Raglan: From the Peninsula to the Crimea

By John Sweetman

All too many historians have dismissed FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, first Baron Raglan, as at best, an indifferent and, at worst, an incompetent on the basis of his association with the infamous Charge of the Light Brigade.Yet as this long overdue biography of a pivotal military figure of the 19th Century reveals Raglans achievements over fifty years should not be judged on so narrow a basis. True, as Commander of the Expeditionary Force to the Crimea, he must take his share of responsibility for the hardship suffered by the men under him particularly during the winter of 1854-55 but the fact remains that Raglan never lost a battle for which he was fully responsible.Commissioned in 1804 he served under Sir Arthur Paget and the Duke of Wellington, throughout the Peninsular War losing an arm at Waterloo. He held key posts, including Military Secretary for an astonishing 25 years and Master General of the Ordnance and his influence was far reaching.Raglan is revealed in this objective study as a brave, thoughtful, caring and capable man, who found himself an easy target for critics of an outdated and inadequate military administrative system. Very personal attacks, some from official quarters, mortally wounded him and he died in June 1855, a mere seven months after being appointed a field marshal amid public acclaim.In this first full biography of Raglan, John Sweetman examines not just the man himself but the workings of an Army that was straggling to keep up with social and technological change. Readers will find this a fine expos of a man who was placed in a no-win situation through little fault of his own.John Sweetman graduated from Brasenose College Oxford (Modern History) before taking a PhD at Kings College, London. He later became Head of Defence and International Affairs at RMA Sandhurst. He is the author of numerous military works. Now retired he lives at Camberley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781473817456

Book preview

RAGLAN

RAGLAN

FROM THE PENINSULA TO THE CRIMEA

JOHN SWEETMAN

First published by Arms and Armour Press in 1993

Republished in this format in 2010 by

Pen & Sword Military

An imprint of

Pen & Sword Books Ltd

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Barnsley

South Yorkshire

S70 2AS

Copyright © John Sweetman, 1960, 2010

ISBN 978 184884 242 7

The right of John Sweetman to be identified as Author of this work has been

asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

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CONTENTS

Preface: Farewell

Acknowledgements

1. Childhood, Adolescence and

Military Service (1788–1808)

2. The Peninsular War (1809–1814)

3. Diplomacy and Warfare (1814–1815)

4. Bureaucracy and Politics (1816–1827)

5. Military Secretary, The Horse Guards

 (1827–1842)

6. Wellingtonian Twilight, The Horse Guards

 (1842–1852)

7. Disillusionment, The Ordnance (1852–1853)

8. Advance to Contact (January to August 1854)

9. Into Battle, The Crimea (September to December

1854)

10. Defeat, Despair and Death (January to

June 1855)

Epilogue: Burial and Memorial

Conclusion: In Retrospect

Notes

Select Bibliography

Index

LIST OF MAPS

The Iberian Peninsula

The Battle of Roliça, 17 August 1808

The Battle of Vimeiro, 21 August 1808

The Battle of Talavera, 27–28 July 1809

The Siege of Badajoz, 16 March to 7 April 1812

The Battle of Waterloo, 18 June 1815

Turkey and the Crimea

The Battle of the Alma, 20 September 1854

Sevastopol and the Advance to Balaclava

The Battle of Balaclava, 25 October 1854

The Battle of Inkerman, 5 November 1854

The Siege of Sevastopol

PREFACE: FAREWELL

‘His funeral [cortège] was a finer sight than the Duke of Wellington’s.’ (British eye-witness)¹

Tuesday 3 July dawned clear, bright and warm in the southwestern corner of the Crimea. As the sun climbed higher and the temperature rose, scattered knots of uniformed figures began purposefully to converge on an isolated collection of low, white buildings with sloping red-tiled roofs, which housed the British military headquarters on a barren plateau high above the Plain of Balaclava south of the Russian naval port of Sevastopol.

The Siege of Sevastopol, centrepiece of the Crimean War between Russia, on the one hand, Britain, France, Turkey and Sardinia on the other, had been under way for nine months. Allied guns ranged constantly on the beleaguered suburbs, as enemy artillery in turn raked the invaders’ trenches. Throughout the bitter previous winter the antagonists had faced piercing cold and near-starvation, while infantry forays further probed and tested one another’s defences without clear advantage. The Russian commander in Sevastopol had been killed in action; the first French commander succumbed to cholera. Now the Allies were mourning the death of the British Commander-in-Chief (CinC), Lord Raglan, a 66-year-old Peninsular veteran, who had passed away during the evening of 28 June. Today his body would commence its last, sad journey to England. His colleagues – and, as it transpired, his enemies – would ensure that it did so with dignity and ceremony.

At 3 p.m. a 9pdr gun topped by a wooden platform, its four-wheeled carriage drawn by ten horses, approached the main building – fringed with swaying trees – through a wide avenue between stables, the tents of the Quartermaster-General’s department and half-ruined outhouses. The gun-carriage moved steadily towards the three-sided courtyard at the north front of the old farmhouse, coming to a halt before the entrance to its west wing as infantry closed in protectively behind. Soon, selected representatives from the different armies began to gather in the tiny forecourt; ‘the round hat and cock’s tail’ of the Bersaglieri and red-capped hussars prominent. General La Marmora, wearing a Sardinian bluish-grey uniform, was an early arrival, followed swiftly by the Turkish commander Omar Pasha, his fez studded with gold and decorated by a broad red ribbon and whose staff, mounted on distinctive Arab chargers with high saddles, were flamboyantly clad in cream trousers and coats topped by upright high golden collars. Clusters of officers in colourful dress gently jostled one another, while the whole uneven mass shifted and fidgeted whenever newcomers swelled the sober throng. ‘Presently a more lively commotion was visible among the nodding plumes and curvetting (sic) chargers.’ General Pélissier, in a cocked hat edged with white to denote a commander-in-chief, and General Canrobert, his predecessor in command, had arrived. Both showed outward signs of grief and reputedly, once the funereal column moved forward, Pélissier’s uncontrolled sobs became distinctly audible.

Scarcely had the two French officers appeared than Raglan’s coffin, covered in a pall and draped with the Union Jack, was borne from the doorway and slowly eased on to the wooden frame. The tense silence was broken only by the restless scraping of hooves and the faint, occasional tinkle of burnished accoutrements. At precisely 4 p.m. two field batteries of the Royal Artillery, on a knoll opposite the house, began a nineteen-gun salute. To the subdued strains of the Dead March from Saul, played by the combined bands of the 3rd, 9th and 62nd Regiments in an adjacent vineyard, the ‘melancholy procession’ set off on its seven-mile trek towards the French-held Bay of Kazatch, west of Sevastopol.

As it moved away, 100 Grenadiers of the Guard of Honour from the late CinC’s own regiment presented arms, while to muffled drums the regimental colours were lowered. Meanwhile detachments of 50 men with one field officer, one captain and one subaltern from the Royal Sappers and Miners and each infantry regiment were drawn up in double ranks ready to bow heads and reverse arms along the mile between the British and French headquarters, a squadron of cavalry on the right of the line, another together with two artillery batteries on the left. Spaced between the Allied headquarters were the bands of the Sardinian Grenadiers and the British 10th Hussars. ‘Behind these, and at both sides of the lines, the motley crowds of men of all nations and costumes looked on in silence.’

The six miles between the French headquarters, where another Guard of Honour presented arms, and Kazatch Bay was initially lined by sallow-faced Zouaves, each resplendent in a ‘green shawl on red fez, over-hanging tassle, black jacket and red bags of trousers, yellow leggings and white gaiters’. Beyond them were the long coats and bearskins of the Imperial Guard, and infantry from the French I Corps. Close to the French headquarters were a battery of the Artillery of the Guard and a detachment of Sardinian lancers, their blue pennons stirring gently in the soft breeze. Like the British for the first mile, French bands were positioned at intervals over the second, longer portion of the chosen route to take up the Dead March as the solemn cavalcade passed. Puffs of smoke betrayed the minute-guns of the French field batteries fired from high ground to left and right of the road; and, as the cortège drew level, each regimental Colour dipped in salute.

The sombre parade that accompanied the coffin was led by two squadrons of the British 12th Lancers, followed by two squadrons of Sardinian Light Cavalry, four squadrons of French Chasseurs d’Afrique, four squadrons of French cuirassiers, two troops of French horse artillery and Major Brandling’s I Troop, Royal Horse Artillery. Then came the 9pdr gun-carriage drawn by horses of Captain Thomas’s C Troop, Royal Horse Artillery, the coffin’s black pall fringed with white silk and crowned with the field marshal’s cocked hat, epaulettes and swords together with a wreath of yellow immortelles, placed there by Pélissier in a touching, personal tribute. At the wheels of the gun-carriage, acting as mounted pallbearers, Lieutenant-General Sir James Simpson (Raglan’s successor in command) and Pélissier rode in front on the left and right, with Omar Pasha and La Marmora respectively behind them – as one officer said, ‘four nobler fellows to bear a pall it would be difficult to find’.

Just behind the gun-carriage came the riderless brown bay Shadrach, which had carried Raglan at the Battles of the Alma and Inker-man, led by two mounted orderlies, in front of the late commander’s immediate staff and relations, senior officers of the French, Sardinian and Turkish armies, the British commissioners to the individual Allied armies, British general officers and their staffs, staff of the British headquarters, one officer from each regiment of cavalry and infantry, two officers from the Naval Brigade, Royal Marines, Medical and Commissariat staffs, and three from the Royal Artillery. These were followed by the personal escorts of the four Allied commanders-in-chief, Lord Raglan’s former escort (Captain Chetwode’s troop of 8th Hussars), a battery of field artillery, two squadrons of the British 4th Dragoon Guards and a detachment of the Mounted Staff Corps. The entire escort was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel J. E. Dupuis, Royal Horse Artillery, with Major-General W. Eyre in charge of the British infantry. As one observer put it, ‘for mourners, he [Raglan] had the whole army, who had so often showed their devotion in obeying his commands, and the sincere regret of his brave allies’. Looking north-west from the French headquarters, the correspondent of The Illustrated London News ‘watched the long line of the glittering procession, as it wound up and down the hills and hollows, rolling its side like a vast serpent’. One of those in that column less dramatically recorded that ‘we wound our slow and melancholy way along the dusty road’ past Kamiesch, whose own bay lay hidden beneath a forest of masts, to the neighbouring Bay of Kazatch. ‘As a military spectacle, it was splendid,’ wrote one onlooker; another thought it ‘a beautiful sight’.²

The final approach to the wharf at Kazatch was flanked by detachments of Royal Marines and sailors from the Allied navies. Rear-Admirals Bruat and Stewart together with officers of the combined fleets formally received the coffin which was then lowered carefully into the launch of the British flagship and towed to Caradoc by boats from warships of the combined fleets. Minute-guns were fired from the columns of assembled warships, as British, French and Sardinian cavalry lined the embarkation wharf. When the laden launch left the shore of the Crimean peninsula, the troop of Royal Horse Artillery and the field battery, which had formed part of the procession, deployed on rising ground overlooking the bay to fire a final nineteen-gun salute. The flags of all the Allied vessels fluttered at half-mast in mute accord. ‘And so, amidst everyone’s sincere regrets, he was borne off in his coffin, till it arrived at the Caradoc, where it was hoisted on board, and we saw it no more.’ Throughout the progress of the cortège from the British headquarters to Kazatch Bay, enemy guns in Sevastopol had remained strangely silent.³

Shortly before 8 p.m. Caradoc weighed anchor and moved slowly out into the Black Sea, while ‘veteran generals and others who had liked him [Raglan] well stood bareheaded along the beach to take a last look at what covered one whose days had been cut short serving his country’. At the masthead of the steamer that had conveyed the deceased field marshal from Marseilles in April 1854 and, five months later, taken him on his crucial reconnaissance of the Crimean coast to select the Allied landing beaches, flew the poignant signal ‘Farewell’.⁴

Thus the mortal remains of the Hon FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, First Baron Raglan, Privy Councillor, Knight Grand Cross of the Order of Bath, Colonel of the Royal Horse Guards (Blue), Commissioner of the Royal Military College Sandhurst and Royal Military Asylum Chelsea, Knight of the Orders of Maria Theresa of Austria, St George of Russia, Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria, recipient of the Tower and Sword of Portugal and the Turkish Imperial Order of the Mejidii First Class, holder of the Peninsular Gold Cross with five clasps and Silver War Medal with five clasps, began their last, joyless voyage to Bristol for eventual interment at Badminton, the Beaufort family home where Raglan had been born.⁵

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Iwish to acknowledge the gracious permission of Her Majesty The Queen to make use of material from the Royal Archives at Windsor. I should like, also, to thank Lady Sheila de Bellaigue and the staff of the Royal Archives for their kind assistance during my research. I am extremely grateful to His Grace, the Duke of Beaufort, for permission to use and to quote from the Badminton Muniments; similarly, to FitzRoy, 5th Lord Raglan in respect of the Raglan Military and Private Papers; and the Commandant, the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, in connection with records of the Royal Military College. For use of manuscript sources in their care, I am indebted to the trustees and staff of Bristol Central Library, The British Library, Bodleian Library Oxford, Ealing Central Library, the Scottish Record Office, the National Library of Scotland, the National Register of Archives, the National Army Museum, Nottingham University Library, Newcastle University Library, Gloucestershire Record Office, Herefordshire Record Office, West Sussex Record Office, Wiltshire Record Office and Westminster School Archives. Extracts from the Palmerston Papers and Palmerston Letterbooks are published by permission of the Trustees of the Broadlands Archives; extracts from Crown copyright material by permission of the Controller of Her Majesty’s Stationery Office.

My sincere thanks are due, as well, to a considerable number of people who have given me special help, advice and encouragement throughout this lengthy project, including: Andrew Orgill (Librarian, RMA Sandhurst); Peter Bird (Head of English, Salesian College, Farnborough); Dr P.B. Boyden (Head of Archives, Photographs, Film and Sound, National Army Museum); Mark Curthoys (Librarian and Archivist, Christ Church, Oxford); Mrs M. Dove; Miss M. Gooding (Local History Librarian, Central Library, Ealing); Dr T. A. Heathcote (Curator, The Sandhurst Collection); John Field (Librarian and Archivist, Westminster School), Mrs M. Richards (Archivist and Librarian, Badminton) and Philip Warner (former colleague at RMA Sandhurst). I must not forget, either, Mrs Dorothy Fox who struggled valiantly with my much-altered draft to produce the final typescript.

Above all, however, I am deeply indebted to the enthusiasm and commitment of two Portsmouth schoolmasters, Ted Washington and John Marsh, who many years ago persuaded a doubtful pupil that the study of history involved far more than tedious rote learning. To them, in lasting gratitude, I dedicate this book.

CHAPTER 1

---

CHILDHOOD, ADOLESCENCE AND

MILITARY SERVICE (1788–1808)

‘An active and intelligent fellow … anxious to go on service’. (Duke of Richmond)¹

On 30 September 1788 Elizabeth, 41-year-old wife of Henry fifth Duke of Beaufort, gave birth to her thirteenth child and eighth surviving son at the family seat of Badminton in Gloucestershire. The new arrival’s brothers were Henry Charles, later sixth Duke of Beaufort (1766–1835); Charles Henry (1767–1831); Robert Edward Henry – more usually known as Edward – (1776–1842); Arthur John Henry (1780–1816); William George Henry (1784–1851); John Thomas Henry (1787–1846); and Norborne Berkeley Henry (1771–1838), who was deaf and dumb. Another brother, Edward Henry, had lived only five months (1868–9). Elizabeth (1773–1836); Frances Elizabeth – normally called Fanny – (1774–1841); Harriet Isabella (1783– 1855) and Anne Elizabeth (1786–1803) completed the immediate family. ²

FitzRoy James Henry, baptized in a private ceremony at Badminton on 12 October, possessed a distinguished lineage. During the Middle Ages the Beauforts had enjoyed considerable authority until support for the Lancastrians during the Wars of the Roses lost them both possessions and influence. Two centuries later they partially emerged from political obscurity when Royalists in Raglan Castle stoutly resisted the besieging Parliamentarians. At the time of the Glorious Revolution the Beauforts also adhered to the Crown, but being staunch Protestants failed actively to support James II in the field. Thus not until Queen Anne’s reign were they fully restored to royal favour.³

FitzRoy Somerset’s mother was the daughter of Admiral Edward Boscawen who had held fighting commands throughout the world against the French and Spanish during the mid-eighteenth century, achieved a famous victory at Lagos Bay (1759) and, when Commander-in-Chief Portsmouth, signed the execution order for Admiral Byng. Member of Parliament for Truro and a Privy Councillor (both offices later held by Lord FitzRoy), in his professional capacity Boscawen sought to improve the health of seamen by increasing ventilation on board naval ships. His grandson would, in due course, likewise show keen concern for the welfare of men under his command.⁴

Besides Badminton, in 1788 the Beauforts owned Troy House on the River Trothy near Monmouth and supposedly haunted by a carriage and pair, as well as Stoke Gifford close to Bristol, which had been inherited by young FitzRoy’s paternal grandmother. Blandford Park in Oxfordshire was used mainly for hunting, and Beaufort House at 5 Grosvenor Square, London, had been secured on a long lease. Tutors for the children were provided at all of these residences. The Duke’s chaplain gave educational instruction at Badminton, and James Chew remained music master there throughout Lord FitzRoy’s childhood. At Blandford Park and Stoke Gifford other music masters were employed on an occasional basis; and during April 1800 payment for a Latin master appeared in the Blandford accounts. The number and range of hired tutors increased markedly in London, partly because of the social demands of the annual season. Fees up to £30 were paid to a succession of drawing, dancing, writing, music and singing masters, several of whom were professionally distinguished, such as Dr (later Sir William) Parsons, Master of the King’s Band, Dr Samuel Arnold, organist of the Chapels Royal, and the composer Samuel Webbe. Account books show that a harp and piano were available at both Badminton and Grosvenor Square. There is no evidence that Lord FitzRoy played an instrument or sang – activities almost certainly reserved to his sisters – but he did become an accomplished dancer; and he clearly grew up in neither an educational nor a cultural desert.⁵

The first specific reference to young FitzRoy after his baptism appears in the London house accounts for 11 June 1891, when Nurse Limden received £10.7.1 for looking after ‘the child’. He was too young to attend the wedding of his eldest brother (Worcester) in the Archbishop’s Chapel, Lambeth, on 17 May of that year. In middle age Lord FitzRoy recalled the liveliness of his early childhood at Badminton, the bustling activity of ‘the horses, the carriages’ and, enigmatically, ‘the tea’. He remarked to his brother William that ‘… [I] cannot but sigh over bygone days’, when every ‘effort’ was ‘made to vary the scene and enjoy the sober pleasures of the country’, possibly an allusion to the annual visits to Tetbury races and his father’s passion for fox hunting. His paternal grandmother independently declared Badminton during FitzRoy’s youth ‘a kingdom free and happy’, though she was less enamoured with the ‘doubtful comforts’ of some of the family’s temporarily rented accommodation. With his distinctive ash-blonde hair, FitzRoy was indeed energetic and out-going. At Badminton on 30 September 1793 – and incidentally revealing that the entire family attended the church adjoining the house each Sunday – Mrs Boscawen wrote: ‘… [today] is a holiday, being one of the little one’s birthday; 5 years old – a pretty little rogue’; and his father had underlined family affection a year earlier by specially riding over from a Volunteers’ camp at Bristol for FitzRoy’s fourth birthday party. Years later, quoting Raglan’s daughter Charlotte, Josceline Bagot claimed that the Duchess of Beaufort deplored her son’s preference for writing with his left hand and had it tied up to encourage more orthodox use of the right. If so, this natural tendency would prove invaluable after Lord FitzRoy’s loss of his right arm at Waterloo. FitzRoy Somerset does not seem to have been a tall youth; for the Prince Regent burst out laughing at his first levee, because his sword almost equalled his height.⁶

In 1795 FitzRoy joined his brothers Arthur, William and John at Goodenough’s School in Ealing; and it is just possible that for at least part of his time there he stayed with his maternal grandmother, Mrs Frances Boscawen.⁷ Goodenough House was a three-storeyed building with substantial single and double storeyed extensions. Situated on the north-east corner of Ealing’s central crossroads, it stood in seventeen acres of land, that contained an abundance of mature trees, shrubs and ample open ground. In a contemporary print, boys can be seen playing cricket; and this may explain FitzRoy Somerset’s later keenness to provide cricket grounds for soldiers’ recreation. Almost certainly, as a lively youngster, he learnt the game at Ealing. Two years after FitzRoy arrived Dr Samuel Goodenough became Bishop of Carlisle, and control of the school passed to his nephew, William Goodenough. The boys went to and from Ealing by hired carriage which, depending upon the time of year and severity of the weather, cost between six and ten guineas for each journey. Initially, when FitzRoy left for school, his father gave him one guinea each term, a sum increased to £1.10.0 in 1799 and two guineas a year later. The Duke’s Christmas present to each of his boys was £25 and occasionally he would send those at school an additional ten shillings during term time. FitzRoy and John left Goodenough’s School in December 1801. Fifty-three years later Lord Stratford de Redcliffe added a postscript, in referring to a Greek as ‘our old acquaintance at school’. As Lord Stratford attended schools in Wanstead and Hackney, east of London, prior to Eton and Lord FitzRoy went on to Westminster, the Greek must have attended Goodenough’s before Eton.⁸

On 14 January 1802 the Duke of Beaufort settled a bill for £4.16.0 for FitzRoy’s books and another for £8.4.0 to provide towels and shirts for John and FitzRoy (then aged thirteen) prior to their setting out for Westminster. They left Badminton twelve days later, each with his one-guinea allowance and an entrance fee of six guineas for the headmaster. William Rice received £14.8.0 for transporting them to London. John and FitzRoy were placed in the Under Shell form as ‘town boys’ and lived in a private boarding-house in Little Dean’s Yard run by Mrs Clapham, where the annual charge for board, washing and lodging totalled £18.7.0, exclusive of £18.8.0 school fees. Included in this sum was four guineas for a single bed, which required each boy to supply two pairs of sheets and two pillowcases in addition to one dozen towels and one silver table-spoon. A quarter’s notice had to be given before quitting the house, and ‘cast off cloaths’ were ‘to be left for the servants’. FitzRoy and John followed their father, brothers Henry, Charles, Robert Edward and William to Westminster where among their contemporaries were the future politicians J. Cam Hobhouse, Lord John Russell and James Graham. George Bingham, later third Earl of Lucan, and Lord George Paget, both to be involved in the celebrated Charge of the Light Brigade, attended Westminster after Lord FitzRoy.⁹

Lord FitzRoy’s days at Westminster were not uneventful. Reputedly one night in November 1802 the usher at Clapham’s House was awakened by his screaming in the throes of ‘some fit or dream’ feigned to cover an escapade by his brother and a friend. A sixth-form contemporary at Westminster in 1803 remembered FitzRoy as ‘a youth of fair and ingenuous countenance, with hair approaching flaxen’ and drew attention to another incident that demonstrated ‘that generous and kindly feeling in early life which accompanied him during the whole of his career … It so happened that in what is the challenge or contest for places before passing into the shell form … Lord FitzRoy took his brother’s place, but immediately after the challenge was over, he went to Dr Vincent, the then headmaster, and begged as a favour that he might be permitted to exchange his place with his brother. He could not bear as the junior to stand before the elder. The doctor acquiesced.’ A less likely version of this legend holds that the boys were assigned to different forms, and FitzRoy pleaded to be assigned to the same form.¹⁰

In the words of one contemporary, life at Westminster was not all ‘couleur de rose’. Lessons began at 8 a.m., the upper school being allowed twenty minutes for breakfast an hour later. At noon came a two-hour lunchtime, before afternoon lessons until 5 p.m.: prayers began and finished each session. This schedule was invariably worked on Monday, Wednesday and Friday: Thursday and Saturday were half-days, Tuesday sometimes devoted to half- or full-day ‘play’, when the boys themselves organized recreational activities. It is thus interesting to speculate whether, like Wellington, Lord FitzRoy learnt the art of battle on the playing-fields. Almost certainly, as at Ealing, he had the opportunity to play cricket. The formal curriculum comprised Latin, Greek, English, History, Geography and French; and boys had the right to listen to debates in Parliament, though no firm evidence exists that Lord FitzRoy did so.¹¹

By January 1803 the Duke had increased each boy’s term allowance to two guineas, poignantly giving each that amount on 2 October 1803 as they set out for London, nine days before he died. Expenses at Westminster, however, far outstretched the mandatory £36.15.0: on 28 February 1803 the Duke paid a bill from Mrs Clapham of £112.6.0 for the year 1802. Term accounts for FitzRoy’s books and writing materials were settled directly with Messrs William Ginger & Son: £4.9.8 on 26 June 1802 and £3.15.0 on 25 January 1803 detailed, for instance, provision of an ink glass (3d), bottle of ink (8d), Greek and French grammars, works by Cicero and Horace, a lexicon and Book of Common Prayer. Another bill for 11/3 on 29 July 1802 included 6d for FitzRoy’s watch ribbon and two shillings for gloves. Sixpence per month was paid for soap, and FitzRoy’s monthly haircut cost one shilling. Apart from those for books, it seems probable that Mrs Clapham’s annual payment involved money for the settlement of other bills. This supposition is reinforced by a receipt for £4.19.8 to Mrs Clapham on 10 March 1803 – after the Duke’s payment to her on 28 February – from James Chubb, the locksmith, in respect of work for Lords John and FitzRoy up to 7 December 1802. Chubb had, for example, fitted locks to shutters, door and drawers and, evidently because the original keys had been lost, broken open a drawer and cupboard before then repairing the damage in November 1802. One other interesting bill, paid on 9 March 1803, showed £11 to a writing master for ten months prior to Christmas 1802, suggesting that FitzRoy may have received extra tuition after his arrival at Westminster. FitzRoy’s stay there was short, however. Neither he nor John appear on the roll for 1804, and the probability is that their father’s death on 11 October 1803 (in the same year that their youngest sister Anne died) led to withdrawal from the school. The outlay on the various Beaufort properties had proved onerous, so long-standing tutors such as James Chew lost their appointments, and the Duke left only a small annuity to each of his large family.¹²

On 9 June 1804 Lord FitzRoy joined the Army, still three months short of his sixteenth birthday. Need to raise money for the purchase of a cornetcy in the 4th (Queen’s Own) Light Dragoons may also partly explain his leaving school. Between his time at Westminster (1802–3) and 1807, though, nothing positive is known of his life. He advanced to lieutenant by purchase on 30 May 1805 and it is just possible, though unlikely in view of contemporary practice, that he did serve with his regiment. The Illustrated London News afterwards commented: ‘There can be no doubt that, like so many other scions of the aristocracy, Lord FitzRoy Somerset thus obtained his promotion with undue rapidity’, but unlike others ‘he was of the stuff whereof good soldiers are made’. In view of the French wars then in progress, quite apart from the family’s financial straits, Lord FitzRoy is unlikely to have undertaken the Grand Tour as had his brother Henry earlier, though the possibility of a shortened version cannot be entirely discounted.¹³

Undoubtedly, however, while nominally serving in the 4th Light Dragoons, Lord FitzRoy nibbled at the edges of diplomatic life, which would again briefly entice him in years to come. From May until September 1807 he accompanied Arthur Paget, brother of the Earl of Uxbridge and a forerunner of FitzRoy’s at Westminster, to the eastern Mediterranean. Thus, at the age of eighteen, Lord FitzRoy became acquainted with the Ottoman Empire (Turkey) whose fortunes almost 50 years on would shape his destiny and, indirectly, lead to his death.¹⁴

On 16 May 1807 the Foreign Secretary, George Canning, appointed Paget to ‘a special mission’ aimed at detaching Turkey from its alliance with France and at the same time encouraging the Sultan to make peace with Russia and Britain. The following day Canning suggested that negotiations be conducted on ‘one of the islands in the archipelago’ rather than at Constantinople where French influence was high. In little over a fortnight Paget and FitzRoy Somerset began ‘a rather tedious passage of fifteen days’ to join Admiral Lord Collingwood’s fleet off Cadiz on 18 June. Two days later they sailed on in the battleship Queen, reaching Palermo on Saturday 4 July, subsequently calling at Malta and eventually arriving off the island of Tenedos on 30 July. The next day Paget wrote scathingly to his mother that ‘my pen is unable to describe the Horror of the Place’. Ashore the new arrivals ‘found the Town nearly reduced to ashes, the Island deserted by its former Inhabitants, dead bodies floating about the shore, and the air infected by those now lying unburied on the Island, not even water to be had, the wells having been destroyed etc.’ Unhappily, on his return to the country in 1854, FitzRoy Somerset would discover that, dead bodies notwithstanding, Turkish hygiene had scarcely improved. He may well, then, have reflected on the accuracy of Paget’s pessimism: ‘I have little hope of being able to bring the wretches to any Terms … it will be all the same an Hundred years hence, as they say’.¹⁵

Canning instructed Paget to make the most of knowledge about secret clauses attached to the Treaty of Tilsit between Napoleon and Alexander I of Russia, signed on 8 July, whereby Turkey would be reduced to Constantinople and its immediate European hinterland. ‘Make our peace with Turkey as soon as you can,’ he urged – a directive easily penned from the distant haven of Downing Street. On 22 August Paget left Tenedos in Montague, anchoring ten days later off ‘Imbro’ (Imbros, west of the Gallipoli peninsula), aware of growing French pressure on Turkey not to treat with him and aware also that Russia and Turkey were in the process of making peace. With Russia no longer actively engaged in hostilities against Turkey, Paget’s position became uncomfortable and not a little dangerous: the Russian fleet withdrew its protection, and without its help the British squadron could not impose an effective blockade. Nevertheless, after conferring with Turkish officials, Paget hoped for formal peace. In vain. As the weather deteriorated so his mission ran metaphorically as well as actually into choppy waters. And his disillusionment heightened: ‘There is not in any one of the Islands a House into which one could set one’s feet – there is therefore no choice about remaining on board ship.’ On 5 September Paget complained to Canning that he and his staff had been tossing in gales for five weeks and achieved nothing, as they battled between Imbros, Tenedos and occasional sterile visits to Turkish emissaries ashore.¹⁶

During these uncomfortable days FitzRoy undoubtedly did suffer – an active young man confined to anguished inactivity. At this time, however, he seems to have formed what was to become a lasting interest in moral philosophy. Paget was wont to meditate on the justice and nature of Man’s mortality and the subject of Eternal Life. Writing to FitzRoy’s mother from ‘off Tenedos’ on 25 September, he revealed: ‘Poor FitzRoy is quite in the Dumps at having received no letter by the last arrival. Unfortunately I had already made him read Dr Beattie, otherwise I should unquestionably have consoled him with a few pages of it.’ James Beattie, professor of moral philosophy and logic at Marischal College, Aberdeen, in the late 18th century, published works on aspects of Christianity and moral science which appealed to high churchmen to whose theological tenets FitzRoy would remain faithful throughout his life.¹⁷

Lord Fitzroy clearly made a powerful impression on Paget beyond his philosophical contemplations. ‘He is a most excellent Lad – I have the sincerest Regard for him – But indeed you have no idea of the wretchedness of our existence; it is now I think seventeen weeks that we have not slept ashore, and to this moment, I don’t know whether my friend FitzRoy can, but I know that I cannot guess what is to be the end of it all. We now and then get a walk on an uninhabited Island, which is the sum Total of our Recreations, and the winter months are approaching.’ Somewhat wistfully he added: ‘Pray bestow a thought on us during your Xmas Gambols.’ FitzRoy had thus intrigued Paget not only by his personality, so that the older man could refer to their friendship, but also his judgement, allowing that FitzRoy might see a solution to their predicament that had eluded him.¹⁸

At length, after more frustrating and uncomfortable journeys back and forth, negotiations broke down irretrievably on 22 October when the Turks declined to ‘renew the former Ties of Friendship’ with Britain until a peace with Russia had been concluded. That would take at least an estimated four more months to attain; and failure allowed Paget’s bitterness full rein. ‘Instead of being received in a suitable manner ashore,’ he complained to Canning, ‘I was allowed to remain on board ship during the whole course of it [the negotiatory process], sometimes off Imbro [sic] sometimes off Tenedos, and at others off the Dardanelles, according to the State of weather and wind.’ ‘Even in the stress of weather’, the Turks would not permit even a frigate to take shelter within the Dardanelles. ‘Upon the whole I could not have experienced greater Inhospitality and Inattention among the most uncivilized people.’ Hardly an alluring introduction to the world of diplomacy or to the Turkish Empire for FitzRoy. One other aspect of the sorry business had relevance; but only in retrospect. A fortnight before he finally admitted defeat Paget advised Canning that he did not believe that Turkey would fight France and Russia – following their accord after Tilsit – if Britain’s assistance were confined to the Royal Navy. A commitment of ground forces was needed. Lord FitzRoy (as Raglan) would lead the Army Expeditionary Force when Britain and Turkey did eventually fight together against Russia almost a half-century later. Then, too, naval commitment alone would not suffice.¹⁹

Meanwhile FitzRoy Somerset returned to England in late 1807 after Arthur Paget’s abortive mission and prepared to begin (or, possibly, resume) an active military career. On 5 May 1808 he obtained a company and the rank of captain in the 6th Garrison Battalion. Two months later he was in Ireland and about to sail for Portugal as aide-de-camp (ADC) to Sir Arthur Wellesley. Apologizing for a hurried letter, he wrote to his brother William on 12 July, hoping that ‘my house is going on well’ and urging him to feed corn to one of his horses ‘to get him fat’ during the coming winter. The location of Lord FitzRoy’s house and indeed any details of an associated transaction are not known. Despite his haste FitzRoy typically concluded by expressing his affection for his mother and other close members of the family. That same day (12 July) he wrote a second, more lengthy letter to William aboard Donegal, explaining that he had dashed to the ship whose departure was imminent due to ‘a fine fresh breeze’. He had acquired a horse from an officer in Ireland, which suggests that his appointment as Wellesley’s ADC had been quickly arranged. Unfortunately the Master of Transport failed to send a boat to embark the horse so it was left ashore. Showing a special interest in the social round, Lord FitzRoy commented that the London season must be drawing to a close and that William would therefore soon be going to the country. Showing a maturity beyond his years, he proceeded to comment on his brother’s plans to marry. He advised him not to sell out of the Army completely, but to remain on half-pay as a captain or field officer. If he decided not to marry, however, FitzRoy pressed him ‘immediately [to] make application to the Duke of York and get some situation in the expedition which is to follow us from England’. He urged him to make a personal application backed by their elder brother (Lord Edward) ‘and I doubt not you would immediately be appointed to the adjutant-general’s staff’.²⁰

FitzRoy Somerset was not yet twenty. None the less he was off to war in company with an experienced commander who, after taking part in the disastrous Flanders campaign of 1794, had commanded with distinction in India and the previous year had reinforced his military reputation in Denmark. In June 1808, after their royal family had been superseded by Napoleon’s brother Joseph, eight Spanish provinces were in revolt. Wellesley had been poised to lead a military expedition to Venezuela, but persuaded the Government instead to appoint him ‘to the command of his (Majesty’s) army to be employed upon a particular service’ – to free Portugal and Spain. Yet the prospect of campaigning in Iberia was far from inviting, though there FitzRoy Somerset would sadly experience many of the features (political, military and geophysical) that later would face him in the Crimea. High mountains, windswept, bleak plateaux were ruptured by sharp fissures through which rock-strewn rivers raced to the sea. Little vegetation relieved the featureless landscape baked by pitiless heat during summer, washed by torrential rain in spring and autumn and exposed to biting cold in winter. To compound problems for an army, most rivers and their interwoven mountains ran laterally east to west, roads were poor – many impassable during the rainy seasons; and there was little sustenance available from the land. Politically, Wellesley (as Chief Secretary for Ireland and with a brother – Lord Wellesley – shortly to enter the Cabinet) might have influence in his native land. But he would soon find himself embroiled with an unattractive range of Portuguese and Spanish political figures and his own government’s anxiety to avoid long-term commitment and short-term expense. At Wellesley’s side FitzRoy Somerset would, indeed, learn a great deal.²¹

He had not met Wellesley before being appointed to his staff through the influence of the Duke of Richmond. Nevertheless, during the passage across the Bay of Biscay, the General and the young officer struck up a friendship which would endure quite literally for a lifetime. Together they also worked to master the Spanish language, using Lady Butler’s prayer book which had been given to Wellesley. Lord FitzRoy transferred to Crocodile with Wellesley, went with him to Corunna and on to visit Admiral Sir Charles Cotton farther south, before reaching Mondego Bay on 30 July. There, two days later, Wellesley’s troops began to disembark. With an uncanny presage of Lord Raglan’s later landing in Calamita Bay in the Crimea, strong winds and rolling surf delayed completion of the disembarkation for five days. Meanwhile Wellesley had been informed that he would only command the expedition until the arrival of a more senior officer (Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Burrard). He had, therefore, to explain his actions thus far to Burrard, pending his arrival; and he informed the naval CinC (Cotton) from his headquarters at Lavaos that he intended to concentrate his troops in that area because ‘division of our forces’ by landing some south of the River Tagus would be ‘likely to be attended with bad consequences’. Early in 1855 Raglan would similarly deplore plans to divide the Allied forces in the Crimea. To Burrard, Wellesley further explained that, in consultation with Cotton during 26–7 July, it had been decided that the ‘attack proposed’ upon Cascaes Bay was ‘impracticable’ because Fort Cascaes stood out of range of the ships’ cannon and could not therefore be silenced. Failure to do so would seriously prejudice the success of any landing operation. Similarly landing in the Paco d’Arcos in the Tagus estuary would be impossible without neutralizing Fort St Julian. Once more the parallel with Raglan’s later experience in September 1854 is striking. He, too, rejected the proposed landing beach at the mouth of the River Katcha through fear of destructive enemy shore batteries; and Wellesley’s predicament at this time may well have influenced that decision. Meanwhile Wellesley noted that all other beaches around the Rock of Lisbon had been ruled out. Mondego Bay, north of Lisbon and ‘the nearest place which afforded any facility of landing’, had therefore been selected.²²

With a mixed force of 12,000 British in co-operation with 6,000 Portuguese and 1,500 Spanish under their own commanders, Wellesley began the 90-mile march south towards Lisbon on 10 August, knowing that strong enemy units lay in his path. Forty-six years later Lord Raglan would likewise undertake a 30-mile advance southwards towards Sevastopol from a northerly landing beach. Like Wellesley he would face defended enemy positions en route, have gathered sparse supplies from the surrounding countryside, and would use a coastal road parallel to the shore to keep in touch with his shadowing fleet. Five days after leaving Mondego Bay Wellesley’s advance guard clashed with French outposts, in much the same way as Raglan’s would encounter Russians on the Bulganek between the beaches and the River Alma.²³

General Loison’s main force withdrew towards Lisbon leaving a rearguard of 4,250 men, including cavalry and artillery, on a hill astride the main road at Roliça. Before Wellesley could attack, the French fell back across a stream to occupy another hill up whose steep slope any attacker must climb. The enemy position was protected at both ends by a gorge. Once across the river attacking forces could use four dry gullies although there was cover at the foot of each for determined defensive skirmishers. The Alma position in the Crimea, although on a much larger scale, would be very similar. Wellesley’s initial attempt at double envelopment failed on 17 August, but after three unsuccessful frontal attacks the position was at last carried. Nevertheless the bulk of the enemy withdrew in relatively good order. Comparison with the later Alma action in the Crimea is indeed marked. Allegedly during the clash at Roliça, which was his first experience of action, Wellesley asked his young ADC ‘Well, Lord FitzRoy, how do you feel under fire?’ ‘Better, sir, than I expected,’ came the cool reply, which is said to have impressed his commander. On the following day (18 August 1808) by an administrative quirk FitzRoy’s transfer into the 43rd (Monmouthshire) Regiment of Foot was gazetted.²⁴

On 20 August, having resumed his advance on Lisbon, Wellesley reached Vimeiro Ridge, a line of hills astride the River Maceira, where he learnt that Burrard had anchored in nearby Maceira Bay. Burrard remained afloat, but forbade Wellesley to move further. Next morning, however, the initiative was seized by General Junot in a desperate attempt to Stifle the British invasion. On a bright, sunny day he paid the penalty of trying to outflank Wellesley’s superior numbers which were occupying the ridge and other high ground to the south, close to Vimeiro village. The French suffered heavy casualties and, moreover, lost fourteen guns to the British – a recognized mark of success in the field, which could not have escaped FitzRoy Somerset’s notice. Another event that day may well have over-influenced him also. The British cavalry rashly pursued the enemy too far (as it would do also at Waterloo), suffered unnecessary casualties and almost incurred disaster. Wellesley would thereafter be cautious in his deployment of cavalry, as would Raglan in years to come, when he was in command. To Burrard, Wellesley emphasized that brigade commanders had responded individually to enemy attacks, and that British use of the bayonet had been decisive; as would be the case at Inkerman in November 1854.²⁵

The day after the battle at Vimeiro Wellesley informed his brother that ‘we gave the French an unmerciful beating yesterday’, but revealed that yet another officer senior to him had arrived on the scene, Sir Hew Dalrymple. It was a prelude to an unhappy sequence of events whose repercussions would affect Wellesley and FitzRoy Somerset greatly within months. On 22 August Dalrymple ordered Wellesley to seek a ceasefire. Two days later Wellesley’s anger spilled over in a letter to his brother, William Wellesley-Pole (Lord FitzRoy’s future father-in-law). Dalrymple had forced him to sign the ceasefire: ‘I wish that I was away from the Army. Things will not flourish as we are situated and organized; and I am much afraid that my friends in England will consider me responsible for many things over which I have no power.²⁶

Furthermore Dalrymple determined to convert the temporary ceasefire into a formal convention; and FitzRoy Somerset was called upon to play a part in that process. On 27 August Wellesley wrote: ‘Lord FitzRoy has been very useful to me, and I have this day lent him to Sir H. Dalrymple to go to the French headquarters.’ Four days later the ‘definitive convention’ was signed. Thereafter Wellesley never ceased to protest that he had become embroiled in the controversial Convention of Cintra by obeying the order of a superior officer; and the affair rumbled on until a Board of General Officers met in London from November to December 1808, to inquire into the circumstances surrounding the Convention. In the meantime Wellesley had resumed his post as Chief Secretary for Ireland in Dublin and Fitzroy Somerset had returned to England. In accordance with the terms of the Convention French troops left Portugal for La Rochelle. Elsewhere on the Iberian peninsula, however, other French formations would soon expand their influence in Spain, push Sir John Moore back to Corunna, drive into northern Portugal and capture Oporto. Lisbon thus again came under threat; and once more Wellesley and his ADC would be called to the Colours in its defence.

CHAPTER 2

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THE PENINSULAR WAR

 (1809–14)

‘He [FitzRoy Somerset] will one day be a great man, if he lives.’(Major, later General Sir William Napier)¹

Three weeks before the French took Oporto in March 1809, Wellesley underlined the need to encourage Spanish resistance and effectively to organize the 70,000 militia and regulars under arms in Portugal. He recommended ‘very extensive pecuniary assistance and political support’ plus immediate British troop reinforcements. ²

Events then moved swiftly. His baggage was stowed aboard Surveillante anchored at Spithead on Wednesday 12 April, but strong ‘gails’(sic) prevented him ‘and his suite’, including FitzRoy Somerset, from joining the ship off Portsmouth until 11.30 a.m. on 15 April. Surveillante set sail for Portugal early that afternoon in ‘light breezes’. At 5.20 p.m., however, a freshening north-westerly obliged the captain to ‘come to’ off Dunnose at the south-eastern extremity of the Isle of Wight. In the space of fifteen minutes the wind ‘veered’ sharply and conditions continued to deteriorate. However, both the captain’s and master’s logs recorded only ‘fresh breezes’ and ‘squally rain’ without any hint of alarm; and Surveillante got under weigh again at 12.15 a.m. on 16 April. The delightful story that the vessel nearly foundered, with Wellesley being warned to prepare to abandon ship, therefore appears to be apocryphal. What is not in dispute is that Surveillante experienced a very rough crossing of the Bay of Biscay and on 20 April fired shots to harass a ‘strange sail’, which turned out to be a Portuguese schooner. Two days later land was sighted and Wellesley went ashore at Lisbon.³ Shortly aferwards he assumed formal command of the British troops from Lieutenant-General Sir John Cradock. That appointment, ‘to be Commander of his [Majesty’s] forces in Portugal’, announced in Lisbon on 27 April, coincided with confirmation that FitzRoy Somerset would be one of his four ADCs.⁴

Wellesley determined to move to the relief of Oporto without delay. This time his advance would be northwards beyond the 1808 landing beach at Mondego Bay. En route he was appointed Marshal-General of the Portuguese Army, and during 10–11 May his troops clashed with French units near Villa Nova, capturing 60 guns – an astonishing first effort. Shortly afterwards Wellesley reached the Douro only to find that the road bridge had been blown up. By the time that sufficient troops had been ferried across to liberate the town the French had fled.⁵

Having captured Oporto and put Marshal Soult to flight in the north, Wellesley decided to deal with Marshal Victor’s other French army, which entailed partly retracing his steps towards Lisbon, then striking eastwards into Spain. He was already discovering, though, how difficult the question of supplies would become. Plans to pursue Soult’s forces after the victory at Oporto had been shelved because of lack of bread and no prospect of obtaining any ‘for some days’. Once on the move eastwards he complained of insufficient money to pay for provisions and of lack of forage for artillery horses and mules: ‘our Commissariat is very bad indeed,’ he commented. In extremity, he removed Assistant Commissary Gordon from his post with Lord Edward Somerset’s 4th Dragoons because of ‘incapacity to perform his duty, and of making false reports’. Commissariat deficiencies continued to plague Wellesley during the Peninsular War and they would haunt Lord Raglan (FitzRoy Somerset) in the Crimea.⁶

As he made his way south from Oporto Wellesley revealed an interesting attitude towards the loss of guns to an enemy. Writing to Marshal Beresford (commanding the Portuguese in the field), he explained that he was not averse to building batteries on the upper Tagus, but that heavy guns should not be placed there, rather ‘some guns of small calibre, which would be of no use to the enemy if they should fall into their hands’. This explains why Wellesley was keen to avoid loss himself and, at the same time, capture cannon to turn against the enemy as he would later do at Pamplona. Raglan’s order that instigated the Charge of the Light Brigade during the Battle of Balaclava years later was, almost certainly, governed by this principle.⁷

During the summer of 1809 a curious incident took place. One day a Major Baker dined with Wellesley, and at the table Lord FitzRoy ‘recommended’ Spanish gypsies as ‘useful spies’. Wellesley reacted sharply: ‘I hate all humbug and consequently gypsies,’ to which Lord FitzRoy surprisingly replied: ‘I think you deceive yourself more than others… [because] you surely believe in their prophecies.’ Another officer present observed that they only prophesied good; years afterwards, Baker recalled that a gypsy predicted correctly that Wellesley would die peacefully in bed. Days after the dinner Baker and FitzRoy Somerset were riding through a cork wood when they encountered the same gypsies. ‘The youngest and prettiest girl … greeted Lord FitzRoy Somerset but as she addressed him in a language he did not understand, he threw her a piece of gold and rode on.’ Lord FitzRoy may not yet have been fluent in spoken Spanish, or the girl may have used an obscure local dialect. However, Baker tarried and the girl said ‘in Spanish’: ‘Be grateful stranger that you are generous to a daughter of the wandering tribe of Egypt. Many battles shalt thou see with head erect, as Conqueror shalt thou lose thine eye or thine hand sooner than the Laurel Crown. Conqueror shalt thou be on this and on the other side of the great ocean and inherit the field marshal’s staff of the most renowned of heroes. Thou shall fight as conqueror with those that are now thine enemies. Thou shall see and live thro’ the War of Peace.’ Cynics might easily dismiss gypsy forecasts, but this proved a fairly accurate summary of FitzRoy Somerset’s future career. The gypsy, who predicted Wellesley’s peaceful end, also said that he would die in the same year as Baker.⁸

Having advanced into Spain, Wellesley fought the French at Talavera on the River Alberche 60 miles south-west of Madrid. In that action one of Wellesley’s other ADCs would be Lord Burghersh (afterwards Lord Westmorland), in 1811 destined to marry the 18-year-old sister of Lord FitzRoy’s future wife; Lords Edward and John Somerset, FitzRoy’s brothers, also took part. Lord FitzRoy very nearly did not join them. During the afternoon of 27 July 1809 Wellesley and his staff were in advance of the main force, surveying the terrain from the top of an old stone building when French skirmishers appeared. The British officers dashed down the stairs and galloped away followed by a stream of bullets. Unscathed they reached the main defensive position north of Talavera, dominated by the Cerro de Medellin which then unexpectedly came under attack late that evening. Four Spanish battalions fled the field leaving Wellesley’s 20,000 British and Hanoverian troops to face more than twice that number of enemy under King Joseph, Marshals Jourdan and Victor. Vigorous counter-attacks recaptured the lost ground quickly and, despite artillery bombardments supplemented by repeated cavalry and infantry assaults, it was held throughout 28 July. By the close of that day the French had withdrawn across the Alberche, leaving their dead, ‘twenty pieces of cannon, ammunition, tumbrils and some prisoners’ behind. Wellesley wrote to his brother: ‘I was hit but not hurt and my coat shot through. Never was there such a murderous battle!’ Fortunately FitzRoy Somerset escaped unhurt, and he was among Wellesley’s ‘personal staff to be commended.⁹

In fact, he was singled out by Wellesley who followed the practice of sending back to England with the battle dispatches an ADC for whom he especially desired promotion. After Talavera that distinction fell to FitzRoy Somerset. He was absent from the army for ‘nearly nine weeks’ during which time Wellesley had become Viscount Wellington and his army had withdrawn across the Tagus into Portugal. While in England Lord FitzRoy went to Badminton where one of his nieces recalled him ‘in dear papa’s sitting room … he looked so thin – so pale – after all the hardships’. But she added that he greeted them with ‘his own sweet smile … and all of us children hurried to be embraced’. He enthralled them with his descriptions of the fighting in the Peninsula while they sat at his feet. During this time in England, he also impressed his future father-in-law, William Wellesley-Pole: ‘Lord FitzRoy Somerset … seems a fine lad,’ he wrote to Wellesley in August.¹⁰

Lord FitzRoy returned to Wellington’s headquarters at Badajoz during the first week of October, taking with him a new regimental cocked hat for Edward. He had been delayed ‘a few days’ by poor weather at Falmouth and brought out papers dated 21 September 1809 which contained ‘accounts of the duel’ between two Cabinet ministers, Lord Castlereagh and George Canning. They fought that morning on Wimbledon Common with Castlereagh shooting Canning through ‘the fleshy part of the thigh’ though not dangerously; apparently prompted by a letter to Canning from Castlereagh ‘using many bitter epithets in many places and accusing him of gross deceipt [sic]’ in manoeuvring to get him out of office. Lord Wellesley refused to act as Canning’s second because Castlereagh had supported Wellington in the Peninsula. Wellington believed that this unfortunate episode would ‘confirm in the minds of all Men the despicable opinions which they have had of the publick [sic] Servants of the State’. Aware of problems at home concerning formation of a new government following the fall of Lord Portland’s administration, he noted that while political squabbles took place in England he was fighting to defend Portugal. ‘I may be wrong,’ he wrote to Wellesley-Pole, ‘but the conviction of my mind is that all the misfortunes of the present reign, the loss of America, the success of the French Revolution, etc., are to be attributed in a great degree to the Spirit of Party in England.’ This jaundiced view was scarcely cured by William’s conclusion ‘that [not] one man or horse has yet sailed to replace your losses’, and the cynical addendum that ‘we expect our armies to beat superior numbers without limitation’. Wellington’s mistrust of politicians could not have been entirely lost on FitzRoy Somerset.¹¹

Scarcely had Lord FitzRoy returned from England than he set out for Seville from Badajoz with Wellington before travelling on to Cadiz. He was clearly disenchanted, finding ‘no sort of amusement’ in the English camp and declaring to his brother Edward: ‘I don’t think a more disobliging people exist than the Spaniards.’ By now combining the duties of Assistant Military Secretary with those of ADC, Lord FitzRoy had begun to acquire more responsibility, dealing for example with the appointment of a secretary to Major-General Doyle. But 1810 on the whole was not a good year for the Allies. Greatly reinforced and reorganized, the French took the frontier fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo and advanced successfully on Almeida in July. By early September in FitzRoy Somerset’s words, ‘everything indicated the immediate invasion of Portugal by the French army’, and by the middle of the month Marshal Masséna had indeed swept into the Mondego valley. FitzRoy Somerset, Lord Edward Somerset, commanding the 4th Dragoons, and Lord Burghersh, fighting with the 3rd Dragoon Guards, then became actively involved in a lengthy rearguard action. Eight miles north-east of Coimbra Wellington deployed his divisions along the commanding ridge of Serra de Busaco which ran some nine miles north-east from the River Mondego. The flat-topped ridge gave ample opportunity for lateral movement and Wellington’s headquarters in a convent to the left centre of the position offered him visual command of the battle from a rocky projection thereafter known as ‘Wellington’s knoll’. But his troops were so extended that he had to ride back and forth along the ridge during the day to encourage them. During most of that time FitzRoy Somerset shared the danger with him. Attacking in the mist, shortly after dawn on 27 September – as Russian columns would do at Inkerman in the Crimea – the French launched, according to Wellington, ‘desperate’ and repeated attacks against the British line in two places, but were repulsed with ‘enormous’ loss. Critically, when General Reynier threatened to break through between the British Generals Picton and Leith, Wellington brought up guns to take the enemy flank. Lord FitzRoy (Raglan) would use a similar tactic at the Battle of the Alma in September 1854. Having regrouped, the enemy seemed ready to outflank Wellington at Busaco so he withdrew during the night of 27/8 September.¹²

During the struggle at Busaco FitzRoy Somerset received his first