In the centre, entrusted to General Lord Orkney, the fifteen battalions included eleven British formations, backed by the reserve strength of the Allied horse, numbering almost one hundred and eighty squadrons. When the time was ripe, a massive strike force could thus be unleashed in a cavalry charge to penetrate and overwhelm the French centre. Its success depended on Allied advances on both flanks. They had to pierce the French wings in order to threaten a pincer movement that was in reality a feint. The left flank was under the command of the youthful Prince of Orange, supported by Generals Tilly and Oxenstiern. In the original plan, Marlborough had placed General Withers in a supporting role on the left flank but he was too tardy. When he did finally appear, Withers was switched to the extreme right instead.
Early that morning, Daniel was in the Allied headquarters in Blaregnies when Marlborough explained the last-minute change of plan to a concerned Dutch general.
‘General Withers will be of more use on the right flank,’ he declared. ‘He’ll be concealed from the French in the Bois de Sars and, when the opportunity arises, will be able to loop around the furthest extremity of the enemy’s left and cause confusion by rolling behind their lines from east to west.’
‘That’s a clever strategy,’ said the Dutchman, ‘but you strengthen one flank at the expense of another. The Prince of Orange needs every battalion and squadron that can be spared.’
‘I judge the force at his disposal to be sufficient.’
‘But we don’t know what resistance they’ll find in the Bois de la Lanière.’
‘Whatever it is,’ said Marlborough, ‘they’ll be able to overcome it.’
‘You know best, Your Grace,’ conceded the other, ‘but I’m bound to have qualms when intelligence reports say that the French right flank is under Marshal Boufflers. I have the greatest respect for the Prince of Orange. He’s a man of great courage. Pitted against him, however, is one of the most astute commanders in Europe. After we humbled him at Lille, he’ll want his revenge.’
Marlborough was adamant. ‘Our left flank will deny it to him.’
‘You say that with supreme confidence.’
‘I have every right to do so, General,’ said Marlborough, stoutly. ‘We have the best commanders in the correct positions and our line of battle is well balanced. I wouldn’t even entertain the notion of a defeat. Victory is there for the taking.’
Daniel was heartened by the captain-general’s tone. Like the Dutchman, he’d been disturbed by the apparent imbalance of forces on the Allied flanks. He’d also been worried by the state of Marlborough’s health. The Duke had been dogged by fatigue and prone to migraines. Letters from England had lowered his morale with their tales of political machinations and loss of royal support. Now that the day of the battle had dawned, however, he looked spry and eager. It was the Marlborough of old and everyone around him was inspired by his example. The omens were good.
* * *
‘Kept in reserve?’ cried Curry, indignantly.
‘That’s the decision, Leo,’ said Welbeck.
‘One British regiment is worth two Dutch or German regiments.’
‘I know.’
‘So why are they in the front line while we twiddle our thumbs here?’
‘We’ll be called upon in due course.’
‘Why didn’t you use your influence with Captain Rawson?’ demanded Curry. ‘You should have got him to persuade His Grace to give us preference.’
‘Dan wasn’t able to do that.’
‘It’s an insult, Henry – a bleeding insult.’
Along with the rest of the army, the soldiers of the 24th Foot had been roused early and given a nip of rum or gin to steady them. Battalions were formed and orders given. Sergeant Curry objected to what he saw as an unfair restraint on him and his men. He was desperate to be part of the initial onslaught so that he could impress Rachel Rees with his heroic conduct. Welbeck harboured the same ambition. He wanted to win her admiration by his performance in battle. As he glanced along the ranks of his men, he noticed that one stood out from the others. Private Ben Plummer not only had the smartest uniform, he was sporting a black eye and a swollen lip. Curry nudged his fellow sergeant.
‘I caught the bastard at last,’ he boasted. ‘He’d been leading my men astray in a dice game. He’s lucky I didn’t black his other eye as well and split his nose open.’
‘You should have reported him to me. I’d have dealt with Plummer.’
‘It’s because you didn’t deal with him that he came pestering my lads. At least we know where his money comes from now – gambling.’
‘Is he lucky or just crooked?’
‘Plummer would cheat his own grandmother.’
Welbeck was upset. He’d seen such an improvement in the man’s behaviour that he believed him to have turned over a new leaf. Plummer was obedient, willing and soldierly. Now, it transpired, he hadn’t abandoned all of his former waywardness. His punishment had been deserved. Welbeck just wished that he’d been the one to administer it. As it was, someone else had done so and made much of the fact. Curry was soon given a second opportunity to crow over Welbeck. Catching a glimpse of Rachel Rees in the middle distance, he gave a proprietary chuckle.
‘There she is,’ said Curry, ‘the love of my life.’
‘How many times have I heard you say that about a woman?’ asked Welbeck, cynically. ‘They come and go in their dozens.’
‘I can’t help it if I’m popular.’
‘You chase anything in a dress with your prick hanging out.’
‘Rachel is different.’
‘Yes,’ said Welbeck, pointedly, ‘she’s already spoken for, so you can keep your groping hands to yourself or you’ll have two black eyes to match the one you gave Ben Plummer.’
Curry grinned. ‘You’re just jealous, Henry.’
‘I believe in a woman’s right to choose and Rachel has chosen.’
‘It’s no surprise that she chose the better man – me.’
Though it was difficult to pick out two people in the massed ranks, Rachel did so with ease. As she waited to follow the first battalions so that she could scour the battlefield for booty in their wake, she gave them a cheery wave. Curry waved back in acknowledgement but it was Welbeck who had more cause for satisfaction. Rachel was looking directly at him. The signal was unambiguous. She was his.
When he arrived before the others for work that morning, Geel fully expected to be dismissed. He’d been caught in Amalia’s bedchamber and had no defence to offer. Dopff had stared at him with a mixture of accusation and disillusion, blaming him for an outrageous act of trespass while realising that Geel’s earlier visits upstairs had not been motivated by concern for a sick man’s well-being, after all. He’d simply used his colleague’s illness as a means of gaining freedom to move around the house. Dopff clearly felt shocked and betrayed. Geel was certain that he’d be reported for his audacity. Even such a mild-mannered employer as Emanuel Janssen would not tolerate such behaviour. Yet when he came into the workshop, Janssen gave Geel his usual friendly greeting. At his master’s shoulder, Kees Dopff limited himself to a polite nod, shooting Geel a warning glance that was easy to interpret. Dopff had so far told nobody about the incident the previous day but – if there was the slightest trouble from Geel in the future – the truth would come out. Amalia would be duly horrified and her father would promptly dispatch the errant weaver. With such a threat hanging over him, Geel felt a sense of shame that burnt inside him like a flame.
Aelbert Pienaar joined them and moved swiftly to his loom. The four of them started work. They were disturbed within minutes by the sudden arrival of Beatrix who whispered something to Janssen. Face darkening with consternation, he muttered an apology and rushed off into the house.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Geel.
‘It’s Miss Amalia,’ she replied. ‘She had a terrible nightmare last night and it’s haunting her still. She’s taken to her bed again.’
‘Is s
he unwell?’ said Pienaar.
‘No, Aelbert, she’s healthier than I am. But her mind is troubled. Miss Amalia is a bag of nerves and nothing I can say seems to calm her down.’
Geel was inquisitive. ‘What was this terrible nightmare, Beatrix?’
‘She thinks it was a premonition.’
‘Go on.’
‘When I got to her in the middle of the night, she was shaking all over.’
‘Why – what was the dream about?’
Beatrix gave a wan smile. ‘Do you really need to ask that, Nick? It was about Captain Rawson, of course. She watched him die a hideous death in battle. Miss Amalia is convinced that he’s either been killed or is about to be.’
Geel was even more grateful that his venture into her bedchamber hadn’t been reported. Distressed over a nightmare, Amalia would be at her most vulnerable. To learn that someone had been caught trespassing in her room would be an unbearable torment. Fearing that she’d lost Daniel, she’d also find that she was being stalked by someone who worked under the same roof. Geel could imagine the hysteria it might provoke.
He had to help. The only way that he could redeem himself was to relieve her anguish in some way. News from the front took days to trickle back to Amsterdam. Until she knew that Daniel was safe, Amalia would be on tenterhooks. A wild idea came into Geel’s head and he blurted out his offer.
‘There’s no need for Miss Amalia to suffer,’ he said, impetuously. ‘I’ll go to Flanders and find out the truth for her.’
As the Allied army advanced towards the enemy, they were half hidden by mists that arose from the sodden fields. Sunlight slowly pierced the murk and burnt it away to reveal the beautiful undulating landscape. Allied cannon opened fire and the battle of Malplaquet had begun. In command of the centre, Orkney was elated at the sight of his battalions marching in formation in their differing uniforms. It was a scene that had colour, nobility and deadly purpose. Before they could reach the plain on which they could confront the French, however, they had to go through a dense wood. Obeying the steady beat of the drums, they surged on into the trees with no idea that forty battalions of enemy infantry had been deployed in depth to greet them. It was only when they were hit by the first volley of musket fire that they realised they’d walked into an ambush. To get anywhere near the French, they had to cope with lines of trenches and thick entanglements of branches sharpened to a point.
In the early exchanges of fire, the Allies were cut down remorselessly. When they reached the gap in the woods at the centre of the French position, they discovered that it was blocked by earthen ramparts strengthened with chained logs, angled to permit flanking fire and with strategic gaps through which counter-attacking cavalry could pour. Defending the ramparts, Villars had posted the vast majority of his guns and they were wreaking devastation. All of thirty-seven battalions of foot were firing at the Allies from behind their concealed positions. Orkney had no time to admire the sight of his men on the march now. He’d just led them into a death trap.
The situation was no more encouraging for the Allies on their right flank. General Schulenburg marched his battalions, three lines deep, across the best part of half a mile towards the Bois de Sars. Before they reached the trees, a shot rang out then an invisible enemy discharged a volley. On a command from the general, the Allied infantry stormed forward to tackle the first of the French parapets, meeting with concerted and accurate fire. Musket balls fell in a hailstorm and the Allies were embroiled in a hellish fight. Schulenburg’s first line was halted by the searing volleys of French brigades drawn up in four rows and firing by alternating lines at fairly close range. Casualties among the Allied officers were particularly high, with some Austrian units having barely a few survivors to issue orders to their men.
Supporting Schulenburg on the inner right flank, General Lottum’s forces had severe problems of their own. They marched across a plain striped with ravines and dappled with ponds and bogs. Skirting the wood in which their compatriots had come to grief, they were met by a fierce bombardment from the various redoubts ahead of them. Additional guns were rushed to the front by the French and Lottum’s men started to fall in droves. Changing their angle of attack, they plunged into the wood on their right and fought hand-to-hand among the abattis cleverly prepared by the enemy. It was violent, ferocious, uninhibited warfare with no quarter given. Marlborough’s faith in the efficacy of his right flank was beginning to look unfounded. The only battalions and squadrons unopposed were those led by General Withers in a wide arc intended to take them beyond the western end of the French defences.
While the Allied centre and right flank were being repulsed, an even worse fate awaited those of the left flank. The Prince of Orange led his Dutch and Scottish battalions against the defences of the Comte d’Artagnan that fringed the Bois de la Lanière. Advancing bravely in five columns, they were wholly unprepared for what happened next. When they got close enough to the French ramparts, a gun battery suddenly burst into life, firing salvoes of enfilading shot through the Dutch lines with disastrous effect. General Oxenstiern was among the hundreds who were killed in the first lethal explosion of cannon fire. Blown out of alignment, the five columns immediately reformed, closed their ranks and marched on over the bodies of their dead comrades. Urged on by their commander, they gave a display of suicidal courage, making small territorial gains at the expense of enormous casualties. Within half an hour, the best part of five thousand Dutch soldiers had fallen. After incurring more losses in a tempestuous fight, they eventually captured Blairon Farm but it could not be held. Outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, the Dutch attack fell back in good order, leaving the ground carpeted with their dead and dying.
Stirred by their success, the French regiments on the right flank sallied forth and formed up for a bayonet charge. The retreating Dutch infantry were only saved from further destruction by the intervention of the Prince of Hesse-Cassel. Seeing the predicament they were in, he spurred his squadrons towards the left flank and sent the French scrambling back behind their barricades. Four Hanoverian battalions were also rushed forward from Marlborough’s reserve to the south-western corner of the Bois de Thiery and their musket volleys discouraged the French from surging out from behind their defences a second time. All in all, however, it was an unpropitious start for the Allies. In a matter of a couple of hours, their attacks had been repulsed or put under brutal pressure on all fronts. Marlborough’s battle plan was not as yet working.
Daniel was all too aware of the initial failures and setbacks. He was employed in the way he’d been used at Ramillies, taking orders from the captain-general to various parts of the battlefield and bringing back reports of how Allied troops were faring. Such information was vital. At Ramillies, Marlborough had been able to watch the whole conflict from a vantage point on raised ground, moving his battalions and squadrons about like pieces on a gigantic chessboard. He had no such luxury here. Much of the action was screened from him by woodland and he could only guess at what was happening among the trees. Daredevil riders like Daniel kept him up to date with the latest developments in every section. The fact that Daniel was fluent in Dutch and German meant that he could converse easily with any of the Allied generals.
After delivering orders to General Lottum on the inner right flank, Daniel raced back to headquarters, dodging the enemy shot that came hurtling out of the air until he was out of its range. When he reached the point where Marlborough and his staff were seated astride their horses, Daniel reined in his own steed and gave his account of the situation he’d found.
‘General Lottum sends his regards and reports that his attack has been brought to a standstill. To renew the assault,’ Daniel continued, ‘he’s committed the Duke of Argyll’s brigade supported by two battalions sent over by General Lord Orkney.’
‘I commend the strategy,’ said Marlborough, ‘but I have a lurking fear. When they enter the woods to their right, Orkney’s men will present a target for the artillery in the redoubts. That w
ill refresh the enemy’s ambitions.’
‘They appear to be preparing a counter-attack, Your Grace.’
‘I observed that through my telescope and I plan to stem it before it even begins. I’ll bring up the Prince of Auvergne’s cavalry to meet the threat. The sight of thirty squadrons of Dutch horse should be enough to dissuade Villars from risking his infantry in a counter-attack.’
‘What orders am I to deliver?’ asked Daniel.
‘Acquaint General Lottum with my decision and urge him to press on.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Command of the Bois de Sars is crucial. Whatever resistance we meet there must somehow be crushed. Expel the French from their positions among the trees and we’ve struck a telling blow.’
Daniel wanted to ask about the state of the battle on the Allied left flank but it was not the time to do so. As he galloped off, he could hear uproar in the woods to his left. Enemy cannon thundered away and there was an interminable popping of musket volleys. Evidently, the Dutch battalions were involved in an increasingly desperate struggle. Daniel’s task was to return to General Lottum on the inner right flank. To do that, he had to ride through enemy fire, swerving past runaway horses and jumping over the corpses of those who’d fallen in the first assaults. Camp followers were already busy, running at the heels of the Allied battalions in the hope of plunder from French casualties. Rachel Rees was among them, checking to see if any of the fallen from the Allied ranks was still alive and giving survivors a swig of rum to dull their pain or restore their spirits. When she encountered a French casualty, she searched him expertly for anything of value and slipped it into the large bag slung over her shoulder. Rachel made light of the turmoil all around her. She had a job to do.
5 A Very Murdering Battle Page 29