Moore placed his forces on the heights surrounding Corunna, where Soult attacked on 16 January 1809. The British fought stubbornly, proving they had never feared to fight, and the French were only able to bring up enough men to roughly equal their force in terms of infantry. However, Moore’s eagerness to embark his guns meant that the British were inferior in artillery, and a battery the French had dragged to the Penasquedo ridge was able to mount a very effective bombardment. As Soult’s infantry assailed the centre, in an attempt to split the British force, the French superiority in artillery became apparent. It required steady infantrymen to withstand it: ‘These regiments. suffered terribly from the fire of the great French battery, to which the British guns could make no reply. It needed Moore’s presence to keep the men steady under so hard a trial.’17
The British counter-attacked effectively, contesting the village of Elvina in the centre, and the battle began to subside. However, whilst bringing up reinforcements, Sir John Moore was fatally wounded by a cannonball and died that evening. Casualties had been relatively light at around 2,000 for both sides, and the following morning French batteries fired on the harbour, causing some confusion and damage as the transports set out for sea. However, the British had escaped.
When the British troops landed back in southern England, people were dismayed at their ragged, filthy and half-starved appearance as they tramped back into barracks. Although they had fought their way out despite fearsome odds, significant losses had been sustained in men and material during the catastrophic retreat. In the House of Commons, Lord Grenville lamented that Britain’s fortunes had sunk so low, remarking that within three years the country had lost two of her greatest statesmen, along with Britain’s greatest admiral at Trafalgar. Now Britain had lost one of her best soldiers in a campaign ending in the army’s unceremonious ejection from Spain.18 As debates in Parliament raged on, Lords Moira and Grenville questioned whether Britain could afford to intervene directly on the Continent again, given the strength of the enemy, and some even proposed suing for peace.
Whilst many defended the performance of the army both in Parliament and the press, wild exaggerations were made over numbers of men and material lost and personal attacks were made on Sir John Moore’s handling of the campaign and the inadvisability of continuing the war. As The Times dramatically proclaimed:
’Alas! Our victory is as useless as our retreat (fortissima frustra pectora); and neither in flying nor fighting, do we appear to have had any other object in view than that of saving ourselves and deserting the cause we sent troops to sustain. And this the country begins to feel now, and to feel it with shame and sorrow.’19
Yet the very intensity of the attacks on the military worked against their critics and benefitted the cause of the war party with their obvious exaggerations. Moore had won a victory convincing enough to prevent serious interference in the evacuation, and had died achieving it, as an English hero.20 Portugal was still in British hands and it was politically inconceivable to relinquish it without a struggle. With hindsight Moore’s actions had achieved some significant results, forcing the French to abandon the siege of Saragoza, postpone another attempt on Portugal and inducing the enemy to march into a remote and inhospitable region of Spain where they incurred losses through disease and hardship.
Unsurprisingly, the French newspapers crowed over what they considered a clear British defeat, and made full use of the fact that they had been forced into the sea. As Le Moniteur gloated:
The English will learn what it is to make inconsiderate movement in the presence of the French army. The manner in which they have been driven from the kingdoms of Leon and Galicia and the destruction of a part of their army will, no doubt, teach them to be more circumspect of their operations on the Continent.21
Such reportage served to harden the resolve of the British and the possibility of another expedition under the rising military star of Sir Arthur Wellesley was soon being discussed. Significantly, Wellesley never sought to deride Moore’s achievements and acknowledged the debt he owed to him in training the army and from the lessons learned from the bitter retreat to Corunna.22
Napoleon’s invasion of the Peninsula had many repercussions for the future of Europe. His mistreatment of the Spanish royal family and his political intrigues with Godoy had been viewed with distaste, and his attempt to annexe the country alarmed observers. His war had also been based on miscalculations from the beginning. Spain might have been an ineffectual ally, but it was certainly no threat to France, and the removal of the Bourbons was not only ruthless but also unnecessary. In thinking that the Spanish would accept a foreign puppet ruler, Napoleon had severely underestimated their sense of national pride, and in assuming he could overrun the country with minimal troops, he had overestimated his army’s strength. This was clearly demonstrated in a string of defeats in Portugal and Spain and the sign that the French were overconfident and vulnerable hardened their enemies’ resolve. The truth of the old adage that ‘in Spain small armies are defeated and large armies starve’ had been proved once again.
Britain had shown that her troops were capable of defeating the French in battle and had gained an important base in Europe, providing a rallying point for Iberian resistance. Though the Allies had indeed suffered defeats, Spain was still far from conquered, with large regions free from French influence and a rival government established in Cadiz. With many European states beginning to turn on him, Napoleon could ill afford the embarrassment that came from squandering large numbers of men and resources into a military quagmire. His personal presence had proved decisive, but the Austrian threat had forced him to leave the half-completed task of subduing the Peninsula in the hands of his marshals.
Chapter 2
Son of the Aristocracy
Arthur Wesley was born into an Anglo-Irish family in the region of Dublin in 1769. Ireland was in a state of uneasy peace at this time and, although the country had been under British rule for hundreds of years, the religious divide between Catholic and Protestant outweighed superficial cultural differences and the Anglo-Irish were never fully assimilated into the population. Arthur’s father Garret Wesley, Lord Mornington, was a ‘marginal Lord’ with a relatively small estate by Ireland’s standards. Nevertheless, maintaining aristocratic privilege was considered vital for an elite accepted neither as English nor Irish and governing a largely resentful population.23
Being born into such a background left an indelible mark on young Arthur’s personality and beliefs. An upbringing in a society living in constant fear of violent rebellion goes some way to explaining his reactionary nature and fervent desire to oppose radical change in society.
However, Wesley’s father was hardly a tyrannical landlord and was far more interested in pursuing musical interests, as Professor of Music at Trinity College Dublin, than the concerns of his seat in the Irish House of Commons. Lord Mornington spent prodigious amounts of money making the family mansion at Dangan the model of an eighteenth-century romantic retreat, and Arthur’s early life was dominated by theatrical and musical pursuits. Indeed, he rapidly became a promising musician with the violin as his chosen instrument.
His father died when he was twelve, the same year that he was sent to study at Eton. He proved a capable if unremarkable student and was subsequently sent to Brussels for a year of private tutoring and then on to a French school in Angers. There he learnt the gentlemanly skills of riding, dancing and fencing, much to the relief of his mother, who had a rather poor opinion of him. He now spoke passable French, yet the violin was the only thing in which he excelled. Although more kindly disposed towards Arthur than before, Lady Mornington still worried about his prospects, perhaps because of the example set by his older brothers. Richard Wesley had embarked upon a notable political career and had a seat in the British House of Commons. William Wesley had also entered Irish politics, while Gerald was set for a career in the church. In common with many upper-class families with a troublesome son, it was decided that Ar
thur would enter the army. Many of Wellington’s biographers have remarked upon his mother’s exasperation, Buchan writing that: ‘Her feeling towards him was ‘not far removed from aversion’. She considered him the dunce of the family. He was her ‘ugly boy Arthur’ – ‘food for powder and nothing more.’’24
Wesley had experienced a difficult childhood, but his mother’s coldness instilled a sense of independence along with a desire to match the achievements of his brothers.
Arthur received his first commission as an Ensign in the 73rd Regiment of Foot. In many ways this was a calling rather than a true profession, since an officer’s pay was insufficient to live on. This was a deliberate product of the purchase system, in which commissions were bought and sold. Ever since the calamitous days of the English Civil War, the establishment had feared a professional officer class and decided that those who held military rank should have a stake in the country, the logic being that men of means made unlikely revolutionaries. For officers, the prospect of selling their commissions as they progressed, often at inflated prices, provided their financial incentive. Though the Wesleys were not wealthy by the standards of their class, they enjoyed great influence and Arthur found that his fellows of lower social standing resented the privileges his birth conferred on him.25
The nature of his position in Ireland had made the exercise of authority natural to him, whilst developing a certain cold superiority in his character. The highly structured nature of army life exacerbated this character trait and, though he gained respect, he was rarely well liked.
After eight months, Arthur became a lieutenant and his brother Richard obtained an appointment for him as aide de camp to Lord Buckingham in Ireland, along with a transfer into the 41st Regiment. Back in Dublin, liaison played a large part in his duties, accompanying Lord Buckingham’s staff in society, enabling him to refine his social skills. During this period he developed a romantic attachment to Kitty Pakenham, daughter of Lord Longford. Although the attraction was mutual, the family disapproved of the match on the grounds that as a mere aide he had yet to make his way in the service and lacked sufficient means to provide for her. After all, as a younger son he could not expect to inherit the family estate and was obliged to rely on relatives for subsistence. His first marriage proposal was turned down on her brother’s insistence following her father’s death.
Arthur became a Member of Parliament for County Trim in 1790 aged only nineteen, and was uncertain whether to pursue a career in the army or politics. He was determined to marry Kitty and resolved to win her family’s approval, giving up gambling and dedicating himself to mastering his profession to impress them. In any case, he had added to his considerable debts playing cards and he could ill afford so expensive a vice. Feeling that pleasure must now take second place to study, he burnt his beloved violin and never resumed his musical pursuits.26
He must have consoled himself that music had been the ruin of his father, but this act symbolised the death of the artist within him. By September 1793 he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the 33rd Regiment. Although a capable officer, the rise from Ensign to Lieutenant-Colonel in seven years was a swift one, which owed as much to purchase and influence as martial ability. His attempts to rise within the government met with little success and Arthur realised that the war with France, declared in 1793, offered him the chance to make a name for himself.
In 1794 he took part in the British campaign in Flanders under the controversial leadership of the Duke of York. The campaign was a dismal failure, but Wesley learnt a great deal from his experiences. Britain maintained a small army in comparison with those on the Continent, but it was professional. In contrast, the French revolutionary forces relied heavily on conscription and, though they fielded large armies, were obliged to adapt their tactics for soldiers who lacked training and experience. The French refusal to conform to the linear tactics and strategic manoeuvring of the eighteenth century came as an unpleasant surprise. The old method of taking key strategic points to compel the enemy to negotiate became almost obsolete, replaced by the objective of destroying the enemy army.
The French began to rely on pressing dense columns of men against the enemy line, which initially proved devastatingly effective. Though a column lacked the firepower of a double or triple line of men with muskets, it would certainly punch through it by force of numbers if it reached them, exploiting their local superiority of numbers to destroy the line. Attacks were usually preceded by artillery fire and skirmishers headed the column, aiming to inflict casualties and weaken the resolve of enemy formations. An advancing column also looked and sounded very intimidating, with the pounding from the drummers within driving it onwards, along with the revolutionary slogans shouted by the men to inspire themselves. This tactic suited a conscript-based army since it was a relatively easy manoeuvre to perform for men unfamiliar with drilling yet instilled with revolutionary fervour.
Arthur Wesley saw action at the Battle of Boxtel on 15 September 1794 and witnessed the terrible effects the winter had on a poorly provisioned and badly led army. At the end of a horrific retreat, General Walmoden informed the Duke of York that: ‘Your army is destroyed; the officers; their carriages, and a large train are safe, but the men are destroyed…’27 Arthur realised that there was nothing wrong with the soldiers’ fighting ability and he astutely judged the causes of defeat as poor leadership and logistical failure. The best troops in the world were not enough when they lacked clothing, food and ammunition. Reflecting on the campaign Arthur would say that he: ‘…learnt what one ought not to do, and that is always something.’28
He returned to England as a Colonel, but still lacked the money and status to achieve his ambitions. His attempts to win political appointments were rebuffed. After a position on the expedition to Manila fell through, he decided to accompany his regiment to India. Service in India could have a detrimental effect on an officer’s career. While the east provided numerous chances for making a fortune, colonial service was looked down upon by elements within the military in comparison to campaigning in Europe. Soldiering on the Indian subcontinent was viewed differently due to the lack of respect afforded to Indian opponents, the rigours of the climate and the unjust view that native troops were inferior. Furthermore, an officer would be serving far away and lacked the opportunity of meeting the right people to influence his progress within the service.
Nevertheless, the appointment proved a godsend for Arthur, since his brother, Lord Mornington, was later appointed Governor General of India, arriving at Calcutta in 1798. On the voyage he enjoyed a stopover in Capetown, South Africa, and paid court to Jemima Smith. 29 Although his heart was still set on winning Kitty Pakenham, he was a free agent and showed considerable interest in women, finding time for the occasional mistress. However, his main intent was still to master his profession, which was reflected in the array of books he took to India. Though he read for pleasure, this was a functional collection including studies on the languages, geography and warfare of the Indian subcontinent and went far beyond what most British officers of the period would consider necessary.30
In 1798, Lord Mornington decided to change the family name from Wesley to Wellesley. It was considered more aristocratic, and Richard thought it would aid him in his designs to obtain a marquessate from the King George III, which he eventually achieved. Knowing the power of patronage, Arthur fully approved of improving the family’s status by such means.31
The British held sway over parts of India at this time, with many states governed by independent rulers. Though the British wished to dominate the region, the fact that the French were trying to gain influence there lent urgency to their ambitions. The Tippoo Sultan, known as the Tiger of Mysore, was the main independent ruler in central India and actively opposed the British while intriguing with the French. Wellesley took part in the campaign against him, commanding a brigade under General Harris’s leadership. Unable to resist the British in the field, the Sultan fell back to his capital Seri
ngapatam, which was soon besieged. Here Wellesley suffered one of his few reverses during the actions to push enemy outposts back into the city. In a night assault on Sultanpettah Tope the 33rd Regiment, supported by two Madras battalions, was repulsed with some loss. Though he took the grove the following day he never forgot the minor defeat and determined never again to attack without better reconnaissance. The confusion encountered in the darkness also convinced him that night assaults were highly unreliable, a view he maintained throughout his career. The affair troubled him deeply and years afterwards he was capable of drawing a detailed map of the action from memory when discussing it.
Unlike many officers, Arthur took an active interest in logistics, knowing that supply and support was the key to successful campaigning. Militarily India was a logistical problem, with a huge train of transport wagons and camp followers required, carrying provisions and especially water in the humid climate. Rapid travel in the region was nearly impossible, with three camp followers required for every fighting man, but it could be made more efficient and Arthur’s proposals regarding the commissariat were heeded. Writing to his brother Henry he claimed that his innovations at least meant that: ‘…Matters then will be brought into some shape, and we shall know what we are about, instead of trusting to the vague calculations of a parcel of blockheads, who know nothing, and have no data.’32
The Tippoo Sultan died defending the walls of his city when the British finally stormed Seringapatam and Wellesley was appointed military governor when the city fell. This was controversial, since he was appointed over the heads of senior officers such as David Baird, who had played a valiant part in the siege. However, he proved an able administrator, becoming popular with the locals due to his work on civil projects in addition to his military role. Nevertheless, it was widely believed that he had received the appointment largely on account of his brother’s influence.
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