The Man Who Broke Napoleon's Codes

by Mark Urban

  With the passage of years, time began to take its toll on ‘Heroes of Waterloo’, and Scovell found himself called upon to attend the annual celebratory dinner at Apsley House in London. His exchanges with Wellington remained brief and formal. Only one topic seems to have united the old soldiers: their strong feelings – love, one might say – for FitzRoy Somerset. When Scovell commissioned a portrait of Somerset in 1841, he sent a print to Wellington and this at least received a reply, albeit of the briefest kind. The young military secretary of the Peninsular Headquarters rose up the Army hierarchy, becoming Lord Raglan and Field Marshal. His name was to live on in history as the man who ordered the charge of the Light Brigade in the Crimean War. When he died of dysentery later the same year, 1854, Scovell was heart-broken. Not only did he feel the loss of someone who was the closest thing he would ever have to a son, but he bitterly resented the Crimean controversy that overtook Raglan as he went to his grave.

  *

  On 10 August 1836, Wellington went to dine with friends at Mr Rogers’s town house. His table companions often found him a witty raconteur on the subject of his battles and affairs of state. As the silver cutlery scurried back and forth across the porcelain and crystal glasses carried fine wine to the lips of these high-born diners, the discussion moved to the subject of ciphers and their use in protecting secrets.

  Count Bourck, the Danish minister at Joseph’s court in Madrid, was a singular case, the prime minister recalled. He simply told the true state of affairs of each new ghastly reverse for the French but avoided offending them when they intercepted his mail by adding, ‘but this is what the extreme side of the other party report’. He had no need of a cipher. There were knowing smiles and polite laughter. Was his grace ever deceived by the French ciphers?

  The duke replied that the smaller codes had all been broken easily and those of a more complex nature were often made out as well. His audience was impressed, and he evidently detected their admiration of this intellectual feat. Surely a task of such a complexity would have to be undertaken by an expert in this arcane business? One of the diners had a further question on the subject: did his grace have anybody on his Staff for the purpose of making out ciphers?

  No, replied the duke, nobody in particular. ‘I tried, everyone at headquarters tried, and between us we made it out.’

  The most generous explanation of Wellington’s remark is that he was old and had forgotten Scovell’s achievement. The code-breaking successes of the Peninsular War were attributable to ‘everyone at headquarters’. The less kind interpretation was that vanity led Wellington to claim the credit for himself and his favourite, FitzRoy Somerset.

  For decades, Britain’s old Peninsular enemies remained ignorant even of this distorted view. For example, Charles Parquin, a former cavalry officer who had been escorting Marmont at the Battle of Salamanca in 1812, wrote memoirs in which he testified that although the French had lost the engagement, ‘the enemy ought to have been happy that the marshal, who had been waiting for seven days, did not wait one more day. For King Joseph and Marshal Soult [sic] would have arrived followed, by 40,000 men [sic].’ In fact, not only had deciphered letters kept Wellington perfectly acquainted with Joseph’s plan to join up with Marmont, but the seizure of all messages announcing the impending arrival of this reinforcement had left the marshal himself in the dark at Salamanca.

  As the years following the Peninsular War passed, the magnitude of Scovell’s code-breaking achievement slowly revealed itself. The participants in those campaigns died off, leaving diaries or papers. Some officers working on the Staff had been aware of what Scovell had done. When William Tomkinson’s journal was finally published in 1894, it contained the following passage, written shortly after the Battle of Vitoria in 1813:

  The French in all their correspondence make use of a cipher which they constantly vary … there arises considerable difficulty in making out the meaning. I don’t believe we were ever deceived in these letters and Colonel Schovel [sic] (Commandant of the Corps of Guides attached to Headquarters) is the person who made them out.

  In a sense, Tomkinson even slightly exaggerated Scovell’s achievement, for there had been a period, during the first half of 1812, when there had been difficulties in reading coded messages. However, Wellington’s papers themselves contained official confirmation of the work. He had, when writing to Earl Bathurst, the secretary of war, in April 1813, identified Scovell alone as the person who had been working to break the ‘Paris Cipher’. Indeed, although the duke subsequently forgot the fact, Scovell was the only officer described as a code-breaker in the Headquarters correspondence from the Peninsula.

  Scovell himself did not write memoirs, nor was his fascinating journal published. He and Mary lived to ripe old ages: she to her eightieth year and he to his eighty-seventh. When he expired, in January 1861, he was interred beside Mary in the grounds of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. He died a prosperous general, leaving the handsome sum of £60,000 to his relations, servants and friends. His lifetime struggle to escape his lowly origins had proved a success. Even if Wellington ill-used him in the years following the Peninsular wars, the Army had looked after Scovell well.

  He did not just leave behind cash when he was buried. During his years in Iberia and later, while re-examining the captured French correspondence at Croydon in 1823, Scovell had kept many originals and copied other examples of the coded letters he had worked on. Dozens of them, together with his annotated little code-breaking crib, Conradus, remained in his papers. In his will, appreciating the importance of the documents he had retained, he made a specific note of his bequest to his nephew of ‘all my papers on the subject of the Great Paris Cypher’.

  The legacy of Scovell’s code-breaking was not lost. Reviewing the documents available today, its influence on Wellington’s strategy is obvious at times, even explicit in some of his dispatches; at others, the precious thread of knowledge which the code-breaker unwound for his Commander in Chief can only be followed by hints and nuance.

  It must always be remembered that the essential prerequisite for gathering that vital intelligence was a ruthless campaign by the Spanish guerrillas against French communications. As for its use, that depended upon the flawless execution of orders on the battlefields of Salamanca or Vitoria. Without someone to break the code, though, those French dispatches would have remained just so much useless, tantalizing paper, with streams of digits concealing the writers’ meaning.

  Once unlocked by Scovell, they revealed the strength and plans of Marmont’s Army of Portugal as it manoeuvred opposite Wellington just before Salamanca, and both generals were desperate for any advantage. And in 1813, when Joseph and his generals prepared to fight their final battle for Spain, the deciphered letters unlocked their preparations and the thinking behind them. And they yielded so much other knowledge that was priceless to the British general: the quarrels between marshals; their faltering confidence; the poor condition of their armies.

  These campaigns – Scovell’s of the mind coinciding with Welling-ton’s in the field – marked the turning-point of the war in Spain. Even in 1811, the British still feared another Corunna, another evacuation. By late 1813, they were escorting the French across the Pyrenees and back into their own country. While there were a few great code-breakers before Scovell and legions of them afterwards, it might justly be said that, on the battlefields of modern Europe, he was the father of this secret business.

  NOTES

  1 ‘It was early afternoon on 18 June 1815 as the small group of Staff galloped across the top of the Mont St Jean ridge’: this account is based on Scovell’s later memorandum on the battle (in WO37), a manuscript account left by his servant Edward Healey (residing in the National Army Museum Library) and A Week at Waterloo, edited by Major B. R. Ward, London, 1906, which contains the account of Lady De Lancey, Colonel William’s widow.

  Once again, I have skipped in the narrative here. Scovell’s campaigns in Spain and France during the latt
er part of 1813 and early 1814 tell us little or nothing about code-breaking or indeed the relations in Headquarters. Scovell’s conduct following the fighting at St Pierre d’Irrube in December is worth mentioning, though. During this action, Captain Carey Le Marchant, son of the late general, was mortally wounded. It is clear from the accounts of others that Scovell did everything to help the young officer in his final days, which were spent in Scovell’s billet. This humane side of the man is rarely visible in his journal and emerged again following Waterloo. When the Peninsular War ended, George and Mary rode back across France to the Channel coast. They evidently had an enjoyable time, taking in Paris and visiting many other cultural sites.

  2 ‘So FitzRoy Somerset was found a seat in Truro’: details of these Parliamentary arrangements can be found in the Dictionary of National Biography entry for each man.

  – ‘Some of them traded on their status as “A Hero of Waterloo and the Peninsula”’: one of Charles Vere’s handbills is preserved in the British Library as Biographical Sketch of His Military Services.

  – ‘Scovell set pen to paper’: the letter is in the Wellington Papers, WP 1/613/30.

  3 ‘There is no record of any reply from Wellington’: not in the Wellington Papers, which have been very thoroughly indexed as part of an online project. This means it is most unlikely even that a letter to another correspondent of the ‘find that chap Scovell something to do’ variety exists. The Scovell Papers contain no reply, and given some of the materials included in that collection, it seems impossible that any courteous letter from the duke would not have been kept.

  – ‘He wondered whether he might become head of one of the new police forces’: a letter from Somerset to Scovell asking him whether he is interested in becoming head of the New Zealand police survives in the Scovell Papers.

  – ‘Late in 1823, Murray asked Scovell to re-examine many of the intercepted French dispatches from the Peninsular campaign’: there are many fascinating jottings from this exercise in WO37/10, including lists of all messages examined.

  4 ‘Henry Hardinge had assumed his reaction would be positive when he offered him the job’: that it was Hardinge’s doing emerges in a letter in WO99/24, part of the papers kept at Sandhurst. In it, Scovell complains that he is not receiving all of the allowances promised to him by Hardinge when they agreed terms for the job.

  – ‘The prime minister … telling one friend, “if there is mutiny in the Army”’: Wellington wrote this to the Reverend Gleig, his biographer. It is quoted in Hugh Thomas’s The Story of Sandhurst.

  5 ‘When Scovell commissioned a portrait of Somerset in 1841, he sent a print to Wellington’: a copy of Scovell’s accompanying letter of 20 September 1841 remains in the possession of Martin Scovell, a descendant of Scovell’s father, who showed it to me. John Sweetman, in his biography of Raglan, also mentions the portrait: Somerset/Raglan wrote complaining that his friend Scovell had gone to the trouble and expense of having the painting done, whereas his own son was not interested in having a copy. This is one of the reasons why I do not think it is too strong to speak of Scovell’s friendship as love.

  – ‘When he died of dysentery later the same year, 1854, Scovell was heart-broken’: this is evident from several letters in the Scovell Papers, as was his desire to protect Raglan’s reputation.

  – ‘On 10 August 1836, Wellington went to dine with friends at Mr Rogers’s town house’: this anecdote, complete with the final quote, comes from Stanhope’s Conversations with the Duke of Wellington.

  Notes on Sources

  PRIMARY SOURCES

  This book ictness accounts and journals of those who fought in the Peninsular wars. The main manuscript sources are:

  Scovell Papers: in the Public Record Office, under the class number WO37. Beaufort Papers: referred to below as BP. Letters of FitzRoy and Edward Somerset, residing in the private collection of the Duke of Beaufort and reproduced with his permission.

  Wellington Papers: referred to below as WP. These are now held at the University of Southampton Library and are reproduced with permission. Le Marchant Papers: listed below as LMP, they are now in the Library of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst.

  In addition to these archives, many eyewitness accounts in the form of letters or journals have been published. These are noted in the chapter endnotes, along with the specific file references for the manuscript collections mentioned above.

  SECONDARY SOURCES

  Throughout the writing of this book, I have been using A History of the Peninsular War by Sir Charles Oman. He has been used as the decider on such issues as casualty numbers. These seven thick volumes, despite their occasional faults, are one of the greatest works of military history ever written. Certainly no journey into the past has ever given me such pleasure as beginning Oman’s series and reading it through to its conclusion. It is a case, I think, of the reward derived by the reader being commensurate with the time put in. Wellington’s Army 1809–1814, also by Oman, is a valuable reference for details such as the brigading of units and changes of command, as well as a very good synthesis of the soldiers’ journals. Wellington’s Headquarters, a classic study by S. G. P. Ward, London, 1957, was also valuable to me in gaining an initial understanding of how it all worked.

  I have also drawn on Elizabeth Longford’s biography of Wellington (in two volumes: The Years of the Sword and The Years of State). She is very good both on his Tory connections and her insights into his brilliant if unforgiving psychology.

  A last word of praise belongs to the Dictionnaire Biographique des Generaux et Amiraux francaises de la Revolution et de l’Empire by Georges Six. This research into the lives of Napoleon’s senior officers is fantastically useful when searching for details about some of the French Peninsular letter-writers. It is only a shame that no work of the same comprehensiveness exists for British officers of the period.

  The Leading Players

  ALLIED

  LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY, LATER DUKE OF WELLINGTON

  Born in Dublin in April 1769, the fourth son of an Anglo-Irish aristocratic family. He rose through the Army’s ranks largely through political patronage, but at the same time showed himself in the Indian campaigns of 1796–1805 to be a highly capable officer. Dismissed by Napoleon as a ‘Sepoy General’, Wellesley’s brief campaign in Portugal in 1808 showed he was more than that, and quite capable of taking on the French.

  Like many a European noble, he was shocked by the French Revolution and feared it might be copied in his own country. As a minister in a Tory government when he assumed command, he distrusted many of those who wanted to modernize the Army. He chose as his aides-de-camp dashing young aristocrats, ‘my boys’, whom he indulged shamelessly.

  Wellesley was intellectually and physically active, happily riding forty miles in a day. He sought to perfect his Army and was merciless towards those he considered incompetent, disloyal or too independent.

  COLONEL GEORGE MURRAY

  As Quartermaster-General during 1808–11 and 1813–14, Murray was a key figure in Headquarters. He came from one of Scotland’s great landowning families. His military service was extensive, having been on expeditions to Flanders, the West Indies, Egypt and Denmark. He combined professionalism, patience and tact so effectively that he impressed almost all of the leading British generals for whom he worked. Murray was thirty-six years old as the 1809 campaign began.

  LIEUTENANT-COLONEL WILLIAM DE LANCEY

  American-born Deputy Quartermaster-General. His family, originally of French Huguenot origin, had lived in New Jersey, but their loyalty to George III meant they could not stay there after the triumph of the American Revolution. Wellesley knew De Lancey as a boy, and encouraged his progress in the Army. Heavy responsibilities sat comfortably on his shoulders, for De Lancey was only twenty-six at the time of the Corunna campaign. He was, by repute, one of the most handsome men of his generation.

  CAPTAIN FITZROY SOMERSET

  Ninth son of the D
uke of Beaufort of Gloucestershire. Somerset was at first an aide to Wellesley and later his Military Secretary. Just twenty-one years old when the campaign started, he personified the golden-haired youth so admired by Wellesley. His easy manners and sense of humour allowed him to remain on good terms with all-comers, from generals to lowlier members of the Staff.

  COLONEL JOHN LE MARCHANT

  After serving as a light cavalry officer in the early campaigns against the French, Le Marchant became the leading light in the Royal Military College at High Wycombe. He was a passionate believer that professional education was essential for officers and spurned the ‘gentleman amateur’ approach. He became the guru of those known as ‘scientific soldiers’ or ‘Wycombites’ who believed the British Army would achieve nothing unless it educated its leaders and Staff in the latest military developments.

  As a scientific soldier, Whig and advocate of Catholic emancipation, Le Marchant in many ways stood for everything Wellington opposed. His professionalism was so widely admired, though, that in 1811, to the surprise and delight of his old students, Le Marchant was given command of a heavy cavalry brigade in the Peninsula.

  DON JULIAN SANCHEZ

  A Castilian guerrilla leader, Don Julian embodied the spirit of the anti-French resistance. It was Wellington’s good fortune that the don had grown up near Ciudad Rodrigo, one of the main fortresses on the Portuguese–Spanish border and a key area in Britain’s struggle against the French.