The Man Who Broke Napoleon's Codes (22 page)

He was not a defeatist, though, and what may be “next to impossible” may certainly just be possible. Scovell believed the cipher could be broken by two principal methods: the writers usually mixed code with clear text to save time, so clearly the context could tell you much. Moreover, once more messages had been brought in, the small fissures opened up by examining the context could be widened into great cracks by comparing the messages.

A message from General Montbrun, commanding Marmont's cavalry division, to the governor of Ciudad Rodrigo provides a good sense of how Scovell attacked the cipher as he sat at his table in Fuente Guinaldo, surrounded by the scraps of paper that were brought in by the guerrillas. In its first paragraph, Montbrun acknowledged the previous communication from the besieged town and went on:

This was a very good passage to attack the code, since it had been enciphered somewhat stupidly by Montbrun or, more likely, one of his ADCs: it was a good bet that the general was referring to orders from his chief, Marmont. It was then a matter of trying every possible way that the marshal might be referred to in French and seeing whether it had the right number of letters: “M
le Marechal Marmont,”
not long enough; “M
Le Maréchal, Duc de Raguse,”
one letter too short. Perhaps
“S.E. Le Marechal, Duc de Raguse”
(the S.E standing for His Excellency)—that was the right number of letters. It was correct, too, since the two code numbers that occur twice (19 and 17 for
a
and
d)
fit exactly. With this partial knowledge of the cipher revealing the meaning of twenty-one of the coding numbers, the decipherer could continue into the text with his attack. The last paragraph contained a long body of code, running across several lines. But how did its beginning, where it switched from
clair
to code in full flow look with the knowledge of those characters used before to make up Marmont's name?

It was evident to any decipherer that he still had to find two vowels, since he had only discovered
a, e
and
u.
In any case there were various ways of writing vowels, so perhaps it was not the best way to proceed. What about consonants, since some of those might only have a single code number and several (like
b, d, f, j, k, n, p, q, t, v, x, y
and
z)
were unknown to him. Knowing that the second letter of the first word is
r,
it is then a matter of methodical puzzle solving. The repetition of the codes 30 and 15 eventually suggests
proposez
to the patient decipherer. With each stage of the deduction, for example, does the code number 15 signify o? Comparison with other places later in the text quickly allows some sense of whether the supposition is right once the letters derived from higher up in the message had been added in. For this particular passage, the decipherer will eventually discover a peculiarity of Marmont's cipher: that
u
and
v
are interchangeable; and that where he has assumed a
u
occurs in this later portion, the code reveals a peculiarity, namely that
numbers 23 and 34 can represent
u or v
depending upon the context.

After long hours of meticulous study then, the last paragraph reveals itself as: “It would seem that there are not many people you can count on there.
Proposez à l'homme que je vous envoie
…” Translating the whole of this last paragraph from French into English:

This was a most interesting item in the battle for information, for it gave clues about the French intelligence network on the frontier. The fate of Montbrun's unnamed spy is not known. Being locals, Don Julian's men were able to sniff out fairly quickly anyone who did not belong in the area. A thorough search would be conducted of his clothing and possessions. Since the discovery of some ciphered scrap of paper usually meant death for the collaborator, some of these terrified messengers declared themselves to the guerrillas as soon as they met them, in order to save their lives. This set Scovell thinking about the uses such a man might be put to, since an
afrancesado
arriving with a correctly coded message would immediately gain the trust of its recipient.

The only real problem in deciphering the French general's text was with numbers. Once the message was decoded, five digits remained, and it was not possible to deduce what those code numbers stood for. Montbrun's message also revealed that a large convoy of supplies was being collected in Salamanca in readiness to throw into the fortress. In this way, a critical sentence about the date when the supply convoy might set out for Ciudad Rodrigo could not be deciphered. More messages in the same code would be needed before these numbers could be made out. On 18 September, Wellington wrote to the secretary of war in London:

Wellington's supposition, filling in the last piece of the jigsaw, was exactly right. Marmont's operation began on 21 September. The British commander already knew from other deciphered messages and scouts' reports that the Army of Portugal had been joined by a strong force from the Army of the North, so his position was precarious. Estimates suggested that the combined French armies would outnumber the Allied troops in the area by fifteen thousand or so. In September, as in June 1811 at Badajoz, successful French cooperation forced Wellington to withdraw. He would have to abandon the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo. Wellington's frustrations burst out as he wrote to Beresford, “The devil is in the French for numbers.”

On the twenty-fourth, the British fell back in front of Ciudad Rodrigo, allowing the French to enter the town. Since he had no intention of offering battle in the plain beside it and Marmont had achieved his limited objective of breaking the Rodrigo blockade, Wellington assumed the danger was over.

The following day Montbrun, with a strong force of twenty-five hundred cavalry, pushed down the road from Rodrigo to Fuente Guinaldo, where Wellington's headquarters was located. They caught several British battalions about halfway up this route at El Bodon unprepared for a serious defense. For a couple of hours, the fate of these British troops hung in the balance as they fell back under heavy pressure from the French cavalry.

Despite this small success, Marmont could not, however, move his infantry forward fast enough to capitalize on Wellington's mistake and bring on a general engagement while the British were still at a decided disadvantage. Still, the French commander had learned a great deal from El Bodon. Wellington made mistakes, just like any other general, and the key to future French success would be in exploiting such an error more quickly.

The day after this engagement at El Bodon, both generals brought up reinforcements. In Marmont's case this included regiments of the Imperial Guard belonging to the Army of the North. Scovell and other members of the staff took position on a hillside and watched as these picked men marched into view. The French army formed up in front of them and troops were drawn up in lines for review.

The Guard infantry were altogether smarter in appearance than the footsloggers who normally stood against Wellington. They marched with precision and their shakoes were decorated with tall plumes. The Guard cavalry also made a fine spectacle. The horse grenadiers, resplendent in bearskin hats, sat atop magnificent chargers while the
chasseurs à cheval,
on smaller mounts, wore a gaudy uniform of green and red draped with lace and aiguillettes. The Guard's bands starting playing their old favorites, the thumping of drums echoing around the hills, and the French marshal rode along the lines, cheered by the troops. Scovell wrote in his journal, “Marmont passed down the line in great state. Not a shot was fired on either side.” The marshal had only been in command for four months, but the British staff had been most impressed. One of them noted they had formed “an extremely favorable notion of the judgement and good sense” of Marmont.

Wellington had chosen not to fight following this display of power because it was already apparent to him that he could not defend the Fuente Guinaldo area against such numbers. Resigning any designs on Ciudad Rodrigo for the time being, he ordered his men back into Portugal, daring Marmont to follow.

Wellington was certain that Marmont would be most reluctant to pursue him onto the barren border plateau, and within a few days headquarters had settled down in Frenada, a grindingly poor Portuguese village a little to the east of the Coa gorge, just a mile or two behind the spot where Scovell had fought for his life against the French cavalry on 5 May. With the seasons turning, this countryside reminded many a British officer of Dartmoor or the west of Ireland. The leaves on the oaks browned, Frenada's chimneys sent zigzags of smoke into the gray sky and the dry stone walls around the village were dusted each morning with a coating of frost. The air on this upland plateau is intoxicatingly
pure and riders going to and from Frenada were charmed to see all forms of game scampering between the big boulders and ferns that carpeted the landscape.

For Major Scovell, arriving in Frenada allowed him a moment for reflection on family matters. It was the first time in months that he had broken the continual ritual of moving from one barn or bivouac to another. His billet in one of the village's low-roofed farmhouses was a spartan one and most likely it was here that he began wondering whether Mary might join him in Portugal. A few weeks before he had received the sad news that his wife's brother Samuel Clowes had died.

The death of Samuel threw Clowes family affairs into some turmoil. Mary's grandfather was still alive but he had buried a son (Mary's father) and now a grandson both of whom were heirs to the dynasty's newfound wealth. The succession had devolved upon another of her brothers, the vicar John Clowes. He was forty-four years old, and childless like his sister. If he remained so, then the fortune would go to the next brother in line, Leigh Clowes, who incidentally had arrived in Portugal in August of 1811 as a major, second in command of the 3rd Dragoons.

The loss of Samuel must have been difficult for Mary to bear. It was made all the more so by Major Clowes's emergence as the likely heir to the family fortune at precisely the moment that he had placed himself in the midst of a dangerous campaign. George wanted to be with Mary at this difficult time. There was no question of his taking leave just as he was becoming indispensable in headquarters. What was more, Wellington's refusal to grant leave to his low-born officers while sending the aristocrats home to winter in London was already the subject of muttering and resentment in the staff. Scovell did not even dare ask; instead he began thinking about a different project.

Some officers in the army had brought their wives with them. His old friend Lieutenant Colonel Dalbiac of the 4th Dragoons, or rather Dalbiac's wife, Susannah, was the talk of many a mess. Riding with her husband at the head of the regiment, she shared every hardship of campaigning, and when the 4th were sent to Estremadura earlier that summer, she had slept under the stars like a common trooper.

If Scovell could not comfort Mary at home, why not bring her to Portugal? After all, she would not be leaving any children behind if she did come.

Leigh Clowes was not the only relation to join Scovell in Portugal that autumn. George's brother Henry, aged twenty, had come out to fill a lowly civilian post, as a deputy assistant paymaster general. Major Scovell, it seems, had already begun to use his influence, slim as it was, at headquarters to the benefit of his family.

And the war itself? Wellington did not rule out another attempt on Ciudad Rodrigo as the forces concentrated by Marmont began to disperse again, but the moment would have to be chosen most carefully. In the meantime information would be accumulated, so Don Julian continued to seize the enemy's messages and to bring reports from Wellington's spies.

In Ciudad Rodrigo, the principal agent was a former member of the town
junta,
a committed and brave man who had remained within the walls incognito. Of course, many people knew who he was as he went about gathering information on the state of the garrison's supplies, but he relied on their hatred of the French to protect his secret. When the town gates were opened at daybreak, some small report would be handed to a farmer going outside the walls to work, who would then hand the spy's report to one of Don Julian's scouts.

In Salamanca, Wellington's principal correspondent was an Irish priest, Father Patrick Curtis. Already seventy-odd years old, this gray-haired little man moved about the streets of the university town in his black habit, acknowledging the respectful greetings of its citizens and observing the comings and goings of the French army.