Charles Dalton's The Waterloo Roll Call is not a narrative history but a densely packed reference work: a regiment-by-regiment list of British officers present at the battle, each entry annotated with dates of commission, wounds, promotions, and often a terse biographical note. The second edition (1904) incorporates manuscript additions by the late J.W. O'Brien, a former soldier, whose marginalia supplied obituary notices and corrections. Dalton's preface acknowledges this borrowed material with a scrupulousness that characterizes the whole—he notes that O'Brien's researches 'were not made at my instigation or wish,' yet he chose to purchase and include them.
The Texture of the Roll
The book's structure is its argument: the battle is refracted through the careers of hundreds of individuals. Each regimental table lists officers by rank, with columns for 'Rank in Regiment' and 'Rank in Army,' then a separate section of numbered notes. The notes vary from a single line—'Living in 1830'—to a compressed life story. For example, entry 23 of one regiment is described as 'called “Deans” in Col. Cadell’s book,' then given a vivid anecdote: 'This zealous officer accompanied the cavalry on foot in the pursuit of the enemy, and attacked every Frenchman who came in his way. He was taken prisoner and stripped of all his clothes except his shirt, in which state he joined the regt. next day, severely wounded into the bargain.' The note ends with his departure from service before 1824. Such details are typical: Dalton records not only promotion dates but also moments of extreme physical experience, often drawn from published memoirs or family letters.
Diction of the Biographical Notes
Dalton's prose is economical and factual, but his word choices reveal a quiet editorial hand. He uses 'distinguished himself' sparingly, reserving it for actions like 'the passage of the Douro.' Wounds are noted without sentiment: 'Had his leg amputated after Waterloo; the tourniquet shifted in the night, and he bled to death.' The phrase 'M.I. at Waterloo' (monumental inscription) appears as a terse epitaph. When an officer was 'murdered at Hobart Town, Tasmania,' the blunt verb stands out against the usual 'd.' for died. Dalton also flags physical attributes: 'The strongest man in the regt.' appears as a standalone claim, attributed to Colonel Cadell's book. These choices give the roll a texture of lived, often violent, experience beneath the administrative surface.
Voice and Attribution
Dalton is careful to distinguish his own research from others'. The preface notes that many obituary notices were 'collected by the late Mr. J.W. O'Brien,' and that his 'annotated copy of the Roll Call came into my possession by purchase.' Within the notes, Dalton occasionally names his sources: 'Several anecdotes of this officer’s prowess are given in Col. Cadell’s book, referred to above.' He also corrects or queries earlier records: one entry reads 'Charles A. Vigoreux (sic),' signaling a spelling he doubts. The effect is a layered authority—Dalton as compiler, O'Brien as annotator, Cadell as witness—that invites the reader to see the roll as a collaborative, evolving document rather than a fixed official list.
The Non-Commissioned Officers' List
A distinctive feature of the second edition is Part III, which lists non-commissioned officers and men who served at Waterloo and later received commissions. Dalton highlights this as 'a special feature' in his preface. The inclusion signals a social history within the military one: promotion from the ranks was rare, and each name represents a career trajectory that crossed the rigid boundary between enlisted and officer. One entry notes that a man 'had served in the ranks, and was promoted from sergt.-maj. to be adjt. and ensign.' The list is brief but suggestive, offering a counterpoint to the gentleman-officers who dominate the main roll. Dalton does not comment on this disparity; he simply records the names, letting the structure speak.
Readers approaching The Waterloo Roll Call should treat it as a reference to be browsed, not a continuous narrative. The index of names is essential for locating individuals, and the footnotes—numbered anew for each regiment—reward careful attention. Dalton's method is cumulative: a single entry may contain a promotion date, a wound, a marriage, and a death, all in two lines. The book's value lies in these compressed lives, each a fragment of a larger story that the reader must piece together.
That rainy afternoon, Dalton’s register felt less like a list and more like whispered conversations after battle—the casual bravery, the staggering losses. I kept stopping on certain names, forgetting their fates. Later, searching for a distant regiment, I stumbled onto British Campaigns in Flanders 1690-1794 Being Extracts from "A History of the British Army" — A Reader’s Guide, and simply found myself reading about earlier mud, earlier courage.