Sickness, Suffering, and the Sword

by Andrew Bamford

  In the absence of an assigned divisional commander, competent brigadiers could be given acting divisional commands to fill a temporary vacancy, a policy that also helped create a pool of experienced men who could step up to a more permanent command if one were to become available. By the end of the Peninsular War, there were several senior major generals, notably Charles Colville, Edward Pakenham, and Denis Pack, who had held such acting commands for a worthwhile time, and, indeed, Colville got a permanent divisional command for the Waterloo campaign and Pakenham an equivalent command in America.65 Henry Fane was also considered for an infantry division toward the end of the Peninsular War, and for a cavalry division in 1815.66 Earlier, having proved his fitness in temporary command of the Fourth Division, Alexander Campbell was given the Sixth upon its formation and led it for a year before being given a new posting in India. Those who criticize Wellington for a failure to create good subordinates fail to see the way in which he worked the system to bring on men of ability; it is true that this was done for the good of the army rather than with the direct intention of benefiting those concerned, but benefit them it nevertheless did.

  By the latter stages of the war, the best of the divisional commanders had proven themselves capable of more responsible roles, and, whilst Dalhousie, Picton, and Cole were clearly at their best leading single divisions, the use of Rowland Hill and Thomas Graham as commanders of quasi corps was increasingly extended and formalized. Prior to 1813, both these men had commanded multiple divisions, with Hill having responsibility for those forces deployed in the secondary southern theater whilst Graham—and, before him, Spencer—took responsibility for those in the main northern theater on those occasions when Wellington’s presence was required elsewhere. Beresford temporarily replaced Hill in the south during early 1811, but Albuera called his abilities as an independent commander into question, and although he would again hold quasi corps commands during the last months of the war, he generally did so under Wellington’s immediate eye. In the final months, Lt. General Sir John Hope replaced Graham. Those divisional commanders given command of corps retained their nominal divisional appointments, but an additional divisional commander was appointed to command the division under them, freeing the senior officer for the larger command. This had, less formally, been the case for Hill for most of the time since 1810, with the Second Division’s senior brigade commander, William Stewart, commanding in Hill’s place. Maintaining two divisions where the commander was under close supervision by a more senior officer proved useful in the later years of the war, when Stewart, who had proved a disaster when left to his own devices in command of the First Division during the retreat from Burgos, was able to again command the Second under Hill’s watchful eye, whilst the relatively inexperienced Major General Kenneth Howard could begin his command of the First Division with the veteran Graham as his mentor.67 A similar logic may also be detected in the choice of Tilson-Chowne to command the Second Division and Erskine to command the Second Cavalry Division in the southern theater during the 1812 campaign, although the need to supervise not one but two such obvious duds must surely have taxed even the legendary patience and good nature of Rowland Hill.68

  The move toward a corps system was formalized in 1815 for the army that fought at Waterloo, although this was for reasons that were as much political as military. Militarily, it was necessary for the organization of the army to achieve a balance not only within the Anglo-Hanoverian divisions but also in the force as a whole. Politically, if the forces of the Kingdom of the Netherlands were to come under overall British command, the senior officers, and royalty, of that kingdom needed to be accorded commands that were commensurate to their rank rather than their experience.69 Once the main difficulty inherent in the placing of Netherlands forces under a foreigner had been dispensed with by Wellington’s appointment as a Netherlands field marshal, a corps system was formally implemented shortly after Wellington assumed command, with the First Corps being placed under the Prince of Orange and the Second under Hill. Even then, political sensibilities meant that the Netherlands troops in the Second Corps were at least nominally under Prince Frederick of the Netherlands, creating an additional organizational echelon between Hill and the subordinate commanders.70 Whilst these corps initially contained cavalry units, the Netherlands Division in the First and a KGL brigade in the Second, this organization was subsequently dropped, and at no time did either corps have any artillery assets beyond those allocated to the divisions. The cavalry command as a whole was named as a corps, but in practice functioned as a large division of eight, later nine, brigades, with the Netherlands cavalry forming a separate division. As the force grew, a Reserve Corps was also created, but no commander was ever allocated and Wellington made it explicit that he preferred to retain personal operational control over at least some of his divisions, informing Horse Guards, “I must, besides, mention that in the Peninsula I always kept three or four divisions under my own immediate command, which, in fact, was the working part of the army, thrown, as necessary, upon one flank or the other. . . . It might be convenient to have something of the same kind now.”71 Whilst the “always” is a typical Wellington overstatement, this comment bears relation both to the conduct of a number of peninsular battles, most notably Vitoria, as well as to Wellington’s circumvention of his corps commanders at Waterloo. Wellington certainly had no great enthusiasm for formalized army corps, and such formations disappeared from British military organization after 1815. Unlike the division—by 1815 a definite part of the organizational hierarchy—a corps system did not truly resurface in future campaigns until the next major continental commitment ninety-nine years later.72

  Whilst 1815 saw the extension of the corps system, it did not follow that all aspects of the peninsular divisional system were re-created. Some elements were clearly recognized as essential and rapidly resurrected, most notably the mixing of brigades to create multinational divisions with Hanoverian troops standing in for Portuguese to re-create the old organization of two British brigades and one foreign. To create this structure required a complete breaking up of prior organizations upon Wellington taking command, in particular the redistribution of the KGL infantry—which had previously formed a division in its own right—into two brigades, which were placed into the new Second and Third Divisions.73 This move caused great offense to Major General Heinrich von Hinüber, who was thereby deprived of his command and accordingly resigned in high dudgeon, but was expressly implemented because Wellington “deemed it necessary to organise [the army] in such manner as to bring together in the several divisions the experienced and inexperienced troops.”74 Hanoverian sensibilities were also hurt, since the troops of that nation had previously formed a distinct Subsidiary Corps of three divisions, which was now also broken up. The men of what had been the Light Division of this corps were luckier than most, since the small division of six battalions was converted into a large brigade and not only remained under its old commander, Major General Graf von Kielmansegge, but formed part of the new allied Third Division under Lt. General Karl von Alten who had previously commanded the Subsidiary Corps. Nevertheless, the breakup of old formations was hurtful to Hanoverian pride and, at least at first, a “severe blow to our morale.”75 Only later would it become apparent that the Germans of the Third Division—Colonel Christian von Ompteda’s KGL battalions as well as Kielmansegge’s Hanoverians—were there to provide some stiffening for the mixed bag of British battalions forming the division’s remaining brigade.

  Because a great deal of commonality can be seen between the divisional system of the peninsula and of Waterloo, it should not be assumed that the former model had become established in the British Army as a one-size-fits-all system. Many of the problems faced in the peninsula were similar to those faced in 1815, so it is understandable that the solutions were also similar. This is seen most obviously in respect of balancing veteran and raw troops, although whereas in 1810 it had been a case of mixing seasoned British troops with unte
sted Portuguese, 1815 saw a more complex requirement to match raw British battalions with German veterans in some divisions whilst others combined British veterans with new-raised Landwehr. In both their similarities and differences, the systems of 1810–14 and of 1815 show the obvious pragmatism in Wellington’s approach. Where lessons from the peninsula could be applied to the new theater, then applied they were. Where peninsular practice was not appropriate, it was not resurrected: hence, for example, the lack of a re-created Light Division in 1815. At the same time, though, if the organizational practices of the peninsular army were not always fostered, the memory of its reputation most definitely was. For this, as we shall see, was perhaps the most significant and lasting way in which the peninsular divisional system came to influence the British Army.

  Divisional Identity

  William Tomkinson seems to have delighted in compiling lists; they litter his published diary and are frequently an invaluable record for the historian. But whilst most relate to decidedly practical matters concerning the organization and service of his regiment, one is rather more peculiar. Having detailed the composition of Wellington’s forces for the 1812 campaign, Tomkinson then goes on to give a list of “cant names in the army for the Divisions.”76 As with many elements of Tomkinson’s book, it is clear that a considerable amount of reworking was done prior to publication; even if he did make a list of the divisional names as they stood in March 1812, he certainly could not have then included—as his published version does—a note explaining how the Fourth Division gained a new nickname during the Battles of the Pyrenees. Nevertheless, the fact that Wellington’s peninsular divisions acquired nicknames at all is something that might well be considered surprising for an army where the construct of identity was very firmly based on the regiment. Such a tendency might also seem at odds with modern constructs, based on twentieth-century warfare, where the division is too large, and its commander too remote, for it to play much of a part in a soldier’s sense of identity.77

  Nevertheless, it is clear not only that a sense of divisional identity did exist but also that it was recognized, and ultimately fostered, by those in authority. As with the nicknames bestowed on regiments, few were insulting but many contained an element of irony or self-deprecation; only the rivalry between the Third and Light Divisions created appellations that were out-and-out expressions of divisional pride. According to Tomkinson’s list, the First Division was known as the “Gentlemen’s Sons,” thanks to its containing the army’s Foot Guards battalions. The Second Division, detached in the south and therefore missing most of the battles of 1811–12, was the “Observing Division,” and the Fourth, which assisted it at Albuera when likewise detached, was initially the “Supporting Division”; only later did it acquire a new name, “The Enthusiastics,” after distinguished service in the Pyrenees that led Wellington to report on “the enthusiastic bravery of the 4th division.”78 The Third Division, commanded for most of the war by the quintessential fighting general Thomas Picton and in the thick of most of the major battles, was the “Fighting Division.” Just as Picton and Robert Craufurd were great rivals, so too were their troops, and the men of the Light Division, resenting the implied snub in the Third’s nickname all the more after it allegedly failed to support them on the Côa, simply called themselves “The Division” and treated their counterparts of the line with appropriate disdain. Hard work and little glory in the early years of the war saw the Fifth Division labeled the “Pioneers” and the Sixth labeled the “Marching Division,” and these names stuck even after both formations distinguished themselves at Salamanca.

  The only division for which Tomkinson did not record a nickname is the Seventh, his list simply repeating the rather sneering remark apparently then current that “They tell us there is a 7th but we have never seen them.”79 Others, however, called the Seventh Division the “Mongrels” in reference to its many foreign battalions.80 Tomkinson’s comment probably stemmed from the fact that, after heavy losses at Fuentes de Oñoro in 1811, the Seventh was kept out of serious action until 1813, whilst the latter nickname—the only one for any division that could be deemed pejorative—represents simple national chauvinism. In fact, the men of the Seventh, whose fighting record was generally good, ultimately came to take something of a perverse pride in their casting as the army’s misfits. Lt. George Wood of the 1/82nd, posted to the Seventh Division in the reorganization of spring 1813, wrote, “We were placed in the division that was considered the refuse of the army; but the sequel will show whether this regiment, brigade and division, were not to rank among the first, for the bravery and gallantry of their conduct.”81 Interestingly, Tomkinson also implies a negative connotation to the nickname of the Second Division, asserting that it was given by the men of the formation to themselves in disgust that Hill’s orders only to watch the enemy meant that “he never engaged but when obliged, and lost so many chances of bringing on petty affairs.”82 If true—and Tomkinson did not serve in the southern theater so his source for the story has to have been secondhand—this interpretation again brings an element of self-mockery into the concept of nicknames, parallel with similar cases at the regimental level.

  Wood’s account is somewhat self-effacing, but other writers were more forthright in their assertions as to the value of the divisions in which they served, as may be seen in the account of the fighting at Fuentes de Oñoro by John Kincaid, then a second lt. in the 95th. Having begun by remarking upon his envy that the Seventh Division was in action and his own formation only skirmishing, he then describes how Wellington ordered the Light Division to cover the retreat of the hard-pressed Seventh: “The execution of our movement presented a magnificent military spectacle, as the plain between us and the right of the army was by this time in possession of the French cavalry, and, while we were retiring through it with the order and precision of a common field-day, they kept dancing around us and every instant threatening a charge without daring to execute it.”83 Kincaid presents the Light Division as superior not only to the French but also to the other British divisions since it alone was selected to cover the withdrawal. More generous writers gave credit where due to other formations; Grattan’s account of Salamanca, for example, clearly gives the honors of the day to the Third Division, of which his own beloved 88th formed a part, but also readily allows the contribution made toward the allied victory as a result of the “intrepid valour of the 6th Division.”84

  All these examples come from the writings of officers, and it may be assumed that this sense of identity existed to a greater degree in the commissioned ranks, where the social circle would extend to the division as a whole rather than remain at a unit level as one would expect for the rank and file. This greater sense of commissioned identity was further reinforced by the establishment of divisional clubs, race meetings, and amateur theatricals for officers, set up when the peninsular army went into quarters for any length of time.85 Indeed, this easy intradivisional sociability can be directly contrasted with Lt. George l’Estrange’s comment that he encountered his cousin, serving in the 1/11th in a different division, only once in the entire war.86 But if the rank-and-file soldier was less likely to think of the division in the context of its place in the wider military or social structures of the army, the soldier’s own division nevertheless remained a key part of his identity on campaign. It remains less clear, however, to what extent this pattern continued with regard to seeing the peninsular army, in which a definite pride was also taken, as part either of the armed forces of the nation as a whole, or even as representative of the nation itself. The historian Linda Colley has presented the contemporary volunteer movement as being indicative of a growing sense of patriotism and national identity, but it is questionable how far this analysis can be extended to regular troops. Identification with the peninsular army, or one of its divisions, is perhaps better seen as a refinement of the counterargument put forward by historian John Cookson, who has presented the British Army as offering an alternative identity, and th
e regiment a surrogate family.87

  Interestingly, this regiment-division-army pattern leaves out the brigade. There are a few cases where brigades were formed of troops with some obvious connection to one and other and developed their own distinct ethos, as with the Fusilier Brigade of the Fourth Division, or the Highland Brigade created in the Sixth Division by the 1813 reorganization, but these remain exceptions. As such, brigade identity in these instances needs primarily to be seen as an extension, and reinforcement, of existing regimental identities. For the most part, one can therefore assert that, after the primary self-identification as part of a regiment, the next, secondary stage, in the self-perception of peninsular soldiers was as a member of a division—or, more specifically, as serving under a particular divisional commander. The latter element is particularly significant since, unlike the bulk of their component brigades, the peninsular divisions generally had very few changes of commanding officer. Discounting temporary replacements when the regularly assigned officer was on leave or recovering from wounds, the First Division admittedly still had six commanders; however, the Second, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and Portuguese Divisions each had three, and the Third, Fourth, Light, and First and Second Cavalry Divisions had only two.88 The case of the First Division differs to an extent inasmuch as it was generally commanded by the second-in-command of the whole army, but includes one tenure lasting only a few months cut short by sickness, and another of five weeks cut short by the capture by the French of the officer concerned; only Brent Spencer, Thomas Graham, and Kenneth Howard led it for any appreciable length of time. This level of continuity, combined with the small size of the Napoleonic-era division when compared with its more modern equivalent, enabled an officer of character to become a recognized personality and stamp his division in his own image. This can be seen in particular with the cases of Robert Craufurd and Thomas Picton, although the importance of the former’s strength of character, including its legacy after his death, is unique and another factor behind the unusually developed self-regard of the members of the Light Division.89