Waterloo

by Andrew Swanston

  ‘Someone has more love for the garden than the house,’ agreed Hervey. ‘Perhaps the gardener still lives in the house over the gate.’

  Gooch laughed. ‘Then let us hope he has retired to somewhere safer.’

  Men scurried about fetching and carrying ammunition boxes and lengths of timber. Some were using their bayonets to fashion loopholes in the walls. Others hammered at loose bricks with the butts of their muskets. The timber they were hammering into makeshift fire steps set against the walls. James Graham had found a long wooden bench, which he was heaving into position at the far end of the garden. They walked over to him. ‘Corporal Graham, how goes the work?’ asked Macdonell.

  Graham put down the bench and stretched his back. ‘There is much to do, Colonel. We could do with some engineers with picks and hammers. And we haven’t enough nails for the steps.’

  ‘I will see what I can do. Meanwhile search the barns and sheds. Tear them apart if you have to.’

  Beyond the garden wall was an orchard, reached by another narrow door. In the orchard Lord Saltoun’s light companies were doing what they could to reinforce the hedge that ran round it. They had felled some of the fruit trees and were using them to plug holes. Alexander Fraser, Lord Saltoun, although only thirty, had already seen service in Spain and France, had a reputation for fearlessness and had caught the eye of the Duke. That, no doubt, was why he had been chosen to lead the defence of the orchard. He saw Macdonell and put down the axe with which he was felling an apple tree. ‘James, I am pleased to see you in one piece. What is your strength?’ Saltoun was not a man to waste words.

  ‘Two hundred and sixty,’ replied Macdonell. ‘And yours?’

  ‘About the same. Not enough to hold this position for long. The hedge is too patchy to be much use and they will attack in force. I propose that we hold on as long as we can and then withdraw into the lane or the garden. We might be able to defend the garden wall.’ There was a crack of thunder above their heads. ‘Heaven’s artillery or French cannon?’

  ‘The former, I trust. The orchard is yours, Alexander. I will command the house and garden. Between us we must keep the frogs out. The Duke insists.’

  ‘In that case, we certainly must.’

  There was a yell of warning from the far end of the orchard. ‘Frenchies. In the field.’

  ‘Infantry or cavalry?’ called Saltoun.

  ‘Infantry, Colonel.’

  ‘If you can see them, shoot them.’ They ran between the apple trees to the hedge where a line of men had poked their muskets through the branches and were firing on the enemy who had taken shelter behind the chestnut trees that dotted the fields beyond.

  A corporal who was reloading turned to speak to them. ‘Only a small patrol, sir. And a bit smaller now. Two or three down.’ There was a short burst of firing from the field, then silence. ‘Emptied their muskets and gone, I think, sir.’

  ‘Good. Keep a close watch in case they return uninvited,’ replied Saltoun.

  ‘A look at the other entrances and then we will explore the woods,’ said Macdonell, striding back to the farm.

  The west gate, set beside the barn, was no more than a door – easily barricaded and defended. ‘Whatever you can find to reinforce it and a small troup nearby,’ he ordered.

  The north gate, through which wagons were still arriving from the ridge, was a different matter. It was sturdy enough and unlikely to be struck by round shot or shell fired over the farm and chateau, but not impregnable. And it would have to be kept open or at least opened to allow men and wagons to enter. ‘Twenty men here, if you please, Mister Gooch, and timber ready to reinforce the gate if necessary.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Gooch.

  ‘May I command this position, Colonel?’ asked Hervey.

  ‘Why would you wish to do that, Mister Hervey?’

  ‘A feeling, sir, that this gate will prove vital.’

  ‘In that case, Mister Hervey, you may indeed command the position.’ Macdonell turned to Gooch. ‘And lest I am accused of being less than even-handed, Mister Gooch, you will command the south gate. Sergeant Dawson will be with you. The corporals will assist Mister Hervey. Is there anything else you can think of, gentlemen?’

  ‘We will have men in the tower and the chateau, at all the gates and around the walls and the orchard. We shall be spread thin, Colonel,’ replied Hervey.

  ‘We shall. There is little I can do about it.’

  ‘Wounded in the chateau and the barn, Colonel,’ said Gooch, ‘but we have no medical staff.’

  ‘We will make do until we get some.’ Sergeant Dawson was still supervising the unloading of supply wagons. ‘May I borrow your musket, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘We are taking a look in the woods while there is still enough light to see our noses.’

  The sergeant handed Macdonell his musket. ‘Take care, Colonel, you will be needed tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall, Sergeant. Come on, gentlemen, and kindly remember that Nassauers wear green. In this light, green and blue are easily confused. Be careful at what you take aim.’

  They left the farm by the open north gate, walked around the west side and entered the wood from the clearing outside the south gate, where hay had been stacked for the animals. The trees were mostly young oak – not dense – and evening light still penetrated the canopy. As he had in the wood outside Gemioncourt, Macdonell immediately felt uneasy. He took several deep breaths and ordered himself not to be foolish. It was only a wood, not an African jungle full of wild beasts.

  The wood sloped away from the chateau. They made their way cautiously down towards sporadic musket fire coming from deeper within the wood, until they saw the backs of green jackets crouching and kneeling behind trees. They could just make out the green plume and orange sash of a Jäger officer, his sword drawn, standing on a fallen tree. He was peering into the gloom and directing the fire of his troops. Macdonell called out to him. ‘Captain, we are from the light companies of the British 2nd Brigade. We are coming up behind you.’

  The captain turned and acknowledged them. ‘As well you warned us, Colonel,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My men are nervous in here.’

  ‘As are we, Captain. What is your situation?’

  ‘We hold the wood but for the extreme southern edge. The French are camped in a shallow valley beyond and are keeping us at bay with musket fire. I sent a small troop to reconnoitre from the east. They report that the French have been receiving reinforcements and have brought up artillery.’ It was not difficult to guess what the artillery would be firing at.

  ‘I fear it will be a wet and miserable night for you and your men, Captain. We must hold the woods until the morning. Then we will see what the enemy’s plans are.’

  ‘I understand, Colonel. Wet and miserable is the lot of the Jäger. We are quite used to it.’ He held out a hand to Macdonell. ‘May tomorrow bring us glory.’

  ‘I will settle for victory, Captain, glorious or not. Until tomorrow.’

  So the woods were probably safe until dawn. But then the French would throw men into them and the Jägers and Nassauers would be forced to withdraw or they would need reinforcements. And unless General Cooke was willing to provide reinforcements, there would be none. The chateau and farm were thinly enough defended as it was.

  Harry was waiting for them at the south gate. ‘Relieved to see you, Colonel,’ he greeted them, ‘and you, gentlemen. How did you find the woods?’

  ‘Unpleasant, thank you, Captain, but in good hands for now. Has any food been sent down?’

  ‘Not yet, although we have a barrel of gin and the bits we foraged. And there is a pig in the barn.’

  ‘So it’s pork for supper and a cup of gin all round. Mister Gooch, see to the pig, if you please. Sergeant Dawson is handy with a butcher’s knife. A piece for every man to go with the food Captain Wyndham managed to acquire for us. Mister Hervey, kindly take over from the sergeant. We may expect wagons to be coming and going most of the night. Captain Wyndham and I will make another
inspection.’

  ‘How will they do, James, do you think?’ asked Harry when the ensigns had gone.

  ‘Well enough, although this is likely to be the hardest fighting any of us have seen. The French are in a valley beyond the wood with artillery coming up. We will be bombarded and attacked on three sides. Only the west wall is anywhere near secure. And I gather that Buonaparte’s brother Jérôme commands them. He will doubtless get all the men he asks for.’

  They started with the farm buildings. The high points on the roofs of the cowshed and farmer’s house had been made ready. Tiles had been removed and holes made for access. A man lying on his stomach on the cowshed would have a clear view of the area outside the north gate while being protected by the pitch of the roof. Men on the farmer’s house would get some protection from the gable end and would be able to cover the garden. It was the same on the south side where the roofs of the gardener’s house, the small stable and the shed adjoining it were being made ready. Stacks of muskets and boxes of ammunition had been placed inside the windows, and loopholes made in the brickwork. ‘Good work, Harry,’ said Macdonell. ‘The question is, will it be enough?’

  And there was still much to do. The garden was the best part of a hundred yards long and fifty wide. A loophole every five yards on three sides meant fifty loopholes, each one of which had to be hammered out of the brick. There was enough timber to build fire steps, but a dearth of nails. ‘Have you looked in the store and the sheds?’ asked Macdonell.

  ‘We have. We found very little of use.’

  Macdonell grunted. To lose Hougoumont for want of nails would be absurd. Not that it was likely to come to that. Round shot and shells from the French artillery on the other side of the wood would be their biggest worry. They would have to rely on General Byng’s cannon and Major Bull’s howitzers to protect them from those. ‘Let us see how Colonel Saltoun is faring.’

  In the orchard, the light companies of the 1st Brigade were also struggling. The hedge still looked a hopelessly feeble obstacle against attacking infantry. A good cavalry horse might even jump it. Saltoun clearly thought so too. ‘For God’s sake, man,’ he bellowed at a soldier working on the hedge, ‘that wouldn’t stop my old mother. Get some timber into the hole.’

  The wretched man looked up from his task. His face and uniform were caked in grime and mud and he was barely able to speak from exhaustion. ‘Haven’t got any, sir,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Then go and find a dead frog and shove him in there. There are two or three in the field.’ The soldier shambled off. ‘About turn, Private. I was jesting. But for the love of God make a better job of it. There will be timber in the farm buildings. Go and get it.’ He saw James. ‘Thankfully there is a ditch on the other side of the hedge. Without it we wouldn’t last ten minutes.’

  It was nearly dark and the rain had started again. James took off his shako and looked to the heavens. ‘Will it never stop?’

  ‘Never. If Nelson were alive, Wellington would send for him at once. It is ships we’ll need, not horses.’

  ‘You know Harry Wyndham, of course, my captain?’

  ‘I do, and pleased to have you with us, Captain.’

  ‘I trust you will be able to say the same at this time tomorrow, My Lord.’

  ‘Hah. Well spoken, Captain. How goes the work at the farm?’

  ‘Well enough,’ replied Macdonell.

  ‘Good. In that case, James, I propose that we meet in the farmer’s house at ten. There are matters to discuss.’

  ‘Very well. Ten o’clock.’

  In addition to supply wagons arriving at the north gate, a succession of officers had begun appearing, having ridden down the sunken lane from the ridge. They too knew that Hougoumont would hold the key to the battle and wanted to see for themselves how well defended it would be. Most offered a few words of encouragement and did not stay long. Being nearer to the French lines than their own made them nervous. A tiresome captain of Hussars insisted on riding around the entire perimeter and giving his opinion, loudly, on what should be done to improve their chances of keeping the French out. Very politely James suggested that he might like to dismount and lend a hand. The captain was soon gone.

  It was dark when Francis Hepburn appeared. ‘Francis,’ exclaimed James, ‘I had almost forgotten you. They said you were at the hospital. Are you wounded?’

  Francis looked sheepish. ‘No, no, unhurt. I merely thought to check on the medical arrangements. Every house in Mont St Jean is ready to take casualties and there is a hospital in Waterloo.’

  ‘You were a long time. Is everything in order there?’

  ‘Oh, yes, quite in order.’

  ‘Then why so long? I was concerned.’

  ‘Dammit, James. Can a man not be allowed a little privacy? If you must know, Daisy is in the village helping the surgeons. They are dealing with the wounded from yesterday. She travelled down from Enghien and arrived this morning. Clever girl managed to get a message to me.’

  ‘I should have guessed. Brave and devoted. I do hope she knows what she has let herself in for.’

  ‘Do any of us know, James?’

  ‘Perhaps not. Now do inspect the premises if you wish.’

  ‘I shall. Then I must return to my post. God be with you, James.’

  ‘And with us all.’

  Saltoun was waiting in the empty farmhouse, which had been stripped of its doors and furniture. There was neither table nor chair, nor even an upturned crate, but except where rain dripped through the hole made in the roof, at least it was dry. Laid out on a blanket on the floor were two bottles of claret, a loaf of bread and a small cut of beef. ‘I thought we would eat while we talk, James,’ said Saltoun. ‘I daresay you are hungry.’

  ‘Ravenous. As are my men. Fortunately, Wyndham acquired a little food from a trader and we found a pig in the cowshed.’

  Saltoun cut a slice of beef with his bayonet and passed it to Macdonell. ‘Try that, James. No glasses, I fear. We’ll have to drink from the bottle.’

  The beef was good and the wine better. ‘Excellent, Alexander,’ he said, raising his bottle in salute, ‘but I must be about my business very soon.’

  ‘Of course. And tomorrow will either of us be alive to finish our meal, I wonder? I am not entirely sure whether Wellington really thinks we can hold out or whether we are merely a diversion intended to lure troops away from the French centre. Either way, even with the Hanoverians and Nassauers we are no more than eight hundred or so.’

  ‘We are outnumbered everywhere, Alexander. The Duke will send reinforcements if he can spare them. He expects Blücher’s Prussians to arrive sometime tomorrow. Our task is to hold Hougoumont until they do.’

  Saltoun tipped wine into his mouth. ‘To do that, some of us must stay alive. That is what will be difficult. The orchard is our weakest spot. I will hold it only as long as we are not in danger of being wiped out. There is no point in sacrificing men unnecessarily for the sake of it. We will withdraw when we have to.’

  ‘I agree. As long as we hold the garden and the house and farm, the frogs will not be able to attack the Duke’s right flank. That is his main concern.’

  For a while they were silent, each alone with his own thoughts. Suddenly, Saltoun jumped up. ‘Frogs, always the frogs. Ever since the Normans arrived, it’s been the frogs. Now and again we fight the Spanish or the Dutch, even the American rebels or ourselves, but it doesn’t last long. We always go back to the frogs, damn them. Why?’

  ‘I am but a humble soldier, Alexander,’ replied James with a smile. ‘Such questions are for politicians. Now, if you would excuse me, I must be gone. We will be using the large barn for the wounded. There is dry straw in there. I am hoping for a surgeon and an assistant or two. Send your wounded there.’

  ‘Thank you, James. Until tomorrow.’

  Despite the rain a fire had been lit in the yard over which the pig was being cooked on a makeshift spit. While Sergeant Dawson kept a line of hungry soldiers at bay, the Grahams w
ere hacking chunks off the beast. Two men were fighting over a scrap of meat that had fallen on the ground. One of them was the weasel-faced Patrick Luke. Another was complaining loudly that he had been given only a bit of pig’s head, barely cooked and foul-smelling. ‘If you had waited until the bloody thing was cooked,’ yelled the sergeant, ‘it would have tasted a sight better.’ He was ignored. The aroma of roasting meat was too much for men who had eaten almost nothing for two days. They stuffed whatever they could get into their mouths and tried to swallow it whole. Some retched and coughed their prize into the dirt, others managed to wash it down with a cup of water or gin. Macdonell, who had enjoyed several slices of well-cooked beef, could not help feeling a little guilty.

  ‘It’s a full-grown pig,’ he told Dawson. ‘Enough to go round, and do not forget the guards in the orchard.’

  In the chateau, the men stationed at the windows were sitting with their backs to the wall, leaving just one to keep watch. They had seen nothing outside the south gate or in the wood. It was the same in the tower, where Private Lester was playing a tune on a child’s whistle while his comrades sat or lay on the floor. Macdonell told them to send a man down to fetch their share of the pig and to get what rest they could.

  Inside the south gate, Ensign Gooch’s troop was standing to arms, ready to act if a warning came from the gardener’s house above it. They had used thick timbers as props for the gate. ‘Have them rest in the house, Mister Gooch,’ Macdonell ordered. ‘As much rest as possible for every man. Including yourself.’