by Griff Hosker
I heard Sharp’s urgent appeal. “Major Matthews, get in a square or you will die!”
He was, of course. correct and I turned to seek shelter. The heavy rye and the mud were slowing down the cavalry and by the time they cleared the ridge then they would be at the walk but I felt that they would surely overwhelm us. I saw my old friends the 69th. “Gentlemen have you room within?”
The colour sergeant, who had a huge scar on his face from the encounter at Quatre Bras said, “Your more’n welcome sir. I saw you the other day. You are right handy in a fight and if yon fellow is as good then we might survive.”
They opened the front ranks and we entered. Sharp had brought the spare horses. We dismounted and Sharp held their reins behind the colours. I took my pistols from my saddle and we waited.
One of the 69th looked up at the sky. “Sarge, is that thunder?”
“No son. That is heavy cavalry.”
We heard the screams and shouts of the dying horsemen as they were raked with canister. When the gunners came racing back then we knew what was coming. Although we could see nothing. We could picture the horsemen galloping towards us with swords drawn and lances levelled. I knew more than any just what was coming for I had been the last to leave the ridge. All that the poor the 69th could hear was the drumming of the hooves and the ground shaking.
“Hold your fire until I give the command!”
One of the gunners was laughing as he hurled himself beneath the bayonets. “Dozy bastards didn’t know there was a sunken lane! The first ranks are lying there now with broken legs!”
Another one said, “That just leaves eight thousand of them then.”
Their officer shouted, “Carpenter, shut up!”
“Sir!”
It was like a wave of steel which rose over the top of the ridge. We saw their plumed helmets and swords first and then the shiny breastplates. They were the cuirassiers. I felt some relief that it was not the dreaded lancers. They seemed to rise over the ridge like a wave braking upon the sand. I have heard that in the far Pacific they have enormous waves called Tsunami. It is like being struck by a wall of water which sweeps all before it. That is what this felt like. We were about to be swept away by a wall of horses and metal. I found myself willing the Major to command his men to fire. The horsemen were almost on top of us and all that we could see before us was a solid mass of horse and men. Finally, and to my great relief, when they were forty yards from our front rank the order was given. “Front rank fire!”
Even as we saw horsemen and horses falling and the sound of the pinging of balls on breastplates we heard, “Second rank fire!”
It was the same result.
“Third rank fire!”
It was like a constant popping as each rank fired and reloaded. Inevitably the rate slackened off but I had never witnessed so many lead balls all flying at the same time. No one needed to be given the order to reload. It was automatic. I realised that the horsemen had no scabbards. It was a bad sign; it meant they had no intention of sheathing their swords. In the French cavalry it meant Death or Glory! I wondered how the cavalry could survive for they were so close that the muskets could not miss. I knew that the Dutch and Belgian regiments would fire too high at first but there were enough squares of British and Hanoverian veterans in this giant chessboard to ensure that the French cavalry would be hit many times over.
One cuirassier had his horse shot from beneath him and he ran to the front rank and hacked down at a private. The man was bayoneted to death but the soldier he had hit lay screaming. The captain shouted, "Be a good fellow and crawl to the colour party and do not shout so loudly. Bear it like a man. "
The man said, "Sorry sir." And he crawled with a bleeding arm to the drummer boys and bandsmen who would dress his wound.
I saw a cuirassier who had survived the volleys and he reared his horse as he tried to bring its hooves down on to the front ranks. It was the only way to break a square. It inevitably meant a dead horse and often a dead horseman. It was a brave act. The horseman’s face was less than thirty feet from me. I aimed at his face and fired my pistol . As his horse was rearing he was killed and his death grip pulled the horse back. The artillery officer darted forward and hacked across the throat of the horse with his sabre. Had he not done so then the flailing hooves might have injured more men. Instead of breaking the front rank and integrity of the square the horse formed a barrier ten feet from the front rank. Such were the tiny margins between living and dying.
The volleys rippled on. They were gradually becoming more ragged as some muskets misfired. I saw soldiers hurriedly cleaning out their muskets. Other soldiers stepped forward to take the places of those killed in the front ranks. Some of the cuirassiers got through despite the barrage of lead.
The cuirassiers swept around us and behind them I saw the gold breastplates of the carabiniers. There were just two regiments of these in the whole French army and they thought of themselves as the Imperial Guard. They were arrogant butchers. Their riders were leaning forward, eager to use their sabres. Some of the cuirassiers who were swarming around us now used their own pistols to fire at point blank range. They were inaccurate but one or two balls struck home. Sharp’s horse, the one we had bought back in Antibes began to thrash around. He was in danger of hurting the colour party with his flailing hooves. “Sharp! Shoot him!”
I knew he would hate to do it but I also knew that Sharp was a consummate soldier. He handed the reins of the other three horses to the three drummer boys. He held the reins tightly while he lifted the pistol, held it to the horse's head and pulled the trigger. We had killed horses before and Sharp killed it instantly. He jerked the head of the dead animal so that it fell away from the colour party. I saw the cost of his action written on his tormented face.
The carabiniers were furiously hacking down at the front rank. One of the sergeants jerked his pike forward. There was a hook on it. He hooked the corner of the carabinier's breastplate and pulled hard. The surprised horseman flew into the square where the sergeant deftly twisted the pike and plunged the spike into the throat of the horseman. I ran forward and pointed my pistol into the face of another horseman. He was just six feet away and his head almost disappeared when the huge ball hit him. I used another pistol to fire at the horse which was attempting to jump into the square. The flash and the ball made it veer to the side where four bayonets hacked into it making another barrier.
There were red coats dying. Horse’s hooves, sabres, musket balls all took their toll. However there was also a wall of French dead which was preventing them getting any closer to us. We were suffering but we were also surviving and that surprised the French cavalry. They had come to sweep us back to the sea and now they were the ones drowning in a sea of blood.
And now it was the turn of the Dragoons. Their horses were not as big as those of the cuirassiers but they had musketoons. I knew that they would rather use their swords but if they were ordered to fire then it could be the end of the square. They would not be able to miss such a huge target. I emptied my two pistols and began to reload. It was like a scene from hell. Horses and men were screaming. Wounded men crawled or were dragged to the colour party and the little succour they offered. The air was filled with the smell of powder. You could barely see twenty feet from the square such was the pall of smoke which lay across the ridge like early morning fog. The ground was slippery with blood and we were totally surrounded by enemy cavalry. We knew there were other squares but we could not see them. It was like fighting in a fog of powder. The enemy became darkened shadows which loomed up to bring death to the redcoats whose numbers were shrinking as the day went on.
After an hour the pressure diminished and the smoke began to clear as the horsemen withdrew back down the hill. I ran to mount Pierre. “Stay here Sharp.” As the gunners ran back to their guns I shouted, “Open up if you please.” There were still dragoons before me limping away. I struck two with my sword and then I reached the top of the ridge where I could se
e the French cavalry. They had not gone far. They had not fled; they had fallen back to regroup. We had not defeated them. This was merely a respite. I saw the regiments dressing ranks. The gunners, returning to their nine pounders, began to fire into them. Turning I saw that some squares were now triangles. All that I could see were Hanoverian and British squares. There appeared to be no Dutch within sight. Perhaps they were further west. I learned later that the ordeal had been too much for these inexperienced soldiers and they had run. The Duke's army was becoming smaller by the minute.
I went back to the square. They opened for me. “Major, they are reforming. They will be here again soon. I would give the men any water that you have.”
“Already done, Major Matthews, and we only have enough left now for the wounded.” He looked around at the proud regiment. It had half the numbers it had had when it arrived in Flanders. “And the men are down to ten balls each.”
“I think, Colonel, that it is time to rob the dead. Those Dragoons and Cuirassiers have pistols and muskets.”
He nodded. “Sergeant Major, have the men take the balls from the dead French!”
“Sir! Come on. You ten men; come with me.”
The men worked feverishly. The wounded were dragged inside and the ranks made whole. We were much fewer than we had been. The regiment which had marched to Quatre Bras was now less than half the size it had been. I knew that there were other regiments which would have suffered even more casualties.
I reloaded my guns and went over to Alan. “It had to be done Alan.”
“I know sir. The other three are fine. They are used to gunfire but…”
“I know.”
We both avoided looking at the dead horse. After the day’s battle its fate would be like many horses. Starving soldiers loved horsemeat.
The gunners racing back told us what was about to be unleashed. The sergeant major roared to his scavengers, “Back inside the square!”
This time there were fewer of them and they were not knee to knee. However, this time there were fewer muskets ready or able to fire at them. I used my pistols judiciously. The French listened for the commands and tried to charge the square between volleys. I took the opportunity to fire in the gap. Like the 69th I had limited ammunition and I too ran out. How long could this go on? I had thought it bad enough at Quatre Bras but there I had endured it for less than thirty minutes. We had been in square for more than an hour and the charges showed no sign of stopping. I took some heart from the fact that the horses looked exhausted. Horses are brave, sometimes too brave and will keep going until they drop down dead. These horses had negotiated the sapping slope and the sunken lane twice. Their riders might be willing but there was a limit to what the beasts could do.
The cuirassiers were having some success. Their long blades found gaps in the wall of bayonets. The volleys were fewer and they could hack with impunity. I picked up a discarded musket and bayonet and ran to the left front corner. The cuirassiers had killed three of the men there and it was in imminent danger of collapsing. I jabbed the bayonet forward and skewered the arm of the cuirassier who had raised his sword to hack at a wounded corporal. He dropped his sword and I twisted the bayonet as I pulled. He flew from his saddle towards me. I smashed the butt of the musket into his face as he landed at my feet. It became a bloody pulp.
I sensed a movement above me and I put up the musket as a dragoon hurled himself from his horse. The bayonet went into his chest but the weight of his body flung me to the ground. The sergeant, who had let me in the square initially, picked up the body with one hand and threw it to one side. “They don’t like you do they, major?”
“I can’t think why.” I took the cartridge pouch from the dead dragoon and gave it to the sergeant. “Can you give these a good home sergeant?”
“I think so, sir.”
The French horses were weakening. At about five o’clock they finally left. Once again I mounted my horse and galloped towards the ridge. I could see that this time they were fleeing although that suggests a speed which they did not have. They trudged and they limped towards la Belle Alliance. Many horses had to be led by riders who did not have the heart to put their brave horses out of their misery. Other horses carried riders who would die before the day was out. It was a sad sight for a horseman, any horseman, to witness. The redcoat squares had held. But at what a cost? The three deep squares now contained almost as many wounded as manned the sides. The gun crews had returned to their guns and the rifles had scurried from the security of the squares to line the sunken road once more.
I held my telescope to my eye and I looked at the departing French. My heart sank when I saw another two columns preparing to march towards us except that this time they had horse artillery and cavalry with them. These were the light cavalry, the Chasseurs, Hussars and Chevau-Léger. This time the cavalry would hold the regiments in square while their infantry and their artillery battered us. As the weary troops headed back to the ridge I saw the exhaustion and I saw the holes in the ranks. How could these soldiers stand another attack?
I rode, with Alan, to the Duke and pointed south. “It looks like another attack sir, except that this time it is all three arms. They mean business this time.”
He gave me a wry smile, “Which begs the question Matthews, what in God’s name have they been doing so far?”
I laughed, “I think he means to push you off the ridge.”
Pointing to the east he said, “Those guns we hear are our only hope. That is Blucher. It has cost me three young aides but I have the news I hoped for. He is coming and he will be here by nightfall at the latest. We need to hold them here for a little while longer.” He shouted to his remaining junior lieutenant, “Brown, have ammunition distributed to all the regiments and any water also.”
Sharp had ridden up with Wolf during our talk while the Duke scanned the field with his telescope he asked. “Sir, should I get a bite of something to eat for us?”
“I think that is a good idea and something to drink too. If you can get some water for the horses too then that would help.”
The Duke smiled as Sharp rode away. “I had a fellow like him in India. Thought of all the things I did not.”
“What happened to him, sir?”
He waved a vague hand, “No idea. I left him in India when I got the colonelcy of the 33rd.”
Just when you thought that your were getting to know him the Duke of Wellington had this ability to leave you no more the wiser.
The Earl of Uxbridge and De Lancey arrived from the squares in which they had been sheltering . The Duke pointed to La Haie Sainte. “I hope that Prince William has garrisoned that well.”
I looked at the Earl and shook my head. De Lancey said, “I fear not, my lord, and it looks to me as though it might be too late already. Look!”
The French were advancing and the fire of the artillery was now focussed on the small garrison of La Haie Sainte. Bonaparte had realised that if he was to drive us from the ridge then he had to clear away this small obstacle.
“We are in for a hard pounding gentlemen. Let us see who can pound the longest. De Lancey, direct the guns to fire at the column and have Mercer’s battery move up to support the men in the farmhouse.”
It was little enough and I knew that it would merely delay the inevitable. The Hanoverians and the Rifles who garrisoned the farm would now be sacrificed because of an incompetent commander.
The range was four hundred yards and we were doing serious damage to the advancing column which came along the east side of the farm but a cloud of Tirailleurs raced up the hill and began to pepper the gunners who were exposed. They began to fall and the fire of the guns diminished.
“Matthews, order some of those rifles to deal with the skirmishers.”
They were close enough to shout to but I rode the short distance. “Captain Blaine, take some of your men and discourage those skirmishers, if you please.”
“Right sir. Come on lads. You don’t want to live forever
do you?”
As they clambered out from behind their improvised defences I saw that one of them couldn’t follow as his leg was bandaged. I handed him Pierre’s reins and picked up the rifle from a dead colleague. “Watch him for me eh, rifleman?”
“They all say you are a mad bugger, sir and I can see they are right. I’ll watch your horse for you.” He threw me a cartridge pouch from a pile in front of him.”
I crouched and ran after the pairs of riflemen. I saw that the officer was alone and so I joined him. He looked at me in surprise. “Can you use one of those?”
“I learned how to on the retreat to Corunna.”
Nodding he dropped to one knee. “Ready?” I nodded. “I’ll fire and then run. You cover me. When I fire then you follow.”
“Righto.”
The rifles had been cleared from the sandpit and the French skirmishers were using it. They had the shelter the 95th had just enjoyed. Fortunately we were out of their effective range. The French musket was accurate to eighty yards on a good day and we had a range of two hundred yards on a bad day. I aimed at a sergeant who was directing the men at the western end of the pit. Captain Blaine’s rifle barked and a skirmisher fell. As he ran I squeezed the trigger. I had forgotten what the kick was like. The sergeant fell and I ran towards the captain. “Good shot, Major.”
I began to reload. I did it properly by using the special rammer. I knew that the rifles often just rammed the bullet in like a musket ball but I wanted accuracy and I did not want to damage the rifle. The captain fired and ran. I lifted the rifle and pointed it at the skirmisher who was aiming at my partner. I think I hit his musket and the missile then pinged off and hit him in the eye. He fell backwards.