The Duke of Brunswick cuts a somewhat eccentric figure. He ruled the Duchy of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel which was a patchwork of lands, much like most of Germany in the eighteenth century. His father, Charles William Ferdinand, a man of considerable military experience in the Prussian service, had raised the standard against the Republican government of France and missed a vital opportunity to crush in its cradle at Valmy.
Frederick William, the Duke pictured above, was one of Frances bitterest enemies during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic. After the battle of Jena, in which his father was killed, his home was made part of France and become part of the Kingdom of Westphalia. When the War of the Fifth Coalition broke out in 1809, he raised a corps of light troops (his father was acknowledged as an experienced leader of light infantry) in the Austrian service. He managed to liberate Brunswick briefly, but was forced to withdraw to England, where he and his men joined the British service.
They did however unlike many foreign corps (i.e. the Chasseurs Britanniques) keep their own uniforms; all in black in mourning for their homeland. They also wore skulls on their hats, without being the baddies. They served, despite a habit of desertion, creditably in the Peninsula, including at Salamanca, the Pyrenees and Orthez.
Much like Claude Rains in Casablanca*, the romantic in me is attracted to the Brunswickers. Though the corps was marred by its spotty record of desertion, which was mostly a result of recruiting of prisoners of war when they were in the field, there is something deeply personal about their struggle with the French. It reminds me of General Thomas Graham, who only took up arms against the Republic after their soldiers had broken open his wifes coffin and interfered with her.
*A shiny sixpence says Stokes knows the line I'm talking about.
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