“Guns, my lord. An artillery train of siege weapons and their powder, my lord. What are we to do with twenty-four pound long guns, my lord?”
Septimus’ first reaction was to split the barrels, to over-charge them so that they burst. Wiser thoughts prevailed – there was to be no siege in the coming war – there were no forts to take, no citadels to be reduced. The Emperor must march against the Allies in the Low Countries, without delay, winning before summer’s end or losing everything in a single cast of the dice. It was unnecessary to destroy guns that would fall back into the hands of the King of France if the Emperor was defeated and could not be used against him in any case in the coming campaign.
“Do nothing, Colonel Steenkirk. These guns will not be fired in this war. Load up the powder and send it to Nieuwpoort, where it will no doubt sell to the local people or to merchants who have ships to sail to dangerous waters. Are there horses?”
“None, my lord, other than those for the carts here. There were muskets, cases of them still in their grease, milord, and those we have loaded onto the carts to be taken away. There is ball as well, also on the carts.”
“Good. Off to Nieuwpoort with it, under escort. Your three companies remaining to accompany us to the fourth warehouse. I suspect, Colonel Steenkirk, that we can prevent any army marching up the coast against us by removing their supplies – which is a desirable outcome, I believe, as well as profitable.”
The fourth depot held the provisions and fodder for a brigade of cavalry; they had bought in much of the local hay cut and had sacks of beans besides. Spare horse accoutrements were present, literally by the ton, saddles and leathers all neatly wrapped in sackcloth.
“Sabres and straight swords; pistols; carbines and long muskets, and, naturally, much of powder and ball. I suspect, milord, that there was an expectation of outfitting men who had been brought to the colours, possessing their own horse and uniform but having surrendered their weapons. It sniffs of a plot, milord, the Bonapartists making all ready to rise again, their surrenders to the new King insincere in the extreme.”
“I shall send that opinion in my reports to my masters in Horse Guards, Colonel Steenkirk, citing it as the result of your clever observation, sir. It would not have occurred to me, but I am sure that you are correct, sir. I wonder how many more of these depots there are to be found just on the French side of the frontier? They will permit a very rapid mobilisation of the Emperor’s old armies. We cannot go in search of them ourselves – we would stretch our force far too thin, but we shall pass the word. The Prince of Orange will be able to send his cavalry out to search for these works of treason.”
Septimus did not add the comment that while the Prince of Orange could take such action, he much doubted that he would have the sense to do so.
The brigade formed up and marched back to the coast, reaching the frontier without making contact with any of the Emperor’s troops, which was as Septimus had expected. It would have been difficult indeed to have mobilised any part of his army within the first fortnight of his return from Elba.
Major Maartens was waiting at the fishing village, escorting a small convoy of carriages, twenty at least, full of civilians in various states of disarray.
“Imprisoned at the police barracks outside Dunkirk, milord, collected over the past four days; a mixture, milord, of French, English, Dutch and one family of Americans. All of them indignant, milord, but, I believe, thankful for their rescue.”
“Why Americans?”
Major Maartens shrugged – why not? As far as the local people had been concerned, one foreigner was much like another, and all indistinguishable, except as enemies.
“They were lucky to have been placed into the hands of the gendarmerie, milord. The womenfolk were protected, which they would not have been if the army had taken them.”
Frederick had seen the French army in Spain, knew that the major was right.
“Another reason to hang Bonaparte, Major Maartens. He knew of his army’s conduct and encouraged it by all accounts. Quite vile!”
“But, milord, you cannot hang an Emperor!”
“Perhaps not, Major Maartens. Shoot him instead.”
Man of Conflict Series
Book Six
Chapter Seven
“I am Lord Pearce, commanding this brigade of Dutch-Belgic troops, directly under the orders of the Duke of York. The great bulk of the Army is to be found around Brussels. There are no other troops available in this immediate locality.”
Septimus had decided it would be easier to make the point that there would be no relief columns entering France to rescue other groups of refugees known to the people in front of him. A middle-aged and exquisitely dressed, even if somewhat rumpled, gentleman stepped forward.
“I am the Earl of Lynn, my lord. What is your immediate intention?”
“I wish to see you taken to Ostend, where there will be ships and naval escorts to return you to England. You are at liberty to go to Brussels, if you prefer, but will need to make your own way from Ostend, my lord. You will appreciate that the bulk of the British Army is still being returned from America, apart from the many battalions that have been disbanded. I doubt, my lord, that there are forty British battalions present in the Low Countries, though more must be at sea.”
“Thus, Lord Pearce, you are not the vanguard of an invasion to remove the Emperor from the throne that he has usurped.”
“Most certainly not, my lord. I have broken the border solely to give some rather green troops a little of experience. On discovering the presence of refugees in the area, obviously we have taken action to come to their succour, but I cannot take this small brigade further into France, or stay here for as long as another day. I have to wait for a battalion which I have sent off to slight a battery of coastal guns; on their return, we shall retire across the border.”
The Earl showed his surprise.
“I do not quite understand, Lord Pearce, why, with so few troops, you have found it necessary to take the risk of attacking a battery?”
“The Navy, my lord, will wish to discourage the Dunkirk privateers from sailing. In the absence of this particular battery, naval vessels will be able to approach the port very closely.”
“Of course! I should have seen that for myself. A wise action on your part, sir. Thinking more deeply, one has heard some mention of your name as one of our more vigorous soldiers; I had not realised that you had been ennobled, my lord.”
“Very recently, my lord. Primarily, I believe, to give me more of authority in this detached brigade. There have been some minor difficulties with the powers-that-be in the Dutch-Belgic Kingdom, and those would have been a little more severe, I suspect, without the title.”
The Earl laughed.
“Elegantly expressed, Lord Pearce. We need name no names, I believe. Did you shoot him?”
“Good Lord, no, sir! He had a conniption fit and was taken away by his courtiers, poor little chap!”
“He will, no doubt, in the elegant phrase of our times, ‘want your guts for garters’, Lord Pearce.”
“This must be my last military command, my lord. The wars are coming to an end, for I do not believe that the Duke of Wellington will fail to slap down the resurgent Bonaparte. I am not of the sort to command in days of peace, I fear, sir. Such being the case, I may view the temper tantrums of young generals with some equanimity.”
“A philosopher, too, Lord Pearce! Is the road to Ostend clear, sir?”
“I believe it to be, my lord. I will detach the dragoons as escort, in any case.”
“My thanks. I shall remove my presence as soon as you will allow, my lord. I do not doubt that you will be thankful to see one at least of your charges leaving without complaint.”
“You are alone in your coach, my lord?”
“My wife preferred to remain in England, thinking that she had never seen Paris and had no overwhelming desire to do so, and certainly would not carry the children there. I had memories of my ch
ildhood days, of visiting the court several times in the days of the Queen. My lady is ten and more years my junior, you see, and far wiser, it transpires. I shall return chastened, Lord Pearce! I shall take pains to continue our acquaintance when you return to England, my lord. You may require a sponsor when you first enter the House of Lords, sir?”
“I should be honoured indeed, my lord.”
A peer was escorted by two others on his introduction to the Upper House; Septimus had not considered the matter, but he knew very few peers who would perform the service of walking at his side. Daddy Hill had volunteered, but he was also a new peer; an earl of old family would offer him a degree of respectability, would testify to his virtue in many ways.
Heartened by this first encounter, he turned his attention to the others present, catching the eye of the nearest, who transpired to be the American gentleman who was in fiery mood.
“Pearce? I have heard your name, sir. Did not you massacre a number of patriots on the borders of Nova Scotia?”
“I tracked down, and was very pleased to kill, a band of murdering, raping villains who had butchered their way across both sides of that border, sir. I believe that some few escaped, and a price has been put upon their heads, by the burghers of your State of Connecticut. You may be familiar with the behaviour of the Armies in Spain, sir; these disgusting criminals would have felt at home there.”
The American was shocked, but had heard rumours of misconduct on both sides of the late war. He offered an olive branch, the more easily for being marooned in a foreign land whose natives appeared to have become hostile.
“Easily said, at this distance, my lord, but, if true, then I must apologise. You will appreciate that I shall make investigation on my return to the States; on confirmation of your story, my lord, I shall put pen to paper and ensure that the tales I have heard are publicly refuted.
Septimus bowed.
“My family and I will proceed to Ostend, my lord, as you suggested to the Earl. We have, I might add, been visiting with relatives of my wife, who is Louisiana bred. We did not expect to be forced to flee the country in this fashion.”
“It is unfortunate, sir. Bonaparte has no use for the old ways of showing respect to civilians caught up in a war.”
Two down, and relatively easily; Septimus smiled at a formidable lady, stood next to the American, but clearly withdrawn from him, not in any way related. He took a deep breath as he eyed the lady, little shorter than him, massive at front and rear, fortyish, a dowager he would swear, her husband having cocked his toes up after an unequal struggle in marriage.
“Ma’am, may I assist you on your journey to Ostend?”
“Ostend will be inconvenient to me, my lord. My constitution does not support long sea journeys. I require to take passage from Calais.”
“But, of course, ma’am. This war will certainly be tidied up within six months and Calais will then be re-opened to English travellers. It is, as you must appreciate, not possible to conquer the lands between this border and Calais with the forces available to my hand. You might perhaps wish to travel to Brussels. I believe His Grace the Duke of Wellington must arrive there within a few days and he will undoubtedly wish to discuss your difficulties with you. I am afraid I did not catch your name, ma’am.”
“I, my lord, am the Dowager Marchioness of Oakham!”
He was right – she had had a husband who had died, probably very wisely, finding the best way out of an insupportable existence.
“I much regret meeting you in such very awkward circumstances, ma’am. I fear that I cannot wave a magic wand and secure you a road to Calais and passage across the narrow waters. You must, ma’am, in the first instance travel to Ostend. Nieuwpoort is closer but will undoubtedly see the presence of French troops in a few days; the town may well become a battleground and you should not be there. It will be possible to find some route from Ostend, I do not doubt – there will be ships far larger than the Channel packets there, able to offer travel in greater comfort.”
The lady was not mollified but accepted that she must leave France rapidly and had the wisdom to realise that she could not win the battle she had entered. She turned towards her carriage; to Septimus’ surprise, so did more than half of the other travellers. He presumed that she was so imposing a figure that lesser mortals found themselves swept up in her wake, obedient to her command and example. Her rank, as well, must impress many.
He was left with those who were not prepared to follow the lead of a mere female, and the remainder, who knew themselves to be far too important to be treated in like fashion.
An hour of refusal to lead his brigade into France: he would not take Dunkirk – only a little town, after all – in order to summarily hang the villains who had laid hands upon one gentleman; he could not countenance marching on Paris, even though another influential person knew for a certainty that the great bulk of the people would rise up behind him. As for my Lord Foile, words failed Septimus – the gentleman had left his wife and children behind at Calais while he had made his way to the frontier to arrange for their rescue; my lord was bitterly upset to be informed that he would have been better advised to have protected his family himself.
“But, Lord Pearce, I could travel faster without the encumbrance of the children! It made sense to bring soldiers to their aid.”
“Have you grooms, my lord?”
“Of course I have! How could I travel without them?”
“Then you should have sent them to entreat aid, my lord, while you remained to protect your family. You played the coward’s part, my lord – and if you do not like to be told so, then I do not doubt there are gentlemen here who will stand as your friends.”
A younger man had listened in amaze, his indignation at his own perceived mistreatment rapidly abating.
“You need not ask me, Foile – I have never heard so disgusting a tale. You may be very sure that the whole of London will be aware of it within days of my returning. Lord Pearce, my name is Cavendish. Is it truly the case that you cannot penetrate deeper into France?”
“Not with fewer than three thousand men, Mr Cavendish. I have ventured this far solely to blood the green hands – of whom there are far too many – and to commit those who are, shall we say, uncertain of their allegiance.”
“Oh! You mean that you have now forced them to fight against the Emperor – they cannot easily change their minds now… A clever move, my lord, but not without risks, one must imagine.”
“The military life would be rather tedious, devoid of risk, sir.”
“Assuming that the Emperor is defeated, Lord Pearce, then that is exactly what your life will be, will it not?”
“I doubt I shall remain as a soldier, sir. However, for the moment we are to deal with Lord Foile… Where is he?”
They looked about them, could not discover the gentleman; they heard the rattle of iron-shod wheels on the gravel of the road, saw a carriage pulling away.
“There he goes, Lord Pearce. I’ll be damned! He is turning along the road to Belgium. I had thought he must at least attempt to return to his family… I shall blacken his name in the clubs, you see if I do not, Lord Pearce. He will never show his face in London again, of that I can assure you. His is an Irish peerage, with estates to the south of the island, and there he will remain, unless he wishes to endure the cut direct and unending insult in London. Revolting beast! Is there nothing to be done for his lady and children, Lord Pearce?”
“Nothing, sir. I have the power to achieve nothing at all. One can but hope they will fall into merciful hands – and there are few of those in the Emperor’s service.”
“God damn the man! He is a villain indeed. I know that two of Foile’s children are daughters… I had intended to suggest that you should accept my guidance a matter of some thirty miles to a chateau where I believe the Duc will be raising the countryside against the Emperor. I presume that is not possible?”
“Two day’s march. No, sir. Too great a risk to be coun
tenanced with less than a full division. Even then, I would be unwilling and anxious to hold my route of retreat. It is not to be done, sir.”
“Then, reluctantly, I must accept your greater military wisdom, Lord Pearce.”
Cavendish turned to those remaining, suggested they should cease to waste the time of the soldiers. He repeated himself in French for the benefit of the few foreigners, chivvied them all away.
Two hours later Colonel Jansen marched in, announcing complete success.
“Coastal forty-two pound guns, milord. Loaded with three charges of powder and the barrels choked with rocks, well hammered down. Slow match to the touchholes and the men standing well clear. A great bang and the barrels split like tulips, milord. More slow match to the powder in the magazine and we marched off, watching from a quarter of a mile as two tons of gunpowder exploded and the walls fell down. Most enjoyable, milord – the men loved the sight.”
“Did you lose any men taking the battery, Colonel?”
“None, milord! We waved a tricolour and they waved another back and stood to cheer us in. Once at the gates, we raised the Orange banner instead and charged with the bayonet. They are traitors to their king, so need not be treated with an excess of kindness, milord.”
Septimus was taken aback – that was certainly a vigorous way of dealing with the problem. It meant that Colonel Jansen must take some care not to fall into the hands of Bonaparte – he would not be changing his coat, nor any of his officers with what amounted to a massacre to account for.
“Well, it is certainly so that traitors may not look for mercy, and you did a fine job there, Colonel Jansen. Well done, sir; be very sure that my report will not understate your zeal in the service of your king, sir. We shall march across the border today and return to your billets tomorrow. I am sure you will have watched your men carefully and will have a little list of improvements to be made. Drill in plenty over the coming month, and then perhaps we shall see what we may do to amuse ourselves again.”
06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6) Page 15