by Shaun Parker
Suddenly he was joined by a commotion of fellow Frenchman and above the noise of battle a great shout rang out – “To the gate! To the gate!” It was sous-lieutenant Legros, he was a giant of a Frenchman and stood head and shoulders above those around him. Legros had a great presence and Armand and his friends looked up to him with great respect. Armand had always wondered why the French comrades referred to him as L’enfonceur and he was about to find out.
Legros stormed towards the gate and his comrades raised the shout and followed with a great fervor. Immediately French muskets all around him spat out their deadly gifts towards the last red coated targets at the gate. As musket balls landed several men fell, then others fell trying to stumble over the writhing bodies as they tried desperately to gain the safety of the farm. The acrid smoke from musket fire was choking and with his eyes streaming yet again Armand followed his brave companions to the gate.
The fallen guards were now a human barricade to their desperate companions and a sense of panic consumed the last of the Coldstreamers now stumbling over the bloodied corpses and the dying wounded.
Armand had about 30 or so comrades in front of him as he ran almost breathless with the throng of cheering French soldiers towards the gate. To the front hand to hand fighting broke out, red uniforms and blue uniforms fell to the ground in the desperate melee of life and death. At the last moment the great wooden doors shut and the valiant French attack floundered against the gate. Immediately the sound of British sharpshooter musket balls could be heard fizzing through the air as gasps, moans and the dull thud of lead balls finding their targets filled the air.
With a deafening yell the great Frenchman Legros showed why he was called L’enfonceur as he charged through the melee wielding a massive two handed axe. Legros buried the axe into the heavy oak doors, again and again with a wild swinging motion, heavy thuds, splinters, loud grunts, his eyes were glazed and he seemed to have the strength of a dozen men. Either side of Armand men fell to musket shot and all around him were the screams of the dying. Another musket ball tore through his tunic ripping his forearm open, then just as the searing pain shot through his body an almighty roar rang out as with one last mighty swing of the axe the gates burst open. The brave French soldiers flooded into the courtyard and Armand was carried forth among the melee, a crescendo of Vive L’empereur repeatedly rang out and a sense of euphoria swept through the Frenchmen as they fanned out into the Hougoumont courtyard with bayonets at the ready.
The drummer boy managed momentarily to steady himself and as he looked up he was filled with horror, the courtyard was lined with British soldiers, every window every wall and every obstacle had a musket at the ready. These were not just ordinary infantry but The Coldstream Guards and battle hardened with it. In one blinding flash the whole courtyard lit up and a wall of lead slew through the gallant French soldiers, a red mist of blood and tissue spewed like a huge veil in all directions and the glorious charge was stopped in its tracks.
The British guards charged into the writhing mass with bayonets and lay forth a furious melee on the remaining Frenchmen, slashing and stabbing in hand to hand combat. The sound of bones breaking from rifle butts and the piercing screams as cold steel butchered bodies was all around. Suddenly the great gates were forced shut by three British guardsmen and the fate of the gallant French was sealed.
The drummer boy stood firm with chaos all around, then two guardsmen charged at him with bayonets already bloodied from the fight, he stood there transfixed awaiting the sensation of steel entering his body. At the last second a huge axe swung over his head and into the first guardsman killing him instantly, it was L’enfonceur, he bundled the drummer boy aside and swung the axe again at the second British soldier who parried the blow with his rifle butt breaking the shaft of the mighty axe. The drummer boy could see Legros was already badly wounded but he grappled in mortal combat with the guardsman clawing, punching, biting, screaming with blood streaming from both men, matted hair and desperate wild eyes, gradually exhaustion started to win and Legros fell to his knees fighting for air.
A flash of steel glinted and Armand saw the bayonet start to enter the heaving chest of Legros, he gripped it with his immense hands, the Guardsman pushed hard screaming, still Legros held the steel from going deeper, a most desperate struggle, slowly his strength sapped, he looked into Armand’s eyes as the cold blade started its inevitable journey to his heart. One last push slid the bayonet through the giant French hands almost severing his fingers, he gasped, he died, still kneeling.
Armand cried out with anguish, a cry of hopelessness, in his voice was the lament of a brief moment of glory that was now total carnage. Armand looked around, all the French were now dead and dying and the drummer boy sat back in the bloody dirt. The red coated soldier now turned his bayonet towards him, accepting his fate he awaiting the searing pain of death when a loud Scottish voice bellowed “Spare the drummer boy!” The guardsman turned his bayonet away and the hard wooden butt swooped towards Armand’s head.
Suddenly there was a loud crack! The leg of the stool broke and he was back to his senses, no longer a drummer boy in battle but a young man revisiting the spot where his life was saved. He spent a minute gathering his senses, Armand composed himself and stood up, there was a reason he had returned to Hougoumont he wanted to honour Sous-Lieutenant Legros.
Slowly he walked back out of the courtyard and over to the edge of the wood, on his back he had a knapsack which he opened and out of it he took a small wooden box and then the head of a very large axe with about 9 inches of shaft attached. Retrieving a small key from his pocket he opened the box and removed a small parchment, after the battle he had put his life to good use and learnt to read and write. Legros had given him a chance to live life, a chance that so many others had forfeit in the melee of battle, Armand had made his mind up to live his life to the best he could.
Armand was now married he had his own family, he worked hard but there was not a day that went past where he didn’t think about that fateful day. He unfolded the parchment still confused 5 years after the battle, why did he live and so many of his friends and comrades die?
This was his tribute to Legros:
Wherever valour abounds, midst blood, tears and grief stricken sounds.
Where shot and musket ply their wares, whilst dying men whisper prayers.
Where the selfless deeds of the brave send valiant soldiers to their graves.
Indiscriminately you will live or die with no rules as to how, or when, or why.
God will decide, be it life or death, be it musket, shot or shrapnel’s breath.
There were three very large trees on the edge of the wood, most of the others were broken and scorched but these three trees stood firm though very battle scarred. At the foot of the tallest tree he dug down with the axe, then replacing the parchment he kissed the box and placed it at the bottom of the hole, he then laid the axe on top of the box and filled the hole in with his hands.
He stood for a minute or two and then stepped back, “goodbye L’enfonceur, I will remember you always”.
The sun was now very warm and Armand closed his eyes once more. His thoughts were now calm, the demons seemed to have gone, he was aware of the tranquil surroundings once more and his ears were now listening to the merry Skylarks as they spiralled on the warm breeze.
Armand turned, he looked back at Hougoumont once more and then went on his way, he never returned again.
*****
The End
I hope you enjoyed your read, this is the first of a series of stories I am writing that are all based on historical fact and of course there are historical interpretations and points of view that this story will stimulate. I always say that vigorous debate is good and especially where points of contention centre on the historical events that shaped history.
I can be contacted at [email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-4661-9503-5
Ti
tle: Return To Hougoumont
Author: Shaun Parker