‘Moral Factors’ in British military thought and doctrine,1856–1899

I. The Duke of Cambridge

HRH Prince George, Second Duke of Cambridge, was Queen Victoria’s cousin. Born in 1819 in Hanover, he joined that state’s army in 1836. When the Hanoverian and British crowns separated the following year, he transferred to the British Army: aged 18, he was appointed brevet-colonel. In 1846, he was promoted major-general, and in 1852 became Inspecting General of Cavalry. For the Crimea, he was promoted lieutenant-general and commanded the First Division. ¹⁵ Invalided home, he became General Commanding-in-Chief of the Army in July 1856, following the sudden resignation of Lord Hardinge. ¹⁶ Aged just 37, he was to remain in post until 1895, becoming a byword for conservatism: ‘Every change has been made at the right time, and the right time is when you cannot help it’. ¹⁷

A central element of the Duke’s conservatism was his reputation as the ‘Soldier’s Friend’, standing up for the Other Ranks and the regimental officers. ¹⁸ His delight in being with his men when they celebrated the Crimean medal in May 1855 is evident in his diary. ¹⁹ His support for the traditional moral values of the officer corps was expressed in 1870, when he resisted the abolition of the purchase of commissions, since it ensured officers were ‘all gentlemen and not one from the ranks’. ²⁰ This concern for the welfare of the men, and for character, rather than professional expertise, as the key requisite for officers, might suggest he would emphasize moral factors as a counter to the new weapons technology.

At first, the Duke was ‘far from being a reactionary on all aspects of military reform’. ²¹ Strongly supporting improvement in staff officers’ education, he personally oversaw the curriculum of the new Staff College, emphasizing ‘enlargement of character’. ²² It may be assumed the officers he selected as its first Commandant and Professor of Military History, Patrick MacDougall and Edward Hamley respectively, were men whose views were consistent with his own.

Like the Duke, MacDougall was born abroad in 1819 and received his commission in 1836. Unlike him, in 1854 he was still a major when recalled from Canada to become superintendent of studies at the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, charged with reorganizing and expanding its ‘senior department’. Founded in 1799 to train officers in staff duties, the department’s fortunes had faded after 1815. Following the retirement as Commander-in-Chief of the deeply conservative Duke of Wellington in 1852, however, the need for officers knowledgeable about staff duties had once again been recognized. Yet MacDougall had barely arrived before he was posted to the Crimea. ²³ On his return, he wrote a book, The Theory of War, ²⁴ and a pamphlet on military education, which together convinced the Duke of Cambridge to appoint him Commandant of the new Staff College in 1857. ²⁵

In The Theory of War, MacDougall explicitly drew on Napoleon, Frederick the Great, the Archduke Charles, Sir William Napier, and Baron Henri Jomini, rather than develop his own theory. He especially emphasized moral factors, noting Napoleon’s famous maxim that the moral is to the physical in the ratio of three to one, an opinion he claimed was shared by all great generals. MacDougall argued generals should possess ‘knowledge of human nature and skill in influencing men through their fears, passions, interests or habits’, thereby raising and maintaining the spirit of their own troops. In addition, they must understand the character of their opponent so as to deceive him. ²⁶

Commissioned in 1843, Hamley served with distinction in the Duke’s division in the Crimea. Already an accomplished writer, he penned articles, ²⁷ defending the army’s reputation and taking a conservative stance towards reform. This convinced the Duke to appoint him Professor of Military History at the Staff College. ²⁸ Hamley’s lectures were subsequently encapsulated in his enormously influential Operations of War. ²⁹ Although he and MacDougall were friends, ³⁰ and he too was strongly influenced by Jomini, Hamley dismissed The Theory of War and intended Operations of War to replace it. ³¹ In contrast to MacDougall, he devoted minimal attention to moral factors. ³² Although Hamley regularly revised Operations of War to incorporate lessons of recent wars, ³³ none caused him to explore moral factors.

Turning from theory to doctrine, the key manual was the Field Exercise. Originally inspired by Colonel David Dundas, ³⁴ who sought to reimpose order following the looser tactics adopted during the American War of Independence, ³⁵ this had guided practice since 1792. ³⁶ Lightly revised in 1824 ³⁷ and 1833, it stagnated under the Duke of Wellington. On the battlefield, commanders discovered the prescribed movements were ‘so slow and convoluted that [. . . troops] often lacked the time to perform the manoeuvre required’, resulting in confusion and hesitation when the actions repeatedly drilled on the parade ground were replaced by expedients. ³⁸ The Duke of Cambridge’s initial zeal saw him complete Hardinge’s updating of this hallowed text: indeed, six editions appeared during the following two decades. Although this might suggest the Duke was responding to the rapid advances in firearms technology during that period, there was minimal change with regard to moral factors.

Field Exercise (1859) repeated a long-standing demand for ‘most scrupulous adherence’, reminding officers of ‘the responsibility they will incur by introducing any deviation from a system which has been sanctioned by Her Majesty’. ³⁹ It remained highly mechanical, 400 pages minutely detailing the complex ‘evolutions’ an infantry unit, from squad to division, might perform. None of the words ‘moral(e)’, ‘initiative’, or ‘judgement’ appeared in the text. The absence of any consideration of the ‘moral’ aspect of warfare was underlined by there being no description at all of what effect these ‘evolutions’ might have upon the enemy. This was drill in the abstract.

Field Exercise (1861) adopted much the same approach, at even greater length, while Field Exercise (1867) made only very minor changes. ⁴⁰ The only notable modification in Field Exercise (1870) was that, for the first time, ⁴¹ there was recognition the battlefield and the parade ground were not the same: ‘Officers commanding brigades, or larger bodies, should make a marked difference between parades for drill and those for field manoeuvre. [. . .] Tactics should be studied rather than drill’. ⁴² Field Exercise (1874) ‘contained nothing that was new’, while Field Exercise (1877) merely replaced the section on skirmishing with one on ‘extended order’. ⁴³ Under the Duke’s guidance, therefore, the army’s main tactical manual remained resolutely mechanical, with no hint moral factors (or, indeed, the enemy) might influence the course of battle.

These were but words in books and manuals, however, words officers might read with varying enthusiasm and understanding, and apply with differing adherence and competence. It is therefore necessary to turn from what the Duke of Cambridge and his proteges wrote to whether this was reflected in the army’s teaching.

At the Staff College, Hamley’s voice was dominant throughout this period, and beyond. Although, perhaps inevitably, MacDougall’s book became the institution’s first ‘basic text’, ⁴⁴ Hamley taught the students. Even before Operations of War, therefore, although they bought The Theory of War, it was Hamley they heard. Not only were moral factors almost entirely absent from his work, but he encouraged students to slavishly reproduce his words in their examination answers, examinations Brian Bond characterized as ‘pedantic’. ⁴⁵

Hamley’s dominance was entrenched and extended through the Duke’s favour. In December 1865, he nominated Hamley to the Council of Military Education and then, in 1870, as Commandant of the Staff College, where he remained until 1877. Hamley used these positions to promote Operations of War. ⁴⁶ It remained until 1894 one of just two texts for the Staff College admission examination (the other being Jomini’s Summary of the Art of War). Hamley achieved similar precedence at both Woolwich and Sandhurst (although not always formally a textbook, lectures were based on his text), ⁴⁷ thereby dominating officer education for a generation. As such, despite MacDougall’s emphasis on moral factors, it is clear these received little consideration during the first decades of the Duke’s tenure as Commander-in-Chief. Instead, he favoured Hamley, who emphasized Jominian geometry rather than moral resilience.

II. The beginnings of modernisation

In the mid-1860s, the Quartermaster General, Lieutenant-General Sir Richard Airey, perhaps inspired by the Royal Artillery’s Handbook for Field Service; or Field Pocket-Book, ⁴⁸ suggested his officers write a practical handbook for the staff on active service. The idea came to nothing, but one of those officers spent the next 4 years preparing the manual in his own time, publishing it as The Soldier’s Pocket-Book for Field Service: ⁴⁹ Garnet Wolseley.

Wolseley came from a family with a long military tradition, but limited means meant he could not afford to purchase a commission. In 1852, however, he secured a (free) nomination from the Commander-in-Chief. ⁵⁰ Wolseley never looked back. In March 1853, he was mentioned in despatches in Burma. In the Crimea, he was promoted captain in January 1855 and in October was only refused promotion to major because he lacked the required 4 years’ service. In June 1859, in India, he became ‘the youngest colonel in the British army and the fastest promoted officer of recent years’. ⁵¹ This eager young man was to become the leader of the modernizing faction within the army.

As a moderniser, it might be expected Wolseley would focus on technological solutions to the annihilating effect of the new weapons: he certainly emphasized the greater importance breechloading rifles gave to reinforcing the discipline of the troops, ⁵² and, unlike the Duke, was a ‘most impersonal commander’, who did ‘not inspire any love among those who serve[d] under him [. . . but was] hard and very likely unfeeling’. ⁵³ It is accordingly necessary to explore Wolseley’s views in his early years, as set out by the influential officers around him and in the Pocket-Book.

In Canada in the 1860s, Wolseley befriended MacDougall. ⁵⁴ Just when The Theory of War was being replaced by Operations of War, indicating his approach had fallen out of favour with the Duke, MacDougall’s thinking was developing further. In Modern Warfare, ⁵⁵ he became ‘the first European soldier to incorporate lessons from the [American] Civil War into a military text’. ⁵⁶ As in The Theory of War, he focused on generals’ personal qualities and the associated moral factors: ‘War is no exact science; it must always be indeterminate, because the issue of events must always depend on the variable conditions of the sentiments, the motives, and the consequent actions of human beings. Thus, although the attendant physical circumstances of two different cases may be identical, the results may be diametrically opposed. [. . .] War must always remain a science of uncertainty and, to a great extent, of chance’. Even the individual soldier must therefore be trained to act on his own judgement, through developing his individual intelligence. ⁵⁷

Once again repeating Napoleon’s maxim on moral factors, MacDougall noted this element ‘largely exceeds the physical in its effect on warlike operations; to produce a certain effect on men’s minds may be sometimes the sure road to victory; for it is the mind that operates to impel men to heroic or shameful actions’. Since, ‘If a man in a contest with another believes himself to be inferior, though in all material points he may have the advantage, he is already beaten’, the commander should aim to ‘impose a false belief on an adversary [. . . .] Whatever belief a general succeeds in imposing on an enemy [. . .], the belief is as real and powerful in its effect on the mind of that enemy, as if the image presented to it were a reality’. The panic this might generate was the result of the enemy’s own imagination. This connection between fear and imagination surfaced throughout the book. MacDougall bemoaned, however, ‘Finesse is not the strong part of the English character [. . . therefore] this element of success in war is too much neglected by English generals, who for the most part prefer to act in a downright straightforward sort of way that leaves no room for misconception on the part of the enemy’. ⁵⁸

Two of MacDougall’s later pieces give further insights into his thinking: Modern Infantry Tactics, ⁵⁹ and ‘Our System of Infantry Tactics. What Is It?’ ⁶⁰ Here, he strongly rejected the argument breechloading rifles benefitted the attacker. Instead, he agreed with Moltke they made extended order on the part of the attackers essential, such that frontal attack against a well-defended position became almost impossible. However, in practice, it was inevitable weak points would appear in the enemy line. These could still be overcome, but would require troops to advance at speed in close order, to secure overwhelming numbers and maintain the men’s zeal. ⁶¹ The key was to increase the moral force of the attackers. ⁶² Despite his awareness of the impact of modern technology, therefore, MacDougall considered moral factors central to achieving success in the offensive, based on convincing the opponent he had already lost. His emphasis on finding the weak points in the defence, however, underlines this was no blinkered reliance on some mystical offensive spirit.

These, then, were the views of Wolseley’s patron in Canada, while he was writing the Pocket-Book. Before turning to that volume, however, it is appropriate to consider John Frederick Maurice, as he too made Wolseley’s acquaintance around this time and became his spokesman. Examination of Maurice’s writings gives further insight into Wolseley’s views.

Commissioned in 1862, by 1872 Maurice was still an obscure lieutenant, instructing tactics at Sandhurst. In that year, however, he won (against stiff competition) a prize for the best essay on preparing the army to fight a Continental war. ⁶³ In an echo of MacDougall and Hamley’s appointments to the Staff College 15 years earlier, Wolseley was so impressed by the essay he selected Maurice for his staff for the Ashanti expedition. ⁶⁴

Although the competition was judged by Hamley, ⁶⁵ Maurice stood with MacDougall on the importance of moral factors. Unlike him, however, he focused on the troops’ mental resilience: ‘Our object is to make men run rather than to kill them – to break the effective force of the army opposed to us by destroying its moral power and cohesion, rather than by placing a certain number of men hors de combat’. Consequently, ‘The action of bodies [. . .] has so frequently to be moral rather than forcible, to impose on the enemy rather than to injure him’. Maurice accordingly favoured retaining volley fire due to the moral impact of its ‘sudden destruction of large numbers’. He also noted ‘how almost entirely moral the effect of the [bayonet] was’, as its use demonstrated the critical moment had been achieved, with the enemy already broken by fire. Finally, Maurice was clear moral factors applied in both attack and defence. To attack might revive the moral power of one’s own troops while demoralizing the enemy. Conversely, defending gave troops the opportunity, through their fire, to overstrain the attacker and increase their own moral resilience: he noted Alfred von Boguslawski’s maxim, ‘if [the defenders] don’t go away, the enemy will’. ⁶⁶ In his prolific writings after 1872, he maintained his view that ‘to produce a moral effect is the aim of all strategy and tactics and of each arm’.

That Maurice’s views were typical of Wolseley’s group may be underlined by reference to Robert Home. Like Maurice, Home joined the ‘Ashanti Ring’ ⁶⁷ on the basis of a book: Précis of Modern Tactics. Home argued,

In war we often find the most extraordinary instances of victory of small bodies of men over large forces, produced by moral forces. The most numerous army is by no means the most likely to conquer, but that which is the most highly endowed with moral and physical qualities and the best trained and disciplined. There are many different motives which tend to produce the moral power that enables men to overcome the natural instinct of self-preservation [. . .]. The object of the leader of bodies of men [. . .] should be to inspire those under his command with the greatest moral force before an action, to preserve that moral power during the action, and to seek to demoralise the enemy. ⁶⁸

Having considered the views of two key figures in Wolseley’s thinking, MacDougall as patron and Maurice as spokesman, we must look at his own views.

Wolseley claimed the Pocket-Book was purely practical, ‘remaining silent upon the science of war’. In the second edition (1871), however, he not only took ‘the liberty of urging upon my comrades of all ranks the necessity for a thorough and careful study of that science’, but commented, ‘Many of our senior officers have gone through all the grades of their profession without discovering that there were any higher subjects for study’. In fact, almost 90 pages, a quarter of the Pocket-Book, addressed such matters.

The psychological aspects of battle were clear in the sections dealing with the attack, Wolseley noting the ‘terrifying influences’ of artillery were far more significant than the casualties inflicted, and the moment for the assault could only be judged when the commander was in the midst of the men about to charge, able to ‘feel the pulse of both sides’. This meant ‘an entire change in [. . .] our offensive tactics is absolutely necessary’. Central to this was the infantry: ‘It is its fire that kills and wounds, and its charges that win and defend positions’. Wolseley complained,

In [the Field Exercise], no mention is made of cheering, and at Aldershot most generals will not allow it. It is absurd to practice charges in peace that could have no parallel in actual war. A ringing cheer is inseparable from charging. I do not believe it possible to get a line in action to charge in silence; and were it possible, the general who would deprive himself of the moral assistance it gives the assailants, must be an idiot. It encourages, lends nerve and confidence to an assailant: its very clamour makes men feel their strength as they realise the numbers that are charging with them. Nothing serves more to strike terror into a force that is charged than a loud ringing cheer, bespeaking confidence. ⁶⁹

Wolseley was even more forthright in the third edition (1874):

The days when a stiff deployed line of men, shoulder to shoulder, could advance under fire [. . .] can never come again, and the officer who would now dare to attempt such an operation under the fire of breach-loading rifles should either be tried for murder or lodged for life in a lunatic asylum. [. . .] for an army to attempt what we did so lately even as at the Alma, would be to insure its annihilation. [. . .] It is not enough for a man [. . .] to have seen the operation, he must himself have led men up ‘the deadly breach’ to enable him to realise what men will and will not do, or even attempt. It is not intended to assert that such an offensive movement is impossible, [. . .] but all who have led men in a charge when exposed to heavy fire, will I think agree with me in saying, that the operation can never be successfully carried out, unless the defenders have been demoralised and beaten into that most unhappy state of stomach that invariably precedes a general stampede. ⁷⁰

Wolseley’s comments about Aldershot are a reminder that works of analysis, doctrinal handbooks, and even the teaching at Sandhurst and Camberley, were always a step removed from practice.

This gap between theory and reality may be illustrated by exploring the Duke’s approach to training. It is a commonplace in the literature that the Duke ‘had enormous capacity for the minute and the unimportant; the supreme test of a regiment’s efficiency lay in the spotlessness of its appearance and the smartness of its formal evolutions in drill’, ⁷¹ rather than the realism of its training. This view has recently been challenged by Anthony Hampshire, who pointed out that in the 1860s the Duke sent a succession of officers to observe the annual manoeuvres of the Continental armies. He also campaigned for the British Army to hold its own such exercises, though with limited success: between 1853 and 1895, large-scale manoeuvres took place only twice (in 1871 and 1872). At a lower level, the opportunities for troops to practice in spaces larger than the drill square were extremely limited: Charles Brackenbury complained the area available at the army’s largest base, Aldershot, was so cramped ‘one soon got to know every blade of grass’. In addition, the unreality of the limited manoeuvres that did take place there was highlighted by those of 1869 being the first to introduce a visible enemy, while exercises rarely involved forces from more than one arm of service. ⁷²

In such circumstances, it was perhaps unsurprising the focus remained on the troops’ appearance and fluidity of movements on the parade ground, rather than on moral factors. However, further than this, as noted earlier, Wolseley complained senior commanders sought to preserve tight control on their troops, even forbidding them to cheer while charging across the parade ground, ⁷³ which suggests those senior officers gave little thought to such factors. Field Exercise (1870) may have, for the first time, urged commanders to recognize the parade ground and the battlefield were fundamentally different, ⁷⁴ but there was a gap between that admonition and its application.

III. Wolseley ascendant

The Pocket-Book and works by MacDougall, Maurice and others, however, were unofficial. The key development came on 1 April 1882, when Wolseley became responsible for the Field Exercise: despite strong objections from the Duke, he was appointed Adjutant-General. He held office for an unusually long period, until 1 October 1890, though he also undertook major field commands in Egypt and Sudan during this time.

Before turning to the manuals published during this period, however, we must consider our final military thinker: Colonel George Francis Robert Henderson. Like MacDougall, Hamley and Maurice, ‘Frank’ Henderson transformed his prospects through his writings. In 1886, he anonymously published The Campaign of Fredericksburg. ⁷⁵ As had Maurice’s 1872 essay, the book caught Wolseley’s attention ⁷⁶ and he promptly appointed Henderson instructor at Sandhurst. Three years later, he succeeded Maurice as Professor of Military History at the Staff College. ⁷⁷

Although Henderson made few references to moral factors in The Campaign of Fredericksburg, these suggest he placed great weight on this aspect of warfare. He emphasized the positive effect on Confederate morale of Lee’s victories, especially as these inflicted heavy casualties and were won despite numerical inferiority. Conversely, Burnside’s ‘vast array, formidable in numbers, training, and equipment, lacked the moral force without which physical power, even in its most terrible form, is but an idle show’. Once the engagement had begun, ‘even in highly trained armies, friction and misunderstanding will inevitably occur’. To resist, the troops needed courage and intelligence, with junior officers adhering precisely to their orders, yet using initiative, ‘within certain limits’, when their superiors could not direct them. ⁷⁸

In 1891, ⁷⁹ Henderson declared the purpose of battle was ‘the annihilation or demoralizing defeat of the enemy’s army’, and attributed German success in 1870 to their moral strength. Henderson recognized technology had moved on significantly since Sedan, but (echoing du Picq) firmly rejected any fundamental shift in the importance of moral factors: ‘Weapons improve, but human nature remains the same’. ⁸⁰ He was not blind to the casualties caused by modern weapons, but believed this made the troops’ moral resilience even more important, if the advance was to be maintained.

In 1894, ⁸¹ Henderson underlined the main moral characteristics required of troops were an indifference to danger and a resolution to continue despite the cost: ‘Minor Tactics are more or less mechanical. They may be called the drill movements of the battlefield: they deal principally with material forces’. In this context, the troops’ moral response was inevitably largely passive: resisting the moral impact of material forces. By contrast, Henderson argued, ‘Grand Tactics are far less stereotyped. [. . .] they deal principally with moral factors; and their chief end is the concentration of superior force, moral and physical, at the decisive point’. He was therefore highly critical of Operations of War, since ‘the predominating influence of moral forces is alluded to only in a single paragraph’. ⁸² The book was that year finally removed as the set text for Staff College students, Hamley having recently died.

Having dismissed the long-standing centrepiece of British military education, Henderson sought to replace it with the concept of moral factors. Like MacDougall, he noted Napoleon’s maxim on the ratio between the moral and the physical, and (marking a decisive shift from Hamley’s Jominian viewpoint) commented,

Clausewitz, the most profound of all writers on war, says that everyone understands what this moral force is and how it is applied. But Clausewitz was a genius, and geniuses [. . .] have a distressing habit of assuming that everyone understands what is perfectly clear to themselves. [. . .T]here is no treatise [. . .], which explains what the nature of this moral force is or how it has been utilised in the field. Nothing is more difficult than to drive into men’s heads the fact that the great generals took this moral force into account [. . .], that the effects they expected [. . .] were based upon moral considerations, and that it was because of this that we call them ‘great’. ⁸³

Henderson went on:

The first thing is to realise that in war we have to do not so much with numbers, arms, and manoeuvres as with human nature. [. . .] The explanation of the brilliant successes that the great generals gained [. . .] is to be found in the fact that they looked not only on the physical side [. . .] but that they saw [the enemy’s] weaknesses; they played upon his susceptibilities and apprehensions; every movement that they made was calculated to destroy the moral and confidence of both general and soldiers; [. . .] They had penetrated [. . .] their adversary’s brain. [. . .W]ar is more of a struggle between two human intelligences than between two masses of armed men. ⁸⁴

But Henderson was only one individual, albeit a highly influential one. It is necessary to briefly consider if his was a lone voice, whether in terms of there being few others or if his views conflicted with others’.

Although it is often suggested British officers during the second half of the nineteenth century rarely took much interest in their profession, ⁸⁵ in contrast with Prussia, which in 1859 produced half Europe’s military literature, ⁸⁶ the reality was less stark. Reflective officers could read two regular journals: the United Services Magazine and the Journal of the Royal United Service Institute. One measure of the influence of these journals is the number of RUSI members: in January 1861, over 3000. ⁸⁷ Although a small proportion of the officer corps, this suggests the journal reached most officers’ messes.

An indication of the debates within the army can be gained through Welch’s examination of the articles published in the RUSI Journal. ⁸⁸ The Institute originally promoted professionalism in the armed forces through lectures. The journal was launched when it was realized London-based talks could never reach an army dispersed across the globe. If officers were unable to attend the lectures, therefore, the journal brought the lectures to them. ⁸⁹ The volume for 1869/1870, for example, contained 33 articles, exploring topics as diverse as the place of the Mitrailleuse machine-gun, the application of photography to military purposes, and reforms in army administration.

Welch suggests quite limited discussion of moral factors before the mid-1890s, noting only three relevant articles. Interestingly, two appeared shortly after the Franco-Prussian War and reflected the attention displayed by British officers to the Prussian Army, which placed considerable weight on these concepts, drawing from Clausewitz. ⁹⁰ Despite the long-standing efforts of MacDougall, Maurice and Wolseley himself, it appears wider debate about moral factors really only began with Henderson, ⁹¹ and Welch notes only a single individual, Captain C.B. Mayne, who explicitly supported Henderson’s ideas. ⁹² The implications are that, despite his position at the Staff College and Wolseley’s favour, Henderson was a lone voice in his emphasis on moral factors as a decisive element in modern warfare.

If Henderson’s writings had limited impact on officers’ thinking, what of the manuals every officer absorbed? He suggested the start and the end of an officer’s education should be the drill book and the Pocket-Book, with the study of tactics forming the content ⁹³ between them. We must therefore turn to the ‘drill book’ under Wolseley’s direction.

Field Exercise (1884) appeared shortly after Wolseley’s return from Egypt. ⁹⁴ Perhaps reflecting tension with the Duke, it was ‘a curious medley of British and Continental ideas’, ⁹⁵ though the changes required only 18 pages to enumerate. ⁹⁶ One novelty formed the main change to the chapter on the attack:

On every instruction parade when there is variety of ground, the Commanding Officer should explain to the Officers the supposition under which the practice is to be carried out, the object to be attained, and the manner in which he proposes to attain it; also the nature of the ground and how it is to be utilized. The Officers Commanding Companies will repeat this briefly to their Non-Commissioned Officers and men, explaining to them the part they will have to take in the manoeuvre. ⁹⁷

Through this and other changes, for the first time, ‘Flexibility is substituted for the rigidity of the line, and initiative allowed to the company officers’, yet the centrality of line formation was retained. One contemporary commentator argued the manual was

based upon the idea that the battalion commander should control and direct the movement of every fraction of his line, and that the company officer should be merely a machine impelled by his word of command. Such a system can lead only to one result, to make the subordinate a marionette, incapable of movement except when his superior pulls the strings. ⁹⁸

Another, Spenser Wilkinson, noted, even though the manual now presented extended order as an acceptable option and recognized this meant the battalion commander could no longer keep his units under close control, its only guidance on how he should ensure they acted to achieve his intent was to ‘impress the company officers with a sense of the responsibility of their position’. Wilkinson concluded this could only ‘destroy the value of the following sentence, which speaks of “freedom of action”’. ⁹⁹

Wolseley again pressed for reform after his return from Sudan in late 1885, repeating his call for ‘battle training’ rather than mindless drill. This greatly irritated the Duke, who refused his deputy’s proposal for a committee of experts to compare the British, French and German manuals. ¹⁰⁰ Nonetheless, in 1889, Field Exercise (1884) was replaced by a new volume: Infantry Drill. ¹⁰¹ In part written by Wolseley himself, ¹⁰² it represented a major step forward, though still containing ‘antiquities’. ¹⁰³

For the first time, moral factors were explicitly recognized, in terms of the ‘great mental strain’ that would affect the troops: ‘Victory depends not so much on the losses inflicted upon the enemy as on the moral effect produced by a determination to hold what has been won, or to advance as may be ordered’. ¹⁰⁴

The manual also noted modern weapons favoured the defence, with advancing units now exposed to fire 3000 yards from the enemy. Nonetheless, ‘normal [i.e. close order] tactical formations have a real absolute value, [. . . and] seldom fail to influence favourably the issue of a contest’, as they offered ‘greater moral support to and control over the men’, although modern weaponry meant they might have to be restricted to use only against ‘savages’. ¹⁰⁵ Echoing Maurice, volley fire was preferred to individual fire, not only because it was more effective, especially in terms of its moral impact on the enemy, ¹⁰⁶ but also because ‘when troops once begin independent firing, it is most difficult to induce them to rise with one impulse and dash at a firm enemy’. And dash was essential: ‘Victory depends upon the final assault; but experience teaches that before the bayonet charge can be successfully delivered against good troops, the defenders of a position must have been shaken and demoralized [. . .] otherwise it will be impossible [. . .] to advance over the fire swept zone’. It was for the general himself to decide when this moment had been reached, and the troops should not be hurried: ‘The moral effect of fixing bayonets is great; it intimidates the enemy and encourages those about to engage in the assault’. Perhaps curiously, moral factors were not mentioned in the section on defence. ¹⁰⁷

Furthermore, in a break with tradition, the covering Army Order for Infantry Drill (1889) balanced the long-standing exhortation for ‘scrupulous adherence’ with:

conceding the utmost latitude to all commanders, of however small a unit, in Manoeuvre [, . . . which] must be observed in the spirit more than the letter. The very process by which the rank and file are gradually imbued with a feeling of confidence when called upon to act more or less upon their individual judgment, will create the discipline essential to success. It is to the appreciation by General Officers Commanding of these vital points, and to their realizing the altered conditions of modern warfare, that His Royal Highness [the Duke] looks for efficient preparation of Infantry for the practical requirements of the battle-field. ¹⁰⁸

Although (parade ground) drill had been differentiated from (battlefield) manoeuvre since Field Exercise (1870), the new manual expressed this separation far more firmly:

Manoeuvre represents the application of the drill to the circumstances of [. . .] conflict with an enemy. [. . .] A marked difference should be made between parades for drill and those for field manoeuvres [. . . .] Tactics should be studied rather than drill, accidents of ground rather than precision. [. . .] The more carefully troops are trained to do during peace what will be required of them in time of war, the more efficient they will prove when they take the field. ¹⁰⁹

Infantry Drill (Provisional) (1892), ¹¹⁰ prepared under Wolseley’s successor as Adjutant-General, Lieutenant-General Sir Redvers Buller, moved so far from its predecessor that the ‘key’ to the changes filled 51 pages, ¹¹¹ while a volume of explanatory notes ran to 255 pages. ¹¹² Despite the tensions between tight control and moral impact, the new manual explicitly banned close order. It also underlined the need to ensure the enemy was demoralized by fire prior to any assault, and highlighted how the ‘physical strength and endurance of the attackers are highly tried by the fatigue inseparable from a long advance under fire’. ¹¹³

Infantry Drill (1893) again differed significantly from its predecessor, with the whole section on single-arm tactics ‘expunged’ and replaced by new text on combined tactics, ¹¹⁴ the re-cast material considered by one experienced commentator ‘an obvious improvement on the former arrangement’. ¹¹⁵ In a further move away from tight control, the manual stated,

Commanders of all ranks, from generals to section commanders, must carefully bear in mind the fact that in war it is impossible for them to exercise over their commands the same personal control that finds place at drill exercises.

Local circumstances unforeseen by the commanders may render the precise execution of the orders or directions they may have given to their subordinates not only unsuitable to the case, but absolutely impracticable. Delegation of command is a necessity, and commanders must, therefore, take every opportunity of training their subordinates in accepting responsibility for departures from, or variations in the mode of carrying out orders or directions originally given, impressing on them at the same time that such departures or variations must always be justified by the circumstances of the case. Independent action, merely for the purpose of escaping from higher control, is to be firmly repressed. [. . .]

The conditions of modern warfare render it imperative that all ranks shall be taught to think, and, subject to general instructions and accepted principles, to act for themselves. ¹¹⁶

The manual therefore gave ‘even less detail and more elasticity than heretofore’. ¹¹⁷ In addition, the moral impact of a bold assault was emphasized, to be strengthened by the men cheering, bugles sounding and pipes playing. ¹¹⁸ This recalled Wolseley’s complaint, in the Pocket-Book two decades earlier, at commanders expecting their men to practice charges in silence, and the absence of cheering in the Field Exercise. ¹¹⁹ How this fitted with close order being a thing of the past, however, was left unresolved.

The final edition of Infantry Drill appeared in 1896, ¹²⁰ a year after Wolseley’s return to the War Office as Commander-in-Chief, though it brought little new. Wolseley used the foreword to underline the need for ‘as much latitude being conceded to the subordinate commanders as possible’. The balance between rifle fire and bayonet assault was indicated by the statement victory was gained through rifle fire at decisive range and emphasis on the vulnerability of close order formations, though ‘it must ever be borne in mind that the actual occupation of the enemy’s position is the object of the fight’. The statement about the importance at the moment of assault of the men cheering, accompanied by drums and pipes, was retained. Equally, however, it repeated, ‘The physical strength and endurance of the attacking force are highly tried by the fatigue inseparable from a long advance under fire, and the assault is consequently delivered under difficult conditions. These can only be counterbalanced by absolute obedience to orders and strict fire discipline’. Perhaps surprisingly, there was no reference to the moral aspects of the engagement, other than the exhortation troops should ‘throw themselves upon the enemy’s position with vigour and determination’. ¹²¹ The section on Brigade Drill was unchanged, while revisions to Combined Tactics filled only three pages. ¹²²

Nonetheless, through successive editions of Infantry Drill, Wolseley had shifted from the mechanical approach of the Field Exercise towards a recognition of the fluidity and unpredictability of the modern battlefield, and hence the need for troops to exercise initiative, and focus on the moral impact of their actions on the enemy and on protecting their own resolution.

Again, however, it is necessary to consider whether the writings of Henderson and others, and the manuals’ new emphasis on moral factors, generated significant change in practice. The dangers of assuming direct connection between words and actions may be demonstrated by reference to the Pocket-Book. Although Wolseley’s volume became famous well beyond the officer corps, even recognized by the general public, its influence on the army should not be overstated. Known by all, the Pocket-Book developed a reputation for being rarely read, other than by individuals far from the field of operations. ¹²³

Despite Wolseley’s fame and his control over both the syllabus taught by Henderson at Camberley and the manuals used across the army, it must be questioned whether this had significant influence over operational practice and he continued to complain the army taught the troops,

complicated movements, which are very pretty in Hyde Park [. . .], but which are of very little use in war. [. . .] the result of such a system of instruction is that when [the soldier] finds himself actually under fire and in a difficult position, [. . .] he discovers he is not called upon to do what he was taught in the sham battle at Aldershot, and the result is a still greater confusion of mind, and a want of confidence in his officers [. . .]. I think it is a very dangerous thing to teach a soldier in peace anything which he is not likely to practise during war. ¹²⁴

Even with Wolseley as Adjutant-General, the army’s key teaching text remained Hamley’s pedantic Operations of War, from which moral factors were absent. Henderson may have quoted MacDougall’s claim that, while study might not make the dull man brilliant, it could make the quick officer more likely to act correctly, ¹²⁵ but few were actually studying: military books rarely sold well ¹²⁶ and many officers were simply memorizing Hamley and reproducing him verbatim. ¹²⁷

In practice, therefore, Wolseley’s appeals had limited impact on the army’s training. Some, such as Sir Evelyn Wood in the late 1880s, introduced flexibility into the drill manoeuvres and among company commanders. ¹²⁸ Many others, however, clung to the splendour of the Duke’s beloved close-order drill, ¹²⁹ with commanders retaining tight rein over their formations during manoeuvres. ¹³⁰ This was reinforced by a deep-seated belief the uneducated men in the ranks should be treated like children, a view expressed, for instance, in the Duke’s hostility to the magazine-equipped Lee-Metford rifle in the 1880s, on the grounds men would waste ammunition if not under the strict control facilitated by single-shot rifles. ¹³¹ Officers with these views represented the majority. In 1889, Wolseley expressed concern his drive for flexibility was far from being delivered. ‘The thinkers won the theoretical argument, but could not change the practice’. ¹³²

What of Britain’s potential adversaries on the Continent? Were the debates within the British Army, and the gradual shift towards greater recognition of moral factors, paralleled there? Was this reflected in practice?

German thinkers from Clausewitz onwards had identified the severe impact on the morale of the troops of enemy fire, but later writers recognized breechloading rifles meant the moment of psychological collapse could occur far more quickly. The preservation of the moral strength of one’s own forces, and breaking the enemy’s, therefore became prime concerns, evident in Moltke’s writings from 1858 onwards. ¹³³ This became more urgent following experience of murderous French fire in 1870. The essence of the debates during the subsequent two decades was how best to control the fire and movement of troops during an attack, ensuring fire sufficient to undermine the defenders’ moral resilience and make them vulnerable to the shock of the final bayonet charge. The infantry regulations of 1888 ¹³⁴ saw the formal adoption of what came to be called Auftragstaktik, where open order and decentralized command shielded the troops’ moral strength, enabling them to maintain the firefight and then launch the decisive assault. Nonetheless, the dominance of Sigismund von Schlichting’s views should not be overstated and hostility continued from proponents of close order and tight control, the Normaltaktiker such as Wilhelm Scherff, during the 1890s. ¹³⁵

Developments in France have been less closely examined. Colonel Ardant du Picq concluded from operational experience in the 1850s and 1860s that moral factors were too often overlooked by theorists. Like Wolseley and his associates, du Picq saw material and moral factors as interdependent, with the material impact of firepower providing the means to create moral impact on the enemy. In a contest between forces equal in material terms, the troops’ moral resilience would be decisive, and hence formations should strengthen that resilience. ¹³⁶ Long overlooked after his death in action in 1870, du Picq was championed by Ferdinand Foch as Assistant Professor of Military History at the Ecole Supérieure de Guerre from 1895. But Foch took these ideas much further. Rejecting both Jomini’s search for victory in geometry and du Picq’s careful interdependence of moral and material factors, Foch placed near total emphasis on moral factors. He argued French doctrine throughout the previous four decades was defective, as it overlooked the human element of warfare. Disparaging modern weaponry, he proclaimed victory was based on moral factors: ‘A battle won is a battle we will not acknowledge to be lost’. ¹³⁷

IV. Concluding reflections

The period between the end of the Crimean War and the start of the Boer War can be divided into three overlapping phases of thinking about advances in weapons technology and their consequences for moral factors.

In the first phase, until the late 1870s, the Duke of Cambridge was dominant. During his first two decades as Commander-in-Chief, he established the Staff College and oversaw six editions of the Field Exercise. Although the first Commandant, MacDougall, emphasized moral factors, this was not reflected in Hamley’s teaching and his seminal Operations of War, which became almost the army’s sole text for military history and strategy. There was no reference to moral factors in the Field Exercise. Instead, the army was in thrall to Jomini’s geometrical models, and its manuals remained mechanical – the mental state of commanders and troops, and the possible impact of intervention by the enemy, were excluded from consideration. Since the Duke played a central role in Hamley’s appointments and had responsibility for the Field Exercise, it may be concluded this matched his own views.

Just as Hamley became dominant, however, an alternative approach emerged, marking a second phase, from the late 1860s to the early 1880s. Observing the American Civil War, MacDougall placed even greater emphasis on commanders’ moral factors, and underlined the troops’ psychological state. Maurice took this further, arguing the purpose of battle was to break the enemy’s moral power, so they ran away, rather than simply to kill them. Wolseley led this new school of thought, influenced by MacDougall and in turn encouraging Maurice and others, such as Home. In the Pocket-Book, Wolseley emphasized moral factors, and the need for commanders to stiffen their troops’ resolve and undermine the enemy’s. Yet, while focusing on moral factors, Wolseley was clear these alone could not defeat the new weapons technology – commanders must apply maximum firepower to wear down the enemy’s mental resistance, as only then could their troops’ greater determination break the opponents’ final resistance. The influence on the practice of commanders and troops, however, was limited, with a continued preference for order and display.

The third phase, covering the final two decades of the century, were marked by Wolseley becoming Adjutant-General and finally Commander-in-Chief. As expressed by Henderson, there was a shift away from Jomini towards Clausewitz. This was accompanied by a greater focus on battle’s moral aspects, emphasizing commanders’ boldness and troops’ moral resilience. This was increasingly reflected in the manuals, where Wolseley replaced the Field Exercise with Infantry Drill, writing large sections himself. The new manuals emphasized low-level initiative, focusing on the need to bolster and protect the troops’ moral resilience. But there remained contradictions, as when the manuals stressed the value of bands and cheering as a means to encourage the troops, yet failed to recognize their incompatibility with the ban on close order.

Taken together, the Duke, for all his concern for the Other Ranks’ conditions and his focus on officers’ character, was essentially mechanical in his approach. Despite advances in weapons technology, he saw no place for consideration of the human aspects of warfare, but remained a Jominian rationalist: troops were an unthinking instrument in the commander’s hands, and must be retained in tight formations, moving according to geometrical rules. Conversely, Wolseley’s understanding of the rapidly growing lethality of the battlefield caused him to emphasize ensuring troops had the psychological resilience to keep advancing, even among the horrors of the modern battlefield. Though he drew from Clausewitz, and focused on battle as a contest of wills, he did not believe moral force alone could overcome an enemy armed with modern weapons. Instead, he recognized the key was to ensure troops retained a sufficient reserve of moral strength at the end of the firefight, so they could seize victory at the moment the enemy exhausted their own moral capacity.

However, although there was a clear shift away from a mechanical mind-set and towards valuing moral factors by leading military thinkers and in manuals issued under Wolseley’s authority, the impact on the army’s teaching and practice was limited. By the time he finally succeeded the Duke as Commander-in-Chief, and Operations of War was displaced from its dominating position, Wolseley was too ill and exhausted to take advantage of the situation. ¹³⁸ The disasters that befell British forces at the start of the Boer War in 1899 showed only too clearly the lessons Wolseley sought to instil had not taken root: he had delivered major changes to the army’s doctrine, but these were not reflected in its military education or in the practice of officers on the parade ground, and hence on the battlefields of the South African veldt. ¹³⁹ Far more remained to be done.

Infantry Drill (1896) was the last with that title. When Lord Roberts succeeded Wolseley as Commander-in-Chief, the volume that replaced it was named Infantry Training, ¹⁴⁰ and was accompanied by an entirely new manual, Combined Training. ¹⁴¹ Both were based on initial drafts prepared by Henderson before his untimely death. And Henderson himself had radically shifted his views regarding the balance between moral factors and firepower, recognizing more clearly the immense physical impact of the latest weaponry, and hence underlining more strongly, though in significantly modified manner, the importance of the troops’ character. ¹⁴² These new manuals were as great a shift as Wolseley’s change from Field Exercise to Infantry Drill, and provided the basis for the strong push after 1902 towards low-level initiative and decentralization of responsibility recently described by Spencer Jones. However, the officer corps’ resistance to formal doctrine left many commanders unsure how to interpret this new latitude ¹⁴³ and thereby undermined the impact of the greater understanding of moral factors gained at such cost in South Africa.