[AAR] NTW: Journals of John MacDougal, War Correspondent

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Nanny de Bodemloze
Original thread: [NTW AAR] Journals of John MacDougal, War Correspondent (COMPLETED)

Journals of John MacDougal, War Correspondent

The Journals of John MacDougal
War Correspondent
London Times



Introduction Video **HERE**

Almost fifty years ago, in the early 19th Century, I was a journalist for The Times of London. I was assigned to cover the devastating first Napoleonic War, and was attached to Lord Strathmere's army during his Spanish campaign in 1805.

I was present at Orleans on December 14th, 1806, when Napoleon Bonaparte, the self-styled Emperor of Europe, was killed in battle. I took leave of my job for several years following that battle, traveling to the Americas, as I had seen as much murder and destruction to last me five lifetimes in that war.

Being one of the few living witnesses to that battle, and in my old age, indeed, to that war, many journalists, historians, and often the casually curious, have asked for my account of those years and events. I have been loathe to share it, as those who have not witnessed war on such a scale will often romanticize it, believing it to be full of glory interspersed with moments of unpleasantness. For myself, I have tried, with little success, to forget those times, and my youthful enthusiasm that accompanied them.

For posterity, or perhaps even some vanity, I will share my account of the Battle of Orleans, and the events to its leading.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

TO BE CONTINUED...

Journal Entry Index [thx luckylewis ]:
#2: Summer 1805 and the Battle of Toledo
#3: The Pursuit of Diaz and The Battle of Pamplona, 1806
#4: The Battle of Pamplona (continued), 1806
#5: The Death of Bonaparte, 1806 (final journal entry)


Basic Info
Main Mod: none yet, but using small mods for sound, blood, tracers, flags and battle speed (thx scivian, mech, johan, radius, JFC)
Faction: Great Britain
Difficulty: H/H
Description: War Correspondence
Index of Videos:
- Introduction
- Battle of Toledo
- Battle of Pamplona, Part 1
- Battle of Pamplona, Part 2
- Death of Bonaparte
NEW!! Debts of Honour (a TW movie)...based on these journals


(from the Journals of John MacDougal...)

Summer 1805 and the Battle of Toledo

----------Toledo Battle Video **HERE**---------

I left Portsmouth in May of 1805 aboard the Agincourt in Admiral Nelson's fleet. He was escorting a convoy of trade ships as far as Gibraltar, where they would then continue to the Americas or beyond. Nelson's main task was to transport reinforcements to Wellington, who was busy relieving the pressure on our Prussian allies by opening a front in Spain, and providing the push towards France that Portugal could not do on its own. After an uneventful three week journey, we arrived in Gibraltar at the port of Algeciras.

I traveled north with the 12th Foot to reinforce Wellington (the 28th, while on board the Spartan, caught the measles and could not make the journey north), who was camped at Toledo on the south bank of the Tajo, about 30 miles south of Madrid. He was blocking all trade on that route, and threatening the Spanish capital. A large Spanish force was north of the river and Wellington, his force diminished and with no mortars or siege artillery, had chosen to wait and draw out General Diaz's Madrid army and fight on ground of his choosing. With Spain's south cut off for weeks, Diaz finally obliged.

In the meantime, the 12th Foot and the supply wagons I was accompanying were ambushed near Ciudad, on the road north to Toledo. The regiment scattered, and I fled north with eleven other survivors. We eventually arrived at Wellington's camp at the Tajo, 10 days later. Disappointed in the loss of his scarce reinforcements, Wellington dug in and awaited the arrival of Diaz's army.

His scouts had returned and reported the approach of a large Spanish army, with a mix of light infantry, irregulars, 9 lber artillery, and heavy cavalry. Wellington had fewer numbers, but a superior position, south of the city, with time forcing the Spaniards to cross at either the only bridge in the city or a ford about 2 miles to the east at the village of Azucaica.

On the eve of June 10th, I was introduced to Wellington himself. In my youthful enthusiasm, I ensured him that I would not make him look bad in the Times. He smiled and told me that if Diaz broke through our line on the morrow, what I wrote wouldn't make a stick of difference. The next morning, a Major in the 8th Foot presented me with a Charleville musket, and ordered me to report to him as a runner for his regiment. When I explained to him that I had only rudimentary musket training while aboard the Agincourt, he insisted that my slight appearance, civilian dress, and abundance of writing materials might mislead the Spanish to believe me a spy rather than a journalist in the event of my capture. After a few moments consideration of the consequences of such a mix-up, I complied, donned a tall hat, and set about to practice loading and cleaning my musket for two hours. As things turned out, I never had to fire it.

Not wishing to march into the sun, Diaz waited until mid-day to move from the town. The dust was swirling across the flats, and only the cooling breeze near the river made the heat and dust bearable. Wellington, waiting for Diaz to commit his main force to either the bridge or the ford, split his force and placed three dragoon regiments in the middle, ready to react wherever the main force crossed.

Wellington led the west bridge defense, taking with him the 14th and 15th Foot, the German Light, and the 18th and 19th 6 lber artillery. General Strathmere lead the Azucaica Ford army with the 8th and 9th Foot, the 19th Light, and the 21st and 22nd 9 lber artillery. At both locations, barricades had been erected in an attempt to slow down the Spanish cavalry. These were hastily erected during the night, as the previous day the Spanish artillery has sighted the crossings, and were within range. The Spain buglers signaled their advance sometime after noon, and three regiments advanced towards the ford in an apparent feint. While the artillery opened up on us at the Azucaica Ford, through the dust it was clear that the main force would hit the bridge.

I was with the army at Azucaica and witnessed the battle there, but I spoke to a reliable and perceptive artillery ensign after the Toledo bridge battle and received a detailed account of events to the west.


The Azucaica Ford

The Spanish artillery, with elevation and cover in the town, bombarded our lines ahead of their infantry. Heavy rains two days before had swelled the river, and the Spaniards faced a perilous crossing in waist-deep water. General Strathmere, knowing the vulnerability of anyone crossing at that point, had created a killing zone, with the river at the out-limits of his grape-shot. The barricades, crude as they were, helped funnel their infantry on the north shore. Our lines held under their barrage, and when their troops were within range, our 9 lbers opened fire with roundshot. They reached the north shore, and began to cross en masse. The order for our lines to fire was withheld, for maximum effect, but this worked only in theory. In truth, the pressure to hold fire under artillery barrage is usually too great for the average foot soldier. Sporadic musket fire lead to a full exchange of fire, although it seemed that our artillery did most of the damage.

The result was murderous. A few brave souls actually made the crossing to our south bank, but were felled nearly to a man by small arms fire. Many stood in the water, firing defiantly at our lines, but the feint was not designed to penetrate. These men were to occupy our force at the ford long enough to give their main army a chance for success at the Toledo Bridge. The engagement lasted only 10 minutes. Most of our casualties were the result of their cannon, which ceased with their retreat as their guns were redeployed closer to the Toledo Bridge.

What I remember most was the noise. The ambush at Ciudad weeks before had been a two-minute affair, with no artillery and no cavalry involved, so I was completely unprepared for the unsettling and disorienting effect that cannon fire, both ours and theirs, would have on me. The very ground shook beneath me, and my brain felt rocked by the impact of roundshot hitting the muddy river bank. The musketfire around me, from our own lines, was so deafening that it drowned out the sound of our own cannonfire. In fact, I rarely heard the cannon above the muskets. When four men beside me literally disappeared from the impact of a 9 lber, I don't think I heard anything above the ringing in my ears. My mind would not work, and I'm sure I could not have loaded my musket if my very life depended upon it at any part of the battle. But the noise that has haunted me for so long was the screams of the horses as bouncing roundshot would blow the very legs out from under them. The cries of wounded and dying men were horrific to be sure, but those screaming horses...I do not know why, but that is a sound I never forget. It is a noise created to torment our souls.

As in a trance, during battle, I watched a soldier who stood about 10 paces from me, on the left wing of our artillery battery. The repetition of his method, of loading and firing, with all hell breaking loose around him. I was mesmerized, clearly stunned by the barrage, acrid smoke, and the surrealness that comes with one's first battle experience. This soldier, clearly with much experience, never left his routine, and in fact did not even seem to be aiming his rifle (simply pointing it in a general direction). He would open the prime, smoothly pick a cartridge out of the giberne, bite the tip, prime the musket with a bit of powder, close the prime, empty the power down the barrel, ram the cartridge down with the ramrod, cock, point, shoot. I watched him repeat this, perhaps 7 or 8 times, before my attention returned to the carnage around me. I could pick out his face in a crowd if presented with an opportunity, even now, fifty years later. But I never saw him again after that battle, and I do not know what became of him.

While only about 10 minutes long, the battle exhausted me both physically and mentally, and strangely, though we could hear the battle raging up river, I believe I could have napped beneath a tree soon after but for the work that follows such a thing. The wounded had to be helped, and until the battle at the bridge was resolved, we had to remain ready for a retreat, a second assault, or an order to provide assistance.


The Toledo Bridge

Wellington's force took the brunt of the Spanish assault, and it was there where we took most of our casualties. Under a wicked barrage, their infantry held fast for a time on the bridge, using the rails as cover looking down upon our foot regiments. Eventually, however, our grapeshot was simply too much to resist, and they fled the field. While retreating, their General lead a valiant charge of three cavalry regiments across that bridge. Their horses, slipping on the blood of so many of their dead, managed to keep composed, much to the awe and admiration of our men. Like demons or men possessed, their horsemen pressed on, coming within 3 or 4 paces of our infantry lines before finally breaking. Very few retreated...they died nearly to a man. Ensign Wood, of the 18th Artillery, told me of how a single officer, clearly unaware that all of his comrades had fallen, charged on towards our line. When he saw all muskets trained upon him, he must have realized the futility of his action just before his death. His body marked the farthest the Spanish were able to push south of the Tajo river.

Their artillery continued to pin our men, well after the outcome of the battle was determined. Wellington ordered the dragoons to remount. At the outset of the battle, they had raced west to reinforce his army. Now, those dragoons were sent east to our position at the ford where they crossed and routed the Spanish batteries from the flank. The Spanish were driven from the field, and I would estimated their losses at around 1500 dead and wounded. Our casualties were considerable with around 400 dead, wounded or missing. We entered Toledo proper, brought many of our wounded to the beautiful Santa Maria cathedral, and set about to prepare for the inevitable march to Madrid.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

(from the Journals of John MacDougal)

The Pursuit of Diaz and The Battle of Pamplona, 1806

-------- Pamplona Battle Video, Part 1 **HERE**----------

I spent much of the time in late 1805 under the care of the camp surgeon. A wood splint thrown through the air in an explosion had entered my right thigh, and while it was immediately removed, it had become infected within weeks. This occurred during a minor battle, north of Madrid, a few weeks after the Spain capital was seized...a stray cannon shot to be sure, because I was far back from the front line. The infection was bad enough that the surgeon had designs to amputate. But after seeing too many men go through that grizzly experience, I begged him to hold off. Begrudgingly, and with the resigned experience of a man who had long given up arguing with a patient, he left me to my fate. Thankfully, the wound did heal, but it is that wound that left me with the pronounced limp I have today.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

While I remained in hospital, Wellington's army had been cleaning up resistance throughout central Spain, going back as far as Gibraltar to chase down some stray Spanish regiments before they could threaten the southern ports. General Diaz had survived the battle of Toledo, and had retreated back across the Ebro River to the north-east so he could winter in the safe confines of Pamplona. He did not remain idle. He spent the winter traveling throughout northern Spain, raising militias and organizing his remaining regulars. He also continued to receive considerable help from France in both monies and supply.

Successful as he was in central Spain, Wellington knew that he could not lead an assault on Diaz in Pamplona without resupply and reinforcements from England. He sent word to London of his intent, and his plans for the summer campaign of the following year, along with his requests for men and goods. Over the next months, a steady stream of fresh troops and equipment was flowing from Gibraltar.

By January, my wound had almost completely healed, and I was able to resume the duties of my assignment. I spoke extensively with Wellington's senior officers, and they displayed incredible patience at my amateurish knowledge of warfare and what had to seem like naive questions on my part. First, I was unprepared for the slow speed at which armies move, learning over the campaign that without steady supply, an army is just a large gathering of bored and hungry men. The logistics these officers had to manage was staggering to me, with many of them providing the most up-to-date figures of men and supply in incredible detail. The exact location of every well in the region. The number of pigs and chickens on hand. The number of sick and precise knowledge of each soldiers state of recovery. It was during this time that I learned that warfare was about so much more than the battlefield, and eventually I understood a flippant remark I overheard from Wellington the previous year, that the battle is won or lost "long before we ever see the enemy".

In May, 1806, Wellington's massive force left Madrid and marched north to Zaragoza to cross the Ebro. I was heartened to be out of the city, but the heat was suffocating, and I did not yet have the stamina for long marches. Wellington met little resistance on the road to Zaragoza, and while his troops seemed encouraged by their relative ease of travel, the General knew better. His scouts, commanded by a dashing figure named Colonel Bertrand "Buck" Wilford, had been carefully monitoring Diaz's movements for months, and had kept Wellington appraised of a massive Spanish force rallying in Pampalona. Wellington knew that his ease of movement was attributed to Diaz's wish to hit our armies with a single massive blow. On June 2nd, the British army, over 3000 strong with 10 infantry regiments, 5 artillery battalions, and nearly 500 cavalry and dragoons, crossed the Ebro and turned west.

Diaz, well aware of our presence, was busy picking a spot along our route most suitable for his defense and most necessary for our travel. On the morning of July 3rd, Wellington's army was camped 4 miles from a village called Monreal, only 10 miles itself from Pamplona, when Wilford's scouts returned with word that they had spotted Diaz's army only 3 miles ahead. The officers were gathered, maps were examined, a plan was drafted, and by late morning, the army began the march out of camp to meet the enemy. The fate of Spain would be determined near that sleepy village, in what is now known as the Battle of Pamplona.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

(from the Journals of John MacDougal)

The Battle of Pamplona (continued), 1806

-------- Pamplona Battle Video, Part II **HERE** ----------


(Part I HERE)

When word came of Diaz's arriving army from Colonel "Buck" Wilford, I quickly broke fast and joined Wellington's aide-de-campe (a great source of information for me, and a very patient man to boot) for the short march to meet the enemy. July 3rd would be hot and hazy.

Diaz was marching to meet Wellington's army at a site where the road to Pamplona narrows, between a small outcropping of trees called the Gallego Forest and Medina Hill. Traveling north, the land takes a downward slope from that point, so Diaz, wishing to defend from elevation, was eager to beat Wellington to the site. And knowing that Colonel Wilford's scouting report would be accurate, Wellington was sure that Diaz would win that race. He was correct.

Map of the battlefield:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Medina Hill itself was protected by a deep forest gully that ran perpendicular to the road. A direct assault , therefore, on the Spanish line was out of the question. That left Wellington with few options. To circumvent the gully, he would need to traverse the woods to the west. A thick forest, sure to break up his lines, would be an impossible pass against the full might of the Spanish defense from Medina Hill. Therefore, Wellington had no choice but to simultaneously seize the heights east of the road, at a point called the Gallego Overlook. He sought to place artillery on this point, and put enough pressure on the Spanish army, entrenched on Medina and north of the gully, to allow a successful assault through the Western Woods. Colonel Wilford was to lead the Western Wood and subsequent Medina Hill assault. Colonel MacLeod was assigned with seizing the Gallego Overlook. Major Dundee's howitzers would deploy south of the gully.

I asked the aide-de-campe why Wellington wasn't avoiding the western woods altogether and attacking up the road and Gallego Overlook exclusively. He explained that Diaz would then simply pull his entire army back out of our howitzer range, and blow our bunched columns to pieces with his 12 lbers. I suppose that is why I was a journalist, and not a soldier.

We arrived within sight of Medina Hill at about 14:30. At 15:00, Major Dundee's howitzer's opened fire to signal the beginning of the battle. Waiting for any confusion in the Spanish ranks that a barrage may cause, at 15:10 Wilford and MacLeod's long sweeps began.

The Gallego Overlook

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Colonel MacLeod with three regiments of foot, the 18th Highlanders, two horse artillery batteries, and a dragoon squad drove east to the Overlook. Wellington's plan was inescapably transparent. Once he saw that Wellington would split his force, Diaz knew the Overlook would be crucial. He sent six regiments towards the Overlook, and two to intercept the Highlanders and 22nd Foot, who were tasked with defending the center road itself. Our troops were quicker, reaching the middle road and the Gallego Overlook first, but with Diaz concentrating all his artillery on MacLeod, the toll was grim. After a brief exchange of fire with the Highlanders, the intercepting regiments fled to the gully and were chased down before they could regroup.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

On the Overlook itself, the horse artillery were hastily deployed, protected on the right flank by the 44th and 60th Foot. From that point, a barrage could begin directly at Medina Hill. The fighting was intense as wave after wave of Spanish infantry attempted to dislodge us from that point. The Highlanders thwarted two frontal cavalry charges, vainly hoping to break our line and overrun our howitzers. The enemy were ferocious in their desperation to reach the 6 lb horse batteries. So intense was the battle, that the 44th ran out of ammunition by the Gallego Forest, spreading the defending line so thin that all of Dundee's howitzer support had to be directed in the area for most of the remainder of the battle. This would have costly consequences for Colonel Wilford's army in the West Woods.

The Western Woods and Medina Hill

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

While MacLeod was defending the Gallego Overlook, Colonel Wilford was leading two ranger regiments and the 15th and 16th foot through the West Woods. It took nearly an hour to reach the base of the gully, so thick was the underbrush. There, he met the Spanish skirmishers. The firefight was brief, but the density of the woods caused closer contact than either side truly wished for, and a bloody street fight ensued. After pushing back the skirmishers, Wilford arrived at the the base of Medina Hill where he met the main Spanish line of nearly 1000 men. With no howitzer support, outnumbered, and facing an enemy on the upslope, he quickly realized that exchanging fire would be a losing battle of attrition. Hoping to shock the front of the Spanish line, and cause a confused stampede against themselves, he ordered his rangers and foot regiments to fix bayonets and draw swords. He charged their line.

His plan did not work as hoped, but he did not entirely fail either. The chaotic panic and stampede he had hoped for did not materialize. However, the Spanish were pushed partly back up Medina Hill, where the large rock outcroppings prevented Diaz from using his superior numbers to fully face Wilford. And while Diaz had numbers, most of his troops were militia and guerrillas. They were poorly equipped, and were no match for the experienced soldiers assigned to Wilford. Slowly, the Spanish line was pushed back up the hill.Wilford 's men were taking staggering losses, and were exhausted fighting on the upslope. At this point, they had been in locked in close combat for over an hour.

At the same time as Wilford was making slow progress up Medina, the Spanish were taking a heavy toll under the howitzer barrage as the battle of Gallego Overlook raged. Eventually, exhausted and decimated, and having performed far beyond what honour dictated, their lines fled. This allowed Major Dundee's howitzers to resight to Medina Hill, and provide Wilford with much needed relief. As Wilford was winning his battle, and personally leading a charge towards the Spanish 12 lb batteries, his dragoons were hit by our own explosive barrage. He was thrown from his horse, and killed instantly. Wellington and his staff (and myself, as I was safely watching from the south flats) watched this unfold in horror and dismay.

Despite the shock of the loss of Wilford, it was clear that the day was ours. Colonel MacLeod was pursuing the fleeing Spanish to the north east. Our losses were devastating in the Western Wood, but only 200 or so irregular troops survived of the defenders, who quickly capitulated once Medina Hill was taken. Fully 800 Spaniards died defending that hill without fleeing.

Epilogue

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

In all, our losses were around 700, the Spanish about 2000. It was a subdued victory, won with a very steep price. Even today, I weep at the valour of those men caught in that vicious, bloody fight in those God-damned woods. I weep at the honour those Spaniards did their once great nation as they attacked our lines at the Gallago Outlook, wave after wave after wave under punishing fire.

As all of England basked in the glory of that victory, those who survived will never forget the bloody carnage and will carry the weight of men who see such days. With the costly victory at Monreal at the Battle of Pamplona, the Spanish were effectively removed from the war. Nothing stood between Wellington and Paris.

(from the Journals of John MacDougal)

The Death of Bonaparte, 1806

----Final battle video **HERE**---

The Conquest of France

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

After the Battle of Pamplona, the remaining Spanish provinces quickly capitulated, and agreed to join the fight against Bonaparte. During this time, Generals Wellington, Stowell, Abercromby and Moore had conferenced in Pamplona to plan their invasion of France with the hope at ending the war by Christmas. The details of that conference I learned second hand because I was permitted to leave Spain and return to England for a three month sojourn. Wellington had reports to send to Whitehall, which I was happy to do, and I boarded the Defiance on July 23rd.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

During my absence from the theater, our armies had walked into France virtually unopposed. Moore took Marseilles, then Turin and was largely responsible for keeping the Grande Armée further east in their continuing war with Austria. Abercromy pushed up the west coast, seizing Bordeaux and Nantes, then Rennes and Caen. Wellington and Stowell took the center route in the attempt to control the bridges over the Rhone and Loire. They took Toulouse and Bourges, but found a determined resistance at the Loire, south of Orléans. Control of a key bridge was at stake, and Wellington paid heavily for it, loosing nearly 600 men in the battle. To try to split the French forces, who were centered around Amiens and Paris, Stowell pushed to within sight of Reims, but was driven back by a combined French-Batavian force.

Two significant prizes remained out of reach. Paris, and Bonaparte himself. Napoléon was still engaged with the Austrians around Osterreich, and the French capital was heavily defended. Wellington, prudently realizing that he could not besiege Paris until fresh troops and supply arrived, bunked down in Orléans to wait for help.

By this time, it was late fall in 1806, and he felt secure in the knowledge that Bonaparte was too far to the east to raise any seige on Paris before it fell. And in the event that Bonaparte attempted to rescue Paris, he had both the Alps and General Moore, based in Turin to block any passage west, to contend with along the way. History would prove Wellington to be tragically wrong.

I had rejoined Wellington's army by way of Brest, hitching up with a column of infantry escorting new 5 lb howitzers to Orléans. The trip was peaceful, and I was able to enjoy the beautiful architecture in Rennes along the way. And for the first time in my assignment, I was riding horseback on account of my injuries from the previous year. A city born Londoner, I was not altogether comfortable aboard a horse, but I could not complain to the poor infantry in my company. We kept a steady pace for the long journey, and without any word of reason to worry, the column did not hasten. We arrived in Orléans on December 8th, just two days after couriers had arrived with the worst possible news.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

The Arrival of Napoléon

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Wellington had just learned that Moore's army had already been crushed while patrolling north of Marseilles, days before Wellington had even reached Orleans the previous month. Bonaparte had done the impossible: driven his inspired army across the Alps and reaching the Rhone in mere weeks during November. Simultaneously, the Batavian Republic was pushing south to reinforce Paris, and was giving Abercromby a devil of a time. When word of the disaster that befell Moore reach Orléans, Wellington's dream of taking Paris, and forcing an end to the war before Christmas was shattered. Stowell, slowed to a crawl by the autumn rains (much heavier than normal that year) and inevitable mud, was only making 6 miles a day in his return to assist Wellington.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It cannot be understated the surprise at the suddenly arrival of Bonaparte in western France. The Alps and Jura mountain range are nearly as impassable in fall as they are in winter. Moreover, his intelligence as to the whereabouts of Moore's army had to have been exact. Any error in such a situation can easily turn the ambusher into the ambushed, or so I was told. In truth, in my naivite at the time, I did not appreciate the significance of Bonaparte's arrival, both to Wellington's position and to the appreciation of the herculean task of moving an army quickly through mountains.

For me, I could only react to the reactions of those around me. But for Wellington's sang froid, the army would have been in a panic. Ammunition was very low, and an outbreak of dysentery had seen more of Wellington's army in sick beds than on the drilling grounds. Morale was low, as the long hoped-for return home at Christmas was a fairy tale to all but the most optimistic or delusional. Paris was now most definitely safe from us, and we had gone from predator to prey within weeks.

When Bonaparte's army arrived within 10 miles of Orleans, on December 13th, Wellington was under no illusions. His forces stretched thin and being short of supply, the Dublin-born aristocrat had nowhere to retreat. He would make his stand in Orléans.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

December 14th, 1806: The Battle of Orléans

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It was a beautiful day, as if nature was perpetuating a great fraud to temper the bloodbath that would be visited upon the countryside. Bonaparte had fielded nearly 3000 men to Wellington's 2000. He had 3 12 lb batteries to support his attack. And while our horse artillery was mobile in theory, the mud was preventing anything from dashing across any field. A small hill to Wellington's right flank provided me with a relatively safe perch from which to observe the battle. When one of the majors gave me a letter to give to his wife, he was quickly reproached by Wellesly. He would have no thoughts of morbidity on that day. I wish greatly that I could remember his last words to me, but the possibility that Wellington himself would not live through the day had never even entered my mind. He was larger than life, and as steady as the tide. Besides, I was too awestruck by the size and splendor of the French army, attempting to see the Emperor himself through the remnants of the morning fog.

The battle began as I was becoming accustomed to seeing all battles begin...with a barrage. As the well-organized French columns snaked their way across the field, crossing in strange directions that I had supposed were meant to hide their specific intent to the defenders. They marched on, even after coming within range of our howitzers and their devastating explosive rounds.

It was my failing as a journalist that I was so mesmerized by the developing battle that I missed out on its specifics. I am sure that a career tactician would have better noted who flanked who with what exactly when, and then debate it post facto in taverns or courts for years to come. I can recount that the French artillery were deployed on our flanks to rake our lines; that cavalry were sent around and behind our left flank (the responsibility of Colonel McLeod); that militia units helped "fix" our right flank; and that when two of foot regiments in the center pivoted to assist a collapsing left flank (formed up in desperate squares), the French curiassiers hit the gap. I can tell you that Wellington, coming to McLeod's assistance, was struck down mortally by a sabre across his chest, and his head was crushed by a horse's hoof; and I can state with certainty that Napoléon, leading the center charge himself, was felled by a bullet, likely shot by a Cpl. Smythe of the 22nd according to an eye witness. Bonaparte was killed instantly.

I cannot tell you that we retreated in good order, that all men died with honour, or with dignity. Panic struck when word of Wellington's death spread through the ranks. I myself was heading for my horse when a French fusilier squad appeared from the wood and demanded my surrender. A stray cannon ball, shot from a 12 lber no doubt, proceeded to sheer off the head of the man who had just accosted me in broken English. From that moment onwards, I remember little of the battle and subsequent rout. I was in a haze, removed from my own body at the impossibility of it all. The Battle of Orléans had lasted only 30 minutes.

I searched the cool December sky for a message from The Maker, some sign that there was reason, a purpose for what I had witnessed. Some message of hope, of design, that I could carry back home and share with a nation soon to be in grief. I found nothing.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

Epilogue

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Battle of Orléans effectively ended the war between Britain and France. Two things were clear...France would be unable to attack the British mainland, and Britain would never be able to maintain a foothold in France. Battered and war weary, a tentative peace was made, at least for a few years. Europe would eventually fall back into its habit of power and counter-powers, old and new alliances, secret pacts, and thievery done in the name of national pride.

I was beyond caring, having seen enough of war. I had made a few friends in that time, and many lay dead, face down and deformed in the mud of France. No, I could not bring myself to care what kings and lords and emperors were scheming. I was starting anew.

Upon return to England, I was knighted I believe less for any journalistic accomplishment than for simply surviving. I submitted my reports and promptly resigned my position at the Times, then boarded ship for America to seek peace and a new beginning. In time, I married, raised four sons, and even now in my progressing years, I find solace in the fields of my farm, outside of a quiet village called Sharpsburg, in Maryland, near Antietam Creek. May God grant me the gift to never see such times again.

- Sir John MacDougal, 1859

--END OF THE JOURNAL--