Authors: Richard Holmes
There is a hoary old tale of a bear-keeper who, hoping to administer physic to the creature, placed the potion in a piece of rolled-up paper, inserted one end into the bear’s mouth and the other into his own, and prepared to blow. The bear, alas, blew first. This is what happened to the unlucky Villeroi. Marlborough, ground down by headaches and Alliance politics during the previous campaign, and now wrong-footed by a development he had not expected, rose at once to the top of his game. His intelligence service, which had given him no warning of Villars’ attack on Prince Louis, now focused on the immediate threat, enabling him to track the arrival of reinforcements to Villeroi’s army, and making it clear that Villeroi would venture into the field confident in support which might not arrive in time. The editors of the French official account admit that Villeroi was ‘determined, by the orders he had received, to act offensively, and by the superiority which he thought he had over the enemy, not to await attack, but to force them to come to an action’.
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Although his army was still not ready to march in the first week of May, Marlborough rightly judged that the prospect of Marsin’s arrival would tempt the French to take risks, and would ‘give them such a superiority as would tempt them to march out of their lines; which, if they do, I will most certainly attack them, not doubting with the blessing of God to beat them’. They could only concentrate to face him by weakening themselves elsewhere, and this was all the more reason why a seaborne ‘descent’ should be attempted against a suitable spot. He would, come what may, make six regiments of foot and one of dragoons available for it.
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In short, he was prepared to take a short-term tactical risk to advance towards a wider strategic goal.
By 9 May Marlborough was confident that the balance of forces favoured him, for Marsin’s infantry were still some way off.
The English will join the army this day, and the Danes two days hence. We will then be 122 squadrons and 74 battalions. They pretend to be stronger in horse and foot, but with the blessing of God I hope for success, being resolved to venture for as yet they have but 20 squadrons of the Marshal de Marsin’s detachment. With my humble duty, assure Her Majesty, that with all my heart and soul I pray to God that I may be able to send her good news, so that her reign may be happy and glorious, and that your faithful friend and servant might have some quiet before he dies.
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He was similarly bullish in a letter to Harley, written on 20 May with the army almost complete.
The enemy having drained all their garrisons, and, depending on their superiority, passed the Dyle yesterday and came and posted themselves at Tirlemont, with the Geet before them, whereupon I have sent orders to the Danish troops … to hasten their march. I hope they may be with us on Saturday, and then I design to advance towards the enemy, to oblige them to retire or, with the blessing of God, to bring them to a battle.
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At three o’clock on the morning of 23 May, Whit Sunday, the Allies decamped from Corswarem and set off south-westwards, probably in four columns, heading, as Marlborough was to tell Eugène, ‘for the gap between the Mehaigne and the Great Geet’, passing through a section of the demolished Lines of Brabant near Merdorp. It had been raining heavily for the past few days, but the day dawned dry. As was the normal practice, Cadogan had left camp before the main body with an escort of six squadrons of dragoons, including some of the recently-arrived Danes, ready to mark out that evening’s campsite. But as he rode forward through the fog across the plateau of Jandrenouille he met French hussar vedettes, static patrols posted to provide security for the main army. There was a spattering of shots. The hussars fell back westwards, and as the mist lifted Cadogan could see that the broad-shouldered ridge marking his westerly horizon was white with the tents of Villeroi’s army.
Villeroi was probably not expecting a battle that day, although he was certainly prepared to fight soon afterwards. Marlborough told Eugène that French prisoners had said that ‘their design was not to fight us before Monday, not believing that we would dare to go to them’. The devout Elector of Bavaria, commanding Villeroi’s cavalry, was away attending a Pentecost service in Brussels. Both Louis and Chamillart had made it clear to Villeroi that he should fight if a favourable opportunity presented itself, and the gossipy duc de Saint-Simon went further, saying that ‘Villeroi had the feeling that the king doubted his courage … He resolved to put all at stake to satisfy him, and to prove that he did not deserve such harsh suspicions.’
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Louis, always given to using a long screwdriver to tinker with his commanders’ plans from a distance, warned Villeroi ‘to pay special attention to that part of the line which will endure the first shock of the English troops’, a process which was to work to Marlborough’s advantage.
Although some historians suggest that the French were already drawn up for battle when Cadogan first saw them, this is evidently not the case. John Marshall Deane reckoned that when his regiment arrived the French were ‘getting onto the old camping ground on Mount St Andrews’.
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De la Colonie, whose Bavarian grenadiers were brigaded with the Cologne Regiment on the French right, recalled that when his army finished deploying it was parallel to the Allies, then drawing up in battle array, and already within cannon-shot. There was, however, time for the French to scratch together some field fortifications. Captain Robert Parker recalled that on their right, towards the Mehaigne, they ‘had … thrown up such an entrenchment as time would permit of’, and they had also ‘thrown up a trench’ on the crest-line just east of Ramillies, with, so Private Deane thought, ‘a battery of twelve pieces of treble cannon’ in it.
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The French had, however, begun to stir before those first shots out on the plateau. The general call to arms was beaten at dawn, and Villeroi’s army went through the martial ritual of rising, soldiers tugging on breeches, waistcoats and coats, for men normally slept in their shirts, and falling in with their weapons. Peter Drake, who assures us that he was a cadet (in ‘a regimental suit, like those worn by the officers’) in an Irish regiment in French service, recalled:
On Whitsun eve we were all furnished with sixteen charges of powder and ball a man: orders were given out at night for the general to beat at dawn of day; the chaplains to say mass at the head of their prospective regiments; the tents to be struck, the baggage loaded, all sure token there was work cut out for the fighting day.
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The French deployed in the simplest way, by forming up in two massive columns, with the artillery between them, and stepping out till the heads of the columns were close to the Mehaigne near Taviers. Successive regiments then wheeled left into line to take up a strong natural position on the western side of the Geete, running from the village of Autreglise, through Offus and Ramillies, down to Taviers, stretching, in a very gentle crescent, for over three miles, and held by about 60,000 men: there were seventy-four battalions, 132 squadrons and seventy guns.
It was big, open country, with more than an echo of Salisbury Plain, and as self-confident as the white-coated infantry who now stood in rank and file upon it. The prosperous, tightly-nucleated villages were marked out from a distance by their church spires. There were few hedges on
the plain itself, but the going was more difficult in the trappy terrain of the valleys and amongst the cottage gardens and orchards of the villages. The recent rainy weather and primitive land-drainage system meant that both rivers were far more significant than they seem today. The valley of the Mehaigne was boggy enough to splash a southern edge to the battlefield, and the headwaters of the Geete, which rise just north of Ramillies and are singularly unimpressive today, were then an obstacle to horse and foot, and a very serious barrier to guns. The ground grew more boxy the further north one went, effectively giving Villeroi a secure left flank beyond Autreglise.
A key feature of the terrain, certainly visible to Marlborough when he arrived on the plateau late in the morning, was a long, shallow and undramatic valley running south – north on the eastern side of the Geete, more or less parallel with that river, with its head just east of Ramillies, where the village cemetery now stands. This was to enable him to shift troops from his right to his centre, thus changing the balance of the battle without the transfer being apparent to Villeroi. It was never Marlborough’s way to let anyone, except perhaps Cadogan, into his mind, but knowing what we do about his preferences, it is reasonable to assume that he quickly decided on his favourite tactical ploy, persuading his opponent to strengthen one part of his array by drawing troops from another part of the line, thus leaving a weak spot which would then be ripe for attack.
Marlborough turned over the possibilities in his mind when he looked at the French position opposite Ramillies at about eleven o’clock, accompanied only by Overkirk, Daniel Dopff, the Dutch quartermaster general, Cadogan, Goslinga, on his first campaign as field deputy, and a handful of officers. Two of the Dutch officers present had served under the Spaniards in that area, and warned Marlborough that ‘The enemy left could not be attacked with any appearance of success: for the hedges, ditches and marshes were a complete barrier to both sides.’ This, they thought, would induce the French to mass towards their right, where the ground was better. Marlborough listened politely, but then, to Goslinga’s surprise, proceeded to order an equal amount of cavalry to both flanks, giving no hint of his plan. The Dutchman was further dismayed to see how long it took the Allies to get into line, splitting from the four advancing columns into eight for the last phase of the deployment. He thought it ‘a very great fault’ on the part of the French not to have attacked before the Allies were ready, a criticism which overlooks the fact that Villeroi, having taken up a good position and begun
to dig in, could scarcely be expected to leave it and risk a battle in the open.
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De la Colonie’s description of the French approach march deserves quoting at length, for it gives an insider’s view of Villeroi’s army and the ground it was to fight on.
The extent of this plain of Ramillies gave us the liberty of marching our army towards the enemy on as broad a front as we desired, and the appearance of our march was as fine a spectacle as one could wish for. The army began to move at about 6 o’clock in the morning. It was composed of two large columns, each marching on the front of a battalion. The artillery formed a third column, marching between the two infantry columns. The cavalry squadrons in battle order occupied an amount of ground equal to the columns, and, on this fine plain, where nothing could hide things, the whole force was seen in such splendid array that one could never hope to view such a striking and brilliant sight as the army made at the beginning of the campaign, before weather and fatigue had dulled its lustre, and nothing inspired as much courage as to see this force in all its splendour. The late M le Marquis de Gondrin, whose company I had the honour to keep during this march, told me that it seemed that France had excelled herself to find such a fine army, and that it was not possible in the coming action for the enemy to break us, and if we were beaten now, we could never dare to present ourselves before them again.
When the heads of the columns had arrived near the marsh which supported our right flank, the first regiments began a quarter-turn to the left, the remaining units in the columns did the same, and in an instant the army was in battle order in two lines facing the enemy, who was now within range of our cannon, and was busy making his dispositions … we saw movements to their right and left without being able to guess their intentions …
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This was just as Marlborough intended, for an obvious massing would have warned Villeroi of his plans. Robert Parker, in contrast, quickly deduced what Marlborough must do.
We drew up in two lines opposite them, having a rising ground on our right, whereon a great part of our British troops were drawn up. From hence the Duke had a fair view of the enemy, and saw evidently that the stress of the battle must be in the plain, where they were drawn up
in a formidable manner: he saw also, that things must go hard with him, unless he could oblige them to break the disposition they had made on the plain. On this occasion his Grace showed a genius vastly superior to the French generals; for though he knew the ground along the Geet was not passable, yet he ordered our right wing to march down in great order, with pontoons to lay bridges, as if he designed to attack them on their weak part. The Elector and Villeroi perceiving this, immediately ordered off from the plain a complete line, both of horse and foot, to reinforce those on the Geet.
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De la Colonie soon saw that something was amiss on his flank.
I noticed, when passing in front of the
Maison du Roi
, that there were wide gaps between the squadrons, and that the long sector of front it occupied was not held as strongly as the rest of the line. This made me think that the principal attack was not to be made here; that there was some other more dangerous part that the enemy threatened and which had to be supported by a greater number of troops.
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Mérode-Westerloo, now an Imperialist officer, having changed sides after Blenheim, gives a thin and partial account of Ramillies, but he too agrees that the
Maison du Roi
was dangerously exposed, arguing that this reflected French overconfidence in its social status, ‘believing this formation to be more valiant than Alexander the Great’s phalanx’.
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Villeroi was following Louis’ orders and strengthening the left of his line, which seemed to be the target of the nineteen English, Irish and Scots battalions of Marlborough’s right under Lord Orkney. It was wholly logical, therefore, for Villeroi to position himself, with Max Emmanuel, who had just galloped in from Brussels, near the village of Offus, to monitor the battle at what seemed certain to be its crucial spot, and to station the powerful four-battalion Régiment du Roi on the left of his line.