The Shadow of Great Britain

Arthur did not interject, simply following Napier’s narrative, he looked towards the French warship that had not yet docked.

"The French responded quickly too," Napier continued. "The artillery fire swept in from the flanks, and dirt and rocks on the ridge exploded in all directions. It wasn’t a graceful attack; it was more like a wrestling match, with both sides straining every muscle to topple the other. I don’t remember how long the battle raged on, just that suddenly someone shouted, ’Soult is retreating!’ Upon hearing that, I immediately looked down the hill and found the main assault had begun, with the Duke of Wellington’s nine divisions fanning out in a five-mile-wide front. After the Third Division seized Amots Bridge, Soult’s wings were completely severed. The French line quickly disintegrated, and their fleeing soldiers were as dense as ants; it was truly a spectacle!"

Hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle softly, "So it seems, Marshal Soult isn’t quite as invincible and flawless as the newspapers make him out to be."

Unexpectedly, upon hearing this, Napier turned his head almost immediately, "That’s not fair, Sir Arthur. The Battle of Nevele wasn’t Soult’s best battle, but it certainly wasn’t his worst. More importantly, the talent of a military commander can’t be measured only by moments of failure. Don’t forget what Soult brought us at Corunna?"

Arthur responded, "I heard the disaster at Corunna was mainly due to Sir John Moore’s mishandling, and there was a lot of criticism of him at the time."

Napier immediately refuted, "Yes, I’ve heard that argument more than once, even shortly after Sir Moore was buried. But most of the criticism comes from two types of people. The first has never commanded a retreat, and the second has never set foot on a battlefield. We were already losing when Sir Moore took over the Spanish campaign. The Spaniards wanted us to fight a national war for them, London wanted us to fight a respectable European war, and the French were simply fighting the war they already knew by heart. Sir Moore saw this clearly. If he continued advancing inland, the army would be swallowed slowly by the French; he had to retreat, he had no choice."

Arthur didn’t dispute Napier’s words, although he might not completely agree, he also knew there was no need to get entangled with Napier on this issue.

After all, Sir Moore was Napier’s old superior, a mentor who recognized his talents, so discussing this issue would always be subjective. He didn’t want to harm his relationship with Napier over such a minor matter.

Moreover, as Napier said, Moore indeed faced extraordinarily dire circumstances.

When Napoleon personally led two hundred thousand French troops to deploy along the Ebro River, he openly announced to the Spanish representative, "I lead the army that has triumphed at Austerlitz, Jena, and Eylau. Who can stop them? Certainly not your untrained Spanish forces. I will conquer Spain in two months, claiming all the rights of a Conqueror."

The Emperor made grand promises, and it certainly wasn’t all just talk.

Napoleon took over the Spanish campaign in October, and by early December, the Spanish forces had already been utterly defeated, and it was at this moment that British Commander Sir Moore resolved to retreat. If Austria had not been about to declare war on France, forcing Napoleon to return to Paris to prepare for the Austrian campaign, it’s questionable whether Moore’s British forces could have successfully escaped.

But even with Napoleon’s departure, the two French Marshals, Soult and Ney, left to handle the Spanish campaign were no pushovers.

The British Army, during its retreat, suffered several breaks in discipline. At the Battle of Cacabelos, if it weren’t for Superintendent Thomas Plunkett of the Police Intelligence Department, who bravely sniped the commander of Soult’s cavalry, Kolbe, causing chaos in the French ranks, Sir Moore might have been captured by the French.

From the perspective of prolonging Moore’s life, being captured by the French then might not have been a bad idea.

After all, had he been captured, he wouldn’t have been killed at the Battle of Corunna.

While Arthur pondered the Peninsular War, the pier suddenly fell quiet.

The accompanying officers instinctively cleared the path, and the British aides automatically shifted their positions, even the Foreign Office officials who had been conversing quietly stopped talking.

Arthur looked up.

Soult, draped in a cloak, had descended the gangway.

His uniform was impeccably tailored, his Sword of Honor hanging low, almost brushing his leg.

The French Marshal didn’t pause for introductions or purposely stop at the edge of the deck to accept cheers but walked straight onto the pier.

His gaze quickly locked onto Arthur and Napier.

Napier also saw him.

The old colonel, who had worn a somewhat jovial expression, quickly composed himself.

Soult stopped in front of the two, nodded slightly at Arthur, whom he had met at the Paris salon, then offered a natural smile of old acquaintance and extended his hand directly to Napier, "This must be our first meeting in peacetime, Colonel."

Napier grasped his hand with a beaming smile and patted the back of it, "I was hoping to meet you in a POW camp, but you never gave me that opportunity, Your Grace."

Soult burst into hearty laughter, "Funny, I was thinking the same thing."

Saying this, he couldn’t help but jest, "How is your brother Charles Napier doing recently?"

"He’s alive. For someone who almost died at the Battle of Corunna, that’s quite a fortunate outcome," the old colonel didn’t shy away from mentioning his brother’s past embarrassment. "Thanks to your drummer who found Charles still breathing and carried him to a POW camp, otherwise, my brother would have been dead thirty years ago."

Napier added, "Of course, I must also thank you for agreeing to let him return to Britain for treatment."

Soult waved it off with a smile, "No need to thank me, that was Ney’s decision. He approved the leave, so it was his responsibility. But looking back, your brother was indeed true to his word. If he hadn’t returned to Ney’s POW camp after recovering, I wouldn’t know how Ney could’ve explained himself to the Emperor if he pursued it."

The two veterans laughed heartily, and seeing they were nearly done chatting, Arthur tactfully took a half step forward.

"Your Grace, Sir William," Arthur gestured towards the carriage waiting on the inner side of the breakwater, "The Dover sea breeze is not kind to those who have just landed."

Soult looked up at him and extended his hand with a smile, "Sir Arthur, it’s been several years since we last met, hasn’t it?"

Arthur smiled, clasping Soult’s hand, "If you don’t mind, you can talk slowly in the carriage. Pardon me for being forward, but the Duke of Wellington has set aside this weekend, having heard of your arrival, and instructed me specifically, saying that once you’re in London, you must immediately be brought to London No.1."

"The Duke of Wellington is waiting for me?" Even an old political fox like Soult couldn’t help being moved upon hearing this. "Did he personally request to see me?"

"Indeed," Arthur nodded with a smile, "His Grace said it himself, ’He couldn’t capture you on the battlefield before, but this time he won’t let you escape.’"