdrawing the army from a position
which, in my opinion, the honor and interest of the country require
they should maintain as long as possible.

“I think that if the Portuguese do their duty, I shall have enough to
maintain it; if they do not, nothing that Great Britain can afford can
save the country; and if from that cause I fail in saving it, and am
obliged to go, I shall be able to carry away the British army.”

The war in Spain still continued see-saw fashion. A province would be
apparently conquered by Napoleon’s troops when no sooner did the troops
march on than the trouble began again. This happened more especially
with Suchet in Aragon. In Catalonia the intrepid O’Donnell and his men
flitted about like a will-o’-the-wisp and worked sad havoc whenever
they came across a detached force, though Hostalrich fell and Lerida
surrendered in May, as well as the castle of Mequinenza a little later.

Napoleon had not been sleeping. In the previous year he had been too
occupied in humbling Austria and annexing Rome and the Ecclesiastical
States to give much attention to the Peninsula. He now placed Marshal
Masséna, Prince of Essling, who by reason of his success was known
as “the spoilt child of victory”--incidentally he was the son of an
inn-keeper--in command of 180,000 troops, for which purpose he arrived
at Valladolid in the middle of May 1810. Within a month the French
forces in Spain were raised to no fewer than 366,000 men of all ranks
and arms.

Surely “the heir of Charlemagne,” as Napoleon termed himself, was on
the point of crushing the resistance of the Iberian Peninsula, and
with it insignificant Portugal and Wellington? Was it feasible that
60,000 British, Germans, and Portuguese, sometimes aided but more often
hindered by an “insurgent” rabble, and indirectly by the two remaining
Spanish armies in Galicia and Estremadura, could contest with any
likelihood of success more than a third of a million of trained troops?
The law of probability answered in the negative.




CHAPTER XII

The Lines of Torres Vedras

(1810)

  “_France is not an enemy whom I despise, nor does it deserve I
  should._”

            WELLINGTON.


Pasquier, who had the privilege of knowing most of the generals of the
Revolution and of the Empire, says of Masséna that he was “France’s
first military commander after Napoleon.” Neither Pichegru, Moreau,
Kléber, nor Lannes gave the Chancellor “as completely as Masséna, the
idea of a born warrior, possessing a genius for war, and endowed with
all the qualities which render victory certain. His eagle eye seemed
made to scan a field of battle. One could understand, on seeing him,
that the soldier under his command never believed it was possible to
retreat.”

[Illustration: “You are too young, sir, to be killed!”

Thomas Maybank]

Masséna’s first important operation in the Peninsula was the siege of
the Spanish fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo. Although Wellington was in
the neighbourhood he was not to be enticed away from his immediate
objects, which were the defence of Lisbon and the thorough organization
of the army for service when action became absolutely imperative.
Notwithstanding a splendid defence for over two months on the part of
Governor Herrasti, the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo was compelled to
surrender on the 10th July. In August, Masséna crossed the frontier
preparatory to beginning the siege of Almeida, near the river Coa,
next to Elvas the strongest place in Portugal.

On the 24th July, Craufurd and his famous Light Division--not Light
Brigade as some would have it--had a fierce tussle with Ney’s corps
of 24,000 men. Craufurd, who had only 4000 troops at his disposal,
entertained no wild notion of preventing the investment of the place,
but as he was suddenly attacked he was obliged to fight. Had he been
a more cautious soldier he would have crossed the Coa before Ney came
up, as Wellington had suggested on the 22nd. Indeed, so early as the
11th, the Commander-in-Chief had said, “I would not wish you to fall
back beyond that place (_i.e._ Almeida), unless it should be necessary.
But it does not appear necessary that you should be so far, and it
will be safer that you should be nearer, at least with your infantry.”
He delayed too late, and thereby lost over 300 men. While the last of
the soldiers were crossing the bridge which spanned the swollen river,
for it had rained in torrents the previous night, a lanky Irish lad
of nineteen years, named Stewart, and known by the 43rd as “The Boy,”
positively refused to pass over. “So this is the end of our boasting!
This is our first battle, and we retreat! The Boy Stewart will not
live to hear that said,” he cried, and turning back he slashed at
the oncoming French until he fell dead. Even more courageous was the
conduct of Sergeant Robert M‘Quade, five years Stewart’s senior. He
happened to catch sight of two French soldiers with levelled muskets
awaiting the British to ascend a bank. A boy of sixteen, afterwards
famous as Sir George Brown (Colonel-in-Chief of the Rifle Brigade) was
on the verge of being shot by them when the sergeant pulled him back
from the fatal spot. “You are too young, sir, to be killed,” he cried
as his own body received two bullets and fell in a lifeless heap at the
feet of the youth.

That Colonel Cox, who was in charge of the fortress, would have stayed
Masséna’s advance for a considerable time is extremely likely,
but unfortunately he was not given the opportunity to display his
prowess. The powder-magazine blew up, almost destroying the town and
necessitating immediate surrender. The pursuit of Wellington, “to drive
him into the sea,” seemed a comparatively easy task until the advance
showed that the British General had caused the country to be stripped
almost entirely of provisions. Thus Napoleon’s policy of making “war
support war” by plundering and raiding the enemy’s country, completely
broke down. “In war all that is useful is legitimate,” he says, and
Wellington had followed the maxim, after having obtained permission
for the destruction of provisions from the Portuguese Regency, which
included Mr Charles Stuart, the British Minister at Lisbon. What
Wellington’s measures meant to Masséna’s army is summed up in a single
sentence by Sir Harry Smith, who carried a dispatch to Lord Hill
through territory occupied by the enemy. “The spectacle,” he says, “of
hundreds of miserable wretches of French soldiers on the road in a
state of _starvation_ is not to be described.” Nor was this all. Not
only did the place resemble a desert in the difficulty of obtaining
means of sustenance, but the majority of the inhabitants had fled, some
seeking the fastnesses of the mountains, others the larger cities such
as Lisbon and Oporto.

As Masséna advanced so Wellington retreated towards the celebrated
lines of Torres Vedras, upon the construction of which thousands of
peasants, under the direction of British engineers, had been busy for
six months.

These magnificent defences are thus described by one who knew them.[58]
They “consisted of redoubts and field-works of various kinds; according
to the ground they were to defend, and all connected with each other
by entrenchments, etc., so that, when occupied by the army, it would
almost be impossible to force them. But, even supposing this first line
of defence should be carried by the enemy, there was another, much
more contracted, to retreat upon, where a very small force could hold
out against the French army and cover the embarkation of the British,
should Lord Wellington be at last forced to quit Portugal. I cannot
help considering this retreat to the lines, and the pertinacity with
which he held them in spite of every difficulty, and the remonstrances
of the Government at home, which was seized with alarm, as the greatest
proof of a master mind and genius that could be given, and proved
Lord Wellington to be superior to any general the French had, except
Napoleon; in short, that he was, next to Buonaparte himself, the
first general of the day. And I am further convinced that, had he the
same opportunities that Napoleon had, he would have proved as great a
general, as his capacity and powers of mind would have strengthened and
expanded in proportion to the vastness of his views and the obstacles
to be surmounted.”

An officer of the 60th Rifles, who served behind them, furnishes a
more detailed pen-sketch. “The line of defence was double,” he writes.
“The first, which was twenty-nine miles long, began at Alhandra, on
the Tagus, crossed the valley of Armia, which was rather a weak point,
and passed along the skirts of Mount Agraça, where there was a large
and strong redoubt; it then passed across the valley of Zibreira, and
skirted the ravine of Runa to the heights of Torres Vedras, which were
well fortified; and from thence followed the course of the little
river Zizandre to its mouth on the sea-coast. The line followed the
sinuosities of the mountain track which extends from the Tagus to the
sea, about thirty miles north of Lisbon. Lord Wellington’s headquarters
were fixed at Pero <DW64>, a little in the rear of the centre of the
line, where a telegraph was fixed corresponding with every part of the
position. The second line, at a distance varying from six to ten miles
in the rear of the first, extended from Quintella, on the Tagus, by
Bucellas, Montechique, and Mafra, to the mouth of the little river
S. Lourenço, on the sea-coast, and was twenty-four miles long. This
was the stronger line of the two, both by Nature and art, and if the
first line were forced by the enemy, the retreat of the army upon the
second was secure at all times. Both lines were secured by breastworks,
abattis, stone walls with banquettes, and scarps. In the rear of the
second line there was a line of embarkation, should that measure become
necessary, enclosing an entrenched camp and the fort of St Julian.” As
many as 120 redoubts and 427 pieces of artillery were scattered along
these lines. “Lord Wellington had received reinforcements from England
and Cadiz; the Portuguese army had also been strengthened, and the
Spanish division of La Romana, 5000 strong, came from Estremadura to
join the Allies;[59] so that the British commander had about 60,000
regular troops posted along the first and second lines, besides the
Portuguese militia and artillery (which manned the forts and redoubts
and garrisoned Lisbon), a fine body of English marines which occupied
a line of embarkation, a powerful fleet in the Tagus, and a flotilla
of gun-boats flanking the right of the British line. It was altogether
a stupendous line of defence, conceived by the military genius of the
British commander, and executed by the military skill of the British
engineer officers.”

Wellington continued to fall back until he reached “Busaco’s iron
ridge,” north of the Mondego. Here he determined to offer Masséna
battle, for three principal reasons. First, there was a growing
discontent amongst the rank and file of his army by reason of lack
of active warfare and the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida, and a
victory would put an end to this growing despondency. Second, also a
military consideration, the orders he had given for the laying waste of
the districts about Lisbon were not yet fully carried out. Third, from
a political point of view it was necessary because it would show that
he was not about to lock himself up within the lines of Torres Vedras
because he was incapable or afraid of Napoleon’s legions. In a word, it
would “restore confidence,” a matter of first importance. It is quite
incorrect to term Busaco a “useless battle” as some historians have
done.

“On the 25th and 26th,”[60] says M. de Rocca, “the French corps
arrived successively at the foot of the mountains Sierra de Busaco,
whose summits they found occupied by the Anglo-Portuguese army. At six
o’clock, on the morning of the 27th, they marched in column against the
right and centre of that army, in the two roads leading to Coimbra, by
the village of San Antonio de Cantaro, and by the convent of Busaco.
These roads were cut up in several places, and defended by artillery.
The mountain over which they pass is besides encumbered with steep
rocks, and is very difficult of access.

“The French column which attacked the right of the English advanced
with intrepidity, in spite of the fire of their artillery and
light troops. It reached the top of the eminence after sustaining
considerable loss, and began to deploy in line with the greatest
coolness, and most perfect regularity. But a superior force again
assaulted it, and compelled it to retire. It soon rallied, made a
second attack, and was again repulsed. The French battalions, which
advanced against the convent of Busaco, where the left and centre of
the English divisions joined, were also driven back, a little before
they reached that post. General Simon, who had been struck by two balls
during the charge, was left on the height, and a great many wounded
officers and soldiers.

“The position occupied by the English and Portuguese on the brow of
the hill, formed the arc of a circle, whose two extremes embraced
the ground over which the French had to advance. The allied army saw
the least movements made below them, and had time to form to receive
any powerful body before it arrived. This circumstance materially
contributed to the advantage they obtained....

“Marshal Masséna judged that the position of Lord Wellington could
not be carried in front, and resolved to turn it. He kept up an
irregular fire till the evening, and sent off a body of troops by the
mountain-road, which leads from Mortago to Oporto. The English and
Portuguese, in consequence of this movement, abandoned their position
on the mountain of Busaco.”

The attack on the British left was led by Ney, and it succeeded in
driving in the sharp-shooters. The French had practically reached the
summit, as Rocca states, when Craufurd’s division, concealed in a
hollow, gave them the full benefit of their fire. “The enemy,” says Sir
Charles Stewart, who fought on this memorable day, “unable to retreat,
and afraid to resist, were rolled down the steep like a torrent of
hailstones driven before a powerful wind; and not the bayonets only,
but the very hands of some of our brave fellows, became in an instant
red with the blood of the fugitives. More brilliant or more decisive
charges than those executed this day by the two divisions which bore
the brunt of the action, were never perhaps witnessed; nor could
anything equal the gallantry and intrepidity of our men throughout,
except perhaps the hardihood which had ventured upon so desperate an
attack.”

Reynier’s two divisions, 15,000 men in all, attacked Picton’s 3rd
division on the right. The troops of Generals Hill and Leith, moving
rapidly to Picton’s aid, decided their fate. “The right of the 3rd
division had been, in the first instance, borne back,” says an
eye-witness, “the 8th Portuguese had suffered most severely; the enemy
had formed, in good order, upon the ground which they had so boldly
won, and were preparing to bear down to the right, and sweep our field
of battle. Lord Wellington arrived on the spot at this moment, and
aided the gallant efforts of Picton’s regiments, the fire of whose
musketry was terrible, by causing two guns to play upon the French
flank with grape. Unshaken even with this destruction, they still held
their ground, till, with levelled bayonets and the shout of the charge,
the 45th and 88th regiments, British, most gallantly supported by the
8th Portuguese, rushed forwards, and hurried them down the mountain
side with a fearful slaughter.”

“This movement,” writes Wellington, “has afforded me a favorable
opportunity of showing the enemy the description of troops of which
this army is composed; it has brought the Portuguese levies into action
with the enemy for the first time in an advantageous situation; and
they have proved that the trouble which has been taken with them has
not been thrown away, and that they are worthy of contending in the
same ranks with British troops in this interesting cause, which they
afford the best hopes of saving.

“Throughout the contest on the Serra, and in all the previous marches,
and those which we have since made, the whole army have conducted
themselves in the most regular manner. Accordingly all the operations
have been carried on with ease; the soldiers have suffered no
privations, have undergone no unnecessary fatigue, there has been no
loss of stores, and the army is in the highest spirits.”

The total British and Portuguese losses, according to the official
figures, were 197 killed, 1014 wounded, and 58 missing. Masséna
reported casualties to the number of 4486 men, including five
generals. Anything but a kindly feeling existed between the French
Commander-in-Chief and Ney previous to the battle; the result merely
deepened their unfriendliness, a pitiful contrast to the cordial
relations of Wellington and his colleagues.[61]

It is both delightful and pathetic to know that, after the last roll of
the guns had echoed through the valley, the British and the French put
aside their weapons and worked side by side in the humanitarian task of
searching for the wounded. It was the final scene of the tragedy, acted
after the curtain had fallen. It is recorded, as one of the incidents,
that a German officer serving with Napoleon’s colours, who had a
brother in the British 60th Regiment, asked a sworn enemy of an hour
ago if he knew what had happened to his relative? He answered his own
pathetic question by finding the soldier’s corpse.

    _Books may tell of its story,
    But only the heart can know
    How war is robbed of its glory,
    By the brave ones lying low,_




CHAPTER XIII

Masséna beats a Retreat

(1810-11)

  “_There will be a breeze near Lisbon, but I hope we shall have the
  best of it._”

            WELLINGTON.


Owing to the failure of one of Wellington’s officers to occupy the
Boialva Pass, Masséna was able to turn the British position, with the
result that his advanced guard appeared in front of Coimbra on the
evening of the 30th September.

When the Commander-in-Chief saw the French army defiling across the
mountains “he seemed uneasy,” according to one who watched him, “his
countenance bore a fierce, angry expression, and, suddenly mounting his
horse, he rode away without speaking.”

No attempt was made to attack the enemy, Wellington considering it more
prudent to leave the ridge, cross the Mondego, and retreat towards
Lisbon. This resolution was come to on the 28th September, and on the
1st October the last man of the rear-guard had evacuated the town.
“Although I could not save Coimbra,” Wellington writes, “I have very
little doubt of being able to hold this country against the force which
has now attacked it.”

The place was immediately occupied by Masséna’s famished troops,
who found it not entirely destitute of eatables, as seemed only
too probable judging by previous experience, although much of the
food had been destroyed by Wellington’s orders. They had merely to
help themselves to what they could find, for most of the population
had followed in the wake of the allied army. “The inhabitants
of the country have fled from their houses universally,” the
Commander-in-Chief writes to the Earl of Liverpool from Alcobaço on
the 5th October, “carrying with them every thing they could take away
which could be deemed useful to the enemy; and the habits of plunder
which have been so long encouraged in the enemy’s army prevent them
from deriving any general advantage from the little resource which the
inhabitants may have been obliged to leave behind them.”

It is the straightforward utterance of a straightforward man.
Wellington seldom indulged in picturesque language; he had neither the
natural ability which commands a delicate choice of language nor the
time for vivid diction. His mind was cast in a sterner mould; he craved
for exactness, for cold, matter-of-fact calculations, for ungarnished
essentials.

[Illustration: The Retreat from Coimbra

Thomas Maybank]

For graphic details we must turn to such an authority as Sir Charles
Stewart, who writes with the fluency of a gifted war-correspondent
permitted to ride with the officers and obtain a view of everything
of importance. “Crowds of men, women, and children,” he says,“--of
the sick, the aged, and the infirm, as well as of the robust and the
young--covered the roads and the fields in every direction. Mothers
might be seen with infants at their breasts hurrying towards the
capital, and weeping as they went; old men, scarcely able to totter
along, made way chiefly by the aid of their sons and daughters; whilst
the whole wayside soon became strewed with bedding, blankets, and
other species of household furniture, which the weary fugitives were
unable to carry farther. During the retreat of Sir John Moore’s army
numerous heartrending scenes were brought before us; for then, as now,
the people, particularly in Galicia, fled at our approach; but
they all returned sooner or later to their homes, nor ever dreamed of
accumulating upon our line of march, or following our fortunes. The
case was different here. Those who forsook their dwellings, forsook
them under the persuasion that they should never behold them again;
and the agony which such an apprehension appeared to excite among the
majority exceeds any attempt at description.... It could not but occur
to us that, though the devastating system must inevitably bear hard
upon the French, the most serious evils would, in all probability,
arise out of it, both to ourselves and our allies, from the famine and
general distress which it threatened to bring upon a crowd so dense,
shut up within the walls of a single city. At the moment there were
few amongst us who seemed not disposed to view it with reprobation;
because, whilst they condemned its apparent violation of every feeling
of humanity and justice, they doubted the soundness of the policy in
which it originated.”

Leaving a meagre force to guard the wounded and sick at Coimbra,
Masséna started off in pursuit of the enemy as soon as the most
primeval of creature comforts had been satisfied. Six days after
his soldiers had left the place, namely, the 11th October 1810,
Wellington’s men entered the lines of Torres Vedras, but so rapid had
been the French advance that they began to appear on the following
morning. La Romana had crossed from Estremadura with several thousand
Spanish troops, thereby adding to Wellington’s forces, while Portuguese
militia threatened the enemy’s communications.

Masséna dared not attempt to retreat for fear of incurring Napoleon’s
displeasure. His only hope, as he repented at leisure, was that the
supplies of the defenders might fail, or that the Emperor, in response
to urgent dispatches, would speedily send reinforcements both of men
and of arms. The news that Coimbra, its garrison, and its invalids,
had fallen into the hands of militia under Colonel Trant merely added
insult to injury. As regards “starving out” the British and their
allies, it was far more probable that their own food would run out, for
while Wellington held the Tagus a constant supply of the necessaries
of life was secured from incoming ships. Hunger did indeed eventually
drive Masséna from Santarem, a town some thirty miles from Wellington’s
lines, on which he had been forced to fall back in November. The
place, perched on the summit of a height between the rivers Rio Mayor
and Aviella, was admirably suited for defensive purposes, but after
the surrounding country had been stripped there was nothing to do but
retire. The Marshal was fortunate in finding a district which the
Portuguese had not laid bare. It sounds almost incredible, but it is
recorded that when Masséna succeeded in crossing the frontier his men
were so famished that one of them consumed no less than seventeen
pounds of native bread. The French General awaited with feverish
anxiety the coming of Soult to his relief for nearly four months, but
that worthy was fighting battles and besieging Badajoz, which the
Spaniards surrendered on the 10th March 1811, five days after his
colleague had been forced by sheer necessity to begin a retreat across
the mountains towards Ciudad Rodrigo.

The author of “The Journal of an Officer,” a reliable eye-witness, thus
describes the town after Masséna had left it: “I have been for some
weeks in view of Santarem, and saw at last with pleasure some symptoms
of the French abandoning it. The first was setting fire to one of the
principal convents in the upper town, and part of the lower town; the
volume of smoke was immense for three days. On the fourth morning some
information to depend on reached us, and the bugle of attack roused us
from our pillows. The haze of the morning clearing up, we could easily
perceive the out sentinels were men of straw, and quite passive.[62] In
fact, a better managed retreat was never executed. Not a vestige of a
dollar’s worth remained. Being at the outposts with the 11th Dragoons
and the 1st Royals, I entered with them, and three miserable deserters,
who had hid themselves with one too ill to move, were the only enemies
to be found. Such a scene of horror, misery, and desolation, scarce
ever saluted the eye of man. Smoking ruins, the accumulated filth of
months, horses and human beings putrefied to suffocation, nearly caused
to many a vomiting. The houses had scarcely a vestige of wood--doors,
windows, ceilings, roofs, burnt; and where the sick had expired,
there left to decay! The number thus left were great. Every church
demolished, the tombs opened for searching after hidden plate, every
altar-piece universally destroyed, and the effluvia so offensive as to
defy describing.

“In some gardens, the miserable heads, undecayed, stuck up like
scarecrows; in some wells, a body floating.

“Down a precipice to which we were invited by prospect to look, the
human and animal carcases ... repulsed our senses, and shudderingly
vibrated the soul at the savage, horrible, diabolical acts of a
French army. Greater spirits, better discipline, and more order,
never attended an army than this. But to see the country, is to weep
for the horrors of war. Such horrid excess I never saw before. Every
town, village, or cottage destroyed. The growing nursery and the wild
grove, each havocked for destruction’s sake. The pot that refined
the oil broken, the wine-press burnt, for burning’s sake; the grape
vines destroyed as noxious weeds; the furniture unburnt thrown from
the windows, and with carriages, etc., made a bonfire of; the large
libraries strewed over the land in remnants of paper; the noble convent
in ashes, and the poor, unhappy, aged inhabitants, unable to flee, hung
around as ornamenting the walls, ten or twelve in a place!”

Wellington, who had now received reinforcements, moved his headquarters
to Santarem on the 6th March, anxious to overtake the enemy with the
least possible delay. He received the usual conflicting accounts of
the direction taken by them and their probable destination. Oporto was
suggested, which the Commander did not believe, “but they are in such a
state of distress, that it may be expected that they will try anything,
however desperate. But I follow them closely; and they will find it
difficult to stop anywhere, for any purpose, till they shall draw near
the frontier.” He detached two divisions under Beresford, hoping that
he might be able to relieve Badajoz, and with five others continued to
keep “close at their heels,” to use his own expression. Unfortunately
the place fell before it was possible for Beresford to reach it. Had
the Governor held out, Wellington was of opinion that “the Peninsula
would have been safe,” and the relief of the south of Spain practically
certain.

“Affairs” with the enemy were frequent during Wellington’s pursuit,
but by forcing them to evacuate the various positions they attempted
to occupy, such as Pombal, Redinha, Cazal Nova and Foz d’Aronce,
any designs they might have had against the northern provinces were
prevented, notwithstanding the fact that the country afforded “many
advantageous positions to a retreating army, of which the enemy have
shown that they know how to avail themselves.”

In writing to the Earl of Liverpool, Wellington remarks that “their
conduct throughout this retreat has been marked by a barbarity seldom
equalled, and never surpassed.” He tells a moving story of plunder,
the burning of houses, a convent, and a bishop’s palace. “This is the
mode,” he adds in a burst of indignation, “in which the promises have
been performed, and the assurances have been fulfilled, which were held
out in the proclamation of the French Commander-in-Chief, in which he
told the inhabitants of Portugal that he was not come to make war upon
them, but with a powerful army of 110,000 men to drive the English into
the sea.

“It is to be hoped that the example of what has occurred in this
country will teach the people of this and of other nations what value
they ought to place on such promises and assurances; and that there
is no security for life, or for anything which makes life valuable,
excepting in decided resistance to the enemy.”

The difficulties of the chase were many and oftentimes almost
unsurmountable. Boats and bridge-building materials were scarce, and
caused delay in crossing rivers. Shoes wore out rapidly on account
of the bad quality of the leather, and many of them were too small.
Endless trouble was caused by the Spanish muleteers, who absolutely
refused to attend the Portuguese troops, some of whom Wellington was
obliged to leave in the rear owing to the scarcity of provisions. For
instance, two brigades of infantry had to make nine days’ provisions,
consisting chiefly of bread and a little meat supplied by the British
commissariat, last for twenty-four days. “This is the assistance I
receive from the Portuguese Government!” the Commander-in-Chief writes,
and one can imagine his grim face hardening as he pens the words. There
were the usual grievances against the rascally army contractors. The
boots sent out were of bad quality, “in general too small.” We find him
ordering 150,000 pairs of boots and 100,000 pairs of soles and heels at
a time.

The most serious action during Masséna’s retreat was fought at Sabugal,
on the Coa, on the 3rd April. “We moved on the 2nd,” Wellington says
when giving details of the engagement to Beresford, “and the British
army was formed opposite to them; the divisions of militia, under
Trant and Wilson, were sent across the river at Cinco Villas, to alarm
Almeida for its communication. Yesterday morning”--he is writing on
the 4th inst.--“we moved the whole army (with the exception of the
6th division, which remained at Rapoula de Coa, opposite Loison) to
the right, in order to turn this position, and force the passage of
the river. The 2nd corps could not have stood here for a moment; but
unfortunately the Light division, which formed the right of the whole,
necessarily passed first, and the leading brigade, Beckwith’s, drove
in the enemy’s piquets, which were followed briskly by four companies
of the 95th, and three of Elder’s caçadores, and supported by the
43rd regiment. At this time there came on a rain storm, and it was as
difficult to see as in the fogs on Busaco, and these troops pushed on
too far, and became engaged with the main body of the enemy. The light
infantry fell back upon their support, which instead of halting, moved
forward. The French then seeing how weak the body was which had passed,
attempted to drive them down to the Coa, and did oblige the 43rd to
turn. They rallied again, however, and beat in the French; but were
attacked by fresh troops and cavalry, and were obliged to retire; but
formed again, and beat back the enemy. At this time the 52nd joined the
43rd, and both moved on upon the enemy, and to be charged and attacked
again in the same manner, and beat back. They formed again, moved
forward upon the enemy, and established themselves on the top of the
hill in an enclosure, and here they beat off the enemy.

“But Reynier was placing a body of infantry on their left flank, which
must have destroyed them, only that at that moment the head of the 3rd
division, which had passed the Coa on the left of the Light division,
came up, and opened their fire upon this column; and the 5th division,
which passed this bridge and through this town [Sabugal], made their
appearance.

“The enemy then retired, having lost in this affair a howitzer, and I
should think not less than 1000 men.

“Our loss is much less than one would have supposed possible, scarcely
200 men. The 43rd have 73 killed and wounded. But really these attacks
in columns[63] against our lines are very contemptible.

“The contest was latterly entirely for the howitzer, which was taken
and retaken twice, and at last remained in our hands. Our cavalry,
which ought to have crossed the Coa on the right of the Light division,
crossed at the same ford, and therefore could be of no use to them.
Besides they went too far to the right.

“In short, these combinations for engagements do not answer, unless one
is upon the spot to direct every trifling movement. I was upon a hill
on the left of the Coa, immediately above the town, till the 3rd and
5th divisions crossed, whence I could see every movement on both sides,
and could communicate with ease with everybody; but that was not near
enough.

“We took 6 Officers, and between 200 and 300 prisoners, and Soult’s[64]
and Loison’s baggage.”

Two days after this affair on the banks of the Coa Masséna crossed the
frontier, having been literally driven out of Portugal. Within a few
hours we find Wellington urging on Beresford the necessity for a strict
blockade of Badajoz preparatory to besieging it. Masséna fell back
upon Salamanca, while Wellington busied himself with the investment of
Almeida, where a French garrison had been left. With Ciudad Rodrigo,
the second and remaining place occupied by the Marshal’s troops, he
felt he could do little at the moment beyond intercepting supplies.
These two forts, which are within comparatively easy distance and
almost parallel, the one in Portugal and the other in Spain, were
extremely important, and commanded the north-eastern frontier of the
former country.

Incidentally, the British Commander-in-Chief also took the opportunity
to publish a lengthy Proclamation to the Portuguese nation, of which
the following is a brief synopsis. He informs the inhabitants that they
are now “at liberty to return to their occupations,” that nearly four
years have elapsed since “the tyrant of Europe” invaded the country,
the object being “the insatiable desire of plunder, the wish to
disturb the tranquillity, and to enjoy the riches of a people who had
passed nearly half a century in peace.” He then strikes a deeper note
and adds a few words of advice as to the future:

“The Marshal General, however, considers it his duty, in announcing the
intelligence of the result of the last invasion, to warn the people
of Portugal, that, although the danger is removed, it is not entirely
gone by. They have something to lose, and the tyrant will endeavor to
plunder them: they are happy under the mild government of a beneficent
Sovereign; and he will endeavor to destroy their happiness: they have
successfully resisted him, and he will endeavor to force them to submit
to his iron yoke. They should be unremitting in their preparations for
decided and steady resistance; those capable of bearing arms should
learn the use of them; or those whose age or sex renders them unfit
to bear arms should fix upon places of security and concealment, and
should make all the arrangements for their easy removal to them when
the moment of danger shall approach. Valuable property, which tempts
the avarice of the tyrant and his followers, and is the great object of
their invasion, should be carefully buried beforehand, each individual
concealing his own, and thus not trusting to the weakness of others to
keep a secret in which they may not be interested.

“Measures should be taken to conceal or destroy provisions which cannot
be removed, and everything which can tend to facilitate the enemy’s
progress; for this may be depended upon, that the enemy’s troops seize
upon everything, and leave nothing for the owner.

“By these measures, whatever may be the superiority of numbers with
which the desire of plunder and of revenge may induce, and his power
may enable, the tyrant again to invade this country, the result will be
certain; and the independence of Portugal, and the happiness of its
inhabitants, will be finally established to their eternal honor.”[65]

However “beneficent” the Sovereign--who was a lunatic and out of the
country--might be, Wellington had little that was good to say of its
present rulers. He told them that he would inform the home Cabinet
“that they cannot with propriety continue to risk a British army in
this country unsupported by any exertion of any description on the part
of the Portuguese Government.” The army was lamentably deficient “in
that essential arm, its cavalry,” and the commissariat arrangements
remained hopelessly deficient.

The blockade of Almeida being “a simple operation, which I do not think
the enemy have the means or inclination to interrupt,” Wellington left
it in the hands of Lieut.-General Sir Brent Spencer in the middle of
April, and set out from Villa Fermosa for Alemtejo to discuss his
future projects with Castaños and also to visit Beresford. He knew that
the French at Almeida would be forced to withdraw or surrender owing
to the scarcity of provisions, but at Ciudad Rodrigo “there is a good
garrison, and we certainly shall not get that place without a siege;
for which God knows if we shall have time before the enemy will be
reinforced. The first object is certainly Badajoz, and, as soon as I
know whether any or what part of our train is required for the attack
of that place, I shall send the remainder to Oporto, and make all the
arrangements for the eventual attack of Ciudad Rodrigo.”

As Soult was then busily occupied in fortifying Seville, to the south
of Badajoz, the siege of the latter city became imperative, and without
unnecessary delay. Soult might attempt to relieve Badajoz; certainly
his presence at Seville precluded the likelihood of the garrison being
deceived by any feint or actual attack made on that place by the allies
with the object of distracting their attention.

Although Wellington did not meet Castaños personally during his visit
to the south, he sent him a plan of operations, to be undertaken with
Blake and Ballasteros in co-operation with Beresford, and got through
an immense amount of work in connection with the siege. “The continued
and increasing inefficiency of the Portuguese regiments with this
army,” gave him much cause for concern. On the 30th April 1811, four
days after Parliament had thanked him for the liberation of Portugal,
he tells Beresford that “if some effectual steps are not taken, the
Portuguese force with this part of the army (_i.e._ Wellington’s) will
be annihilated.” He concludes by saying that he must report the matter
to the home authorities, which he did. “The Ministers and the English
public believe that we have 30,000 men for whom we pay, and half as
many more supported by the Portuguese Government. I do not believe that
I have here 11,000, or that you have 5000, and of the number many are
not fit for service.”

Masséna was not the type of man who easily acknowledges defeat. He
had been busily engaged at Salamanca in getting what remained of his
army into working order. He had lost at least 25,000 of the 70,000 men
who had entered Portugal, but when he decided to go to the assistance
of Almeida he could with difficulty muster only 39,000, some 5000
more than Wellington could put into the field. Having relieved Ciudad
Rodrigo, Masséna crossed the Agueda, with the fixed intention of
raising the blockade of Almeida. On the 3rd May he was in sight of the
British army, now arrayed at Fuentes de Oñoro.

The Commander-in-Chief had returned from his travels on the 28th of the
previous month, after having been informed by Spencer of the gathering
of the enemy. “I’ll venture to say,” remarks Kincaid, “that there was
not a heart in the army that did not beat more lightly when we heard
the joyful news of his arrival the day before the enemy’s advance.” On
the 3rd May the British were “warmly but partially engaged,” and “made
no progress in raising the blockade.”

The real battle began on the 5th, and was, in Alison’s opinion, “the
most critical in which Lord Wellington was engaged in the whole war,
and in which the chances of irreparable defeat were most against the
British army.” He then gives some of Sir Charles Stewart’s reflections
on the fight, which help us to appreciate its difficulties from the
point of view of an actual eye-witness who took a leading part in the
battle. “Masséna’s superiority to us,” he notes, “both in cavalry
and artillery, was very great; whilst the thick woods in our front
afforded the most convenient plateau which he could have desired for
the distribution of his columns unseen, and therefore disregarded. Had
he rightly availed himself of this advantage, he might have poured the
mass of his force upon any single point, and perhaps made an impression
before we could have had time to support it. Had he commenced his
attack with a violent cannonade, it must have produced some havoc,
and probably considerable confusion, in our line. He might then have
moved forward his cavalry _en masse_, supporting it by strong columns
of infantry; and had either the one or the other succeeded in piercing
through, our situation would have been by no means an enviable one....
Had he thrown his cavalry round our right flank--a movement which
we should have found it no easy matter to prevent--crossed the Coa,
advanced upon our lines of communication, and stopped our supplies,
at the moment when, with his infantry, he threatened to turn us; then
pushed upon Sabugal and the places near, he might have compelled us
to pass the Coa with all our artillery at the most disadvantageous
places, and cut us off from our best and safest retreat. There was,
indeed, a time during the affair of the 5th, when his design of acting
in this manner was seriously apprehended; and Lord Wellington was in
consequence reduced to the necessity of deciding whether he should
relinquish the Sabugal road or raise the blockade of Almeida. But
Lord Wellington’s presence of mind never for a moment forsook him. He
felt no distrust in his troops; to retain his hold over a secure and
accessible line of retreat was therefore to him a consideration of less
moment than to continue an operation of which the ultimate success
could now be neither doubtful nor remote; and he at once determined to
expose Sabugal rather than throw open a communication with Almeida. It
was a bold measure, but it was not adopted without due consideration,
and it received an ample reward in the successful termination of this
hard-fought battle.”

Wellington’s line was extended on a table-land between the rivers
Turones and Dos Casas. It reached several miles, namely, from Fort
Conception, which covered Almeida (opposite the village of that name
he disposed his centre), to beyond Nava d’Aver, his right being at
Fuentes de Oñoro. Poço Velho, between the latter place and Nava d’Aver,
was also occupied by the left wing of the 7th Division, commanded by
General Houstoun.

Masséna’s first movement was to attack the Spanish irregulars, under
Don Julian Sanchez, stationed on the hill of Nava d’Aver, which was
neither a lengthy nor a difficult process.

Major-General Houstoun scarcely fared better, two of his battalions
being routed. The immediate consequence was that Captain Norman
Ramsay’s battery of Horse Artillery, which were supporting Houstoun,
were soon fighting against fearful odds. By means of a magnificent
charge, while the attention of part of the French force was detracted
by the dragoons under Sir Stapleton Cotton, Ramsay made good his escape
with every gun.

The situation was extremely critical when the squares of the 7th and
Light Divisions were attacked by the enemy’s cavalry, but Wellington
did not hesitate for a moment as to the best course to pursue. He
abandoned Nava d’Aver and closed in his line by a complete change
of front, withdrawing some of his divisions to the heights, and
Houstoun’s men behind the Turones, to a position near Freneda, which
became the British right and Fuentes de Oñoro the left.

“Montbrun’s cavalry,” we are told, “merely hovered about Craufurd’s
squares, the plain was soon cleared, the cavalry took post behind the
centre, and the Light Division formed a reserve to the right of the 1st
Division, sending the riflemen among the rocks to connect it with the
7th Division, which had arrived at Freneda, and was there joined by
Julian Sanchez. At the sight of this new front, so deeply lined with
troops, the French stopped short, and commenced a heavy cannonade,
which did great execution, from the closeness of the allied masses;
but twelve British guns replied with vigour, and the violence of the
enemy’s fire abated; their cavalry then drew out of range, and a body
of French infantry, attempting to glide down the ravine of the Turones,
was repulsed by the riflemen and light companies of the Guards.”

Meanwhile a fierce conflict was taking place in the village of Fuentes.
It continued see-saw fashion until the evening, both sides bringing
up reserves and contesting every inch of the ground. Three regiments
were driven from the lower parts of the village, but reinforcements
were at hand, and the higher streets were never abandoned, although a
chapel held by the troops in that quarter was evacuated. At nightfall
the French crossed the river, leaving 400 of their dead in the village.
Wellington averred that the battle “was the most difficult I was ever
concerned in, and against the greatest odds. We had very nearly three
to one against us engaged; about four to one of cavalry; and, moreover,
our cavalry had not a gallop in them, while some of that of the enemy
was fresh, and in excellent order. If Bony had been there we should
have been beaten.”

As a battle the engagement scarcely could be called a victory for the
Allies, but Masséna had failed to relieve Almeida, while Wellington
had succeeded in covering its blockade. The total casualties of the
British, Spanish, and Portuguese on the 3rd and 5th reached 1800, of
the French nearly 3000, and 210 were taken prisoners. On the morning
of the 8th May the last of the enemy left the field, but three days
later the Commander-in-Chief received bad news. On the previous night
the garrison of Almeida blew up part of the fortress and escaped,
although the force sent by Wellington to blockade it was “four times
more numerous than the garrison.” He characterized it as “the most
disgraceful event that has yet occurred to us.” His correspondence at
this period teems with references to it.

Masséna was no longer “the favoured child of victory” or Napoleon’s
“right arm,” as the Emperor had called him, and he was recalled, to be
succeeded by Marmont, an excellent artillery officer then not quite
thirty-seven years of age, whereas Masséna was fifty-three and deemed
“too old” by his autocratic sovereign.

Marmont speedily came to the conclusion when he took up his new
post that without rest the so-called army of Portugal could not
possibly expect to meet Wellington with any likelihood of success.
He accordingly moved his troops to the province of Salamanca, where
we will leave them for a little while to watch the course of the war
elsewhere.

Beresford had now invested Badajoz, and engaged the enemy in several
sorties, on one occasion suffering severe loss owing to the imprudence
of his troops. Receiving news to the effect that Soult was rapidly
approaching with the determined object of relieving it, he raised the
siege and posted his army on the ridge of Albuera to stop the French
advance. The British Commander had nearly 32,000 men at his disposal.
Of these no fewer than 24,000 were foreigners, including the Spanish
forces of Blake, Castaños, Ballasteros, and Don Carlos d’España, which
had formed a junction with him. The enemy had 23,000 troops.

As Wellington was not present a detailed description of the battle,
which took place on the 16th May, does not come within the province
of this volume. It was one of the most fiercely contested of the
entire war. So much so that Beresford used up his entire reserves and
lost 4100 British troops, in addition to 1400 Portuguese and Spanish
killed and wounded. The French losses were over 6000, and 500 were
taken prisoners. Had it not been for Colonel Hardinge, Beresford would
have retreated. Following his colleague’s advice he remained and was
victorious. It was at Albuera that the 57th Foot (now the 1st Middlesex
Regiment) won the well-deserved name of “Die Hards” from the fact that
Colonel Inglis shouted to his troops, “Die hard, my men; die hard!”[66]
“It was observed,” writes Beresford to Wellington, “that our dead,
particularly the 57th regiment, were lying, as they had fought, in
ranks, and that every wound was in front.”

On the 19th Wellington, with two divisions, arrived at Elvas, and on
the 21st he rode to Albuera and surveyed the site of the contest. “The
fighting was desperate,” he writes, “and the loss of the British has
been very severe; but, adverting to the nature of the contest, and the
manner in which they held their ground against all the efforts the
whole French army could make against them, notwithstanding all the
losses which they had sustained, I think this action one of the most
glorious and honourable to the character of the troops of any that has
been fought during the war.”

Surely a more noble tribute to the “common” soldier was never penned!




CHAPTER XIV

The Siege of Ciudad Rodrigo

(1811-12)

  “_The great object in all sieges is to gain time._”

            WELLINGTON.


The exacting nature of the campaign was beginning to tell on
Wellington. “I certainly feel, every day,” he had written to the Earl
of Liverpool on the 15th May 1811, “more and more the difficulty of
the situation in which I am placed. I am obliged to go everywhere, and
if absent from any operation, something goes wrong.” “Another such
battle” as Albuera, he informs his brother Henry on the 22nd, “would
ruin us,” and he proceeds to compare the Spanish and Portuguese troops,
to the disadvantage of the former. They often held their ground too
well, there was no moving them in a battle. On the other hand, “We do
what we please now with the Portuguese troops; we manœuvre them under
fire equally with our own, and have some dependence on them; but these
Spaniards can do nothing, but stand still, and we consider ourselves
fortunate if they do not run away.” In his report of the battle
Beresford mentions the Spanish cavalry as having behaved “extremely
well.”

Some idea of the enormous amount of labour involved may be gained from
the fact that on the day mentioned Wellington either wrote or dictated
at least eighteen dispatches, including two dealing with the loss of
an officer for whose widow and child he was endeavouring to obtain
“favour and protection” at the hands of the home authorities. At the
same time he was actively preparing for the renewed siege of Badajoz:
“The late action has made a terrible hole in our ranks; but I am
working hard to set all to rights again.” He appeared “destined to pass
his life in the harness,” to use his own phrase, and had “a monstrous
quantity of business to settle of different descriptions.”

Referring to the difference of opinion held by his officers regarding
his policy, he says, “I believe nothing but something worse than
firmness could have carried me through.... To this add that people in
England were changing their opinions almost with the wind, and you will
see that I had not much to look to excepting myself.” The words are
almost those of a broken-hearted man.

Badajoz was again invested on the 25th May, and the batteries opened
fire on the 3rd of the following month in an attempt to breach the
fort of San Christoval and the castle. Wellington had then made his
headquarters at Quinta de Granicha, from whence he writes, on the 6th
to the Earl of Liverpool, to the effect that if he cannot prevent the
enemy from receiving provisions he will not risk an action because he
has not the means, and out of fairness to his soldiers he cannot “make
them endure the labours of another siege at this advanced season.
Notwithstanding that we have carried on our operations with such
celerity,” he concludes “we have had great difficulties to contend
with, and have been much delayed by the use of the old ordnance and
equipments of Elvas, and of the Portuguese artillery, in this siege;
some of the guns from which we fire are above 150 years old.” The
majority of them were supposed to be 24-pounders, but they proved to
be larger, with the result that their fire was very uncertain. Two
attempts were made to storm the outwork of San Christoval without
success, many brave fellows perishing in the vain effort to escalade
the walls.

Three weeks had not elapsed before it became eminently necessary to
retire from this scene of activity. During this short time nearly 500
officers and men had been reported as killed, wounded, or missing,
and fifty-two of the Chasseurs Britanniques had deserted. “I have a
great objection to foreigners in this army,” he informs a colleague
a little later, “as they desert terribly; and they not only give the
enemy intelligence which he would find it difficult to get in any
other manner, but by their accounts and stories of the mode in which
deserters from the French army are treated by us, some of them well
founded, they have almost put an end to desertion.” The reason for the
latter belief was the legend “that the deserters from the enemy are
sent to the West India Islands, and have no chance of ever returning to
Europe.”

Marmont, having united his scattered units, was about to join
forces with Soult, which meant that when they marched on Badajoz,
as undoubtedly they would do, the French army might number between
50,000 and 60,000 troops. Wellington had been of opinion that it was
possible to reduce the place before the end of the second week of
June. An intercepted dispatch from Soult to Marmont made it abundantly
evident that the enemy were to concentrate in Estremadura, and other
intelligence clearly proved that the destination of the French army
was “to the southward.” Elvas, where supplies were running low, had
first to be replenished, so that it might be in a condition of defence
should the enemy cross the frontiers. Leaving a comparatively small
number of men to blockade Badajoz, and having made arrangements for
the strengthening of Elvas, he marched from that place to Quinta de
St João, where he remained for a considerable period. For nearly a
fortnight the French threatened to attack, and had they done so it
is scarcely possible that Wellington could have held his own in the
field. Soult was the first to withdraw, the immediate cause being the
threatening of Seville by Blake, who retired when Soult approached.
Marmont, feeling unequal to fight alone, marched to the valley of the
Tagus and cantoned his army between Talavera and Plasencia. During the
crisis the two marshals mustered 62,000 troops, Wellington about 48,000.

The heat and other considerations prevented Wellington from besieging
Badajoz; to relieve Cadiz was out of the question because the forces
of Soult and Marmont would be almost certain to come to the assistance
of the force before the great southern port. He therefore decided to
besiege Ciudad Rodrigo, for four reasons stated in a letter to the
Earl of Liverpool dated the 18th July, namely: “We can derive some
assistance from our militia in the north in carrying it into execution,
and the climate in which the operation is to be carried on is not
unfavorable at this season. If it should not succeed, the attempt will
remove the war to the strongest frontier of Portugal; and, if obliged
to resume the defensive, the strength of our army will be centrically
situated, while the enemy’s armies of the north and of the south will
be disunited.” Shortly after the above dispatch was written he heard
that Suchet had captured Tarragona, which made the proposed operation
“less favorable.” “However,” he tells Beresford on the 20th of the
same month, “we shall have a very fine army of little less than 60,000
men,[67] including artillery, in the course of about a fortnight; and
I do not see what I can do with it, to improve the situation of the
allies, during the period in which it is probable that, the enemy’s
attention being taken up with the affairs of the north of Europe,[68]
we shall be more nearly on a par of strength with him, excepting we
undertake this operation.”

Lieutenant-General Hill was entrusted with the duty of watching the
enemy in Alemtejo,[69] and two divisions were left in Estremadura.
The Commander-in-Chief, with some 40,000 men, hastened towards Ciudad
Rodrigo, unaware at the moment that the garrison had been reinforced
and that Napoleon was sending more men to the Peninsula. When these
important facts reached him he contented himself with blockading the
place, and prepared to retire behind the Agueda should necessity
warrant. Marmont sent for Dorsenne, who had taken the command in
Galicia from Bessières, and with 60,000 troops set out toward the end
of September to relieve Ciudad Rodrigo. Wellington then occupied El
Bodon, on the left bank of the Agueda. “The object of taking a position
so near to the enemy,” he says, “was to force them to show their army.
This was an object, because the people of the country, as usual,
believed and reported that the enemy were not so strong as we knew them
to be; and if they had not seen the enemy’s strength, they would have
entertained a very unfavorable opinion of the British army, which it
was desirable to avoid. This object was accomplished by the operations
at the close of September.”

Early on the morning of the 25th the Marshal drove in the outposts of
Wellington’s left wing, and turned the heights occupied by the right
centre, thereby placing the British Commander in a dangerous position,
from which he extricated himself by hurling his cavalry at the horsemen
and artillery now endeavouring to scale the heights. Two British guns
were captured and retaken at the point of the bayonet. When the French
infantry were brought into action Wellington gradually withdrew in the
direction of Fuente Guinaldo, pursued by the enemy’s cavalry, which
were received by solid British squares and repelled as six miles were
traversed. Marmont again advanced on the 26th, but did not attack.
Wellington retreated until he reached a strong position in front of
Sabugal on the 28th.

A rear-guard action had been fought on the previous day at Aldea
da Ponte, but Marmont withdrew without offering battle, and, after
supplying much needed necessaries to Ciudad Rodrigo, proceeded to the
Tagus valley and Dorsenne to Salamanca. Wellington renewed the blockade
“in order,” as he says, “to keep a large force of the enemy employed
to observe our operations, and to prevent them from undertaking any
operation elsewhere.” Placing his army in cantonments on the banks of
the Coa, the Commander-in-Chief made his headquarters at Freneda.

While in their winter quarters both officers and men were able to
recuperate after their previous arduous campaign. Sports, theatricals
and other amusements helped to pass away the time and to cheer up the
army. Even more important was the opportunity thus afforded the many
semi-invalids to recover their health. “We are really almost an army
of convalescents.” Wellington himself rode to hounds occasionally, and
applauded the amateur histrionic efforts of his soldiers, when time
and circumstances permitted him to attend their performances. He was
able to re-establish Almeida as a military post, where he kept his
battering-train to deceive the enemy, to blockade Ciudad Rodrigo, and
to prepare for its investment.

Meanwhile the guerillas were “increasing in numbers and boldness
throughout the Peninsula,” constantly annoying the French commanders.
“It was their indomitable spirit of resistance,” says Professor
Oman,[70] “which enabled Wellington, with his small Anglo-Portuguese
army, to keep the field against such largely superior numbers. No
sooner had the French concentrated, and abandoned a district, than
there sprang up in it a local Junta and a ragged apology for an army.
Even where the invaders lay thickest, along the route from Bayonne to
Madrid, guerilla bands maintained themselves in the mountains, cut off
couriers and escorts, and often isolated one French army from another
for weeks at a time. The greater partisan chiefs, such as Mina in
Navarre, Julian Sanchez in Leon, and Porlier in the Cantabrian hills,
kept whole brigades of the French in constant employment. Often beaten,
they were never destroyed, and always reappeared to strike some daring
blow at the point where they were least expected. Half the French army
was always employed in the fruitless task of guerilla-hunting. This was
the secret which explains the fact that, with 300,000 men under arms,
the invaders could never concentrate more than 70,000 to deal with
Wellington.”

In the autumn and winter of 1811 the enemy accomplished nothing of
importance in eastern and southern Spain. In the south-east Suchet
defeated Blake on the 25th October at the battle of Sagunto, “the last
pitched battle of the war,” remarks the above authority, “in which a
Spanish army, unaided by British troops, attempted to face the French.”
Forced into the city of Valencia with part of his motley array, Blake
made a gallant attempt to rid himself of his besieger, an almost
impossible task considering that Suchet had been reinforced while the
unfortunate Spanish commander had been considerably reduced. On the 9th
January 1812 his 16,000 followers laid down their weapons.

The investment of Ciudad Rodrigo by Wellington had been delayed owing
to a complexity of causes. All the carting had to be performed by
Portuguese and Spanish, and their slowness and the inclement weather
combined precluded the Commander-in-Chief from pushing forward his
operations with any celerity of movement. Empty carts took two days to
go ten miles on a good road. Wellington confessed that he had to appear
satisfied, otherwise the drivers would have deserted. If he succeeded
in his designs he hoped to “make a fine campaign in the spring”; if he
did not, “I shall bring back towards this frontier the whole [French]
army which had marched towards Valencia and Aragon. By these means I
hope to save Valencia.”

Alas, for human ambition! The capital of the province fell three days
after the above dispatch was written.

On the 8th January 1812 a start was made, and Ciudad Rodrigo invested.
During the night the palisaded redoubt on the hill of San Francisco,
which the French had recently constructed, was stormed and carried,
but Wellington at once perceived that the enemy had made good use
of their time by strengthening their works and fortifying three
convents in the suburbs. “The success of this operation,” he writes,
“enabled us immediately to break ground within 600 yards of the place,
notwithstanding that the enemy still hold the fortified convents; and
the enemy’s work has been turned into a part of our first parallel,
and a good communication made with it.” Wellington encamped his men on
the southern bank, which necessitated their fording the narrow stream,
although he had built a bridge lower down the Agueda for munitions.
It was no child’s play for the soldiers. Through icy cold water,
across ground covered with snow and frost, and amidst a rain of shot
and shell, these brave fellows went to their work, each division in
succession. Some of them returned, others did not, for “The path of
glory leads but to the grave.”

The convent of Santa Cruz was captured on the night of the 13th,
followed on the 14th by the fall of the convent of San Francisco and
other fortified posts in the suburbs. By this time batteries were
within 180 yards of the walls. “We proceeded at Ciudad Rodrigo,” he
tells the Duke of Richmond, “on quite a new principle in sieges. The
whole object of our fire was to lay open the walls. We had not one
mortar; nor a howitzer, excepting to prevent the enemy from clearing
the breaches, and for that purpose we had only two; and we fired upon
the flanks and defences only when we wished to get the better of them,
with a view to protect those who were to storm. This shows the kind of
place we had to attack....” Matters now became urgent, for advice had
been received that Marmont was stirring. By the 19th the breaches made
in the ramparts by the artillery were declared practicable. Wellington
had already summoned the Governor to surrender. His reply was that “he
and the brave garrison which he commanded were prepared rather to bury
themselves in the ruins of a place entrusted to them by their Emperor.”
The troops, consisting of the regiments of the 3rd and Light Divisions
and some Portuguese caçadores, marched to the assault in five columns.
“Rangers of Connaught,” cried General Picton to the “Fighting 3rd,” who
were charged with the centre attack, “it is not my intention to expend
any powder this evening; we’ll do this business with the cold iron.”

It was the task of Picton and his men to assault the great breach,
while the 52nd, the 43rd, and the 95th regiments, assisted by two
battalions of caçadores, assaulted the other. At the same time a
brigade of Portuguese under General Pack was to make a feint at the
Santiago gate, at the southern end of the town, and the light company
of the 83rd regiment with another body of native soldiers were to scale
the castle walls. As the columns advanced the moon, then in its first
quarter, revealed their black outline to the enemy. They at once opened
fire. No reply was vouchsafed by the Allies, who marched with fixed
bayonets and unloaded muskets. It was not part of their plan to return
a greeting made by men who were behind ramparts.

The Portuguese under Colonel O’Toole were the first to attack, closely
followed by the 5th, 94th, and 77th regiments, the last supposed to act
as a reserve. The Light Division, impatient of delay and not wishing to
be rivalled in prowess, hurled themselves at the small breach without
waiting for the bags of hay which were to be thrown in the ditch to
assist them in crossing. Many of the attacking force literally passed
over the shot-riddled bodies of the vanguard as they attempted to
get through. Major George Napier, while leading his men, had his arm
shattered, but still continued to encourage them; Robert Craufurd,
the intrepid and cantankerous commander of the Light Division, fell
mortally wounded; Major-General Mackinnon was blown up by the explosion
of a magazine. Nine officers and eleven non-commissioned officers and
drummers gave up their lives for their country during the siege and
in the assault from the 8th to the 19th, the total loss in killed and
injured being nearly 1000. The hand-to-hand fighting continued in the
streets, and the town caught fire.

At dawn 1700 of the enemy surrendered, including the Governor.
Marmont’s battering train, scores of field guns, and a plentiful supply
of ammunition fell into the hands of the victors. Wellington had
“great pleasure” in reporting “the uniform good conduct, and spirit of
enterprise, and patience, and perseverance in the performance of great
labor” on the part of the troops who had been engaged. As for the men
themselves, they got drunk and sacked the place.

Wellington’s rewards for the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo were numerous.
He became an Earl in Great Britain, a Duke in Spain, and a Marquis in
Portugal. In addition he was granted an extra annual pension of £2000
by Parliament. Financial offers were also forthcoming from the two
Peninsula Powers, but he declined them. “He had only done his duty to
his country, and to his country alone he would look for his reward.”

Marmont was in ignorance of the siege until the 15th January. He
then began to make preparations, but when he was ready the fortress
had fallen, and he moved his army to Valladolid, to the north-east.
Napoleon then sent orders to the Marshal that if he could not regain
Ciudad Rodrigo he was to return to Salamanca, cross the frontier, and
advance on Almeida. He foresaw that perhaps Wellington might turn his
attention to Badajoz, which, in the Emperor’s opinion, would be a
“mistake,” and that of necessity he would have to return to succour
the Portuguese fortress: “You will soon bring him back again.” The
British Commander also surmised that another attack on Ciudad was quite
possible. Before setting out on his next bold enterprise he therefore
put the fortifications in thorough repair, and brought up a reserve
supply of 50,000 rations in case it should be besieged. Satisfied that
the place could now offer a bold resistance to the enemy, and having
also repaired the works of Almeida, he marched the greater part of his
army to the valley of the Guadiana, and invested Badajoz, which is on
the left side of that river, on the 16th March 1812.

Wellington fully appreciated the immense value of time, and if he did
not actually work with his eyes on the clock, he always endeavoured to
fix a definite date for his operations. Thus as early as the preceding
January he had written to his brother from Gallegos, a little to the
north of Ciudad, that it was probable he would be in readiness to
invest the place “in the second week in March.” “We shall have great
advantages in making the attack so early if the weather will allow of
it,” he tells another correspondent. “First, all the torrents in this
part of the country are then full, so that we may assemble nearly our
whole army on the Guadiana, without risk to anything valuable here.[71]
Secondly, it will be convenient to assemble our army at an early period
in Estremadura, for the sake of the green forage, which comes in
earlier to the south than here. Thirdly, we shall have advantages, in
point of subsistence, over the enemy, at that season, which we should
not have at a later period. Fourthly, their operations will necessarily
be confined by the swelling of the rivers in that part as well as
here.” In order to deceive the enemy he remained behind with the 5th
Division as long as possible and gave instructions for a report to be
circulated to the effect that he was going to hunt on the banks of the
Huelbra and Yeltes.




CHAPTER XV

Badajoz and Salamanca

(1812)

  “_I shall not give the thing up without good cause._”

            WELLINGTON.


Considerable energy was displayed by the troops in the siege
operations at Badajoz, notwithstanding the persistent torrents of
rain which soaked the men to the skin and filled the trenches as they
worked. A bridge of pontoons was carried away and the flying bridges
irretrievably injured by the swollen state of the Guadiana. The place
was by no means an easy one to take, for strong outworks defended it,
and Philippon, the French Governor, was a most able officer in whom his
troops placed every confidence. However, good fortune did not attend
the first sortie made by about 2000 of the enemy on the 19th March.
They were “almost immediately driven in, without effecting any object,
with considerable loss, by Major-General Bowes, who commanded the guard
in the trenches,” to quote from Wellington’s official dispatch.

On the 25th an attack was made on fort Picurina, an advanced post
separated from Badajoz by the little river called the Rivillas.
Twenty-eight guns in six batteries were brought to bear upon it, and
after dark the place was carried by storm, although it was protected
by three rows of palisades defended by musketry. The garrison of the
outwork consisted of about 250 men. Of these ninety, including the
colonel, were taken prisoners, and most of the others were either
killed or drowned in the swollen stream. An attempt was made to succour
the brave defenders, but the soldiers were driven back before they
could come up to the Picurina. The possession of this outwork enabled
Wellington to place guns within 300 yards of the body of the place,
and on the following day two breaching batteries began their work of
destruction, with the result that on the 6th April three breaches were
declared to be practicable.

At ten o’clock that night the attempt was to be made, the 3rd Division
under Picton escalading the castle, the 4th Division with General
the Hon. C. Colville attacking the bastion of La Trinidad, the Light
Division commanded by Colonel Barnard the bastion of Santa Maria,
General Leith’s 5th Division the bastion of San Vincente. The attack on
the bastions was to be made by storming the breaches. Wellington stood
on rising ground facing the main breach, accompanied by the Prince of
Orange and Lord March.

“When the head of the Light Division arrived at the ditch of the place
(the great breach) it was a beautiful moonlight night,” Sir Harry
Smith relates with the authority of a participant in the action.[72]
“Old Alister Cameron, who was in command of four Companies of the
95th Regiment, extended along the counterscarp to attract the enemy’s
fire, while the column planted their ladders and descended, came up
to Barnard and said, ‘Now my men are ready; shall I begin?’ ‘No,
certainly not,’ says Barnard. The breach and the works were full of
the enemy, looking quietly at us, but not fifty yards off and most
prepared, although _not firing a shot_. So soon as our ladders were
all ready posted, and the columns in the very act to move and rush
down the ladders, Barnard called out, ‘_Now_, Cameron!’ and the first
shot from us brought down such a hail of fire as I shall never forget,
nor ever saw before or since. It was most murderous. We flew down
the ladders and rushed at the breach, but we were broken, and carried
no weight with us, although every soldier was a hero. The breach was
covered by a breastwork from behind, and ably defended on the top by
_chevaux-de-frises_ of sword-blades, sharp as razors, chained to the
ground; while the ascent to the top of the breach was covered with
planks with sharp nails in them.... One of the officers of the forlorn
hope, lieutenant Taggart of the 43rd, was hanging on my arm--a mode we
adopted to help each other up, for the ascent was most difficult and
steep. A Rifleman stood among the sword-blades on the top of one of
the _chevaux-de-frises_. We made a glorious rush to follow, but, alas!
in vain. He was knocked over. My old captain, O’Hare, who commanded
the storming party, was killed. All were awfully wounded except, I do
believe, myself and little Freer of the 43rd. I had been some seconds
at the _revétement_ of the bastion near the breach, and my red-coat
pockets were literally filled with chips of stones splintered by
musket-balls. Those not knocked down were driven back by this hail of
mortality to the ladders. At the foot of them I saw poor Colonel McLeod
with his hands on his breast.... He said, ‘Oh, Smith, I am mortally
wounded. Help me up the ladder.’ I said, ‘Oh, no, dear fellow!’ ‘I am,’
he said; ‘be quick!’ I did so, and came back again. Little Freer and
I said, ‘Let us throw down the ladders; the fellows shan’t go out.’
Some soldiers behind said, ‘... if you do we will bayonet you!’ and
we were literally forced up with the crowd. My sash had got loose,
and one end of it was fast in the ladder, and the bayonet was very
nearly applied, but the sash by pulling became loose. So soon as we got
on the glacis, up came a fresh Brigade of the Portuguese of the 4th
Division. I never saw any soldiers behave with more pluck. Down into
the ditch we all went again, but the more we tried to get up, the more
we were destroyed. The 4th Division followed us in marching up to the
breach, and they made a most uncommon noise. The French saw us, but
took no notice.... Both Divisions were fairly beaten back; we never
carried either breach (nominally there were two breaches).... There is
no battle, day or night, I would not willingly react except this. The
murder of our gallant officers and soldiers is not to be believed.”

The attack on the castle was no less furious. Again and again the
ladders were hurled back, but they were always put in place again,
notwithstanding the fearful and continuous fire to which the assailants
were subjected. Great beams of timber, stones, everything calculated to
kill or maim a man were regarded as useful weapons by the defenders.
Nothing came amiss to them in their determined defence. Scores of
soldiers were flung down, when another minute of safety would have
enabled them to secure a footing on the ramparts. They fell in the
ditch, often injuring or killing others besides themselves. At last
Lieutenant-Colonel Ridge managed to place two ladders at a spot which
had not been used before, and where the wall was lower. The officer
scaled one, followed by his men, and reached the rampart. The surprised
garrison was repulsed, and very soon the castle was in the hands of the
British. Poor Ridge did not live to reap his richly-deserved reward. He
was killed before the conclusion of the assault.

[Illustration: Wellington at Badajos congratulating Colonel Watson

R. Caton Woodville]

A little while previous to the successful termination of the attack Dr
James McGregor and Dr Forbes approached Wellington. “His lordship,”
says the former, “was so intent on what was going on, that I believe he
did not observe us. Soon after our arrival, an officer came up with an
unfavourable report of the assault, announcing that Colonel McLeod and
several officers were killed, with heaps of men who choked the approach
to the breach. At the place where we stood we were within hearing of
the voices of the assailants and the assailed, and it was now painful
to notice that the voices of our countrymen had grown fainter, while
the French cry of ‘_Avancez, étrillons ces Anglais_,’ became
stronger. Another officer came up with still more unfavourable reports,
that no progress was being made, for almost all the officers were
killed, and none left to lead on the men, of whom a great many had
fallen.

“At this moment I cast my eyes on the countenance of Lord Wellington,
lit up by the glare of the torch held by Lord March. I never shall
forget it to the last moment of my existence, and I could even now
sketch it. The jaw had fallen, the face was of unusual length, while
the torch-light gave his countenance a lurid aspect; but still the
expression of the face was fair. Suddenly turning to me and putting his
hand on my arm, he said, ‘Go over immediately to Picton, and tell him
he must try if he cannot succeed on the castle.’ I replied, ‘My lord,
I have not my horse with me, but I will walk as fast as I can, and I
think I can find the way; I know part of the road is swampy.’ ‘No, no,’
he replied, ‘I beg your pardon, I thought it was De Lancey.’ I repeated
my offer, saying I was sure I could find the way, but he said ‘No.’

“Another officer arrived, asking loudly, ‘Where is Lord Wellington?’
He came to announce that Picton was in the castle. He was desired
instantly to go to the breach, and to request the stormers to renew
their efforts, announcing what had befallen; and immediately Lord
Wellington called for his own horse, and followed by the Prince and
Lord March, rode to the breach.”

General Walker, leading the assault on San Vincente, experienced
much the same rough treatment as the other divisions, but eventually
succeeded in forcing his way into the town.

Philippon and a few hundred men managed to cross the Guadiana and found
refuge in Fort San Christoval, only to surrender the following morning.
The price paid by the victors in dead and wounded during the siege was
nearly 5000 men; those of the enemy who laid down their arms numbered
some 3800. The glory of the triumphant army was unfortunately tarnished
by the gross misconduct of the men, and it was not until a gallows was
raised that a stop was put to their evil ways.

Wellington was now anxious to meet Soult as soon as Badajoz was put in
a state of defence, but when he received the ill news of the defeat of
the French garrison the Marshal promptly retired to Seville. As Marmont
was threatening Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo the British General had
no alternative but to turn northward. He had to thank the Spaniards
for this. By neglecting to provision the places they had practically
placed them at the mercy of the enemy should he appear in considerable
numbers. They were already blockading the latter place. “If Ciudad
Rodrigo had been provisioned,” Wellington writes to his brother Henry,
“as I had a right to expect, there was nothing to prevent me from
marching to Seville at the head of 40,000 men, the moment the siege of
Badajoz was concluded.” It was, of course, very important that the line
of communication between Marmont and Soult should be impeded as much as
possible, and Hill was given this important task. Failing to surprise
Almarez, the General pushed on to Fort Napoleon, on the other side of
the Tagus, which was captured as well as Fort Ragusa. False information
alone prevented Hill from following up his victories. He was told that
Soult was in Estremadura, and he withdrew to the Guadiana.

Wellington began his advance, and on the 13th June crossed the
Agueda. On his approach to Salamanca he at once laid siege to three
newly-erected forts, “each defending the other.” Marmont, knowing the
likelihood of such an event, had wisely stored a good supply of food in
them, so that there was a likelihood of their being able to hold out
until he could succour them. The Marshal made one or two demonstrations
to no good effect. He as obstinately declined to begin offensive
measures as Wellington declined to be enticed to leave his strong
position on the heights of San Christoval.

It took Wellington some time to secure the forts, which were well
built and equipped, but on the 27th they fell into his hands, two
by storm and one by capitulation. The last mentioned was being
attacked when the flag was hauled down and would doubtless have been
captured had not the commander given way before the British made good
their assault. Marmont thereupon retired behind the Douro to await
reinforcements.

After having destroyed some military works at Alba de Tormes and
garrisoned the castle of Salamanca with Spaniards, Wellington pushed
forward and engaged Marmont’s rearguard on the 2nd July. He took up a
position on the left bank of the Douro, on the opposite side of that
occupied by the enemy, who was shortly afterwards strengthened by the
support of Bonnet’s division from the Asturias. Near Tordesillas, which
with Toro and Tudela was held by the French, the Marshal took courage
and fought an action with Sir Stapleton Cotton, who was in command of
Wellington’s right, on the 18th July. To resist him was impossible,
for he had secured all the bridges and many of the fords. The action
began at dawn, and Cotton gallantly maintained his post, but the enemy
managed to turn the left flank of the British position. “The troops,”
says Wellington in his official report, “retired in admirable order to
Torrecilla de la Orden, having the enemy’s whole army on their flank,
or in their rear, and thence to Guareña, which river they passed under
the same circumstances, and effected their junction with the army.”

Wellington fell back to within two miles of Salamanca, his left resting
on the Tormes, his right abutting on two hills called Los Aripeles;[73]
Marmont secured the heights of Nuestra Señora de la Peña.

Many years after the battle of Salamanca, General Alava, a Spanish
officer at the British headquarters, was at Wellington’s breakfast
table at Walmer, and he regaled the company with the story of the great
soldier’s breakfast on the 22nd July 1812. Croker has recorded it for
us, with the comment that the Duke listened “as quietly as if it
related to another person.”

“The Duke had been very busy all the morning, and had not thought of
breakfast, and the staff had grown very hungry; at last, however, there
was a pause (I think he said about two) near a farmyard surrounded by
a wall, where a kind of breakfast was spread on the ground, and the
staff alighted and fell to; while they were eating, the Duke rode into
the enclosure; he refused to alight, and advised them to make haste;
he seemed anxious and on the look-out. At last they persuaded him to
take a bit of bread and the leg of a cold roast fowl, which he was
eating without knife from his fingers, when suddenly they saw him throw
the leg of the fowl far away over his shoulder, and gallop out of the
yard, calling to them to follow him. The fact is, he had been waiting
to have the French _sighted_ at a certain gap in the hills, and that
was to be the signal of a long-meditated and long-suspended attack. ‘I
knew,’ says Alava, with grave drollery, ‘that something _very serious
was about to happen when an article so precious as the leg of a roast
fowl was thus thrown away_.’” Croker adds that “the Duke sat by with
his head inclined, quite silent, but with a quiet smile which seemed to
say that the narration was a good deal pleasanter than the reality had
been.”

Wellington was able to seize the nearer hill but the French secured the
other, while another miniature height named Nuestra Señora de la Peña
was the centre of a most desperate conflict, which continued through
the long hours of the day. Marmont made the fatal error of dividing his
army, sending Thomière’s division to turn the British right flank, with
intent to cut off all hope of retreat on the part of Wellington, should
he wish to do so, by means of the Ciudad Rodrigo road. This movement
separated the French left wing from the centre, and this it was that
caused the British Commander to fling away the dearly prized leg of a
chicken.

[Illustration: The End of Breakfast

Thomas Maybank]

After looking through his glass with wrapt attention Wellington
turned to his Spanish colleague with the words, “My dear Alava, Marmont
is undone!” His active brain told him at once of his enemy’s mistake.
Having made his dispositions he ordered Pakenham, his brother-in-law,
to throw the 3rd Division into line and cross the march of Thomière’s
columns. “It shall be done; give me your hand,” replied that energetic
officer. He hurled the Portuguese cavalry, two squadrons of the 14th
Light Dragoons, and the “Fighting 3rd” at the flank and rear of the
French left. Other divisions under Cole, Leith, Bradford, and Cotton
attacked the enemy in front. “No sooner was Pakenham in motion towards
the heights,” says one who took part in the battle, “than the ridge he
was about to assail was crowned with twenty pieces of cannon, while
in the rear of this battery were seen Foy’s division, endeavouring to
regain its place in the combat. A flat space of 1000 yards in breadth
was to be crossed before Pakenham could reach the height.

“The French batteries opened a heavy fire, while the two brigades of
artillery, commanded by Captain Douglas, posted on a rising ground
behind the 3rd Division, replied to them with much warmth. Pakenham’s
men may thus be said to have been between two fires, that of our own
guns firing over their heads, while the French balls passed through
their ranks, ploughing up the ground in every direction; but the
veteran troops which composed the 3rd Division were not shaken even by
this.

“Wallace’s three regiments advanced in open columns, until within 250
yards of the ridge held by the French infantry. Foy’s column, 5000
strong, had by this time reached their ground, while in their front the
face of the hill had been hastily garnished with riflemen. All were
impatient to engage, and the calm but stern advance of Pakenham’s right
brigade was received with beating of drums and loud cheers from the
French, whose light troops, hoping to take advantage of the time which
the deploying into line would take, ran down the face of the hill in a
state of great excitement, but Pakenham, who was naturally of a boiling
spirit and hasty temper, was on this day perfectly cool. He told
Wallace to form line from open column without halting, and thus the
different companies, by throwing forward their right shoulders, were in
a line without the slow manœuvre of deployment.

“Astonished at the rapidity of the movement, the French riflemen
commenced an irregular and hurried fire, and even at this early stage
of the battle a looker-on could, from the difference in the demeanour
of the troops of the two nations, form a tolerably correct opinion
of what the result would be. Regardless of the fire of the riflemen,
and the showers of grape and canister, Pakenham continued to press
forward; his centre suffered, but still advanced; his right and left,
being less oppressed by the weight of the fire, continued to advance at
a more rapid pace, and as his wings inclined forward and outstripped
the centre, his right brigade assumed the form of a crescent. The
manœuvre was a bold as well as a novel one, and the appearance of
the brigade imposing and unique; because it so happened that all the
British officers were in front of their men--a rare occurrence. The
French officers were also in front, but their relative duties were
widely different--the latter encouraging their men into the heat of the
battle--the former keeping their devoted soldiers back--what a splendid
national contrast!”

When the brow of the hill was reached the men were subjected to a
murderous hail of fire from Foy’s division. Nearly all of Wallace’s
first rank, as well as many officers, fell beneath it. But the others,
urged by their commander, pressed on with fixed bayonets, and the
French troops were forced backward. Thomière was amongst the killed,
and many were taken prisoners in the rout which followed.

“Immediately on our left,” the narrative continues, “the 5th Division
were discharging vollies against the French 4th; and Pack’s brigade
could be seen mounting the Aripeles height, but disregarding
everything except the complete destruction of the column before him,
Pakenham followed it with the brigade of Wallace, supported by the
reserves of his division.

“The battle at this point would have been decided on the moment,
had the heavy horse under Le Marchant been near enough to sustain
him. The confusion of the enemy was so great that they became mixed
pell-mell together, without any regard to order or regularity, and it
was manifest that nothing short of a miracle could save Foy from total
destruction. Sir Edward Pakenham continued to press on at the head of
Wallace’s brigade, but Foy’s troops outran him. Had Le Marchant been
aware of this state of the combat, or been near enough to profit by
it, Pakenham would have settled the business by six o’clock instead
of seven. An hour, at any period during a battle, is a serious loss
of time, but in this action every moment was of vital import. Day was
rapidly drawing to a close: the Tormes was close behind the army of
Marmont, ruin stared him in the face; in a word, his left wing was
doubled up--lost; and Pakenham could have turned to the support of the
4th and 5th Divisions, had our cavalry been ready to back Wallace at
the moment he pierced the column. This, beyond doubt, was the moment
by which to profit, that the enemy might not have time to re-collect
himself; but, while Le Marchant was preparing to take part in the
combat, Foy, with admirable presence of mind, remedied the terrible
confusion of his division, and calling up a first brigade to his
support, once more led his men into the fight, assumed the offensive,
and Pakenham was now about to be assailed in turn. This was the most
critical moment of the battle; Boyer’s horsemen stood before us,
inclining towards our right, which was flanked by two squadrons of
the 14th Dragoons and two regiments of Portuguese cavalry; but we had
little dependence upon the Portuguese, and it behoved us to look to
ourselves.

“Led on by the ardour of conquest, we had followed the column until
at length we found ourselves in an open plain, intersected with
cork trees, opposed by a multitude, who, reinforced, again rallied,
and turned upon us with fury. Pakenham, Wallace, Seton, and Mackie,
rode along the line from wing to wing, almost from rank to rank, and
fulfilled the functions of adjutants in assisting the officers to
reorganise the tellings-off of the men for square. Meanwhile the first
battalion of the 5th drove back some squadrons of Boyer’s dragoons; the
other six regiments were fast approaching the point held by Wallace,
but the French cavalry in our front and upon our right flank caused
Pakenham some uneasiness.

“The peals of musketry along the centre still continued without
intermission; the smoke was so thick that nothing to our left was
distinguishable; some men of the 5th Division got intermingled with
ours; the dry grass was set on fire by the numerous cartridge papers
that strewed the field of battle; the air was scorching, and the smoke
rolling on in huge volumes, nearly suffocated us.

“A loud cheering was heard in our rear--the brigade turned half round,
supposing themselves about to be attacked by the French cavalry. A few
seconds passed--the trampling of horse was heard--the smoke cleared
away, and the heavy brigade of Le Marchant was seen coming forward in a
line at a canter. ‘Open right and left,’ was an order quickly obeyed;
the line opened, the cavalry passed through the intervals, and forming
rapidly in our front prepared for their work.

“The French column, which a moment before held so imposing an attitude,
became startled at this unexpected sight. A victorious and highly
excited infantry pressed closely upon them; a splendid brigade of three
regiments of cavalry, ready to burst through their ill-arranged and
beaten column, while no appearance of succour was at hand to protect
them, was enough to appal the boldest intrepidity. The plain was filled
with the vast multitude; retreat was impossible, and the troopers
came still pouring in, to join their comrades already prepared for
the attack. It was too much for their nerves, and they sank under its
influence, although they bravely made an effort to face the danger.

“Hastily, yet with much regularity, all things considered, they
attempted to get into the square; but Le Marchant’s brigade galloped
forward before the evolution was half completed.

“The column hesitated, wavered, tottered, and then stood still! The
motion of the countless bayonets, as they clashed together, might be
likened to a forest about to be assailed by a tempest, whose first
warnings announce the ravage it is about to inflict. Foy’s division
vomited forth a dreadful volley of fire as the horsemen thundered
across the flat; Le Marchant was killed,[74] and fell downright in
the midst of the French bayonets; but his brigade pierced through the
vast mass, killing or trampling down all before them. The conflict was
severe, and the troopers fell thick and fast, but their long, heavy
swords, cut through bone as well as flesh....

“Such as got away from the sabres of the horsemen, sought safety among
the ranks of our infantry, and scrambling under the horses, ran to
us for protection, like men who, having escaped the first shock of
a wreck, will cling to any broken spar, no matter how little to be
depended on. Hundreds of beings frightfully disfigured, in whom the
human face and form were almost obliterated--black with dust, worn down
with fatigue, and covered with sabre cuts and blood--threw themselves
among us for safety. Not a man was bayoneted--not even molested or
plundered.”

The battle still raged with unabated fury; “immediately in front of the
5th Division, Leith fell wounded as he led on his men, but his division
carried the point in dispute, and drove the enemy before them up the
hill.

“While these events were taking place on the right, the 4th Division,
which formed the centre of the army, met with a serious opposition.
The more distant Aripeles, occupied by the French 122nd, whose numbers
did not count more than 400, supported by a few pieces of cannon, was
left to the Portuguese brigade of General Pack, amounting to 2000
bayonets. Falsely, though with well-founded reliance--their former
conduct taken into the scale--Cole’s division advanced into the plain,
confident that all was right with Pack’s troops, and a terrible
struggle between them and Bonnet’s corps took place. It was, however,
but of short duration. Bonnet’s troops were driven back in confusion,
and up to this moment all had gone on well.

“The three British Divisions engaged, overthrew all obstacles, and
the battle might be said to be won, had Pack’s formidable brigade
(formidable in numbers, at least) fulfilled their part--but these men
totally failed in their effort to take the height occupied only by a
few hundred Frenchmen, and thus gave the park of artillery that was
posted with them, full liberty to turn its efforts against the rear
and flank of Cole’s soldiers. Nothing could be worse than the state in
which the 4th Division was now placed, and the battle, which ought to
have been and had been in a manner won, was still in doubt.

“Bonnet, seeing the turn which Pack’s failure had wrought in his
favour, re-formed his men, and advanced against Cole, while the fire
from the battery and small arms on the Aripeles height completed the
confusion. Cole fell wounded; half of his division were cut off; the
remainder in full retreat, and Bonnet’s troops pressing on in a compact
body, made it manifest that a material change had taken place in the
battle, and that ere it was gained some ugly up-hill work was yet to be
done.

[Illustration: Charge of Pakenham’s Third Division at Salamanca

R. Caton Woodville]

“Marshal Beresford, who arrived at this moment, galloped up to the
head of a brigade of the 5th Division, which he took out of the second
line, and for a moment covered the retreat of Cole’s troops; but
this force--composed of Portuguese--was insufficient to arrest the
progress of the enemy, who advanced in the full confidence of an
assured victory, and at this moment Beresford was carried off the field
wounded. Bonnet’s troops advanced, uttering loud cheers, while the
entire of Cole’s division and Spry’s brigade of Portuguese were routed.
Our centre was thus endangered. Boyer’s dragoons, after the overthrow
of the French left, countermarched, and moved rapidly to the support of
Bonnet; they were also close in the track of his infantry; and the fate
of this momentous battle might be said to hang by a hair. The fugitives
of the 7th and 4th French Divisions ran to the succour of Bonnet,
and by the time they had joined him, his force had, indeed, assumed
a formidable aspect, and thus reinforced it stood in an attitude far
different from what it would have done, had Pack’s brigade succeeded in
its attack.

“Lord Wellington, who saw what had taken place by the failure of Pack’s
troops, ordered up the 6th Division to the support of the 4th, and the
battle, although it was half-past 8 o’clock at night, recommenced with
the same fury as at the outset.

“Clinton’s division, consisting of 6000 bayonets, rapidly advanced to
occupy its place in the combat, and relieve the 4th from the awkward
predicament in which it was placed, and essayed to gain what was lost
by the failure of Pack’s troops, in their feeble effort to wrest the
Aripeles height from a few brave Frenchmen; but they were received
by Bonnet’s troops at the point of the bayonet, and the fire opened
against them seemed to be three-fold more heavy than that sustained by
the 3rd and 5th Divisions. It was nearly dark, and the great glare of
light caused by the thunder of the artillery, the continued blaze of
musketry, and the burning grass, gave to the face of the hill a novel
and terrific appearance--it was one vast sheet of flame, and Clinton’s
men looked as if they were attacking a burning mountain, the crater of
which was defended by a barrier of shining steel. But nothing could
stop the intrepid valour of the 6th Division, as they advanced with
desperate resolution to carry the hill.

“The troops posted on the face of it to arrest their advance were
trampled down and destroyed at the first charge, and each reserve sent
forward to extricate them met with the same fate.

“Still Bonnet’s reserves having attained their place in the fight, and
the fugitives from Foy’s division joining them at the moment, prolonged
the battle until dark.

“These men, besmeared with blood, dust, and clay, half naked, and some
carrying only broken weapons, fought with a fury not to be surpassed;
but their impetuosity was at length calmed by the bayonets of Clinton’s
troops, and they no longer fought for victory, but for safety. After a
desperate struggle they were driven from their last hold in confusion,
and a general and overwhelming charge, which the nature of the ground
enabled Clinton’s troops to make, carried this ill-formed mass of
desperate soldiers before them, as a shattered wreck borne along by the
force of some mighty current. 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 10
o’clock at night--the battle was ended.”

Marmont, who was wounded in the early part of the fight, lost 15,000
men, of whom 7000 surrendered to the British. The victors had nearly
700 officers and men killed, and over 4500 returned as wounded and
missing. Six British Generals, including Wellington, whose thigh was
grazed by a musket ball which had fortunately passed through his
holster before it hit him, received injuries, and Le Marchant, as
already mentioned, was shot. Of the enemy four Generals were wounded
and three killed, sufficient proof of the sanguinary nature of the
long-continued contest. The victory would have been even more complete
had the Spanish garrison at Alba de Tormes remained at their post
instead of withdrawing without informing the Commander-in-Chief of
their intention. As a consequence the enemy were enabled to use the
bridge there and make good their escape.




CHAPTER XVI

The Closing Battles of the Peninsular War

(1812-14)

  “_In the whole of my experience I never saw an army so strongly
  posted as the French at the battle of Toulouse. There ought to have
  been an accurate plan and description made of the whole affair as a
  matter of professional science._”

            WELLINGTON.


Marmont’s army was not the only one in retreat. King Joseph, with
15,000 troops, had left Madrid with the set purpose of joining the
Marshal, but when he received news of the battle of Salamanca he
retreated on Valencia, where Suchet’s army was posted, and peremptorily
ordered Soult to evacuate Andalusia. This would enable him to bring
90,000 men to bear on his victorious enemy. His withdrawal from
Madrid enabled Wellington to enter the capital on the 12th August
1812, Marmont, or rather Clausel, who had temporarily succeeded
him, being driven back upon Burgos. The evacuation of the southern
province was doubtless very gratifying to the Spaniards, but the
threatened concentration of such a vast array of troops placed the
Anglo-Portuguese army in an extremely unhappy position. The force at
Wellington’s disposal numbered 60,000 men, and although an additional
6000 had just landed at Alicante, in Valencia, it was evident that
they would be of little service at the moment. When he became aware
that Soult was about to abandon Andalusia he left part of his army to
occupy Madrid, and with the remainder set out in the hope of being able
to crush Clausel, who was at Valladolid. This he was unable to do, for
the enemy retired from position to position. He followed him to Burgos,
which Wellington entered, the French General meanwhile encamping on the
banks of the Ebro, where he shortly afterwards received substantial
reinforcements under Caffarelli and Souham the latter of whom arrived
as Marmont’s successor. Wellington was also joined by some 11,000
Spanish troops of the army of Galicia. He at once laid siege to the
castle above the town, which was strongly defended, and although the
troops worked with praiseworthy ardour and four attempts were made to
take it by assault, he was eventually forced to abandon the idea, and
for a very important reason. Soult had joined King Joseph, and the
combined army was on its way to Madrid. He had wasted a precious month,
time which the French had used to full advantage.

It is related that one of the Irish regiments incurred his displeasure
during the siege, and some of its members asked permission for it to
lead one of the assaults. Their wish was granted, with the result that
nearly all the men laid down their lives in the desperate undertaking.
When Wellington passed a little later, a soldier who had lost both
his legs saluted and cried, “Arrah, maybe ye’r satisfied now, you
hooky-nosed vagabond!” The Commander could not restrain a smile, and
promptly sent assistance. The Irishman ended his days in Chelsea
Hospital.

Sending word to Hill to abandon Madrid and meet him on the Tormes,
Wellington skilfully withdrew his men from Burgos, and although his
rear-guard was much harassed by Souham’s troops, he formed a junction
with his lieutenant near the battlefield of Salamanca. On arrival
on the Tormes they were almost face to face with the united army,
but divided counsels reigned, and he skilfully eluded the French,
although they turned his position. Aided by a dense fog, Wellington
managed to slip away unperceived. After a sharp engagement at a ford
of the Huebra, the pursuers abandoned the attempt to secure the roads
to Ciudad Rodrigo, which place was reached by Wellington on the 18th
November. Soult retired to Toledo, Souham to Valladolid, and Joseph to
Segovia.

A pen-sketch of the men during this terrible retreat tells us that
“such a set of scare-crows never was seen. It was difficult to say what
they were, as the men’s coats were patched with grey, some had blankets
over them, and most were barefooted; every step they took was up to
the knees in mud; women and sick men were actually sticking in it....
A brigade of cavalry, however, which was covering the rear, had left
Lisbon but a short time before, and was in high order. The clothing of
the men scarcely soiled, and the horses sleek and fat, made a strange
contrast with the others, especially the company of artillery that had
served in the batteries before Burgos. We at first took the latter for
prisoners, as they were mostly in French clothing, many of them riding
in the carriages with the sick and wounded, drawn, some by oxen, and
some by mules and horses. I never saw British soldiers in such a state.”

Wellington and his men then went into cantonments, the former making
his headquarters at Freneda. Much was done to improve the _morale_ of
the troops, who had got into a very insubordinate state. Reinforcements
came to hand, and Wellington worked hard to reorganize the Spanish
army, of which he had been appointed Generalissimo after the battle of
Salamanca. He had also been raised to the rank of Marquis, thanked by
both Houses of Parliament, and presented with £100,000. He paid a visit
to the Cortes, made a speech, and wrote a long letter to one of the
Deputies in which he criticized “the powers that be” in no uncertain
way, adding, however, a number of measures which would “give your
Government some chance of standing, and your country some chance of
avoiding farther revolutions.” The whole communication must be studied
to be fully appreciated.[75] “The Government and the Assembly,” he says
in one passage, “instead of drawing together, are like two independent
powers, jealous and afraid of each other; and the consequence is,
that the machine of Government is at a stand. To this add that the
whole system is governed by little local views, as propounded by the
daily press of Cadiz, of all others the least enlightened and the most
licentious.” “I will fight for Spain as long as she is the enemy of
France, whatever may be her system of government,” he adds, “but I
cannot avoid seeing and lamenting the evils which await the country
if you do not retrace your steps, let what will be the result of the
military operations of the war....”

He advised the establishment of a permanent Regency, “with all the
powers allotted by the constitution to the King, in the hands of one
person.” He, or she, should be aided by a Council, whose five members
should superintend the Department de Estado, the Interior and Ultramar,
Gracia y Justicia, Hacienda, and of War and of Marine respectively,
each being responsible for the department under his superintendence. He
suggested either turning “the Council of State into a House of Lords,”
or making “a House of Lords of the Grandees, giving then concurrent
powers of legislation with the Cortes; and you should leave the
patronage now in the hands of the Council of State in the hands of the
Crown.”

In these days of Socialism the following remarks, which occur in
the same letter, are of more than passing interest. “The theory of
all legislation,” he says, “is founded in justice; and, if we could
be certain that legislative assemblies would on all occasions act
according to the principles of justice, there would be no occasion
for those checks and guards which we have seen established under the
best systems. Unfortunately, however, we have seen that legislative
assemblies are swayed by the fears and passions of individuals; when
unchecked, they are tyrannical and unjust; nay, more: it unfortunately
happens too frequently that the most tyrannical and unjust measures are
the most popular. Those measures are particularly popular which deprive
rich and powerful individuals of their properties under the pretence
of the public advantage; and I tremble for a country in which, as in
Spain, there is no barrier for the preservation of private property,
excepting the justice of a legislative assembly possessing supreme
powers.”

In summing up the result of his operations in the field during 1812,
Wellington tells the Earl of Liverpool on the 23rd November, that
notwithstanding adverse criticism in the newspapers, “it is in fact the
most successful campaign in all its circumstances, and has produced for
the cause more important results than any campaign in which a British
army has been engaged for the last century. We have taken by siege
Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Salamanca; and the Retiro surrendered. In
the meantime the Allies have taken Astorga, Guadalaxara, and Consuegra,
besides other places taken by Duran and Sir H. Popham. In the months
elapsed since January this army has sent to England little short of
20,000 prisoners, and they have taken and destroyed or have themselves
the use of the enemy’s arsenals in Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca,
Valladolid, Madrid, Astorga, Seville, the line before Cadiz, etc.; and
upon the whole we have taken and destroyed, or we now possess, little
short of 3000 pieces of artillery. The siege of Cadiz has been raised,
and all the countries south of the Tagus have been cleared of the enemy.

“We should have retained still greater advantages, I think, and
should have remained in possession of Castile and Madrid during the
winter, if I could have taken Burgos, as I ought early in October, or
if Ballasteros had moved upon Alcarez as he was ordered, instead of
intriguing for his own aggrandizement.

“The fault of which I was guilty in the expedition to Burgos was,
not that I undertook the operation with inadequate means, but that
I took there the most inexperienced instead of the best troops....
I see that a disposition already exists to blame the Government for
the failure of the siege of Burgos. The Government had nothing to say
to the siege. It was entirely my own act. In regard to means, there
were ample means both at Madrid and at Santander for the siege of the
strongest fortress. That which was wanting at both places was means of
transporting ordnance and military stores to the place where it was
desirable to use them.

“The people of England, so happy as they are in every respect, so rich
in resources of every description, having the use of such excellent
roads, etc., will not readily believe that important results here
frequently depend upon 50 or 60 mules more or less, or a few bundles
of straw to feed them; but the fact is so, notwithstanding their
incredulity....”

When Wellington was ready for his 1813 campaign he had 75,000
British and Portuguese at his disposal, and some 60,000 Spaniards,
in addition to the irregular bands which were the bane of the enemy.
The different French armies totalled some 200,000 troops, but it was
deemed necessary to send 40,000 of these, under Clausel and Foy, to
exterminate the _guerilleros_, which was to Wellington’s advantage,
especially as it was impossible for Napoleon, now deeply involved owing
to the disastrous Russian campaign, to send further reinforcements.
Soult was withdrawn, with 20,000 men, to oppose the Russian advance.
By way of further encouragement, Andalusia, Estremadura, Galacia,
and the Asturias no longer sheltered the enemy. The British left
was under Graham, the right under Hill, and the centre under the
Commander-in-Chief. The first marched upon Valladolid, the French
retreating before him, and was joined near Zamora on the 1st June
1813 by Wellington, followed two days later by Hill. The French were
deceived by these movements, for they expected the main attack to be
made from Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida with the object of occupying
Madrid. This was far from Wellington’s purpose, which was to carry on
the war in the northern provinces, sever the French communications with
the homeland, and force them to withdraw to the Pyrenees. King Joseph
hastily retired from Valladolid and reached Burgos. On the approach of
Wellington to that town, the fortifications were blown up and the enemy
fell back beyond the Ebro.

“When I heard and saw this explosion (for I was within a few miles,
and the effect was tremendous),” Wellington remarks, “I made a sudden
resolution forthwith--instanter to cross the Ebro, and endeavour to
push the French to the Pyrenees. We had heard of the battles of Lützen
and Bautzen and of the armistice,[76] and the affairs of the Allies
looked very ill. Some of my officers remonstrated with me about the
impudence of crossing the Ebro, and advised me to take up the line of
the Ebro, etc. I asked them what they meant by taking up the line of
the Ebro, a river 300 miles long, and what good I was to do along that
line? In short, I would not listen to the advice; and that very evening
(or the very next morning) I crossed the river and pushed the French
till I afterwards beat them at Vittoria.”

“We continued to advance,” writes a soldier of the 71st Regiment
who fought in the battle, “until the 20th of June; when reaching
the neighbourhood of Vittoria, we encamped upon the face of a hill.
Provisions were very scarce. We had not a bit of tobacco, and were
smoking leaves and herbs. Colonel Cadogan rode away, and got us half a
pound of tobacco a man, which was most welcome.

“Next morning we got up as usual. The first pipes played for parade;
the second did not play at the usual time. We began to suspect all
was not right. We remained thus until eleven o’clock; then received
orders to fall in, and follow the line of march. During our march we
fell to one side, to allow a brigade of guns to pass us at full speed.
‘Now,’ said my comrades, ‘we will have work to do before night.’ We
crossed a river, and, as we passed through a village, we saw, on the
other side of the road, the French camp, and their fires still burning,
just as they had left them. Not a shot had been fired at this time. We
observed a large Spanish column moving along the heights on our right.
We halted, and drew up in column. Orders were given to brush out our
locks, oil them, and examine our flints. We being in the rear, these
were soon followed by orders to open out from the centre, to allow the
71st to advance. Forward we moved up the hill. The firing was now very
heavy. Our rear had not engaged, before word came for the doctor to
assist Colonel Cadogan, who was wounded. Immediately we charged up the
hill, the piper playing, ‘Hey Johnny Cope.’ The French had possession
of the top, but we soon forced them back, and drew up in column on
the height; sending out four companies to our left to skirmish. The
remainder moved on to the opposite height. As we advanced driving them
before us, a French officer, a pretty fellow, was pricking and forcing
his men to stand. They heeded him not--he was very harsh. ‘Down with
him!’ cried one near me; and down he fell, pierced by more than one
ball.

“Scarce were we upon the height, when a heavy column, dressed in
great-coats, with white covers on their hats, exactly resembling
the Spanish, gave us a volley, which put us to the right about at
double-quick time down the hill, the French close behind, through the
whins. The four companies got the word the French were on them. They
likewise thought them Spaniards, until they got a volley that killed
or wounded almost every one of them. We retired to the height, covered
by the 50th, who gave the pursuing column a volley which checked their
speed. We moved up the remains of our shattered regiment to the height.
Being in great want of ammunition, we were again served with sixty
rounds a man, and kept up our fire for some time, until the bugle
sounded to cease firing....

“At this time the Major had the command, our second Colonel being
wounded. There were not 300 of us on the height able to do duty, out of
above 1000 who drew rations in the morning. The cries of the wounded
were most heart-rending.

“The French, on the opposite height, were getting under arms; we could
give no assistance, as the enemy appeared to be six to one of us. Our
orders were to maintain the height while there was a man of us. The
word was given to shoulder arms. The French, at the same moment, got
under arms. The engagement began in the plains. The French were amazed,
and soon put to the right about, through Vittoria. We followed, as
quick as our weary limbs could carry us. Our legs were full of thorns,
and our feet bruised upon the roots of the trees. Coming to a bean
field at the bottom of the heights, immediately the column was broke,
and every man filled his haversack. We continued to advance until it
was dark, and then encamped on a height above Vittoria.... I had fired
108 rounds this day.”

According to the official figures the British lost 740 men by death
and 4174 were wounded, out of a total strength of 80,000. The captures
included 151 guns, 415 caissons, 14,249 rounds of ammunition, nearly
2,000,000 musket ball cartridges, 40,668 lbs. of gunpowder, fifty-six
forage waggons, forty-four forge waggons, treasure to the amount of
£1,000,000, pictures by Velasquez and other masters, jewellery, public
and private baggage. King Joseph’s carriage, and Jourdan’s bâton. The
last-mentioned was given by Wellington to the Prince Regent, who with
becoming fitness sent the donor a Field-Marshal’s bâton. The French had
65,000 men engaged in the battle of Vittoria, of whom some 6000 were
killed and wounded, and 1000 taken prisoners.

The defeated army crossed the Pyrenees and marched to Bayonne, where it
was joined by the troops under Foy and Clausel, who had been pursued
by the Allies. “To hustle the French out of Spain before they were
reinforced,” had been Wellington’s object, and he had carried it out
completely. As the garrisons of the fortresses of Pampeluna and San
Sebastian had been strengthened, the former by Joseph and the latter
by Foy, during their retreat, Wellington now turned his attention to
them. Although the army under Suchet was the only one now left in
the Peninsula, it occupied Catalonia and part of Valencia, and might
therefore attack Wellington’s right flank.

Napoleon was at Dresden when he heard of his brother’s disaster at
Vittoria, and he was in no mood for soft words. He recalled both
Joseph and Jourdan, and gave the command to Soult. “It is hard to
imagine anything so inconceivable as what is now going on in Spain,”
the Emperor writes to Savary on the 3rd July 1813. “The King could
have collected 100,000 picked men: they might have beaten the whole of
England.” He blamed himself for the “mistaken consideration” he had
shown his brother, “who not only does not know how to command, but does
not even know his own value enough to leave the military command alone.”

[Illustration: Flight of the French through Vittoria

Robert Hillingford]

Soult reached Bayonne on the 12th July, and thirteen days later had
marched on Pampeluna with 73,000 troops, bent on relieving one or
other of the fortresses, perhaps both. He attacked the British right
at Roncesvalles and turned the position; Hill was attacked at the head
of the valley of Baztan and was obliged to withdraw. Wellington at
once raised the siege of San Sebastian, which had been carried on by
Sir Thomas Graham, and contented himself by blockading the fortress.
He immediately concentrated his right and centre at Sorauren, near
Pampeluna. The series of fights which took place at this time is known
as the battles of the Pyrenees. On the 27th Wellington arrived, and
a rousing cheer greeted him, which it is said deterred the French
from making anything but a partial attack. Probably the truth of the
matter is that Soult hesitated because he was expecting additional
forces with d’Erlon, for the Marshal was scarcely likely to be overawed
by a greeting. A corporal, unable to restrain his enthusiasm as the
Commander-in-Chief rode along the line, shouted out to the intense
amusement of all, “There goes the little blackguard what whops the
French!”[77]

Soult was pointed out to the General by a spy. “Yonder,” Wellington
is reported to have said, “is a great but cautious general; he will
delay his attack to know the reason of those cheers; that will give
time for my reinforcements to come up, and I shall beat him.” As a
matter of fact, the 6th Division of infantry, to which Wellington had
referred, did arrive, and “bludgeon work,” to use his expression, took
place on the 28th, the anniversary of Talavera. The reinforcements
had scarcely secured their position, their right resting on Orcain
and their left on the heights overlooking the valley of the Lanz,
than a very determined attack was made by the enemy. They were driven
back, and made an attempt on the hill occupied by the 7th caçadores
and Ross’s brigade of the 4th Division. They obtained possession of
it for a short time until driven down. When the battle became general
the 10th Portuguese regiment was overpowered, necessitating the
withdrawal of Ross. Wellington then ordered two regiments to charge
the enemy on the heights and those on the left, with the result that
the French were “driven down with immense loss.” “Every regiment,”
says Wellington, “charged with the bayonet, and the 40th, 7th, 20th,
and 23rd, four different times.” Of Wellington’s 16,000 troops he lost
2600 killed and wounded, the French 1800 out of 20,000. The Portuguese
behaved “admirably,” and the Commander-in-Chief “had every reason to
be satisfied with the conduct of the Spanish regiments El Principe and
Pravia.”

By sunset Soult’s attacks had waned, and on the following morning he
began to retreat, although he received reinforcements to the number
of 18,000 troops. On the 30th he attacked Hill to no good effect, and
Wellington forced the French to retire from a strong position they
had taken up. The pursuit continued until the 1st August, when it was
discontinued, for the Allies were in possession of the passes and the
arduous exertion of the troops was beginning to tell upon them.

Wellington again took up his headquarters at Lesaca. Writing to Graham
he says, “I hope that Soult will not feel any inclination to renew
his expedition. The French army must have suffered greatly. Between
the 25th of last month and 2nd of this, they were engaged seriously
not less than ten times; on many occasions in attacking very strong
positions, in others beat from them or pursued. I understand that
their officers say that they have lost 15,000 men. I thought so; but
as _they_ say so, I now think _more_. It is strange enough that our
diminution of strength to the 31st does not exceed 1500 men, although,
I believe, our casualties are 6000.” It was on the 31st that San
Sebastian fell, the castle capitulating shortly afterwards, and the
day is also noteworthy for Soult’s attack on San Marcial, which was
repulsed by Spanish troops, the enemy retiring across the Bidassoa.
Unfortunately, Sir John Murray made no headway against Suchet in
the east of Spain, and was superseded by Lord William Bentinck, who
besieged Tarragona, which his predecessor had evacuated. Although he
was compelled to retire on the approach of the French Marshal, the city
was eventually occupied by the British troops. Their entry into Villa
Franca was marred by the rout of the advanced guard in the pass of
Ordal, necessitating their retreat towards Tarragona.

It is obviously impossible to unravel with any approach to detail the
tangled skein of complicated manœuvres which took place at this period,
perhaps the most trying and exacting of the war in the Peninsula.
Gleig, however, gives one picturesque touch to an involved picture
which reveals more of the personality of the great General than many
pages of military movements, and is infinitely more valuable for
the purposes of a life story. “Lord Wellington,” he records, “after
directing a Spanish column to move up a glen towards a specific point,
looked at his watch, and observed to those about him that it would
take the men so much time to perform the journey. He added that he was
tired, and dismounting from his horse, wrapped himself in his cloak
and went to sleep. A crowd of officers stood round him, and among
others some Spanish generals, whose astonishment at the coolness of
their chief was expressed in audible whispers. For the very crisis of
the struggle was impending, and the French being in greater strength
upon the spot, seemed to have the ball at their foot. Now, among the
officers of the headquarters’ staff, there were several who had never
approved the passage of the Ebro. These began to speak their minds
freely, and one, the bravest of the brave, the gallant Colonel Gordon,
exclaimed, ‘I always thought it would come to this. I was sure we
should make a mess of it, if we got entangled among the Pyrenees, and
now see if my words don’t come true.’ Lord Wellington happened to awake
just as Gordon thus unburdened his conscience. He sat up, and without
addressing himself to anyone in particular, extended his right hand
open, and said, as he closed it, ‘I have them all in my hand, just
like that.’ Not another word was spoken. The Spaniards had reached the
top of the glen; Lord Wellington and his attendants remounted their
horses, and the battle was renewed.”

On the 7th October 1813 Wellington passed the Bidassoa with the left
of his army. Soult was attacked and driven back with the loss of eight
pieces of cannon, taken by the Allies in the captured redoubts and
batteries. The fighting was continued on the following day, after
the fog which obscured the enemy’s position had lifted, when a rock
occupied by the French to the right of their position was carried “in
the most gallant style” by the Spaniards, who immediately afterwards
distinguished themselves by carrying an entrenchment on a hill which
protected the right of the camp of Sarre. Soult withdrew during the
following night, and took up a series of entrenched positions behind
the Nivelle, leaving, as Alison so eloquently puts it, “a vast hostile
army, for the first time since the Revolution, permanently encamped
within the territory of France. And thus was England, which throughout
the contest had been the most persevering and resolute of all the
opponents of the Revolution, and whose government had never yet either
yielded to the victories or acknowledged the chiefs which it had placed
at the head of affairs, the first of all the forces of Europe who
succeeded in planting its victorious standards on the soil of France.”

On the 10th November, a little over a week after the surrender of
Pampeluna through starvation, for the fall of which he had waited
before resuming offensive operations, Wellington, with an army of
about 90,000 men, attacked the enemy’s position, an exceedingly strong
one, the right extending from the sea to St Jean de Luz, the left from
Bidarray to St Jean Pied de Port, the centre between Amotz and Ascain.
The enemy were driven out of the lines and followed over the river,
with a loss of 4200 men and no fewer than 51 guns, the Allies losing
about 2500 killed and wounded.

“Our loss,” says Wellington, “although severe, has not been so great as
might have been expected, considering the strength of the positions
attacked, and the length of time, from daylight in the morning till
night, during which the troops were engaged.” The disorders which
followed the battle were so great that with the exception of a single
division Wellington sent the whole of the Spaniards--some 25,000--back
to the Peninsula.

On the 12th the Marshal was in the entrenched camp at Bayonne, and
six days later the victorious army went into cantonments, where it
remained until the 9th December, when it was ordered to march towards
Bayonne. It forced the passage of the Nive, and a series of engagements
was fought until the 13th, on which date Hill, with one British and
one Portuguese division, fought and won the battle of Saint Pierre.
Wellington came up but refrained from interfering, and when he saw
that his brave colleague had proved victorious, he wrung his hand in a
hearty grip and exclaimed, “Hill, the day is entirely your own.”

In the battles of the Nive the French lost 5800 killed and wounded,
and three German regiments by desertion to the Allies, whose losses
totalled 4600. Soult had now one of two alternatives, either to be
hemmed in at Bayonne or to retreat. He chose the latter, and marched
in the direction of Toulouse with less than 40,000 troops, Napoleon,
now in desperate plight, having withdrawn 10,000 for the defence of the
eastern frontier of France.

Leaving Sir John Hope to blockade Bayonne, Wellington followed Soult,
who took up a position at Orthez, on the right bank of the Gave de
Pau. Early on the morning of the 27th February the battle opened by
Beresford turning the enemy’s right, but he was driven back, as was
Picton, who attacked the enemy’s centre. “_Enfin je le tiens!_--At
last I have him!” exclaimed Soult, but Wellington changed his plan,
and at once sent Hill to cross the river by the ford above Souars and
cut off the Marshal’s retreat by the great road to Pau. At the same
time he ordered two divisions against the right of the enemy’s centre,
and Colborne cut off the division which had checkmated Beresford. The
French under Reille were driven from the heights, and at first retired,
in good order, but Cotton and Lord Edward Somerset charged and spread
considerable confusion in the ranks, while Hill marched on Aire and
attacked Clausel. The Portuguese were repulsed, but the British drove
the enemy from the town with great loss.

Wellington was wounded almost at the end of the battle, which is
perhaps one reason why the pursuit was not so rapid as it might
otherwise have been. However, Beresford was sent with two divisions to
Bordeaux, whose citizens bade them enter, and thereupon proclaimed the
Duc d’Angoulême, eldest nephew of Louis XVIII, who was now with the
British army, as Prince Regent.

The last battle of the Peninsular War was fought on Easter Sunday, the
10th April 1814, at Toulouse, on which Soult’s army had concentrated.

A mistake on the part of an engineer as to the breadth of the Garonne
above Toulouse prevented Wellington from crossing at the spot he had
selected because there were not sufficient pontoons. This caused
considerable delay and a march to a narrower but more difficult
place below the town. Sir George Napier says that he never saw the
Commander-in-Chief in such a rage--he was “furious.” On the completion
of the gangway, Beresford, with a portion of the army, passed over,
drove in the French outposts, and remained in front of the enemy. There
they stopped for three days, cut off from the main force and liable to
attack any moment. This unexpected situation was brought about by a
storm which flooded the river and swept away the pontoons.

Soult is stated to have given this reason for failing to assail
Beresford’s force: “You do not know what stuff two British divisions
are made of; they would not be conquered as long as there was a man of
them left to stand, and I cannot afford to lose men now.”

When the new bridge was available no time was lost in crossing the
river, and on the 10th Soult was attacked. An eye-witness thus records
the event[78]:

“The 4th, 6th, and a Portuguese division under Marshal Beresford’s
orders, attacked the great fort on the right of the French, and here
was the brunt of the battle, for the enemy was strongly posted and
flanked by works, with trenches in their front, and their best troops
opposed to ours. But nothing could damp the courage of this column; the
enemy’s guns poured a torrent of fire upon it; still it moved onward,
when column upon column appeared, crowning the hill and forming lines
in front and on the flanks of our brave fellows who were near the
top; and then such a roll of musketry accompanied by peals of cannon
and the shouts of the enemy commenced, that our soldiers were fairly
forced to give way and were driven down again. This attack was twice
renewed, and twice were our gallant fellows forced to retire, when,
being got into order again and under a tremendous fire of all arms from
the enemy, they once more marched onward determined ‘_to do or die_’
(for they were nearly all Scotch) and, having gained the summit of the
position, they charged with the bayonet, and in spite of every effort
of the enemy, drove all before them and entered every redoubt and fort
with such a courage as I never saw before. The enemy lay in _heaps_,
dead and dying! few, very few, escaped the slaughter of that day; but
‘victory’ was heard shouted from post to post as that gallant band
moved along the crown of the enemy’s position taking every work at the
point of the bayonet.

“While the work of death was going on here, the centre of the French
position was attacked by the Spanish column of 8000 men, under
General Freyre, who had _demanded_ in rather a haughty tone that Lord
Wellington should give the Spaniards the post of honour in the battle.
He acceded, but took special care to have the Light Division in reserve
to support them in case of _accidents_. Old Freyre placed himself at
the head of his column, surrounded by his staff, and marched boldly
up the hollow way, or road, which led right up to the enemy, under a
heavy and destructive fire of cannon shot, which plunging into the
head of his column made great havoc among his men; still they went
steadily and boldly on, to my astonishment and delight to see them
behave so gallantly, and I could not help expressing my delight to
Colonel Colborne. But, alas! he knew them too well, and said to me,
‘Gently, my friend; don’t praise them too soon; look at yonder brigade
of French Light Infantry, ready to attack them as soon as the head of
their column enters the open ground. One moment more and we shall see
the Spaniards fly! Gallop off, you, and throw the 52nd Regiment (which
was in line) into open column of companies, and let these fellows
pass through, or they will carry the regiment off with them.’ He had
scarcely finished the words when a well-directed fire from the French
Infantry opened upon the Spanish column, and instantly the words ‘_Vive
l’Empereur! En avant! en avant!_’ accompanied by a charge, put the
Spaniards to flight, and down they came upon the 52nd Regiment, and I
had but just time to throw it into open column of companies when they
rushed through the intervals like a torrent and never stopped till
they arrived at the river some miles in the rear. As soon as they had
passed, and I had formed the regiment into line again, we moved up and
took the Spaniards’ place, driving before us the enemy’s brigade, who,
being by this time completely beaten on the right and all his forts and
trenches carried by Beresford’s troops, had retreated into the town; so
that we found the fort on that part of the position which we attacked
quite abandoned, and we entered it without loss.

[Illustration: The French Retreat over the Pyrenees

R. Caton Woodville]

“On our right the 3rd Division, under General Picton, was ordered to
make a false attack on the canal bridge, which was strongly fortified
and formed an impracticable barrier to that part of the town; but
General Picton (who never hesitated at disobeying his orders)
thought proper to change this false attack into a real one, and after
repeated and useless attempts to carry it was forced to give it up,
with an immense loss of officers and men. To our extreme right and on
the opposite side of the river General Hill was stationed with his
corps in order to watch the bridge and gates of the town, and either
prevent any attempt of the enemy to pass over a body of troops during
the action to cut off our communications with the rear, or, should he
show any design of retreating that way, to impede him. However, all was
quiet on that side, and now that every man of the enemy’s army had been
chased from the position the battle was won, and the roar of cannon,
the fire of the musketry, and the shouts of the victors ceased. All was
still; the pickets placed; the sentinels set; and the greatest part of
the army sleeping in groups round the fires of the bivouac.”

Soult had only been able to bring some 39,000 men into the field, to
so great an extent had his forces been depleted, while Wellington had
less than 50,000 available troops. Of the French, 3200 were killed
or wounded, of the Allies 4600. On the 12th April Soult evacuated
Toulouse, six days after Napoleon the Great had snatched up a pen and
scrawled his formal abdication. A moment before he had been full of
fight, had wanted to rally the corps of Augereau, Suchet and Soult. A
year later he won back more than these. Wellington entered Toulouse
on the day Soult left it, and within a few hours of the receipt of
the news from Paris of the proclamation of Louis XVIII, a monarch as
incompetent as the fallen Emperor was great. History is oftentimes
ironic, and Time’s see-saw seldom maintains an even balance for any
lengthy period.




CHAPTER XVII

The Prelude to the Waterloo Campaign

(1814-15)

  “_I work as hard as I can in every way in order to succeed._”

            WELLINGTON.


“I march to-morrow to follow Marshal Soult, and to prevent his army
from becoming the _noyau_ of a civil war in France.” Thus writes
Wellington to Sir John Hope on the 16th April 1814, when the white flag
of the Bourbons was flying at Toulouse, and forty-eight hours after
Hope had been made a prisoner during a sortie on the part of the French
garrison of Bayonne. Soult extended no right hand of welcome to Louis
XVIII, and positively refused to submit to the new _regime_ until he
had received trustworthy information from some of Napoleon’s ministers.
However, he was speedily convinced of the fall of his former master,
and both he and Suchet acknowledged the Provisional Government. On the
19th April a Convention was signed by each party and Wellington for
the cessation of hostilities and the evacuation of Spain. The British
infantry were sent either to the homeland or on foreign service; the
cavalry traversed France and crossed to England from Calais.

Wellington’s work was not yet over, although his military career was
closed for a time. He was appointed British Ambassador at Paris, and
while he wrote to a correspondent that recent political and military
events promised “to restore the blessings of peace permanently to
the world,” we must not suppose that he believed the abdication of
Napoleon to be the herald of the millennium. When Castlereagh proposed
the diplomatic post to him Wellington would have been perfectly
justified in declining it, but sufficient of his story has been told
for the reader to appreciate the fact that the Hero of the Peninsula
was as keenly devoted to the service of his king and country as the
Hero of Trafalgar. Whatever egotism he possessed was certainly not
carried to excess. He says that he should never have thought himself
qualified for the work. “I hope, however,” he adds, and here the
sterling qualities of the man are revealed, “that the Prince Regent,
his Government, and your Lordship, are convinced that I am ready to
serve him in any situation in which it may be thought that I can be of
any service. Although I have been so long absent from England, I should
have remained as much longer if it had been necessary; and I feel no
objection to another absence in the public service, if it be necessary
or desirable.” He says much the same thing to his brother Henry: “I
must serve the public in some manner or other; and, as under existing
circumstances I could not well do so at home, I must do so abroad.”

Those who accuse Wellington of lack of heart will do well to remember
that before leaving Toulouse for Paris he wrote an appealing letter to
Earl Bathurst in behalf of Sir Rowland Hill and Sir Robert Kennedy, the
latter of whom had exerted himself to the utmost in keeping the army
well supplied with provisions, and to write a letter of condolence to
Hope, who was a prisoner and wounded.

But he found time to join in a few _fêtes_ in honour of the
Restoration, including a magnificent ball given by Sir Charles Stewart,
the British Commissioner to the Army of the Allies, where monarchs were
plentiful and Society beauties abundant. “It was in the midst of this
ball,” the Comtesse de Boigne relates, “that the Duke of Wellington
appeared for the first time in Paris. I can see him now entering the
room with his two nieces, Lady Burgers[79] and Miss Pole, hanging on
his arms. There were no eyes for any one else, and at this ball, where
grandeur abounded, everything gave way to military glory. That of the
Duke of Wellington was brilliant and unalloyed, and a lustre was added
to it by the interest that had long been felt in the cause of the
Spanish nation.”

He had only been in Paris six days before he set out for Madrid, viâ
Toulouse, “in order to try whether I cannot prevail upon all parties
to be more moderate, and to adopt a constitution more likely to be
practicable and to contribute to the peace and happiness of the
nation.” He had made the proposal, and the Allies had eagerly accepted
it. When he started on his journey he was the Duke of Wellington,[80]
and it was additional cause of satisfaction to him to know that
peerages had been conferred on Beresford, Hill, Cotton, Hope, and
Graham, “my gallant coadjutors.” He stayed at Toulouse for a couple of
days, attending to details connected with the army, and again continued
his journey, writing dispatches, notes of condolence, a letter
requesting permission to accept the Grand Cross of the Order of St
George from the Czar, and so on.

Napoleon had released Ferdinand VII on the 13th of the previous
March, and the king was now back in his capital. “I entertain a
very favourable opinion of the King from what I have seen of him,”
Wellington writes from Madrid on the 25th May 1814, “but not of his
Ministers.” This opinion of Ferdinand must be taken as referring to
the man and not to his methods, for he had already assumed the part
of a despot to so alarming an extent that civil war was feared, hence
the Duke’s journey. “I have accomplished my object in coming here”; he
says in the same letter, “that is, I think there will certainly be
no civil war at present.” But seven days later he communicates with
Castlereagh in a minor key: “I have been well received by the King and
his Ministers; but I fear that I have done but little good.”

He left a lengthy memorandum in the hands of his Catholic Majesty,
full of excellent advice, and bereft, as he said, of “all national
partialities and prejudices.” Commerce, the colonies, domestic
interests, and finance are all touched upon in a sane, straightforward
way, obviously with the intention of promoting “a good understanding
and cementing the alliance with Great Britain,” but valuable quite
apart from any motive that might be construed as selfish. As Wellington
says in the preamble, “The Spanish nation having been engaged for six
years in one of the most terrible and disastrous contests by which any
nation was ever afflicted, its territory having been entirely occupied
by the enemy, the country torn to pieces by internal divisions,
its ancient constitution having been destroyed, and vain attempts
made to establish a new one; its marine, its commerce, and revenue
entirely annihilated; its colonies in a state of rebellion, and
nearly lost to the mother country; it becomes a question for serious
consideration, what line of policy should be adopted by His Majesty
upon his happy restoration to his throne and authority.” Had Ferdinand
taken Wellington’s well-intentioned advice to heart, Spain might have
risen from her ashes. The old abuses cropped up, the Inquisition was
re-established in a milder form, and troops were sent across the seas
to perish in a futile endeavour to recover the Transatlantic colonies
of a once glorious empire.

After returning to Paris to make arrangements for the embarkation of
the British cavalry at Calais, the Duke sailed for England. When he
landed at Dover on the 23rd June 1814, a salute from the batteries of
the Castle welcomed him home. “About five o’clock this morning,” says
a contemporary writer, “his majesty’s sloop-of-war, the _Rosario_,
arrived in the roads, and fired a salute. Shortly afterwards, the
yards of the different vessels of war were manned; a salute took place
throughout the squadron, and the launch of the _Nymphen_ frigate was
seen advancing towards the harbour, with the Duke of Wellington; at
this time the guns upon the heights and from the batteries commenced
their thunder upon the boat leaving the ship; and on passing the
pier-heads his Lordship was greeted with three distinct rounds of
cheers from those assembled; but upon his landing at the Crosswall,
nothing could exceed the rapture with which his Lordship was received
by at least ten thousand persons; and notwithstanding it was so early,
parties continued to arrive from town and country every minute. The
instant his Lordship set foot on shore, a proposition was made, and
instantly adopted, to carry him to the Ship Inn: he was borne on
the shoulders of our townsmen, amidst the reiterated cheers of the
populace.”

London went wild with excitement when he arrived, and at Westminster
Bridge the mob took the horses from his carriage and dragged it along
in triumph. On the 28th he took his seat for the first time in the
House of Lords. He must have appeared a fine figure as, clad in his
Field Marshal’s uniform under a peer’s robes, he was introduced by
the Dukes of Beaufort and Richmond. The Lord Chancellor expressed
the sentiments of the House, but refrained from attempting to state
the “eminent merits” of his military character, “to represent those
brilliant actions, those illustrious achievements, which have attached
immortality to the name of Wellington, and which have given to this
country a degree of glory unexampled in the annals of this kingdom. In
thus acting, I believe I best consult the feelings which evince your
Grace’s title to the character of a truly great and illustrious man”;
and the Duke replied, in a short speech, attributing his success to his
troops and general officers. A little later a deputation from the Lower
House waited upon Wellington to offer him the congratulations of the
Commons, and he attended in person to return thanks. The whole House
rose as he entered. After a short speech the Speaker made an eloquent
and touching address.

“It is not ... the grandeur of military success,” he said, “which has
alone fixed our admiration or commanded our applause; it has been that
generous and lofty spirit which inspired your troops with unbounded
confidence, and taught them to know that the day of battle was always
a day of victory; that moral courage and enduring fortitude which, in
perilous times, when gloom and doubt had beset ordinary minds, stood
nevertheless unshaken; and that ascendancy of character which, uniting
the energies of jealous and rival nations, enabled you to wield at will
the fate and fortunes of mighty empires....

“It now remains only that we congratulate your Grace upon the high and
important mission on which you are about to proceed, and we doubt not
that the same splendid talents, so conspicuous in war, will maintain,
with equal authority, firmness, and temper, our national honour and
interests in peace.”

Wellington was made a Doctor of Laws by the University of Oxford, as
Nelson had been before him,[81] he received the freedom of the City of
London in a gold casket, and a magnificent sword--in a word, he was the
country’s Hero.

The time at his disposal was short and fully occupied, for he
left London on the 8th August for Paris, travelling by way of the
Netherlands, where he inspected the frontier from Liège along the
Meuse and the Sambre to Namur and Charleroi, and thence by Mons to
Tournay and the sea with a view to determining how Holland and Belgium,
now united into one kingdom, could be placed in an adequate state of
defence for future service should circumstances dictate. He also noted
some of the most advantageous positions, including “the entrance of
the _forêt_ de Soignes by the high road which leads to Brussels from
Binch, Charleroi, and Namur,”--in one word, Waterloo. He realized
that there were more disadvantages than advantages, but “this country
must be defended in the best manner that is possible,” even though it
“affords no features upon which reliance can be placed to establish any
defensive system.”[82]

Wellington had no hours of luxurious ease in Paris. The abolition
of the slave trade, on which Great Britain had at last determined,
occupied much of his attention, and one has only to refer to his
dispatches at this period to understand the many difficulties he had
to contend with in this one particular. Then there were questions of
compensation for private property destroyed or damaged in the late war
to be considered, of American vessels of war and privateers fitted
out in French ports, and what was most important of all, a diagnosis
of the increasing restlessness in Paris to be made. He believed that
the sentiments of the people were favourable to the Bourbon king, “but
the danger is not in that quarter, but among the discontented officers
of the army, and others, heretofore in the civil departments of the
service, now without employment.”

It would be incorrect to state that Wellington was popular in Paris,
for not a few prominent military men regarded the presence of the
General who had played no small part in tarnishing the glory of France
as a perpetual reminder of the country’s misfortunes. The people even
went so far as to resent his coat of arms, in which there was a lion or
leopard bearing a tricoloured flag. This was construed as the British
lion trampling on the French national flag. There was an eagle on the
Duchess’s arms, which was another cause of offence. “My coach was in
danger of being torn to pieces,” says the Duke, and he was obliged to
have the innocent bird painted out.

The Congress of Vienna was now sitting, bent on undoing the work of
the Revolution so far as was possible with a view to upholding the
Divine right of kings. This is not to be wondered at considering the
members of the solemn conclave, which included the Czar, the Kings
of Prussia, Bavaria, Denmark and Würtemberg, the Grand Duke Charles
of Baden, the Elector William of Hesse, the Hereditary Grand Duke
George of Hesse-Darmstadt, the Duke of Weimar, and Prince Eugene
Beauharnais (Napoleon’s step-son). The President was Metternich, the
Emperor of Austria’s right-hand man, the first representative of
France was the wily Talleyrand, of Great Britain Castlereagh. A host
of plenipotentiaries came to put their fingers into the political
pie, including those of Spain, Portugal, Sweden, Norway, France,
Great Britain, Prussia, Russia, Switzerland, Italy, the Pope, the
Netherlands, and the smaller German States.

What with talk of projected attempts on his life and the far from
pacific doings at Vienna, the Earl of Liverpool was of opinion that it
would be advisable to get Wellington out of France as soon as possible.
With this idea in view he was offered the command of the troops in
North America, an offer he bitterly resented. However, Castlereagh
solved the difficulty by asking the Duke to take his place at Vienna.
The proposition was made by the Foreign Secretary in a letter dated
the 18th December 1814. “I do not hesitate to comply with your
desire,” the Duke replies. “As I mean to serve the King’s Government
in any situation which may be thought desirable, it is a matter of
indifference to me in what stage I find your proceedings.”

When Wellington reached the Austrian capital in January 1815--destined
to be the greatest year in modern European history--he found that the
wolves in sheep’s clothing had almost concluded their deliberations.
Russia, supported by Prussia, was intent upon securing Poland, a plan
bitterly opposed by Great Britain and Austria. France was wishful for
Holland and Belgium. The quarrelling suddenly ceased when, on the 7th
March, Metternich received the most astounding news. Napoleon, King of
Elba, had left his little island state, landed on the French coast, and
was marching in the direction of Paris! Wellington heard on the same
day from another source, and immediately communicated the scanty news
detailed to him by Lord Burghersh to the Emperor of Austria and the
Czar.

“I do not entertain the smallest doubt that, if unfortunately it
should be possible for Buonaparte to hold at all against the King
of France, he must fall under the cordially united efforts of the
Sovereigns of Europe.” Thus writes the Duke to Castlereagh, but in a
dispatch of the same date, namely the 12th March, he shows that he
entirely failed to appreciate the fascination still exercised by the
name “Napoleon.” “It is my opinion,” he writes, “that Buonaparte has
acted upon false or no information, and that the King will destroy him
without difficulty, and in a short time.” We know that the ex-Emperor’s
reception was at first somewhat lukewarm, but as he marched towards the
capital it assumed the form of a triumphal procession, with Ney and the
6000 men who were “to bring him back in an iron cage” as enthusiastic
followers. The inhabitants of the south alone refused to recognize the
former Emperor of the French.

Far from Louis XVIII destroying Napoleon “without difficulty,” that
brave monarch left France to its own devices on the 19th March, the
day before his predecessor and successor reached the Tuileries. “What
did he do in the midst of the general consternation of Paris?” asks
the Baron de Frénilly. “He acted. A great crowd saw him in the morning
proceeding in pomp with Monsieur to the Chamber of Deputies; he was
seen to enter and throw himself into his brother’s arms, with the
solemn promise to remain in Paris and be buried under the ruins of the
monarchy; and on the following day the population learnt that he had
fled in the night by the road to Flanders!” Soult, now Minister of
War, apparently under the impression that an Army Order would tend to
dispel any affection the soldiers might feel towards their former Head,
issued the most stupid of nonsensical proclamations. “Bonaparte,” it
reads in part, “mistakes us so far as to believe that we are capable
of abandoning a legitimate and beloved sovereign in order to share the
fortunes of one who is nothing more than an adventurer. He believes
this--the idiot!--and his last act of folly is a convincing proof that
he does so.”

Without loss of time the Fifth Coalition was formed, Great Britain,
Russia, Austria and Prussia entering into a treaty on the 17th March,
whereby each of them guaranteed to put 150,000 men in the field against
“the enemy and disturber of the peace of the world,” Great Britain,
as usual, financing the Allies, this time to the enormous extent of
£5,000,000.

With commendable dispatch Napoleon formed a new ministry and began to
marshal his troops, which at first numbered 200,000 and eventually
284,000, excluding a quarter of a million of men for internal defence.
“It was the finest army,” writes Professor Oman, “that Napoleon had
commanded since Friedland, for it was purely French, and was composed
almost entirely of veterans; but it was too small for its purpose.”[83]
Murat, king of Naples, precipitated matters by invading the Papal
States, and failed at the hands of Austria, thereby robbing his
brother-in-law of his only possible ally. But this was finished by the
beginning of May, over a month before Napoleon started for the front,
leaving 10,000 of his none-too-numerous troops to quell an outburst of
royalist enthusiasm in La Vendée, ever the most warlike province of
France and apt to flame into insurrection on the slightest provocation.




CHAPTER XVIII

Ligny and Quatre Bras

(1815)

  “_I go to measure myself with Wellington._”

            NAPOLEON.


Napoleon left Paris at dawn on the 12th June, and travelled to Laon.
His troops were divided into the Army of the North, intended for the
invasion of Belgium, which totalled a little over 124,000; the Army
of the Rhine, commanded by Rapp, about 20,000, with a reserve of
3000 National Guards; Le Courbe’s corps of observation, watching the
passes of the Jura, about 8000; the Army of the Alps, with Suchet,
some 23,000; a detachment, under Brune, guarding the line of the
Var, 6000; the 7th Corps, watching the line of the Pyrenees, 14,000,
in two sections under Decaen and Clausel. The Army of the North was
distributed at Lille, Valenciennes, Mézières, Thionville, and Soissons,
under D’Erlon, Reille, Vandamme, Gérard and Lobau respectively; the
Imperial Guard near Paris, and the Reserve Cavalry, under Grouchy,
between the Aisne and the Sambre.[84] Soult was chief of the staff, an
appointment not particularly happy.[85]

In Belgium there was the nucleus of an army, consisting of some 10,000
soldiers, mostly British. Wellington arrived at Brussels on the 5th
April, with the formidable task in hand of organizing a substantial
body to oppose the returned Exile. He managed it, but the result was
almost as motley a crowd of fighting men as Napoleon had for his
disastrous Russian campaign. Wellington bluntly called them “not only
the worst troops, but the worst-equipped army, with the worst staff
that was ever brought together.” There were Hanoverians, Belgians,
Dutch, Brunswickers, and Nassauers, as well as men of his own country.
The 1st Corps, under the Prince of Orange, totalled 25,000, with
headquarters at Braine-le-Comte; the 2nd Corps, commanded by Lord Hill,
numbered 24,000, with headquarters at Ath; the Reserve Corps, with the
Duke at Brussels, 21,000; the Cavalry, under the Earl of Uxbridge,
14,000; in the garrisons were 12,000, and the artillery and engineers
reached 10,000--grand total 106,000.[86] The Prussian Army, commanded
by Blücher, reached 124,000 men, some few thousands of whom were
already in Belgium in March. It was made up of four corps stationed
at Charleroi, Namur, Ciney, and Liége, with headquarters at Namur.
Both armies were in touch with each other, although distributed over
a large extent of territory. It was intended that 750,000 men should
be available for the invasion of France, but none of the other allies
was ready. Napoleon acted promptly, his idea being to deal with each
separately and drive them back on their bases before they were able to
concentrate. He would then turn on the Austrians before the Russians
were ready.

Napoleon succeeded in concentrating the Army of the North without
definite particulars of his movements reaching either Wellington or
Blücher. On the 15th June he was across the frontier and had made a
preliminary success by driving Ziethen, who commanded Blücher’s first
corps, from the banks of the Sambre, gaining the bridges, and securing
Charleroi. The Emperor followed the Prussians to within a short
distance of Gilly, where the French right wing defeated them with the
loss of nearly 2000 men. The enemy then fell back in the direction of
Ligny, and Napoleon made his headquarters at Charleroi. Meanwhile Ney,
who had only arrived in the afternoon, was given charge of Reille’s
and D’Erlon’s corps, and it is usually contended that he had told
Lefebvre-Desnoëttes to reconnoitre towards Quatre Bras, then held by
some 4500 Nassau troops, commanded by Prince Bernard of Saxe-Weimar.

Lefebvre first encountered the enemy at the village of Frasnes, some
twenty-three miles from Brussels and covering Quatre Bras, where about
1500 men were stationed, who fell back towards Quatre Bras. The French
General occupied the village in the evening after an indecisive action.

When information reached Wellington from Ziethen, vague because it was
dispatched early in the morning, he ordered the majority of the troops
at his disposal to be “ready to move at the shortest notice,” and a few
only were told to change the positions they then occupied. He issued
his final instructions at 10 p.m., and then went to the ball given by
the Duchess of Richmond, who had invited some of the non-commissioned
officers and privates in order “to show her Bruxelles friends the
_real Highland dance_,” as Wellington afterwards averred. The
Commander-in-Chief was quite easy in his mind, for he had done all that
it was possible for him to do, and his appearance at such a festivity
tended to allay the anxiety of the inhabitants as to Napoleon’s
movements. Surely the capital was safe if Wellington was so unconcerned
as to go to a dance?

    _There was a sound of Revelry by night;
    And Belgium’s Capital had gather’d then
    Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright
    The lamps shone o’er fair women, and brave men:
        A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
        Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
        Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again;
        And all went merry as a marriage-bell:
    But Hush! Hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!_

        _Did ye not hear it? No: ’twas but the wind;
        Or the car rattling o’er the stony street:
        On with the dance! let Joy be unconfined:
        No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
        To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet:
        But, Hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more;
        As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
        And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
    Arm! Arm! it is; it is; the Cannon’s opening Roar!_

Had Byron pictured the entry of Lieutenant Webster with a dispatch
for the Prince of Orange he would have been more literally, if not
artistically, correct. The nineteen words which the Prince read were
momentous: “Captain Baron von Gagern has just arrived from Nivelles,
reporting that the enemy had pushed up to Quatre Bras.” It had been
written at Braine-le-Comte at 10.30 p.m. No further instructions were
issued by Wellington, for he had already arranged “for a movement
tending to draw the right of his forces in towards the left.”[87] He
therefore remained at the ball until about 2 a.m., on the 16th, and
then went to bed.

He left the city very early and arrived at Quatre Bras about 10
o’clock. There he found, according to his own statement,[88] “the
Prince of Orange with a small body of Belgian troops, two or three
battalions of infantry, a squadron of Belgian dragoons, and two or
three pieces of cannon which had been at the Quatre Bras--the four
roads--since the preceding evening. It appeared that the picket of this
detachment had been touched by a French patrol, and there was some
firing, but very little; and of so little importance that, after seeing
what was doing, I went on to the Prussian army, which I saw from the
ground, was assembling upon the field of St Amand and Ligny, about
eight miles distant.

“I reached the Prussian army; was at their headquarters; stayed there a
considerable time; saw the army formed; the commencement of the battle;
and returned to join my own army assembled and assembling at the Quatre
Bras. I arrived then at Quatre Bras a second time on that day, as well
as I recollect, at about two or three o’clock in the afternoon.

“The straggling fire there had continued from morning; the Prince of
Orange was with the line troops still in the same position. I was
informed that the army was collecting in a wood in front. I rode
forward and reconnoitred or examined their position according to my
usual practice. I saw clearly a very large body of men assembled, and a
Maréchal reviewing them, according to their usual practice, preparatory
to an attack. I heard distinctly the usual cries: ‘_En avant! en avant!
L’Empereur récompensera celui qui s’avancera!_’

“Before I quitted the Prince of Orange, some of the officers standing
about had doubted whether we should be attacked at this point. I sent
to the Prince of Orange from the ground on which I was standing, to
tell him that he might rely upon it that we should be attacked in five
minutes, and that he had better order the retreat towards the main
position of the light troops and guns which were in front, and which
could make no resistance to the fierce attack about to be made upon
us. These were accordingly withdrawn, and in less than five minutes we
were attacked by the whole French army under Maréchal Ney. There was
in fact no delay nor cessation from attack from that time till night.
The reserves of the British army from Brussels had arrived at the
Quatre Bras at this time; and the corps of Brunswick troops from the
headquarters, and a division of Belgian troops from Nivelles, Braine,
&c.”

Ney did not begin his attack until 2 p.m. He had only Reille’s
corps at his disposal, and he was uncertain as to the movements
of the Prussians. But when a move was made against the farm of
Gémioncourt,[89] the key of the position, the 7000 troops of the Prince
of Orange were speedily driven back, and the wood of Bossu also fell
into the enemy’s hands. It was at this precise moment that Wellington
and reinforcements arrived. Picton with his brave 5th Division,
although exhausted by a long march on a sultry day, were ordered to
retake the wood. It was then that Ney hurled his cavalry at them in a
determined endeavour to save the situation at all costs.

“One regiment,” we are told, “after sustaining a furious cannonade,
was suddenly, and on three different sides, assailed by cavalry. Two
faces of the square were charged by the lancers, while the cuirassiers
galloped down upon another. It was a trying moment. There was a
death-like silence, and one voice alone, calm and clear, was heard. It
was their Colonel’s, who called upon them to be ‘steady.’ On came the
enemy--the earth shook beneath the horses’ feet; while on every side of
the devoted band, the corn,[90] bending beneath the rush of cavalry,
disclosed their numerous assailants. The lance-blades approached the
bayonets of the kneeling front rank--the cuirassiers were within forty
paces--yet not a trigger was drawn. But when the word ‘Fire!’ thundered
from the colonel’s lips, each piece poured out its deadly volley, and
in a moment the leading files of the French lay before the square, as
if hurled by a thunderbolt to the earth. The assailants, broken and
dispersed, galloped off for shelter to the tall rye; while a stream
of musketry from the British square carried death into the retreating
squadrons.” At length Maitland’s division of the Guards secured
possession of the wood. The French continued to attack with ardour,
but with the close of day Ney fell back upon the road to Frasnes. The
British remained at Quatre Bras.

Many brave incidents are recorded. A soldier of the 92nd was wounded
in the thigh. After having been attended by a surgeon the medical man
dismissed him by saying, “There is now no fear of you, get slowly
behind.” His reply, unpremeditated and instant, was, “The presence of
every man is necessary,” and calmly went back to his post, from which
he never returned. Another fellow had his knapsack carried away from
his shoulders by a cannon-ball. He caught it by a dexterous movement
before it reached the ground. Wellington happened to be near, and the
incident afforded him considerable amusement.

The 2nd Battalion of the 69th Regiment of Foot[91] had its flag
captured, the precious symbol being wrenched from the hands of the
officer almost at the same time as the attempted capture of another
colour during a charge of French cuirassiers. The latter was preserved,
although the bearer received severe wounds. Ensign Christie also saved
a flag by throwing himself upon it. As the soldier lay on the ground
a portion of the colour was torn off by the lancer who had made the
attempt, but before the prize could be taken the captor was shot and
the piece recovered.

Wellington lost 4600 killed and wounded at Quatre Bras, but although
he remained in possession of the field, Ney’s grim determination had
precluded him from sending reinforcements to Blücher, who had been
contesting Napoleon at Ligny, eight miles distant. On the other hand,
the Emperor had ordered his Marshal to assist him at Ligny after having
dispersed the troops at Quatre Bras, which he was far too heavily
engaged all day to do, although it is conceivable that had he begun
his attack earlier he might have carried out his Chief’s instructions.
Napoleon himself delayed his attack because some of his soldiers had
not arrived, and when he was ready to open fire he totalled 20,000
men less than the Prussian commander. D’Erlon’s troops, forming Ney’s
reserve, were sent for, but before they were pressed into service were
ordered back by Ney to assist him. Had D’Erlon remained, Napoleon would
have won a decisive victory. As it was, Blücher’s losses reached over
20,000, and he narrowly averted capture. He was thrown during a cavalry
charge and badly injured. The Prussians abandoned the field, retiring
towards Wavre, which enabled them to be in touch with Wellington, and
where they later formed a junction with the fresh corps of Bülow.
Napoleon, who had 11,000 men killed or wounded, was convinced that the
enemy would fall back on Namur and Liége, which would enable him to
deal with Wellington alone on the morrow.

Napoleon was unusually lethargic on the following day, and squandered
much precious time until noon in various useless ways. He then ordered
Grouchy, with 33,000 men, to ascertain the position occupied by the
Prussians, while he joined Ney. Wellington, hearing of Blücher’s defeat
and realizing that every moment was of value, had evacuated Quatre
Bras almost without interference, although Napoleon’s cavalry came
up with the British rear and the situation was saved by a propitious
downpour of rain which soon transformed road and field alike into a
quagmire. Still, Napoleon chased in pursuit to the ridge of Waterloo,
where a heavy cannonade put an end to his advance. The Emperor made his
headquarters at the Caillou farm, retiring to rest only after he had
seen that Wellington’s army was not retreating from the position it had
taken up at Mont St Jean. Unable to sleep, he again satisfied himself
that the army he was bent on shattering had not stolen a march on him,
and when the 18th June dawned he was still gazing in the direction of
Wellington and his men.




CHAPTER XIX

Waterloo

(1815)

  “_The history of a battle is not unlike the history of a ball. Some
  individuals may recollect all the little events of which the great
  result is the battle lost or won; but no individual can recollect
  the order in which, or the exact moment at which they occurred,
  which makes all the difference as to their value or importance._”

            WELLINGTON.


The British General had already sent word to Blücher that he was
prepared to fight Napoleon if the Prussian Commander could see his
way to send him one army-corps, the assistance of which he deemed
imperative. He did not receive a reply until the early hours of the
18th, and it was in the affirmative. He promised Bülow’s corps, which
would march at daybreak against Napoleon’s right, followed by that of
Pirch. Those of Thielmann and Ziethen would also be sent provided the
presence of Grouchy did not prevent. As events turned out, Thielmann’s
corps was sufficient for this purpose of defending the Dyle against
the French Marshal. The first report from Grouchy received by Napoleon
on the 18th was sent from Gembloux, and contained news up to 10
o’clock on the previous night, namely, that part of the Prussians had
retired towards Wavre, that Blücher with their centre had fallen back
on Perwez, and a column with artillery had moved in the direction of
Namur.[92]

[Illustration]

From another source Napoleon gathered that three bodies of the
Prussians were concentrating at Wavre, vital information which, for
some inexplicable reason, he did not dispatch to Grouchy until 10 a.m.
We have it on the authority of Foy, who had fought in Spain, that at
daybreak Napoleon was told that the junction of Wellington and Blücher
was possible. This he refused to believe, stating that such an event
could not take place before the 20th. Grouchy was ordered to keep up
his communications with Napoleon, pushing before him “those bodies of
Prussians which have taken this direction and which may have stopped at
Wavre.” In addition, he was to “follow those columns which have gone
to your right.” Dr Holland Rose pronounces these instructions as far
from clear: “Grouchy was not bidden to throw all his efforts on the
side of Wavre; and he was not told whether he must attack the enemy at
that town, or interpose a wedge between them and Wellington, or support
Napoleon’s right. Now Napoleon would certainly have prescribed an
immediate concentration of Grouchy’s force towards the north-west for
one of the last two objects, had he believed Blücher about to attempt
a flank march against the chief French army. Obviously it had not yet
entered his thoughts that so daring a step would be taken by a foe whom
he pictured as scattered and demoralized by defeat.”[93]

As Houssaye, one of the most painstaking of historians, says, “It
is necessary to walk over the ground, to perceive its constantly
undulating formation, similar to the billows of a swelling sea.” I
have followed his advice for the purposes of the present volume. The
configuration of the land near the ridge, which was at first the right
centre of the Allies, has been altered somewhat by the excavation
of earth for the celebrated but unsightly Lion Mound, otherwise the
field is much the same as it was in 1815. Major Cotton, who fought at
Waterloo, tells us that on the day of the battle there were “splendid
crops of rye, wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, potatoes, tares, and
clover; some of these were of great height. There were a few patches
of ploughed ground.” Exactly the same is true now. The soil which
covers the mouldering bones of many a hero yields a mighty harvest.
Practically every inch of it is either pasture or under cultivation.

By far the most interesting point is the château and farm-house of
Hougoumont. The buildings were then over two centuries old, and were
erected with a view to defence, the garden being strongly walled
on the south and east sides. In 1815 it was replete with orchard,
outbuildings, banked-up hedges, and a chapel. Additional loop-holes
were made by Wellington’s orders, a scaffold was erected so that the
troops could discharge their muskets over the wall, and the flooring
over the south gateway hastily taken up “to enable our men to fire
down upon the enemy should they force the gate which had been blocked
up.” This strong strategic position before the right flank of the
allied line was admirably defended by the light companies of the second
battalions of Coldstream and Foot Guards.

The battle began with a protracted but successful attack by Napoleon’s
brother, Jerome, on the Nassauer and Hanoverian troops, which held the
wood in front of the château. Proud of his triumph, and contrary to the
Emperor’s orders, three attempts to assault the grim building were made
and failed. At length Napoleon made up his mind to bombard Hougoumont,
which he did to some effect, the chapel and barn blazing fiercely, but
its brave defenders never surrendered. Four days after the battle,
Major W. E. Frye visited the spot. “At Hougoumont,” he says, “where
there is an orchard, every tree is pierced with bullets. The barns are
all burned down, and in the courtyard it is said they have been obliged
to burn upwards of a thousand carcases, an awful holocaust to the
War-Demon.”

On one of the outside walls of the little chapel, within which many
gallant soldiers breathed their last, is a bronze tablet erected in
1907, “to the memory of the brave dead by His Britannic Majesty’s
Brigade of Guards and by Comte Charles van der Burch.”[94] The sacred
building has been thoroughly repaired, and the interior white-washed.
The latter is to be regretted, but was incumbent owing to the vandalism
of visitors whose one aim in life apparently is to carve or scrawl
their names upon monuments and buildings.

Within easy distance is the farm of La Haye Sainte, still used for the
purpose for which it was originally built. If the thick wall which
abuts the road to the Belgian capital is not so strong as it was--and
there are signs of recent repair--the most cursory examination is
sufficient to prove that it offered a strong resistance. La Haye Sainte
was the key of the allied position. It was Napoleon’s ambition to
secure it, together with the farm of Mont St Jean, so that the enemy’s
communications with Brussels and Blücher might be cut off. Wellington
had unwisely left the defence of La Haye Sainte to a mere handful
of men, 376 in all, of the King’s German Legion. The buildings were
attacked on all sides during the eventful day, and it was not until
6.30 p.m., or thereabouts, when ammunition was exhausted, that the
place fell. Professor Oman points out that the Emperor should have sent
the Guard “to the front _en masse_” the moment that happened. This he
did not do, and a golden opportunity was irretrievably lost.

[Illustration:

    1. Farm of Mont St. Jean
    2. Château of Hougoumont
    3. La Belle Alliance Inn
    4. Farm of La Haye Sainte

Photographs by C. Hamilton, Hornsey]

A little farther up the road, and on the opposite side, is a long,
white-washed building known as the farm of Mont St Jean, the hamlet
of that name being the centre of the position. This was the chief
hospital of the Allies, and once a monastery of the Knights Templar.
Near here the Iron Duke drew up the second line of his reserve, with
three reserve batteries. Napoleon’s headquarters were on the Belle
Alliance height, where he spent the greater part of the day, and where
he kept the Imperial Guard, nick-named “The Immortals,” in reserve
until after 7 p.m. It was not until evening had given place to night
that the French troops were routed.

When you enter La Belle Alliance Inn you are shown “the historical
chamber of Napoleon.” But let me warn visitors who admire the grotesque
painting of “Wellington Meeting Blücher,” which is nailed to the
outside wall, against believing that this is the scene of the memorable
incident. Mutual congratulations took place before La Belle Alliance
was reached, the Duke turning off the high road leading to the village
of Waterloo to meet the rugged old soldier when he descried him
surrounded by his staff.

Within a few hundred yards of the inn is a memorial “to the last
combatants of the Grand Army.” It is by far the most artistic and
apposite of the several monuments on the field. With shattered wings
the French eagle guards the tattered standard of “The Immortals” on the
ground where the last square of Napoleon’s famous Guard was cut down.
“It was a fatality,” said the fallen Emperor of the West, “for in spite
of all, I should have won that battle.”

Having glanced at the chief objects of interest on the field of
Waterloo, we must now turn our attention to the leading features of the
fight. It is not proposed to enter into minute details, or to discuss
the many vexed points which have been raised from time to time. Sir
Harry Smith, who took part in the battle, issued a word of warning
years ago, which we shall endeavour to bear in mind. “Every moment was
a crisis,” he said, “and the controversialists had better have left the
discussion on the battle-field.”

The morning of Sunday, the 18th June 1815, was dismal, foggy, and wet.
No “Sun of Austerlitz” pierced the low clouds that scudded across the
sky. The state of the weather being then, as now, a universal topic
of conversation and record, we have abundant documentary evidence on
the subject. After this uninteresting, but not unimportant, fact, our
witnesses, to a large extent, break down. It would be much easier to
detail what we do not know about the battle of Waterloo than to put
down in black and white what may be regarded as indisputable truth.
For instance, there is an amazing disparity between the times at which
eye-witnesses assert the first cannon was fired. The Duke says eleven
o’clock, Napoleon two hours later. Alava mentions half-past eleven,
Ney one o’clock. Lord Hill, who used a stop-watch, avers with some
semblance of authority, 11.50 a.m. The Emperor certainly delayed giving
battle. Soult issued an order between 4 and 5 a.m. for the army to be
“ready to attack at 9 a.m.” At 11 o’clock Napoleon stated that the
soldiers were to be “in battle array, about an hour after noon.” Scores
of volumes and thousands of pages have been devoted to the subject
of the conflict which concluded Napoleon’s military career. It seems
fairly reasonable to suppose that after the lapse of one hundred years
any further research, although it may throw valuable sidelights on the
battle, will not solve the problem. We have the Duke’s assurance that
“it is impossible to say when each important occurrence took place,
nor in what order.” To a would-be narrator he wrote, “I recommend
you to leave the battle of Waterloo as it is,” to another, “the Duke
entertains no hopes of ever seeing an account of all its details which
shall be true,” and again, “I am really disgusted with and ashamed of
all that I have seen of the battle of Waterloo.” That being so, it
is not purposed to view it from a critical standpoint, but merely to
detail the leading events of the day as these are generally accepted.

The ridge on which Napoleon posted his forces in three lines, with a
reserve of 11,000 troops behind the centre, was opposite Mont St Jean,
with the farm of La Belle Alliance, on the high road from Charleroi to
Brussels, in the centre. The number of troops at his immediate disposal
was 74,000, and they occupied a front of about two miles. The spectacle
as the French troops deployed “was magnificent,” Napoleon afterwards
averred, not without a touch of imagination, “and the enemy, who was so
placed as to behold it down to the last man, must have been struck by
it: the army must have seemed to him double in number what it really
was.”

Just before the conflict began there was scarcely a mile between the
French and Wellington’s 67,000 troops, who were posted across the high
roads leading respectively from Charleroi and Nivelles to Brussels,
just in front of Mont St Jean, where they cross. His right extended to
Merbe Braine, and his left, which he considered was protected by the
advancing Prussians, was to the westward of the high road. The army was
drawn up in two lines, the second of which was composed entirely of
cavalry under Lord Uxbridge. To the left Wellington held the villages
of La Haye, Papelotte, and Smohain; Hougoumont was before his right,
La Haye Sainte in front of the centre, and all were occupied by his
troops. His reserves, numbering about 17,000, were unseen by the enemy
owing to the formation of the ground, and were posted behind his
centre and right. At the rear was the forest of Soignes, through which
he could retreat if necessary. At Hal, nine miles away, the corps of
Prince Frederick of Orange and two brigades of Colville’s division,
some 14,000 men in all, were stationed. They took no part in the
battle. Their presence at so great a distance was due to the somewhat
unnecessary anxiety of Wellington, as after events proved, regarding
the right flank. The Allies’ guns numbered 156, those of the French 246.

Wellington displayed extraordinary activity, and commanded in person.
Napoleon relied on his subordinates far more than was usual with him,
and seemed to take little direct interest in the fighting. He sat in
a chair; his antagonist rode about throughout the day. “It is hardly
possible,” says Lord William Lennox, one of his aides-de-camp, “to
describe the calm manner in which the hero gave his orders and watched
the movements and attacks of the enemy. In the midst of danger, bullets
whistling close about him, round shot ploughed the ground he occupied,
and men and horses falling on every side, he sat upon his favourite
charger, Copenhagen, as collectedly as if he had been reviewing the
Household Troops in Hyde Park.”

Although it would be foolish to endeavour to accurately divide the
battle in different parts as one would do a sum, for the simple reason
that fighting was going on all the time and the entire armies of the
combatants were not used in any given moment, there were five more or
less distinct attacks made by the French which may be useful as keys,
viz.: (1) the diversion against Hougoumont, which opened the battle;
(2) the attack against Wellington’s left-centre; (3) the cavalry attack
on the right-centre; (4) a second attempt with infantry and cavalry
having a similar object, and an infantry attack against the enemy’s
left; (5) the charge of the Imperial Guard.

[Illustration: The Desperate Stand of the Guards at Hougoumont

R. Caton Woodville]

The main attack was against the British left and centre, but by way
of diversion an attempt was first made on the wood of Hougoumont,
which was carried after so determined a resistance that Alison, the
historian, afterwards counted no fewer than twenty-two shots in a
tree less than six inches in diameter; fairly conclusive evidence
of the death-dealing shower faced by the Nassauers and Hanoverians
defending the copse and of the vigour of the enemy. The château was
then attacked, contrary to orders, by Jerome Bonaparte, and brilliantly
repulsed by the light companies of the second battalions of Coldstream
and Foot Guards.[95] Several attempts were afterwards made to secure
the place, and dead bodies lay piled in heaps, but those within held
it from the beginning to the end of the battle, although Wellington
found it necessary to reinforce the men who were upholding Britain’s
honour so determinedly. The orchard was captured and regained,
howitzers battered the stout walls, the building was set on fire,
the door of the courtyard was burst open and shut in the face of the
French. These deeds were performed by the fellows of whom Napoleon had
spoken earlier in the day as “breakfast for us!”

It was not until about half-past one o’clock, when a black, moving mass
was seen on the wooded heights of St Lambert that the Emperor really
bestirred himself. Napoleon looked through his glass in the direction
of the object on which nearly all eyes were strained. Some of his
officers thought it a body of troops, some suggested Prussians, others
Grouchy. “I think,” remarked Soult, “it is five or six thousand men,
probably part of Grouchy’s army.” In reality it was the advanced guard
of Bülow’s troops, and the Emperor shortly afterwards heard from the
lips of a prisoner that at least 30,000 men were approaching to assist
Wellington. However, some light horsemen were sent towards Frischermont
to observe the Prussians,[96] and a postscript was added to a dispatch
already penned to Grouchy, begging him to “lose not an instant in
drawing near and joining us, in order to crush Bülow, whom you will
catch in the very act.”

Without delay Napoleon launched D’Erlon’s corps in four columns
totalling nearly 20,000 men against the enemy’s left-centre, Ney in
command. They were supported by far too few cavalry. The Emperor’s idea
was to take La Haye Sainte, break through the Allied line, and gain
Mont St Jean. This operation, if successful, would compel Wellington
to abandon his communications with the Belgian capital and change his
formation. In addition, it would place the French between his army and
the Prussians. Bylandt’s Dutch-Belgians, who were nearest to the enemy
and consequently more exposed to the covering fire of seventy-eight
guns and the shots of the skirmishers, took to their heels as D’Erlon’s
divisions, frantically yelling “_Vive l’Empereur!_” approached the
front line.[97] The brigades of Pack and Kempt were at once brought
forward by Picton. They stood firm and poured death into the oncoming
columns, receiving them, as they appeared on the crest of the ridge,
with fixed bayonets.

The Earl of Uxbridge, who was in command of the cavalry, realizing
that the position was still one of considerable danger, then ordered
Ponsonby’s Union Brigade--the 1st Royal Dragoons, Scots Greys, and
Inniskillings--to charge. It burst upon the French with tremendous
force and decided the issue.

Several thousands of the enemy were killed or wounded, 8000 taken
prisoners, a number of guns silenced, and two eagles captured.

The story of how the colours of the French 45th Regiment were secured
by Serjeant Ewart, a magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet
in height, who served in the Greys, is best told in his own modest
language. “It was in the charge I took the eagle from the enemy,” he
says; “he and I had a hard contest for it; he made a thrust at my
groin, I parried it off and cut him down through the head. After this a
lancer came at me; I threw the lance off by my right side, and cut him
through the chin and upwards through the teeth. Next, a foot-soldier
fired at me, and then charged me with his bayonet, which I also had
the good luck to parry, and then I cut him down through the head; thus
ended the contest. As I was about to follow my regiment, the General
said, ‘My brave fellow, take that to the rear; you have done enough
till you get quit of it.’ I took the eagle to the ridge, and afterwards
to Brussels.”

We have also the record of Captain Clark Kennedy, of the Royal
Dragoons, regarding the capture of the eagle of the 105th Regiment.
“I was,” he relates, “in command of the centre squadron of the Royal
Dragoons in this charge; while following up the attack, I perceived
a little to my left, in the midst of a body of infantry, an eagle
and colour, which the bearer was making off with towards the rear. I
immediately gave the order to my squadron, ‘Right shoulders forward!’
at the same time leading direct upon the eagle and calling out to the
men with me to secure the colour; the instant I got within reach of the
officer who carried the eagle, I ran my sword into his right side, and
he staggered and fell, but did not reach the ground on account of the
pressure of his companions: as the officer was in the act of falling,
I called out a second time to some men close behind me, ‘Secure the
colour, it belongs to me.’ The standard coverer, Corporal Styles, and
several other men rushed up, and the eagle fell across my horse’s head
against that of Corporal Styles’s. As it was falling, I caught the
fringe of the flag with my left hand, but could not at first pull up
the eagle: at the second attempt, however, I succeeded. Being in the
midst of French troops, I attempted to separate the eagle from the
staff, to put it into the breast of my coatee, but it was too firmly
fixed. Corporal Styles said, ‘Sir, don’t break it’; to which I replied,
‘Very well; carry it off to the rear as fast as you can.’ He did so.”

Unfortunately the victors were too eager, and instead of returning they
continued until they were in the French lines, thus enabling Napoleon
to “turn the tables.” His reserve squadrons robbed the British ranks
of 1000 brave men, including Ponsonby. More would have fallen had not
Vandeleur’s Light Cavalry Brigade checked the enemy.

Picton was dead, shot at the head of his men. “When you hear of my
death,” the latter had previously remarked to a comrade, “you will
hear of a bloody day.” He had “fallen gloriously at the head of his
division, maintaining a position which, if it had not been kept, would
have altered the fate of the day.”[98]

The following account of the magnificent charge of Ponsonby’s Union
Brigade, from the pen of James Armour, Rough-rider to the Scots Greys,
who took part in it, gives some idea of the work performed:

“Orders were now given that we were to prepare to charge. We gave our
countrymen in front of us three hearty huzzas, and waving our swords
aloft in the air, several swords were struck with balls while so doing;
and I must not forget the piper--

    _The piper loud and louder blew,
    The balls of all denominations quick and quicker flew._

The Highlanders were then ordered to wheel back--I think by sections,
but I am not certain: infantry words of command differ from the
cavalry. When they had, and were wheeling back imperfectly, we rushed
through them; at the same time they huzzaed us, calling out, ‘_Now, my
boys--Scotland for ever!_’ I must own it had a thrilling effect upon
me. I am certain numbers of them were knocked over by the horses: in
our anxiety we could not help it. Some said ‘I didna think ye wad hae
sair’d me sae’--catching hold of our legs and stirrups, as we passed,
to support themselves. When we got clear through the Highlanders (92nd)
we were now on the charge, and a short one it was. A cross road being
in our way, we leaped the first hedge gallantly; crossed the road, and
had to leap over another hedge. At this time the smoke from the firing
on both sides made it so that we could not see distinctly. We had not
charged far--not many yards, till we came to a column. We were pretty
well together as yet, although a great number fell about that cross
road. We were in the column in a very short time (making pretty clean
work). We still pushed forward, at least as many as could--a number had
dropped off by this time--and soon came to another column. They cried
out, ‘Prisoners!’ and threw down their arms, and stripped themselves of
their belts (I think it is part of the French discipline to do so), and
ran to our rear. Ay, they ran like hares. We still pushed on, and came
upon another column; and some of them went down on their knees, calling
out ‘Quarter!’ in a very supplicatory way....

“We now got amongst the guns, the terrible guns, which had annoyed us
so much. _Such slaughtering!_--men cut down and run through, horses
houghed, harness cut, and all rendered useless. Some, who were judges
of such work, reckoned we had made a very good job of it. Amongst the
guns--I think six or seven in number, all brass--that I was engaged
with, mostly all the men were cut down, and the horses, most of them,
if not all, were houghed. While we were at work amongst these guns,
never thinking but, when we were done with it, we would have nothing
to do but to return from where we came; but I must own I was very
much surprised, when we began to retrace our steps, when what should
we behold coming away across betwixt us and our own army but a great
number of these cuirassiers and lancers, the first I ever beheld in my
life, who were forming up in order to cut off our retreat; but, nothing
daunted, we faced them manfully. We had none to command us now, but
every man did what he could. ‘Conquer or die!’ was the word. When the
regiment returned from the charge mentioned, the troops that I belonged
to did not muster above one or two sound men (unwounded) belonging to
the front rank. Indeed the whole troop did not muster above a dozen;
there were upwards of twenty of the front rank killed, and the others
wounded.”

Meanwhile the farm of La Haye Sainte, held by a detachment of the
German Legion under Major Baring, had been the object of assault
by a French division detached for that purpose, and the defenders
were driven from the orchard. Reinforcements were sent forward by
Wellington, followed by additional cavalry by Napoleon. The cuirassiers
were met by Lord Edward Somerset’s Brigade, led by the Earl of
Uxbridge, and driven back after a furious struggle for supremacy.
Not until the last pinch of powder was spent and several determined
attempts had been made to secure the place, did the brave fellows
vacate their position to D’Erlon’s infantry, between six and seven
o’clock.

Towards the close of the afternoon Milhaud’s cuirassiers, supported
by light cavalry and dragoons, attacked the British right-centre.
Wellington at once formed his troops in squares. When the crash came
they stood firm and unbroken.

The Commander-in-Chief lost not a moment. The heavy brigade of Lord
Edward Somerset was flung against the Frenchmen and drove them from the
ridge.[99] The artillery flamed destruction. Charge followed charge,
thirteen in all, but the British squares remained steady, although
continually reduced. Nearly all Wellington’s cavalry were pressed into
service, and with the exception of a solitary Dutch-Belgian division,
all his infantry reserve was employed. An officer who served in
Halkett’s brigade has left a vivid account of this part of the battle.

“Hougoumont and its wood,” he writes, “sent up a broad flame through
the dark masses of smoke that overhung the field; beneath this cloud
the French were indistinctly visible. Here a waving mass of long
red feathers could be seen; there, gleams as from a sheet of steel
showed that the cuirassiers were moving; 400 cannon were belching
forth fire and death on every side; the roaring and shouting were
indistinguishably commixed--together they gave me an idea of a
labouring volcano. Bodies of infantry and cavalry were pouring down
on us, and it was time to leave contemplation, so I moved towards
our columns, which were standing up in square.... As I entered the
rear face of our square I had to step over a body, and looking down,
recognised Harry Beere, an officer of our Grenadiers, who about an hour
before shook hands with me, laughing, as I left the columns.... The
tear was not dry on my cheek when poor Harry was no longer thought of.
In a few minutes after, the enemy’s cavalry galloped up and crowned
the crest of our position. Our guns were abandoned,[100] and they
formed between the two brigades, about a hundred paces in our front.
Their first charge was magnificent. As soon as they quickened their
trot into a gallop, the cuirassiers bent their heads so that the
peaks of their helmets looked like vizors, and they seemed cased in
armour from the plume to the saddle. Not a shot was fired till they
were within thirty yards, when the word was given, and our men fired
away at them. The effect was magical. Through the smoke we could see
helmets falling, cavaliers starting from their seats with convulsive
springs as they received our balls, horses plunging and rearing in the
agonies of fright and pain, and crowds of the soldiery dismounted,
part of the squadron in retreat, but the more daring remainder backing
their horses to force them on our bayonets. Our fire soon disposed of
these gentlemen. The main body re-formed in our front, and rapidly and
gallantly repeated their attacks. In fact, from this time (about four
o’clock) till near six, we had a constant repetition of these brave but
unavailing charges. There was no difficulty in repulsing them, but our
ammunition decreased alarmingly. At length an artillery wagon galloped
up, emptied two or three casks of cartridges into the square, and we
were all comfortable....

“Though we constantly thrashed our steel-clad opponents, we found
more troublesome customers in the round shot and grape, which all
this time played on us with terrible effect, and fully avenged the
cuirassiers. Often as the volleys created openings in our square would
the cavalry dash on, but they were uniformly unsuccessful. A regiment
on our right seemed sadly disconcerted, and at one moment was in
considerable confusion. Halkett rode out to them, and seizing their
colour, waved it over his head, and restored them to something like
order, though not before his horse was shot under him. At the height of
their unsteadiness we got the order to ‘right face’ to move to their
assistance; some of the men mistook it for ‘right about face,’ and
faced accordingly, when old Major M‘Laine, 73rd, called out, ‘No, my
boys, its “right face”; you’ll never hear the right about as long as a
French bayonet is in front of you!’”

At Planchenoit, in the rear of the French centre, Lobau and his 10,000
men were doing their upmost to prevent Bülow with three times that
number of troops from succouring Wellington. The French held the
village for two hours, and then saw it fall into the hands of the
enemy, but only for a time. Some of the Young Guard and three batteries
of artillery had been sent by the Emperor to support Lobau, and when
they arrived the scales again turned in favour of the French. While
this body was held in check, Napoleon’s infantry had suffered near
Hougoumont, but La Haye Sainte had fallen, as already noticed. Had
Napoleon sent reinforcements to Ney he might have won the battle, but
he hesitated to use his remaining reserves. Before anything further was
done, Wellington had made fresh dispositions, and Ziethen’s men, who
had marched by way of Ohain, were on the field.

[Illustration: Charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo

R. Caton Woodville]

Six battalions of the Middle Guard and two battalions of the Old
Guard were at last sent forward.[101] As they crossed the open ground
between Hougoumont and the high road the artillery played sad havoc
with some of them, but behind the crest of the ridge was Maitland’s
brigade of the Foot Guards, led by Wellington, himself. “Up, Guards,
and make ready!” he shouted, and ere the first column was upon them the
British infantry had dealt a deadly fire into its ranks which made it
pause. The second column was caught in flank by Adam’s Brigade. Then
two brigades of British cavalry charged, and although the celebrated
Imperial Guards endeavoured to hold their own they were forced back.
Blücher, who had arrived at a most opportune moment, carried the
position occupied by the French right at Papelotte and La Haye with
Ziethen’s corps. The whole Allied line then advanced, the heights
were carried, and Napoleon’s last army, on the victory of which he
had staked his all, was scattered. The battle of Waterloo was won.
“My plan,” said the Commander-in-Chief, “was to keep my ground until
the Prussians appeared, and then to attack the French position; and I
executed my plan.”

Throughout the night the Prussians followed up the defeated legions,
which got across the Sambre on the 19th. Some 30,000 of Napoleon’s
men were killed or wounded, and 13,000 of the Allied army, more than
half of whom were British. On the 22nd June 1815, the fallen Emperor
abdicated in favour of his son; on the 7th July the Allies entered
Paris in triumph, and eight days later Napoleon surrendered to Captain
Maitland, of H.M.S. _Bellerophon_.

    _The Desolator desolate!
      The Victor overthrown!
    The Arbiter of others fate
      A Suppliant for his own!_

    BYRON.




CHAPTER XX

Wellington the Statesman

(1815-52)

  “_It is the duty of all to look our difficulties in the face and to
  lay the ground for getting the better of them._”

            WELLINGTON.


While the good folk of London were listening to the guns of the
Tower and of the Park, which told of the Waterloo victory, and the
joyful news was percolating to the smallest hamlet, Wellington was
fighting a battle in which neither sword nor gun was involved. It was
one of diplomacy, and he proved the conqueror. Blücher, armed with
the Declaration of the 13th March 1815 to the effect that “Napoleon
Bonaparte is put beyond the pale of social and civil relations, and
as enemy and disturber of the repose of the world, he is delivered
over to public vengeance,” was for seizing the fallen Emperor and
shooting him as an outlaw at Vincennes, the scene of the Duc d’Enghien
tragedy.[102] The bloodthirsty Prussian asked for Wellington’s views
on the matter. He received them without delay, and expressed in such a
way that Blücher must have felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, if only
for a passing moment. “They had both acted too distinguished a part in
the recent transactions to become executioners,” the Duke wrote. This
single sentence reveals the sterling uprightness of the man and his
hatred of unnecessary bloodshed. Even supposing that he had received
authority for the carrying out of such a measure, it is extremely
doubtful whether Wellington would have concurred in his colleague’s
wish. Blücher sneered--and accepted the decision. Wellington also found
himself in disagreement with the Prussian view regarding the bridge
of Jena at Paris, which commemorated the crushing Prussian defeat
of October 1806. Blücher, with true patriotic zeal as it seemed to
him, was for blowing it to pieces. Wellington regarded the idea as
foolish, and he carried his point. It would have been a bitter day for
the Capital had Blücher been allowed to work his will. The Prussian
Commander insisted on levying a contribution on the city of Paris of
100,000,000 francs. Wellington upset the scheme by insisting that the
question was one for the Allied sovereigns to arrange. For the third
time vindictive Blücher had to give in.

When the Provisional Government appealed to the Duke with reference
to Napoleon’s successor, he bluntly told them that “the best security
for Europe was the restoration of the King,” namely, Louis XVIII, and
that he should be recalled “without loss of time, so as to avoid the
appearance of the measure having been forced upon them by the allies.”

When the Exile King returned to Paris the enormous demands of
certain of the Powers, particularly of Austria and Prussia, had to
be discussed. Had it not been for the resistance of Castlereagh,
Wellington, and Nesselrode, extensive partitions undoubtedly would
have resulted. As finally settled by the Second Treaty of Paris,
concluded on the 20th November, the territory of France was reduced
to practically the limits of 1790, an indemnity of 700,000,000 francs
was determined for the expenses of the war, and an army of occupation
not exceeding 150,000 troops under the Duke was to garrison the
chief frontier fortresses, including Valenciennes, Cambray, Quesnoy,
Maubeuge, and Landrecy, for a maximum period of five years, the
expense being met by the French Government. The magnificent art
treasures, which Napoleon had gloried in plundering, were to be
returned to their rightful owners. That is why the celebrated bronze
horses of St Mark may be seen on the great Venetian Cathedral to-day,
and the wonderful “Descent from the Cross,” by Rubens, admired in the
Cathedral of Antwerp, from whence it had been taken to find a temporary
resting-place in the Louvre.

An excellent account of the Army of Occupation is given by a Scotsman
who visited Paris shortly after the battle of Waterloo. There were
comparatively few Austrians, the majority of them being in the south
of France, but those seen by the writer of _Paul’s Letters to his
Kinsfolk_ were “bulky men” who “want the hardy and athletic look of
the British, Russians, or Prussians.” The Russian infantry were “fine,
firm, steady-looking men, clean, handsome, but by no means remarkable
for stature.” The artillery were “in the highest possible order,”
the cavalry “remarkably fine men,” the appearance of the Cossacks
“prepossessing.” The Prussians, while never having been accused of
“gross violence,” succeeded in wrecking the Château de Montmorency,
where a large body of them was quartered. Camp-kettles were boiled with
picture-frames, and the furniture stripped by female camp followers.
Paul notes that the Prussian officers were the principal customers of
the expensive restaurants and theatres, but that many British officers
of rank had gone so far as to decline the quarters appointed them in
private houses. He bestows much praise on Wellington for his discipline
and justice: “The strong sense and firmness for which the Duke is as
much distinguished as for skill in arms and bravery in the field of
battle, easily saw that the high and paramount part which Britain now
holds in Europe, that preeminence which, in so many instances, has made
her and her delegates the chosen mediators when disputes occurred
amongst the allied powers, depends entirely on our maintaining pure
and sacred the national character for good faith and disinterested
honour. The slightest complaint, therefore, of want of discipline or
oppression perpetrated by a British officer or soldier has instantly
met with reprehension and punishment, and the result has been the
reducing the French to the cruel situation of hating us without having
any complaint to justify themselves for doing so, even in their own
eyes.... The soldiers, without exception, both British and foreigners,
conduct themselves in public with civility, are very rarely to be
seen intoxicated, though the means are so much within reach; and,
considering all the irritating circumstances that exist, few quarrels
occur betwixt them and the populace. Very strong precautions are,
however, taken in case of any accidental or premeditated commotion.”

Wellington threw the whole weight of his influence on the side of
moderation. Prussia was all for partition, for getting her territorial
“pound of flesh,” but the calmer statesmanship of the diplomatists
already mentioned, especially of Wellington, won the day. The Duke’s
policy is clearly outlined in his dispatch of the 11th August, which,
in the opinion of Dr Holland Rose, “deserves to rank among his highest
titles to fame.”

Wellington states that while France has been left “in too great
strength for the rest of Europe, weakened as all the powers of Europe
have been by the wars in which they have been engaged with France,”
his objection to the demand of a “great cession from France upon this
occasion is, that it will defeat the object which the Allies have held
out to themselves in the present and the preceding wars.” He then
proceeds to detail what were, in his opinion, the various causes which
led to so much bloodshed: “to put an end to the French Revolution, to
obtain peace for themselves and their people, to have the power of
reducing their overgrown military establishments, and the leisure
to attend to the internal concerns of their several nations, and to
improve the situation of their people. The Allies took up arms against
Buonaparte because it was certain that the world could not be at peace
as long as he should possess, or should be in a situation to attain,
supreme power in France; and care must be taken,” he adds, “in making
the arrangements consequent upon our success, that we do not leave the
world in the same unfortunate situation respecting France that it would
have been in if Buonaparte had continued in possession of his power.”

The Duke then goes on to review the situation. If Louis XVIII were to
refuse the cession of territory, his people would undoubtedly support
him, and the Allies “might take the fortresses and provinces which
might suit them, but there would be no genuine peace for the world,
no nation could disarm, no Sovereign could turn his attention from
the affairs of this country.” If the King consented to the partition,
“which, from all that one hears, is an event by no means probable, the
Allies must be satisfied, and must retire; but I would appeal to the
experience of the transactions of last year for a statement of the
situation in which we should find ourselves.” France was then reduced
to her limits of 1792, and “the Allies were obliged to maintain each
in the field half of the war establishment stipulated in the treaty of
Chaumont, in order to guard their conquests, and what had been ceded to
them.” In France “the general topic of conversation was the recovery
of the left bank of the Rhine as the frontier of France.” Wellington
therefore preferred “the temporary occupation of some of the strong
places, and to maintain for a time a strong force in France, both at
the expense of the French Government, and under strict regulation, to
the permanent cession of even all the places which in my opinion ought
to be occupied for a time. These measures will not only give us,
during the period of occupation, all the military security which could
be expected from the permanent cession, but, if carried into execution
in the spirit in which they are conceived, they are in themselves the
bond of peace.”

During the remainder of his stay in France, broken by a short visit
to England in 1816, Wellington was far from popular, and one or two
attempts were made on his life. It was scarcely to be expected that
a man who had been pre-eminently successful in the field against the
nation’s armies would be lauded as a popular hero, but, as we have
seen, he had helped to save the country from a bitter and vindictive
humiliation. He finally returned home in 1818, when the Army of
Occupation evacuated France with the consent of the Powers at the
request of its Commander-in-Chief. He never again drew his sword in
warfare, but he maintained a commanding position in the affairs of
Great Britain until the close of his long life.

His honours and orders were now varied and many. England and foreign
countries honoured themselves by honouring him. Parliament voted him
£200,000 for the erection or purchase of Strathfieldsaye, Hampshire,
and the estate granted to him as Prince of Waterloo by the King of the
Netherlands was valued at £4000 per annum. On his return to England
he became Master of the Ordnance, which entitled him to a seat in the
Cabinet.

In 1821 Wellington revisited the scene of his most famous battle with
George IV, and afterwards proceeded to Verona to represent, with Lord
Strangford, Great Britain at the Congress about to be held there to
determine the attitude of England, France, Russia, Austria, and Prussia
regarding various matters, including the insurrection in Greece and
the relations of Russia and Turkey in the matter, the evacuation of
Piedmont and Naples by the Austrian troops, the slave trade, and more
particularly the unhappy state of affairs in Spain, which country
was then in a state of civil war. Should the five Powers send armed
assistance to Ferdinand, whom Wellington’s victories in the Peninsula
had replaced on the throne? Answering for his own country the Duke
maintained the principle of non-interference excepting in a case of
necessity. In this matter Great Britain stood alone, and the Duke had
to run the gauntlet of fierce criticism on his return to England.

His next continental journey was in 1826, when he was sent on a special
mission to Petersburg on the accession of the Emperor Nicholas, with
the object of arriving at a satisfactory settlement of the projected
Russian attack on Turkey over the Greek difficulty. In this he was not
entirely successful, for after events proved that he had only succeeded
in staving off the evil day.

On the death of the Duke of York in the following year, Wellington
was appointed Commander-in-Chief, retaining his other office, which
controlled merely the artillery and engineers.

A month later Canning became Prime Minister, and the Duke was asked to
continue as a member of the Cabinet. This request he not only declined,
but surrendered his two important offices as well. Mutual suspicion
seems to have been the cause of this unexpected event, certainly not
jealousy, for Wellington said that he should be “worse than mad if
he had ever thought of it for a moment,” the “it” referring to his
possible appointment as First Lord of the Treasury. Canning did not
live long to enjoy the sweets of office, for he died on the following
August, and was succeeded by “Prosperity” Robinson, otherwise Lord
Goderich, who resigned at the beginning of 1828.

The Duke, once again Commander-in-Chief, was sent for by George IV,
and requested to form a Ministry. He obeyed with the instinct of a
soldier when ordered by his superior officer, rather than as a keen
politician about to have his highest ambition gratified. Wellington
was a Tory, and the political freedom of the Roman Catholics and the
reform of Parliament were the burning questions of the hour. The
Duke was uncertain as to the practical utility of either, but he was
not prepared to go against the known wishes of the nation so far
as the religious question was concerned. After navigating a sea of
difficulties, the Roman Catholic Relief Bill passed both Houses in
the early days of 1829. One of his opponents, the Earl of Winchilsea,
charged Wellington with “breaking in upon the Constitution of 1688
in order that he might the more effectively, under the cloak of
some outward show of zeal for the Protestant religion, carry on his
insidious designs for the infringement of our liberties, and the
introduction of Popery in every department of the State.” The Premier
requested an apology, which was not forthcoming, whereupon the former
demanded “satisfaction,” in other words, a duel. Sir Henry Hardinge for
Wellington and Lord Falmouth for Winchilsea were the respective seconds.

The meeting took place in Battersea Fields.[103] “Now then, Hardinge,”
said the Duke, “look sharp and step out the ground. I have no time
to waste. Don’t stick him up so near the ditch. If I hit him he will
tumble in.” The signal was given to fire. Noting that his opponent did
not level his pistol on the command being given, the Duke purposely
fired wide, and an instant afterwards Winchilsea fired in the air.
The latter then produced a written sheet which he called an apology,
which had to be altered before it met with Wellington’s approval. “Good
morning, my Lord Winchilsea; good morning, my Lord Falmouth,” cried the
Duke as he saluted with two fingers, and, mounting his horse, cantered
off.

The Duke had a most thankless task during his administration, so much
so that we find him writing, “If I had known in January 1828, one
tithe of what I do now, and of what I discovered one month after I
was in office, I should never have been the King’s Minister, and so
have avoided loads of misery. However, I trust God Almighty will soon
determine that I have been sufficiently punished for my sins and will
relieve me from the unlucky lot which has befallen me. I believe there
never was a man who suffered so much for so little purpose.”

He had almost as much trouble with the King as had Pitt with George
III, and many of his old supporters were indignant with him over the
Relief Bill. Wellington vehemently opposed Parliamentary Reform in the
face of public opinion, with the result that his Ministry rode to a
fall in November 1830.

Two months before he had taken part in the opening ceremony of the
Manchester and Liverpool Railway, the first line to cater for passenger
traffic in the British Empire. He rode in one of the two trains which
made the initial journey, and the fact that they both went in the same
direction was the cause of a lamentable accident which deprived one of
Wellington’s friends of his life. The incident occurred at Parkside,
where the engines stopped to obtain a supply of water. While the trains
were at a standstill, Mr Huskisson, formerly President of the Board
of Trade, got out of the carriage in which he had been travelling and
sought Wellington. A minute or two later the train on the opposite
line started. One of the open doors knocked him down, and his right
leg was crushed by the locomotive. The Duke and several others ran to
the injured man’s assistance, but his injuries were such that he only
survived a few hours.

Wellington was succeeded as First Lord of the Treasury by Earl Grey,
whose Government was speedily defeated by the Reform Bill which it
introduced being rejected by the Lords. Riots broke out in London
and the provinces; William IV “was frightened by the appearance of
the people outside of St James’s”; the celebrated Dr Arnold wrote
that his “sense of the evils of the times, and to what purpose I am
bringing up my children, is overwhelmingly bitter.” The King implored
the Ministers not to hand in their resignation, the House of Commons
carried by a large majority a vote of confidence in the Government, and
the nation showed that it bitterly resented the action of the Lords.
There was an attempt at compromise, but the concessions were so trivial
from Wellington’s point of view that he declined to take part in the
negotiations. After further angry scenes in the following session Grey
resigned on the 9th May 1832. It was during this trying period of our
national history that the window-panes of Apsley House were stoned and
the Duke’s life was threatened.[104]

Once again the King requested Wellington to form a new administration,
and several meetings were held with that idea in view, but to no
purpose. He had to confess that the task was absolutely impossible:
“I felt that my duty to the King required that I should make a great
sacrifice of opinion to serve him, and to save his Majesty and the
country from what I considered a great evil. Others were not of the
same opinion. I failed in performing the service which I intended to
perform....” Several resident members of Oxford University, including
Professor the Rev. John Keble, impressed by the Duke’s devotion,
raised funds for the purpose of a bust to commemorate his self-denying
conduct. This appreciation of approval greatly pleased Wellington,
who announced his intention of sitting for Chantrey, the celebrated
sculptor, or whoever else the committee might choose, “with the
greatest satisfaction.” When Grey resumed office the Reform Bill was
read for a third time and passed, a number of peers having declared
“that in consequence of the present state of affairs they have come
to the resolution of dropping their further opposition to the Reform
Bill, so that it may pass without delay as nearly as possible in its
present shape.” Wellington quietly left the House. He was no more
kindly disposed towards the Irish Reform Bill, and subjected it to a
fire of criticism which did not, however, preclude it from passing.

One of the most remarkable events of the Duke’s crowded life occurred
in November 1834. When Earl Grey resigned in July 1834, on which
occasion his opponent made a graceful speech to the effect that
there had been no personal hostility in his opposition, the retiring
statesman recommended Lord Melbourne as his successor. This suggestion
met with the King’s approval, but the reign of the new Administration
lasted only until the middle of the following November. His Majesty
sent for Wellington at six in the morning. The latter refused to form
a Cabinet, and recommended Sir Robert Peel, who was then in Rome. The
Duke promised to carry on the Government during the interim, with the
result that he held the offices of First Lord of the Treasury, Home
Secretary, Foreign and Colonial Secretary, and Secretary at War for
nearly a month. On Peel’s return he appointed his industrious ally
Foreign Secretary, a position he held until the following April, when
the Government resigned. In 1841, in Peel’s second Administration, he
occupied a seat in the Cabinet, without office, and in the following
year he was created Commander-in-Chief for life by patent under the
great seal.

During the Chartist agitation Wellington was asked who was to command
the forces in London, where a riot was expected. He answered, “I
can name no one except the Duke of Wellington.” He organized the
arrangements with his usual thoroughness, disposing his troops to keep
them out of sight, and taking prompt measures to protect important
public buildings. Fortunately the excitement died down, and armed force
was not required.

The Duke frequently spent several hours a day at the Horse Guards.
“Speaking from the experience which I had of him,” says General Sir
George Brown, G.C.B., “I should say that the Duke was a remarkably
agreeable man to do business with, because of his clear and ready
decision. However much I may have seen him irritated and excited,
with the subjects which I have repeatedly had to bring under his
notice, I have no recollection of his ever having made use of a harsh
or discourteous expression to me, or of his having dismissed me
without a distinct and explicit answer or decision in the case under
consideration. Like all good men of business, who consider well before
coming to a decision, his Grace was accustomed to adhere strictly to
precedent; to the decisions he may have previously come to on similar
cases. This practice greatly facilitated the task of those who had to
transact business with him, seeing that all we had to do in concluding
our statement of any particular case was to refer to his decision or
some similar one.”

“Everybody writes to me for everything,” he once remarked to Stanhope.
“They know the Duke of Wellington is said to be a good-natured man,
and so at the least they will get an answer.” The Earl, astonished at
the amount of the Duke’s correspondence, ventured to say that his host
might expect to be allowed some rest and recreation while he was at
Walmer. “Rest!” cried the Duke. “Every other animal--even a donkey--a
costermonger’s donkey--is allowed some rest, but the Duke of Wellington
never! There is no help for it. As long as I am able to go on, they
will put the saddle upon my back and make me go.”

Georgiana, Lady De Ros, who was a frequent visitor at Walmer Castle and
at Strathfieldsaye, relates an incident which has a direct bearing on
this point. “Wellington,” she says, “would tell a story against himself
sometimes, and amused us all quite in his latter days by the account
of various impostures that had been practised upon him; for years he
had helped an imaginary officer’s daughter, paid for music lessons for
her, given her a piano, paid for her wedding trousseau, for her child’s
funeral, etc., etc. At last it came out that _one man_ was the author
of these impostures, ‘and then,’ the Duke said, ‘an Officer from the
Mendicity Society called on me and gave me such a scolding as I never
had before in my life!’”

In a book inscribed as “A Slight Souvenir of the Season 1845-6” we find
a delightful little glimpse of “the hero of a hundred fights” as a
country gentlemen. “What can be a finer sight than to see the Duke of
Wellington enter the hunting field?” the author asks. “Not one of those
gorgeous spectacles, it is true, such as a coronation, a review, the
Lord Mayor’s Show, or a procession to the Houses of Parliament--not one
of those pompous Continental exhibitions called a _chasse_, where armed
menials keep back the crowd, and brass bands proclaim alike the find
and finish; but what can be a finer sight--a sight more genial to the
mind of a Briton--than the mighty Wellington entering the hunting field
with a single attendant, making no more fuss than a country squire?
Yet many have seen the sight, and many, we trust, may yet see it. The
Duke takes the country sport like a country gentleman--no man less the
great man than this greatest of all men; affable to all, his presence
adds joy to the scene. The Duke is a true sportsman, and has long been
a supporter of the Vine and Sir John Cope’s hounds. He kept hounds
himself during the Peninsular War, and divers good stories are related
of them and their huntsman (Tom Crane), whose enthusiasm used sometimes
to carry him in the enemy’s country, a fact that he used to be reminded
of by a few bullets whizzing about his ears.”

Wellington was now the trusted friend of Queen Victoria, who ever held
him in the highest esteem. He was one of the first persons, perhaps
actually the first,[105] outside the Royal family and the medical
attendants to see the baby who afterwards became Edward VII. According
to one account he was met outside Buckingham Palace by Lord Hill, who
was informed “All over--fine boy, very fine boy, almost as red as you
Hill.”

Two days after the first anniversary of the birthday of Edward Albert,
Prince of Wales, the Queen and the Prince Consort, accompanied by the
Royal children, journeyed to Walmer Castle to pay the Duke a visit. An
even greater honour was reserved for the veteran warrior, for on the
birth of her Majesty’s third son on the 1st May 1850, it got noised
abroad that the infant was to be called Arthur, “in compliment to the
Hero of Waterloo.” The present Duke of Connaught is thus a living link
with Wellington. “I must not omit to mention,” the Queen writes exactly
a year later, “an interesting episode of this day, viz., the visit of
the good old Duke on this his eighty-second birthday, to his little
godson, our dear little boy. He came to us both at five, and gave him a
golden cup and some toys, which he had himself chosen, and Arthur gave
him a nosegay.”

The day was also that on which the great Exhibition at the Crystal
Palace was opened. “The Royal party,” says Queen Victoria, “were
received with continued acclamation as they passed through the Park and
round the Exhibition house, and it was also very interesting to witness
the cordial greeting given to the Duke of Wellington. I was just behind
him and Anglesey [on whose arm he was leaning], during the procession
round the building, and he was accompanied by an incessant running fire
of applause from the men, and waving of handkerchiefs and kissing of
hands from the women, who lined the pathway of the march during the
three-quarters of an hour that it took us to march round....”

Although the Duke never courted popularity, seemed indeed to shun it
and to regard the satisfaction shown by some of his colleagues in the
plaudits of the multitude as a sign of weakness, there can be little
doubt that he felt a glow of inward pleasure, however slight, when he
reflected on the good feeling displayed towards him in the closing
years of his long and well-filled life. Apt to be somewhat cynical on
occasion, and to think that the times were “like sweet bells jangled,
out of tune and harsh,” he was neither censorious nor vindictive.
Nelson preached the gospel of Duty, but Wellington lived it and
sacrificed everything to it.

Brougham, as champion of Parliamentary Reform, was an opponent of
Wellington, but in middle age he took up an independent position, and
has left in his “Historical Sketches of Statesmen who flourished in the
Time of George III” a magnificent testimony of the Duke’s worth.

“The peculiar characteristic of this great man,” he writes, “and which,
though far less dazzling than his exalted genius, and his marvellous
fortune, is incomparably more useful for the contemplation of the
statesman, as well as the moralist, is that constant abnegation of
all selfish feelings, that habitual sacrifice of every personal,
every party consideration to the single object of strict duty--duty
rigorously performed in what station soever he might be called to act.
This was ever perceived to be his distinguishing quality; and it was
displayed at every period of his public life, and in all matters from
the most trifling to the most important.”

Regarding the Reform Bill, Brougham says that Wellington’s conduct
“during the whole of the debates in both sessions upon that measure was
exemplary. Opposing it to the utmost of his power, no one could charge
him with making the least approach to factious violence, or with ever
taking an unfair advantage.... After the Bill had passed, the same
absence of all factious feelings marked his conduct.”

The Duke’s modesty, his good sense, candour and fairness, love of
justice, hatred of oppression and fraud are touched upon by Brougham,
who closes his brief acknowledgment of his subject’s virtues by quoting
a remark made by Lord Denman, “the greatest judge of the day.” It is
that of all Wellington’s “great and good qualities, the one which
stands first, is his anxious desire ever to see justice done, and the
pain he manifestly feels from the sight of injustice.”

On the morning of the 14th September 1852 the victor of Waterloo had a
paralytic stroke at Walmer Castle. At six o’clock his valet entered the
Duke’s room to call him, but he complained of not feeling quite well
and sent for an apothecary. In the evening he was lying dead on his
camp bedstead. We are apt to use the phrase “full of years and honour”
rather too glibly perhaps, but it is intensely apposite when applied
to the great Duke. He was eighty-three years of age, and as for honour
a glance at the following list of distinctions bestowed upon Arthur
Wellesley will make the fact self evident:

He was Duke of Wellington, Marquis of Wellington, Earl of Wellington
in Somerset, Viscount Wellington of Talavera, Marquis of Douro, Baron
Douro of Wellesley, Prince of Waterloo in the Netherlands, Duke of
Ciudad Rodrigo in Spain, Duke of Bennoy in France, Duke of Vittoria,
Marquis of Torres Vedras, Count of Vimiero in Portugal, a Grandee of
the First Class in Spain, a Privy Councillor, Commander-in-Chief of
the British Army, Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, Colonel of the
Rifle Brigade, a Field Marshal of Great Britain, a Marshal of Russia,
Austria, Prussia, Spain, Portugal, and the Netherlands; a Knight of the
Garter, the Holy Ghost, the Golden Fleece; a Knight Grand Cross of the
Bath and of Hanover, a Knight of the Black Eagle, the Tower and Sword,
St Fernando, of William of the Low Countries, Charles III, of the
Sword of Sweden, St Andrew of Russia, the Annunciado of Sardinia, the
Elephant of Denmark, of Maria Theresa, of St George of Russia, of the
Crown of Rue of Saxony; a Knight of Fidelity of Baden, of Maximilian
Joseph of Bavaria, of St Alexander Newsky of Russia, of St Hermenegilda
of Spain, of the Red Eagle of Bradenburg, of St Januarius, of the
Golden Lion of Hesse Cassel, of the Lion of Baden; and a Knight of
Merit of Würtemburg. In addition, Wellington was Lord High Constable of
England, Constable of the Tower and of Dover Castle, Warden, Chancellor
and Admiral of the Cinque Ports, Lord-Lieutenant of Hampshire and
of the Tower Hamlets, Ranger of St James’s Park and of Hyde Park,
Chancellor of the University of Oxford, Commissioner of the Royal
Military College, Vice-President of the Scottish Naval and Military
Academy, the Master of Trinity House, a Governor of King’s College, a
Doctor of Laws, and a Fellow of the Royal Society.

The motto on Wellington’s escutcheon, _Virtutis fortuna
comes_--“Fortune is the companion of valour”--was exemplified in his
long and eventful career, and perhaps the following words, once used by
him in a dispatch, suggest how keen was his sense of responsibility:
“God help me if I fail, for no one else will.” With true British
inconsistency the nation spent £100,000 on the funeral of him whose
habits were of Spartan simplicity, but with more appropriateness the
body of the Conqueror of Napoleon was placed next to that of the Hero
of Trafalgar in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral.

And so these two great Warriors sleep together. They were worthy of
England; may England be worthy of them.




Index of Proper Names


  Abbé Siéyès, 21

  Abercromby, General, 30, 47

  Abrantes, 109, 125

  d’Abrantès, Duc, 103

  Acland, General, 90, 91

  Adam, Sir Frederick, 235

  Addington, Henry, 65

  Agraça, Mount, 131

  Agueda, River, 148, 158, 161, 170

  Ahmednuggur, 53, 66

  Aire, 196

  Alava, General, 171, 172, 173

  Alba de Tormes, 124, 171, 180, 182

  Alberche, 112, 117

  Albergaria, 106

  Albert, Edward, Prince of Wales, 249

  Albuera, 152, 153, 154

  Albuquerque, Duke of, 125

  Alcarez, 186

  Alcobaço, 88, 138

  Aldea da Ponte, 159

  Alemtejo, 147, 158

  Alexander, Emperor, 71, 75

  Alhandra, 131

  Alicante, 181

  Alison, 29, 149

  Almarez, 120, 170

  Almeida, 129, 132, 143, 145, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 159, 163, 164,
        170, 187

  Almonacid, 120

  Alps, the, 210

  Amarante, Convent of, 107

  America, North, 207

  Amiens, Peace of, 68

  Amotz, 194

  Amrut Rao, 52

  Andalusia, 181, 182, 186

  Angers, 20, 21

  d’Angoulême, Duc, 196

  Anselme, 25

  Anstruther, General, 90

  Antwerp, 25, 29, 30

  Antwerp, Cathedral of, 238

  Apsley House, 245

  Aragon, 80, 127, 161

  Areizaga, General, 124, 125

  Argaum, Battle of, 60, 66

  Armia, 131

  Armour, James, 230

  Arnold, Dr, 245

  Arzobispo, 120

  Ascain, 194

  Assaye, Battle of, 54, 56, 66

  Asseerghur, Fortress, 57, 66

  Astorga, 185

  Asturias, 103, 171, 186

  Augereau, 199

  Austerlitz, 18, 69

  Austria, 101, 127, 237, 241

  Austrians, the, 24, 25, 26, 29

  Aviella, River, 140


  Badajoz, 106, 109, 122, 125, 140, 142, 145, 147, 152, 155, 156, 163,
        164, 165, 170, 185

  Baird, General, 40, 41, 48, 49, 50, 64, 65, 100, 101

  Baji Rao, 51

  Balasore, 61

  Ballasteros, 148, 152, 185

  Bappoo, Manoo, 58

  Barcelona, Fortress of, 79

  Baring, Major, 231

  Barnard, Colonel, 166

  Barrington, Sir Jonah, 22, 70

  Bassein, Subsidiary Treaty of, 51

  Batavia, Island of, 45, 47, 48

  Batavia, Expedition to, 65

  Bathurst, Earl, 201

  Battersea Fields, 243

  Bautzen, 187

  Baylen, 79

  Bayonne, 160, 190, 195, 200

  Baztan, 190

  Beckwith, 144

  Beere, Harry, 233

  Belgium, 25, 205, 207, 210

  Belle Alliance, La, 223

  _Bellerophon_, H.M.S., 235

  Belvedere, 100

  Bentinck, Lord William, 192

  Beresford, Marshal Sir W. C., 104, 106, 121, 125, 143, 147, 148,
        152, 153, 154, 157, 178, 195, 196, 197, 198, 202

  Bessières, 100, 103

  Bhonsla Rájá of Berar, 51, 53, 54, 58, 61

  Bidarray, 194

  Bidassoa, River, 192

  Blake, General, 80, 100, 125, 148, 152, 160

  Blakeney, Robert, 83

  Blücher, 211, 216, 217, 218, 220, 235, 236, 237

  Boialva, Pass of, 137

  Boigne, Comtesse de, 201

  Bombay, 48, 52, 53, 65

  Bonaparte, Jerome, 221, 226

  Bonaparte, Joseph, 79, 99, 110, 113, 116, 117, 120, 124, 181, 182,
        187, 190

  Bonaparte, Letizia, 18

  Bonnet, 178, 179, 180

  Bordeaux, 196

  Bowes, Major-General, 165

  Boxtel, Village, 30

  Boyer, 175, 176, 179

  Bradford, 173

  Braganza, House of, 78

  Braine-le-Comte, 211, 213

  Brazil, 78

  Bremen, 31

  Brienne, 21

  Brissac, Duc de, 21

  Brougham, 250

  Brown, Sir George, 129, 247

  Bruges, 25

  Brune, Marshal, 210

  Brussels, 20, 25, 205, 211, 225

  Bucellas, 131

  Bülow, General, 217, 218, 227, 234

  Burghersh, Lady, 202, 208

  Burgos, 181, 182, 185, 186, 187

  Burrampur, 56, 57, 66

  Burrard, Sir Harry, 87, 90, 91, 93, 94, 97, 100

  Busaco, 134

  Bylandt, 227


  Caçadores, the, 105

  Cadiz, 80, 88, 125, 132, 184, 185

  Cadogan, Colonel, 188

  Caffarelli, 182

  Caillou, Farm, 217

  Calcutta, 33, 35, 52

  Cambray, 237

  Camden, Lord, 33

  Cameron, Alister, 166

  Campbell, Captain, 61

  Canada, 17

  Canning, 71, 74, 75, 126, 242

  Cantabrian Hills, 160

  Carnatic, the, 53

  Casserbarry Ghaut, 57

  Castaños, General, 80, 100, 148, 152

  Castilian Mountains, 116

  Castile, 125, 185

  Castlereagh, Lord, 22, 23, 64, 70, 87, 88, 96, 97, 101, 102, 108,
        109, 126, 201, 207, 237

  Catalonia, 80, 103, 127, 190

  Cathcart, Lord, 68, 72

  Cawnpore, 52

  Cazal Nova, 142

  Ceylon, 48

  Châlons, 24

  Chantrey, 245

  Charlemagne, 127

  Charleroi, 29, 212, 225

  Charles IV, 79

  Chasseurs Britanniques, the, 156

  Château de Montmorency, 238

  Chateaubriand, 21

  Chaves, 103

  Chelsea, 19

  Chelsea Hospital, 97, 182

  Chesterford, 96

  Choiseul, Duc de, 17

  “Christian’s Storm,” 33

  Cinco Villas, 143

  Cintra, Convention of, 94, 96

  Ciudad Real, 103

  Ciudad Rodrigo, 123, 124, 128, 132, 140, 145, 147, 148, 157, 158,
        159, 160, 161, 163, 164, 170, 172, 183, 185, 187

  Clausel, 181, 182, 190, 196, 210

  Clerfait, 29

  Clinton, 179, 180

  Clive, Lord, 38, 45

  Coa, River, 129, 144, 145, 149, 159

  Coalition, Fifth, 209

  Coburg, 25

  Coimbra, 86, 125, 133, 137, 139

  Colborne, Colonel, 195, 198

  Cole, Major-General, 178

  Collingwood, Vice-Admiral, 80

  Colville, Hon. C., 166, 225

  Comorin, Cape, 48

  Conahgull, 44

  Conception, Fort, 150

  Condé, 26

  Consuegra, 185

  Cope, Sir John, 248

  Copenhagen, 73, 74, 76

  Cork, 84

  Cornwallis, Marquis, 69

  Corsica, Island, 18

  Cortes, the, 183

  Coruña, 80, 85, 101, 106

  Costello, Edward, 104, 110

  Cotton, Sir Stapleton, 150, 171, 173, 196, 202, 220

  Cox, Colonel, 129

  Cradock, Sir John, 100

  Crane, Tom, 248

  Craufurd, General, 119, 129, 151, 163

  Croker, John Wilson, 55, 85, 171, 172

  Crystal Palace, 249

  Cuesta, General, 103, 109, 110, 111, 112, 119, 120, 121

  Cuttack, Province, 52, 61


  Danes, the, 72, 74

  Dangan Castle, 18

  Dalrymple, Sir Hew, 87, 94, 95, 97, 100

  D’Archambault, 21

  Daulat Rao, 51

  Decaen, Count, 210

  Deccan, the, 53, 62, 66

  Delaborde, General, 88, 90

  Deleytosa, 120, 121, 123

  Denman, Lord, 251

  Denmark, 71, 72, 75

  D’Erlon, 210, 212, 216, 227, 228, 232

  Despeña Perros, Pass of, 125

  Don Carlos d’España, 152

  Dorsenne, 158, 159

  Dos Casas, River, 150

  Douro, River, 106, 171

  Douro of Wellesley, Baron, 122

  Dresden, 190

  Dublin, 18, 69

  Dumouriez, 25

  Dundas, Sir David, 31, 97

  Dungannon, Viscount, 19, 20

  Dunkirk, 26

  Dupont, 79, 100

  Duran, 185


  East India Company, 36

  Ebro, River, 79, 182, 187, 193

  Edinburgh Castle, 92

  Edward VII, 249

  Eguia, 120, 121, 123

  Egypt, 47, 48

  Elba, 208

  Ellichpúr, 58, 60

  Elvas, 129, 153, 155, 156

  d’Enghien, Duc, 236

  England, 21, 25, 68, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 96, 103, 132, 186, 190,
        241, 242, 252

  Essling, Prince of, 127

  Estremadura, 80, 109, 123, 124, 127, 132, 139, 156, 164, 170, 186

  Eton, 19, 20

  Europe, 23, 24, 27, 156, 157, 194, 237, 238, 239

  Ewart, Serjeant, 228


  Falmouth, Lord, 243

  Ferdinand VII, 79, 122, 202, 203, 242

  Ferguson, 91

  Ferrol, 80

  Figueras, Fortress of, 79

  Finisterre, Cape, 86

  Flanders, 25, 29, 208

  Fleurus, Plains of, 29, 113

  Fontainebleau, Treaty of, 78

  Forbes, Dr, 168

  Foy, General, 174, 175, 177, 180, 190, 220

  Foz d’Aronce, 142

  France, 24, 26, 27, 71, 94, 101, 113, 128, 194, 195, 239, 240, 241

  Francis II., Emperor, 208

  Frasnes, 212, 215

  Frazer, Mackenzie, 87

  Freer, 167

  Freire, Bernardino, 86

  Freneda, 151, 159, 183

  Frénilly, Baron de, 99, 208

  Freyre, General, 197, 198

  Frischermont, 227

  Fuente Guinaldo, 158

  Fuentes de Oñoro, 148, 150, 151


  Gagern, Captain Baron von, 213

  Gaikwár of Baroda, 51

  Galicia, 79, 80, 103, 106, 108, 110, 111, 118, 123, 124, 127, 158,
        182, 186

  Gallegos, 164

  Galluzzo, General, 80

  Gambier, Admiral, 72

  Garonne, the, 196

  Gave de Pau, the, 195

  Gawilghur, Fort, 60

  Gémioncourt, Farm of, 215

  George III, 68, 244, 250

  George IV, 241, 242

  Georgiana, Lady De Ros, 247

  Gérard, 210

  Germany, 69

  Ghent, 25

  Gleig, George Robert, 23, 69, 193

  Goderich, Lord, 242

  Godoy, Duke of Alcudia, 78

  Good Hope, Cape of, 34

  Gordon, Colonel, 193

  Graham, Sir Thomas, 186, 191, 192, 202

  Great Britain, 25, 68, 75, 76, 102, 163, 238, 241, 242

  Greece, 241

  Grey, Earl, 244, 245, 246

  Grouchy, General, 210, 217, 220, 227

  Guadalaxara, 185

  Guadiana, the, 103, 164, 165, 169

  Guareña, 171


  Hal, 225

  Halkett, 232, 234

  Hampshire, 241

  Handel, 19

  Hanover, 68

  Hanoverians, the, 25, 26, 226

  Hardinge, Colonel Sir Henry, 153, 243

  Harris, General, 38, 39, 40

  Hastings, 69

  Herrasti, Governor, 128

  Hessians, the, 25, 26

  Hill, Lord, 104, 125, 130, 134, 158, 170, 182, 186, 187, 190, 192,
        195, 196, 199, 201, 202, 211, 249

  Hockrill, 96

  Holkar of Indore, 51, 52, 62

  Holland, 25, 29, 30, 53, 205, 207

  Holy Roman Empire, 24, 25, 28

  Hood, 27

  Hope, Sir John, 195, 200, 201, 202

  Hope, the Hon. J., 87

  Hostalrich, 127

  Houchard, General, 26

  Hougoumont, 221, 225, 226, 232, 234

  Houssaye, 220

  Houstoun, Major-General, 150, 151

  Huebra, River, 164, 183

  Hughes, 20

  Hungary, 49

  Huskisson, Mr, 244

  Hyde Park, 226

  Hyder Ali, 36

  Hyderabad, 38, 53, 66


  Iberian Peninsula, 78, 127

  Imperialists, the, 25, 29

  India, 17, 66, 69, 70, 71

  Indore, 53

  Inglis, Colonel, 153

  Inniskillings, the, 228

  Ireland, 18, 22, 70, 71, 76

  Irish Reform Bill, 246

  Isle of Wight, 103


  Jackson, Mr F. J., 72

  Jaraicejo, 120, 121

  Jaucourt, Marquis de, 21

  Jemappes, 25

  Jena, Bridge of, 237

  Jerome, 221

  Jesuits, the, 17

  Jeswant Rao, 51

  John, King, 21

  Joseph, 79, 99, 110, 113, 116, 117, 120, 124, 181, 182, 187, 190

  Jourdan, Marshal, 26, 29, 113, 115, 190

  Junot, General, 78, 79, 81, 88, 90, 94, 96, 100

  Jura Mountains, the, 210


  Keble, John, 245

  Kellermann, Marshal, 103, 120

  Kempt, Sir James, 228

  Kennedy, Captain Clark, 228

  Kennedy, Sir Robert, 201

  Kincaid, 148

  Kiöge, Battle of, 74

  Kléber, 128

  Kray, General, 49


  Labada, 60

  La Carolina, 103, 120

  La Haye, 225, 235

  La Haye Sainte, 222, 225, 227, 231, 234

  Lake, General, 52, 53

  La Mancha, 120, 123, 124

  Lamego, 106

  Landrecy, 237

  Langlands, Lieutenant, 60

  Lannes, Marshal, 128

  Lanz, the, 191

  Lapisse, 116

  La Romana, Marquis, 100, 103, 123, 132, 139

  La Trinidad, 166

  La Vendée, 26, 209

  Le Courbe, 210

  Lefebvre, Marshal, 100

  Lefebvre-Desnoëttes, General, 212

  Leiria, 88

  Leith, General, 134, 166, 173, 177

  Le Marchant, General, 175, 176, 177, 180

  Lennox, Lord William, 226

  Leon, 80, 160

  Lerida, 127

  Lesaca, 192

  Ligny, 212, 214, 216

  Lion Mound, 220

  Lisbon, 78, 88, 90, 91, 100, 101, 103, 104, 105, 119, 123, 128, 130,
        131, 132, 183

  Liverpool, Earl of, 125, 126, 138, 142, 154, 155, 157, 185

  Lobau, General, 210, 234

  Loison, General, 88, 90, 143

  London, 17, 80, 236

  Longford, Baron, 23

  Los Aripeles, 171, 175, 178, 179

  Los Santos, 103

  Louis XV, 17

  Louis XVIII, 21, 196, 199, 200, 208, 237, 240

  Lourinhão, 91

  Lützen, 187

  Lyons, 26, 27


  Mack, General, 29, 69

  Mackay, Piper, 92

  Mackie, 176

  Mackinnon, Major-General, 163

  Madras, 35, 52

  Madrid, 79, 101, 109, 111, 118, 124, 160, 181, 182, 185, 186, 187,
        202

  Maes, the, 29

  Maestricht, 25

  Mafra, 131

  Maitland, Captain Frederick Lewis, 235

  Maitland, General Sir Peregrine, 215

  Malavelly, 39

  Malcolm, Sir John, 49

  Malines, 25, 29

  Malpurda, River, 44

  Manilla, 35

  March, Lord, 169

  Marchand, Jean Gabriel, Comte, 124

  Marhattás, the, 51, 53, 54, 56

  Marion Street, 18

  Marmont, Marshal, 152, 156, 158, 159, 162, 163, 170, 171, 172, 173,
        175, 181

  Masséna, Marshal, 127, 128, 129, 130, 134, 135, 137, 139, 140, 143,
        145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152

  Maubeuge, 26, 27, 237

  Mauritius, 47

  Maxwell, Colonel, 55

  Maxwell, Sir Herbert, 50, 97

  Mayence, 26

  Meath, County, 22

  Medellin, 103, 109

  Medina de Rio Seco, 85

  Meer Allum, 42

  Melbourne, Lord, 246

  Mequinenza, Castle of, 127

  Merbe Braine, 225

  Merida, 122

  Metternich, Prince, 207, 208

  Metz, 27

  McGregor, Dr James, 168

  Middlesex, 17

  Milhaud, 232

  Mina, General, 160

  M‘Laine, Major, 234

  McLeod, Colonel, 167, 168

  Moira, Lord, 28, 29, 97

  Monasterio, 103

  Moncey, Marshal, 81, 100

  Mondego, River, 123, 125, 132, 137

  Mons, 25

  Mont St Jean, 217, 222, 225

  Montbrun, 151

  Montealegre, 108

  Montechique, 131

  Montesquiou, 25

  Moore, Sir John, 75, 81, 87, 90, 94, 100, 101, 109

  Moreau, General, 128

  Mornington, Baron, 19

  Mornington, Countess of, 18, 20

  Mornington, Earl of, 19, 33, 34, 35, 36, 39, 64, 65

  Mornington House, 18

  Mortago, 134

  Mortier, Marshal, 100, 103, 119, 120, 123

  M‘Quade, Serjeant Robert, 129

  Munro, Sir Thomas, 45

  Murat, Marshal, 79, 99, 209

  Murcia, 80

  Murray, Lieutenant-Colonel George, 74

  Murray, General Sir John, 107, 192

  Mysore, Presidency of, 36, 38, 42, 43, 50, 52


  Namur, 25, 218

  Napier, Major Sir George, 73, 83, 121, 163, 196

  Naples, 25, 79, 209, 241

  Napoleon, 18, 20, 21, 24, 27, 38, 46, 47, 71, 78, 79, 80, 81, 94,
        101, 106, 121, 125, 127, 130, 131, 133, 158, 199, 201, 202,
        208, 217, 218, 224, 225, 227, 229, 234, 235, 236

  Napoleon, Fort, 170

  Nassauers, the, 226

  Nava d’Aver, 150

  Naval Moral, 120

  Navarre, 160

  Neerwinden, 25

  Nelson, 22, 69, 80, 250, 252

  Nesselrode, 237

  Ney, Marshal, 100, 101, 103, 110, 119, 120, 129, 134, 135, 208, 212,
        214, 216, 217, 234

  Nice, 25

  Nicholas, Emperor, 242

  Nive, River, 195

  Nivelles, 213, 225

  Nizám of Hyderabad, the, 36, 38, 39, 43, 52, 57, 66

  Nuestra Señora de la Peña, 171, 172


  Obidos, 88

  Ocaña, Battle of, 124

  O’Donnell, 127

  Ohain, 234

  O’Hare, Captain, 167

  Old Castile, 80, 123

  Oman, Professor, 88, 109, 159, 222

  Oporto, 86, 101, 103, 106, 108, 130, 134, 142, 147

  Orange, Prince of, 29, 30, 166, 211, 213, 214, 215, 225

  Orcain, 191

  Ordal, 193

  Orense, 108

  Oropesa, 110, 120

  Orthez, 195

  Ostend, 25, 29

  O’Toole, Colonel, 162

  Oude, 70

  Oxford University, 245


  Pack, General, 162, 174, 178, 179, 228

  Paget, Sir E., 87, 107

  Pakenham, Major-General, 173, 174, 175, 176

  Pakenham, Hon. Catherine, 23, 69

  Palafox, General, 80, 100

  Pampeluna, Fortress of, 79, 190, 191, 194

  Papelotte, 225, 235

  Paris, 24, 101, 202, 235, 237

  Parkside, 244

  Parque, Duque del, 123, 124

  Pasquier, Duc de, 128

  Pau, 195

  Peel, Sir Robert, 246

  Penafiel, 108

  Penang, 35

  Perar, 66

  Perceval, Spencer, 126

  Pero <DW64>, 131

  Perron, 51

  Perwez, 218

  Peshwá of Poona, the, 43, 51, 53, 57, 65

  Philippine Islands, 35

  Philippon, General, 165, 169

  Pichegru, General, 29, 30, 128

  Picton, General, 134, 162, 166, 169, 195, 198, 215, 229

  Picurina, Fort, 165, 166

  Piedmont, 241

  Pignerol, Marquis of, 21

  Pirch, 218

  Pitt, William, the Younger, 22, 28, 244

  Planchenoit, 234

  Plasencia, Vera de, 111, 119, 120, 157

  Poço Velho, 150

  Poland, 25, 28, 207

  Pole, Miss, 202

  Pombal, 142

  Ponsonby, Major-General Sir William, 228, 229, 230

  Pont-à-chin, 29

  Poona, 51, 65

  Popham, Sir Home, 74, 185

  Porlier, 160

  Portland, Duke of, 70

  Portugal, 25, 71, 72, 76, 84, 94, 95, 100, 102, 103, 104, 106, 111,
        114, 118, 121, 123, 126, 127, 129, 146, 148, 152, 157, 163

  Praslin, Duc de, 21

  Prince Consort, 249

  Prussia, 24, 25, 28, 29, 71, 237, 241

  Prussians, the, 24, 26, 227, 238

  Puerto de Baños, 120

  Puerto del Rey, Pass of, 125

  Pyrenees, the, 100, 187, 190, 193, 210


  Quatre Bras, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217

  Quesnoy, 237

  Quinta de Granicha, 155

  Quinta de St João, 156

  Quintella, 131


  Ragusa, Fort, 170

  Rainier, Admiral, 45

  Ramsay, Captain Norman, 150

  Rao, Amrut, 52

  Rapoula de Coa, 143

  Rapp, Count, 210

  Reding, General, 80

  Redinha, 142

  Red Sea, 50

  Reille, 196, 210, 212, 214

  Reynier, General, 134, 144

  Rhine, the, 26, 27, 28, 210, 240

  Richmond, Duchess of, 212

  Richmond, Duke of, 70, 161

  Ridge, Lieutenant-Colonel, 168

  Rio Mayor, River, 140

  Rivillas, River, 165

  Roberts, Earl, 31, 66

  Robinson, 242

  Rocca, Captain M. de, 112, 133, 134

  Roliça, 88, 89, 97

  Roman Catholic Relief Bill, 243, 244

  Rome, 127, 246

  Rose, Dr J. Holland, 74, 220, 239

  Roskilde, 73

  Ross, Major-General Robert, 191

  Ross-Lewin, Major, 92

  Rubens, 238

  Ruffin, Count, 116

  Runa, Ravine of, 131

  Russia, 25, 71, 75, 241

  Rye, 69


  Sabugal, 143, 149, 150, 159

  Sagunto, Battle of, 160

  Sahagun, 101

  Salamanca, 100, 103, 120, 124, 145, 148, 159, 163, 170, 171, 181,
        182, 183, 185

  Salamonde, 108

  San Antonio de Cantaro, 133

  Sanchez, Don Julian, 150, 151, 160

  San Christoval, Fort of, 155, 169, 170

  San Francisco, 161

  San Juan, General, 80

  San Marcial, 192

  San Sebastian, Fortress of, 79, 190, 191

  Santa Cruz, 161

  Santa Maria, 166

  Santander, 186

  Santarem, 140, 141

  San Vincente, 166, 169

  Sardinia, 25

  Savanore, 43

  Savary, General, 190

  Savoy, 25

  Sax-Weimar, Prince Bernard of, 212

  Scheldt, 29

  Schwartzenberg, Prince, 29

  Scindia, 66

  Sebastiani, General, 103, 106, 110, 115, 116, 117, 119, 120

  Sedasser, 39

  Segovia, 183

  Seringapatam, 38, 39, 40, 42, 49, 50

  Serra, the, 107, 135

  Sersooly, 58

  Seton, 176

  Seven Years’ War, the, 17

  Seville, 106, 109, 125, 147, 157, 170, 185

  Shaw, Colonel, 40

  Sherbrooke, General, 40

  Sherer, Captain, 62

  Shore, Sir John, 35

  Sierra Catalina, 108

  Sierra de Busaco, 133

  Sierra Morena, 103, 124, 125

  Simon, General, 133

  Sindhia of Gwalior, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59

  S. Lourenço, River, 132

  Smith, Robert, 19, 20

  Smith, Sir Harry, 81, 130, 166, 167, 223

  Smith, Sydney, 19

  Soignes, Forest of, 225

  Somerset, Lord Edward, 196, 232

  Sorauren, 191

  Souars, 195

  Souham, 182, 183

  Soult, Marshal, 101, 103, 106, 107, 108, 110, 118, 119, 120, 123,
        125, 140, 147, 156, 170, 181, 182, 191, 192, 195, 196, 197,
        199, 200, 210, 227

  Southampton, 33

  Spain, 23, 25, 71, 78, 79, 95, 99, 100, 102, 104, 127, 160, 190

  Spencer, General Sir Brent, 87, 147, 148

  Spry, 179

  St Amand, 214

  Stanhope, 247

  St Cyr, General, 81, 100, 103

  Stevenson, Colonel, 52, 54, 57, 58, 60

  Stewart, General Sir Charles, 108, 138, 149, 201

  Stewart, Major-General the Hon. W., 125

  St Jean de Luz, 194

  St Jean Pied de Port, 194

  St Julian, Fort of, 132

  St Ledger, General, 35

  St Peter’s, Dublin, 18

  Strangford, Lord, 78, 241

  Strathfieldsaye, 241, 247

  Stuart, General, 39

  Styles, Corporal, 229

  Suchet, Marshal, 127, 157, 181, 190, 199, 200, 210

  Surat, 52

  Sweden, 71, 75


  Taggart, Lieutenant, 167

  Tagus, the, 106, 110, 112, 119, 123, 124, 125, 131, 132, 140, 157,
        159, 170, 185

  Talavera, 109, 111, 112, 115, 119, 120, 121, 122, 157, 191

  Talleyrand, 21

  Tamames, 124

  Tarragona, 157, 192, 193

  Thielmann, General, 218

  Thomière, 172, 173

  Tilsit, Peace of, 71, 75

  Tipú Sultan, 36, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 65

  Toledo, 120, 183

  Tordesillas, 171

  Toro, 171

  Torrecilla de la Orden, 171

  Torres Vedras, 91, 123, 130, 131, 133, 139

  Toulon, 26, 27

  Toulouse, 195, 196, 199, 200

  Tournay, 25, 29

  Trafalgar, 69, 80, 201

  Trant, Colonel, 139, 143

  Tras os Montes, Province of, 86

  Trim, 22

  Trincomalee, 48

  Troisville, 29

  Tudela, 171

  Turkey, 241

  Turones, River, 150, 151


  Ulm, 69

  Uxbridge, Earl of, 225, 232


  Valencia, 80, 161, 181, 190

  Valenciennes, 26, 237

  Valladolid, 103, 120, 127, 163, 182, 183, 185, 186, 187

  Vallée, 105

  Valmy, 24

  Vandal, Count, 74

  Vandamme, General, 210

  Vandeleur, 229

  Vedras, 91

  Velasquez, 189

  Veldbeck, 73

  Vellore, 53

  Vendas Novas, 106

  Venegas, General, 103, 110, 111, 118, 120

  Verona, 241

  Victor, General, 81, 100, 103, 106, 109, 110, 111, 115, 116, 117,
        119, 120, 124

  Victoria, Queen, 248

  Vienna, Congress of, 206, 207

  Villa Franca, 193

  Villatte, 116

  Villiers, Rt. Hon. John, 126

  Vimiero, 90, 91, 92, 94, 97, 98

  Vincennes, 236

  Viseu, 126

  Vittoria, 187, 189, 190

  Vives, General, 80, 100

  Vouga, River, 106


  Walcheren, Expedition, 126

  Walker, General, 169

  Wallace, Lieutenant-Colonel, 174, 175, 176

  Walmer Castle, 171, 247, 248, 249, 251

  Warre, Sir William, 92

  Waterloo, 18, 19, 111, 217, 223, 235

  Waterloo, Prince of, 241

  Waters, Colonel, 107

  Wattignies, 26

  Waugh, Dhoondia, 43, 44, 45, 47

  Wavre, 217, 218, 220

  Webster, Lieutenant, 213

  Wellesley, Henry, 48, 70

  Wellesley, Lord, 19

  Wellesley, Richard, 22, 28

  Wellington of Talavera, Viscount, 122

  Wesley, Garret, 19

  West India Islands, 156

  Westleys, 19

  West Meath, 18

  Westmorland, Lord, 22, 28

  Wilkes, John, 17

  William IV, 244

  Wilson, Sir Robert, 73, 101, 120, 123, 143

  Winchilsea, Earl of, 243

  Windham, 96


  Yeltes, the, 164

  York, Duke of, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 92, 242


  Zamora, 187

  Zaragoza, 103

  Zibreira, 131

  Ziethen, General, 211, 212, 218, 234, 235

  Zizandre, River, 131




FOOTNOTES


[1] Sir Herbert Maxwell in his “Life of Wellington” (p. 2) suggests
that the confusion arose owing to the then comparatively recent
alteration of the calendar. Supposing Arthur Wellesley was born on the
1st May (new style), that date would be the 18th April (old style), and
the 30th April (old style) the 12th May according to the present way of
reckoning.

[2] It must be remembered that Barrington wrote from the point of view
of a “patriot,” and that Castlereagh had much to do with the Union of
Great Britain and Ireland. Castlereagh entered the Irish Parliament in
1790, served in the Pitt, Addington, Perceval, and Portland ministries,
was present at the Congress of Vienna, and died by his own hand in 1822.

[3] Dumouriez was in London from the 12th June until the 22nd, 1793. He
lived in England from October 1803 until his death on the 14th March
1823.

[4] Similar incidents occurred during the Peninsular War.

[5] At Arnheim, on the Rhine, less than twenty-five miles distant.
According to the de Ros MS., consulted by Sir Herbert Maxwell, Dundas
paid a visit to Wellesley “about once a fortnight.”

[6] Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 1794-8.

[7] Letter to Sir Chichester Fortescue, dated 20th June 1796, cited by
Sir Herbert Maxwell, vol. i. p. 19 n.

[8] Sir Herbert Maxwell, p. 35.

[9] Gleig (p. 26) says £7000, Roberts (p. 11) £7000 in money and £1200
in jewels. Sir Herbert Maxwell (p. 39) calls attention to a letter,
dated the 14th June 1799, in which Wellesley “gives it as 3000 pagodas
in jewels, and 7000 in money; in all, 10,000 pagodas, equal to about
£4000.”

[10] In later years Wellington offered to provide for the unfortunate
Spanish general, Alava, and gave him a small house in the park of
Strathfieldsaye.

[11] Created 20th December 1800.

[12] The Austrian general, Kray, had succeeded Archduke Charles as
Commander-in-Chief of the army in Germany in the campaign of 1800, but
owing to his ill-success he was superseded in a few months by Archduke
John, hence Wellesley’s reference.

[13] “The Life of Wellington,” pp. 45-6.

[14] “Dispatches,” vol. ii. p. 312.

[15] “The Life of Arthur Duke of Wellington,” by G. R. Gleig, M.A.,
F.R.G.S. (London Ed. 1864), pp. 33-4.

[16] 79 officers and 1778 soldiers were killed and wounded.--Sir
Herbert Maxwell, p. 58.

[17] Gleig, pp. 37-8.

[18] Envoy.

[19] Alison in his “Lives of Lord Castlereagh and Sir Charles Stewart”
(vol. i. p. 175), says that it generally took six months to make the
voyage. When Sir James Mackintosh sailed from Portsmouth for Bombay in
1804 his vessel only occupied three months and thirteen days (see his
“Memoirs,” vol. i. p. 207).

[20] “His relationship to the Governor-General naturally lent much
weight to his views with Lord Clive and General Harris, but,” Sir
Herbert Maxwell adds (p. 24), “it is remarkable how freely and
frequently the elder brother sought the younger’s advice.”

[21] “The Life and Correspondence of the Right Honble. Henry Addington,
first Viscount Sidmouth,” by the Honble. George Pellew, D.D. (London,
1847), vol. ii. p. 242. In this connection see also “Wellington’s
Dispatches,” vol. ii. pp. 335-36 n., and “Despatches, Minutes, and
Correspondence of the Marquess Wellesley, K.G.,” vol. iii. p. 543.

[22] “The Rise of Wellington,” by Earl Roberts, V.C., p. 26.

[23] “Personal interest was as much recognized in those days as
the chief motor in military promotion, as seniority and merit are
now.”--Sir Herbert Maxwell, vol. i. p. 67.

[24] Shortly after his return from India Wellesley had his only
interview with Nelson, an account of which is given in the author’s
companion work, “The Story of Nelson,” pp. 113-4.

[25] See _ante_, p. 23.

[26] “Personal Reminiscences of the first Duke of Wellington”
(Edinburgh 1904), p. 274.

[27] Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.

[28] At Copenhagen.

[29] Flat-bottomed boats, usually armed with small guns.

[30] Sir Herbert Maxwell, vol. i. p. 87.

[31] Wilson is wrong in some of his facts. The Danish troops numbered
some 14,000, and 1100 prisoners were taken. See Sir Herbert Maxwell,
vol. i. p. 87.

[32] “The Croker Papers,” vol. ii. pp. 120-21.

[33] H. W. Wilson, B.A., in “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 236.

[34] “The Life of Napoleon I,” vol. ii. p. 143.

[35] See Oman’s “Peninsular War,” vol i. pp. 1-11.

[36] Oman, vol. i. pp. 631-639. Returns of October-November 1808.

[37] Succeeded by Soult in November 1808.

[38] Oman, vol. i. pp. 640-45.

[39] “The Autobiography of Sir Harry Smith,” 1787-1819. Edited by G. C.
Moore Smith, M.A. (London Ed. 1910).

[40] “A Boy in the Peninsular War,” edited by Julian Sturgis (London,
1899), p. 313.

[41] _Ibid._ p. 311.

[42] Vol. i. p. 235 n.

[43] The total loss of the regiment was 190, by far the heaviest of
those engaged.

[44] The case of Peter Findlater at Dargai is almost an exact parallel.

[45] See also some remarks in “The Croker Papers,” vol. ii. pp. 121-22.

[46] As to the merits and demerits of national resistance, see some
wise remarks in Arnold’s “Introductory Lectures on Modern History,” pp.
158-64.

[47] See also some pregnant remarks in Wellesley’s dispatch dated
Badajoz, 21st November 1809. It will be remembered that at the time
of the Russian-Japanese war, newspaper men were wisely precluded from
publishing particulars of proposed movements and similar intelligence
likely to be of service to the enemy. During the recent conflict
between Italy and Turkey the most rigid censorship was exercised by the
former Power.

[48] “I rather think that Mortier had removed from Zaragoza; but some
time elapsed before he arrived in Old Castile.”--Note by Wellesley.

[49] “The Adventures of a Soldier,” by Edward Costello.

[50] Oman, vol. ii. p. 334. This disposes of the often-repeated story
that Waters discovered the little craft in the reeds. Brailmont, for
instance, says that the Colonel “suddenly darted off from the throng,”
and half an hour later the skiff “shot out into the deep” with six men
on board.

[51] At the approach of the enemy no fewer than 6000 Spaniards took to
their heels and played no part in the battle.

[52] Napoleon made a similar error of judgment at Waterloo by keeping
the Imperial Guard in reserve until after 7 p.m. (See _post_, p. 222).

[53] Sir Herbert Maxwell, vol. i. p. 165, says 6268; Professor Oman
(“Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 452) gives 5300, the Spanish
casualties “trifling.” The latter authority states that 7200 Frenchmen
were killed or wounded.

[54] “Passages in the Early Military Life of General Sir George T.
Napier, K.C.B.” (London, 1884), pp. 111-12.

[55] See _post_, p. 130.

[56] “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 455. This authority gives
the date of the battle of Tamames as the 18th October, but Wellington
states that it occurred on the 19th.--See “Dispatches,” vol. v. pp. 261
and 350.

[57] Its object was to destroy the ships and dockyards at Antwerp.

[58] General Sir George T. Napier, pp. 120-21.

[59] Really his two reserve divisions, consisting of some 8000 men. See
Oman, vol. iii. p. 432, and _post_, p. 139.

[60] September 1810.

[61] On the 27th September 1910, the centenary of the battle, an
anniversary banquet was given at Busaco, which was attended by
Wellington’s grandson. King Manoel--now dethroned--signed a decree
reaffirming the duke’s Portuguese titles of Duke of Vittoria, Marquis
of Torres Vedras, and Count of Vimiero. Celebrations were also held on
the site of the battle.

[62] The writer is speaking literally.

[63] The usual French mode of attack.

[64] Not Marshal Soult, but his nephew.

[65] The Proclamation is printed in full in Gurwood’s edition of
“Wellington’s Dispatches,” vol. vii. pp. 455-7.

[66] Lady Butler’s picture, “Steady, the Drums and Fifes,” represents
this regiment drawn up on the ridge.

[67] He had recently received reinforcements from England.

[68] Napoleon dominated practically the whole of Northern Europe.
He was then planning a confederacy which was to consist of Sweden,
Denmark, and the Grand Duchy of Warsaw.

[69] Wellington’s instructions to Hill will be found in “Dispatches,”
vol. viii. pp. 180-82.

[70] “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 469.

[71] _i.e._ The province of Leon, in which Ciudad Rodrigo is situated.

[72] “Autobiography,” pp. 64-5.

[73] Sir Herbert Maxwell, vol. i. p. 280.

[74] A monument to the memory of Major-General Gaspard Le Marchant is
in St Paul’s Cathedral.

[75] It is given in Gurwood, vol. x. pp. 61-66.

[76] Lützen was fought on the 3rd May 1813, and Bautzen on the 20th
and 21st May. In both battles the Prussians and Russians, who at the
opening of the Leipzig campaign bore all the fighting for the Allies,
were defeated. The only result of the armistice was that Austria threw
in her lot with Russia, Prussia, and Sweden.--See the author’s “Story
of Napoleon,” pp. 296-299.

[77] “Personal Reminiscences of the Duke of Wellington by Francis, the
first Earl of Ellesmere,” p. 129. (London, 1903.)

[78] General Sir George T. Napier, pp. 255-260.

[79] Lady Burghersh.

[80] Parliament also granted to him the sum of £400,000.

[81] See the author’s “Story of Nelson,” p. 195.

[82] The complete Memorandum will be found in Gurwood, vol. xii., pp.
125-9.

[83] “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 619.

[84] “The Campaign of 1815, chiefly in Flanders,” by Lieut.-Colonel
W. H. James, P.S.C., pp. 14-15.

[85] “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 625. See also “The Life of
Napoleon I” by J. Holland Rose, Litt.D., vol. ii. p. 455.

[86] James, p. 27.

[87] James, p. 100.

[88] Croker, vol. iii. p. 173.

[89] This interesting relic still exists.

[90] Rye.

[91] Disbanded in 1816.

[92] Rose’s “Napoleon,” vol. ii. p. 487-8.

[93] Rose’s “Napoleon,” vol. ii. p. 488.

[94] Comte Charles van der Burch is the present owner of Hougoumont.

[95] Now the Grenadier Guards.

[96] Rose, vol. ii. p. 496.

[97] “Some of this brigade, particularly the 5th Military, had behaved
with great gallantry on the 16th, at Quatre Bras.”--Cotton’s, “A Voice
from Waterloo,” p. 56.

[98] General Gascoigne in the House of Commons, the 29th June 1815.

[99] “Some one asked whether the French Cuirassiers had not come up
very well at Waterloo? ‘Yes,’ he (Wellington) said, ‘and they went down
very well too.’”--Croker, vol. i. p. 330.

[100] _I.e._ the guns were not removed, the artillerymen working them
till the last moment and then seeking refuge in the nearest square, to
resume their former position when the enemy began to retire.

[101] “Cambridge Modern History,” vol. ix. p. 639.

[102] See the author’s “Story of Napoleon,” p. 135.

[103] Not at Wimbledon, as Mr Asquith said in a speech at the Guildhall
in 1911.

[104] See Foreword.

[105] The point is somewhat obscure owing to conflicting evidence.--See
“The Boyhood of a Great King,” by A. M. Broadley, pp. 99-100.




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed. Spelling variants in quoted passages were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.

Page 172: “wrapt attention” was printed that way.

Page 177: “downright” was printed that way, rather than as “down right”.

Page 200: Opening quotation mark added before “I march”.

Page 234: “doing their upmost” was printed that way.

Footnote 9 (originally on page 42): Missing closing quotation mark
added at the end of the footnote.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Wellington, by Harold F. B. Wheeler

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