Chasseur à Cheval (Napoleonic Horseman Book 1)

by Griff Hosker

  “No sir! We were only issued them yesterday but I have seen one fired.”

  I smiled. He assumed, because I had a horse, that I was an officer. “Robbie, will do, I am not an officer. Well make sure you don’t leave your ramrod in the barrel or this could be a short engagement.”

  “Thank you. I will remember that.” I was suddenly grateful to my father and Jean for the drills with the muskets. To me it was second nature; to poor Alan it was a nightmare.

  Pierre and I led the way. We followed our own tracks and reached it quicker than we had on our first journey. Once we reached the frozen ice I did not let Alan dismount even though the others did. I thought I could get him further across the river and save him getting cold quickly. His shoes appeared to be made from canvas. He would freeze on the river. I was pleased that there were no alarming cracks appearing as Killer, with a double load, stepped on to it. It creaked and groaned a little but there was no sign of a crack or fissure of any description. The others dropped their infantry and joined me. Lieutenant Aristide was at my side. “Why do you still have the passenger?”

  “He is only light sir and Killer has been across here before.”

  “Son, you can dismount now and join your comrades.”

  “Thank you sir, er Robbie.” The youth tried to run on the slippery ice but he lost his footing and fell flat on his face. I said nothing but I knew my expression showed the lieutenant that I still thought I had acted correctly.

  “I want every trooper to head for the ship at the front of the line. Have your muskets ready in case they decide to fight.”

  Our muskets hung from a metal clip on our saddles. As far as I knew none were loaded and I hoped that I would have enough feeling in my hands to enable me to do so if we had to fire them. As we clattered along the frozen river we heard the alarm being sounded on each of the ships as we passed. I wondered what they would do. Each ship seemed to have many cannons peering from their gun ports. I saw faces appearing along the rails and some of the crew looked to have muskets and pistols too.

  I took out my horse pistol, which was loaded, just in case. Killer’s stride had taken her ahead of the others and I saw the puff of smoke and then heard the crack as a musket was fired from the ship nearest to me. The ball struck the ice some thirty paces in front of me. I wheeled Killer around. He found it difficult to find purchase and his hooves slid a little until he regained his footing. He was soon hurtling towards the wooden wall of the huge Dutch man of war. I headed straight for the ship. I was too big a target beam on. I knew that head on I would be harder to hit. The crew who had guns kept firing at me but the smoke from their guns and the fact that I was a moving target made it hard, if not impossible, to hit me. When I was thirty yards from the ship I raised my pistol and aimed at the officer in the blue uniform who was shouting orders. I aimed at his middle. The pistol cracked and the ball struck the rail just in front of him. The effect was the same as if the ball had hit him; it kicked up splinters of wood from the rail as it gouged into the oak and drove them directly into his face. It must have been like being struck by ten arrows at once. He fell screaming to the deck and the rest of the men around him ducked down to safety.

  I suddenly felt foolish. I didn’t want to run away and so I halted and took my musket from its sling. I shouted up in French and then English. “Surrender or we will fire!”

  The crew looked at each other and I heard a hurried conversation. Amazingly, the flag on the jack staff was lowered in surrender and the crew raised their arms. Pierre rode next to me. “You are a mad little Scotsman, you know that. Look. The whole fleet is surrendering!”

  I saw the rest of the ships gradually lowering their flags. This one must have been the flagship. I don’t think that I made them surrender but I helped. The line of horsemen and infantry all levelling their muskets at the ships had the desired effect. We took the whole of the Dutch Texel fleet without a casualty! The colonel himself rode up to me and clasped my arm. “Trooper you are a true cavalryman and very brave.” He lowered his voice, “Your father would be proud of you and if he were here now he would acknowledge you as his son. For this I promote you to Brigadier. Well done Corporal Macgregor!”

  Pierre was close enough to hear and after the colonel had left to accept the formal surrender he clapped me on the back. “You have luck on your side. I am in this army for years waiting for advancement and you have been in for five minutes and yet you get promoted.”

  “Sorry!”

  “Don’t apologise. I am pleased for you. I will stay close to you in future. You can’t beat luck in a battle.”

  Rather than resting on our laurels we just waited until the rest of the army caught up with us and the brigade moved on. The commanding general praised us but I knew that he would take all the credit for the surrender. We were all buoyed by our success and the troopers of our squadron enjoyed making fun of my foolish, yet heroic act. Jean’s sudden appearance made them stop and his smile, which was rare, showed me that he approved. “What made you do it?”

  I shrugged, “I though I would be hard to hit if I moved towards them and then when I was there…”

  “You didn’t know what else to do. You are like your father. You are a natural horseman with the instincts which every great cavalryman has. I salute you and I am happy that you have been promoted. It shows that we took the right decision to join the chasseurs. Well done but remember now the men will look to you. Your youth will cut no ice with them.”

  I suddenly laughed and he looked hurt. “I am sorry sir but that is the first time I have ever heard you crack a joke and I don’t even think you know you have, ‘cut no ice.’

  He suddenly laughed. “You are as quick and clever as your mother, Robbie, and she would be proud of you. Your great grandfather was known as a brave and reckless warrior. You are taking after him and your father was not a man to back down from a fight. That is probably why he lost his life. You have chosen the right profession. Being a soldier is in your blood.”

  Our ride did not stop until we reached the sea. In one gloriously short campaign we had captured a whole country. We spent a month in Ghent while the French Government announced the new Batavian Republic. We enjoyed the joys of victory and paraded around the town in our fine new uniforms. We no longer looked like tramps. We were all heroes and we looked like heroes. The young conscripts who had ridden into battle with us were now seen as veterans and yet few of them had even fired their guns in anger. When we celebrated in the inns of Ghent we met some of them and I saw young Alan. He was so proud that he had ridden on the back of my horse. He brought the others up to speak with me and to shake my hand. I was a sort of good luck charm for them; the cavalryman who made a fleet surrender. It was as though he had helped to make the ships surrender just by being on the back of my horse. I was happy for them all. I only had a month or so more experience than they did but I knew that death was just around the corner. I had ridden into enough ambushes to know that. I just hoped that they would have some of the luck that I had. I would hate to stand in a line of men less than a hundred yards from an enemy and blast away. I preferred being on a horse where you had, at least, speed on your side. I also liked having a sword. One bad one had nearly cost me my life and I hoped that my new one would bring me better fortune.

  As spring came we were sent back to Sedan and the barracks. The conquering heroes of the Texel were being given a short rest. We were in high spirits as we headed home. We had avoided losing any more men and every trooper was far more confident. Capturing a fleet without a casualty does that to a regiment. Our fame had made the Paris newspapers and a young French General called Napoleon Bonaparte had heard of us. We were to join the Army of Italy and Pierre would get his way. We would be in the south of France where it was warm and they had wine. The days of icy patrols would be a thing of the past. “You see Robbie, you are lucky!”

  Chapter 5

  Although I was excited to be travelling to the South of France and Italy I was more than a lit
tle nervous as I thought we might be travelling close to Paris and Breteuil. Suppose someone recognised me? Pierre had come to know me well and he laughed when I told him what was bothering me.

  “You are a fool! You look like every other one of the troopers. With your shako and your uniform no one will recognise you. Do not look at anyone. The ladies love a haughty look so look aloof as you ride by. Besides you have more to worry about with your new troopers. The colonel promoted you but there will be troopers who wish to see you fall flat on your face. I know that they did when I was promoted.”

  Our newly found friend, General Bonaparte, decided to have us parade through the streets of Paris. It was my worst nightmare. I had hoped to slip through quietly and remained unobserved. Now we were lauded as the heroes of the Texel and there would be no hiding place. One benefit was that we were all issued new equipment and uniforms. The general wanted us paraded through the streets of Paris as heroes and not as tramps. The new uniform was brighter and better fitting. We received the new model shako. We received the latest musketoon and my damaged cape and dolman could be stored in my chest as a back up. That was the only bright spot. We did look smart. The uniforms were bright and bold and the sky blue trim stood out on the cuffs. I knew that within a few weeks the sky blue would have faded and run into the green of the jacket. The green would have become duller. That was a good thing as it helped to hide us when fighting in woodland. For the moment we looked as though we were brand new toy soldiers, freshly painted in a box.

  As we prepared to ride through the streets Pierre shook his head and walked over to me. He cocked his head to one side and with his hands on his hips said, “The shako should be worn at a slight angle.” He carefully adjusted it to get just the right jaunty look. “We are going for style. That is better. That is how the hero of the Texel should look.” My moustache had come on and Pierre gave the end an extra flourish. “There. You are a chasseur.” He checked that my queue and pigtails were even and clean. When satisfied he nodded. “Now check your men.”

  The troopers were all smart although I did have to make two of them adjust the saddle girths on their mounts. Some of the new recruits were not as good on horses as we would have liked. The draft had given us the best of what was left but those in authority had not deemed riding as a necessary skill! Bureaucrats! We had to spend the whole of the journey turning them into horsemen. A cavalry battle does not favour the incompetent horseman.

  Officially it was not a parade but the executions had lessened lately and the fickle crowds wanted entertainment. A parade was almost as good as seeing heads roll into a basket. The fact that we had lost so much land the year before made this victory even more special. We were directed to travel through the centre. This meant that we passed through the Place de La Revolution and the sombre sight of the guillotine. I kept my head straight so that I would not have to see it. The crowds there were huge and they were cheering fervently and patriotically as we approached in a column of twos. It made our numbers look greater. The previous year had seen France threatened and within a couple of months we were secure to the north and the east. It was nothing short of a miracle. Our horses behaved impeccably but I identified a couple of troopers in Bombardier Boucher’s section who were not sitting straight. I would have a word with them later on. A good posture was important for the horse and the trooper. I was desperate to look over my shoulder and watch my men but that would have been a grave indiscretion. The crowds were just as big at the palace where the National Guard saluted us. They too had smart uniforms but I would not like to rely on them in a battle. Pierre and Claude had told me that they were nothing more than armed thugs. They had no discipline and little intelligence. They were useful for keeping the Paris mob under control.

  I kept my head looking forwards and I was careful not to smile. My face was impassive and I hoped that no one would remember me. I fervently prayed that no-one from the inn or the stable would turn out. They would be the ones who might recognise me. Once we passed the cathedral, strangely empty, we could relax a little more. We still had the southern gate to negotiate and then we would be on the road to Nice. Annoyingly the colonel decided to halt just inside the southern gate to allow the horses to drink from the troughs there. To my horror I saw the sergeant who had allowed us to exit when Jean and I had fled Paris. I kept my head down and hidden behind Killer as I took my turn at the trough. The sergeant chose that moment to wander over and speak to me and Pierre.

  “You lads are an inspiration to us all you know that. We were worried that the Austrians and the Dutch would attack Paris.” He shook his head. “Of course we would have sent them packing but we were glad that you did such a good job. Can I shake you by the hand?” He shook Pierre’s hand and then mine. “If you ever return to Paris just ask for me Sergeant Major Desnottes. I’ll stand you a pichon of wine.”

  As we mounted and headed south I was grateful that Sergeant Major Desnottes had not recognised me. Perhaps my disguise was effective after all. The journey through the heart of France proved to be both pleasant and illuminating. It seemed to be made of tiny hamlets and villages. There was little of the Revolutionary fervour we had witnessed further north. It was almost like a holiday as the weather improved and we were feted as heroes all the way down to the warm Blue Cost of the Mediterranean.

  The new troopers who had been less than acceptable at the start of the march gradually became better as they were chivvied by all the non commissioned officers. We had plenty of time to look for flaws and we did just that. Our increased numbers meant that we had promotions. Claude was promoted to Sergeant Major and Pierre to sergeant. I was happy with my rank. In fact I thought I didn’t deserve the promotion I had received. I was just in the right place at the right time.

  Lieutenant Bartiaux rode next to me for a while as we were passing close by Avignon. “I saw that you were worried on the bridge at St Marcel. You needn’t have worried. The National Guard would not take on a chasseur, especially not the hero of Texel.”

  I shook my head, “I am not sure that I believe that.”

  “Look around you. These are the most dashing soldiers in the whole French Army and you are one of them. All the men in the Place de La Revolution would have traded places with you in an instant.”

  “You weren’t worried?”

  He shook his head, “Not I.”

  “The thing is sir. I found it hard that first day when we found those Englishmen. Until then I thought that our enemies were the Austrians. I know I didn’t have to fight the English or the Scots but I am not sure I could. They speak the same language as my mother. I know that my great grandfather hated the English but they are now the British. I keep hearing about the British. That means they are my own people.”

  “I see. Well the good news is that there are no British soldiers where we are going to in Italy and that will not be a problem. But if you think there might be a problem then you will need to think about leaving the chasseurs. You cannot let your comrades down when in action.”

  “I couldn’t leave them sir. They are like my brothers.”

  “Then you will have to resolve this little problem yourself. Although there are no British in Italy they are a little like the itch you cannot scratch. They never go away and they never know when they are beaten. France will have to fight them some day and that means that you will have to decide where your loyalty lies.”

  We reached the fortress of Antibes. It was there we were to be assembled before we began our advance into Italy. I could not believe how unbelievably beautiful the land in the south of France was. The sea was a blue which appeared to have been painted. The buildings with the white walls and terracotta roofs seemed to dance in the reflections of the sea. It was warm and there were the most wonderful smells of herbs and flowers drifting down from the mountains. The fortress of Antibes had a commanding position above the town and looked to be the most secure fort we had seen during our travels from the north.

  The only disappointment for Pierre w
as that the wine of the region was rosé and he preferred red. He was convinced we would find some. However the olives and the fish more than made up for the deficit in the wine. Claude did have a cautionary message for us. He pointed ahead to the east and the mountains which seemed to rise directly from the sea. “That is the country in which we will be fighting. It is not cavalry country. It is light infantry ambush country. Your men will be using their muskets more than their swords.”Although the others poured scorn on his ideas he was proved correct.

  Another reason for our delay in Antibes was that our general, Napoleon Bonaparte, was busy ridding Paris of the dissidents who were attempting to halt the revolution. He was gaining power by giving the crowd a whiff of grapeshot. It endeared him to the Directory and those in power. It was his first step on the ladder to the top. The colonel was ordered to provide the escort for the mercurial general when he finally reached us. Whatever the cause for the delay we did not mind.

  It was also in Antibes that I discovered just how close the British were. Frigates and sloops constantly patrolled the waters of our southern coast. They travelled in squadrons of three of four and always stayed out of range of the guns in the fort. However if any soldiers were foolish enough to be caught on the cornice then the Royal Navy vessels hurtled in to unleash a fierce bombardment. A whole company of recruits was wiped out while we were there. We had the advantage that we travelled in small groups, we wore green and the moment we saw the ships we could head inland very quickly. The infantry also learned to take cover quickly. In battle there are two types of men, the quick and the dead. If you are not quick to learn then you die.

  When the general finally arrived I was slightly disappointed. He was tiny. I had expected, from the comments about him, that he would be a giant of a man but he was small. He was also very difficult to understand as he had the accent of a Corsican which I found hard to understand. It was almost like a foreign language. Over the next couple of years either his French got better or my ear became attuned to his words for I understood him more as time went on.