Waterloo

by Andrew Swanston

  Ensign Hervey at the north gate had already sent half of his troop to the barn, while he kept watch with the remainder. ‘It will be light at four, Colonel,’ he said. ‘I intend two hours on guard and three hours rest in the barn for each man.’

  In the garden Harry had placed a man at every loophole and sent the rest to find shelter. ‘How did the meeting with Lord Saltoun go?’ he asked. ‘I looked in on the farmer’s house to make sure all was well but you had finished.’

  ‘It did not take long,’ replied Macdonell.

  ‘No, indeed. Surprising choice of claret, though.’ They must have left the empty bottles there.

  ‘Would you believe me if I told you that we found the bottles in the house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I won’t. Have you managed to build sufficient fire steps?’

  ‘Barely. We have a shortage of nails, not to mention carpenters. Some of the steps look like the bell tower in Pisa. Have you seen it?’

  ‘Never, although I know it is still standing, despite being crooked. Have faith, Harry. And don’t forget to get some rest yourself.’

  The faint sound of singing reached them from the direction of the wood. ‘There, James, can you hear them?’ asked Harry. ‘They’ve been at it for an hour. Singing away like choirboys.’

  ‘They are camped without shelter in a narrow valley beyond the wood. They’re singing to keep their spirits up. As long as they don’t keep us awake, let them sing.’

  For the first time, Macdonell realised how tired he was. Until then the need to keep going had driven him on. Now, suddenly, his eyelids were drooping and an irresistible urge to sleep took over. He found a place in the barn, kicked straw into a pile and lay down. Around him, exhausted men snored, scratched and grunted. Their colonel heard nothing. Within seconds he too was asleep.

  He was woken by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He struggled briefly back to consciousness. There was an urgent voice in his ear. ‘Colonel, General Byng is here.’ It sounded like Hervey. His eyes closed and he was asleep again. The voice was insistent. ‘Colonel, General Byng.’ With a huge effort he pushed himself up. He shook sleep from his head and stood up. Stupid oaf, he thought, I should never have allowed myself to lie down.

  ‘Where is the general?’ he croaked. Hervey passed him a canteen of water.

  ‘At the north gate, Colonel.’

  He tipped water down his throat and splashed a little on his face. It helped. ‘Brush me down, if you please, Hervey.’ Hervey used his hand to sweep straw from Macdonell’s jacket and trousers. ‘What is the time?’

  ‘Two o’clock. It will be light in two hours.’

  Byng had ridden down from the ridge and was waiting in the small yard inside the north gate. An aide was holding his horse. ‘Ah, James, getting some rest, I trust.’

  ‘I was, sir. At least here we have some cover from the rain.’

  ‘You do. Bivouacs are little use in these conditions. Our only consolation is that the French must be just as wet.’

  ‘What are their movements, General?’

  ‘They have been bringing up troops during the night. Their front line is centred on the inn at La Belle Alliance. The Duke is convinced that Buonaparte will try to take Hougoumont before launching his main attack. Reille will of course have artillery and cavalry as well as infantry. You may expect all three.’

  ‘We will be ready, General, although the orchard is vulnerable.’

  ‘I know. Saltoun will keep them out for as long as he can. Above all we must hold the farm and chateau. Take no risks. You will need every man you’ve got. Patch up the wounded and send them back to work.’

  ‘We could do with medical staff, General. We have none.’

  ‘None? An oversight, I imagine. I will find you a surgeon. Anything else?’

  ‘Nails, General, please. For the fire steps. We asked for more but they haven’t come.’

  Byng laughed. ‘That’s the first time I’ve been asked for nails. I’ll see what I can do.’ He turned to his aide. ‘Nails and medics, Thomas. Don’t forget.’

  ‘I will not forget, General.’

  ‘My artillery is in place on the hill behind us,’ went on Byng. ‘Major Bull’s howitzers will be joining us when it is light. We will do everything we can to support you.’

  ‘Thank you, General.’

  ‘It is you whom I look forward to thanking tomorrow night, James. Bonne chance.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  18th June

  Dawn was breaking and the rain, at long last, had stopped. For James Macdonell there had been no more sleep. He had spent the two hours since General Byng’s visit checking and rechecking their defences, trying to think of anything more they could do, and searching for words of encouragement for five hundred weary, miserable men.

  From the top of the tower there was a cry of ‘cavalry’. He ran through the garden gate to the wall and climbed onto a fire step. Two hundred yards away a squadron of cuirassiers, the rising sun glinting off their breastplates and helmets, had appeared from behind the wood. He watched them come closer until they were just within musket range, where they halted. A cuirassier officer took out a glass and ran his eye over the garden wall and the hedge around the orchard. ‘Hold your fire,’ shouted Macdonell. The chances of a correct shot were slim and there was no point in revealing their firing positions. The cuirassiers soon turned their mounts and cantered back to their lines.

  Harry Wyndham appeared beside James. ‘Fortunate that a box of iron nails came down in an ammunition wagon last night, James,’ he said, ‘otherwise that step would not have held your weight.’

  James stepped down. ‘Bonjour, Harry. Let us hope the general sends down a surgeon as well as the nails. How was the night?’

  ‘Uncomfortable, but quiet. Those are the first frogs we have seen today. Most of us managed a little rest. I have ordered fires. If there is any food, it would be welcome. No more of that pig, though. It was foul.’

  ‘We should get some food soon. The supply wagons are back and forth like flies.’ He looked up at the sky. It was clear. ‘No more rain, I think. Order powder and flints checked and barrels cleared.’

  ‘There will be some beyond help,’ replied Harry. ‘Their springs will be wet and useless.’

  ‘Replace them from the spares in the chateau.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Is it not Sunday, today?’

  ‘It is, James. The Duke has chosen a Sunday for his battle. And I think I shall have a shave. I might be too busy later.’

  James strode back to the chateau. The tiny red-brick chapel beside its south face could not have accommodated more than a dozen worshippers.

  He thought at first that it was completely empty. No altar, no lectern, no seat of any kind. He knelt on the stone floor with his back to the door and recited the Lord’s Prayer. He could think of no other. He longed to stay there but there was much to be done.

  He rose to leave and glanced up. The chapel was not quite empty. Above the door a wooden carving of Christ on the cross had been attached to the wall. It was almost life-size and undamaged. He bowed his head. It was a good sign.

  In the barn, in the chateau, in the houses and sheds and the stables, those who were not standing to arms were eating whatever they had – biscuit, a scrap of meat, a lump of bread – writing letters, and checking their weapons. No food or drink had arrived from the quartermaster’s stores behind the lines on the ridge. In the yards and the garden, they sat around fires, or stretched their backs and legs to rid them of the night’s stiffness. Here and there, Macdonell heard a prayer being recited. Very soon every man would be standing to arms.

  The south gate, under Henry Gooch, was closed and barricaded. A rusty iron bedstead had been wedged against the timbers. It was a single-panel gate, perhaps eight feet wide and ten feet high. The French would move heaven and earth to force it. The guards would defend it with tooth and nail and fist and foot.

  The north gates, where James Hervey commanded twenty men,
were open for the wagons still trundling down the sunken lane. As Macdonell watched, a wagon carrying medical supplies arrived. In it sat three men – a scarlet-coated surgeon and two bandsmen to act as assistants. They jumped out and presented themselves. The surgeon introduced himself as Sellers. He carried two saws, his assistants held canvas bags in which there would be a variety of probing tools, pliers, needles, thread, knives and dressings. There was a small pile of blankets in the wagon. ‘We have set aside the lower floor of the chateau and the barn to your right for the wounded,’ Macdonell told them. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘We have the tools of our trade, Colonel,’ replied Sellers, holding up a saw. ‘No opiates or spirits, I’m afraid, but the locals have donated blankets. If you have gin it would be welcome.’

  ‘If we have, it will be delivered to you. And there is a little water in the well. The Duke’s orders are to minimise casualties and to throw any man who can fire a musket back into the fray. Put them back together, sir, if you please, and send them out.’

  Sellers nodded. ‘We will, Colonel.’

  The sun had risen and the French might attack at any time. It was time to close the north gates. Macdonell gave the order and left Hervey to carry it out. Bring in the guards, bar the gates and defend them from the wall and the roofs. No French foot must be allowed to enter the yard. Open the gates only for a supply wagon or reinforcements and close them again at once.

  From the shed in the south-west corner of the enclosure came the sounds of voices raised in anger. Macdonell strode over. ‘I don’t give a bucket of shit if you have a bellyache, you foul worm. Get up and take your place on the roof.’

  ‘Have a care, Sergeant. I can hardly stand for the pain, never mind climb onto the roof.’ The voice was unmistakeable. Vindle.

  Macdonell entered. Vindle was cowering in a corner, his knees tucked up under his chin. Sergeant Dawson stood over him. ‘I’ll count to three, Private,’ bellowed the sergeant, ‘and if you are not on your feet and on the ladder by then, I will shoot you. Is that clear? One …’

  Vindle saw Macdonell in the doorway. ‘You know me, Colonel. I’m not one to shirk a fight. Tell the sergeant.’

  ‘Two …’

  ‘Do as Sergeant Dawson has told you, man, or I will shoot you too. And with a full measure of powder.’

  Dawson unslung his musket and cocked it. ‘Three.’ Vindle was on his feet in a trice and on the bottom rung of the ladder. Two seconds later he had disappeared through the hole in the roof.

  ‘Cowardice?’ asked Macdonell.

  ‘No, sir,’ replied the sergeant. ‘He’s a thief and a liar, but he’s not a coward. Probably ate too much pig. But we need every man we’ve got.’

  ‘I believe he might have tried to shoot me in the wood at Gemioncourt. Luckily the shot was weak and lodged in my pack. He denies it, of course.’

  ‘I’d better keep an eye on the evil creature, sir. If he so much as thinks of trying it again, I’ll shoot him.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Apart from bellyaches, is all well and prepared here?’

  ‘It is, sir. Mister Gooch has kept us busy most of the night. No frog will get past us.’

  ‘Where are the Grahams?’ asked Macdonell. ‘I haven’t seen them this morning.’

  ‘They asked permission to visit the chapel, sir, it being a Sunday. They will be there.’ Like himself, the Graham brothers were Catholics. They too would take comfort from the wooden carving above the door.

  The two men sitting upright on their mounts, heads steady and eyes forward, who walked slowly down from the ridge and around the outside of the orchard and the garden, appeared impervious to the enemy not many yards away. Macdonell, looking out from the tower, recognised one of them instantly. Wellington, almost casual in blue coat, white buckskin breeches, white cravat and cocked hat, had come to see Hougoumont for himself. His companion wore the uniform of a Prussian general. Macdonell did not know him.

  The two riders made their way around the hedge to the south gate, oblivious to the danger of tirailleurs or voltigeurs in the woods. In the clearing outside the gate they halted briefly before retracing their steps back up the slope. A little piqued that the Duke had not sought him out, Macdonell watched the two men go. Then it occurred to him. The Duke had not sent for him because he would not have wanted to divert attention from the preparations going on within the enclosure.

  In the orchard, Saltoun’s men were already standing to arms. At intervals of no more than five yards, clusters of Guards prepared to meet the first attack. When it came, the French would be subjected to continuous musket fire through and over the hedge. When they broke through, as they would, they would be met by the needle-sharp points of the Guards’ bayonets.

  Saltoun himself was in fine spirits. ‘Good morning, James,’ he yelled from the far end of the orchard. ‘Are you rested and ready for the day?’

  ‘Well enough, I trust. Did you see the Duke?’

  ‘I did, with General Müffling, Blücher’s liaison officer. I thought they had come to wish us a good day, but it seems not. Just taking a look.’ Saltoun pulled out a gold pocket watch. ‘It is nine o’clock. When do you suppose the first attack will come?’

  ‘When Boney’s had his breakfast and judged the ground firm enough for his cavalry, I imagine. Mind you, the longer he waits, the better the chances of the Prussians arriving.’

  From the sunken lane to their left came the sounds of rattling muskets and marching men. Through the hedge they caught glimpses of shakos hurrying down towards the north gate. ‘It seems that the peer’s visit was not merely social. He has sent us reinforcements. Just in time, I daresay,’ said Saltoun.

  The Nassauer staff officer who strode up to them saluted smartly. ‘Major Sattler, gentlemen. I have a battalion of six hundred of our men and a company of Hanoverians waiting outside the gates. We have been sent from Papelotte to take over the defence of the orchard and to reinforce the troops in the wood,’ he told them in heavily accented English. ‘Lord Saltoun is to take the light companies back to the ridge to rejoin the 1st Guards.’

  James and Alexander exchanged a look of astonishment. ‘On whose orders, sir?’ asked James.

  ‘My orders came from General d’Aubremé of our 2nd Brigade, and his from the Duke of Wellington,’ replied the major. ‘His Grace also orders that half the company of the 3rd Guards who are in the garden should be moved to defend the west side of the chateau.’

  That at least made sense. If the west side of the farm was held, the enemy would not be able to get around the chateau to attack them from the north or go on up the slope in their rear where General Byng had placed his artillery. But why would Wellington replace the experienced 1st Guards with Nassauers and Hanoverians?

  ‘Are you quite sure of this?’ asked Saltoun, his handsome face flushed with anger.

  The major looked affronted. ‘Entirely sure, sir. I am not in the habit of misunderstanding orders.’ It was absurd. Reinforcements would of course be welcome, but to send Saltoun’s companies back to the ridge after they had spent the night fortifying the orchard made no sense at all. Yet the major was adamant. He was to replace them with his own troops.

  ‘Do you have your orders in writing, Major?’ asked James.

  ‘I do not, Colonel. General d’Aubremé seldom commits his orders to paper.’

  Saltoun exploded. ‘Dammit, James, there is something amiss here. This is where we are most needed. Why would Wellington move us now?’

  ‘Doubtless the Duke has his reasons, although I am damned if I know what they are,’ replied James. ‘But if Major Sattler is certain of his orders you had better do as you are bid.’

  Saltoun swore and trudged off to give the orders. Within a few minutes two hundred disbelieving men had left their carefully prepared positions and set off through the garden gate and back to the ridge. God alone knew what they were thinking. As soon as they had gone, Major Sattler sent the Hanoverians into the wood and led his Nassauers into the or
chard, where he began placing them around the hedge. James left him to it.

  In the barn, the surgeon and his two orderlies had laid out their instruments on one table and cleared another for their work. One of the orderlies was busy sharpening the knives and saws that would be used for amputations, the other was using a nail to scrape blood off the probes and forceps they would use to extract musket balls and giving them a polish on his sleeve. Sellers patted his operating table and greeted Macdonell with a confident grin. ‘All ready, Colonel, and we’ll have them sewn up and back to work just as quick as we can. The minor wounds will take priority. Stomachs and limbs will have to wait their turn.’

  ‘Today, sir,’ replied Macdonell, ‘you will be busier than you have ever been. Have you everything you need?’

  ‘Ten more orderlies would be welcome, Colonel, but I doubt I’ll get them. We’ll manage as we are.’

  It was mid-morning. The bands of both armies had been doing their best to lift the spirits of their men for over an hour, yet still no shot had been fired. Carried on the wind from the ridge came the drums and flutes playing ‘Lilliburlero’ and ‘The Grenadiers’ March’. The bandsmen were working hard, although they would work harder tending to the wounded when the battle started. James climbed the stairs to the top of the tower again and stood at a window.

  To his right he made out the inn at La Belle Alliance and the blue of French infantry brigades on the low ridge running westwards from it. Beyond the inn, hidden by the rise of the land, there would be cavalry and Buonaparte’s fearsome artillery – rows and rows of howitzers, mortars and cannon, the largest of which could hurl a twelve-pound ball a mile.

  To the left, troops and artillery pieces were visible on the south side of the long ridge that straddled the road to Brussels and behind which most of the Allied army had spent the night. The wretches within sight of the French guns were in for a bloody time. If James’s guess was right, they would be the first to be bombarded by the guns before the cavalry charged up the hill to cut whatever was left of them to shreds. Wellington would sacrifice them to show that he was inviting battle but keeping his main force hidden and protected by the ridge. It was exactly what he had done so successfully in the peninsula and he would do it again. Buonaparte might suspect it, but there was little he could do about it unless he attacked from the flanks. That was why Hougoumont must be held.