The British Army 1815-1914

Harold E. Raugh

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN: 9780815397519
• eBook ISBN: 9781351147583
• Edition: 1
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: British History
• Index: History

This collection of essays examines the evolution of the British Army during the century-long Pax Britannica, from the time Wellington considered its soldiers 'the scum of the earth' to the height of the imperial epoch, when they were highly-respected 'soldiers of the Queen'. The British Army during this period was a microcosm and reflection of the larger British society. As a result, this study of the British Army focuses on its character and composition, its officers and men, efforts to improve its efficiency and effectiveness and its role and performance on active service while an instrument of British Government policy.

Part I
The British Army of the
Pax Britannica:
A Histographical Review

[1]
THE BRITISH ARMY, 1815–1856; recent writing reviewed

BY HEW STRACHAN

For too long too many histories of the British army dismissed the four decades between the Napoleonic Wars and the Crimean War as twilight years. The greatest insult of all to the British army in this period was the oft-used title, ‘The Long Peace’. What that meant was not that Europe was at peace (it was not) nor that the British army was at peace (it fought Pindaris, Kandyans, Burmese, Jats, Ashantis, Kaffirs, Afghans, Baluchis, Chinese, Mahrattas, Sikhs, and Maoris—many of them more than once). Rather, ‘The Long Peace’ was the product of a Eurocentric view of British military history: from 1815 to 1854 the army did not fight in Europe against a European adversary. But, as the list of its opponents indicates, the army was not idle, and the empire hardly gave it the opportunity to atrophy.

One of the major themes of my own book, Wellington’s Legacy: the reform of the British army 1830–54 (Manchester, 1984), is the importance of this colonial perspective. Much that seems conservative or backward in European terms is explicable in the context of imperial garrisoning. Critics of Wellington’s Legacy—judging armies by European criteria—have argued that empire was a cloak for inertia; I would contend that Britain was forging a different sort of army. Pragmatism shaped it for empire—its problem was that it lacked a major theorist to articulate a coherent rationale of its role. Furthermore, since the empire remained a prime responsibility throughout the nineteenth century, I would also argue that there is a continuity in the development of the army from the 1830s until 1914 (or, probably more accurately, 1910).

The best introductory volume to the Victorian army as a whole is Edward M. Spiers, The Army and Society 1815–1914 (London, 1980). Although his interpretation of the pre-Crimean period differs from my own, in sum this is a judicious and well-balanced account. Its focus is not on society’s view of the army, but on the army as an institution, on its development and social composition. In particular the opening chapters—on the officers and on the other ranks—are as relevant to the pre-Crimean army as to that of the later Victorians.

Spiers argues that the officer was fitted for his post by his education as a gentleman. Of course education was acquired through wealth, and of course too the title ‘gentleman’ carries connotations of social status as well as of honourable behaviour. But—as importantly—thus was education embedded as a block to the dominance of purchase and to the promotion of the well-born incompetent. The purchase of commissions was therefore never the major impediment to change nor the guarantor of privilege which its opponents sometimes claimed it was. The social composition of the officer corps was not altered by purchase’s abolition. The appointment and promotion of officers were also subject to other factors: much promotion was not by purchase (a point well made by Michael Glover in ‘The purchase of commissions: a reappraisal’, Journal, LVIII, 1980, pp. 223–35) and this was particularly the case in that part of the army which bore the greatest military responsibilities—the line infantry battalions. These arguments are not sufficiently recognised in A.P.C. Bruce, The Purchase System in the British Army, 1660–1871 (London, 1980), and his treatment—although the fullest and most recent on the subject—carries a somewhat dated air. In particular—although outside the chronological range of this review—Bruce’s readers should also equip themselves with Thomas F. Gallagher’s excellent article, ‘Cardwellian mysteries: the fate of the British Army regulation bill, 1871’ (Historical Journal, XVIII, 1975, pp. 327–48). What emerges from a closer study of the political context of the purchase debate is that it was the classes which traditionally provided officers for the army—the impoverished aristocracy and the professions (both tied to fixed or falling incomes)—which were being squeezed out by purchase. Therefore the families who had made soldiering their profession, including the sons of officers themselves, could not gain access to thé army when its size was small and deaths in action were too few to create sufficient non-purchase vacancies. By contrast, the new wealth of the middle classes gave ample opportunity—through purchase—to get commissions for its sons.

All this suggests a greater professionalism in at least some parts of the army than is frequently recognised. J. A. Houlding, in Fit for Service: the training of the British Army 1715–1795 (Oxford, 1981), identified the existence in the eighteenth century of a group of families who made soldiering their long-term career. First the Napoleonic Wars and then colonial service ensured the development in the nineteenth century of this nascent professionalism. The antics and affectations of cavalry subalterns, so beloved by Cecil Woodham-Smith (The Reason Why, London, 1953), are not representative of the army as a whole: she too allowed the home and European perspective to overshadow the army in the colonies. Long service, prolonged separation from home society, and the consequent reliance on that of the regiment, made military concerns the focus of many officers’ lives. This professionalism did not conform to the definitions of the social scientists. It therefore eludes Gwyn Harries-Jenkins, whose The Army in Victorian Society (London, 1977) (which is only about officers) contends that the officers did not constitute a homogeneous body because they reflected the landed society from which they were drawn or which they imitated. This assumption—and the assumption that a commercially-based middle class was being denied access to the army—are the determining themes of The Army in Victorian Society. Thus some interesting evidence, and a particularly good chapter on ‘The task of the army’, are not sufficient to modify the author’s overall conclusions. He too is a believer in continuity but his continuity is derived from society as a whole, whereas Houlding’s and my own interpretations are generated from within the army (for a fuller discussion of these criticisms, see my review article, ‘The British and Historical

The opening chapter of Brian Bond’s The Victorian Army and the Staff College 1854–1914 (London, 1972) shows how parochial this professionalism was—and remained. Imperial service was not conducive to the growth of a staff or a staff college—both of them European in origin and Eurocentric in doctrine. The daily concerns of British officers lay with the regiment in particular, not the army as a whole, with the Sikhs or Kaffirs and not the French or Germans. Unfortunately many of the most distinguished early Victorian generals have not attracted modern biographers. This is particularly surprising in the case of Lord Hardinge, who as well as being a reforming and innovatory Commander-in-Chief (1852–56), was also Secretary at War, Governor General of India, and Master General of the Ordnance. Also neglected have been Lord Gough and Colin Campbell (later Lord Clyde). (Incidentally, Hardinge’s father was a clergyman and Campbell’s a carpenter: like Wolseley and Roberts—both sons of soldiers—their backgrounds were professional rather than aristocratic). Two only of the distinguished field commanders—Sir Charles Napier and Sir Harry Smith—have received recent examination. Napier, whose eccentricities, radical politics and trenchant correspondence make him a biographer’s dream, received some attention in Priscilla Napier’s Revolution and the Napier brothers 1820–40 (London, 1973), but the high-points of his career still await full consideration. Joseph H. Lehmann has written a popular and not particularly informative life of the exuberant Smith, Remember you are an Englishman (London, 1977); A. L. Harington’s Sir Harry Smith: bungling hero (Cape Town, 1980) is more scholarly. Edward M. Spiers’ biography of Sir George de Lacy Evans, Radical General (Manchester, 1983), is full and good, but between 1815 and 1853 the main focus of Evans’ career was as a politician not a soldier. He did, however, command the British mercenaries in Spain in 1835–36 (the British Auxiliary Legion), and Spiers’ account of an often neglected episode in British military history is clear and concise. Evans was not—somewhat surprisingly—a mainstream figure in the parliamentary debates on army reform, although his career certainly illuminates them. Sir Henry Havelock, who achieved fame after the concluding date of this article, is a very good example of a regimental officer dedicating his life to the betterment of his service: J. C. Pollock’s Way to Glory (London, 1957), a biography of Havelock, should knock a few stereotypes. The fascination of the central figures in the charge of the Light Brigade has not abated, and has at least produced two competent books. David Thomas’s Charge! Hurrah! Hurrah! (London, 1974) is a better biography of Cardigan than its rather silly title suggests. Captain L. E. Nolan, the bearer of the order to the brigade, and the author of Cavalry: its history and tactics (London, 1853), was shown by H. Moyse-Bartlett (Louis Edward Nolan and his influence on the British Cavalry, London, 1971) to be another professional, even if (unlike Havelock) he was not an infantryman.

The pre-Crimean ranker has not received as full and scholarly treatment as his post-Crimean colleague. But, following the argument for continuity, Alan Ramsay Skelley, The Victorian Army at Home: the recruitment and terms and conditions of the British regular, 1859–1899 (London, 1977) makes points that are relevant to the earlier period. The only general treatments of the same themes for 1815–56 are in Spiers’ The Army and Society and my own Wellington’s Legacy. The dominating consideration throughout the century was the relationship between the supply of recruits and the demand. In this respect yet more research on the regional background to recruiting, and its relationship to economic depression, would be valuable. However, H. J. Hanham’s important essay. ‘Religion and nationality in the mid-Victorian army’, in M. R. D. Foot (ed), War and Society (London, 1973), discusses the cultural backgrounds of recruits in a short compass. Many felt that the publicity given to corporal punishment was a powerful disincentive to enlistment. But the army’s disciplinary code improved. In ‘The early nineteenth-century campaign against flogging in the army’ (English Historical Review, XCVII, 1982, pp. 308–31), J. R. Dinwiddy attributes the decline in corporal punishment between 1800 and 1835 largely to parliamentary—not internal military—pressures. The story is taken up in more popular vein by Harry Hopkins in The Strange Death of Private White (London, 1977). White was the private in the 7th Hussars who in 1846 died sufficiently soon after being flogged for the abolitionists to link the two: the maximum punishment was immediately reduced from 200 lashes to 50. Hopkins shares Dinwiddy’s view that pressures outside the army caused improvement in the soldier’s conditions of service. The paternalism of many officers, which was the main pressure for improvement within a regiment, receives a better airing in Myna Trustram’s judicious and scholarly Women of the regiment; marriage and the Victorian army (Cambridge, 1984). Her concern is with the wives of soldiers at home, but she has much to say about the regiment and attitudes to military life—and the illustrations are excellent. In aggregate the position of the wives did not improve very much, but those who were ‘on the strength’ (i.e married with the commanding officer’s approval) fulfilled important functions—such as washing, cleaning and mending—in the internal economy of the regiment.

The conditions of station life abroad, as opposed to barrack life at home, have attracted a number of historians. The impact of the officers on local society and the economic demands of the garrison meant that these small units played an important role in the development of individual colonies. Elinor Kyte Senior (British regulars in Montreal: an imperial garrison 1832–54, Montreal, 1981), M. Austin (The Army in Australia 1840–50, Canberra, 1979), Paul Mmegha Mbaeyi (British military and naval forces in West African history 1807–1874, New York, 1978), and A. Samut Tagliaferro (History of the Royal Malta Artillery, vol. I, Malta, 1976) do not make major contributions to the history of the army in the period. However, they help capture the mundane reality of much early nineteenth-century soldiering. Dr Peter Burroughs in ‘The Human Cost of Imperial Defence in the early Victorian Age’ (Victorian Studies, XXIV, 1980, pp. 7–32) makes excellent use of medical statistics to provide an overview of the risks to health involved in imperial garrisoning. His second article, ‘The Ordnance Department and Colonial Defence 1821–1855’ (journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, X, 1982, pp. 125–49) follows up the first by looking at barrack construction. Dr. Burroughs’ interest in imperial defence has arisen from his work on the 3rd Earl Grey, Secretary at War 1835–39 and Secretary of State for War and the Colonies 1846–52. Lord Grey had a clear, rational conception of the army and its relationship to imperial needs. Dr Burroughs’ biography of Grey, when it is completed, will therefore be of first-rank importance to students of the army in this period. In the interim, they must make do with my essay, ‘Lord Grey and Imperial Defence’, in Ian Beckett and John Gooch (eds), Politicians and Defence: studies in the formulation of British defence policy 1845–1970 (Manchester, 1981).

On the actual fighting in the colonies, much remains to be done. In overall terms, Fortescue’s last three volumes remain the fullest account (J. W. Fortescue, A History of the British Army, 13 vols. London, 1910–30, vols. XI, XII, XIII). But although Fortescue’s strength lies in his writing about operations (and the prose is superb), his weakness in other directions—particularly in the discussion of policy and organisation—make his narrative too one-dimensional for contemporary taste. The broad strategic setting has been comprehensively provided in the case of North America by Kenneth Bourne (Britain and the Balance of Power in North America 1815–1908, London 1967), and in that of India by M. E. Yapp (Strategies of British India: Britain, Iran and Afghanistan 1798–1850, Oxford, 1980), and Edward Ingram (The Beginning of the Great Game in Asia 1828–1834, Oxford, 1979).

There are far too few accounts of individual campaigns that approach Bourne’s, Yapp’s and Ingram’s books in scholarship or authority. One exception to that statement is J. A. Norris, The First Afgan War, 1838–42 (Cambridge, 1967), and honourable mention should be made of H. T. Lambrick, Sir Charles Napier and Sind (Oxford, 1952). It was Napier’s victory at Miani in 1843 which helped restore the prestige of British arms in the sub-continent after the disastrous retreat from Kabul. The Sikh Wars (1845–6 and 1848–9) confirmed the recovery—albeit not without controversy over Gough’s generalship. E. R. Crawford provides a short account of the Sikh wars in Brian Bond (ed), Victorian Military Campaigns (London, 1967). Crawford used some primary sources, as did H. C. B. Cook in his fuller treatment, The Sikh Wars: the British Army in the Punjab (London, 1975). Cook’s was the last, and the best, in a series called 19th Century Military Campaigns, published by Leo Cooper. Of the other relevant titles, Geoffrey Powell did a competent job with The Kandyan Wars: the British Army in Ceylon 1803–18 (London, 1973), but A. J. Smithers, The Kaffir Wars 1779–1877 London, 1973), and Tom Gibson, The Maori Wars: the British Army in New Zealand 1840–1872 (London, 1974), remained content to rework the existing published literature. Better accounts of the Maori wars are Edgar Holt, The Strangest War: the story of the Maori Wars in New Zealand 1843–1872 (London, 1962), and Michael Barthorp, To Face the Daring Maoris: soldiers’ impressions of the First Maori War 1845–47 (London, 1979). The Burma Wars (the First in 1824–26 and the Second in 1852) have been covered by George Bruce, The Burma Wars 1824–1886 (London, 1973), and the First China War by Edgar Holt, The Opium Wars in China (London, 1962), and Brian Inglis, The Opium War (London, 1976). Despite what seems a lengthy list, much research remains to be done on all these wars. The accounts that we have are too often aiming for a popular market, and are little divorced from the tales of British military heroism read by the Victorians themselves. They neglect logistics, and they frequently have little understanding of the nature of the British army’s enemy. The field is therefore an open one, and it contains an abundance of unused primary material.

These strictures on the recent campaign histories of the early nineteenth century apply even more frequently to the major war of the period, the Crimea. There is no satisfactory general account of the Crimean War. J. S. Curtiss, in The Russian Army under Nicholas I, 1825–55 (Durham N. C., 1965) and Russia’s Crimean War (Durham N. C., 1979), and Albert Seaton, in The Crimean War: a Russian chronicle (London, 1977), ought to have reminded English-speaking readers that the war was a major event in East European history. But was still tend to view it as an exclusively British phenomenon, confined to three major battles—the Alma, Balaclava and Inkerman. Despite Brison D. Gooch’s excellent The New Bonapartist Generals in the Crimean War (The Hague, 1959), the French—who provided the bulk of the land forces in the first year of the war—are neglected. So are the events of 1855–56, the fall of Sebastopol, and the eventual allied victory; and so too are the other theatres—the Baltic, the Pacific and the Caucasus. If we widened our perspective, British strategy would seem better justified. Sea power was successfully applied to the achievement of limited aims, and Britain’s economic strength—once harnessed to the search for victory—provided by the winter of 1855–56 a quite exceptional logistic base. John Sweetman has examined a crucial component in that development in ‘Military Transport in the Crimean War, 1854–1856’ (English Historical Review, LXXXVIII, 1973, pp. 81–91), but much more remains to be done.

The army was of course ill-prepared for European war, and its generals reluctant to adopt an offensive strategy against the Russians (see my article, ‘Soldiers, Strategy and Sebastopol’, Historical Journal, XXI, 1978, pp. 303–25). Once committed to the Crimea its adaptation was likely to be painful and protracted. The process of that change had to begin at home, as Olive Anderson has marvellously described in A Liberal State at War: English polities and economics during the Crimean War (London, 1967). On the political front, her book can be supplemented with J. B. Conacher, The Aberdeen Coalition, 1852–1855 (Cambridge, 1968), and J. R. Vincent, The Parliamentary Dimension of the Crimean War’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, XXXI, 1981, pp. 37–49. One of the major headaches was the provision of manpower: in 1854 most battalions fit for service were already overseas, and those sent with the initial expeditionary force to the Crimea were in the process of rebuilding—effectively Britain’s reserve. Anderson’s article on this issue, ‘Early experiences of manpower problems in an industrial society at war: Great Britain, 1854–56’(Political Science Quarterly, LXXXII, 1967, pp. 526–45), should be followed by C. C. Bayley’s not entirely satisf...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Series Preface
• Introduction
• Part I The British Army of the Pax Britannica: A Historiographyal Review
• Part II Soldiers of the Queen: The Officer Corps and other Ranks
• Part III Army Reform: Increasing the Efficiency of the Force
• Part IV Military Technology: From Muzzle-Loading Musket to Maxim Machine Gun
• Part V British Military Thought: Shedding the Fetters of Orthodoxy
• Part VI The Army on Campaign: From Abyssinia to Zululand
• Name Index