To War with Wellington

by Peter Snow

  William Leeke was also inspired by tales from Spain and Portugal. He was only seventeen. When he joined up, he was under-age, but he came from a prosperous family in Hampshire related to Colonel John Colborne, who had led the 52nd Light Infantry in the battles in the Pyrenees and was highly thought of by Wellington. His regiment was another valuable addition to the Duke’s strength in Belgium. Leeke was thrilled when Colborne arranged for him to be admitted as an ensign, the most junior-ranking officer in the army. He had never seen a shot fired in anger. Leeke’s mother ‘pressed me to her and begged me with many tears not to go, saying it was not necessary that I should run into danger … but of course it was impossible for me to yield to her wish, dearly as I loved her’. By 11 May Leeke had bought himself a ‘black horse with a long tail’, and was thrilled to be part of a ‘regiment of a thousand men marching down the road amongst the corn to the sound of one of those stirring tunes which are always connected with feats of arms and deeds of daring’.

  A third newcomer, who was to record his adventures with Wellington in Belgium in vivid detail, was Cavalié Mercer. He was a captain, commanding a troop of Royal Horse Artillerymen. Somehow he managed to embark his complement of 200 horses and mules, six guns and their ammunition wagons, in addition to the 190 gunners, drivers, shoeing smiths, collar makers and of course the trumpeter, the farrier and the wheeler. A favourable wind blew them gently across to Ostend. But their keel had hardly touched the beach when they ‘were abruptly boarded by a naval officer … with a gang of sailors, who, sans cérémonie, instantly commenced hoisting our horses out and throwing them, as well our saddlery etc overboard, without even giving time for making any disposition to receive or secure the one to the other’. Mercer protested, but he was told that the Duke of Wellington wanted the ship sent back immediately to collect more reinforcements. ‘The scramble and confusion that ensued baffle all description. Bundles of harness went over the side in rapid succession, as well as horses …’ It was a dreadful start to Mercer’s campaign, but he and his troop were well received by the people of one town after another as they lugged their heavy guns inland.

  Wellington arrived in Brussels on 4 April. Only a month earlier the city had been buzzing with excitement, the fashionable rendezvous for wealthy aristocrats out to enjoy the delights of the newly liberated Europe. Now suddenly Brussels looked like the first target for the resurrected Bonaparte. The partying went on, but people started looking over their shoulders nervously for refuges a little further away from the likely path of the French army.

  Napoleon had not wasted time in Paris. Within days of arriving he was assembling an army, and by the beginning of June had 124,000 ready to march north. They would be far fewer than the number his opponents could muster on one battlefield. But Napoleon’s men were experienced veterans of the Grande Armée who had made their way back to France and their morale was high.

  Wellington’s immediate task was to secure the best men he could find to command the army of mixed nations, British, Dutch–Belgian and German, that was assembling around the Belgian capital. Sir Thomas Picton, who had been such a stalwart in the Peninsula, appeared reluctant but persuadable. He was still smarting from not being granted a peerage, and he was observed behaving rather oddly that spring. ‘He had told the Duke’, one raconteur reported, ‘that his health was such that he did not consider himself fit to undertake the anxious task of commanding a division; and it was only at the earnest personal solicitations of the Duke that he joined the army.’ Picton had a moody obsession with his own mortality. Before he left to join Wellington he jumped into a freshly dug grave in Wales and shouted, ‘Why, I think this would do for me.’ He took a fellow Welshman to Belgium with him, Rees Gronow, the sprightly diarist who had already spent a few months with Wellington’s army in the Pyrenees. He was still only eighteen, an ambitious young blade, whose education at Eton had given him a host of well-placed contacts and an appetite for mixing with the smartest in society. Gronow had managed to talk his way into Picton’s entourage. He won £600 in a gambling house, and ‘made numerous purchases, amongst others two first rate horses at Tattersalls for a high figure, which were embarked for Ostend along with my groom’. Gronow’s new patron Picton was still a legendary figure, cantankerous and eccentric, rarely in uniform: ‘he generally wore a blue frock-coat, very tightly buttoned up to the throat, a very large black silk neckcloth … and a round hat’.

  Picton was just one of many of Wellington’s old warriors to rally to the colours. The ever reliable ‘Daddy’ Hill joined him, as did his closest aide Fitzroy Somerset, whose wife, Emily, Wellington’s niece, gave birth to a girl in Brussels. Another of Wellington’s favourite ADCs, Alexander Gordon, was there too. ‘I am thicker with old Wellington than ever and of course very happy,’ he wrote to his brother Robert. But if Wellington was lucky with some of his choices he was less fortunate with others imposed on him. It is extraordinary that someone of his unparalleled stature within the alliance was still unable to select his own key subordinate officers. The Duke of York, in Whitehall, remained the ultimate power in the army. His failed campaign in the Netherlands twenty years earlier had made him a mockery as the man ‘who marched his men to the top of the hill and marched them down again’. But he was the second son of the King and Wellington’s Commander in Chief. Promotion of officers was his prerogative and he guarded it jealously. ‘The power of appointing to commissions is not vested in you,’ he wrote to Wellington; ‘you will be pleased to recommend to me such officers as may appear to you most deserving of promotion …’ The most outstanding example of the Duke of York’s obstinacy was in the choice of Wellington’s cavalry commander. Wellington, naturally enough, wanted Sir Stapleton Cotton, who had served him well at Salamanca and elsewhere in the Peninsula. The Duke of York wanted Henry Paget, Lord Uxbridge. He had proved himself a proficient cavalry commander covering Moore’s retreat to Corunna six years earlier. Uxbridge was the man who had run off with Wellington’s sister-in-law a few years earlier. But that was all past and, when the Duke of York insisted, Wellington felt he had no choice. He was not to regret it: Uxbridge proved a fine cavalry commander.*

  Wellington’s irritation with London was about more than a restriction on his freedom of choice. The army he commanded grew in size over the next few weeks of May and June, but its quality was very uneven. By 18 June, the day of Waterloo, he would have 68,000 troops on the battlefield, but only a third of them were British and not all of these had fought with him in the Peninsula. The other two-thirds were Dutch–Belgian troops and units from the armies of other European states like Hanover, Brunswick and Nassau. Only the men of the King’s German Legion, the KGL, had earned Wellington’s trust through six years of tough campaigning. The other allied units consisted mainly of new recruits. And Wellington doubted the loyalty of some of the Dutch–Belgian troops, a number of whom had even fought on Napoleon’s side earlier in the war. He feared that while Napoleon would succeed in putting together an army of seasoned veterans, his own army would be patently unreliable. ‘It will be admitted that the army is not a very good one,’ he wrote to the Secretary for War, Lord Bathurst. ‘I am overloaded with people I have never seen before … however I’ll do the best I can with the instruments which have been sent to assist me.’

  Wellington’s solution was to try to reduce the danger of foreign units deserting by mixing his forces up. Where possible he would have British and foreign troops fighting side by side. Each division would have at least one British brigade. That way he hoped the men who had seen little or no battle would be heartened by the courage and experience of those who had. He would fortify his uneven army by example. Throughout May and early June, as new regiments arrived, the drilling began. It was vital to instil into the mind of every footsoldier that a few seconds’ delay in loading a musket or in forming a line or square could be the difference between life and death.

  The most impressive display of military readiness was the Duke’s review of his cavalry on 29 May
. Uxbridge had some 6,000 of them on parade in a great blaze of colour. It was, said Mercer, a ‘splendid spectacle. The scattered line of hussars in their fanciful yet picturesque costume; the more sober, but far more imposing line of heavy dragoons, like a wall of red brick.’ Behind them were the light dragoons, including Fred Ponsonby’s 12th and William Tomkinson’s 16th Regiments, in ‘the third line in their blue uniforms with broad lapels of white, buff, red, yellow and orange’. On either side of the horsemen were the batteries of Royal Horse Artillery, including Mercer’s own. At about 2 p.m. Wellington appeared with an ‘immense cortège in which were to be seen many of the most distinguished officers and almost every uniform in Europe’. Mercer was beside himself with pride when Wellington and Prussia’s Marshal Blücher stopped to inspect his battery. Wellington referred to it as ‘the beautiful battery’ and Blücher announced, according to Mercer, that he had not seen anything so superb in his life, ‘concluding by exclaiming “Mein Gott, dere is not von orse in dies batterie wich is not goot for Veldt Marshal”’.

  In between drilling his troops, conferring with his generals and writing despatches, Wellington found plenty of time for socialising. He gave a number of parties and lived up to the reputation he had made in Paris as a ladies’ man. This time the woman he was linked with was Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster, the wife of an army officer. She was extremely attractive and, like Fred Ponsonby’s sister Caroline Lamb, one of Byron’s former lovers. When her husband, who was widely regarded as a bore, chose to go to London for most of the summer, Wellington was often seen in her company. He was reported as having spent one of his embassy soirées dancing with no one but her, and they were once seen descending into a hollow in a Brussels park. All this set tongues wagging. Perhaps there was an ulterior motive in Wellington’s often nonchalant demeanour in early June 1815. He was anxious to keep the atmosphere in Brussels as normal as he could for as long as possible. He did not want any early sense of panic to prompt his allies to desert before he clashed with Napoleon. This led him to give the go-ahead to one of the most famous social occasions in history.

  One of the many aristocratic couples to move to Brussels in pursuit of the good life after Napoleon’s first abdication in 1814 was the Duke and Duchess of Richmond. They had enjoyed an energetic social life and, before a French invasion had seemed imminent, had arranged a ball for 15 June. Everyone who mattered in Brussels was invited. The Duchess was tactful enough to consult the Duke of Wellington before she sent out her invitations. ‘Duke, I have no wish to pry into your secrets. I wish to give a ball,’ she told him, ‘and all I ask is may I give my ball? If you say, Duchess, don’t give your ball, it is quite sufficient. I ask you no reason.’ Wellington immediately replied, ‘Duchess, you may give your ball with the greatest safety without fear of interruption.’

  The strategy of the coalition of countries lined up against Napoleon was to assemble an army of some 600,000 men and invade France. But the Russians and Austrians were some way off sending their forces. Only 120,000 Prussians under Field Marshal Gebhard von Blücher and Wellington’s Anglo-Dutch army of 90,000 were ready for war on France’s north-eastern border. By the second week in June, it was no secret that Napoleon had around 120,000 men available to cross the Belgian frontier. Because of his overall inferiority in numbers Napoleon was thought likelier to go quickly on the offensive than remain on the defensive in France. He would attempt to pick off his opponents one by one. He would move fast to defeat Wellington and Blücher first – and then turn on the Russians and Austrians. But with the strength he had, less than half Wellington’s and Blücher’s combined force of 210,000, he would have to drive the two apart and crush them separately.

  Wellington and Blücher met in early May and agreed to support each other in resisting any French attack on Belgium. Brussels, they believed, was sure to be Napoleon’s first objective. Napoleon would have to be stopped well short of the Belgian capital. The land between it and the French border was very open, gently rolling country. The year before, in August, Wellington had spent a few days on his way to Paris exploring possible lines of defence. He made a particular note of a shallow ridge, called Mont Saint-Jean, that lay across the main road from Paris fifteen miles south of Brussels, just a couple of miles beyond the village of Waterloo.

  The two field marshals agreed to keep closely in touch. Wellington would deploy his troops around Brussels. Blücher would centre on Namur. Everything now depended on getting early intelligence of any move by Napoleon. Once they knew which way he was approaching they would move sharply to confront him. The speed of their reaction would be vital. Wellington had long believed that the presence of the French Emperor on the field was worth some tens of thousands of extra troops to the French. But he and Blücher between them would comfortably outnumber any force Napoleon could deploy. He had written to London that he and Blücher could put some 150,000 men in the field, ‘so that I hope we should give a good account even of Buonaparte’.

  A Westminster MP, Thomas Creevey, met Wellington strolling in the park in Brussels and asked him what he thought would be the outcome of a clash with Napoleon. Wellington stopped and said, ‘By God! I think Blücher and myself can do the thing.’ Creevey then asked him what help he could rely on from others such as King Louis of France. ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘don’t mention such fellows! No: I think Blücher and I can do the business.’ Then Wellington saw a British infantryman enter the park. He pointed at the man and said to Creevey: ‘There: it all depends upon that article whether we do the business or not. Give me enough of it, and I am sure.’ He may have called them the scum of the earth, but he knew they could fight. During six years of combat in the Peninsula, Wellington’s infantry had delivered superbly. Now for the first time he was about to confront the greatest military commander of the age, whose massed columns of infantry had been unstoppable at battles such as Austerlitz and Jena. In the Peninsula Wellington had confronted Napoleon’s marshals, whose infantry had proved inferior to his British and Portuguese veterans. Now, as he prepared to meet Napoleon himself, he had only some of those seasoned units with him. He hoped they would be enough.

  In the second week of June the pace of events suddenly quickened. Napoleon had left Paris on the 12th and made all speed to the Belgian frontier. Reports began to come in to Wellington and Blücher that French forces were building up fast. Brussels was swept by fear and anxiety as people realised that a decisive confrontation was imminent. Everyone wondered how soon Wellington would order his troops on to the road. The border with France was only forty miles to the south. But Wellington appeared as cool and imperturbable as ever. He was in no particular hurry. He had to establish precisely where Napoleon would attack before he committed his men to any particular road. He also wanted to avoid panic in Brussels. The Duchess of Richmond’s ball was in the last stages of preparation. Wellington could still have asked her to call it off. He didn’t. He even made it clear that he would be attending himself.

  At 3 p.m. on 15 June, the very day of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, Wellington was told that the French had crossed the frontier. A large French force had attacked Charleroi, and pushed the Prussians back behind the River Sambre thirty miles south of Brussels. Napoleon’s men were now pouring across it on bridges which the allies had left intact. But was this Napoleon’s main army? Or was this Napoleon striking one blow from the south-east when he had another to deliver from the south-west?

  Wellington, with typical caution, still didn’t move. He had already placed units well south and west of Brussels in a wide sweep to detect any approach from that direction. Until he had a clear indication from them, he would not send his main force anywhere. But units everywhere were alerted. The city bustled with staff officers moving to and fro. Suddenly men who had never seen action before or who had spent more than a year away from the roar of guns, were faced with the prospect of fighting for their lives. John Kincaid was strolling in the park in the early evening when he met one of the Duke’s staff. The man ask
ed him if he had his pack-saddles all prepared. Kincaid said he was nearly ready, but added, ‘I suppose they won’t be wanted, at all events, before tomorrow?’ To which the Duke’s man replied, ‘If you have any preparations to make, I would recommend you not to delay too long.’ Kincaid was ready when he heard the bugle blow just two hours later.

  Napoleon had moved with remarkable speed. He had around 120,000 men. He knew he couldn’t pitch them against the allied armies together, given that they had nearly twice his number. His aim was to destroy the Prussians, who were concentrated around Ligny, twenty-five miles south-east of Brussels, before turning on the British. If he could defeat Blücher and drive him away to the east, he would have Wellington to himself. Far from directing a second prong of his attack against Wellington, he was out to hit Blücher first.

  If Wellington had known this, or guessed this, he might have moved sooner. Until he knew for sure where Napoleon was, he felt he could only alert his senior commanders to stand by to move. Rees Gronow recalls one prickly encounter with Sir Thomas Picton. Dressed in his customary civilian clothes with his great wide hat, Picton approached Wellington ‘in a careless sort of way, just as he might have met an equal. The Duke bowed coldly to him, and said, “I am glad you are come, Sir Thomas; the sooner you get on horseback the better; no time is to be lost. You will take the command of the troops in advance …” Picton appeared not to like the Duke’s manner; for, when he bowed and left, he muttered a few words which convinced those who were with him that he was not much pleased with his interview.’ The old Welsh warrior was as touchy as ever, but Wellington badly needed him in any early combat with the French.