Something rubbed against his thigh. The bullet. He pulled it out of his pocket and examined it again. Definitely too big to be French. It was time he had a word with Vindle.
Private Vindle was cowering in his bivouac, as ever with his accomplice Luke. ‘Up, both of you,’ he ordered, peering under the blanket. The two of them muttered something he could not hear and slithered out of the bivouac. ‘You might as well hear this too, Luke,’ he said, standing so close to them that they had to strain to see his face. He held out the bullet in his palm. ‘I found this in my pack. It is a British bullet and it knocked me down when we were feigning retreat in the wood. Fortunately for me the idiot who fired it did not use enough powder and it was almost spent by the time it hit my pack.’ He stared at Vindle. ‘Did you fire it, Vindle?’
Vindle wiped his few strands of greasy hair from his eyes and tried to look affronted. ‘I bloody well did not, Colonel. If I had mistaken you for a frog and fired in error, I would have said as much at the time and taken my punishment like a man. Luke will support me in that, won’t you, Patrick?’
‘I will, Colonel. A good soldier is Private Vindle and not one to mistake a red coat for a blue one or to spill his powder on the ground.’
Macdonell’s temper was rising. Vindle had tried to kill him but he could not prove it. ‘He is also a troublemaker and a thief, Private Luke, as are you,’ he snarled. ‘I trust neither of you and nor do Captain Wyndham and Sergeant Dawson. Tomorrow we will face Buonaparte. If you survive the day, we will speak of this again.’ Leaving them standing in the rain, he stormed off.
Francis Hepburn was still nowhere to be seen. Macdonell asked another guard about him and received the same reply. It was worrying. He would not put it past Francis to hide a wound from his men and only seek medical help when there was no fighting to be done.
He was wondering whether to visit the hospital himself, wherever it was, to find Francis, when Harry returned. Three of his foraging party had sacks slung over their shoulders, the other two carried a large wooden cask. All six of them looked as cheerful as if they had been promoted to generals. ‘Miserable lot, quartermasters, Colonel,’ said Harry as he approached. ‘Nothing but stale bread and biscuit and took a deal of persuading to let us have a drop of gin. He’ll have watered it, of course. Put it there, gentlemen, please.’ They placed the cask carefully on the ground and threw the sacks down beside it.
Macdonell prised open the lid of the cask and peered in. It was full. He lifted a sack and tipped its contents out. Loaves of bread, cheeses and a roasted chicken fell out. ‘Funny-looking biscuit,’ he said, and looked suspiciously at Harry. ‘Where did you get it?’ In Wellington’s army, theft from local people was an offence, although everyone knew that it happened all the time. Buonaparte, on the other hand, expected his troops to survive off the land by taking what they wanted. That was why they were better fed than the British.
Harry shuffled his feet. ‘Local man selling his wares. I happened to find a few shillings someone had dropped and used them to pay him.’
Macdonell believed him for not a second. Harry Wyndham had dipped into his own pocket, deep admittedly, to buy the food. ‘A lucky chance, indeed, Captain. Doubtless your health will be drunk around many fires this evening.’
From the direction of the crossroads the captain of the Life Guards who had directed them to their division trotted down the lane. ‘Colonel Macdonell, His Grace offers his compliments and requests that you send the light companies of the 2nd Guards to the chateau at Hougoumont, on our right.’ He pointed down the slope to the woods Macdonell had noticed earlier. The Château Hougoumont must be there. ‘His Grace asks that they go immediately. Lord Saltoun will be following with the light companies of the 1st Guards. You are to occupy and fortify the chateau, farm and grounds. When you have given the order to move, kindly attend His Grace. He awaits you at his quarters in Waterloo.’
That was a surprise. Why would Wellington want to see him in person? ‘Kindly inform His Grace that I shall carry out his orders immediately.’
Immediately. Supper would have to wait.
CHAPTER NINE
‘His Grace’s timing is, as ever, perfect,’ said Harry when the captain had gone. ‘We will take our supper at the Château Hougoumont.’ Adding to one of his foragers, ‘See if you can find a handcart to transport it.’
‘Harry, fetch the Grahams, please.’
The Graham brothers, not quite able to suppress ‘told-you-so’ smirks, arrived with their packs on their backs and ready to march. ‘You sent for us, Colonel,’ said James.
‘I did, Corporal. We are ordered at once to the Château Hougoumont. Not all the company were as prescient as you. Their blankets will be wet and heavy and they were not expecting to have to move again today. There will be mutterings and grumblings. As Sergeant Dawson has not yet returned from the dressing station, I need you to organise the dismantling of bivouacs, repacking of blankets and collection of muskets. Do what you can to keep their spirits up. In the sergeant’s absence, report to Captain Wyndham.’
The two giants exchanged a look. ‘Depend on us, Colonel. We’ll have them down at the chateau in no time,’ said Joseph.
‘That we will, Colonel, but what about Mister Gooch and Mister Hervey?’ asked James.
‘Show them how it’s done. Politely, mind.’
‘Politely it is, Colonel.’
‘Better be off, James,’ said Harry. ‘The peer waits for no man, or so they say. Leave everything to us. The corporals will carry them down one at a time if they have to.’
Most of the senior officers were billeted in the town of Waterloo and the surrounding villages, each name marked in chalk on the door of the appropriate house. Macdonell was shown into the Duke’s quarters in a hotel in the main street of the town by a lieutenant of the Life Guards and escorted to a room off the entrance hall. The four men sitting around an oak table in the centre of the room were studying a large map. Two were smoking cigars. He stood in the doorway, shako in hand, and waited. None of the four acknowledged him. He coughed lightly. The man whose aquiline looks and startlingly direct gaze were as well known as any face in England sat at the head of the table. He looked up. ‘Ah, Macdonell,’ said Wellington affably, ‘here you are. You know, of course, Generals Cooke and Byng, and this is Colonel de Lancey of my personal staff.’
Macdonell knew of de Lancey, an unusual soldier in the British army in that he was American by birth and very young to hold the position of Deputy Quartermaster General. He inclined his head politely. ‘Gentlemen. Your servant.’
‘Had you a hard time of it at Quatre Bras?’ asked Wellington.
‘Not as hard as some, Your Grace,’ replied Macdonell. The Duke, not above a little boasting himself, could not abide it in others. A tiny smile played around his eyes.
‘And your strength now?’
‘Two hundred and sixty officers and men, sir.’
The Duke tapped a finger on the bridge of his long nose. ‘It will have to be enough.’ The other three nodded their agreement. ‘Now, Macdonell,’ went on the Duke, ‘look at this map.’ Macdonell stepped forward to peer over General Byng’s shoulder. ‘I have deployed our forces across the Mont St Jean ridge. It is the very ridge which my illustrious predecessor the Duke of Marlborough recommended as the best place on which to mount a defence of Brussels, should one ever be needed.’ He looked up from the map. ‘And by God it is needed now. Buonaparte’s advance guard is already arriving from the south and is taking up position here.’ He ran a finger along an imaginary line running through the inn at La Belle Alliance. ‘As you see, we have the advantage of the ground. However, there are three vital points which hold the key to our success. One is the farm on our left flank at Papelotte, which I have entrusted to Prince Bernhard’s Nassauers. The second is the farm of La Haye Sainte, in our centre, which the King’s German Legion will defend.’ He pointed to the farm they had passed on their march up the slope. ‘The third is the chateau and farm at Hougoum
ont on our right wing. Here,’ the Duke paused, ‘I have already sent companies of Hanoverians and Nassauers to Hougoumont with orders to occupy the farm and the wood south of it and Saltoun will be taking the light companies of General Maitland’s 1st Brigade down to occupy the orchard. Macdonell, your companies will occupy the chateau, farm and garden.’ The Duke turned to Colonel de Lancey. ‘I gather the garden is rather fine, de Lancey. Such a pity to ruin it but there it is. In addition, you will have overall command of the defence of the position. Any questions?’
‘Are you expecting Marshal Blücher, Your Grace?’
‘I certainly am. Blücher has promised to be here tomorrow. If we hold the three positions until he arrives, the battle will be won. If not …’ The Duke let the thought hang in the air. It was clear enough. The Guards must hold Hougoumont. ‘General Byng’s main force will be positioned on the rising ground to the north of the chateau,’ went on Wellington, pointing to the map. ‘From there he will provide covering artillery fire. It might be the time to give Major Bull’s howitzers a chance to show us what they can do, Byng, don’t you agree?’
‘I do, Your Grace,’ replied Byng in his thoughtful way.
The Duke leant back in his chair. ‘You know, Buonaparte once said that he never went into battle with a plan. He simply attacked in strength and then reacted to what his enemy did. Arrant nonsense, of course. Boney has a plan and it is to take Hougoumont. If he does, it will expose my right flank and give him the road to Brussels. That must not happen.’
For the first time, General Cooke spoke. ‘Our intelligence is that Buonaparte has put his brother Prince Jérôme, under General Reille, in command of the attack on the chateau. That signifies how much importance he attaches to it.’
‘I understand, General. Hougoumont must be held.’
‘We will review your defences early tomorrow,’ said Wellington, rising from his chair. ‘Be about your business now, and may good fortune be with you.’
As Macdonell was leaving the house, he stopped for a moment in the hall to check his dress in a long mirror. While adjusting his collar he heard de Lancey tell the Duke that he had given a tired man with tired troops a fiendishly hard task. ‘Ah,’ came the reply, ‘but you do not know Macdonell.’
CHAPTER TEN
He trotted the three miles back to the ridge and along the lane, where he found all but a handful of the company gone. ‘Make haste, you men,’ he urged the stragglers. ‘There is little light left and we have work to do.’
‘Our blankets are sodden, Colonel,’ complained one of them. ‘It is the devil’s own job to get them into our packs.’
Macdonell was on the point of telling the wretched man to try harder when a flash of lightning streaked across the evening sky. It was followed by a deep, echoing roll of thunder. The weather, capricious and unforgiving, had yet to relent. ‘There was a thunderstorm on the eve of our victory at Salamanca,’ he told them. ‘A good omen, to be sure.’ Two horses, spooked by the thunder, bolted past them and galloped down the slope towards the French. ‘There you are, even the horses cannot wait to attack the frogs. Make haste to the farm, now.’
The lane leading to the chateau ran along the crest of the ridge for three hundred yards. Macdonell picked his way carefully along it and down the incline, already churned to mud by the coming and goings of men and horses and wagons. He joined a sunken lane which ran between thick thorn hedges separating it from a corn field to his left and a grassy slope to his right. The top of the slope would be where General Byng would place his artillery, complete with Major Bull’s fearsome howitzers.
Once in the sunken lane he could see very little of his surroundings, but then very little would be seen of him. The lane ran for about a hundred and fifty yards before opening into a clearing in front of the north gate of the farm. It would make an excellent position for troops hidden in the hedge.
It was a thick oak gate, with two panels ten feet high and iron fixings, open to allow access to a constant flow of traffic. It was attached on one side to the wall of a long stable or cowshed and on the other to a small brick outhouse. A troop of Nassauers stood guard in the clearing. Inside the gates, a wagon parked in the yard alongside an ancient draw well was being unloaded by Nassauers and Hanoverians and its supply of ammunition moved into the farm grounds by a chain passing boxes of powder and shot from one to another. To Macdonell’s surprise, the operation was being supervised by Sergeant Dawson. He dismounted and asked a private to take his horse to a stable. ‘Sergeant Dawson, may I take it that you have attended a dressing station?’ he demanded.
‘I have, Colonel, and been passed fit.’ Dawson rolled back his sleeve to reveal his arm, now covered by a well-used bandage. ‘Stitched up nicely, it is. No need for the forceps, thank the Lord. I’d rather face a French lancer than a surgeon with forceps.’
‘As would we all, Sergeant. Is there any water in the well?’
‘A little, Colonel, from the rain.’
‘Ration it carefully. Where is Captain Wyndham?’
‘In the house, Colonel, seeing to the dispositions. There are two stables for the horses and a cowshed. Plenty of cover for us, too.’
‘Good. Carry on, Sergeant.’ Macdonell crossed the yard to the entrance of the house. It was a modest chateau, no larger than Glengarry, brick-built and, in parts, ancient. A tall tower, once perhaps a watchtower, stood on the north-east corner with a tiny chapel nearby. The entrance hall was dark and dusty and smelt of rats. There was no furniture and no decoration on the walls. It must have lain empty for some years.
A narrow flight of stairs led to the upper floor. Macdonell took them two at a time. In a bedroom facing south he found Harry Wyndham with Gooch and Hervey. They had opened the window shutters and were aiming muskets out towards the wood.
‘Not much chance of hitting anything from up here,’ said Harry, ‘unless they break into the yard. Even then, we’d just as likely kill some of our own.’
James looked for himself. Harry was right. The chateau was high enough to afford a clear line of fire over the walls surrounding the farm, but only into the wood. An attacker between the edge of the wood and the wall of the farm would be safe. ‘Two men at each window in case they do break in,’ he ordered, ‘and the lower floor will do for the wounded if we need it. We’ll use the large barn by the north gate first for casualties. If you would see to that, Captain Wyndham, we will inspect the rest of our billet. Follow me, gentlemen.’
They retraced their steps and climbed a second staircase, this one narrow and spiral, to the top of the tower. There Harry had already stationed four men, who had heaved boxes of ammunition up the stairs and were busy preparing their position. One of them was Private Lester. ‘Good evening, Lester,’ Macdonell greeted him. ‘Comfortable billet for you, I see. Should be able to land a few solid blows from here.’
‘That we will, Colonel,’ replied Lester. ‘Fish in a barrel, they’ll be. We can hardly wait to get started.’
‘Watch the woods. That’s where they’ll come from and they’ll have to cross open ground to get to the gate. Take care, though. If there is any risk of hitting a red jacket, hold your fire.’ Macdonell looked out of the window. A house built above a gate on the south side blocked his view but he could see over the roofs of the two buildings either side of it and, to his left, over the garden and orchard towards the ridge at Mont St Jean. In the fading light he could just make out the fires of the troops stationed on the crest of the ridge. From here it was possible to shoot into the clearing outside the gate.
‘Rely on us, sir.’
‘Make haste, gentlemen. We must complete our inspection before dark.’ Macdonell led the two ensigns back down the stairs and into a second courtyard, where the ammunition boxes were being opened and their contents distributed. Men were running in and out of the three buildings that formed the south wall of the enclosure.
‘Small stable on the left, storage shed on the right, gardener’s house in the middle over the gate, Colonel,
’ pointed out Gooch. ‘No windows in the first two, so we’re making loopholes in the brick, but the house is well placed to defend the gate. I have ordered some of the floorboards above the gate to be pulled up to make firing holes.’
‘Have the gate opened, please,’ said Macdonell. ‘I must see it from outside, as the French will see it.’ Unlike the north gate, this one consisted of a single oak panel.
‘Colonel, French voltigeurs may be in the woods,’ said Hervey. ‘You might be better advised to stay within the walls.’
Macdonell stared hard at the ensign. ‘Nonsense, Hervey. And when you are in command of a battalion, I trust you too will venture outside walls. Kindly open the gate.’ Hervey mumbled an apology and ordered the crossbar lifted and the gates unlocked.
Ignoring the crack of musket fire, which they could now clearly hear, they stood in an open clearing about thirty yards long with their backs to the wood, and inspected the outside walls. They too were red brick, certainly not proof against round shot but adequate cover from muskets. The house had five windows on the upper level above the gate and three to one side below. The garden wall extended out at right angles from the house. ‘This is where they will attack in force. As many muskets as you can in the windows,’ ordered Macdonell. ‘We shall need unbroken fire from the moment they show their faces. Who have we in the woods?’
‘Hanoverians, Lüneburgs and Nassauer Jägers,’ replied Gooch, as if he had ordered them there himself. The Hanoverians and Lüneburgs were good troops – sharpshooters of whom many had been gamekeepers. The Dutch Nassauers were less reliable.
‘Have either of you been in to take a look?’ asked Macdonell. Neither of them had. ‘Then you will wish to accompany me after our inspection.’
Back inside the walls, they made their way across the yard to a narrow gate leading to the formal garden of which Wellington had spoken admiringly. Surrounded by a brick wall about seven feet high, it had been laid out in four square parterres separated by gravel paths and each planted with flowers of a different colour. Adjoining the wall by the south gate, a small kitchen garden had been planted with cabbages, onions and peas. Until that day it would have been as fine a garden as any of them had seen. Now the beds were trampled and strewn with debris and the paths covered in soil and pitted with potholes and ruts. ‘Quite a contrast to the chateau it must have been,’ Macdonell said. ‘And I fear it has little time left.’
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