The Peninsular War raged in Spain (the Iberian Peninsula) from 1807 to 1814, between the occupying army of France under Napoleon and his brother Joseph (who Napoleon had placed on the Spanish throne), and the forces of the United Kingdom, Portugal, and Spanish insurrectionists (and source of the Spanish term guerillas).
It is this conflict that saw the rise to fame of Lieutenant General Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had already gathered a vital military education and experience with campaigns in the Netherlands and Denmark and, most importantly, in India. Though his career was attended by a great degree of good fortune (the first element of a successful commander, otherwise known as survival) and connections, it was his native intelligence and innate sense of leadership that established him as a superb general, and he remarked early on that "At least I learned what not to do, and that is always a valuable lesson."
A veteran of some sixty battles, he quickly learned of the vital importance of logistics to the ultimate success of a campaign, and he was one who would not suffer the least interference in his affairs, particularly from a general staff in London, far removed from the immediacy of the battlefield, that would dare question any element of his command.
There are some who may regard bureaucratic excess as a particularly military odium, but having dwelt in both worlds I can assure you that civilian political structures have that malady several magnitudes above that of the military. (I have said before that I will never revert to being a civilian; that is only one of the reasons why and I do not bear that specific burden lightly.) Thus I treasure, and unfortunately have reason to often recall, Wellington's dispatch of his answer to an irksome inquiry:
Sir Arthur Wellesley, First Duke of Wellington
Of course, it was Wellesley who went on to establish himself as perhaps the most eminent of British military commanders as the one who defeated Napoleon once and for all at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, doing so as a field marshal under his more recognizable title of the Duke of Wellington that he earned in Spain. (A slight and delightful aside: some years later Wellington attended a reception in Vienna, and some French officers turned their backs to him as he entered. A lady took it upon herself to apologize for the rude behavior, and Wellington replied "It is of no matter, Madam. I have seen their backs before.")
A veteran of some sixty battles, he quickly learned of the vital importance of logistics to the ultimate success of a campaign, and he was one who would not suffer the least interference in his affairs, particularly from a general staff in London, far removed from the immediacy of the battlefield, that would dare question any element of his command.
There are some who may regard bureaucratic excess as a particularly military odium, but having dwelt in both worlds I can assure you that civilian political structures have that malady several magnitudes above that of the military. (I have said before that I will never revert to being a civilian; that is only one of the reasons why and I do not bear that specific burden lightly.) Thus I treasure, and unfortunately have reason to often recall, Wellington's dispatch of his answer to an irksome inquiry:
Gentlemen: Whilst marching to Portugal to a position which commands the approach to Madrid and the French forces, my officers have been diligently complying with your request, which has been sent to HM ship from London to Lisbon and then by dispatch rider to our headquarters. We have enumerated our saddles, bridles, tents and tent poles, and all manner of sundry items for which His Majesty's government holds me accountable. I have dispatched reports on the character, wit, spleen of every officer. Each item and every farthing has been accounted for, with two regrettable exceptions for which I beg your indulgence.
Unfortunately, the sum of one shilling and ninepence remains unaccounted for in one infantry battalion's petty cash, and there has been a hideous confusion as to the number of jars of raspberry jam issued to one cavalry regiment during a sandstorm in western Spain. This reprehensive carelessness may be related to the pressure of circumstances since we are at war with France, a fact which may have come as a bit of a surprise to you gentlemen in Whitehall.
This brings me to my present purpose, which is to request elucidation of my instructions from His Majesty's Government, so that I may better understand why I am dragging an army over these barren plains. I construe that perforce it must be one of two alternative duties, as given below. I shall pursue one with the best of my ability, but I cannot do both.
1. To train an army of uniformed British clerks in Spain for the benefit of the accountants and copy-boys in London, or perchance
2. To see to it that the forces of Napoleon are driven out of Spain.Your most obedient servant, Wellington.
Heh. Very good.
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