06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6)

by Andrew Wareham

  A militia, with essentially amateur officers, the bulk of them young and new to the colours and with very silly ideas about warfare, was not too difficult to provoke.

  Septimus rode down to the ford and then sat his horse on the French side while Lieutenant Rowlands made a show of using his telescope. The hussars charged to drive them away and Septimus rode back a few paces into the middle of the ford, turned and sat his horse watching them. Had it been dragoons with carbines and pistols, he would not have taken the risk, but the hussars carried only their sabres, had to close on him if they were to cut him down. A very green cornet took the lead at the narrow entrance to the ford, yelling enthusiastically. Septimus shot him twice and then dropped his horse to provide a blockage. He fired three more shots, put down another horse and its rider. Ensign Porteous fired from behind him, showed the value of rifled pistols, knocked down two more troopers. Hendry and Rowlands contributed their mite and the entrance to the ford was thoroughly blocked by screaming hussars and horses.

  Septimus turned and rode to the top of the bank, sat his horse there and offered a mocking salute to the French officers who had ridden up to restore some sort of order. He led his family back to the line of infantry, who were yelling and making happily vulgar gestures across the river to the cavalry.

  Ten minutes and the ford was cleared, the hussars’ dead and wounded cleared away, the screaming horses shot, the men given to the care of the surgeons, though they might have preferred to be shot as well.

  “Infantry coming up at the double, milord. Much waving of the colours. Do militia have eagles, milord?”

  “Damned good question, Colonel Steenkirk. I don’t know. I hope so, I’ve never taken an eagle and this would be the last chance. I can’t see one.”

  Lieutenant Rowlands did not think eagles were permitted to militia, which they agreed was a pity.

  “Here they come, milord, not stopping to arrange themselves. I do believe you have made them rather cross, milord.”

  “That was the intention, sir.”

  “Please accept my compliments, milord. I do not think I would have chosen quite that course myself. What would have happened if you had missed, milord?”

  “A good question. I doubt I would have been wise to have missed, sir. Among other reasons, think how silly I would have looked!”

  They laughed, Septimus’ words passing along the ranks and eliciting more amusement there. The French saw themselves faced by laughter, became even more irate.

  “Here they come, Colonel Steenkirk. The command is yours, sir.”

  Septimus sat his horse between the two regiments, watching as they fired their volleys at the French as they bunched up in the ford. As many as a quarter of the French fell, but they were pushed forward by the men behind them and some reached the near bank and formed their line and began to return fire.

  “Colonel Steenkirk! Withdraw towards the ridge, behind Colonel Osten and hold, then he will pass behind you.”

  Two more volleys and then the 9th about faced and marched back in their lines to a position some fifty yards behind the 4th, holding there and reloading. The French attempted a charge, fell before the disciplined volleys of the 4th.

  More French came across the ford, keeping their order and doubling forward to form in front of the dispirited first battalion to cross. The 4th responded with two volleys and a march back, behind the 9th, who were waiting silently.

  Septimus judged the time to be right, turned towards the concealed guns, lifted his bicorne, waved to the commanders, then slashed the hat down in the signal to fire.

  Roundshot into the ford, rapid fire to drive back the men waiting to cross, then canister at extreme and not especially effective range into the foot who had managed to advance. The sound of the guns more than their effect drove the French into a panicked flight to the ford and down the road.

  “Better than I had expected, gentlemen. Three battalions of French cut up and demoralised; they will need to reform at their barracks before they will fight again. We will not see them for a month and more. We blooded the hussars, but they still remain effective, I would think, though probably erring on the side of caution. The French commander will wish to bring up new battalions, and guns before returning to the offensive.”

  “More of cavalry as well, milord?”

  “If he can, certainly, sir. I suspect that the bulk of the riding stock will have been commandeered by Paris, to mount the regulars in their campaign. I would be surprised if he could lay his hands on more than the two hundred we have seen.”

  They knew that the wars had used up literally hundreds of thousands of horses and that the whole of Europe was short of the animals.

  “It will be twenty years before we have a sufficiency for the wagons and carriages, milord. Riding horses will be expensive for many a year. You are undoubtedly right, milord. The chance of an attack by cavalry is very slight, milord. The horses will be with the Grand Army.”

  “I think so, Colonel Jansen. Such being the case, we can risk holding at this ridge – so well selected by Colonel Osten – for at least the rest of the day, and probably the whole of tomorrow. What are our losses, gentlemen?”

  A score of dead and perhaps three times as many wounded – very light. They could see at least two hundred of French down on the slope leading to the ford, and there would be many more dead in the river and of wounded making their way slowly back to their own people.

  “Are we still to retreat to Nieuwpoort, milord?”

  “Probably. I suspect that we will have annoyed the French sufficiently that they will come back at us. I would expect six battalions within three days – we know that there were other camps close to the border and about the same size as the one we took. Was I the French commander, I would have sent a demand to my general by now for assistance. I would have informed the general that I had driven back an invading force of at least a division, horse, foot and guns, and that I needed reinforcements to complete the process of their defeat. I confidently expect the general himself to appear, together with a thin division. I would assume that he will not have a vast number of troops, even though beefed up by militia. At very worst, the end of the week may see ten thousand men arrayed against us; in that case, we very definitely retreat fast and fight from house to house. I expect fewer and a slow retreat.”

  They remained unmolested for two whole days before the dragoons reported a column of foot and guns on the road.

  “Very slow, milord, men pulling the guns with ropes. It looked as if each battalion was taking a turn, milord – I thought the uniforms of the men pulling were all the same.”

  “That will tire them. Could you see what the guns were?”

  “Small, milord, and on made-up carriages with carts as limbers. Not proper field-guns, milord.”

  The trooper was no expert on artillery, which was unsurprising.

  Major Maartens sent a lieutenant out with a small guard. He returned a few hours later with an exact count.

  “The same regiment of hussars, milord. Perhaps one hundred and fifty of them now. I saw twelve battalions of foot, in their companies. Not all of them militia, milord. Two at least seemed to me to be wholly of veterans. Perhaps a thousand men in those two battalions, milord. The other eight battalions were larger, each of their companies greater, milord, but poorly disciplined on the march – wandering in clumps, talking to each other, rather than marching in their proper fours. About seven thousands of infantry, milord, including those pulling the guns.”

  Lieutenant Hendry noted all.

  “What of the guns, Lieutenant?”

  “Ships’ guns, milord. Long barrel six-pound cannon, at a guess. No howitzers, as a certainty. Slower to load than the field-gun, milord, for being longer in the barrel. Longer range and taking a heavier charge. They will fire at a greater distance, milord. Eighteen of them in three batteries. Very slow – not two miles an hour, milord. At the rear of the column…”

  “Practical, Lieutenant?”


  “I suspect, milord, that they could be embarrassed when crossing a ford or bridge.”

  “Very good, sir. I would be obliged to you if you would beg Major Maartens to come to me.”

  Twenty minutes saw the Major conferring with Septimus.

  “Cut up the guns, milord?”

  “Only if it may be achieved without extraordinary loss, Major Maartens. Dead gunners and burned wagons would have much to recommend them, as you will appreciate.”

  “A wide swing around the column to the rear, milord, then come up behind them in late afternoon when they are lagging some way behind the main body, if it be possible. You will fall back from this position, milord?”

  “That is my intention, certainly. The precise timing will be dictated by the Frog general, of course. If he believes in a simple, crushing headlong assault, then I shall bloody his nose for him first. If he is wise in war, then he will cross the river at two or three places and take time to attempt to circle in behind me – in which case, we will outmarch him and let him close in on an empty position here.”

  “And either way will annoy him, milord. In the first case, he will be caused losses by a smaller force; in the second he will appear over-cautious to his own people.”

  “Exactly so, Major Maartens. Of course, sir, if he also has a brigade of cavalry to hand, then they will be behind us already, and they will between them grind us into dogmeat – which will be very irritating.”

  “Also rather dead, milord.”

  “That as well, Major Maartens.”

  Maartens suddenly grinned.

  “Being on horseback, there is a good chance I shall escape, milord. Be sure that I shall report on the gallantry of your last stand.”

  “That will undoubtedly be a comfort, Major Maartens!”

  “Was that intended as wit, sir?”

  “I thought it was quite funny, Mr Porteous. He is very much a professional soldier – he knows exactly what the value is of an honourable and gallant fight to the death. One makes a last stand for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nine times out of ten, the gallant hero who fights to the death has made a cock of it first – he should not be in such a position, as a general rule.”

  The French came in sight late on the following afternoon, infantry behind a thin screen of hussars.

  “Do you think they will display themselves at the riverbank again, sir?”

  “All things are possible, gentlemen. Some are very unlikely however!”

  “How will they cross, sir?”

  “In their circumstances, with the ford still displaying the detritus of the last fight? Cautiously, or so I should.”

  Septimus had left the dead horses where they had fallen, sending his soldiers two miles further down the road to get their water from the next stream along the coast.

  “Is that why, sir? I wondered why you would not permit the animals to be dragged away.”

  “They will have to be moved before the guns can cross, which will gain us a few minutes, but mostly because they serve as a reminder to the French that this could be an expensive crossing. We may well charge a toll they will not wish to pay.”

  “Always to make them fear that they may be defeated, sir…”

  “If they think they may lose, there is a greater chance that they will. Our men are leaning on their muskets, look. They are chatting and laughing, wholly confident. Milord ‘Seppi’, that is the name that has come to them, will lead them to victory they know. Because they know that, they will give me the win that I require. One must try to ensure that their confidence is justified.”

  The French halted a good mile from the river and began to set up camp.

  “Very wise, gentlemen. They will advance their guns, protected by a couple of battalions, of course, and set them up on the riverbank. The infantry will cross under their protection – we will not be able to set a line of muskets to hold the stream. Our guns will do some damage, but they will set to counter-battery fire, I expect, and cause us to pull back. I want the guns in Nieuwpoort, as they may guess, so I should not lose them here. I wonder just how far behind their guns have fallen.”

  Septimus ordered Colonel Jansen to put a strong picket on the ford overnight, the men to come in immediately before dawn.

  “As well to discourage any attempt to make a crossing in the night. That is what I would try, having made it clear that I am waiting till the guns are emplaced in the morning.”

  Septimus ordered the baggage train onto the road – the men could make do with dry rations for the night and he wanted his wagons well out of the way of the coming fight. He called the artillery captains to him.

  “Captains Smit, Captain Blankenburg; a very successful little action, your last, gentlemen. We face some seven thousand of infantry, probably crossing under cover of their guns in the morning. They have six-pound naval long guns, we believe. Are you in their easy range?”

  “No milord. On an uphill trajectory, even though it be slight, they will carry over us. Was we on flat land, then it would be a different matter. If they had howitzers, we would be in trouble. But ball will pass above our heads, quite harmlessly unless they achieve an almost perfect shot and actually hit a gun muzzle.”

  “Excellent! We will be unable to prevent the French from crossing the ford – their guns will make the slope untenable for the infantry. I would wish you to punish them while you can and limber up and leave while you can still do so in safety. Do not risk the guns – we will need them later in the week.”

  They thought they could organise that with few problems; milord might leave the details with them.

  Lieutenant Rowlands kept his telescope trained on the French camp, reported a degree of fuss as two Battalions formed up and doubled back down the road just before nightfall.

  “Major Maartens into the guns, I must imagine, sir.”

  A few minutes later they saw smoke then heard a distant explosion.

  “An ammunition tumbril, I would think, Mr Rowlands. That will restrict the number of rounds they fire in the morning.”

  “It might lose them another day, sir, while they bring more powder up from the ships in harbour.”

  “Useful if it does, Mr Rowlands. We have to be coming closer to the time when Bonaparte must break the border if he is to take the Low Countries before the Russians and Austrians arrive in force. Every day that passes lessens the chance that a division will be sent from Paris.”

  It also, Septimus thought, reduced the opportunity for the Prince of Orange to interfere with his little campaign. Slender Billy was said to be as much in love with the offensive as any Frenchman. Given the command, he would commit Septimus’ brigade into a hopeless onslaught onto greater numbers of the French.

  They saw no more and knew nothing until Major Maartens’ despatch reached them in the morning.

  “The good major achieved another success, gentlemen. I shall, I think, send him back to Nieuwpoort. He has been very effective, and just a little lucky. Time for him to take a breather, just in case he has come to believe that he will never be unlucky. The guns were permitted to fall some three miles – an hour – behind the last of the infantry, with only the gunners to provide muskets. One tumbril loaded with barrels of powder, the others carrying ball or canister. Eighteen guns. A charge from the cover of woodland took him into the guns, and gunners and the labourers pulling the guns and tumbrils. There were a few horses, which they have taken and will bring in. The bulk of the men they killed, the remainder probably still running. They clustered the guns around the powder tumbril and set a fuse to it. The great majority of the gun carriages were destroyed, several catching fire. Major Maartens doubts that six guns remain usable.”

  “Very good, sir. What will the French do now?”

  “If they have any sense at all, make a permanent camp where they are at the moment and wait a week or longer for more guns to come up. Who is to say, however? It is by no means impossible that the officer commanding has been ordered to destroy us, or himself
be destroyed. What was it some of these old buggers, Romans, was it, said? Come back with your shield or on it? Something like that. I vaguely remember it from school.”

  “Plutarch, sir, attributed the saying to the Spartans, saying that mothers farewelled their sons with those words. In effect ‘Death or Victory’, sir.”

  Lieutenant Rowlands had experienced a Classical education, like all of those present, but he had actually enjoyed it.

  “Sounds like the sort of thing Bonaparte might say – or his ministers might say for him. A damned nuisance, you know. I had far rather fight a man who can look at a battlefield and say ‘sod this for a game of skittles’. If one knows one has lost, better far to fall back and pull out as many men as possible. I can see no sense in taking men to the grave for no better reason than bad temper for not liking losing.”

  “Honour, sir?”

  “A very good thing, honour, Mr Hendry. A lot to be said for it, in the columns of the newssheets and at the Palace of St James and in the classrooms of Eton College, no doubt. Not a great deal of use in the field. Those of you who saw the war in Spain know exactly what value was placed on honour there. The French rapist murderers are strangers to the very concept!”

  “Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo and St Sebastian, my lord?”

  “Accepted, Mr Hendry. The English were very little, if anything, better. Honour does not exist in our wars, sir.”

  They left the topic, perhaps for feeling that honour should exist and that they were at fault for not living up to its demands.

  There was no movement from the French camp until several hours after dawn. A column formed and marched forward in mid-morning.

  “Guns, Mr Rowlands?”

  The telescope came into play.

  “None, sir, not even the little gallopers, sir. Foot only. Flags for four battalions, sir. I can see six more back at the camp, sir. I think there is a second column of four battalions forming up, sir. Two battalions to hold the camp.”