Chasseur à Cheval (Napoleonic Horseman Book 1)

by Griff Hosker

  The colonel and our captain were delighted to find they had an English speaker in the regiment. Rather than making me a figure of suspicion, as I would have expected, it gave me a status I was not used to. On the estate I had been little more than a serf but in this new French Army I was held in some esteem. I liked the experience.

  Once the news was sent back to the general the whole regiment was ordered south west towards Charleroi. It was vital that we find the bulk of the enemy. We were assigned the area to the west of the town. We divided into troops once more but this time we were less than a mile from any of our comrades. We could summon aid if it was needed. It was our troop who, once again, found the enemy. This time it was not the British we found but a column of Austrian infantry protected by cavalry. Their white uniforms were a little less than smart after tramping along the sodden roads of the Low Countries but they marched with purpose. We came upon them suddenly. They were coming along one road as we crossed theirs from a minor track. The difference was, this time it was we who were outnumbered.

  Jean roared, “Fall back! Retreat!

  I saw the musketeers quickly loading their weapons but they were not the main danger. Before we could turn our horses the Austrian Light Dragoons thundered into us. I managed to draw my sabre just as an Austrian tried to split my head open. I desperately blocked his thrust with my sword. Unfortunately the poor metal bent alarmingly. Killer suddenly turned to try to bite the grey horse of my opponent. As the horseman struggled to control his horse I hacked at him with my sabre. I felt it bite into the flesh of his arm before grinding into the bone. He screamed as the sword fell from his hand. I managed to wheel Killer around and found myself next to Jean who was fighting against two horsemen. I jabbed forwards with my sword and it sank into the back of one of his opponents. It pierced his back and dark blood began to stain the grey and white jacket. He threw his arms in the air and then fell dead to the ground. I had killed my first enemy. It would not be my last. As Jean finished off his adversary he turned and saluted me with his sword. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  As we turned, three Austrians barrelled towards us. Louis and Pierre had seen off their opponents and came to our aid. I parried the sword of one trooper as Pierre speared him. The officer who was fighting Louis brought his sword down with a crash. It shattered Louis’ sword in two and split his face open to his skull. He did not even have time to scream. He just crumpled to the ground. Jean whipped out his pistol and fired at almost point blank range. The officer fell in a bloody heap to the ground.

  The three of us were the only living Frenchmen in the lane and the death of the officer halted the leaderless dragoons. We urged our mounts forward and soon outdistanced the pursuing Austrians. The lane was filled with rider less horses and wounded men. We left many of our comrades there in that unnamed crossroads close to Charleroi.

  We halted a mile down the road. The trumpeter was dead and we had no way of sounding recall. The men gradually joined us one by one. Many were sporting wounds. As our horses recovered we counted our losses. Eight men were missing. I knew there were at least five dead in the lane, including my tent mate Louis, the others were probably with him. Many of our men had wounds but the sergeant and Pierre were, like me, unscathed. As I discovered, the blades we used could catch a face, hand or arm easily and cuts were common in the cavalry. The difference was those wounds did not kill, they just scarred and many cavalrymen enjoyed a scar on the face as a mark of their bravery. I preferred to avoid wounds altogether.

  Jean shouted, “Load your pistols. If they come again we may have to discourage them.”

  As we did so Pierre shook his head. “We were lucky then Robbie. That was a full squadron we faced. If we had been in open country we would have been slaughtered. The Austrians have good cavalry. We were helped by the narrow lane and the fact that we have some good soldiers who can fight. You did well there especially as it was your first combat.”

  “I didn’t even think when I killed them. I was just fighting for my life and defending myself.”

  “That is war. It is rare to be able to chase men who cannot fight back. The ones we meet will be just as keen to live as we are.”

  Just then we heard one of our trumpets sounding recall to the east. Jean nodded, “Well some of our boys are there. Let’s join them.”

  Half an hour later we found Lieutenant Aristide and the remnants of his troop. He gave Jean a rueful smile as we approached. “I see you met horsemen too. The Austrians?”

  “The Austrians. We lost eight men.”

  “We lost five.” He looked around. “I think the front line has moved. God knows where the rest of the regiment is.”

  “How about we head south? Even if we come across the enemy they will be heading in the same direction so we will probably strike their baggage train first.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” He turned to the rest of us. “Keep your weapons primed and your ears open. We may not have time for orders. You see a white uniform then shoot first and ask questions later.”

  I had yet to use my horse pistol and I had no idea what effect it would have. I knew that once I had used it then it would be useless and I would have to rely on my sword again. The range of the pistol would be ridiculously short although the ball was so big that if it struck it could make a hole big enough to put your fist in. Jean suddenly shouted, “Robbie and Pierre, the two of you ride a quarter of a mile ahead of us. You both have young eyes and ears. Perhaps you can give us some early warning.”

  We kicked on and soon the column was out of sight. I knew it made sense to only risk two troopers but I felt sick to my stomach as we headed down the lonely little lane. I did not want to end as Louis had with my head split open or cut in two by a musket.

  It was a dismal day; it was not raining but it felt as though it was and the air was heavy with damp. The trees were not moving at all in the still air. I wondered if my mind and hearing was playing tricks. I thought I heard a whinny. I was about to ignore it when Killer’s ears flicked and he snorted. “Stop!”

  Pierre stopped his horse too and we listened. Then we heard the sound of men marching. We gingerly moved forwards as slowly as we dared. The road rose a little ahead of us and hid the rest of the highway. I dismounted and edged my way up to the crest of the road. I crouched and kept as low as I could. I wanted to avoid being seen. There, just ahead of me, was the baggage train of the Austrian army and a squadron of dragoons guarding it. I turned and mounted. “The Austrian Army.”

  Pierre turned too and we rode swiftly back down the road towards the rest of the troop. “Sir, the whole of the Austrian army is just ahead.”

  I don’t know what had alerted them but two of the dragoons who had been guarding the baggage train suddenly appeared, like wraiths, at the top of the road we had just vacated. They ineffectively popped their guns at us. “We will have to go across country. Head east!” Lieutenant Aristide pointed with his sword and we headed for the open gate. The field had had some sort of crop in it and was uneven but it was safer than the Austrian filled road. The gunfire had brought the rest of the dragoons and they were trying to reach us. The hedgerows were not tall as they had been coppiced ready for winter and Killer leapt over them easily. He was a powerful horse and took everything in his stride. I saw one of Lieutenant Aristide’s men take a tumble but we had no time to recover any lost men. If you fell you were either dead or doomed to be a prisoner.

  Pierre and I were at the fore still and I began to think that we would escape when eight dragoons suddenly emerged from some woods to our right. They had obviously taken a short cut. I grabbed my pistol and fired. Pierre did the same. We hit nothing but the sudden crack and smoke made the Austrian horses veer away from their line. I holstered my pistol and took out my sabre. Two of the troopers were clinging on to their mounts which had been frightened. I slashed wildly at the first man who came close to me and managed to strike him across the face. The blade ripped across his nose and barely missed his eyes. He reac
ted by jerking his reins and his mount away from the danger.

  “Robbie! Ride left!”

  As I turned left the rest of the troop fired their pistols and the dragoons halted as the pistol balls headed their way. Killer cleared the wall easily and I followed Pierre and the others. It started to become dark and we were forced to slow down. Our horses had galloped almost all day. Jean had been at the rear and he told us that we were no longer pursued.

  “We need somewhere to rest. The horses can go no further.” Lieutenant Aristide pointed to two of his troopers. “Find us a deserted building.” As the two men rode off he turned to me and Pierre. “You did well there and that was bravely done.”

  Jean nodded his approval too. “Even if we do find somewhere to rest where will we go in the morning? The rest of the regiment could be anywhere.”

  “True but we were the furthest west of the troops. We were closer to the coast and that is where the enemy will have larger numbers. It may be that they did not find the enemy and they are safe.”

  I wondered at that. I was new to the art of war but there appeared to be a large number of the enemy behind what we had thought was our lines. Our army was marching north and yet the British, the Dutch and Austrians were to the west of our army. I had thought that war would be simple but obviously it was not. If we were the eyes of the army then we were in trouble for we had no idea where the enemy was. What hope for the barefoot recruits who would have to stand up to this disciplined and well trained army?

  One of the scouts returned and saluted. “Lieutenant, there is a barn over the hill and the farmhouse is burnt out. We should be safe there.”

  When we found the barn and saw the burnt building I wondered which army had destroyed the livelihood of the farmers. This was the border country and the existence of the civilian population could not be guaranteed. Anyone of five armies could have decided to fire upon the house. We set pickets up and the lieutenant sent men to forage for food. I did not have high hopes as the house was almost destroyed and was now a mere blackened shell. However, when they returned, we discovered that they had been successful.

  The six men had four chickens and a shako full of eggs. They were laughing. “Whoever set fire to the farm forgot to round up the chickens. They flew to the trees and carried on laying! We eat well tonight.” I quickly learned that the older soldiers were past masters at finding food in the most unlikely of spots. It was a skill I acquired over the next few months. Rations and pay were in short supply at this period of the war. The chicken cooked over an open fire and a mass omelette made in a kettle, we found, augmented our dried meat well and we slept better than we might have hoped.

  The next day was foggy. That helped us and put us in danger at the same time. It would be harder to see us but the fog would muffle sounds and make it hard for us to identify potential enemies. Sergeant Alain led us. Pierre confided in me that Claude had the sharpest ears in the regiment and an almost sixth sense of where the enemy was. We were fresher, after food and a good night’s sleep, as we headed east. When the fog began to lift we started to recognise the land through which we had travelled a few days earlier. We started to relax and then we all heard the whinny of a horse and our nervous hands went to our weapons. It was with some relief that we heard Claude shout. “It is the regiment. We have found the rest of the troopers.”

  The colonel looked worried as he trotted over to greet us. “When you did not return we feared the worst.”

  The lieutenant pointed to the west. “There is an Austrian army heading south. They have artillery, cavalry and a large baggage train. We barely escaped with our lives.”

  The colonel might have been the oldest man in the regiment but he was decisive. “Captain Roux, break camp. We must find the general.”

  The rest of the regiment had not suffered any casualties and the colonel insisted that we be spared any more losses. “Lieutenant Aristide, take your men and head back to the barracks. The general said that we had some new recruits who would be arriving soon. They are the new draft.. It looks like we will need them.”

  I felt cheated and disappointed. We had done nothing but run from the enemy. If it had not been for the capture of the single English cavalryman it would have all been a total disaster. Now we were running home with our tails between our legs. It did not bode well for my career in the cavalry. Would my father be disappointed in me? Probably.

  The journey back was not without incident. We were travelling through the country patrolled by Hanoverians and Brunswickers. These allies of the British were almost professional troops and, as we discovered, were not to be underestimated. We emerged from a tree lined lane and heard the crack of muskets followed by the boom of cannon. To our left were a battalion of infantry and a battery of cannons on a low hill. The cannon balls cracked through the trees beyond us, the smoke from their barrels spiralling smoke rings into the sky.

  Albert yelled, “Ride, before they load with grape shot!”

  I had heard of grape shot. It was a shell filled with small metal balls. We were lucky they had not loaded with them already. If they had then we would already be dead. The muskets were too far away to be effective but the cannons could fire for a mile or more. We kicked hard. The next crack we heard was followed by a rippling like the sound of paper being torn. They had used grape shot. The hedges disappeared in a metal filled storm which cut the two troopers at the back in two. Then the road dropped and turned to a hollow and we were beyond the death dealing guns. Even Pierre was shaken by the losses. The enemy were less than three hours from our barracks and our home. I could not see the recruits from the road stopping them.

  The barracks seemed oddly deserted as we rode through the gates. The skeleton staff we had left behind was nowhere to be seen. As Pierre said, “They would have taken the opportunity to slope off and earn a little extra money on the side. They would not have expected us back so soon.” Many of the older troopers who were unfit for active duty continued to work in ancillary roles. If there were not soldiers in the barracks then they would take part time jobs to make more money for drink. It was the old soldiers’ Nemesis. The adjutant was an old drunk who rarely left his office. He had been in the regiment almost as long as the colonel but he had just enjoyed the life of an officer rather than the life of a soldier. Too indolent to leave with the other officers he had drowned his sorrows in a bottle. He was largely ignored by the rest of us. With the adjutant incapacitated it was Lieutenant Aristide who was in command. His recent promotion had not taken away his need for order and we were soon given a series of tasks. Pierre and I were given the job of sharpening the swords and bayonets. It was mind numbingly boring but in light of our last skirmish one not to be taken lightly.

  Pierre tapped the sword he was sharpening. “These are very poor quality. Every time I use mine I half expect it to shatter.”

  “You are right. You feel every vibration right up your arm. I saw poor Louis’ shattered in two when that Austrians struck it. Does no one have a decent blade?”

  “The officers buy their own if they can afford it. It is a good investment but they are not cheap. A decent one can set you back six months’ pay.” I thought about the money in my money belt and wondered if it was worth spending it to get a good sword. “Your best bet is to get one from a dead enemy officer on the battle field. The Austrians have some good ones.”

  “What about the British and the Dutch?”

  He shrugged, “Those ones we met the other week were the first ones I have seen. I think they only came over to help their Dutch allies. They should be good though. They still have aristos in England don’t they? They must have the money to buy a good sword.”

  As we were working Pierre suddenly stopped and looked at me. “Do you mind if I say something about your appearance?”

  I wondered what he was going to say. He sounded quite serious. “Of course. Is there something wrong?”

  “Well your hair and your face. If you look at the rest of us we all have a fine moustach
e and our hair is in pigtails with a queue. It marks us as light cavalrymen. We have élan and we have style. I am afraid that you look like a country bumpkin.” He gave an apologetic grin, “No offence meant.”

  My face must have fallen for he laughed. “I am sorry it…”

  He waved his arm airily. “I can sort this out in a moment.” He placed the last sword in the rack and wiped his hands on a cloth. “We have finished here. Come to the barber shop. He is not there at the moment and I will use his equipment.”

  I had never been shaved by someone else before and my mother had always cut my hair. Since she had died I had just let it grow. I knew that it was untidy but I rarely looked in a mirror so what difference did it make? By the time he had finished my hair looked much tidier and the pigtails and queue made me look more like all the other troopers. I did not have much of a moustache as I had been shaving regularly but the last few days campaigning meant that I did have a little growth on my top lip and it was the start of my moustache.

  “Now you need to decide how it will look. Will you twist the end? Perhaps make it droop. It is your decision but you must choose for yourself. While it grows you can look around the regiment and find whose you admire.” Pierre’s had a flourish at each end and his beard was pointed. It did look dashing.

  “I will, Pierre, and thank you.”

  “We are now comrades and we have fought together. That makes us brothers.”

  The lieutenant had organised a rough meal at noon. As we ate he singled out Sergeant Alain. “Sergeant, take four men and a wagon and go to the depot in Paris. There should be uniforms for the new draft we are expecting.” He shrugged, “Although if those recruits we saw the other day are anything to go by you may come back empty handed.”