06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6)

by Andrew Wareham

  Major Maartens was understandably bitter, Septimus thought.

  “Captain Forsythe, put that into a letter for my signature, to be despatched to the Duke of York at Horse Guards as a matter of urgency. I cannot have an inexperienced colonel of the only cavalry regiment in my command. It is essential that the Prince of Orange be requested to place his favourite elsewhere.”

  “There is a boat from Ostend every second day, sir. A naval despatch carrier. Two of them to maintain the service, sir. The letter will be in the Duke’s hands inside three days.”

  Septimus turned back to Major Maartens.

  “I have not the power to give the order myself, sir, but I shall do my possible to keep the boy off your back.”

  “Thank you, milord. If the Emperor returns to Paris, what will happen?”

  “War. The Austrians and Russians insist that it must be so. We are to hold the frontier and its immediate hinterland on the coast. It is believed that the French columns would march towards Brussels; our job is to make it too time-consuming for them to march up the coast on a broader front. Watch them, hold them, prevent them crossing the rivers if at all possible.”

  “It would be possible to break the banks of, say the Yser, milord. The inundations would hold them off.”

  “In process, how much farmland would be lost, Major Maartens?”

  “Too much, milord.”

  “Then it will not be done at my order, sir. I will not destroy the land to save it. I will obey orders if they come from my superiors.”

  “What if they come from mine, milord?”

  “All orders to you will pass through me, Major Maartens. You have no commander other than me.”

  “The Prince of Orange may not agree with you, milord.”

  “Then he may tell me so, in the presence of my superiors. There will be no great problem, unless, of course, I am placed under the Prince’s command.”

  “And would you obey such an order, milord, should it come to pass?”

  “Of course. I always obey orders, having first studied them carefully so that I fully understand them and all their implications. I might find it necessary to implement them in the most effective manner known to me, rather than to my superiors, but in the end, I shall do as I am told. I am a soldier, sir.”

  Major Maartens was also a professional; he could accept Septimus’ attitude.

  “What are your orders for me in the immediate future, milord?”

  “Look after your horses in the cold weather, Major Maartens. Speak to my staff regarding fodder and other needs. When it is marching time again, then familiarise yourself with the frontier and the roads north. Particularly, try to gain some idea of what garrisons exist across the French border. Be sure to note any positions where infantry could hold for a few hours or a day against superior forces marching north. We do not want a French army to march across lands for which we are responsible. I think we have all seen what happens to those lands.”

  “Milord!”

  Maartens stood and saluted, suggesting that his loyalty was safe, for the next week or two at least.

  Colonel Jansen of the Fourth Regiment of Foot stood next and made his salute, all very stiff. Septimus presumed he was the senior colonel, that the regiments would claim precedence as the British did, the lower the number, the greater the prestige. He was a young man for his rank, but displayed some weathering of his features – he had campaigned.

  “Milord! Jansen, commanding the Fourth Regiment of Foot of the Kingdom of His Dutch-Belgian Majesty.”

  The final wording of the kingdom’s titles had not been decided; the resulting compromise was clumsy.

  “I am pleased to meet you, sir. What is the strength of your regiment?”

  “Eight companies, milord, each of one hundred men establishment, between eighty and ninety actually on the roll. Two majors; eight captains and the adjutant; sixteen lieutenants; sixteen ensigns. Quartermaster and staff; Doctor and his. Regimental band. Farriers to chargers and baggage animals.”

  Forty-five officers to about seven hundred men; top-heavy, Septimus suspected, particularly as it was odds-on that the lieutenants and ensigns were no more than boys who had never marched to war.

  Enquiry disclosed that the captains had not been part of Bonaparte’s army either; the colonel had been attached to the Duke’s headquarters in Spain, as had one of the majors. The remainder had all sat in exile in England or Austria.

  “One presumes, Colonel Jansen, that the bulk of your rank and file fought for Bonaparte.”

  “Conscripts, milord, forced to follow the tyrant, their true loyalty never in doubt.”

  “I am glad to hear that, sir. The French troops in my experience had too little proficiency with their muskets. I much hope that your people will be able to fire their three volleys a minute, sir. You will be provided with powder and ball for your practice, sir. I shall be pleased to watch demonstrations of your men’s new skills when I come on inspection – at frequent intervals.”

  “Three volleys a minute, milord, as was the Duke’s demand in Spain.”

  “Just so, Colonel – we have the best to lead us and must try to keep to his standards. With five officers to each company, there will be leadership in plenty for the men. I presume all are actually present in your headquarters?”

  “Well, milord, there are one or two on furlough at any moment, as you will appreciate…”

  “I do indeed, Colonel. Those who are present – the great majority, of course at any given time – will be able to show themselves competent in the field, or at the butts at minimum, I do not doubt.”

  “The boys are generally inexperienced, milord.”

  “Naturally – one does not find an old head upon young shoulders. Such being the case, you will of course take pains to train them in their duties.”

  “They have all learned the parade ground, milord.”

  “Excellent! All that remains is to learn their duties in the field. To look smart on a parade ground is certainly a part of their function – but unfortunately, there is a strong probability that they will be at war in the next six months. They must be fit to lead their men into battle, Colonel Jansen. Must, sir!”

  “Milord!”

  Septimus smiled, wondered if he should try to look kindly upon his officers – Daddy Hill achieved such loyalty that way. Then he decided that Lord Hill was one of nature’s true gentlemen while Lord Pearce was far more of a bastard by inclination.

  “While we are talking of this matter, gentlemen, I shall demand that all of my infantry can march fifteen miles a day, with full pack and musket. You will take your men out at least three times a week, every week, rain or snow. Officers below the rank of captain to march on foot with their companies; captains and field officers to be seen on horseback. Powder and ball will be supplied so that each man can fire no less than one hundred rounds live each week. I would expect subalterns to be present at all firing exercises. The demands of war must be paramount, gentlemen. Was I you, I would reduce drill and parades to a minimum. Every man to be able to take his place in company or battalion square within two minutes, and to be able to shift from column to line inside the minute – the most necessary manoeuvres of the field, but anything more ceremonial to be ignored for the while.”

  The three colonels looked startled; this was a little too martial for their taste.

  “Let us continue, gentlemen. Thank you, Colonel Jansen.”

  Septimus looked expectantly at the next officer, noticing Major Maartens to be fighting back a grin – the old soldier triumphing over the pretty boys, he suspected.

  “Baron Burghaus, milord, Colonel of the 7th Regiment of Foot.”

  The Baron was a very young and sheltered colonel – pink in the face and dressed in a very precise and new uniform. He had never ventured out in the sun and rain of the field, Septimus was certain.

  “Welcome to the Brigade, Baron. I presume your regiment is of similar establishment to the 4th?”

  “Identic
al in establishment, milord, but many of my officers have taken furlough while we are in winter quarters.”

  “Unfortunate, sir. Bring them back. New Year celebrations are over and we must bring the regiments to full fitness ready to campaign in the spring.”

  The Baron was not at all sure that it was possible simply to order his officers to return to the colours.

  “I believe some to be visiting Paris, milord, while others have made their way to London, even to Vienna, for the winter.”

  “There will be officers who have served in the wars, Baron. If your original men are not available, then replace them, sir.”

  “But… each of my young men has been carefully selected, milord. Many are of the very best families!”

  “If you cannot present me with a fully effective battalion by month’s end, Baron, then it will become necessary to dismiss you and replace you with a fighting soldier who will do your job properly, sir.”

  “I can assure you, milord, that I have been given my regiment by His Majesty in person. A reward for my services to the Crown, milord.”

  “I expect he will give you another one, Baron. This regiment is located at the frontier and will be one of the first to face Bonaparte if – when – he returns. His Majesty will, I am certain, be more concerned that the men can fight, which they will be unable to do without officers.”

  “I shall take advice from His Majesty, milord.”

  “Do that. I shall carry out the orders given me by the Duke of York, made, I would add, in consultation with the Duke of Wellington.”

  “His Highness, the Prince of Orange has the command, I understand, milord. I shall request a ruling from him.”

  Septimus found that he did not care. The worst that could happen would be that he would be dismissed his post, sent back to England and half-pay, where he would remain, a titled and in many ways insignificant gentleman – except that no peer was wholly unimportant in England. Better to be sacked than mocked, he thought – he would not pander to a king’s favourite.

  “This is a fighting brigade, Baron, not a play-acting ceremonial guard for the Court. It is not part of a division and takes its orders from the Duke of York, or the army commander appointed at any later date. The Prince of Orange will have the choice of supporting me, fully, or sending me back to England. If Bonaparte returns, then this brigade will be one of the first to fight – and your Regiment, like it or not, will be at the forefront. If you are efficient, then you may not die. If your men are not trained, and if your officers are not reliable, then you will die. The choice is yours. If I remain, then you will work and become good soldiers. If I go, then I am sorry for the men who will not live.”

  Septimus turned to the third colonel, raised an eyebrow to him.

  “Steenkirk, milord, Chevalier, in command of the 9th Regiment of Foot; I believe you would refer to us as Light Infantry, milord.”

  “Rifles, Colonel?”

  “Unfortunately, no, milord. The Emperor did not approve of the rifle, stating it to be too slow to reload. In fact, of course, it was too costly to manufacture. Indeed, milord, it is probable that the manufacturies did not exist in France to fabricate several thousands of rifled barrels. It was only in England that such could be produced. Our voltigeurs were equipped with the infantry musket.”

  “Voltigeur battalions, Colonel? I had understood the voltigeurs to be companies, except in the Guard.”

  “The bulk of my men were of the Young Guard, milord.”

  Septimus had believed the Guard to be distinguished by personal loyalty to the emperor; he was surprised to discover them to have taken service, apparently as a unit, with a foreign country.

  “We are Flemings, milord. We would wish to remain as such. The Emperor would never have permitted us a country and a nationality of our own. I believe you may trust our loyalty, milord. You may also trust the 9th not to run, milord.”

  Steenkirk glanced at Baron Burghaus, his sneer open.

  “Should the French break the border, Colonel Steenkirk, then there will be a great need for light troops. I would envisage your Regiment to attack and break away, leading elements of the French advance into the fire of the 4th and 7th and our artillery, thus causing heavy casualties and at least to slow the French. The intention would be to drive the French away from the coast, to keep them out of the ports.”

  “To what end, milord?”

  “To extend their lines of communications, in the first instance, Colonel Steenkirk. Hopefully, our Regiment of Dragoons will be well placed then to fall upon ration and particularly ordnance convoys. The Prussians and Russians will be advancing from the northeast, and hopefully will have no occasion to reach as far as the coast of the German Ocean. I mentioned, I believe, that there will be small gain in replacing the French Empire as your masters at the price of installing Russia or Prussia in its place. His Britannic Majesty – who, after all, is my master – has no more wish to face the Russian Bear over a few miles of water than he has to see a resurgent French Empire here. A choice of evils, sir, and who is to say which would be the lesser? His Majesty – or, more strictly, of course, his government – wishes to see the Low Countries enjoying prosperity and free of foreign masters. The existing political structure must be replaced by another that is more permanent when the current Congress at Vienna shall have reached the completion of its deliberations – and what and when that will be, I do not know.”

  Septimus hoped that might be sufficiently vague, while still being hopeful. He could not afford to write off the 9th Regiment as well as the 7th. It was a certainty that Baron Burghaus would not lead a useful fighting battalion to any war. Colonel Steenkirk had the troops to take to battle, but it was a question of which side they would find themselves on – the loyalty of the Guard to the Emperor was legendary, but the pull of a Flemish nation might counteract it.

  “I shall inform my officers of your words, milord. I much suspect that they will join me in agreeing that our future may be better preserved in English hands than in Russian. They may also be persuaded that the Emperor belongs to the past. It is a certainty that France will be greatly outnumbered in a future war – and God, they say, resides with the big battalions.”

  “That, sir, is undoubtedly true. We shall have only a small brigade, of course, which means we must use it very carefully indeed, hopefully persuading the French, if they come, that we are greater than is actually the case. I will not ask you about your level of training, Colonel Steenkirk, except to make the point again that our tactics will rely far more on ball than on bayonet. Fast, straight musketry, sir, will be our salvation.”

  “Will we aim to invade France, milord?”

  “If there is a general advance, we shall join it, working our way down the coast, always within reach of the Navy. It is far easier to carry supplies by sea than on land, as you will appreciate.”

  “I appreciate much, milord. Including the number of times you have used the word ‘hopefully’. I believe you are honest. I know that Flanders will never become free under the Emperor. I think there is a risk that Russia or Prussia will use the excuse of the Emperor’s return to conquer an Empire of their own. I believe that we must hope that the British will prevail, and we must work to that end. ‘Hopefully’, something good will result from our endeavours.”

  Colonel Jansen gave brief applause; Major Maartens stood and bowed; Baron Burghaus sat on his hands.

  “What of the artillery captains, milord?”

  “Both should be here, Major Maartens. I would be obliged if you were to speak to them and suggest that they should come to me. If they do not, then we must block the roads to them so that they will not take their guns south.”

  Maartens said that he thought he might persuade them.

  “I hope you may, sir. Gentlemen, my thanks for your courtesy in attending this meeting. It is my intention to inspect your regiments in the near future, starting next Monday, in fact. In order of regimental number, so that you may know I have no favourites. Maj
or Maartens, will Monday be convenient to you?”

  Major Maartens would be happy to welcome Septimus; he suggested that ten o’clock of the morning would be a good time, so as not to interfere with the morning stables routine.

  “Excellent, Major. I shall present myself then.”

  Colonel Jansen bowed and left; Colonel Steenkirk saluted and made his farewells. Baron Burghaus remained.

  “I must inform you, Brigadier, that I shall send an immediate despatch to the Prince of Orange demanding that my regiment shall be removed from your command.”

  “That is your privilege, Baron. Should you obtain your desire, then I shall be glad to see you march away, vacating your billets for your replacements. If you remain, then, sir, I shall demand your most absolute loyalty and obedience, or I shall insist on your resignation from command. I would point out that I have been placed in this command by your king; your refusal to obey orders is little short of treason.”

  The accusation was too much for the Baron; he stamped out of the room, with neither salute nor farewell.

  A Guards colonel, a member of the personal staff of the Prince of Orange, rode in three days later.

  “Lord Pearce? I am Lord Charles Wymington, seconded to the Prince of Orange. His Highness has instructed me to discover what the problem seems to be, and to inform you that Baron Burghaus has his full confidence.”

  “How unfortunate, Lord Charles. I am certain that your military experience will have enabled you to make an accurate assessment of Baron Burghaus, and of his abilities. The most recent reports state that Bonaparte is expected in Paris inside three months, as I am sure you know. We may expect him to break the border in early summer – or so I am informed from Horse Guards; the exact date is, obviously, merest conjecture. In effect, in the next four to six months, my little command may expect to be confronting a French invasion. It is our task to persuade them not to take the coastal route north. This will involve fighting. Baron Burghaus has seen fit to disperse almost the whole of his complement of officers on extended furlough; he is unable to train his men, for having no company commanders to hand. I have ordered him to bring his regiment to an efficient state, but he has refused. I must insist that he obeys my orders.”