HL Deb 23 June 1815 vol 31 cc971-7

The order of the day for summoning their lordships being read,

Earl Bathurst

rose, pursuant to the notice which he had given, to move the Thanks of the House to the duke of Wellington, and the Army under his command, for those transcendant exertions which led to the victory of the 18th of this month. He was aware that their lordships must be eager to discharge the debt of gratitude to the duke of Wellington, who had now so gloriously opened the campaign, and relieved them from the anxiety which all must have felt for some time past. However sanguine any of them might have been as to the final result, yet there were none who must not have experienced the utmost anxiety with respect to the turn which the campaign might take at the commencement. That campaign was begun by Buonaparté himself. He had not, for this time at least, to blame the elements. He had not to accuse the seasons, nor the defection of those from whom he expected support. He could not say that he was obliged to commence the battle by those to whose measures he was compelled to yield, contrary to his own better judgment. It was completely his own act and choice. He had the choice of the time, of the place, and of the adversary with whom he might be desirous to contend. Under these circumstances, he had begun the battle, and he had failed. His attacks were repulsed; the order was reversed—he was attacked in his turn. His boasted genius shrunk under the ascendency of the mightier genius of him by whom he was opposed, and the result was the complete rout and overthrow of the French army. As most of the transactions which had taken place on this memorable day must be fresh in their lordships recollection, he did not feel himself called upon to enter much into detail: but there was one point connected with the duke of Welligton, to which, on this occasion, it was not out of place to call their lordships attention. It had been observed, with reference to the campaigns in the Peninsula, that the duke of Wellington's system had been, not to attack, but to wait for the attack of the enemy, and take advantage of the situation of the enemy when they were repulsed; and many thought that he acted in this manner, from a prudent attention to that part of the military science in which he found himself strongest. The duke of Wellington had, indeed, acted on this principle, during a great part of the time when he was employed in the Peninsula: but this was owing to the necessity of contending with inferior numbers against the enemy. When, in the year 1813, he was enabled to commence operations with forces more nearly approaching to an equality, their lordships knew how the system was changed. The rapid advance to Vittoria, and the splendid victory which had been there acquired, and to which the present bore a strong resemblance, could never be forgotten. The duke of Wellington then proved that his great genius was no less powerful in the military science of attack than it was in that of defence. In this battle both these attainments were displayed in the most remarkable manner. Before he came to the operations on the 18th, he was anxious to make one or two observations respecting those of the 16th. It was due to the brave men who fell on that day not to pass it over entirely in silence. On the evening of the 15th, the duke of Wellington received the intelligence that the Prussians had been attacked by the enemy, and the forces in the neighbourhood were immediately ordered to advance. The Prussians were driven from their posts at Sambref with loss. On the 16th, general Picton's division, with the duke of Brunswick's corps, and the Nassau regiment, were attacked at Genappe. The battle lasted the whole of the day. The Prussians were likewise attacked in their position, and Buonaparté claimed a victory over both: but it was clear that the Prussians maintained their position; and so far were they from being driven out, that they did not leave it till the attack for that day was concluded. Our troops likewise maintained their position; they passed the night there ready for a renewal of the contest next day. But the Prussians having lost 16,000 men on that occasion, from their refusing to take quarter, and a great proportion of their forces not having yet come into line, it was deemed by marshal prince Blucher most prudent to retire upon their reinforcements. In consequence of this resolution, they retreated, and the duke of Wellington also retired with his troops to Waterloo, maintaining his communication with the Prussians, so that he might assist them if they should be attacked, and if he should be attacked, they might assist him. This position at Waterloo was a very strong one, and had been noticed as such by the duke of Wellington last summer. His grace then passing near it, the position struck him, and he made a minute of it. He stated at the time, that if ever it should be his fate to fight a battle in that quarter for the protection of Brussels, he should endeavour to do it in that position. He knew the importance of the place, therefore, even at that time, and the event has shown that he judged well. The enemy attacked our troops in that position on the 18th of this month, with the whole of his army, except one corps which was left to observe the Prussians. They fought with that intrepidity for which the nation was distinguished; but they were met with no less intrepidity by our forces, and with a resolution and firmness in which the British forces were not outrivalled by those of any nation whatever. In the course of this arduous and desperate contest, the duke of Wellington performed the duties of military officers of all ranks. As a commander-in-chief, as a general of division, as colonel of a regiment, he exerted himself in encouraging the troops to persist, and maintain their resistance to the repeated and desperate attacks of the enemy. Towards the close of the day, Buonaparté himself, at the head of his guards, made a desperate charge upon the British guards, and the British guards instantly overthrew the French. The battle lasted nearly nine hours, and at length our troops repulsed these desperate attacks made upon them by forces infinitely superior in number. Here, then, the battle ended, as far as concerned the attacks of the enemy. But the duke of Wellington, with his accustomed promptitude and decision, observing that the retreat of the enemy from the last attack was attended with considerable confusion, ordered the whole of those of his troops who had not suffered in the present conflict to move forward upon the enemy. The troops accordingly advanced, attacked the enemy in their position, drove them from the heights, and put them completely to the rout. He continued the pursuit of the enemy, till the troops, overcome with fatigue, could proceed no further, and then the Prussians were left to follow up the victory. The consequences of this victory, as far as he could at pre- sent state them, were these:—About 5000 prisoners had arrived at Brussels—2000 were on parole, and more were expected to be brought in; and besides this, a great quantity of ammunition and baggage was taken. He was not then speaking of what was accomplished by the Prussians during the pursuit, as no regular account of it had as yet arrived. Having thus stated the nature and extent of the victory, there was one point still which could not be passed over without observation. Their lordships must be sensible that an achievement of such magnitude as this could not be performed without great loss. It had been wisely ordained by Providence that we should taste neither of joy nor of grief unmixed, and the price at which this victory was gained must teach us to check our exultation. There were none who had not lately looked to our army on the Continent, upon the point of commencing hostilities, without anxiety respecting the result: but how much more keen must have been the anxiety of those who had friends and connexions among the troops. The result must in that respect be to many most painful: but still the friends of those who fell had this consolation, at least, that if those who were dear to them had paid the common tax imposed on the military profession, they had not paid it in vain. Who could recollect without admiration and sorrow the stern and manly virtue of sir Thomas Picton, the firm and amiable character of sir W. Ponsonby, or the heroic gallantry of the duke of Brunswick, who, having refused to be included in the armistice at Wagram, and traversed hostile Germany with his little band, had at length here terminated his life in a manner so worthy of his own conduct, and the race from which he sprung? No one could speak on this point so well as the duke of Wellington himself. His grace had written a private letter to the earl of Aberdeen, with intelligence of his brother's death, an extract of which letter he begged leave to read to their lordships. After adverting to the events of the day, and to the death of sir Alexander Gordon, the duke of Wellington expressed himself thus:—"I cannot express, in adequate terms, the grief which I feel in contemplating the Toss which we have sustained in the death of so many valued friends. The glory of such actions is no consolation to me, and I cannot suggest it as a consolation to you: but a result so decisive will in all probability be followed by the early attainment of the just object of our wishes and exertions, and this may afford us some consolation for our loss." In looking at the list of the wounded, their lordships found the name of the brave earl of Uxbridge, who had headed every charge of cavalry himself—(Hear, hear!). Their lordships would also find many names which must be familiar to them from the frequent mention which had been made of them on the account of their services in the Peninsula; and at the head of the list they would see the name of that gallant youth the hereditary Prince of Orange, who had shed his blood in defence of the Netherlands, and thereby acquired a better title to those dominions than mere formalities could afford. It would be in vain to attempt to do justice to the merits of all those who fell, of those who were wounded, and those who escaped; and he should, therefore, refrain from a selection of any particular individuals, lest the distinction should appear invidious. It remained only for him to advert to the conduct of marshal prince Blucher and the Prussians, to whom, as part of the allied forces engaged in these memorable transactions, it was his intention to move their lordships thanks. The duke of Wellington had expressed in strong terms the assistance which he had received from the Prussians. Without that assistance, though the attack of the enemy would not have succeeded, he could not have, in his turn, made that attack on the enemy which had terminated in his complete rout and overthrow. Prince Blucher himself, worn out with the constant exertions of the preceding days, had retired to bed; but as soon as he received intelligence that the duke of Wellington was attacked, he rose from bed, and himself headed a corps to assist the British troops. He hung all night on the rear of the retreating enemy, and no doubt amply avenged the fate of those brave Prussians who had fallen in the battle of the 16th, by their refusal to take quarter. He had now, then, only to move their lordships,

"That the Thanks of this House be given to Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter, for the consummate ability, unexampled exertion, and irresistible ardour displayed by him on the 18th of June, on which day the decisive victory over the enemy, commanded by Buonaparté in person, was obtained by his grace, with the Allied troops under his com- mand, and in conjunction with the troops under the command of Marshal Prince Blucher, whereby the military glory of the British nation has been exalted, and the territory of his Majesty's ally the King of the Netherlands, has been protected from invasion and spoil."

The Marquis of Lansdowne

said, that it was impossible to add any thing to the statement of the noble earl opposite, the observations which he made on the circumstances attending this splendid achievement, and the merits of those who had fallen, whose loss the noble earl had so feelingly deplored; yet in the absence of those who, if present, would, with far1 greater grace and ability, have given their sanction to this motion, he could not bring himself to give a mere silent vote; and, therefore, on this most brilliant, and at the same time most awful event, which had occurred during his own life, or the lives of any of their lordships, he should, with their lordships' permission, say a few words. He was the more induced to do so from this circumstance, that when he first heard of the proposition, he had felt some hesitation whether he should comply with it. That hesitation, however, was not founded on any doubt whatever as to the magnitude and importance of the success, but on the appearance which the vote would carry, of anticipating those great consequences which might probably ensue, but the extent of which they could not then completely appreciate: but when he considered all the circumstances of this transaction,—when he considered the important consequences which must result from it, independent of its military or political effects,—when he contemplated the field of battle as the scene where, from the talents of the respective chiefs, the rival qualities of the troops of two nations were displayed, and the powers of every officer and every private soldier were brought to a public trial, and then looked at the result; great and indubitable as he held it to be, it was impossible for him to abstain from doing all in his power to render the record of that result as interminable and imperishable as the glory which had been acquired by it. It was not improper, therefore, in the present instance, to agree to this proposition, even before they could be apprised of its immediate military or political consequences. The event of this day would, in its effects, extend far beyond the fate of those who were engaged in it—beyond the other events and interests, great as they were, of the present times. It was one of those events which formed the most valuable part of national property and history; and like events of that description, to none of which this was inferior, it would become one of the clearest titles of the glory of the nation, the charter of its fame. He should therefore give his cordial concurrence in voting for a monument as imperishable as the glory which had been gained by the transaction and the means by which it had been achieved. He wished to be understood as likewise concurring in the vote about to be proposed for a further provision for the duke of Wellington, as an additional testimony of the sense entertained, by Parliament and the country of his transcendent services. The splendour and national importance of the event was such as almost to stifle the feeling of individual calamity, and to make us look upon the brave who had fallen as we regard the fate of those "quos neque lugeri neque plangi fas est,"—[Hear, hear!]

The Vote of Thanks to the duke of Wellington having been agreed to nem. dis., earl Bathurst then moved the Thanks of the House to the Prince of Orange, the earl of Uxbridge, lord Hill, baron Alten, general Barnes, lord E. Somerset, and several other officers of distinction; which was carried. His lordship also moved a Resolution of Thanks to marshal Prince Blucher, to the Prussian army, and to the troops of the Allies under the orders of the duke of Wellington. It was agreed to. [See the Resolutions in this day's proceedings of the Commons.]