Fire and Sword r-3

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant saluted and summoned one of his men, to whom he passed on the message. The soldier handed his musket to a comrade and ran back along the road to Køge. While he waited, Arthur took the chance to examine the Danish defences as discreetly as he could. They appeared to have sited all their cannon to cover the road leading into the town.The same was true for all the infantry that Arthur could see. To his right the country was open and sparsely dotted with trees and farms, offering little cover or concealment from that direction. In the other direction, however, a dyke angled across the flat fields to the edge of the town before bending round the houses there and continuing across the landscape in the direction of the sea. Looking back over his shoulder, Arthur saw that his brigade had completed its deployment and the thin lines of scarlet with white cross-straps looked neat and bright in the sunshine, like toy soldiers.

  A quarter of an hour after he had ridden up to the Danish skirmishers a small party of horsemen appeared from the town and galloped up the road towards him. Their leader wore heavy gold epaulettes and a broad scarlet sash across his chest.The sergeant snapped an order and the skirmishers fell in and stood to attention as their general and his staff slowed to a walk, and then stopped just in front of Arthur.

  ‘General Wellesley at your service, sir,’ Arthur said firmly, and bowed his head.

  ‘General Schmeiler at yours,’ the Danish commander responded in slightly accented English. ‘You asked to speak to me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur indicated his men. ‘We have orders to prevent your column from approaching Copenhagen. I would ask you to withdraw your men from Køge and retreat.You can do nothing to prevent the surrender of Copenhagen. If you remain here, or attempt to continue your advance, then there can only be unnecessary loss of life.’

  Schmeiler smiled. ‘I thank you for your concern, General Wellesley. But you must know that it would be unthinkable for me to retreat, particularly in view of the minimal threat that your force offers.’ He squinted at the redcoats standing in the distance. ‘You must have no more than what . . . two thousand men? I have over five thousand. It is I who should be requesting that you fall back.’

  Even though he had known that the chances of persuading the Danes to retreat were slight, Arthur felt a heavy sense of sadness in his breast. ‘General Schmeiler, I understand your sense of duty, and I commend it. But I implore you, sir, to be rational. My brigade is only a small contingent of the army that is besieging Copenhagen.You cannot hope to penetrate through to the city. If you are not defeated on this ground, then you will surely be crushed further along the road. And to what end? Copenhagen will still surrender.’

  Schmeiler’s expression hardened.‘We shall see about that. Nothing is certain in war, General Wellesley, but I think that you are perhaps too young and inexperienced to have learned that. I only pray that you survive today and learn a valuable lesson. Now, unless there is anything else, I would ask you to return to your men. Good day, sir.’

  Arthur touched the brim of his hat in a parting salute, turned his horse away and galloped back to his staff. He gestured for them to follow him and they returned to the brigade, where Stewart was waiting beside the colour party.

  ‘They mean to fight us,’Arthur announced.‘Their general thinks that we can be swept aside easily enough.’

  ‘Does he now?’ Stewart growled.‘Then we must teach him a lesson!’

  ‘Quite,’ Arthur responded. He had made his plan of attack on the ride back from his interview with Schmeiler and gave the orders immediately. ‘Stewart, you are to take the Light Companies of all three battalions, the Thirty-Second Foot and the Twentieth, and advance directly on the enemy line until you are within musket range.Then you are to halt and engage the enemy. But you are not to advance any further until I give the order. Is that quite clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But in the event that I discern an opportunity to—’

  Arthur cut him short. ‘You will not move until you receive orders.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart nodded. ‘And what of the last battalion?’

  ‘I shall be leading the Thirtieth in person,’ Arthur replied, ‘together with the Grenadier Companies of the other battalions. I mean to attempt an outflanking manoeuvre, there beyond that dyke, as soon as the gunpowder smoke obscures the enemy’s vision.’

  There it was, he realised with a slight shock.The Danes had become the enemy. He had tried to prevent it from happening, but now there was nothing for it but to fight and to kill. To win victory, or suffer defeat. Perhaps even to perish here in some obscure skirmish in an unregarded corner of Europe. Arthur shook off the morbid thoughts and glanced round at his officers. ‘Gentlemen, we are outnumbered, but we are superior in training, discipline and morale. Set the right example and make sure that your men fight hard, and die hard if necessary, and the day is ours. Now, if you please, to your positions.’

  As soon as he saw that his officers and men were ready Arthur nodded to the drum major standing beside the colour party and the brigade’s drummers struck up the advance, a harsh rhythmic rattle that set the redcoats on their way. The Light Companies trotted ahead, opening up a gap between themselves and the rest of the brigade as they closed on the enemy and began to fire at will at their opposite numbers. On the flanks, the two nine-pounders attached to the brigade opened fire with a deep roar, firing solid shot against the defended buildings on the edge of the town.

  As the leading battalions caught up with the skirmishers, Stewart took command of the whole formation. They continued forward to within two hundred yards of the town, then halted and began to exchange fire with the Danish infantry formed up in front of them. After the first half-dozen volleys a thick pall of gunpowder smoke hung in the still air, obliterating each side’s view of the other.

  This was the moment Arthur had been waiting for. He filled his lungs and turned in his saddle to bellow an order. ‘The Thirtieth will form column to the left!’

  The line of redcoats turned swiftly and doubled their ranks so that they formed a column, four abreast, facing the dyke a few hundred yards away.

  ‘Advance!’

  With Arthur riding at their head, the battalion, led by the Grenadier Companies, quick-marched over the pastureland, scattering the sheep before them as they trampled down the grass. Glancing to his left, Arthur saw that the smoke was building up nicely. Even the roofs of the buildings were barely visible in the thickening haze hanging over the acrid yellow smog that consumed Stewart’s men, and the front line of the enemy.

  As he reached the dyke Arthur spurred his mount up the grassy slope. As he had thought, there was a broad expanse of polder on the far side, and the hot weather had dried out a thin strip of land alongside the mound of the dyke.The battalion swarmed up and over and set off parallel to the far side, following Arthur as they headed at an angle towards the town.The sounds of battle to their right were now muffled by the dyke and as they tramped on Arthur could not help noticing the brightly coloured butterflies and drowsy insects flitting through the long grass and wild flowers growing along the bank, quite oblivious of the bloody affairs of men.

  Turning round, Arthur urged his column on. General Stewart and the rest of the brigade would be able to keep the Danes occupied for some time before the enemy was able to concentrate superior fire and force the redcoats back. The flank attack had to be made before that happened. When he estimated they had gone nearly a mile, Arthur halted his men and dismounted. Leaving the reins in the hands of one of the battalion’s drummer boys, he made his way carefully up the dyke. As he approached the top he removed his cockaded hat and peered over the crest.

  The outskirts of the town were no more than two hundred yards away, guarded by two companies of Danish regulars and a small artillery piece that had been laid to cover any attempt by Stewart to filter men round the side of Køge. Away to the right came the continuous crackling of musket fire. Arthur re-joined his men and summoned the battalion’s officers.

  ‘It is as
I’d hoped. The enemy have left us an opportunity to attack from this flank. Have your men fix bayonets. When I give the word we cross the dyke and approach the town at the trot. We will halt at fifty paces and fire a volley, and then charge. After that, stop for nothing.You strike hard and you strike fast. Give them no time to recover, and make as much noise as you can. Stewart will hear and make his charge, and taken from two directions I doubt that the Danes will stand. Questions?’

  There was no reply and Arthur shook his head.‘Very well. Carry on.’

  The officers trotted back to their companies and Arthur drew his sword and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder.There was a low scraping and rattling as the men drew their socket bayonets and fixed them over the muzzles of their muskets. With the weapons advanced, the men charged their flash pans with powder and firmly closed the frizzens. Then all was still and Arthur glanced round to see that the officers were watching him expectantly. He stepped forward, and climbed halfway up the bank where he could be clearly seen.

  ‘Thirtieth will advance at the run!’ He raised his sword, and the blade glittered in the bright sunshine for an instant before he swept it towards the town. ‘Advance!’

  The redcoats swarmed up the bank, grunting and scrabbling as a handful slipped in the long grass. Then they poured over the crest and started towards the town, their boots rumbling softly over the dry ground. The Danes saw them coming at once. Snatching up their muskets they turned towards the threat, and glanced uncertainly at their officers for a moment until the latter recovered from their surprise and began to shout out orders. At once the Danish regulars hurried into formation and stood at ease, muskets grounded, facing the British battalion rapidly approaching them. Meanwhile the crew of the solitary artillery piece had rushed to their weapon and grabbed the trail, struggling to turn the gun round to face the oncoming enemy.

  Arthur led the way, setting the pace, urging his men on.At a hundred yards he saw the gun crew drop the trail and make ready to blast the redcoats.The portfire flared above the firing tube for an instant and then a bright yellow jet of flame leaped from the muzzle as a plume of smoke billowed out. The weapon had been loaded with case shot and the deadly cone of iron balls swept through the company on the right flank of the British line, knocking several men to the ground. The battalion did not even pause, but continued rushing forward as one of the gunners sprinted round to the front of the gun and began to sponge it out.

  Gauging the distance between his men and the two companies of Danes, Arthur waited a moment and then drew up, thrusting his sword into the air. ‘Thirtieth! Halt! Make ready to fire!’

  The battalion drew up, swiftly dressed their ranks and then advanced their muskets, the men panting for breath.

  ‘Aim!’

  The muskets came up, the bayonets pointing directly at the enemy. The Danish officers were busy bellowing their own orders and their men raised their weapons in response.

  ‘Cock your muskets!’

  ‘Fire!’

  The two sides fired within an instant of each other and the volleys thundered out. Arthur felt the wind of a ball pass close by his head and heard the thudding impact and gasps of his men as they were struck down. From the right came the sound of another blast from the cannon.

  ‘Charge!’Arthur bellowed, the cry torn from his throat.Thrusting his sword forward, he raced through the thin cloud of gunpowder smoke and saw through the opposing veil that the Danes had already grounded their muskets and begun to reload. On either side the men of the Thirtieth burst through the smoke and raced across the open ground directly at the enemy. As they closed the gap Arthur could see that the Danes would not have time for another volley and already some of them were stepping back in the face of the line of bayonets sweeping towards them. Only a handful managed to discharge their weapons before the redcoats were among them.Arthur made for a tough-looking veteran, who had managed to fix his bayonet and now advanced the point towards Arthur’s stomach.With a vicious slash, Arthur parried the thrust and slammed the hilt of his sword into the man’s face, crushing his nose and knocking him senseless. On either side the men of the Thirtieth tore through the enemy line, stabbing with their bayonets and using the butts of their muskets like clubs as they smashed into skulls with savage roars.The Danes, outnumbered and stunned by the ferocity of the charge, died where they stood, or broke and ran, fleeing towards the shelter of the town.

  ‘Keep after them!’ Arthur roared. ‘Charge! Charge!’

  The officers and sergeants took up the cry and the redcoats rushed over the last stretch of open ground before plunging into the town. Arthur drew up, and grabbed the arm of one of the young ensigns.

  ‘Circle round the town. Find Stewart and tell him to charge. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The ensign nodded, wide-eyed and breathing fast.

  ‘Then go!’ Arthur thrust him in the right direction and turned to re-join the tide of screaming British soldiers charging into the town.

  Their blood was up and they cut down any Danish soldier they came across, whether they attempted to surrender or not. Arthur joined a loose column of men surging up one of the wider streets leading into the heart of Køge. Ahead of them, at an intersection with another broad thoroughfare, stood another company of soldiers, formed up and facing the redcoats.They raised their muskets and thumbed back the cocks.

  ‘Get down!’ Arthur cried over the heads of his men. Most instinctively obeyed, falling to their stomachs or crouching on hands and knees. A few slower souls reacted too slowly and were cut down as the Danish volley crashed down the length of the street.

  ‘Up and at ’em!’ Arthur shouted and the charge surged forward again. This time the Danes put up more of a fight and there was a heaving scrummage as the soldiers were thrust against each other and then pressed on from behind. The war cries subsided into agonised groans and the grunts of men straining to push their foes aside. The weight of numbers was on the British side and the Danes were steadily forced back, the men striking at each other with their fists as well as their weapons as the resistance eased. Again the enemy broke and fled and Arthur and the others pursued them down the street towards the heart of the town.

  One of the redcoats stopped outside a door and kicked it in, splintering the wood around the latch.There was a female scream from within, then Arthur grabbed his arm.

  ‘Move on!’

  The man stared at him, wide-eyed and wild, his teeth bared in a snarl.

  ‘That’s an order!’ Arthur shouted into his face and thrust him away from the door. ‘Move yourself !’

  The soldier’s snarl faded as some sense returned, then he turned and ran after his comrades, and Arthur had a glimpse of a terrified young woman clutching a child before he ran on after his men. A short distance ahead the street opened out on to a large square, filled with a milling confusion of Danish soldiers.Those who had fled from Arthur’s columns had run headlong into the formed units of their comrades and caused confusion and chaos, a situation made far worse the moment the grenadiers and the men of the Thirtieth burst into the square and threw themselves on their enemies. Arthur stopped, heart pounding, gasping for breath. Seeing a supply wagon parked close by he thrust his way through his men and climbed up on to the driver’s seat for an overview of the struggle.

  Now that he could see right across the square Arthur realised that his men were hopelessly outnumbered. With surprise and shock on their side they would hold their own for a short time yet. But beyond the nearest mob of Danish soldiers stood over a thousand more men, formed up and ready to fight. In their midst Arthur could make out Schmeiler and his staff officers. He watched for a few more minutes as his men pressed the enemy back, and then the impetus of their wild charge died and the melee formed a static line across the edge of the square. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the British soldiers began to give way, forced back by weight of numbers, and they began to be cut down by the vengeful Danes. Arthur looked in the direction from which Stewart would come
and prayed that the ensign he had sent had managed to get through. If the other two battalions did not appear now, the Thirtieth’s attack would fail and they would be hunted down and killed in the streets.

  Seeing that his men were now winning the fight, General Schmeiler rode through the ranks and drew his sword, bellowing encouragement to his soldiers. He looked over the heads of the combatants and for a brief instant he met Arthur’s gaze and his lips curled into a smile of triumph.

  Just then a volley crashed out to Arthur’s right, then another, as musket balls swept into the square from the side streets. The range was close and scores of Danes went down. A moment later the first of Stewart’s men surged into the square, charging home with wild abandon.

  ‘We’re saved, boys!’ a grenadier sergeant close by Arthur cried out, then his head snapped back in a welter of blood and brains as an enemy officer fired a pistol into his face at close range. But it was too late for the Danes. Those who had been facing Arthur’s men stopped moving forward and glanced over their shoulders in panic at the sound of a new threat.