Most commanders were hostile to the press, Kitchener famously having supposed to have swept out of his tent past the assembled correspondents on one occasion in the Sudan exclaiming, ‘Get out of my way, you drunken swabs!’8 As Surridge points out, Kitchener’s relations with the ubiquitous ‘specials’ remained poor and it was only the intervention of the government that compelled him to allow correspondents south of Assouan during the campaign. Again, as Wessels reminds us, during the Second Afghan War, Roberts had Maurice Macpherson of the Standard removed from the Kurram Field Force for eluding press controls and, in South Africa, he and Kitchener imposed tight regulations in comparison to the somewhat lazy approach of Redvers Buller.
If commanders faced a range of external pressures, there were also internally generated difficulties in terms of the generally casual attitude towards the emergence of a general staff. In part, the persistence of this tendency derived from the older conflict between the relative importance accorded ‘character’ and intellect in the army. It can be noted that one of Wolseley’s leading adherents, Frederick Maurice, maintained in 1872 that the British officer ‘hates … literary work even in the form of writing letters’, while another partial associate of Wolseley, Sir John Ardagh, was contemptuous of what he perceived to be the idea that ‘the “athletic duffer”, who is useful in a football team, must necessarily be a better soldier than the man who comes first in any examination’.9 Certainly, courage was routinely expected of a Victorian commander. Buller, Roberts and Wood had all won the VC. Wolseley lost the sight of his right eye in the Crimea – as Wessels notes, Roberts also had no sight in his right eye following an attack of brain fever in his youth – and, as Manning tells us, Wood was frequently wounded as well as plagued by an extraordinary range of illnesses and freak accidents.
In reality, matters were changing for as Brian Bond has noted, while the army ‘succeeded to a remarkable degree in preserving an essentially eighteenth-century mode of life and in excluding all but a handful of officers from the lower-middle and working classes’, it also ‘reduced the influence of wealth and social position and substituted objective educational tests for entry and a regularised system for professional advancement’.10 As Corvi, Wessels and Manning all demonstrate, Wolseley, Roberts and Wood were all highly professional and reform-minded, though Roberts in a somewhat conservative fashion. Certainly, the Staff College gradually came to be sufficiently accepted to begin to provide real intellectual foundation for tactical and logistical reform. Wolseley, for example, favoured Staff College graduates in all his campaigns. A total of 34 PSCs (Passed Staff College) served in Egypt in 1882, including 14 in the headquarters and 5 out of 7 in the intelligence section; 20 on the Gordon Relief Expedition in 1884–85, including 6 in the headquarters and 7 on lines of communication; and no less than 80 PSCs were appointed to the staff or dispatched on special service to South Africa in 1899, 33 being named to the staff of the army corps and the first three divisions. Wolseley, however, did tend to employ larger staffs than many of his contemporaries.11 In Zululand, for example, though actually dedicated to his profession, as Laband indicates, Chelmsford had just 14 individuals on his headquarters staff for a force of almost 18,000 men, although each of the 5 columns employed also had about 7 staff officers. Nor did Chelmsford employ any intelligence staff, utilising only one civilian in an intelligence capacity. Wolseley by contrast immediately allocated Major General the Hon Henry Clifford nine assistants on the lines of communication and placed Frederick Maurice in charge of intelligence. There were a further seventeen officers on Wolseley’s personal and headquarters staffs for a substantially reduced establishment of troops.12 Compared to continental standards, of course, all British staffs remained small and it must be recognised that much of the army’s operational leadership derived from individual skill and bravado rather than a clear-cut application of doctrine on the battlefield. In one sense, however, this might have actually been preferable to too theoretical a military knowledge since arguably, as recounted by Laband and Beckett, some of the greatest failures of leadership were those of able administrators such as Chelmsford at Isandlwana and Colley at Majuba. Inevitably perhaps, luck also had something to do with it. In the end Wolseley’s luck ran out in the Sudan in 1884–85, while, as Manning shows, Wood’s reputation as a successful field commander owed much to the memory of his near catastrophic defeat by the Zulu at Hlobane in March 1879 being conveniently erased by the great victory at Khambula the following day. As Wessels makes clear, Roberts was also an exceedingly lucky general.
The personalised approach to command and leadership also fuelled the rivalry of the so-called ‘rings’ around commanders. The struggle ranged widely over issues of imperial strategy and military reform, though neither particular issues nor the positions assumed by individuals with respect to them were necessarily constant as the factions attempted to manoeuvre adherents into particular commands. As Corvi demonstrates, Wolseley’s ‘Ashanti Ring’, known to some as the ‘Mutual Admiration Society’, was the best known, and the essays by Beckett, Manning and Miller all illustrate the centrality of the ‘ring’ to the careers of Colley, Wood and Buller. Roberts, too, however, had his adherents as, subsequently, did Kitchener, Wessels and Surridge both illustrating the operation of their groups in India and the Sudan respectively. Moreover, the Duke of Cambridge as the army’s Commander in Chief from 1856 to 1895 was equally determined to have his own way with regard to appointments, favouring seniority over ‘selection’ even after the establishment of a selection board in 1891 to enforce promotion by selection. To some extent, Chelmsford as one of the ‘old school’ typified those favoured by Cambridge, although, as Laband shows, Chelmsford’s manifold failures ultimately cost him the Duke’s support. Gordon, of course, was too much of a maverick to belong to any particular group. There was often an element of vindictiveness in the working of the rings but in the criticism of them there was equally a large measure of resentment on the part of those excluded from campaigns and the glory and honour that might derive from them.
Of course, the constant employment of a relatively small number of officers did restrict the development of others, Wolseley in particular becoming something of a prisoner of the initial success of his ring in feeling it desirable to employ the same men lest his rejection of them might reflect adversely on his earlier choice. Indeed, Wolseley continued to employ the same men despite his own increasing criticism of their failings. Wood, for example, was never forgiven for signing the peace treaty with the Boers after Colley’s death at Majuba in February 1881, while Henry Brackenbury’s advocacy of the creation of a general staff was regarded by Wolseley as evidence of Brackenbury’s own ambition. Certainly, as the prominent members of Wolseley’s ring became more senior, their willingness to work together was subordinated to their own ambitions, even Buller, as Miller shows, being regarded with suspicion by Wolseley for his apparent willingness to accept the office of Commander in Chief from the Liberal government ahead of Wolseley in 1895, the subsequent change of government granting Wolseley his long-sought prize. Individuals manoeuvring for preferment was hardly unusual, however, Buller noting after visiting Roberts in Pretoria in July 1900: ‘I found Roberts sitting in one building with his Hindu staff, Kitchener in another with his Egyptian staff, and [Lieutenant General Sir Thomas] Kelly-Kenny in a third with an English staff, all pulling against each other.’13
Yet, while Wolseley’s command system, was highly personalised, he did plan carefully in advance, in contrast to Roberts who was an indifferent organiser. Wolseley relied fairly heavily on his chiefs of staff for routine administration but they were not intended to share in decision-making. Buller, for example, who acted in this capacity on the Gordon Relief Expedition, saw Wolseley for only eight hours in two months once Wolseley went forward to Wadi Halfa in December 1884, leaving Buller 360 miles behind at Korti.14 Miller illustrates the problems that resulted. Generally, Wolseley allowed little latitude to his subordinates in field command, the probl
em in the Sudan being that of scale. Wolseley was not allowed as far forward as he would have liked by the government, being instructed to go no further than Korti, and the sheer distances involved – it was 1,600 miles from Cairo to Khartoum – proved too great for personal control to be exercised. Moreover, the very way Wolseley operated had militated against the development of initiative in his subordinates and, without him, they often floundered. The problem was that improvisation was no substitute for a proper general staff and Wolseley’s capacity to manage affairs decreased in proportion to the growth in the scale of operations.
Of course, in such a personalised system, personality itself also counted. Wolseley was admired rather than liked. He certainly never had the same rapport with the rank and file as Buller, Roberts or even Chelmsford, which is clearly evident in the essays by Miller, Wessels and Laband. Kitchener was very much a loner and, as Surridge suggests, a man of great insecurities, while, as Beckett shows, Colley also tended towards somewhat empty rhetoric in his dealings with those under his command. Despite his personal vanity, Wood, as Manning illustrates, was always prepared in his later training role to allow his subordinates the opportunity to think seriously about their profession but, as Herman suggests, Gordon was the most charismatic as well as arguably the most enigmatic. Though so very different one from another, however, all these men shared a devotion to their chosen profession and a determination to succeed in it. In the process they contributed immeasurably to the story of the late Victorian army.
Chapter 1
Garnet Wolseley
Steven J Corvi
‘I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General’ was the line from the famous Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, The Pirates of Penzance (1879). Some can draw the similarities between the Gilbert and Sullivan’s character Major General Stanley and Garnet Wolseley, who also permeated Victorian popular culture and slang with the then contemporary term ‘All Sir Garnet’, meaning everything is in good order. The Victorian Imperial period was dominated by two major military figures, Wolseley and Roberts. Where Roberts was the hero in the field, Wolseley was more of the reforming intellectual general. This of course does not discount Wolseley’s vast experience in Victorian campaigns: Crimea, China, Canada, Asante, Egypt and the Sudan. His productive association with Edward Cardwell (Secretary of State for War, 1868–74) proved to be an important step in producing a more professional and highly trained British army. Wolseley said of Cardwell, ‘no British war minister ever responded more readily to demands made upon him by his military advisers’.1 Wolseley was considered the most influential reforming soldier of the Victorian age, with his firm support of Cardwell’s reforms and his practical battlefield experiences, which left an indelible mark on the British army.
Garnet Wolseley was born on 4 June 1833 in Dublin. He was one of seven children, which included three brothers (Richard, Frederick and George) and three sisters (Matilda, Frances and Caroline). Garnet’s father died when he was only 7 years old and this profoundly affected his life. The family was forced to struggle on a meagre army pension. This poverty had an obvious immediate impact on Garnet’s life and it was also to cause hardship in his then future army career. Garnet Wolseley was forced by circumstances to excel by sheer ability and competency. Since he was not afforded a public-school education, his mother and then, later, tutors educated him. He was forced at 14 to leave school and become a land surveyor in a Dublin office. Garnet considered a life in the Protestant clergy, but could not afford the education to pursue such a career. He then turned to the army and sought commission via a nomination from the Commander in Chief, the Duke of Wellington. He was at first ignored, but finally was gazetted an ensign in the 12th Foot in 1852.
Chronology
4 June 1833
Garnet Joseph Wolseley born at Golden Bridge House, Co. Dublin Educated in Dublin
12 March 1852
Commissioned as Ensign in 12th Foot
13 April 1852
Transferred to 80th Foot
1852–53
Service in Burma
19 March 1853
Severely wounded at Kyault Azein
16 May 1853
Promoted Lieutenant
27 January 1854
Transferred to 84th Foot
24 February 1854
Transferred to 90th Foot
1854–56
Service in Crimea
26 January 1855
Promoted Captain
30 August 1855
Severely wounded at Sebastopol
1857–58
Service in India
24 March 1858
Promoted Brevet Major
26 April 1859
Promoted Brevet Lieutenant Colonel
1860–61
Service in China
15 February 1861
Promoted Major (Unattached)
6 August 1861
Promoted Major in regiment
11 January 1862
Appointed AQMG, Canada
5 June 1865
Promoted Brevet Colonel
4 June 1867
Married Louisa Erskine
1 October 1867
Appointed DQMG, Canada
5 April 1870
Appointed to lead Red River expedition
1 May 1871
Appointed AAG, Horse Guards
6 September 1873
Appointed to command Asante expedition as Local Major General
1 April 1874
Promoted Major General, antedated to 6 March 1868
April 1874
Appointed Inspector General of Auxiliary Forces
16 February 1875
Appointed High Commissioner and GOC, Natal
25 November 1876
Appointed Member of Council of India
25 March 1878
Promoted Lieutenant General
22 July 1878
Appointed High Commissioner and Governor General, Cyprus
23 June 1879
Appointed High Commissioner and Governor, Natal and Transvaal as Local General
1 July 1880
Appointed QMG, War Office
1 April 1882
Appointed AG, War Office
4 August 1882
Appointed C in C, Egyptian expedition as Temporary General
13 September 1882
Victory of Tel-el-Kebir
18 November 1882
Promoted General and created Baron Wolseley of Cairo and Wolseley
1884–85
Commanded Gordon Relief Expedition
19 August 1885
Elevated to Viscount
1 October 1890
Appointed GOC, Ireland
26 May1894
Promoted Field Marshal
1 November 1895
Appointed C in C of the British army
30 November 1900
Retired as C in C
25 March 1913
Died at Menton, France
31 March 1913
Buried in St Paul’s Cathedral
Appointed CB, 1870; KCMG, 1870; KCB, 1874; GCMG, 1874; GCB, 1880; KP, 1885
The army that Wolseley was commissioned into was one that had seemingly declined since the Napoleonic Wars, though some reforms were underway by the late 1840s and early 1850s. The conditions of enlisted service remained substandard, however, and the ‘army life’ only attracted the man without means. Wellington referred to his army as the ‘scum of the earth’. This scum was what Wolseley would inherit and later greatly improve. Caught at a moment of transition, the army would be severely tested in the Crimea and forced to reform further under more modern lines. This was a fortuitous time for Wolseley to enter the army and be a formative edifice for reform.2
Garnet’s career began with active duty in the Second Burma War and he was badly wounded at Kyault Azein, leading an attack on a stronghold. This valorous act earned him a mention in dispatches and a promotion. Wolseley commented in his published biography, �
�I have never experienced the same unalloyed and elevating satisfaction, or known again the joy I then felt as I ran for the enemy’s stockade …’.3 He received, however, a fierce leg wound, which would take him out of action in Burma. He luckily recovered quickly, for he could have just have easily died from this wound or at least have lost his leg, which would have effectively ended his active military career. Wolseley was shipped home to convalesce, and this was just in time for the Crimean War.4
Garnet had transferred to the 90th Perthshire Light Infantry (later the Cameronians) in February 1854. Wolseley arrived after the major battles of the war, Alma, Balaclava and Inkerman, had been bungled by Lord Raglan: ‘The first object that greeted Wolseley’s eyes as he stepped out of the boat on to the inhospitable shores of the Crimea, was a firelock which lay half in and half out of the water.’5 This was an eerie precursor to the later siege of Sebastopol, the incompetent handling of troops and the use of archaic weapon technology by Wolseley’s regiment. Lieutenant Wolseley volunteered for dangerous duty with the Royal Engineers, which was the best opportunity for action and promotion. During his service with them in the trenches, he started a friendship with young Charles Gordon, whom he would later lead an expedition to save during Gordon’s ill-fated defence of Khartoum (1884–85). He served in ‘Gordon’s Battery’ on 4 January 1855, which inculcated a lasting relationship and earned him a promotion to Captain for his front-line duty.6 Wolseley was badly wounded while working on a sap trench with two other Sergeant Sappers, who were killed by the artillery fire. He slowly convalesced at a hospital near Balaclava. He stayed in the Crimea until the Peace of Paris was signed in April 1856.
Victoria's Generals Page 2
