Masters of the Battlefield

by Davis, Paul K.

  Napoleon also began to suffer as his ambitions built an empire: he could not be everywhere at once, and someone had to be placed in independent command in Italy or Spain when he was fighting the Austrians, Prussians, or Russians. Here, trust overrode talent and his placement of his brother in political and military control of Spain ended up losing France the Iberian Peninsula. He fared better in Italy with stepson Eugene de Beauharnais as viceroy, but Napoleon had to make sure that talented marshals were there to assist Eugene, and he dispatched regular letters to give him advice. On the other hand, Eugene never had to deal with the popular revolt or the British army that Joseph Bonaparte faced in Spain.

  All that being said, on the battlefield Napoleon was the master no matter where the fighting took place. And one cannot argue that any of his subordinates, talented as they may be, had acquired his level of reading and reacting. “It depends on him alone to conquer difficulties by his own superior talents and resolution,” said Napoleon.100

  At the strategic level, the repeated use of the principle of surprise was certainly the result of Napoleon’s obsession with speed, a reputation he developed from his earliest days of command in Italy. His soldiers’ complaint that the emperor employed their legs more so than their guns is indicative of this penchant. Before battle, Napoleon’s appearance in the enemy’s proximity was almost always days, if not weeks, prior to his expected arrival. His corps d’armee wide-front movement covered by a cavalry screen ensured no enemy could keep tabs on his movements and prepare for him.101 This alone was the reason for the surrounding and capture of Mack’s army at Ulm.

  Shortly after Ulm, at Austerlitz, one of the greatest surprises in all military history occurred when Napoleon so skillfully used the terrain, the enemy commanders’ expectations, and the timely arrival of Davout on the Austro-Russian flank. Although surprised himself on the second day at Wagram by the Austrian offensive, he had pulled off the greater surprise the previous day by his deployment across the Danube even though the Austrians knew the French army was on the island of Lobau and was building up its forces there. The weeks in preparation were unprecedented, but the rapid deployment of three corps across bridges and into the field accomplished complete tactical surprise.102

  Probably no aspect of Napoleon’s leadership gains more comment, however, than his ability to motivate his men and maintain morale. Riley writes, “And there is no doubt that his personal presence was a huge force multiplier: where the dreaded cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ arose, French troops took heart, and their enemies despaired.”103 His enemies knew that; Wellington said that Napoleon’s presence on the battlefield was worth 40,000 men. He knew how to motivate; Martin van Creveld describes what underlay that ability: “A good understanding of the native qualities of the French soldier: a knack for resounding phrases; an encyclopedic memory for faces, often assisted by careful but well-concealed homework; and a talent for stage management—all these are indispensable for understanding why so many followed him for so long.”104 Indeed, if one could but master Napoleon’s ability to inspire, one could accomplish much in any field.105

  Napoleon had the one characteristic necessary for loyalty: the ability to win consistently. Troops are always more impressed with winners, especially if there is an aspect of personal gain as well, and Napoleon was not one to limit his soldiers’ looting. Soldiers also respond to the general who exposes himself to the same dangers they face, and Napoleon had the reputation of having risen through the ranks and leading from the front at Toulon. Although he rarely put himself in the front lines in later times, he was always close enough to be exposed to danger. Had he not been, given the battlefields of the day, he could not have made the quick adjustments necessary for victory. Although he slept in Schönbrunn Palace in Vienna, he was also seen sleeping on the ground just before the crossing of the Danube in July 1809. Napoleon may not have been the “soldier’s soldier” that Hannibal or Caesar was, but he was no stranger to his troops in any of his campaigns.

  Unfortunately, all that had an element of show. He was often extremely callous toward his men. His maxim number 15 states: “The first consideration with a general who offers battle should be the glory and honour of his arms. The safety and preservation of his men is only the second.”106 He is widely reported to have privately commented that a million men’s lives were nothing to him and would flippantly comment on what soldiers would do “for a scrap of ribbon.” As for rewards, he could be very generous with promotion and cash; he even adopted the children of his dead soldiers after Austerlitz, promising that the boys would be brought up at the imperial palace, the girls in the palace at Ste. Germaine. He may have been more than a little cynical, but his men loved him for his promises and actions.107

  Although Napoleon tended to dismiss the idea of prebattle speeches (though there were many after the battles), he did what he could to keep the army from succumbing to the rumors that are rife in all military camps in all times. He distributed usually heavily spun press releases to maintain civilian morale as well. Thus, he became known for making propaganda a regular arm of the military. He realized the importance of morale and made sure the soldiers were often updated with orders of the day or speeches. Propaganda for him became almost as important as infantry, cavalry, and artillery.108

  BRILLIANT AS HE COULD BE ON THE BATTLEFIELD—and Ulm and Austerlitz are masterpieces that can stand side by side with any victories in history—Napoleon was a victim of himself more than his enemies. Of all the generals studied in this work, he most represents the heights and depths of leadership. Only Alexander was so negatively affected, in the end, by vanity. Theodore Dodge has perhaps the best summation: “Napoleon’s strategy shows a magnificence in conception, a boldness in execution, and a completeness and homogeneity not shown by any other leader. The other captains can only stand beside him because they built so that he might add; they invented so that he might improve. But while Napoleon reached a height beyond the others, they did not show the decrease of genius which he showed.” He opines that Frederick did more with less and was “steadfast in victory and defeat alike.” For their accomplishments politically, he calls Caesar the “most useful man of antiquity; Napoleon comes near to being the most useful man of modern times.”109 But they cannot stand, in quality of character, to the other great captains.

  15

  Arthur Wellesley, First Duke of Wellington (1769–1852)

  British Field Marshal

  We would rather see his long nose in the fight than a reinforcement often thousand men any day.

  —Captain John Kincaid, 95th Regiment

  OF ALL THE MEN discussed in this work, probably none was less likely to become a great captain than Arthur Wesley. Even Marlborough and Caesar, though sons of lesser nobility raised in no serious military environment, had at least some connection to a soldier in the family of one sort or another. Apparently none of any note had been in the Wesley heritage since the days of Richard I’s invasion of Ireland in 1369, when a forebear named Colley settled into what became known as the Anglo-Irish Ascendency. Arthur’s grandfather, Richard Colley, inherited the estate of a distant relative named Wesley in 1728. Colley changed his name to Wesley and, when granted an Irish peerage, took the title of Baron Mornington, the name of his new estate.1 The second Baron Mornington, Arthur’s father, was later named Viscount Wellesley; upon his death his eldest son, Richard, altered the spelling of his surname Wesley to Wellesley. Arthur, however, kept the original spelling for some time.

  Arthur’s father was a music professor at Trinity College in Dublin, just a few blocks away from Arthur’s 1769 birthplace. As the third son of fairly minor nobility he had little to no future within the family, as primogeniture ruled that as first son Richard inherited title, lands, and wealth (or debt, as the case may be). Arthur therefore had to depend on his eldest brother’s good graces; as it turned out, his brother treated him well and had the favor returned. Growing up, however, he depended on the will of his mother, who had scant fa
ith in his future. His father had abandoned Dublin for London when Arthur was seven. Arthur went to school in Chelsea until his father’s death in 1781, when his mother sent him off to school at Eton. The three years he spent there were unremarkable, though one author asserts that one can see the beginnings of his character emerging: “a belief in himself and his capabilities that his ten subsequent years of doing very little indeed entirely failed to dent.”2

  If Arthur’s character was developing, one could not see it in his schooling, for his grades were mediocre and he could not grasp Latin or Greek. A year in Brighton with a private tutor followed, and in 1785 he moved with his mother to Brussels. There he spent a year learning French, but apparently little else. His mother removed herself back to London the following year, leaving him at a military-finishing school in France. It was Arthur’s year here that began to reveal some changes. In his new school he learned fencing, horsemanship, and the theory of fortifications, but the primary focus was to instill the virtues of honor and nobility. It was not a difficult course but he emerged from it a much more well-rounded young man, fluent in French.3 He began to show some interest in potentially following a soldier’s career, the path of other younger, less accomplished sons of aristocrats.4 His brother Richard accommodated him by arranging to purchase a commission for him as ensign in the 73rd Highlanders. This was something of a hollow position, as the regiment was at the time stationed in India and Arthur did not travel to join it. He bought another commission in the 76th Regiment of Foot; when they sailed for India in January 1788 he moved to the 41st and stayed in England. These unit changes meant nothing to his consistent position, an aide to the viceroy in Ireland, which he held for six years. Over the next five years he held positions in three more regiments (two of them cavalry), finally buying a majority, then a lieutenant colonelcy, in the 33rd Regiment of Foot.5

  This last position was second in command of an infantry unit, yet Arthur had as yet no military experience other than wearing the uniforms. However, with the French Revolution in full swing and the first coalition of European countries marshaled against the government that had executed King Louis XVI, Arthur began to feel the need to see some action. He had also recently been unlucky in love, which added to his dissatisfaction. The one talent he had exhibited to this point in life, playing the violin, was ruthlessly expunged: he burned the instrument and began studying war. In his dual biography of Wellington and Napoleon, Andrew Roberts observes, “If Wellington was to become a professional soldier, rather than an uninspired amateur, he needed to foreswear gambling and hard drinking—which he also did soon afterward—and take his commission in the 33rd Foot seriously.”6 His first attempt to get a combat assignment came to naught, but in late June 1794 his regiment landed at Ostend to defend the Dutch from French aggression. An Anglo-Dutch force had recently been defeated and blamed the Austrians for a lack of support. Arthur soon found himself in command of a brigade consisting of his regiment, the 41st, some dragoons, and artillery, all of which relocated to Antwerp. The fact that he was appointed to brigade command despite never having seen combat was expected since he was the senior officer. However, command of such a large detachment did show that his superiors saw some potential in him.7 Very soon his unit found themselves, with the rest of the army, being pushed back. Here, in mid-September 1794, Arthur saw his first combat at Boxtel in the Netherlands and gave a good account of himself, overseeing his unit’s repulse of a French assault.8 It was a promising start, but without any follow-up. The army went into winter quarters and suffered through the bad weather and worse supply situation. Forced to retreat even further into Hanover, the whole army was removed in the spring of 1795. Young Arthur Wellesley learned first hand the need for solid bases and lines of supply. “I learnt what one ought not to do, and that is always something,” he observed many years later.9 That in itself showed that the young man was quickly maturing.

  Warfare of the Time

  THE BRITISH ARMY HAD CHANGED LITTLE from the time of Frederick the Great. Indeed, the official drill Regulations had been adopted in 1764, in the wake of the Seven Years’ War. Those rules, however, reflected more the British experience in North America’s French and Indian War than it did warfare on the continent. Thus, there was somewhat more of an emphasis on light infantry and skirmishing tactics than was seen in most European armies. The 1778 edition of the Regulations, introduced in the midst of the American Revolution, was almost completely ignored. To confuse matters further, the rules were not enforced army-wide: some regiments stuck with the old rules, some tried to implement the new ones, some freelanced their own maneuvers, and some ignored both books.10 Much depended on the particular regiment’s experience. Had they been stationed consistently in England or Ireland, they followed “the book.” Had they been stationed overseas and seen some fighting in America or India, they adapted the rules to the realities of combat they had experienced.

  Two things altered this situation in the army in which Wellesley was ensconced. The first was Colonel Henry Dundas’s publication of Principles of Military Movements in 1788. Dundas served on the Irish staff, from whence no one expected anything of excellence. Over the next three years, however, all the Irish regiments learned his way of soldiering. It proved so impressive that a condensed version was adopted as the Regulations of 1792.11 The second thing that changed Wellesley’s situation for the better was the appointment of the Duke of York to the position of commander in chief in 1795. Although his expedition to assist the Dutch, as mentioned above, was a failure, he was serious about creating a first-class army. The whole army embraced the Dundas maneuvers, and this revolutionized the British army. Before, every battalion had its own way of operating; now, an order to a brigade was quickly obeyed through the ranks.12 That Dundas had the ability to express himself clearly and simply was one of the major strengths of the new drill manual. The virtue was that it provided battalion-level tactics with a standard set of moves that could be adapted to any tactical situation.13 The Duke of York also did much to improve the lives of the soldiers, issuing greatcoats, regularizing the supply system, expanding hospital services, and developing programs for taking care of soldiers’ families. He also oversaw a major barrack-building program to ease the burden on the civilian population, who had often been obliged to quarter soldiers. This also aided in developing unit cohesion, limited the opportunities for desertion, and made the drill regular and consistent.

  The infantry organization was altered, based not only on the new rule book but also on the lessons learned in the American Revolution. The type of warfare fought in America (small unit actions and skirmishing) could not be translated directly into Europe, where the armies were many times larger, but the concept of light infantry was incorporated and taken more seriously. At paper strength, each regiment consisted often 100-man companies, with one company being designated as grenadiers and a second as light infantry. Frederick had distrusted the light infantry since he could not exercise control over them; their need for independent thought and action ran counter to his Prussian discipline. British discipline was almost as harsh but, like the Prussians’, it was necessary for the linear warfare practice of firing by ranks. In the new order, three ranks were dictated: front rank kneeling, second rank standing against their backs, third rank touching the backs of the second rankers to their front. In reality this appeared only on parade, as the front rank almost never actually existed in combat. As did Frederick’s army, the British fought almost exclusively in two ranks, both standing. Even though Dundas’s manual called for platoon firing (or file firing), in use since Gusatavus’s time, it was dropped in favor of massed volleys. British officers had learned in America (rather than from Frederick’s theories) that the huge explosion of fire at close range followed by the bayonet charge resulted in fewer casualties for the attacking force.

  As had been the case since the introduction of firearms to warfare, the standard firearm of Wellesley’s day was a notoriously inaccurate weapon. The troops carried
what was widely known as the Brown Bess, a smoothbore flintlock musket in service for many years. The Indian Army carried a similar weapon with a 39-inch barrel as opposed to the Brown Bess’s 43 inches. Over time the shorter-barreled weapon became the standard and was used in Wellesley’s forces in Spain and at Waterloo. “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes” was the standard procedure for determining when an aimed shot might reasonably be expected to hit a specific target. After 100 yards the accuracy rate was no better than 50 percent, and firing at targets 300 yards distant (though the gun’s range was greater than that) was a waste of powder. Further, the black powder used at the time created such billowing smoke that actually sighting the enemy line, much less an individual soldier, became difficult if not impossible after a volley or two. A 14-inch socket bayonet completed the weapon; it was not often used, but the British soldier showed real expertise when it was. Primarily it was effective when the infantry formed into squares to resist cavalry attacks. The bayonet then did what it was originally designed to do: act as a pike.

  Dundas described eighteen basic maneuvers for battalions that could be easily demonstrated on the parade ground and implemented for deploying on the battlefield. He also included ten pages on light infantry tactics (other manuals spoke to them), but admitted that the heavy infantry was his main topic. Although it was the army commander who arranged the regiments at the outset of battle, the battalion commander gave the orders once the units deployed and the battle began. The regular orders Dundas had categorized were supplemented by bugle calls, which also became standardized in this time period. Drumbeats also indicated movements in addition to merely keeping pace on the march. Though there were great differences between drill fields and battlefields, the ease of maneuver learned at drill provided confidence and flexibility when needed in battle, thereby creating effective troops and units. Wellesley’s success in Portugal and Spain owed much to the introduction of the Dundas rules.14