Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2)

by Martin McDowell

  O’Hare managed a slight wry grin, but Lacey was continuing.

  “Right, we’ve lost Baird and now Moore. I suspect we’re going to be on our own, Bentinck has more general concerns.”

  He paused in thought.

  “Get over to the 4th and see what’s happening there. If they’re holding their slope, then I’ll feel much happier. Don’t come back yourself, take charge over there and send back runners.”

  O’Hare saluted and ran off, across the front of the 105th’s line. Many questions were thrown at him as he progressed along, but all were of the same nature.

  “Are we done, Sir? Are we to fight any more?”

  His answer was always the same.

  “Could be, boys, could be not! ’Tis more up to the Johnnies than anyone else. But, whatever, we’ll give it the same go as we did before!”

  Nelly Nicholls noticed him and pushed through the ranks.

  “Major O’Hare darlin’. Will you not take a bit a meat, for yourself, here now?”

  The ‘darlin’ part was rank insubordination from a follower, but O’Hare ignored it. He fully appreciated what they were doing and was quite moved, so he reached out to take the dough cake with a slice of pork inside it.

  “Who organised this. Mrs. Nicholls?”

  “Well, Parson thought we should and so we took it up, we bein’ me an’ Bridie an’ the rest. Are not the men all now a needin’ of somethin’, would you not think, your Honour?”

  O’Hare’s mouth stretched with emotion as his jaw pressed closed.

  “Indeed they do, Mrs. Nicholls, and may God bless you for it.”

  He took a bite to show his appreciation and then ran on, this time to be accosted by Captain Lord Carravoy and Lieutenant D’Villiers, stood with their Grenadiers at the far right of the line.

  “Sir. Will we be called forward again?”

  O’Hare’s answer to Carravoy was more stern than his answers before.

  “Assume so!”

  He stood still.

  “The 4th, on our right. What can you say?”

  “Very little, Sir, other than the sounds of a conflict much as our own.”

  D’Villiers felt he had a contribution.

  “Such as to suggest that we may have been turned from there, Sir.”

  O’Hare became slightly annoyed.

  “But it hasn’t happened yet has it, and you’ve seen no French from that direction, have you? Have you taken a look?”

  D’Villiers recoiled somewhat.

  “Yes, Sir, I mean no, Sir.”

  O’Hare frowned.

  “Give me two runners.”

  Two men were indicated and they followed O’Hare to the top of the slope that overlooked the Monelos valley. O’Hare looked all around and felt much more reassured. Their old comrades of Paget’s Reserve Division were pushing the French back, across the whole stretch of the valley, even the French cavalry, who could not manoeuvre owing to the stone walls also creating their own maze across the valley floor. More immediately for O’Hare, the 4th were plainly seen down the slope, intact, but now too far down to play any part in the defence of Elvina. However, most importantly and reassuringly, there would now be no threat to them from out of the valley. If the 105th were to be called forward again, their right flank was safe; the French attack up the valley of the Monelos had been wholly repulsed and thrown back. He then turned left to look over to the French slope opposite Elvina. From there he could see beyond the village and what he saw there was a complete counterbalance. Two more French columns were descending down the French slope opposite, very much in the direction of Elvina. O’Hare turned to one of the Grenadiers.

  “Get over to the Colonel, he’s over on the left. Tell him that there are now no French on our right. Is that clear? No French on our right.”

  “Yes. Sir.”

  “But, when you’ve told him that, tell him that the French are reinforcing their attack on the village with two columns, from across the valley. Finally, I’ve asked the 4th for support.”

  He looked at the man, just a ranker but the face looked more than halfway intelligent.

  “Three things. Repeat!”

  The Grenadier did so, perfectly, then saluted and ran off. O’Hare reached into his pocket and scribbled a note, which he handed to the second Grenadier.

  “Go down to the 4th, there. Find their Colonel and give him that. His name is Wynch. If you lose it, simply say that Elvina is being attacked again and that Colonel Lacey would appreciate any help he can spare above on the ridge for its defence. Is that clear with you?”

  The Grenadier saluted.

  “Sir.”

  O’Hare took one last look into the valley at the lines of red pushing back those of blue but he soon turned away from this luxury and ran back to his own men.

  Lacey received the message quickly, then, with equal urgency, he set off on his own journey, to find the Colonel of the Guards and tell him what he had heard from O’Hare. Finding the Colonel was not difficult; he was stood before a knot of very well tailored Officers gathered behind their Colours. There was a line of casualties behind the ranks of Guards and the roar of musketry was incessant as Lacey ran up to stand just in front of what was evidently their Colonel.

  “Lacey. 105th.”

  The Colonel looked at him as though Lacey had just disturbed him whilst engaged in fly-fishing.

  “Anson! First Foot.”

  “Have you heard from Bentinck, or Hope or anyone?”

  Anson’s brows came together.

  “No. Should I?”

  The last “I” was long drawn out, which irked him somewhat, but Lacey ignored the question.

  “There is another French attack coming up from below. Two columns, as I’ve been told. They will come against you! My men are stood ready in support, but we’ve taken heavy casualties. Also, the 4th, over on the right have been asked for support, but they are now somewhat detached from us and are involved in the valley.

  He paused, but Anson was still regarding him quizzically, so Lacey continued.

  “If you want my opinion, this is Johnny’s last throw. The day’s wearing on, and he’s got nowhere. We hold this; we’ve won!”

  At last Anson answered.

  “And I should do what?”

  Lacey took a deep breath.

  “If nothing else, make preparations. The 42nd on your left have been in action since the first shot. They can have very little left. Expect them to withdraw.”

  At that point help came to Lacey, for arriving on horseback surrounded by Staff came Bentinck and another high ranking Officer whom Lacey took to be Hope, which was immediately confirmed by Bentinck.

  “General Hope. This is Colonel Lacey of the 105th. Colonel Anson I’m sure you already know.”

  Hope was looking directly at Lacey, but it could have been Bentinck looking down, were it not for a slightly fuller face.

  “Ah, Lacey! I’ve been hearing. Both to you and your men, well done!”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Are those yours in that farmhouse?”

  “They are Sir.”

  Hope looked at Bentinck.

  “Hear that, Bentinck? With such as that we’ve no business losing, what!”

  “No, Sir.”

  However, Hope was now looking at Anson and, whilst he spoke Lacey previous words, Lacey had to suppress a wry grin.

  “You are about to be attacked. Two columns are coming up. One, the largest will hit over on your left, beyond the 42nd, but they are Manningham’s problem. A smaller is coming to reinforce them in the village. They know they’ve got it, so they hope to spring on from there. The 42nd are almost used up, so I’ve placed your 2nd Battalion behind them in reserve. But, in the first instance, there’s a column coming out of that village and it’s all yours, Anson. If we hold here, Johnny will give up the game, of that I’m sure.”

  A pause. Then he looked at Lacey.

  “What is the state of your men?”

  Lacey
took a deep breath and gave the only reply he could.

  “If required, we will support.”

  Hope nodded.

  “Good luck to you both!”

  As the horses wheeled away, Lacey looked at Anson.

  “My men can come up on your right, if you need us.”

  Anson nodded. His mood had changed, but Lacey had another enquiry.

  “The farmhouse. Is it still holding out, can you say?”

  Anson’s face changed again, to one of respect. He had seen for himself the incessant conflict around the farm and knew full well how its occupation was wholly discomfiting the French trying to close up from the village to his own line.

  “It is, and whoever’s commanding in there, give him my compliments, if he lives!”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Thank you. His name is Carr and he has a habit of coming out of scrapes, albeit with a few changes to his appearance.”

  Anson grinned.

  “An occupational hazard!”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Right. I’ll get back. My men stand ready for your call, should you choose. Good luck!”

  Anson offered his hand and Lacey took it, then he ran back, avoiding four soldiers carrying back a wounded Officer, him with no left leg below the knee. More cannon shot added to the furrows already plentiful all around.

  Lacey arrived back with his men, determined to support Anson if asked, but he was convinced that they would be and he went first to Shakeshaft.

  “Give me four runners!”

  Four were picked and soon paraded.

  “Go along the line and make sure that every Captain knows that we will be called forward again. Every man to have a full cartridge box, water in his canteen, a good flint and a clean musket carefully loaded! Go now.”

  The four saluted, which Lacey returned, then he stood before Shakeshaft’s Section, listening to the conflict, hoping that he was conspicuous, should a Guards’ runner need to find him. One of the runners despatched was Byford and it was he that came to the Colour Company and found Captain Heaviside.

  “Sir. Message from the Colonel, Sir.”

  Heaviside looked at him, saying nothing, but Byford evidently had his full attention.

  “We will be rejoining the conflict, Sir, perhaps quite soon. The Colonel is anxious that each of your men has a full cartridge box, Sir, and some water. Also that their weapon is fully serviceable, Sir, clean, and with a good flint. Then loaded, Sir.”

  “Imminent?”

  “Possibly, yes Sir. Any minute.”

  Heaviside was more than a little surprised that the word ‘imminent’ should be included in the vocabulary of a mere “ranker”; he wasn’t really sure why he used that word, perhaps instinct, but, nevertheless, Byford received a stock Heaviside response.

  “The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. Numbers six, verse 24.”

  Byford laughed, but he remained within the bounds of respect.

  “Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord.”

  Heaviside nodded gravely and finished the quote.

  “Proberbs 16. Verse 33.”

  With that reply, Byford saluted and ran on down the line, to check that the remaining Captains knew. Meanwhile, Heaviside was calling on his two Colour Sergeants.

  “Deakin! Bennet!”

  Both were already within earshot.

  “Did you hear that?

  “Sir!”

  “Go now and ensure that all is as required.”

  Both saluted and left their places to check down the line. All had by now, from the efforts of Sedwicke and others, a full cartridge box, and most had automatically cleaned their musket and checked the flint, therefore but a few now needed to set about the short task. Meanwhile, Lacey was dividing his attention between his men obeying his order and the conflict that was being played out above Elvina, evidenced by smoke, noise, wounded men falling back and the unending cannon shot droning above. Thankfully his men were formed below the height of the ridge.

  Suddenly the sounds of battle doubled and doubled again. Lacey listened and decided that all was far from over. Beyond Anson’s Guards, to the left of him, the sounds were probably from the largest column contesting with Manningham’s Brigade. He could do no more than look as far to the left as was possible and there he saw the 42nd falling back, but then stop. He could see, even from that distance, that the Highlanders were fixing their bayonets. Their Colours were prominent and then he heard the wail of pipes, the tune much broken by the sounds of battle. Plainly, the 42nd were not quitting the field, if needs be they would confront the French at the point of the bayonet. However, Lacey had concerns for his own men, they had been engaged for almost four hours, the same as the 42nd, prior to that they had endured a cannonade for two hours and faced two French attacks, repulsing the first alone. Also, unlike the 42nd, they had cleared Elvina, as ordered, then had been forced back out. His casualties had been heavy. He asked himself the anxious question; did his men have anything left in them to yet again face up to what would be fresh French troops? Would they stand? Would they give way when they came under sustained fire once again? It would not be the first time, in his own experience, that troops so tried, had melted back when asked for so much, once too often.

  He brought himself back to the immediate situation when he saw the four runners coming back. He motioned one over, Byford again.

  “Name?”

  “Private Byford, Sir.”

  “Get over to Major O’Hare on our right. Ask him if anything has come from the 4th. If no, he is to request again. Clear?”

  Byford saluted and ran off, to yet again cross the front of the whole battalion. Whilst the minutes passed, if anything, the sounds of the battle on Manningham’s front intensified, then also did that before Anson’s Guards. Lacey walked to the summit of the ridge to make himself more prominent and soon discerned a figure leaving the ranks of the Guards, carrying a sword. Anson was sending an Officer and Lacey thought it right to walk forward to meet him and the distance closed. The Officer, a Subaltern, halted and saluted, this returned by Lacey.

  “Colonel Lacey, Sir?”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Colonel Anson asks that you support us on our right, Sir. The French are emerging in force from the village, on that side, beyond our line. Unopposed, Sir. They may well turn our right.”

  He paused.

  “What shall I say, Sir? In reply?”

  Lacey took a deep breath.

  “Tell Colonel Anson that the 105th are on their way and he can be assured of our best support. Our very best. Tell him that.”

  The subaltern grinned, saluted and hurried back. Lacey took another deep breath and hurried to the centre of his line, this being Heaviside’s Colour Company. He took a good look at his men. They all looked utterly weary, fifthy, black faced, many bandaged and all with their uniforms practically falling off them. Behind them was a line of prone figures in red uniforms, some still, some writhing in agony attended by the followers and the bandsmen. Perhaps they did not need inspiration, but they were going to get whatever he could give. More cannon shot droned overhead. He walked to Heaviside.

  “Captain Heaviside.”

  “Sir!”

  “Advance The Colours.”

  Heaviside turned to Deakin, Rushby, Neape and Bennett.

  “Twelve paces forward.”

  As the four marched forward, Lacey looked for Gibney and found him, in the gap left by the Colour Party.

  “Sar’ Major. Call the men to order. We’re going back!”

  Gibney left the line, turned to face the ranks and sucked in a huge amount of air.

  “Paraaaaade!”

  Out from the centre, beginning with those who heard, all came to “order arms.”

  Gibney took another huge breath.

  “Shoulder! Arms!”

  As a wave from the centre, all muskets came up to left shoulders. Lacey looked both ways, left and right.
His Officers had taken the signal that, if The Colours were advanced, then so should they be, stood out before their men, to lead them forward, and with swords drawn. Soon all stood before the line, at the attention. Feeling his mouth quivering, Lacey clamped his jaw together, then he drew his own sword, sloped it back, and walked on to stand ready to begin the advance. He waved his sword forward and marched on and then the tears really did start to flow. His men were singing ‘Brighton Camp’.

  In the farmhouse, his situation was as desperate as Carr imagined it could be. Their ammunition was almost used up and so the French had at last managed to light a fire in the front porch, which added to the choking smoke and Stygian gloom that was the ground floor. With the rifle fire from the windows now slackening, the French were attempting to pull away the boards that covered them. This was resisted mostly by rifle butts being slammed onto any fingers that came through the slit, but the French were using their own musket butts to smash the boards backwards. At one window, the lowest, the boards were gone and, if any defender showed himself, a volley of musket shot came through the opening, such that one dead and two wounded had been added to the list of casualties. Drake had taken charge at this vulnerable point and, with careful timing, when French uniforms appeared, himself and two others either side, used their bayonets to force them back, the French bodies preventing musket fire from being used against them. In that way they were holding, but it was desperate work.

  Carr took stock. Ammunition was low, but they could fire from the upstairs windows unhindered. Riflefire was their best defence, he concluded. He shouted through the gloom and above the noise.

  “Fire until you’ve three cartridges left, then butts and bayonets only. Keep them out!”

  He picked up the final box of cartridges, already a quarter empty and carried it upstairs to distribute the cartridges himself amongst the 30 men at the windows. That done he took off his own cartridge box, to drop it besides Davey, then shout above the noise.

  “You’ve all the ammunition we have, men. Make them count! When you’re down to three, then come downstairs.”

  He walked back to take a look out of a side window, over towards what he knew was Manningham’s Brigade. There his hopes for survival fell a mark or two. On that side was a sea of blue uniforms and shakoes, with several Regimental Eagles raised high. A huge column had pushed up, past that side of Elvina and was engaging the British there, whose thin, two deep lines could barely be seen through the smoke and beyond the foremost French heads; they were so close to each other. He concluded that it must be a conflict of appalling ferocity, over less than 50 yards. He thought he could hear bagpipes, but they were faint and drowned by the sounds of the conflict, the column’s drums and shouts of “Vive l’Empereur.” His one comfort was that none from the column had detached themselves to add to those assailing his own men.