THE ARMY IN THE NETHERLANDS--WATERLOO, 1815
The Peninsular campaigns had, by the process of constantly “pegging
away,” to use Abraham Lincoln’s expression during the American Civil
War, resulted in sapping the strength of France, and led to the
emperor’s deposition. Perhaps it was not the main cause of his fall
after all; but it was the one open wound that bled the French to death,
when all other districts of Europe were in awe-full peace. The kingdoms
and empires of Europe had either successively fallen, or been cowed by
the mighty genius of Napoleon. Spain and Portugal, almost the least of
these European peoples, had been the only nations who continuously and
persistently stood out against his usurpation. It is more than probable
that, without England’s aid, even their patriotic stubbornness might
have broken down. They wanted active help, practical sympathy, and
money. All these England provided, taking the fact that she was not
then very rich and populous, without stint. How her efforts to aid in
the great aim of crushing the dominance of France, doubtless through
motives that were based on natural and national selfishness, were
responded to, the whole of the history of the Peninsular War clearly
shows. There were only barren honours to the chiefs, utter and cruel
ingratitude throughout to the men who, ill fed and scornfully treated,
fought the battles of Spanish generals and soldiers, who were hardly
worth fighting with or for. Omit England’s part in the great Peninsular
struggle, and there is scarcely a single case in which the Spanish or
the Portuguese either fought a good fight or played a straight game. In
both countries France had friends, and in both countries, therefore,
were traitors to their own cause, and still more to that of their
British allies.
Whatever was the result of the hard work and fighting in the Peninsula
from 1808 to 1814, the British certainly owe no debt of gratitude to
either Spain or Portugal. The utter ingratitude of both nations towards
the insular power who alone of all the nations of Europe gave them
practical help, is more than apparent. The Iberian Peninsula was, and
is, full of the graves of brave men who fought to save a country that
had not the intelligence to save itself. Its coffers were filled with
hard-earned British gold, which they had not the grace to acknowledge.
But the long war did one thing. It trained British officers and British
soldiers to fight the last great fight in Europe for many a year.
Though the army at Waterloo contained but a proportion of the
Peninsular veterans, the glory of the work they had done, the
conviction of their own military masterfulness, the memory of what the
army had been there, was a great factor in the final struggle against
the greatest military power in Europe, when that final struggle came.
The teaching and the glory of the Peninsula made raw soldiers fight at
Quatre Bras and Waterloo as brave men should. Peninsular victories had
wiped out the remembrance of many years of either only partial success
or actual defeat, and had carried the enthusiastic morale all armies
should have back to the best days of Blenheim and Ramilies.
Thus things were when the return from Elba was devised, and, “with the
violets in the spring,” Napoleon returned to France. At the moment of
his return the French army numbered in round numbers about 150,000 men,
and this he speedily increased to 200,000, a small body to meet the
huge masses that were putting themselves in motion for his destruction.
There were the Russians about Poland, numbering 280,000; the Austrians
were 250,000 strong; Prussia alone could furnish 200,000 men; and, in
addition, there were the minor German states, as well as Portugal and
Spain. Holland and Belgium were not to be firmly reckoned on in case of
disaster, but, stiffened by the British and Prussians, they might find
it difficult to avoid casting in their lot with the other nations, and
even assume an enthusiasm that possibly was only superficial. To stand,
centrally situated, on the defensive, was but to invite disaster; and
the time required for the close concentration of the enormous Allied
mass could be calculated with tolerable certainty, though railways
were not. For a time at least, therefore, the nations east of the
Rhine could be disregarded, but those north of the Sambre came under
a different category. They were closer, and therefore within striking
distance. They could not only be got at quickly, and possibly be
defeated, before the eastern armies could arrive to their assistance,
but in case the emperor felt compelled to move towards the Rhine, they
might assail him in flank, attack his communications, and even capture
his capital. Finally, the Brussels road marked the line of junction of
two allies who spoke different languages, and who had not fought side
by side before. This joint, then, was the element of weakness. If it
could be broken through, the French might, like a wedge, split asunder
this flank of the coalition, and, if fortune favoured Napoleon, might
destroy in detail two of his nearest enemies. Besides, something _must_
be done, and this course would soonest of all carry the war out of
France. Across the frontier the British army covered the front from
the Charleroi-Brussels road to Ostend, and the Prussians extended the
arc eastward to Liège. The former numbered about 106,000 men (of whom
about 34,000 were British, and the remainder Germans, Hanoverians,
Brunswickers, Nassauers, Dutch, and Belgians), with its base of supply
between Ostend and Antwerp; the latter 117,000, with its base on the
lower Rhine. Thus the area covered by the troops had a frontage of
about 100 miles and a depth of nearly 40. Opposed to them was a compact
French army of 125,000 men.
[Illustration: _CAMPAIGNS of WATERLOO (1815) & MARLBOROUGH._]
On the other hand, the Allies did not care at first to take the
initiative, though they were enormously superior in number.
Each had his own views as to what their great antagonist would do.
Wellington had, throughout, made up his mind that the emperor would
attack his right and sever his communications with the sea, although
such a course would force the concentration of the two possibly
undefeated armies. So determined was he that this view was correct,
that even on the supreme day of Waterloo he had detached at Halle some
10,000 men to guard the flank that was not even threatened. In his
first and last meeting with Napoleon he did not grasp his adversary’s
skill. He was planning an invasion of France at the moment the French
tricolors were crossing the frontier. On the other hand, Blucher, with
the difficult country of the Ardennes between his line of communication
and the enemy, was necessarily not so anxious for his outer flank, and
was quite prepared to fight opposite Charleroi.
[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON]
With Napoleon, decision and execution followed rapidly one on the
other. The army was quickly and secretly concentrated, and after
issuing an address appealing to past glories, in which direct reference
is made to the English “prison ships,”[44] it crossed the Sambre on
the 15th June, and the outposts became engaged; but when night fell,
only a portion of the French army were on the north bank of the stream.
The staff work had been bad, and an important order was not received
in time, because it was sent by one orderly instead of in duplicate by
two, and he had a bad tumble. Then began the series of delays which
were among the many causes that led later to the emperor’s defeat at
Waterloo.
The left wing under Ney was so long in closing up to Quatre Bras, that
the British troops at the end of the day outnumbered their opponents,
and D’Erlon’s corps had been swinging pendulum-like between the two
battlefields of Ligny and Quatre Bras, to be useful at neither. Turning
to the Allied side, Blucher had readily gauged the French plan, if
Wellington had not. The night sky, reddened with the glare of many
fires on the night of the 14th June, had warned the advanced corps
of Ziethen that a large force lay in front of him, the details of
which were told him by the deserter Bourmont, who was received with
scant courtesy by the honest old Prussian. “It is all one,” he said
in German, when he noticed the white cockade of the Bourbons in the
general’s hat, “what a man sticks in his hat, a scoundrel remains a
scoundrel”; and so, dismissing him, he carried out the concentration
of his army towards Ligny. Here, on the morning of the 16th, the
French right wing, under Napoleon’s personal leadership, forced back
the Prussians, and after a severe conflict, which lasted till night,
drove them back, he thought in the direction of Liège, practically in
the direction of Wavre. But when defeated, Blucher’s “noble daring” in
deciding on falling back on Wavre rather than Liège, “at once snatched
from Napoleon the hoped-for fruits of his victory, and the danger Ligny
had for a few hours averted was left impending over him.”
On the other flank, there is much to be said. There seems little doubt
that false reports from France had lulled Wellington into a feeling of
security for which, as results proved, there was little basis; and to
this may be added the somewhat futile demonstrations against his right
front.
Even when the passage of the Sambre by the French army was actually
known, on the afternoon of the 15th, still he delayed his decision,
and merely _orders_ for the concentration of his widely-spread units
were issued. When at night the news was confirmed, the general tenor
of the orders pointed rather to a concentration at Nivelle than on the
Charleroi road; yet he knew by then that imposing masses of hostile
troops were north of that place. Had Ney been vigorous and rapid,
nothing could have prevented the separation of the Allied armies.
That this was not so, was due to the independent initiative of a
Dutch-Belgian general, Perponcher, who assembled his command at Quatre
Bras, without orders, only a mile or two from the French bivouac, on
the night of the 15th June. Then came the celebrated ball when--
“There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium’s capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell;
But hush! hark! A deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
Did ye not hear it! No; ’twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;
On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined:
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet--
But hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! Arm! It is--it is the cannon’s opening roar.”
After the ball, the Prince of Orange, anxious for orders, was told by
the duke, it is said, to “go to bed”; but he started instead for Quatre
Bras, which his chief did not reach until eleven o’clock.
Then the duke rode to Ligny and conferred with Blucher. At this
conference he agreed, against apparently his own and Müffling’s
opinion, to move to the right rear of the Prussians and act as a
reserve, _provided he were not attacked himself_. To do so he must have
moved by the Namur Chaussée, which passes through Quatre Bras. To do so
at all, therefore, that point must first be securely held. To have made
a flank march in the very presence of the enemy, and to have left his
own line of advance, towards which his troops were converging, exposed
to danger, would but have been to court disaster. To lend any aid
whatever to Blucher, Quatre Bras was his first case. But Herr Delbruck,
in his _Life of Gneisenau_, makes the assertion that the battle of
Ligny was only fought on the assumption that 60,000 men would form on
their right to strengthen, and if necessary prolong, their line on this
side, while Müffling, on the other hand, clearly points out that the
promise to come to Ligny was quite conditional--“provided,” to use the
duke’s own words, “I am not attacked myself.”
Moreover, for the Prussians to fight at Ligny can scarcely be
considered optional. Like the action at Quatre Bras, it was
unavoidable, unless they retreated at once on Waterloo; for if
Wellington were obliged to engage the enemy in order to check his
advance and complete his concentration, it was equally Blucher’s only
choice to give battle at Ligny so as to enable Bülow to join him.
But now comes in a very remarkable statement made by Gneisenau, who
was the chief of staff to the Prussian army which Blucher commanded
in chief. He was the thoughtful brain thereof, as his chief, old
Marshal “Vorwarts,” was the fighting leader. Excellent as the latter
was at carrying out with abundant energy a plan entrusted to him,
the devising of that plan was given to more able and accomplished
students of the art of war. Gneisenau was esteemed one of these, and
the Prussian plan of co-operation with Wellington is probably due
mainly, if not entirely, to him. This fact must be borne clearly in
mind in criticising his comments on the campaign in which he took so
prominent a part. Moreover, he was next in command to Blucher, and
was thus placed with the object of assuming supreme authority over
the Prussian army, should such an eventuality as the temporary or
permanent disablement of Blucher render his services necessary. Such an
eventuality occurred at Ligny, and the retreat to Wavre was therefore
directed by Gneisenau, although the final operations of the Prussian
army, which led to so brilliant a result as the battle of the 18th
June, were superintended by Blucher himself. Gneisenau’s position,
therefore, was difficult and delicate. In supreme command all the
honours of victory would be his; acting as second in command, only a
reflection of that glory would fall upon him. Some allowance must be
made, therefore, for his views with regard to the campaign, if only for
the sake of the possible reason that his judgment was embittered by the
fact that, in the opinion of the world, to Wellington and to Blucher,
not to Gneisenau, the successful issue of the most momentous battle
that the world has seen was mainly due.
It is difficult to understand without some such charitable assumption
the bitterness of his remarks regarding the English Commander-in-chief,
which are so prominently brought forward in the fourth volume of his
life. Not only does he comment in an almost contemptuous spirit on the
early dispositions of Wellington before the hostile armies came into
contact, but he accuses him of a want of _camaraderie_ which is foreign
to the English character, and with which Wellington cannot fairly be
charged.
None the less, the Prussian leader plainly and brusquely considers that
he was guilty of culpable slowness in concentrating after the French
had attacked Ziethen’s outposts on the Sambre on the 15th June, and
charges him with dilatoriness in issuing the necessary orders on the
receipt of the intelligence that the Prussian outposts were so engaged,
and with want of loyalty to his Prussian allies in not rendering them
active assistance at Ligny.
The two first of these may be dismissed without comment. They were
matters of opinion, and, rightly or wrongly, Wellington took his own
view regarding them, and must abide, like other men, by his acts, and
submit to honest criticism. But the last is more serious, for it is not
only stated that Ligny would _not_ have been fought, had it not been
for Wellington’s asserted promise to help, but that he promised in case
of disaster to fall back, with a portion of the army at least, with
Blucher to the Rhine. Gneisenau’s charge is both venomous and explicit.
He compares his own impression with the want of cordial feeling that
undoubtedly frequently existed between the duke and the Spanish
generals in the Peninsula; but this is such an _ex parte_ statement as
to merit little rejoinder.
The evidence of every officer who shared in the glories and troubles
of the Peninsular campaigns bears full testimony to the jealousy, and
want even of courtesy, sometimes shown by the Spaniards, both towards
the army that was fighting for the deliverance of the country and the
chief who commanded it. It was not Wellington only who experienced
this difficulty of operating with the Spanish allies of the British.
Lord Lynedoch[45] very fully supports the accusation of incompetency,
jealousy, and uncordiality against the Spanish generals. After the
battle of Barrosa, his letters and despatches refer frequently to his
own difficulties with them; and as a general officer acting somewhat
independently of the principal British army, his corroboration of the
generally received opinion is valuable and trustworthy.
It is unjust in the extreme to draw any comparison between the want of
unanimity that frequently existed in Spain, and the enforced inability
of Wellington to come to the assistance of Blucher on the field of
Ligny. But Wellington wrote a letter, which is quoted in detail in Herr
Delbruck’s _Life of Gneisenau_, in which this controversy arises. It
runs as follows:--
“SUR LES HAUTEURS DERRIERE FRASNES,
_le 16 June 1815, á 10 heures et demi_.
“MON CHER PRINCE,--Mon armée est situé comme il suit. Le corps
d’armée du Prince d’Orange a une division ici et à Quatre Bras
et le reste à Nivelles. La Reserve est en marche de Waterloo
sur Genappe, où elle arrivera à midi. La cavalerie Anglaise
sera à la même heure à Nivelles. Le corps de Lord Hill est à
Braine le Comte.
“Je ne vois pas beaucoup de l’ennemi en avant de nous, et
j’attends les nouvelles de votre Altesse; et l’arrivée des
troupes pour decider mes operations pour la journée.
“Rien n’a paru du côté de Binche ni sur notre droit.--Votre
très obeissant serviteur,
“WELLINGTON.”
Much capital is made out of this document. It is assumed that
Wellington made a promise which he must have known could not be
fulfilled. And the still graver charge is implied that the letter
was intentionally misleading. It seems scarcely credible that such
a view could be maintained, knowing the good feeling that obtained
between him and all the Prussian leaders except Gneisenau. Moreover,
Wellington’s own army was not so good, so homogeneous, or even so
numerically superior to that of the French as to render his chance of
fighting the emperor single-handed, when his troops were flushed with
victory, a successful one. The political feeling of the Belgians, the
sympathy undoubtedly felt by many with the French, a sympathy only half
concealed in many cases, would be an additional reason for his being
very far from desirous of in any way opposing the concentration of the
Allied armies.
At the time specified there was, judging from his own statement as
to the reconnaissance, little doubt in his mind but that no serious
attack would be made on Quatre Bras; and he evidently intended to move
to Ligny unless prevented. As to the actual position of his corps,
he seemed to have indicated where they might possibly be by the time
when the letter was written, rather than where they actually were; the
errors in position of the different corps averaging ten miles. He seems
to have forgotten, however, that by the after order of 10 p.m. on the
15th June, Picton had been directed to march along the Namur road, only
“to the point where the road to Nivelles separates,” _i.e._ near Mont
St. Jean. Clausewitz’s view that the halt there was designedly made
until after the interview with Blucher is, as Colonel Chesney remarked,
“obviously inconsistent” with the known time of Picton’s appearance
with the leading division at Quatre Bras. As a matter of fact, he
apparently overrated his power of concentration and the movement of his
brigades, though there seems no reason to doubt but what they might
have been, on the whole, very nearly in the positions assigned had they
moved with ordinary speed.
Be all this as it may, the battle of Quatre Bras began. At the cross
roads there, at 2 p.m. on the 15th June, were 7000 Dutch Belgians and
16 guns, against 17,500 French infantry and cavalry and 38 guns, who
speedily drove back the outposts at Frasnes, and were pressing them
still farther back through the wood of Bossu on the Allied right when
the first reinforcements came. These were Pack’s Brigade, composed
of the 42nd, 44th, 92nd, and 95th; Kempt’s Brigade, of 28th, 32nd,
79th, and 1st, and a Hanoverian Brigade of four battalions, with
two more batteries; and thus from 3.30 to 4.30 the Allies numbered
20,000 men with 28 guns, against 18,000 with 44 guns. Now, therefore,
Picton, with whom the duke “was barely on speaking terms,” made a
counter attack on the left, with the usual result that the fire of the
line drove back the enemy’s skirmishers which covered the advance of
their columns, and these, broken by fire against their mass and then
charged with the bayonet, fell back too. But on the other wing, the
right, there was some confusion. The Brunswickers there had fled, both
horse and foot, and their duke was wounded. The 42nd in the tall rye
grass were somewhat rolled up, as they were not in square, while the
44th, assailed in front as well as rear, faced both ranks outwards,
and reserved their fire to twenty paces. So the enemy’s charge swept
on across the field from right to left until the 92nd checked it
and compelled it to retire. Meanwhile, the Bossu wood on the right
was lost, and the French heavy cavalry in vain charged the British
squares, but broke up the 69th, whose order to form square had been
countermanded by the Prince of Orange. So the fight fluctuated until
between 5 and 6 p.m., when the Allied troops now numbered 32,000 men
and 68 guns (against 20,700 and 50 guns) by the arrival of the Guards
and some Brunswickers. Then the whole force advanced, and victory
rested with them. Thus the battle ended at about 6.30 p.m., and at that
time, even if D’Erlon had joined Ney, the French left would still have
been outnumbered. But Wellington, writes the ablest critic of this
momentous campaign, “at dusk, thirty hours after his first warning, had
only present at Quatre Bras three-eighths of his infantry, one-third of
his guns, and one-seventh of his cavalry. Truly, in holding his own,
the great Englishman owed something that day to fortune.”[46]
This is really the gravamen of Gneisenau’s charge. During the night
the Allied right wing was reinforced to 45,000 men, but, short as
the distance between the wings was, showing how less intimate the
connection between the Allied armies was than it should have been,
Blucher’s left wing was beaten and in full retreat, and the English
general did not know the fact till late.
So retreat was unavoidable, and was begun at 10 a.m. on the 17th.
Wellington was to fall back on the known position of Waterloo. Blucher
had promised to come with his whole army if he could. Napoleon had
despatched Grouchy with 33,000 men to prevent this, and keep the
Prussians on the move; but the emperor’s own ill health and failing
strength had again caused delay; so Grouchy started late, and Napoleon
wasted his time in rest and a review.
The British retreat was well conducted in wretched weather, and despite
the heavy ground, there was some rearguard fighting, chiefly by the
cavalry on both sides. At length, on the sodden ground about Mont St.
Jean, both armies settled down for what rest was possible, and waited
for the dawn. Thus the British prepared for battle, with the hope that
Blucher, or the certainty that night, would come on the 18th June 1815.
But still, with a firmness that seems degenerating into obstinacy,
Wellington persisted in his nervous anxiety for his right flank, as he
had done throughout, and stationed some 10,000 men out of his small
army at Hal. His excuse that the troops were inferior is futile, for he
had battalions of a precisely similar character on the battlefield of
Waterloo. He must have known, from the extent of front occupied, that
the bulk of the French army were in front of him. He must have guessed
that some considerable force had been despatched to keep the defeated
Prussians on the move. He knew that the distance of Hal was such as to
preclude the possibility of any further considerable detachment from
the main French army being made, as it would be entirely isolated from
the main battle.
His force was none too strong to hold the position till Blucher came.
His centre was weak and reserves were insufficient. By ten o’clock,
thinks Shaw Kennedy, “it is difficult to understand how any fear for
the Hal road could have existed.” None the less he left ten thousand
men, under the Prince of Orange, not only unemployed, but likely to
remain unemployed.
There, unfortunately for them, were left a brigade of Dutch Belgians
and one of Colvile’s Division, that of Johnston, comprising the 35th,
54th, 59th, and 91st Regiments.
Whether Wellington ever rode to Wavre to personally arrange with
Blucher as to his co-operation or not, is one of those things which
cannot be proved. That it was quite possible, that the distance apart
of the two Allied armies was such that it could be easily done, that
Wellington, not unnaturally anxious, might have thought of it, all
might have been. But it is not proved, any more than the myth that
later on he hoped that “night or Blucher might come.” To accept the
first part of the wish as true would mean that the retreat of a beaten
or at least shaken army through a forest at night was a matter of no
difficulty, which is absurd; to assume the latter part is reasonable,
inasmuch as the blow so struck must have assailed the French rear. It
is probable he did see then the necessity of the Prussian help, and,
so seeing, might have tried to ensure it by a personal talk with his
stout-hearted ally.
The position selected for the battle lies almost at right angles to the
road between Brussels and Charleroi, is about two miles long, and only
about three-quarters of a mile from that held by the French. Its folds,
of equal height with those held by the French, fairly concealed all the
troops but those immediately in front line; its gentle slopes merged
easily into those southward of it. On its left were the roads that led
to Wavre and Blucher, whose general line of march must inevitably lead
to an attack on the village of Planchenoit in rear of the French right
wing, and only about half a mile from their line of retreat by the
Charleroi road.
The position, finally, had three strong advanced posts: on the right,
the Château of Hougomont; in the centre, the small farm of La Haye
Sainte; and on the left those of Papelotte, La Haye, and Smohain;
while the right wing, extending towards Braine la Leud, was somewhat
strengthened by Merbe Braine in rear of it.
As this is the last and most momentous battle of the long war, it will
be well to examine briefly the dispositions made on both sides, for
what practically, then as now, were the three lines of battle.
Commencing on the extreme left, where the ground was somewhat flat,
and to cover the right hand of the two roads by which the Prussians
intended coming if they could, were the brigades of Vivian and
Vandeleur, made up of the 10th and 18th Hussars, the 1st Hussars of
the King’s German Legion, and 11th, 12th, and 16th Light Dragoons;
Perponcher’s Dutch Belgians, holding in advance the farms in front, and
with one brigade (Bylandt’s) extended to their right, on the exposed
and open slopes of the ridge; Vincke’s and Best’s Brigades; Pack’s,
formed of the 1st, 3rd, 1-42nd, 2-44th, and 92nd; Kempt’s, whose right
rested on the Charleroi road, having the 28th, 32nd, and 79th, the
latter of which detached three companies in advance to hold the knoll
of La Haye Sainte, on the east side of the road.
This formed the left wing of the first line. West of the Charleroi road
came Ompteda’s, Kielmansegge’s, and Halkett’s (30th, 33rd, 69th, 73rd),
the right of which rested where the Mound of the Lion now stands, and
Ompteda detached the 2nd light battalion of the King’s German Legion
to hold La Haye Sainte in advance; the two Guards Brigades under Byng
and Maitland (2nd Coldstream and 2nd and 3rd Foot Guards) extending to
the Nivelles road, with Hougomont held in front by the light companies
of the division of Guards and some Nassau and Hanoverian troops; and
then echeloned back came Du Plat’s Brigade and Adam’s Brigade (the
52nd, 71st, 2-95th, and 3-95th), in advance of which was extended
from Hougomont to well the other side of the Nivelles road (which
was abattised) the 4th Brigade, composed of the 14th, 23rd, and 51st
Regiments. Its right flank was covered by a squadron of the 15th
Hussars, which linked it to the Dutch Belgians at Braine la Leud.
Thus the first line, often further subdivided into two parts, held the
ridge, with a series of advanced posts and advanced troops in front,
covered throughout by skirmishers.
The second line, from right to left, was mainly cavalry. Grant’s
3rd Brigade (7th, 13th, 23rd Light Dragoons) to the Nivelles road;
Dornberg’s (23rd, 1st, 2nd Light Dragoons and one of the King’s German
Legion) to the Charleroi road; the 3rd Hussars of the King’s German
Legion; and across the Charleroi road Somerset’s Heavy Brigade (the
1st and 2nd Life Guards, the Royal Horse Guards, and the 1st Dragoon
Guards), with on its left Ponsonby’s Union Brigade, composed of the
1st, 2nd, and 6th Dragoons.
In the third line behind the right was a Hanoverian Brigade in Merbe
Braine, and extended as far as the Charleroi road were the Hanoverian
Hussars, the Brunswick Corps, Collaert’s Division, and Lambert’s
Division (4th, 27th, 46th) when they came up.
The artillery were distributed freely by batteries along the front of
the line, and some held in reserve; but there was no concentration
of artillery. The proportion of each line seems to have been, out of
50,000 infantry, for the advanced posts, 6000 men; in main or first
and second line, 31,000 men; in reserve, 13,000 men. These were formed
when in line two, three, or even four deep, and Shaw Kennedy formed Von
Alten’s Division, each battalion (or pair of battalions) in column on
a front of two companies, whence they at first formed line to re-form
column and square when attacked by cavalry. The whole of the front was
covered by skirmishers. But it will be noticed again how much stronger
the right wing is than the left, owing to the rooted and unfounded
conviction that Wellington held that his right would be chiefly
assailed. And yet it is evident that if the weak left wing were once
broken through, the battle might be lost. Thus the proposed point of
junction of the Allied armies, the junction that could alone inflict a
telling disaster on the French, this which was all-important to allied
as distinctive from local success, was more or less _en l’air_.
On the French side also there were three lines, and these formed and
marched in eleven columns, of which four were to form the first, four
the second, and three the third line. They executed the movement in the
most perfect order.
The first line was composed of Reille’s Corps, 15,000 strong, in two
lines of columns, ranks three deep, and having on its left the light
cavalry of the corps (fifteen squadrons in three lines); and D’Erlon’s
Corps (16,000 strong and similarly formed), the eleven squadrons of its
own light cavalry in three lines being on its right.
The second line was composed of, from the left, Kellerman’s
Cuirassiers; in two lines fifty feet apart, Lobau’s Corps, in mass of
battalion columns; and the light cavalry of Daumont and Subervie and
Milhaud’s Cuirassiers.
In the third line was Guyot’s heavy cavalry of the Guard, then the
Guard itself, drawn up in a column six lines deep, and on its right the
Lancers and Chasseurs of the Guard under Lefebvre.
When any attack was made, the attacking force formed into a smaller
number of larger columns (D’Erlon’s Corps, for example, forming five),
and all were thickly covered by light infantry skirmishers.
The artillery was more or less massed, especially on the right, and
came into action, on several occasions, as at La Haye Sainte, within
two hundred and fifty yards of the infantry. There is no doubt that
until the battle was well advanced, Napoleon believed he was going to
win. Reaching the field on the evening of the 17th, and finding the
enemy in position, he is reported to have said, “I wish I had the power
of Joshua to arrest the sun, that I might attack the enemy to-day.”
Even the next morning he, though imagining the Allied force in front
of him was superior in numbers, considered, “We have at least ninety
chances to a hundred in our favour.”
Nor was Wellington less sanguine. Blucher had promised that “I shall
not come with two corps only, but with my whole army,” and Blucher
was likely to prove a man of his word; but the weather and the roads
rendered it improbable that he should join hands with him, seriously,
till the afternoon was well advanced. As he rode along the line
between 9 and 10 a.m. on the 18th, he was cheered. He was wearing a
blue frock-coat and white buckskin pantaloons, with Hessian boots
and tassels, a white cravat, a low cocked hat without a plume, but
ornamented with a black cockade for Britain, and three smaller for
Spain, Portugal, and the Netherlands. In his right hand he carried
a long field telescope drawn out and ready for use. General Alava,
who joined him from Brussels, found him under a tree observing the
movements of the advancing French. “How are you, Alava?” said he,
laughing. “Bonaparte shall see to-day how a general of Sepoys can
defend a position!”
The general conduct of the battle can best be briefly described by a
series of attacks or phases, though, naturally, the fire both of guns
and skirmishers along the entire front of battle throughout the day
never ceased. The first attack was made at 11.30 by Reille, against the
right at Hougomont, the artillery of that corps being reinforced by
Kellermann. This resulted in the British being driven from the wood and
garden of the house, but not from the buildings themselves. Still, it
had been a very close affair. The Guards, in falling back to the house,
had not time to close the door of the yard before the French were on
them, and severe hand-to-hand fighting ensued; but finally Colonel
Macdonnell and a few men managed to close it, killing all the French
who had penetrated. It was the narrowest escape of capture Hougomont
had. As it was, some of the outbuildings were in flames, and the fire,
curiously enough, only ceased at the feet of a wooden image of our
Saviour.
The second attack was delivered at 1.30 by D’Erlon, against the left
and centre, with the whole of his corps, first in four great columns,
and finally, as the right-hand column split in two against the farms,
into five. But though they temporarily gained Papelotte and the gardens
of La Haye Sainte, the only tangible success on the French side was
the retreat in some haste of Bylandt’s Brigade. One of the main causes
of the failure of the attack was the vigorous offensive taken by
Ponsonby’s and Somerset’s Brigades. It was during this period that
Picton, who had been wounded at Quatre Bras and concealed it, fell dead
while cheering on Kempt’s Brigade; and Sergeant Ewart of the Greys, and
Captain Clarke of the Royal Dragoons, each by the capture of an eagle
in the charge, gained for those regiments the distinction of the eagle
badge on their appointments. The charge of the Heavy Brigade, too,
must have recalled mediæval days, for, meeting the French Cuirassiers,
the clash of weapons upon armour was, as Lord Somerset said, “like so
many tinkers at work.” When the French fell back to re-form, La Haye
Sainte, the real key of the position, was reinforced, but only by two
companies, and the 92nd Regiment had by then been reduced to less than
300 strong. The French cavalry attack began at 4 p.m. on the right
centre. The fierceness of the attack had lulled for a while; there had
been no effort of a serious nature against the right during the second
phase. The cannonade continued there, as it did equally on the left
after D’Erlon fell back.
But now there was to be a change in the method of attack, and Milhaud’s
Cuirassiers, forty squadrons strong, crossing from the right, advanced
into the gap between La Haye Sainte and Hougomont,--a frontage of
about 1000 yards only,--to attack in lines of columns the British and
other regiments opposed to them, which threw themselves into squares.
Thrice Milhaud attempted to break them, and, failing, was driven back
by the British cavalry to re-form. Then, at 5 p.m., those who were
left, together with Kellermann and Guyot, seventy-seven fresh squadrons
in all, made the same desperate effort. But by six o’clock this too
had failed. The ground was strewn with the bodies of horses, lancers,
cuirassiers, carbiniers, chasseurs, horse grenadiers, hussars, light
and heavy dragoons, and the mighty mass of horsemen was practically
destroyed, and that mainly by infantry and artillery fire.
Now the Prussian army was fully _en évidence_. As early as 4.30,
Bülow’s corps from Wavre had reached the field, and had so hotly
engaged the French that Lobau’s corps and the cavalry division of
Subervie and Daumont had been detached to oppose him; and by six
o’clock they had to be reinforced, from Napoleon’s last reserve, by
eight battalions of the Guard, or one-third its total strength, when
Blucher had developed on, and in rear of, the French right flank,
29,000 infantry and 64 guns. The second attack on the centre by Ney
occurred between five and six. It was mainly directed on La Haye
Sainte, which was carried after desperate fighting, and the poor
remnants of the King’s German Legion, who had fought magnificently
until they were short of ammunition, were almost annihilated. Hougomont
and the whole of the right centre had meanwhile been again assaulted,
though without result; but when La Haye Sainte fell, the English centre
was, for a brief space, broken. The French, pressing in, inflicted
heavy losses on the brigades on either side of the Charleroi road,
especially those of Ompteda and Kielmansegge. Between Halkett’s brigade
on the west of the Charleroi road, and Kempt’s on the right, there was
a great gap. So dire had been the slaughter, that at one time the duke,
pointing to a mass of killed and wounded men of the 28th and 73rd,
asked what square that was so far in advance. It was a critical moment
in the battle.
But here Wellington’s coolness in the ordering of a battle stood him in
good stead. Says Kennedy: “This very startling information he received
with a degree of coolness, and replied to in an instant with such
precision and energy as to prove the most complete self-possession,
and left on my mind the impression that his Grace’s mind remained
perfectly calm during every phase, however serious, of the action; that
he felt confident of his own powers of being able to guide the storm
which raged around him; and from the determined manner in which he
then spoke, it was evident that he had resolved to defend, to the last
extremity, every inch of the position which he then held. His Grace’s
answer to my representation was in the following words, or very nearly
so:--‘I shall order the Brunswick troops to the spot, and other troops
besides. Go you and get all the German troops of the division to the
spot that you can, and all the guns that you can find.’”
So the gap was filled and the danger ceased; but, “most fortunately,
Napoleon did not support the advantage his troops had gained at this
point by bringing forward his reserve, proving that he did not exert
that activity and personal energy in superintending and conforming to
the progress of the action, which he ought to have done.”
It was all too late now. Ney had pressed for reinforcements, to
receive the reply, “_Où voulez-vous que j’en prenne? Voulez-vous que
j’en fasse?_” How could he indeed? Blucher was close at hand now with
three corps, and was forcing the French right and rear from Smohain to
Planchenoit, with 52,000 infantry and 104 guns.
The fifth and last French attack was made at 7.30, with the Guard on
the right centre, and these, with all other available divisions and the
cavalry, made for the first time a general assault along the entire
line.
Ten battalions of the Guard formed into two columns and pushed up the
slopes between La Haye Sainte and Hougomont, covered by skirmishers;
but the storm of fire in front, and especially in flank, by Colborne’s
judicious management of the 52nd, was too severe. A gallant effort
was made by the picked soldiery of France to crest the blood-stained,
well-defended heights; but the game was played out, and “the Guard
turned and fled.” “_Tout est perdu_,” said the half-broken host. “_La
Garde est répousée_”; and even Napoleon at the failure of this final
effort repeated the saying, and finished with, “_Sauvons nous_.” As
the French fell back, the whole Allied line advanced, and though the
defence of Planchenoit still continued up to this moment, that village
too was carried, and the French army of Waterloo ceased to be, and
fled in utter rout to France. It was eight o’clock, and by that time
the loss since the passage of the Sambre amounted to at least 40,000
French, and 30,000 of the Allied troops.
No account of this great and most decisive battle is complete without a
further reference to the Prussian co-operation, and the action Grouchy
may have taken to interfere and prevent what, if it were successful,
must have been decisive as to result. At the end, one French corps,
some battalions of the Guard, and two cavalry divisions were face to
face with some 50,000 men. It will be remembered that Grouchy had been
despatched from Ligny late on the 17th, to prevent this very union of
the Allied wings.
He was 33,000 strong, with 96 guns, and by 8 a.m. on the 18th, the
morning of Waterloo, was nearing Wavre. It was at Sart-le-Walhain that
he heard the cannon-roar of battle to his left. What was he to do?
Nowadays he would have moved to the sound of the guns, and, however
it might be matter of opinion, such a course would have, to say the
least, not have lessened the helpfulness of the task his chief had
given him. His object was to keep the Allies apart. What he did, did
not. He attacked the Prussians in front of Wavre. To have crossed the
Dyle above Wavre, difficult though it was, might have had two results.
First, he would have turned the Prussian position there where the
stream was less difficult. He must have isolated the corps at Wavre,
and _might have_, by appearing on the flank of the Prussian column of
march on Smohain and Planchenoit, forced one other corps at least, to
form front towards him, and thus checked or “contained” two of the
enemy’s corps. He might have done more with this half-beaten army.
But most of all, he would have, and must have, as the day went on,
by prolonging the French right at Planchenoit, prevented the direct
advance of Blucher on the French right rear and line of retreat. His
very appearance between the Dyle and Planchenoit would have had an
effect, possibly considerable, on the Prussian army. It is immaterial
whether, as the hours flew by, Grouchy could have joined hands with
Lobau at Planchenoit. Blucher might have and would have got one
corps by Sart-le-Walhain on the British left; but it is possible
that all his other corps would have been checked, facing the unknown
danger of Grouchy, between the field of Waterloo and the passages at
Wavre. Doubtless Napoleon made a mistake in not giving Grouchy a more
free hand. He, Grouchy, feared his great chief, and thought literal
obedience to orders was more important than translating those orders.
Not that Grouchy’s appearance near the great field would have prevented
disaster; but it might have prevented rout. There _might_ have been
more men to call on, say the eight battalions of the Guard, when Ney
most wanted them in his further effort against the English centre, and
La Haye Sainte had fallen. Grouchy attacked in front the strongest
part of the Prussian line of defence. Had he _turned_ it, he would
have carried out both his literal and his factual orders to keep the
Prussians back from joining Wellington.
Hence, as Napoleon himself said, “This morning we had ninety chances
for us; this arrival of Bülow loses us thirty.”
But Blucher, unmolested, had only difficult ground to traverse, wearied
troops to encourage, and his promise to help Wellington to keep his
energy at its highest. He was not threatened in his march. Thielemann
could hold Wavre, and so, desperately playing the bold game, he won
success. It was “_toujours l’audace_” over again. He had promised to
come with all he could bring, and he nobly fulfilled his promise. Never
was there a better leader of men in a time of sore anxiety. He knew
he could call upon the personal hatred of Prussians, who remembered,
themselves or through their people, the French occupation of their
country not many years before. His cheering cry in that heavy march,
of “_Kinder, ihr wollt doch nicht dass ich wortbrüchig werden soll_”
touched the heart of every weary, tired man, and “Englishmen ought
never to forget it,” because it made Waterloo not merely a victory, but
a rout. The hard defensive battle is due to the men, both Germans and
English, Wellington commanded. The utter collapse of the French is due
to Blucher’s steadfastness of purpose, and to Grouchy’s too literal
obedience to Napoleon, and his fear of disobeying his direct command.
None the less Grouchy, useless as a subordinate who had to translate
literal orders into practical action, a good divisional leader when
under distinct orders rather than a semi-independent commander, acting
according to his dim “regulation” lights, saved the remnants of his
force with great skill, and might have done more. To the British army
is due much of that marvellous victory, but not all. Until Colonel
Chesney wrote the Waterloo Lectures, all foreign students of the
campaign looked askance at the claim of the British army to have been,
as for long years it was asserted to be, the only great factor in the
great fight. No proud nation should fear to recognise such external
help, and yet, less than fifty years ago, all British soldiers were led
to believe that they alone had won the hard-fought battle, and that
Prussian help at Waterloo was a mere incident, not a great element in
the victory that is due to both.
[Illustration: _Formation of the Lines of Battle at Waterloo 17^{th}
June 1815._]
Thus was Waterloo fought, and lost, and won. “All might have failed,
but for the astonishing staunchness of the English and German infantry
in Wellington’s army. Nothing, in war or in peace, is so trying to the
nerves as passively to await deadly peril, making no effort to avert
it. And never probably in war was greater strain of this nature put
upon troops, than fell on Alten’s and Picton’s divisions at Waterloo.
The Guards and Hanoverians who held Hougomont had more prolonged and
exciting conflict, the heavy cavalry did magnificent service: to
Maitland’s Brigade, and still more to the 52nd, belongs the conspicuous
glory of having given the last crushing blow. But, after all, the chief
honour belongs to the English brigades of Halkett, Kempt, and Pack, and
to the Germans who stood by their side.”[47]
* * * * *
The conclusion of the campaign offers but few points of interest.
The Prussians mainly carried on the pursuit, and it must have been
embittered by all the dreadful history of the past. One can understand
the troopers sabreing till arms were weary, with “_that_ for Jena,
and _that_ for Austerlitz.” There were skirmishes at Namur, Laon,
and Cambrai; Peronne “la Pucelle,” was stormed; and within eighteen
days since the French crossed the frontier, the Allied armies were
before Paris, which soon capitulated, and the great war was over. The
last shot was fired on the 3rd July 1815, when the advanced guard of
the 16th Light Dragoons were entering Paris. Then Ney, “le brave des
braves,” was shot, and Napoleon, surrendering himself to his ancient
enemy, the English, finished his days at St. Helena.
* * * * *
During the prolonged war, which was almost continuous from 1793
to 1815, the actual and permanent increase to the army list had
been considerable, though there had been many fluctuations. Second
battalions to many regiments had been formed, disbanded, restored, and
in some cases given a separate existence. Up to 1805, moreover, the
period of service had been usually for life, but in that year it was
fixed at seventeen years, with the power of re-engagement for twelve
years more.
In 1793, the twelve regiments of infantry, numbering from the 78th to
the 89th inclusive, had been formed. The 90th in Perthshire, and the
91st in Argyllshire, had been raised by private enthusiasm, the former
by “Sir Thomas Graham,” and hence called his “Perthshire Greybreeks,”
from the colour of their breeches; and the latter by the Duke of
Argyll, though it then was numbered the 98th. But the 5th Royal Irish
Dragoons was disbanded for disloyalty during the Irish Rebellion,
though there is but little evidence that the disaffection was general.
It is curious to notice how the frequent and serious cases of mutiny in
the navy found no parallel in the army. Even the above was undoubtedly
much exaggerated, and so strong was the loyal feeling in the army that,
in 1798, the 2nd Queen’s subscribed £100 for the discovery of the
author of sundry seditious pamphlets that were being circulated.
Dress had often changed, though merely in minor details, The
three-cornered hat was replaced, about 1796, by a cylindrical hat,
somewhat like the modern “stovepipe” headdress, but with the side
turned up with a cockade and feather. Black cloth leggings replaced the
white spatterdashes. Powder disappeared in 1796, but pigtails, though
shortened to 7 inches in 1804, were not abolished altogether until
1808. How so ridiculous a fashion had been retained so long it is hard
to imagine. Men were helpless to finish off their headdress for parade
by themselves. “Tie for tie,” and “plait for plait,” was the general
cry in every barrack-room, and woe to the man who had no friend to help
him! The only trace of the absurd custom is the black silk “flash” worn
on the collars of the officers of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers.
The old Hussar dress, with its swinging pelisse, was introduced from
Hungary, where it was the national attire, about 1806, when the 7th,
10th, and 15th Light Dragoons adopted the new name of “Hussars,” and
wore a scarlet shako, instead of the former headdress, the busby;
while by 1820, the 9th, 12th, 16th, and 17th Light Dragoons were armed
with the lance, and appeared in the _Army List_ as Lancers. For their
services at Ciudad, Badajoz, and San Sebastian, the Engineers became
the “Corps of Sappers and Miners.”
One noticeable thing relating to the Highland forces had occurred in
the early part of the period under consideration. Between 1793 and
1809, Scotland had willingly furnished some 70,000 men to fill the
ranks of her national section of the army. But North Britain was not
populous, and the supply of men, more than such a country could afford,
began to fail. There were then one cavalry and nineteen infantry
regiments serving with the colours and wearing the tartan; but already,
as too often occurs at the present time, there were many regiments
which perforce were recruited in England, and were only Scottish by
name and dress. Hence it was that six of these regiments, the 90th,
91st, 72nd, 74th, 75th, and 94th, were ordered to abandon the kilt, and
adopt the ordinary line uniform.
There had been many changes in the form of the sword. At first a broad
two-edged blade, a heavy, hacking weapon with a cross hilt, it was
designed to wound men in armour. Not that, apparently, they ran much
danger, for in many a battle few were killed. The wounds received in
action appear to have been chiefly contusions.[48] The mace or axe was
in armoured days probably more effective than the sword. As armour was
abandoned, and the mail gauntlet discarded, so the hilt became more
complex (as in the so-called modern “claymore” hilt), to guard the
naked, or merely gloved hand. The weapon itself was now made to thrust
as well as cut, and the lighter and thinner blade was stiffened and
strengthened (as in bayonets) with grooves. Finally, about the end
of the last century, and for long after, the merely thrusting rapier
was almost universal, save the hanger or cutlass used by bluejackets.
But fashions change, and the rapier blade widened out into the modern
cut-and-thrust sword, and the simple shell-like rapier guard again
spread out to cover hand and wrist. Swords were worn by the rank and
file of the British infantry battalions up to 1745, the grenadiers
carrying them seventeen years longer.
[Illustration: _Spears & Swords._
_Pike_
_BlkBill_
_Partisan_
_Lochaber Axe_
_Halberd Geo: II._
_Halberd Geo: III._
_Spontoon 1820_
_1350_
_1580_
_Scheavona 1600_
_Claymore 1700_
_Rapier 1800_
_Modern 1896_
]
No infantry weapon has exercised so powerful an influence on the
destinies of mankind as the sword. The _gladius_ conquered the world
not merely because it was a true steel weapon and an excellent fighting
tool, as compared with those of the nations the Romans had to meet,
but because it was carried by men who knew its value. Morale--moral
courage--is induced by a knowledge that one’s weapons are superior to
those of the antagonist. The good sword implies a personal courage,
the intention of closing with the adversary, and an individuality
that no other weapon possesses. At times it had its special religious
aspect. The cross of the Crusader’s sword was the emblem to him of
his faith and of his cause. His prayers said before it, a consecrated
weapon, had all the reverence that would have been attached to prayers
before the Crucifix; his oath upon it was as an oath on the Cross of
Christ. At all periods a ceremonial weapon, now it is mainly so. The
two-handed Sword of State has been carried before kings and princes
and potentates from early days even until now. The dress sword of the
Lord Mayor means but guardian power. The State sword worn by a court
official but implies the defence of the sovereign’s person, and the
right of those surrounding the throne to carry arms. At all times it
has been the emblem of personal authority and governance.
Highly prized as heirlooms in those days when swords were rare, they
often appear in the chronicles of ancient wills. Æthelstan mentions in
his will “the sword of King Offa, the sword which Ulfeytel owned, and
that with the silver hilt which Wulfric made.” Similarly, in old Japan
the father’s sword was a precious heirloom, a sacred charge, and this
feeling has been common among all nations where the profession of arms
was held to be noble, and the arms themselves consequently revered.
Mrs. Norton has touched this chord very tenderly in one of her poems--
“Tell my mother that her other sons will comfort her old age,
For I was but a truant bird, who thought his home a cage;
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child,
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild.
And when he died and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate’er they would, but kept my father’s sword;
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine,
On the cottage walls of Bingen, fair Bingen by the Rhine.”
This very feeling caused a certain amount of personality to be attached
to the sword itself. Thus, swords have had fanciful names, as Cæsar’s
“Crocea Mors” (yellow death), Charlemagne’s “Joyeuse,” Mahomet’s “Al
Battar” (the beater), Ali’s “Zulfagar,” and King Arthur’s “Excalibur.”
In other cases they bore mottoes, such as on the Scotch sword which
has--
“At Bannockburn I served the Bruce
Of which the Inglis had no ruse;”
and an Italian blade has on it--
“Draw me not without cause,
Sheath me not without honour.”
In other cases the mottoes are of a religious cast as “_In te Domine_,”
“There is no conqueror but God,” “Do not abandon me, O faithful God,”
and so on. Lastly, some swords bear the names or monograms of the
places where they were made, or persons who forged them. Thus Solingen
in Germany and Sahagun in Spain were noted for sword blades, and the
former is so still. Many of the early makers take their names from the
town in which they worked or were born, as Alonzo de Sahagun and Andrea
di Ferrara did.
After the close of the Peninsular War, the usual rapid reduction of
the national armed strength followed. Hardly had Wellington returned
to England than the Volunteer and Yeomanry Corps, as well as the
militia, were disembodied; but, for the first time, there was a delay
in the reduction of the _regular_ forces. The prolonged war had still
further, for a time at least, caused the nation to forget its former
prejudice against a standing army. It had got accustomed, at least,
to its existence, and on the civil life of the country was reflected
the military glory won by its sons in foreign war. There had been
much almost personal antagonism to the pretensions and aggressions
of France, and this had led, more than anything else perhaps, to the
feeling that the army was after all but an integral portion of the
Commonwealth, and need not be, and had no intention of being, hostile
to the national peace at home. To this gradual increase in political
freedom was added less fear of the sovereign. The time had passed
since any King of England either could, or would, use the army (in the
way the Stuarts wanted to do) as a means of repressing the people or
their freedom. Englishmen had got over this childish dread lest the
soldiery should be used actively against them. The national police
that had protected abroad the commerce of the land and kept its shores
practically inviolate was no longer feared. It was expensive now. That
was all.
The reductions in the time to come, therefore, were but economic
questions, and when the national pocket was pinched, the army was
reduced as the readiest and easiest means of meeting the deficit. It
was no longer feared, had even become respected and respectable; but
its keeping up was a matter of taxation. All reformers seek to reduce
this burden, and what so easy as to lessen the cost of a machine, the
value of which in the past may have been great, and only possibly might
be of equal value in the future? But in the immediate present (at any
period in this century) the reformer merely looked at things as they
then were, and carefully put off till the to-morrow what it would
have been less costly to do quietly to-day. Such politicians do not
see that the ominous war-cloud means war risks, greater haste, higher
prices, and more expenditure. But it matters little to them so long as
retrenchment, whether wise or not is immaterial, comes to them. “What
has posterity done for them,” that they should trouble about a future
that only concerns their children? And yet, if these same economists
were to put off life insurance until age and waning health came, they
would consider such a course more than unbusiness-like. The nation
had by sheer force of circumstances been led to see the value of the
national insurance--the army; but it was reluctant to effect as sound
an insurance in this respect as the case needed. The story of all
voluntary armies has practically been the same.
With the cessation of hostilities came the shower of rewards, but with
a considerable reservation. Ensigns of the Guards were to rank as
lieutenants, and the 1st Foot Guards were made “Grenadiers.” Generals
were made peers, and the knighthood of the Bath expanded to decorate
others. But Tommy Atkins, who did the fighting? He got nothing, save
discharge on a full or a limited pension, ranging between sixpence and
a shilling a day, or Chelsea Hospital! His sole reward was the increase
of pay of his sergeant-major, the addition of a colour-sergeant at
two-and-fourpence a day to each company, and, some thirty years later,
for those who survived--a medal! Never were the rank and file of an
army that had done so much rewarded at so exceedingly cheap a rate.
The necessity for keeping the regular army on a war footing after 1815,
still remained so long as there was an army of occupation, 25,000
strong, to be kept in France. In 1816, therefore, the numerical
strength of the army was 175,615 men, exclusive of those employed in
India. But when that occupation ceased, a reduction of 26,000 men
followed as a matter of course, and most of the cadres of regiments
were reduced to a very low peace strength.