by Griff Hosker
Claude nodded, happily. I knew from my conversations with the others that a trip to Paris was always worthwhile. He came over to me. “Well young Robbie, do you wish to come to Paris with me?”
I had a sudden chill. I did want to go but I was too afraid. They might still be looking for me; yet I did not want to offend Claude. Jean’s voice rescued me from my dilemma. “I am afraid that Trooper Macgregor still has paperwork to do for his enlistment. We left so quickly for the north that we did not complete it.”
“Sorry sergeant.”
“No matter. I know you will come, Pierre.”
“Of course. Do you wish anything bringing Robbie?”
I grinned. “Some wax for my new moustache?”
He laughed. “Now you are thinking like a cavalryman. It will be my pleasure.” They asked the others and soon had their money and a list of things we could not buy here.
After they had gone I sought out Jean. “Thank you for that sir.”
“I knew that it would cause a problem for you besides we do have paperwork to do. You have to be enlisted properly so that you can be paid. I was already on their books and I was just reinstated. You are new.”
The afternoon flew by and then, towards dusk, the colonel and the rest of the regiment returned. They did not look happy. The only one of my new comrades who returned was Jean-Michel. The others were either in Paris, dead or in the sick bay. He leaned over as we ate. “It is like a morgue in here.”
“What is the matter?”
“Apparently the allies have completely thrown us out of the Low Countries. We were the last Frenchmen on the wrong side of the border. All the gains we made last year have been lost. And I heard that the Royalists have landed in the Vendee. The only place still holding out is Dunkirk. If that falls then we will be surrounded.”
“Is there no good news then?”
He shrugged as he mopped up the last of his onion soup. “We are doing better in the south. There is supposed to be a good general of artillery there. I would like to serve in the south. It is warmer.”
“I am used to the cold. I lived in the north.”
“Well I come from Bordeaux and there it is warm and we have decent wine. We have to drink beer up here.” He made a face. “I hope Pierre managed to pick up some decent bottles in Paris. I cannot survive the northern winter on beer alone.”
The mood was lightened a few days later when the sergeant and his party returned with the new equipment. More importantly the troopers had spent wisely and all the items we had requested were supplied. I was really happy until Claude and Pierre drew me to one side. They looked very serious.
“What is the matter with you two? Have I done something wrong?”
“There are posters in Paris. They have the names of those the National Committee wish to question for crimes against the state. The lieutenant’s name was on the list.”
A shudder ran down my spine. “Jean?” They nodded, “Is he wanted for anything in particular?”
“No. But they are looking for someone called Robert de Breteuil. He is the son of an executed count.”
I am no actor and my face fell. Pierre nodded. “I thought that it was you. Are you the son of an aristocrat?”
“I was the illegitimate son and I was treated like a slave. I suppose that doesn’t matter to the committee.” I told them of my background and how I came to join with Jean.
“We are your comrades and your secret is safe with us. We will not betray you. You are Trooper Macgregor and you are one of us. You are the lieutenant’s friend, you had better warn him.”
“I will do and thank you.”
“It is nothing.” Pierre grinned.”It is fortunate that I changed your appearance is it not?”
“Oh yes and I shall grow the largest moustache that I can.” I realised how lucky Pierre’s intervention had been. Each time I looked in the mirror to see how my moustache was coming along it was like looking into the face of a stranger.
Jean was phlegmatic about the news. “It is a five day wonder. They will soon become bored with looking for me. Bartiaux is a common name in these parts. The Terror cannot last for ever and they will find someone else to persecute. Besides we have so many enemies that France needs every soldier it can get. They have announced that every man over the age of sixteen has been called to arms. The rabble we saw the other day is the future. That is the new French army.”
I did not have any time to worry about my prospects as we were thrown into an autumn of training new troopers and preparing to go to war. Pierre was promoted to Brigadier. It did not change things much for he liked me. The corporals were the work horses of any regiment and Pierre was popular already. Jean was also promoted to full lieutenant and Albert to captain. We did not know why until we were gathered with full kit one icy cold January morning.
The colonel sat stiffly on his horse. “Chasseurs, we are going to war again. We lost many good men last year and today we begin to avenge their deaths. We will regain the honour of the regiment. We are the spear point for the army. We are going to drive the Austrians back to Vienna.”
We all cheered, of course, but I wondered just how ready we were to fight such a huge army. It was the middle of winter and our uniforms were not the best. Would the rabble Jean had spoken of be able to stand up to the bayonets of the Austrians? We had not defeated them last year. Indeed we had not even dented their numbers. The British, the Dutch and the Hanoverians all had huge armies to call upon and the Royal Navy could supply any British army on the continent. I did not feel confident.
Chapter 4
The army was all moving north and we were the eyes and ears of that army. The Austrians must have thought that no-one would be insane enough to fight in the depths of winter when the rivers were frozen solid and you could see your breath freezing before you but it was a master stroke. We crossed the border, one foggy morning, without being seen. We slipped across like burglars entering a house. Our scouts were successful and Jean-Michel took us to a crossroads where we found four Austrian soldiers huddled around a brazier. They barely looked up as we approached. The cold was so severe that our uniforms looked white with the hoar frost. They smiled as we clattered towards them. As soon as we spoke they realised their mistake for we were not the Austrian cavalry they had thought and they meekly surrendered. They were the sentries for a squadron of cavalry. The colonel brought the rest of the regiment up. We surrounded the camp and, with muskets at the ready captured the whole camp of sleeping Austrians. It sounds simple and it was. The thing about a camp of cavalry is that they rely on their sentries. It was so cold that they were all huddled beneath blankets and greatcoats. When we appeared at their tents with muskets pointed at them they had little choice but to surrender. Our guns might not have much of a range but they would have made a mess of ten men sleeping in a tent. We took the surrender of over two hundred Austrian horsemen. I could not believe how easy it was. We escorted them back to the army the next day but not until those of the troopers who had less than perfect equipment had taken it from the Austrians. They could not object as they were under our muskets when it was done. The officers took the swords and I wished, just for a moment, that I was an officer for I so wanted a good blade. We were all in good spirits as most of us had taken money and other equipment from the well equipped squadron. I managed to get some coins and a good working knife which I found useful when cleaning Killer’s hooves.
I found out on the next patrol that not all Austrians were as placid as the ones we had met. Sergeant Alain led a patrol of ten of us as we pushed towards the Texel River. All rivers are important in war but this one was even more important as the Dutch Fleet was sheltering there. We were so keen to get to it first that we rode headfirst into an ambush. The company of light infantrymen we encountered were hunkered down in a farmhouse. They must have been about to march down the road for they heard us as we clattered along the cobbles. There were some of the men lined up in front of the farmhouse in the farmyard as we suddenly a
ppeared. They tried to fire as soon as we hove into view but it turned out to be a ragged volley from the twenty men who loosed their muskets. That saved our lives. Even though the balls were badly fired we were so close to them that three men fell from their saddles and I saw Claude clutch at his arm.
Pierre suddenly shouted, “Charge them, they have not fitted bayonets!” Once you had fired your musket the only defence for an infantryman was his bayonet and these had failed to fit them. I could understand that, they were so long and heavy that they made aiming a gun almost impossible. Lady Luck was on our side again.
We whirled our horses and charged them. There were only seven of us but the horses we rode made us look more intimidating. We do not ride small horses and we towered over the tiny light infantrymen. I slashed down with my sabre at the nearest soldier . The Austrian tried to deflect the blade with his musket but he merely succeeded in directing the edge of my sabre into his neck. My blade jarred in my hand as it struck his skull. I felt the vibrations right up to my shoulder. Killer trampled another soldier who tried to roll beneath the horse. It was a foolish thing to do and I suspect they had not faced cavalry before. His death was mercifully swift.
The action was so fast and furious that I found it difficult to react to all that was going on. A tall officer raced towards me, his sword raised to strike either at my horse or me, I had no idea which. I dropped my right shoulder to enable me to lean to one side of Killer and make a more difficult target for his long sword. It also helped me to lean forwards and to use my longer arms to my advantage. The officer was committed to his stroke. It slashed through fresh air where my head had been and I thrust my blade forward to stab him in the neck. As I jerked forwards I felt his blade slicing through my cape as it continued on its downward, dying swing; luckily it snagged on the metal chain which held the cape around my neck. As I withdrew the sabre I saw that it was covered in his life blood.
I was in no mood to stop and I charged the next soldier. He had obviously emptied his musket and without a bayonet fitted was defenceless. He held his musket like a club and swung it at me, trying to knock me from my horse. The poor quality of my blade was shown when the stock of the musket shattered my sabre in two. I threw the half I held at him like a knife. Spinning through the air it stuck grotesquely in his cheek and he fell to the floor screaming. I grabbed my pistol and fired at the infantryman next to him who was levelling his musket to fire at me. He was leaning against the farmhouse wall and when he saw the pistol rising he turned to climb through the window and escape. My ball struck him in the top of the leg and he crashed through the window spoiling the aim of the men within. The soldiers in the farmhouse now began to fire at us. Although it was still a ragged volley they might hit us and we had done enough. I heard Claude yell, “Fall back!” and I gratefully obeyed the order.
As I wheeled Killer around and headed away from the farmhouse I saw the dead officer I had just killed. His body lay at an unnatural angle. His sword was still in his hand held there by a cord. I remembered what Pierre had said about officer’s swords and I stopped. I leapt from Killer and, despite the balls buzzing around my head, tugged it from his dead hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” Pierre’s voice was incredulous.
“I am just getting a new sword, Brigadier!” As I lifted my head a flurry of musket balls, sounding like a swarm of wasps, filled the space where my head had been. “Come on Killer. We have outstayed our welcome.” I laid flat against his back as we galloped away. That was the day I realised that the only danger from musket balls is when there is a regiment firing at you and even then you have to be ridiculously close to be in danger of getting wounded. My horse and I left without a scratch despite the attention of every musketeer in the farmhouse.
We halted some way down the road to dress Claude’s arm and to assess the damage to our patrol. We had lost four troopers. As we were dressing his arm the sergeant said, “We were lucky to get out of there alive. Well done corporal, that charge saved the day.”
Pierre laughed and slapped me on the back, “What about our mad Scotsman; he stops in the middle of a battle to get a sword.”
“Well I had to, mine was broken!” It sounded pathetic even as I said it.
They all burst out laughing at that. “Here let me see that blade.” Pierre knew swords. I looked at the weapon for the first time as I handed it over. It was longer and straighter than the sabre I had been using. “Phew! This is from Toledo. You have got a superb weapon. Do you want to sell it?”
“No thank you. At least this one won’t break.” All the way back Pierre kept offering me more and more money for the sword. He was normally parsimonious which made the blade even more valuable in my eyes.
When we reached the colonel with our news we found he had with him the colonel of a newly formed French infantry regiment. The infantry officer looked to be little older than I was.“We are to form a flying brigade with this regiment of foot who have just arrived from Paris. It is a pity they weren’t with you today. They might have lessened your losses.”
On closer inspection I could see that the young colonel of the infantry regiment was older than I had first thought, possibly a little older than Pierre. He nodded vigorously. “My men are desperate to get to grips with these enemies of France. Together we will write a glorious chapter in the history of our new young country.” He was obviously an idealist.
The colonel was too much of a gentleman to comment and he just nodded. “Sergeant, get that wound seen to. We will be riding first thing in the morning so make sure you are fully prepared.”
Jean was also impressed by my sword. “Some of these Austrian officers have Spanish connections, you are very lucky to have acquired such a good sword. This will give you a greater chance of survival than using that piece of tin they equipped us with. I suspect that we will not be fighting the Austrians much longer. We heard today that they are pulling their troops out to defend the Rhine. Our armies are doing slightly better there. We are going to take on the Dutch.”
I knew nothing about the Dutch or the Belgians and I asked Pierre about them. The corporal was dismissive. “They are not real nations or soldiers; they are like a mongrel with little bits of many little countries. They will not stand when we charge. Trust me on this.”
I was not convinced. We left camp the following morning and we formed two lines alongside the infantry who trotted between our horses. It gave them protection. If we found the enemy and had to move out quickly they would grab the stirrups of the nearest chasseur. I noticed that they were all young men and most looked to be my age. I had little experience but these appeared to have none at all. They were the conscripted youth of France. I knew then that things must be desperate to throw them into the fray so quickly. They had patently had little training; you could see that by the clumsy way they held their weapons and their confusion when given even the simplest of orders. I had yet to see infantry fight. I had been on the receiving end of Austrian muskets but I did not know how our young warriors would do. I knew that they were patriotic but would that make up for a lack of training?
Jean’s voice rang out in the crisply cold morning air, “Brigadier Boucher, take Macgregor and find the river. We need to find somewhere safe to cross.”
We kicked on, pleased to be let off the leash. Travelling at the speed of marching men is no fun. The air that morning was so cold that we could see our breath and that of our horses but we soon warmed up as we galloped across the flat, monotonous landscape. One advantage of the Low Countries is that they are flat and largely featureless. The only features are the rivers and canals. In winter the water is normally frozen which means there are no obstacles to a good horseman. I suddenly spied pennants in the distance “Look Pierre, masts. The river must be close by!”
We slowed down and we made towards the forests of masts which appeared to rise mysteriously from the mist shrouded river. When we saw the flags at the stern of a huge three decker we knew we had found the Dutch fleet. “Now
Robbie, we just need to find a crossing place.” He peered along the river looking for a sign of a ford or a bridge.
Killer walked to the edge and I could see that the river was frozen. “Why not go across the ice?”
He laughed. “You can try it. I am not risking a soaking.”
It looked thick enough and I dismounted to lead Killer across. It felt firm enough. There was neither ominous creaking nor cracking. I walked twenty yards across and then risked mounting Killer. The ice held; it was thick enough and safe enough. “It seems able to take me and my horse.” I pointed to the ships. “The ships look to be trapped by the ice. They aren’t going anywhere soon.”
“Then let’s report to the colonel.”
The journey back was quicker as we knew the way back and also realised that we had no time to waste. The enemy had left the fleet unprotected and we could do some damage to them.
“The Dutch fleet?”
“Yes sir.”
“ You have found them close by? And the river is frozen?”
“Yes sir, Trooper Macgregor rode out on the ice and it showed no signs of cracking. It is very cold out there.”
The colonel might be the oldest soldier I had met so far but he had the sharp mind of a youngster. “Colonel, assign one man from your regiment to each trooper. They can ride on the back of the horses until we get to the Dutch fleet. We can get a large number of men there much quicker. Let us try to capture these ships.”
A young nervous conscript called Alan hoisted himself behind me. He smelled of sour ale and damp breeches but he was game enough. “Are you on?”
He nodded, “Ready to fight for France sir.”
He clung on grimly as we trotted across the frozen ground. I was pleased that he was light. I noticed that he held his musket awkwardly, almost as though he had only just been given the weapon. “Have you ever fired your weapon before?”