This is a brief overview of the formation and history of the Heavy (Elephant) battery that was formed by the British in India. Sorry it’s just a link, but it was written for Britannia Magazine on Facebook, and I hope to expand it and post additional stuff here in the future.
There’s naturally allot of talk about president’s at the moment, and so in honour of his birthday I thought I’d write a little about George Washington, and how even the British ended up agreeing he was possibly one of the greatest men, if not the greatest man of the 18th century, Continue reading “An Obtuse Admiration.”
It’s probably fair to say that not everyone wants to read a full 300 odd pages about the Battle of Waterloo. Instead some people might just wish something to let them decide wether they want to dig deeper. Given the large libraries of books dedicated to the battle, short books on the subject aren’t all that easy to find, less still ones that are worth reading. Happily this one is.
Mark Simner has written a very nice, compact illustrated introduction to the battle, which will tell you all you might wish to know in a manageable space and without drowning the reader in weighty facts. The images are nicely chosen, with some that even experienced Waterloo enthusiasts might not have seen before. Especially one depicting the attack on Hougoumont. Despite the limited space, the author is experienced with fitting in the right details into a clear narrative of events.
Much Like in Adkin’s Waterloo Companion, interspersed into the main course of the book are text blocks that illustrate certain parts of the story. There is a feel of trying to create a small companion to the battle, which indeed it would serve well as, even for those who just wish a quick reference. There is included a short guide to further reading and interesting websites at the end, and at the beginning there is an interesting introduction within an introduction, outlining the battle in 10 minutes. Much of the first 3 chapters or so concentrate of Napoleon, the French Revolution, and the Napoleonic Wars. I notice that both the careers of the allied commanders are represented by one of the text blocks, thus Napoleon appears much more formed to the mind of a reader than his enemies, but this is likely because the French Emperor is the crux of the matter for a book as small as this.
The rest of the book follows a traditional summary of the battle, IE it breaks it into phases, the lead in to the battle is briefly covered, Ligny, Quatre Bras and Wavre are mentioned as bookends and in my opinion it is a very nice piece of work. As a military history that covers many sides of the story I should think it perfect for a traveller to pop into a rucksack or haversack along with Andrew Roberts’ slim campaign overview, and Andrew Forrest’s fine analysis of the legacy of the battle for Oxford. All in all there is much to recommend this book for newcomer and veteran alike and will be a fine companion for anyone interested in the battle.
The city of Seringapatam, capitol of Mysore, in South Western India was built to use natural forces to compliment man made fortifications. It stood on an island in the middle of the River Cauvery, rising out of the jungle as a sparkling diamond with its temple spires and minarets piercing its skyline. The Cauvery flows in a brown ribbon out of the Western Ghauts and in the wet season provided a formidable moat to an enemy. On the island’s north western end, the fortress rose over the city, placed on a sloping stone glacis, on it’s primarily granite walls were mounted over 100 guns but though built to be modern, the flat slab faced battlements lacked modern triangular bastions and sloping faces, also by the time the British came, the ground was not swampy, it was parched after the dry season, the river consisted of barely a few toffee coloured streams running across the bare ivory rock. However it would only stay this way until the monsoon season came. On the 4th of April 1799 The Tiger of Mysore had risen early and as was his habit went to one of the calivers of the outer ramparts on the north face. Here he watched the enemies of his father, the Great Hyder Ali blockade his capitol. His plan was the same as when they had come before under Cornwallis, he would wait for the monsoon, using the River Cauvery as a ditch until the rains came and turned it into a moat. The British Company Army under General Harris had arrived before the walls and set up camp to the south of the river having taken 31 days to cover 153.5 miles from Madras. If Harris couldn’t take the city by the 20th of May, the latest date by which rains were expected he would have to retreat, like Cornwallis had, for no army could fight in the Monsoon. Although he had failed to stop the British at Malavelly, Tipu still had somewhere around 30-38,000 men, including his European trained troops and his exceptional cavalry. Colonel Arthur Wellesley had already been off colour for a while, fatigue and heat had “teased him much”. The commander in chief, General Harris had noticed his most energetic Colonel’s flagging energy and had given a warning for him to be watched so that he did not wear himself out. Added to his active but drained demeanour was that he had no great enthusiasm for the war, only a great sense of duty carried him on. He had indeed advised his brother, Lord Mornington, the Governor General, to go into further negotiation with Tipu, and exhaust all possibility of peace before taking so drastic an action of destroying the state of Mysore. Yet here they were and despite his tiredness, Wellesley was one of an alternating team of duty officers who took control of the running of the southern camp. The British had invested Seringapatam with camps on both sides of the river. The southern camp was under General Harris commanding the Madras force, while General Stuart, with the Bombay army was to the north.
Harris now felt that Tipu’s men who had yet to fully enter the city, and still occupied its outer environs, would be dispirited after Malavelly. Indeed apart for burning everything that could aid the enemy as he retreated, causing no little trouble to the British commissariat, Tipu had shown a marked lack of imagination in opposing them. As many commented that there were many points during the advance were he could have fought the British on advantageous terms. Any successes he scored, were largely achieved by the courtesy of injudicious moves made by the British. Between Harris’ southern camp and the Cauvery the ground was broken by small villages, watercourses and thick topes of trees intersected by Nullahs and aloe hedges. This area needed to be cleared and the enemy beaten back into the fortress before the guns could open fire, also Harris thought it would be good to beat up the enemy camp to keep them jumpy. In order to do this on the 5th April 1799 Colonel Wellesley was ordered to prepare a force to occupy the village of Sultanpettah.
Sultanpettah lay amongst some tangled forest scrub astride a Nullah or canal, 200 yards or so from the southern bend of the Cauvery, and would essentially secure or threaten the British right flank. Wellesley, could not be said to have been fighting fit, drained from his recent illness he also had district misgivings about the fact he had not seen the ground he was to advance over, in the dark no less. Nevertheless he prepared in a logical fashion, he split the 33rd into wings. 5 companies would advance supported by their battalion guns, and secure the Tope that seems to have grown close to the village, and the other 5 companies under Major Shee would stand as a reserve with four companies of the 10th Bengal Native Infantry. Wellesley ordered his companies to fix bayonets, but only the Grenadier Company was allowed to charge and prime.
At a little after 7pm the troops marched towards the trees, following the course of a dry Nullah, that would take them around the Tope. The widening course of the ditch proved difficult to follow, and a thick aloe hedge grew on its far side bounding the Tope. Presently they arrived at an opening in the underbrush and the officers halted to discuss which way to take. It was then that one soldier, observed an orange light glowing in the dark ahead of them. Quietly the officers discussed what it might be. Meanwhile the sepoy crouching in the gloom with his comrades behind the hedge slipped the burning slow match into the serpentine of his matchlock, checked its action and opened his pan.
Without knowing it the British had wandered right into the middle of an estimated 2,000 of Tipu’s troops and the next thing they knew a livid discharge of musketry assailed them from both sides, and for an instant the night was lit by fire and flame. Men and officers were shot and knocked down in the confusion. By the light of fizzing rocket bursts and spitting muskets, the advance companies of the 33rd attempted to respond to the cries of their officers. Despite their empty muskets months, even years of drill should have allowed the men of the centre companies to load and present blindfolded. Yet it is another matter entirely to load a musket in the dark, when you are clustered against the bank of a deep Nullah, in unfamiliar surroundings, with your night vision lost to rocket explosions and men being killed and wounded around you.
In the confusion Colonel Wellesley rode up to the head of the advance, and with help put the troops in some kind of order, just as a second volley crashed out from the darkness, from the muzzle flashes it was clear that Tipu’s men were much further to their left now than before. In that confusion someone ordered the drums to beat the Grenadier’s March. This rousing call to attack was supported by the officers bellowing for the men to cross the Nullah and use their bayonets. The British leapt and scrambled over the obstacle and rushed the hedge and were soon entangled amongst the trees, driving back those troops ahead of them, while the Grenadier company opened fire by files into the darkness.
Being mounted Wellesley was unable to cross but gathered a group of 70 odd men, and ordered them to load and fire upon the enemy trying to outflank them. He was then directed to a small stone bridge that spanned the Nullah. At that moment an officer came running back to report the enemy in great strength to their front. The sheet of flame widening along the flanks were causing him much disquiet and two officers were sent to the rear to bring up the reserve.
With the flash of musketry and rocket fire intensifying, and repeated attempts to form having failed, the reserve had not yet arrived. Wellesley having lost contact with the forward companies, ordered his detachment to retire so as to locate the reserves, however instead of retracing their steps they marched in a straight line until they met sentinels of the 10th BNI and the 4 6pdr guns at the corner of the Tope. It transpired that by retreating they had passed right by the reserve which was moving up to support them. At the edge of the Tope they discovered that the reserve was not to be found. Lieutenant Taynton of the Madras Artillery, explained the situation to Wellesley and seeing that he was in discomfort from bruised knee, caused by a spent ball, offered him some brandy and water to refresh him. The sound of gunfire having become general Wellesley ordered them to retire further with the guns to the nearest part of the camp were he found the Swiss Regiment de Meurion and General Sherbrooke’s Brigade standing to arms. He ordered his men to halt and await orders, then rode to headquarters to report the failure of the attack. After a confused action, lasting a quarter of an hour or more, the British had fallen back, but as it happened so too had most of Tipu’s men.
The next morning Wellesley took Sultanpettah and the nearby tope with no losses, hardly surprising since most of the enemy were probably gone. The siege then progressed in a fairly typical fashion. On the night of the 17th a small offshoot of the river called the little Cauvery was taken along with the ruined village of Argarum. From the 21st to the 26th breaching batteries established to the south and west. On 26th April the British Guns opened fire and eventually silenced the opposing batteries. The defenders had put up a good fight, giving gun for gun, and keeping up a constant fire of rockets and big guns on the trenches. Now and again they would set alight the batteries, this would signal a sally by Tipu’s Tiger Sepoy’s who would rush up to the lip, pour a volley of musketry into the works and withdraw as reinforcements came up. Nevertheless Wellesley as Duty officer had taken all the ground between the southern and little Cauvery’s on the 27th of April, though not without difficulty, and the assistance of Colonel Campbell of the 74th.
With the way cleared the breaching Batteries were now thrown up 400 yards from the walls. Sustained bombardment then began with minimal counter fire being returned. The guns pounded away but time was running out, as the coming of the monsoon would soon put a stop to all operations. Not before time, the batteries finally opened a cannelure (a long groove) along the bottom the of the fortifications, partway between were the bridge spanned the river and the most North Westerly bastion whose apex pointed upriver. With a little encouragement this gash would cause the wall to collapse, creating a breach. As soon as the scar smeared the granite face of Seringapatam the chances of Tipu having to face an assault increased considerably. Day by day the guns tore away the bottom of the wall. When that went it brought he top crumbling down in an avalanche of stone masonry. Once the dust cleared, the British officers and engineers trained their telescopes to view the demolition. The fallen rubble had created a ramp that attacking soldiers could climb, after some mathematical consideration it was deemed “a practical breach” and an assault date was set for the 4th May 1799.
“In Fine Style”
Soldiers hate sieges but at last the monotony was coming to an end. Unfortunately that meant storming a breach. Being more senior it was General Baird who was given the honour of leading the storming parties. It was a duty he relished, having once been a prisoner in Seringapatam’s dungeons, and he was after revenge. Wellesley was given command of the reserve and would wait until the breach was taken to advance or reinforce the attack if need be. There is fragmentary evidence that Harris deliberately gave him this command. Partly due to his wishing to keep the Governor General’s brother safe, but it is just possible that Wellesley had fatigued himself too much clearing the way to lead the attack.
Just after midday on the 4th of May 1799. Baird was waiting with his men in the hot and fetid forward trenches for the clock to tick down. Every face glistened, each man damp and uncomfortable in his uniform, each mouth dry. Harris had taken the risk of assaulting at 1 PM to surprise the defenders when they might be resting during midday. The assault columns would have to drop down into the dry Cauvery and run across the boulder strewn bed, but with surprise they might reach the rubble ramp before the enemy saw them. Just before the hour Baird had issued his men a dram and some biscuit, the minute hand of his watch ticked down and pocketing it, the burly Scotsman stood, drew his sword and ordered the
stormers forward. With bayonets fixed the redcoats and Sepoys spilled over the lip of the trench and formed two columns to attack. Baird took his place behind the forlorn hope. The soldiers gazed upon his strong frank face, flushed with excitement and heat, his blue eyes glistening sapphire, and at his order went forward at the double. As they closed Tipu’s men, who had indeed retired to escape the heat of the day, awoke to their danger, the walls came alive with gunfire and the riverbed sang with crack and ping of lead. The sweating columns hitherto jogging to the accompaniment of clunking water bottles, jingling haversacks, slapping bayonet scabbards and the scrape of their own boots, now began to pelt towards the glacis. An officer of the 73rd said that the way was rocky and they had to splash through running streams 4ft deep but “The Breach was good and we mounted it in fine style”. Through the film of smoke the two Columns could be glimpsed rushing forwards, a cheer rising up from the dry riverbed, scattered shots pluming up from their edges. They were a boiling red mass on the bare rock, white cross belts shining and black hats bobbing, musket barrels and bayonets sparkling in the hot sun. The forlorn hope rushed courageously into a hail of lead and got swallowed in the cloud of gun smoke. The first man to crown the breach was Sergeant Graham of the Bombay European Regiment; he had made it up the rubble ramp and wrenched the colours from the hands of the surorised ensign. He darted forward waving the flag and stumbled to the crown of the incline, were he brandished it for all too see and cried “Hurrah for Lieutenant Graham” and was then shot dead.
Perhaps down in the reserve trench Wellesley caught a momentary flash of the bright colours blossoming on the battlements, as the columns welled up the beach like a rising red flood, increasingly lost to clouds of musket smoke, but there was little else to do but wait and watch. The defenders fought fiercely but with Baird urging them on, the British would not be denied the walls and in sixteen minutes of intense fighting Baird had taken the breach and the columns began fanning out left and right along the ramparts and towards the inner fort.
Death of a Tiger.
“I would rather live a day as a tiger than a lifetime as a sheep” Tipu would live up to his words and died like the Tiger he was, with claws bared to the last. That morning he had taken his habitual observation of the enemy from the northern ramparts. At noon he was served lunch there under a Pandal, at that time suspecting no trouble, despite the fact that the British guns were no longer firing, and a messenger bowing before him to say that the western parallels were unusually filled with Europeans. Perhaps he thought that the enemy would not attack so late in the day. An hour or more later, the scene had changed from one of tranquil sangfroid to desperation and courage.
As the outer defences crumbled the Sultan fell back from the walls with his servants, guards and officers, defending every traverse and gun ramp of the outer walls with ready loaded muskets handed to him by his attendants. He reached the ditch of the inner fort across from a fairly ordinary looking gatehouse called the Water or River Gate, which was set into the walls with a drawbridge to allow entrance and an attractively carved archway over the doors. There he felt a weakening in his leg, and found an old wound was playing him up. Intending to hold the inner fort or reach his palace to make a last stand, he called for his horse and mounted. Looking around he could see Company troops pouring down every traverse and chasing his men across the outer compound. With some urgency therefore he crossed the ditch and entered the gatehouse accompanied by his palanquin. Unknown to him the 12th light infantry had already penetrated the inner ramparts and were even now hurrying to secure the entranceway. Having passed into the shade under the arch he was halfway through the gate when he perceived the redcoats rushing towards him from inside the fort. Without much ceremony they began to shoot into the confined space of the gatehouse, bullets cracked past him and pinged off the walls. As they opened fire assaulting company troops closed in behind him and opened fire into the archway. The carnage was awful, in a matter of minutes most of the Sultan’s guards and retainers had fallen and now their bodies choked the floor.
Tipu’s horse was shot and sank below him. He himself was hit again near his old wound and a second time by a bullet that entered his side, close to his heart, and his turban fell as he was dragged from his horse by his remaining attendants. They placed the sultan on his palanquin against one side of the archway, were he lay, badly wounded, gasping for air as his servants tried to hold back the enemy. The bayonets of the sepoys and soldiers made short work of Tipu’s retainers and they closed in on the crippled Tiger. Summoning his last reserves of strength Tipu had raised himself up and propped himself against the wall. As a soldier began tugging at his rich looking sword belt, he took hold of his gilt inlaid Tulwar as and with a sudden strike laid open the man’s knee. The soldier sprang backwards with a cry, and at that moment he shot him through the shoulder, and instantly another soldier behind Tipu raised his musket and shot him in the temple.
To the victor the spoils.
After 2 hours of fighting, the day’s dying light shone through the smoke that drifted above the silent walls and flowed through the Union Jack floating above the southern cavalier, but a tumult sounding from the city ruined the poignancy of the scene. The Tiger of Mysore was dead & Seringapatam had fallen. It seems the rank and file hadn’t been too eager to practice leniency when they found out how some of their comrades in the dungeons had died, and the looting began very quickly, though the noble idea of righteous revenge was only part of the motive. Meanwhile Wellesley heard a rumour that Tipu was dead and went to investigate. He climbed over the horrors of the breach and was taken to the boundary of the inner fort, the water gate stood was chocked with corpses. There in the shade of the archway, made darker by the dusky onset of twilight, a body was found and dragged out by torchlight.
Grimly Wellesley felt the still pulse of the short portly, delicate limbed man dressed in the soiled white linen jacket, white loose chintz trousers, red sash around and a red and green belt around his shoulder. Although at first there was some doubt, for his eyes were open and his body was still warm, he was pronounced dead. He was identified as the sultan there and then; and it seemed that he had been wounded several times before the final shot killed him, indeed he seems to have been covered in wounds, much besides the shots that brought him down for he had been stabbed by bayonets. There is controversy as to who discovered the sultan. But it is more than possible given the differing first hand accounts that Wellesley and Baird both visited the body at different times. The discovery of Tipu’s body came to epitomise the siege for people back in Britain but General Baird was the hero of the piece, after all he was a much more romantic figure. And much better hero to match the propagandised monster that Tipu was cast in, than the younger brother of the Governor General. Afterwards the prize committee voted to award Baird a finely made sword for his part, and paintings celebrated his triumph over the dead Tipu in suitably heroic terms, opposed to the prosaic and grimy glory in which Wellesley had found him.
Although several British prisoners had been executed in the dungeon Harris wished to spare the as much as possible, General Baird was of the opposite opinion. The tales of the Sack of Seringpatam would warm the firesides of many public houses back in Britain in the years to come. With nothing else to do Wellesley returned to camp, posting the Swiss regiment De Meurion to guard the Breach and the 33rd Foot were formed up outside the palace to keep order. Wellesley had gone back to camp to wash and shave as the sound of looting filled the warm Indian night. The Tiger of Mysore was buried with full honours and as he was laid to rest a rainstorm struck Seringapatam. The storm was so violent that lightning killed two East India Company officers in the town. Tipu’s long awaited Monsoon was finally making an appearance, but it had come one day too late. In the siege 1,400 British and EIC troops were killed and wounded and 8 to 9,000 Sultinate casualties were recorded as buried.
In Command. On the 5th of May Wellesley was ordered to take command of the city and he went to Tipu’s palace. A much more agreeable place than were he had made the acquaintance of the former owner. He had been appointed commander of Seringapatam and he had to relieve Baird. Wellesley thought Baird was a lion hearted officer but had no tact & was unsuited for the post because he had prejudices against the natives. Later Wellesley said that he thought that he had been the “fit” person for the job because he hand done well and was liked by the natives. Harris had appointed Wellesley on the Adjutant General’s recommendation because Baird had asked to be replaced saying he was physically tired, yet he had not want to be superseded by Wellesley. He found General Baird breakfasting with his staff in Tipu’s summer palace, the Darya Daulet Bagh. Wellesley said, in his rapid, rather abrupt manner, “General Baird, I am appointed to the command of Seringapatam, and here is the order of General Harris.” Immediately Baird rose from the table and said to his staff “Come Gentlemen we no longer have any business here” to which Wellesley replied, “Oh, pray finish your breakfast” It would take a long time for Baird to forgive him. Like allot of the army Baird resented Wellesley was merely the governor general’s pet, being superseded by Wellesley rankled with him. Even others felt it unfair for an officer who had played no part in the assault to take command. Wellesley ignored them, his job was to restore order. To that effect four men were hanged for looting and typically discipline then returned. The next day he asked for extra rations for the 12th, 33rd and 73rd regiments who had gotten no food the previous day and got wet during the storm. Having read so thoroughly about India before he arrived few Kings officer’s could have been so well prepared as he was for governing the capitol of Mysore. He hunted and rode, was the life of any social event, yet he drank modestly. He was interested in the culture of the subcontinent too, doubtless hiring a munshi to perhaps teach him some Persian. In India he was described as being very active and extremely fit, riding and exercising frequently, and hunting as often as he could. The Mysore campaign of 1799 had shown him to be a field officer of great endurance, good sense and bravery, yet one who often interpreted duty as blind obedience, a man not yet independent of his connections and there is indications that he was still finding his feet on the battlefield. The next part of his military career however would be were he had the greatest freedom to act as he saw fit, and we will go to see the stolid calculating Iron Duke in a vibrant dynamic light, that was dare we say it, almost Napoleonic in its brightness.
See you again for another Adventure In Historyland. Josh.
Sources: Wellington: The Iron Duke. Richard Holmes. Wellington: The Years of the Sword. Elizabeth Longford. Wellington: The Path to Victory. Rory Muir. Wellington in India: Jaq Weller. The Duke: Phillip Guedella. White Mughals: William Dalrymple. The Death of Tipu Sultan: The True American Commercial Advisor March 18, 1800. Wellington’s Campaigns in India. Reginald George Burton.
“Thus the war terminated, and with it all remembrance of the veteran’s services”. Those were the words written by W.F.P Napier to describe the end of the Peninsular War. The great chronicler of this defining conflict perhaps never wrote a more timeless phrase. Thanked in typically Spartan fashion, though with genuine feeling, by the Duke of Wellington the Peninsular Army faded into obscurity barely months after the peace of 1814 was declared, and much to the chagrin of the old sweats who had toiled for six years through Spain and Portugal, they were almost obliterated from national consciousness by the Battle of Waterloo. In his memoirs Sir Harry Smith identified the great curtain call of 1815 as the reason why the “Spanish Army” was so neglected in memory.
Luckily 200 years later there are still those who strive to redress this. Authors like Phillip Haythornthwaite, Charles Esdaile, Peter Snow and artists like Christa Hook. Christa has been painting the soldiers of Wellington’s Peninsular Army for 10 years, which has given her a feeling and insight unmatched for her subject in the field of British military art. Only in America does one find a parallel in artists who devote substantial bodies of time to specific periods like this. It brings to mind a quote by Meissonier about Lady Butler, “England really has only one military painter- a woman”. Of course neither Butler, nor Christa is alone, the Master had exaggerated for there was Beadle and Wollen, and today a host more who recreate battles of times gone by, yet to my knowledge she is the only military artist today that has put so much work into depicting the British soldier in Portugal, France and Spain.
Those of us who enjoy Osprey Publishing titles will be no stranger to the name Hook. I quite vividly remember a few years after its release, buying Haythornthwaite’s Campaign book on Corunna and marvelling at the artwork inside, and then looking at Mark Urban’s book “Rifles” and saying “Oh he got Christa Hook to do the cover”. Still less hard would be to have any interest in military art and not know the name of her father, Richard, whose work I remember adorning not a few childhood illustrated encyclopaedias and regiments of Osprey titles.
Accompanied by an accomplished text from Nick Haynes, a Foreword by Peter Snow and an introduction by Haithornthwaite, this slim, high quality coffee table book is filled with over 20 paintings by the artist and a number of smaller studies, at the end is a very interesting part describing the process that went into creating them. It has a tasteful cover design featuring artwork shown in the book and is a gem for all history lovers, especially if they have a soft spot for this campaign. Opening it is a visual feast of rich colour, exiting movement and action and many thoughtful compositions that illustrate perfectly why for some of us Waterloo is just a full stop to a much longer sentence.
I never thought a book like this would be published about the Peninsular War. I have seen quite a few done by American artists about the Civil, Revolutionary and yes Napoleonic wars as a whole. These from artists like Rocco, Kunstler and Troiani, even going back in time, Detaille’s L’Armee Francaise is just as much an art book as it is a record of the French army, but I doubted anyone was painting the peninsular war to the degree necessary to compile a book, unless of course it featured Sean Bean. Rarely do I get to review a book principally on its visuals, and I could simply just say that it is a thing of beauty, but I will not be doing Far In Advance justice if I did. For there is the images of our minds eye right before us, the images we wanted to see in history books but never did.
There is the 97th advancing at Vimiero, the guns roaring above them and the French column below them. They are two ranks deep but look at the line of supernumaries, sergeants corporal’s and junior officers almost forming a third, with the drummers marching in sections and the Field Officers riding behind to oversee the advance. Just as it would have been. The bigger picture is even included as the left flank of the 52nd marches past their rear at the double, obliquely, so as to wheel onto the flank of the unsuspecting French.
There is the charge of the 15th Hussars at Sahagun, that was the centrepiece of the Osprey Campaign Book, the wave of British cavalry breaking on the wavering ranks of dragoons, swords at the guard and yelling like furies. But then look a lesser known moment, the crossing of the Douro at Oporto, a scene never before painted in modern times, soldiers clamber into the local barges, making sure to carry extra ammunition boxes along with them and accept a bit of Portuguese hospitality before embarking. Then all of a sudden you are soaring above the Seminary as the garrison holds off the French counterattack from the windows and rooftops. One can almost hear the tumult of voices and gunfire in the painting of the action at Barba del Puerco, and the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro is almost perfect in terms of it’s wide scale, so detailed as to be almost cinematic.
There are many paintings full of noise and action, but confusion is a part of war and there is a real sense of this in “A deadly duel of Musketry”, “Retaking the Knoll” and “Stern valour.” No crisp thin red lines here, instead the ranks are disordered by enemy fire, casualties cover the ground, the troops themselves are moving about as they discharge and load their muskets. As a surprise we even get to see the scene from Hayer’s “The Spanish Bride” when Captain Daniel Cadoux’s position was overrun at the Bridge of Vera.
But war is not just volley fire, Sabres and bayonets. It is marching, it is outpost work, sleeping rough or in camp, and often allot of waiting. These quieter moments are here as well. Men huddled around a fire listening to a story, a Hussar picquet testing the depth of a ford, a vedette reporting to the officer on duty, the funeral of a general under the crooked spire of a cathedral scarred by gunfire, the shadows of a gatehouse at the end of a winters day as an artillery troop rides in with the sunset at their back, a lone rifleman with set features that telltale gait of an aching back and sore feet, far in advance.
The influence of her father, to whom the book is dedicated is now and again glimpsed, in the uniforms of the heavy dragoons charging the French at Fuentes. General Cruafurd’s uniform, and the central group of “Picton’s Orders”. Sir Thomas having neglected to remove his nightcap decided to leave it on directs Lt Colonel Douglas of the 8th Portuguese Line, a scene her father painted for the Osprey book Wellington’s Generals. I identify most with the picture of General Craufurd entitled “Revenge Sir John Moore”. It is one of those paintings that captures a moment that thought well known, would not normally be painted. At the Battle of Buçaco in 1810 Craufurd personally ordered his light infantry to repulse the French attack with the words or those to the effect of “Now! Avenge the death of Sir John Moore”. He turned to them and waved his cocked hat in the air and motioned them forward to victory. Most artists would have had him waving them on, but instead Christa chose something much better.
There is Craufurd, “Black Bob”, the draconian taskmaster of the Light Division, one foot on his rock. He stands near a small windmill, two riflemen run past him, away from the enemy that cannot be seen except through Craufurd’s stern gaze which is directed downward with a stiffening sense of resolution. He has just decided that the time is right, and knows what he is going to do. Having planted his right foot behind him so his hips will turn he grasps his sabre and removes his hat. Snap! The picture is taken, just before he turns his body to the waiting ranks of the 52nd, one of whom has sensed the General is about to speak. His hat held soon to be flung out and raised skywards, his mouth curving to form the words that would make him a legend. This is surely how it must have looked. It is the very essence of military art, allowing the viewer to see, feel and think about what is happening, what has happened and what is going to happen. And it is one of the reasons you will never be disappointed with this book.
Accompanying the art are detailed descriptions by Nick Haynes, a former member of the Rifles and a recognised authority on the war. Many of the paintings depict members of the light Division therefore he is well placed in his role. These are not intended to provide any coherent analysis of the war, but rather to put the paintings in perspective and give an explanatory narrative to the pictures. It’s well written, he takes care to defend the composition of some of the originally commissioned Christmas cards a little needlessly, for me he had no need to mount this defence, though given the picky nature of some Military History Buff’s this is understandable. He also spends a fair part of one description examining the character of General Craufurd, ultimately leaving it up to the reader to decide, though a larger book would be needed if you actually wished to answer that question. At the beginning and end of the book he draws attention to the legacy of rifles as the forbears of the modern infantryman.
Peter Snow, broadcaster and author of two Napoleonic Books thus far, adds a stirring and heartfelt forward, and the admirable Haythornthwaite miraculously fits a detailed and readable description of the Peninsular War into his introduction. For every sale a donation is made to the Rifles Charities Care for Casualties campaign. Over 200 years ago the thousands of soldiers of the Peninsular Army were forgotten, not just in memory but in terms of care. It is a sad fact that Britain has never taken proper care of her soldiers. In two ways this book addresses these issues. Firstly by providing an ode to Wellington’s soldiers, and second by providing a means to support the soldiers of today.
This is a long post in honour of the anniversary of the Battle of Sheriffmuir and the 300th anniversary of the 1715 Jacobite Rising. It focuses on the defining battle of the campaign, and I hope you all enjoy it. Continue reading “Sheriffmuir 1715.”
“I have lost the Battle of Talavera”. Napoleon wrote to Marshal Clarke, as he realised that his generals and his brother Joseph had been lying to him. That the Emperor took it personally would then seem to be an understatement, despite not being even within 100 miles of Talavera de la Reyna when Marshal Jourdan and Victor engaged Sir Arthur Wellesley and General Cuesta’s Anglo Spanish army, Napoleon felt that he, not them, had lost the battle. He had expected his commanders to tell him the truth about what was going on in Spain, but had been given fantasies and childish fibs.
They never would be able to give him the whole truth. For Napoleon trying to command the war in the Iberian Peninsula from distant countries would be impossible, not only because his orders were outdated by the time they arrived but because he rarely got the truth from his generals until much later. The Battle of Talavera was the largest General Action a British army had participated in for decades, with over 100,000 men involved all told. It was the battle that won Wellesley the title Wellington, and was the start of the six year allied campaign to drive the French from the coast of Portugal to the foothills of the Pyrenees.
It is a battle that has been much mentioned in books about the war, and the Duke of Wellington and indeed the British army. Rarely however has it gotten star billing. As the first battles of the Peninsular War were fought at Rolica and Vimiero in 1808, Talavera is deceptively easy to describe. At first glance it appears like all the other battles fought by Wellington. The French attack, they get beaten back by Wellington’s masterly defensive tactics. But that is actually a much too simplistic appreciation.
Rene Chartrand, a veteran Osprey author of many of their best books, has written a highly detailed account of the campaign, which focuses not just on the British but their allies and enemies too. In terms of narrative it feels a little heavy now and again yet this book actually opens up many closed doors. The battle was fought over 2 days in searing Spanish summer heat as the Anglo Spanish attempted to converge on Madrid.
Of particular note is the description of the little known charge of the Spanish cavalry that essentially brought and end to the main part of the battle. Quite apart from the disastrous charge by the British cavalry which in one regiment incurred losses almost equal to that suffered by the entire Light Brigade at Balaclava. Also we get to see another side to Wellington. Most people think he stepped ashore in Portugal in 1808 fully formed as the master tactician, however he hadn’t fought the French for many years. At Rolica a much smaller force kept him at bay, Vimiero was a stunning victory, as was the smaller Rolica sized action at Oporto. Talavera sees Wellington still finding his feet against the French, though famed for his lone command style in this battle he relies much more on subordinates and as a result got into a few perilous situations.
Chartrand illustrates Wellington as struggling to keep control over the enemy, his officers and at the same time cooperate with his allies. That he was able to win the battle shows his great skill, but in this battle, his recipe for success was still forming. From offensive campaigning to defensive, thus far it will be noted that two of his 4 Iberian battles saw him attacking, rather than defending. And if anything the experience of the subsequent abortive campaign taught him lessons that would influence the next two years of slow, methodical campaigning.
The rest of the book briefly examines the Battle of Los Baños were Ney beat up a detached Portuguese raiding force under Sir Robert Wilson, and Wellington’s retreat from Spain in the face of large French forces. A move that showed his lack of faith in the Spanish, and by return lost him the faith of many of Spanish General’s who saw his withdrawal as a betrayal and, remembered Moore had similarly ran away too. The British it seemed had no dedication to the Spanish cause, and would cut and run to save themselves at the expense of Spain.
It is a little sparce on the opposing forces, perhaps assuming readers will be more than familair with the makeup of the armies, dwelling somewhat on the poor opinion the French and British had of the Spanish, and therefore gives just the usual bare bones. However there is an excellent order of battle list, complete with the strenght of the individual divisions.
Illustrated by Graham Turner’s highly plausible and realistic full spread paintings it is also very well endowed with images and detailed 3D maps. All the images are actually photographed by the author, which must be a canny way of getting around licensing fees, but very time consuming to collect. Graham’s rendering of Wellington’s famous beak is curious, and the British and French in the Medellin painting appear to be from rival families, but he has properly depicted Wellington dressed for a field day, in his uniform, rather than his frock coat. They compliment the text excellently and the painting of the Regimento El Rey particularly gripping.
This is therefore an excellent addition to the Osprey Peninsular Catalogue, one I’ve been waiting to see for a long time, showing how Napoleon could have learned, early on, the difficulties of commanding at a distance, while also highlighting a more strategically vulnerable Wellington at a turning point in his career.