The Age of Elegance Read Free Page B

he stood at the end of four campaigns undefeated on the Spanish frontier with a liberated Portugal behind him and an expectant Spain ahead. And by opening a fifth campaign in the depth of winter, he had raised the temper of his troops to the highest expectancy. They felt sure now he would always "out-manceuvre Johnny"; of the impossibility of his suffering defeat. 1
    1 Granville, II, 147. See also Bessborough, 221; Kincaid, 196; Simmons, 183; Oman, Wellington's Army, 38; Smith, I, 93-4.
    Yet Wellington was not a commander who readily inspired emotion. He never embraced his veterans like Napoleon, spoke of them as comrades or wasted fine words on them. He had, as one of them put it, a short manner of speaking and a stern look. Save for an occasional brisk, "Now, my lads," when he required some more than ordinary effort, he confined his communications to general orders of the most sparing kind. These, however, never admitted of misunderstanding. Everyone knew where they stood with him, and though this may not have generated enthusiasm—a quality he suspected—it engendered a steady growth of confidence. His men did not love him, but they relied on him; they knew that, while he commanded them, their sacrifices would not be wasted. "Whare's ar Arthur?" asked one fusilier of another as, under Beresford's blundering command, they tramped up the blood-stained hill of Albuera. "I don't know, I don't see him," replied his comrade. "Aw wish he wore here." 1
    For, little sentiment though he spared them, no commander ever took greater pains to deserve his men's confidence. He was as frugal with their lives as with his words. He looked after what they most valued—their stomachs. Regard to what he called regular subsistence was his first article of war. "The attention of commanding officers," ran one of his bleak, laconic orders, "has been frequently called to the expediency of supplying the soldiers with breakfast." Of all generals he was the most commissariat-minded. Having done most of his fighting in deserts, he had learnt to be.
    He once defined the key to victory as the pursuit of all means, however small, which might promote success. He, therefore, left undone no duty which might enable his men to do^theirs. He rose at six, applied himself in the absence of a trained staff to every detail of administration, and only rested when he had done the work of the day, falling asleep with the same ease, regularity and promptitude as he did everything else. It was characteristic of the man that he called himself, shaved himself and brushed his own clothes. 2
    As with all great soldiers, action worked on him like a tonic > sharpening the edge of his cool, incisive mind. In the field his temper grew calmer as storms arose. Then his strong common sense acquired
    1 J. S. Cooper, Rough Notes of Seven Campaigns, 63.
    2 On a visit to Cadiz in 1812 he astonished his hostess by his simple habits. When her servants, called him at seven they found him fully dressed and packing his shaving apparatus. Leslie, 24* Gronow, I, 213. See also Stanhope, 37, 47; Larpent, I, 85; Lady Shelley I, 46.
    the quality of genius. It was this which enabled him to forecast with such accuracy his enemies' movements; to guess what was "on the other side of the hill"; to do what he defined as the main business of life—finding out what he didn't know by what he did.
    Having once or twice faced disaster and having, like most British commanders, suffered disappointment at the miscarriage of his plans through his country's failure to supply what he had a right to expect, he shunned projects built on grandiose anticipations. He relied only on what he was sure he could count, and adapted his ends strictly to his means. The French Marshals, he once said, planned their campaigns like a splendid set of harness which answered very well until it got broken: after that it was useless. "Now I," he added, "made my campaigns of ropes. If anything went wrong, I tied a knot and went