By Eric Niderost
Maurice Hermann, Count of Saxony and Marshal of France, swept the horizon with his telescope, his gaze occasionally pausing on the villages of Vlijtingen and Lauffeld in the distance. Better known to history as Maurice de Saxe, he was standing on the Heerderen Heights, a kind of natural amphitheater that should have given him an excellent view of the terrain just ahead. But, July 2, 1747, had begun with a clammy mist that shrouded the ground before giving way to a heavy rain.
Saxe was facing the “Pragmatic army,” a multinational force that included British, Hanoverian, Austrian, and Dutch troops. The polyglot army was commanded by William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland and son of Britain’s King George II. Two years earlier Saxe had defeated Cumberland in the celebrated Battle of Fontenoy. The corpulent 27-year-old Cumberland was an able administrator but a poor strategist and an even worse tactician.
In contrast, Saxe was a great soldier acknowledged by his contemporaries as a general of courage, resourcefulness, and real brilliance. But even he, weather notwithstanding, was having difficulties making sense of Cumberland’s convoluted marching and counter marching. The drenching rain obscured details, but when the rain slackened and occasionally stopped, puzzling glimpses of Allied soldiers came into view.
Saxe could see thin threads of red in the gloom, marking where British soldiers were leaving Lauffeld. A while later they returned to the village, only to leave a second time. As if he didn’t have enough on his hands, the Marshal was responsible for the safety of King Louis XV of France—who was standing right next to him. Though the monarch had a reputation of being a dissolute womanizer, he was courteous and even deferential in Saxe’s presence.
Maurice noted that Lauffeld was being torched and wondered if that meant the allied army was going to refuse battle and retreat to the fortress town of Maastricht, only three miles away. The king certainly felt this was the case, but respectfully let Saxe make the judgment call. After taking a few more sweeps of the ground with his telescope, Saxe said they would attack the Pragmatic army. If Cumberland accepted the battle, well and good; if he was trying to escape to Maastricht, Saxe was determined to cut him off. The coming battle might decide the whole campaign.
The mid-eighteenth century was a time of absolute monarchy, where rulers employed relatively small professional armies to engage each other in political games of sanguinary “chess.” Wars could be fought for a province, a throne, or even to maintain a precarious balance of power in Europe. Alliances were formed or discarded according to expediency. Lauffeld was part of the War of the Austrian Succession, which began when Emperor Charles VI of Austria died in 1740 without a male heir.
In the last years of his reign, Charles had expended much time and effort in what was called the “Pragmatic Sanction.” There were two major components to the agreement: that Habsburg lands would never be divided, and that the succession would automatically go to the Emperor’s first born child, even if that child was a female. Charles’s heir was the Archduchess Maria Theresa, so all of Europe knew the reason why the Sanction was so vitally important.
Most of the major powers did agree to the pact, but upon the Emperor’s death their predatory instincts were aroused. Frederick the Great of Prussia boldly seized Silesia, and the other powers quickly coalesced into two rival factions. Great Britain nominally sided with Maria Theresa, but was mainly concerned with the vulnerable Austrian Netherlands (roughly comprising modern Belgium and Luxembourg). France, always the traditional enemy, was sure to cast covetous eyes on the vulnerable province, and it was in Britain’s best interest, both political and economic, to see that Flanders remained out of the Gallic orbit.
The French army had fallen on hard times in the early 18th century, decimated and demoralized by the terrible defeats it had sustained during the last years of King Louis XIV. But in the 1740s it found new hope and inspiration from Marshal de Saxe, a man who embodied both the vices and virtues of the aristocratic Age of Reason. An inveterate womanizer, his bedroom exploits rivaled those of Cassanova, his contemporary . Yet he was also a general of real genius, a superb tactician and a man who genuinely tried to take care of his troops, rare martial qualities in Bourbon France,
In 1745 Maurice defeated Cumberland’s “Pragmatic Army” at Fontenoy, one of the justly celebrated battles of the eighteenth century. King Louis XV was on hand to witness the triumph, and the royal presence gave the victory added luster. Fontenoy became so famous, it was said to have extended the life of the French monarchy for another 45 years. Forgivable hyperbole, but Saxe’s talents were real and deserving of acclaim.
The Duke of Cumberland and the British army were recalled home when the Jacobite rebellion broke out in 1745. “Bonnie” Prince Charles, son of the Stuart pretender, was decisively defeated at Culloden, but Cumberland’s ruthless measures against the highlander rebels earned him the infamous sobriquet “butcher.”
Never one to rest on his laurels, Saxe took advantage of the absence of the British by capturing Brussels in February 1746 and continuing to advance in Flanders. By summer, the fortresses at Mons and Namur were in French hands and it looked as if the entire Austrian Netherlands would be controlled by the Bourbon monarchy by the end of the year. Yet another French victory at Rocoux in October completed the cycle of allied “Pragmatic” woes.
The Dutch grew alarmed at the seemingly inexorable French advances, and were more than willing to cooperate with Cumberland when he returned. To make sure he had enough men for a spring offensive, Saxe took troops from other fronts to bolster his own forces. By early 1747 the French army in Flanders numbered around 120,000 and was supported by 300 guns. One of Saxe’s major objectives was to take the fortress town of Maastricht, a major Pragmatic strongpoint and supply center, which was simultaneously the key to the Netherlands.
If Saxe advanced on Maastricht, Cumberland might be forced into battle to protect the city. If the French could administer a decisive defeat on Cumberland and take Maastricht, total victory might well be in Saxe’s grasp. Cumberland and the British army did return to the Austrian Netherlands, the duke still basking in the afterglow of his triumph over the Jacobite Scots rebels.
Brimming with confidence, Cumberland’s arrogance matched his expanding girth. He decided to threaten Antwerp, and moved his army accordingly, but the plan soon ran up against a major obstacle—lack of transport. It was February, 1747, and the county was still in the grip of winter. For two long, freezing months the Allies suffered in miserable makeshift cantonments while Saxe’s French troops were snug and comfortable in winter quarters.
Saxe was too old a campaigner to fall for Cumberland’s half-hearted feints and clumsy maneuvers. He wrote “When the Duke of Cumberland has sufficiently weakened his army I shall teach him that a great general’s first duty is to provide for its welfare.” Saxe also refused to follow the Britisher’s lead, preferring instead to seize the initiative himself.
The French were ready to move in April and Saxe sent out two flying columns while Cumberland still dithered about what course of action to take. Marshal Louis de Conrades headed one column that quickly took Liefkenshoek and a fortress near Antwerp locally known as “the Pearl.” The second column, commanded by German born Gen. Ulrich Woldemar de Lowendahl, captured Sas-van Gent and two other towns. Since the real prize was Masstricht, Saxe purposely stationed a small army under Marshal Clermont on the Meuse River not far from that fortress.
Cumberland was thus presented with both a puzzle and a dilemma: whether Clermont’s force was a mere decoy to bring the Allies to battle or was the advance guard of Saxe’s main force which, once united, would move forward for a concerted attack on Maastricht. Cumberland decided to march south and crush Clermont’s relatively small force, foiling Saxe’s possible plans.
When Clermont became fully aware the main Pragmatic army under Cumberland was headed his way, he understandably started to panic, frantically sending message after message to Saxe pleading for rescue. He needn’t have worried, for the wily Saxon-turned French Marshal had everything in hand. To calm Clermont’s fears Saxe took to the road well ahead of the main French army, an act of real courage and fortitude given the state of the roads and his own poor health.
Disheveled and mud spattered, Saxe arrived in Clermont’s camp looking more like a camp follower than a Marshal, but the sacrifice was necessary. Clermont was reassured that the entire French army was on its way, and that he should hold his position until further orders.
General John Ligonier was a French Huguenot whose family had immigrated to Britain because of the religious persecution of Protestants prevalent in France at that time. Ligonier proved an asset to his adopted country, distinguishing himself as a soldier under the Duke of Marlborough in the War of the Spanish Succession. He was 66, old by eighteenth century standards, and certainly old for the rigors of active service in the field.
But Ligonier was still active and vigorous, and could draw on 50 years of campaigning when assessing any military situation. He had had an early morning conference with Cumberland and the Austrian commander, Marshal Carl Joseph Batthyany. When the business was concluded he mounted his horse and started to ride over to his assigned post. He was General of Horse and Master of the Ordinance in this campaign, and tried to stick to his role in those positions.
The rain still lingered, dampening spirits as well as clothes and equipment. Though the opposing sides had yet to engage in any serious way, an artillery duel opened up at 6 a.m. that was to continue for another hour and more. But then Ligonier noticed something that made him draw rein and look on in amazement: the red-coated British troops of the First Foot Guards (today’s Grenadier Guards) were filing out of Vlytingen village. The nearby Lauffeld village was also being evacuated.
Hardly believing his eyes, Ligonier went back to Cumberland, who apparently had returned to his headquarters to have a leisurely breakfast with Batthyany. Ligonier tried to reason with Cumberland, stressing the value of the villages as strong points. Once converted into mini-fortresses, they would be hard nuts to crack, and would further form a kind of breakwater that would disrupt, if not entirely stop, the wave of French infantry.
Cumberland disagreed. He had ordered the villages occupied the night before only as temporary shelters. When morning came, British and Hanoverian units, especially, were to withdraw after putting the villages to the torch. To the incredulous Ligonier, the need for the village strongpoints was obvious. Either Cumberland had a short memory, or he chose not remember that at Fontenoy the French had, ironically, used similar strongpoints to great advantage.
Ligonier must have argued to the point of exhaustion, because Cumberland finally relented. Lauffeld was reoccupied by British and Hanoverian troops under Landgrave Frederick II of Hesse Cassel, a tough and resourceful soldier who also happened to be the son in law of King George II of Great Britain. Viltingen would be held by the British Foot Guards.
The Pragmatic left was occupied by a number of disparate units. Batthyany and his Austrians held the villages of Grosse and Kleine-Spauwen, a position that was almost impossible to take by frontal attack because of the high ravine just ahead. Kark August, Prince of Waldeck and his Dutch troops were also on the left, and the position was rounded out by an assortment of British, Hessian, and Bavarian regiments.
Satisfied, and probably relieved, Ligonier went back to his assigned position. But once Ligonier’s influence was removed, Cumberland became vacillating and uncertain, once again ordered the villages to be abandoned. According to some sources the villages were occupied and abandoned two or even three times. Finally, with a French attack only about an hour away, the villages were occupied, and this time permanently.
All this marching and countermarching had an effect on the troops, both on their morale and on their physical condition. The ground was soggy, and shoes were inevitably caked with mud and the detritus of the cultivated fields. Once they arrived at the all-too familiar villages, their eyes were stung and their throats choked by the acrid stench of burning wood. There was no time to adequately prepare for a defense in the seared ruins, other than poking a few loopholes into walls that were still standing.
Cumberland vacillated because he originally wanted a line-facing-line face off with the French foe. In his conception, the Allied army would form solid ranks that would stretch a mile or more. The British had perfected the art of platoon firing, a system of rolling volleys that was capable of keeping the enemy off balance. The British infantry, three ranks deep, would be a red-coated “wall” that Cumberland felt was much more effective than fixed strongpoints. He was wrong, but Cumberland was a hard man to persuade when his mind was made up.
Ironically Cumberland’s ham-fisted handling of his troops—moving his troops to and from the villages—so confused Saxe that he drew the wrong conclusions.The Marquis de Valfrons, a French officer who was present, recalled later that “for more than two hours the Marshal believed the enemy was maneuvering to recross the (River) Meuse; he was confirmed in his opinion when he saw that Lauffeld was on fire.” Though his brain and reasoning were just as sharp as ever, the Marshal was also fighting a bad case of edema, so severe he had to be tied in the saddle.
Saxe’s original plan called for reconnaissance battalions to lead the way, quickly followed by a major attack on the Allied left-center at Lauffeld with the bulk of the French infantry. Battalion after battalion of white-coated infantry would punch a hole in the Pragmatic center and, while that was happening, French cavalry would simultaneously launch an outflanking move around the village of Wijlre. If successful, this flanking movement would cut the Allies off from seeking shelter at Maastricht.
It was about 10 a.m. when Saxe sent his troops forward to seize the villages, with Lauffeld being the main target. Gen. Gaspard de Clermont’s grenadiers led the way, regimental flags flying and drummers beating out martial airs. They expected the ruined village to be empty, but as they approached the British and Hanoverian muskets flamed, spouting gouts of smoke and a hail of lead that cut down scores of grenadiers.
After the initial surprise, the grenadiers recovered their senses, rallied, and pressed the attack home. Stubborn courage propelled the French into Lauffeld, but they were soon driven back with heavy losses. Though not in traditional three rank lines, the British still had enough cohesion to fire by platoons in rolling volleys.
Ligonier also made sure that a battery of artillery was moved forward to aid in the village defense. The position was all that could be desired; in fact the battery was so well sited it played a major role in the defense. Every time the French tried to advance, they were lacerated by musket fire supplemented by lethal sprays of grapeshot.
James Wood, an officer in that battery, later recalled how his guns did fearful execution: “Though we cut them down with grapeshot from our batterys (sic) of 12 pounders, (they) did not seem to mind it but filled up their intervals (gaps) that we made with grape shot as they advanced.”
Saxe watched the repulse of the grenadiers with consternation, realizing that Cumberland was not retreating. The Saxon could not afford to quit now; those villages had to be taken. There was nothing left to do but continue to send fresh battalions into the “meat grinder.” The regiments brought forward were some of the most ancient and distinguished formations in the French Bourbon army: La Fere, Segur, Bourbon, Bettens, Monin, Royal Marine, Vaissaux, and d’Aubeterre, to name a few.
No less than 40 battalions were thrown into the struggle, but the stubborn Pragmatic troops still clung to the ruins with a tenacity that must have sparked a grudging admiration from the French, including Saxe. It was now too late to significantly change plans, and Saxe knew it. Usually he had more finesse, and was sparing with the lives of his men when possible, but to withdraw now would be unthinkable, and might well lead to a French rout.
Saxe was also concerned about the masked Allied battery, some 36 guns in all, that were tearing great bloody gaps in the Regiment du Roi, a cavalry formation that was attempting to support the attacking infantry. The French had to break through—if they did, victory would be assured. In fact, Saxe was sure that he could seriously damage, and possibly destroy, Cumberland’s Pragmatic army by blocking its retreat to Maastricht once the French breakthrough was achieved.
By this time Saxe must have been feeling seriously unwell. He had been in the saddle for hours, and the edema must have made riding an agony. Exhaustion was also taking a toll, but his preoccupation with the ever-changing circumstances of the battle made physical ills a secondary consideration.The ailing Marshal drew his sword, then ordered the Marquis de Salieres to lead 12 additional battalions into the fray.
The Irish Brigade in French service, the fabled “wild Geese,” also played a crucial role in the struggle for the villages. They had played a distinguished—some say decisive—part in the Battle of Fontenoy two years earlier. It was a triumph, tempered by an enormous loss of life. The brigade was in voluntary exile due to the harshness of British rule in the Emerald Isle. This exile made recruitment problematic, since anyone caught recruiting Irishmen for foreign service would be severely punished. Recruiters were routinely hanged, though a magistrate might be “lenient” and order more than 1,000 lashes.
Nevertheless Irishmen were recruited, though gaps in the ranks were filled by Scots, Germans, Belgians, and, ironically, British. These outside elements seem to have blended well with the real Irish, so much so that the other nationalities are rarely mentioned. The capture of Lauffeld was another success, but the cost was high, with some 1,600 men dead and wounded. The colonel of the Dillon Regiment, Edward Dillon, was mortally wounded and died in British captivity.
Jean Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, Comte de Rochambeau, was one of the French officers who participated in this bloody fight for Lauffeld. He had already distinguished himself as a young man of resourcefulness and courage, so much so that he was marked for promotion. It was a time when King Louis’s mistress, Madame de Pompadour, handled much of the inner workings of the government. For some unknown reasons a letter of recommendation to her was returned without comment, but luckily Rochambeau’s father managed to scrape enough money to buy his son a regiment.
And so Rochambeau became colonel of the Regiment de la Marche at the age of 21. Régiment de la Marche is not listed as a participant at Lauffeld, but Rochambeau, who turned twenty-two the day before the battle, seems to have been leading, and encouraging, the Royal Auvergne Regiment instead. Sword in hand, young Rochambeau led his men though the village’s shattered buildings, some of them still aflame. Smoke from the smoldering fires mingled with the grey clouds of black power, the later from the frequent discharges of muskets at close range
Bodies lay sprawled in the rubble, some clad in British and Hanoverian red, but many more in French white. As Rochambeau led his men through this hell on earth, he was struck in the head with a piece of grapeshot. It was dangerously close to his eye, and the impact knocked him out. As he was returning to consciousness, blood streaming down his face, he was hit by a second piece of grapeshot, this time in the thigh. This piece was as large as a pigeon’s egg, and it exited without breaking a bone.
Rochambeau insisted that his soldiers help him stand, and with their continued support he watched the progress of the village fight. He could no longer lead them, bloodied and crippled as he was, but he cheered the Royal Auvergne Regiment as they advanced into the fray. The grapeshot that wounded Rochambeau was almost certainly from the battery Ligonier had set up.
Once they secured a toehold in the villages, the French managed to enlarge it at the cost of heavy house-to-house fighting. Encouraged by what he was finally seeing in the center, Saxe sent a mass of cavalry into Vytingen. It was an example of what the Italians called the “furia francese,” or French fury, an attack conducted with such spirit and elan that all opposition crumbles before it.
Cumberland saw the Gallic horsemen, but initially felt he had the situation well in hand. The British duke sent Dutch cavalry forward to meet the threat, but for reasons unknown they panicked at the sight of the approaching foe. Turning tail, they spurred their mounts and galloped from the field as fast as they could. That was bad enough, but many of them crossed and all but collided with Allied infantry. The result was total confusion, and as the Dutch troopers frantically rode about, they were cut down by Frenchmen galloping in their midst.
While these events were unfolding Cumberland got more bad news: the village of Wijlre on his right flank had also just been taken by the French. The duke had been contemplating going over to the offensive; now, his options rapidly diminishing, it looked like he would be forced to order a retreat.
In the meantime General Ligonier was watching the French cavalry advances. He didn’t know that Lauffeld had been taken by the enemy; all he saw was French horsemen nearing his position. It was a temptation too great to pass up; Ligonier knew that if he struck hard now, the French surge would ebb and eventually be stopped in its tracks. Drawing his sword, Ligonier marshaled some 60 British squadrons and put himself at their head. By this time no less than 140 French squadrons were approaching his position.
The British regiments he was leading must have been eager for a fight. During the winter of 1746-47 the British cavalry had been downgraded to dragoon status. Technically that meant they were now mounted infantry, where troopers ride to a battle, then dismount to fight. This was done as a cost-saving measure, because dragoons were paid less, and had generally inferior mounts.
The ensuing action, remembered as “Ligonier’s charge,” is one of the most famous cavalry actions in British military history. The timing was so perfect that the French were caught by surprise and thrown off balance. French troops were sent reeling, and no less than five French standards were captured in the encounter. In the process Wijlre was retaken, and the French cavalry put to full flight.
Ligonier was about to order a second charge when a note from Cumberland told him the bad news: Lauffeld had been taken, and the French had in effect won the battle. The missive further ordered Ligonier to abandon any idea of a second charge. The French émigré was baffled and frustrated—even if it was true that the battle was lost, a second charge would buy time for the Pragmatic Army to retreat. Ligonier sent back a tactful reply urging Cumberland to reverse his order. Eventually Cumberland did give permission, but by that time the French cavalry had recovered.
The émigré general once again drew his sword, and put himself at the head of the Royal North British Dragoons (Scots Greys), the Inniskilling Dragoons, and the Duke of Cumberland’s Hussars, and had the trumpets sound the charge. For whatever reason Hessian cavalry refused to join the advance, so Ligonier had to make do with what he had. At first they swept all before them, a thundering mass of red-coated horsemen whose flashing sabers rose and fell as they cut through the opposing French foes.
Surviving French horsemen turned tail and scattered the British troopers in hot pursuit. But suddenly Ligonier and his men were confronted by a mass of unbroken French Infantry. The white-coated lines of soldiers caused the British troopers to pause and draw reins. Ligonier had penetrated the French lines, but Saxe had actually prepared for such an eventuality. His timing exquisite, Saxe ordered his cavalry reserves forward. Responding to his command, the Regiments d’Anjou, Carabiniers, Royal and de Broglie galloped forward with a special elan.
As the French cavalry appeared on Ligonier’s flanks, French infantry also came up to block any possible escape. By now the British horses were blown, too exhausted for any serious attempt at withdrawal, but there was still a chance. Ligonier might have successfully escaped if he abandoned his command and rode hell for leather towards the French lines. He refused to countenance such a move, instead lingering in an attempt to rescue his troopers from death or captivity.
As he was seeking a possible exit for his men, a large body of French horsemen approached his position. Thinking quickly, Ligonier gave them orders in French to halt and proceed to another part of the field. The ruse worked momentarily, until a French officer noticed Ligonier’s star badge on his coat and the blue ribbon across his chest, marking him as a member of the British Order of the Garter and a high ranking enemy officer. Ligonier was taken prisoner by two carbineers, who took his sword but graciously refused to collect his watch.
Now a prisoner, Ligonier had no idea what was to become of him—he was a Protestant, an émigré, and fighting in the army of one of France’s traditional enemies. The general admitted that he honestly felt he was going to be killed after the French had just won a very hard fought, and bloody victory, with many casualties.
Ligonier’s captors crowded around, and it seemed this was going to be his end. Within a few moments it became clear he was being taken to Louis XV, and not to his immediate execution, but there was still cause for worry. What would be the king’s response? Louis had his faults, but he was genuinely gracious, free of bigotry, and humane.
The prisoner was about to be presented to the king, when Saxe rode up and interceded. The Marshal was exhausted, still racked by edema swellings, and still tied to the saddle so he would not fall off his mount. “Sire,” Saxe said to the king, “I have the honor to present to your majesty a man who defeated all my plans by a single glorious action.” This was a reference to Ligonier’s cavalry charges, which bought time for Cumberland to withdraw his shattered army and escape to the safety of Maastricht.
King Louis smiled, immediately breaking the tension, and said to Ligonier “I will have the pleasure of your company at supper tonight.” A much relieved prisoner bowed and kissed the king’s hand. Ligonier did indeed have supper with the king, and to his surprise his carriage and other personal items that had been taken by the French were restored to him.
Louis soon released Ligonier, and tried to use him to relay peace feelers to the allies. France had been victorious for the most part, and had conquered most of what is now Belgium thanks to Saxe’s genius. That said, France was nearly bankrupt and thoroughly sick of war, however glorious it seemed on the surface. During Ligonier’s short captivity he and Saxe became friends, and later exchanged gifts.
Battlefields are never a pretty sight after hostilities end, but Lauffeld was particularly horrific. In the morning the countryside had been a vision of bucolic charm—quaint “storybook” villages surrounded by fields of ripening crops. Now, the crops had been trampled or blown to bits, the villages burnt shells reeking of smoke and littered with eviscerated corpses. Indeed, Saxe and the French had paid a high price for their victory.
Cumberland’s casualty counts included some 2,000 British, 2,500 Hanoverian, and 2,000 from the other allied contingents. The French lost far more, which is not surprising given the grim and tenacious fight for the villages. More commentators estimate French dead and wounded at around 14,000.
The War of the Austrian Succession ended in 1748 and though Saxe’s victories left France in control of most of what is today Belgium, the peace treaty gave it back to Austria. Loaded with wealth and honors, but with an ailing body, Saxe died in 1750
For the Comte de Rochambeau, Lauffeld was one episode in what was to become a long and distinguished career. He was commander of the French Expeditionary force that was sent across the Atlantic to aid America during the American Revolution. Rochambeau and George Washington worked well together, and it was this partnership that produced the surrender of the British at Yorktown and the birth of the United States. Yet Lauffeld left its mark, as he would walk with a slight limp the remainder of his life.
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