Lord Charles was in his early twenties, his first commission bought for him at age twelve and his promotions soon thereafter. He had never chosen to join his battalion in the field, and had come out to the Belgian provinces to enjoy an active social life in the company of the Prince, long a drinking and whoring companion, occasionally an even closer friend.
“It is not quite that easy, Lord Pearce… The Prince is commander of your Corps and will give the orders to your Division, which will insist on Baron Burghaus being left in command of his regiment.”
“No. The brigade that I have the honour to command is not part of any division or corps, Lord Charles. I have been appointed directly by the Duke of York and must report exclusively to him, or, naturally, to the officer in command of the Allied Army, should such be appointed. I much regret to offer defiance to the Prince of Orange, but he has no authority here, sir. He may choose to remove Baron Burghaus from my command, if such is his wish. I much hope, in fact, that he will do so, replacing him and his regiment with one that is fit to fight. But, if Burghaus stays, then he will be obedient to command – if he is not, I shall see him dismissed in disgrace.”
“You cannot do that, Lord Pearce! The Prince of Orange is Royalty, sir!”
“So he is. I suggest that you insist that he performs his duties to his country – which include creating an army that can fight.”
“You do not understand, Lord Pearce! The Prince is the heir to the throne and must be obeyed!”
“Not by me. I have been given this command by the Duke of York, in person. A reason for that, I am certain, was so that the Prince of Orange would not be able to interfere in the conduct of a brigade that will provide a first line of defence – and delay – should the French move up the coast. You do appreciate, Lord Charles, that if we lose command of the coast, then we lose all communications with England? We will be unable to send reinforcements to the Low Countries, except by bringing them far to the north. We will be unable to retreat, as well. Brussels, for example, would be cut off from England.”
Lord Charles fell silent – he had not considered that possibility. Deep thought brought him the solution.
“The Prince should bring his Corps to the coast, Lord Pearce. I shall recommend that he does so.”
“Then he will leave Brussels unprotected, Lord Charles. I am here with a small force because of the need for the bulk of the army to hold the routes to Brussels and north to Holland.”
“We must have more troops, Lord Pearce. Why has the government not sent more of the army to the Low Countries?”
“We are in time of peace, Lord Charles. One is given to understand that the Prince of Orange did not want British troops to be present in numbers that would imply that he was incapable of defending his native land in the event of an unlikely emergency. I further understand that he informed the Duke of Wellington that he considered himself to be the equal of Napoleon when it came to handling an army, and that he needed no foreign interference in his business.”
“His Highness is a highly skilled general of course, Lord Pearce. He has told me that on several occasions.”
Septimus made no response, being unable to guarantee that he would not laugh.
Lord Charles could not understand why Septimus had not heard of the Prince’s military genius – it was well known at his headquarters, his staff officers made frequent reference to it.
“Perhaps, Lord Charles, we might confine ourselves to consideration of the position of Baron Burghaus. He has permitted almost all of his officers to take furlough. I have made enquiries and discover that of his eight companies, only two have a captain present, and four are commanded by a green ensign and no other officer. Both of his majors are absent. The Baron himself has never seen the field of battle. The state of discipline in his battalion is deplorable; drunkenness is rife and few of the men have any understanding of their duties. The battalion is useless. I have given him four weeks to amend the situation. What do you propose, Lord Charles?”
“It is not my place to propose, as such, Lord Pearce. I must reiterate that His Highness believes Colonel Burghaus, an old friend, to be amply capable of command.”
“Colonel Burghaus will have returned to his regiment to discipline, and will have instituted an effective regime of training by the fifth of February, or I shall dismiss him from my command. I shall serve court-martial papers on him as well, on charges of wilfully jeopardising the defence of the realm. That is a capital offence, of course. I have made some investigation of military law in the Dutch-Belgic army and believe that the case might be proven against him. I am quite sure that the Duke, on hearing of the matter, would insist on the application of the full rigour of the law.”
Septimus did not specify which Duke, left that to Lord Charles’ imagination. He was quite proud of his own imagination, for that matter, but was certain that Lord Charles would have no knowledge of anything military.
Lord Charles felt that he must discuss the matter with the Prince and left Nieuwpoort hurriedly; he returned in company of the Prince at the end of the week.
Septimus made his formal salutations as the prince stepped down from his carriage, leading him inside and inspecting the gentleman with some distaste. The Prince was known in London as ‘Slender Billy’, referring to his willowy build and uneducated and shallow ignorance. He was tall, thought himself handsome, and covered up a collection of spots with a heavy layer of cosmetics that tended to smear his collar and cravat with grease.
The Prince was a young man, for a military genius, but he had accompanied the Duke of Wellington for some part of his Peninsular campaign; he had, it would seem, offered the Duke that advice which had secured his victories. He was upset that he had found it necessary to travel so far to deal with Septimus’ insubordination, said so at some length.
“Thank you for that exposition of your opinions, Your Highness. I would point out, sir, that as I am not subject to your command, I cannot be insubordinate; I am not subordinate. I will admit that the regiments that form my independent brigade belong to the Dutch-Belgic army, and may be withdrawn at any time. I trust they will be replaced by others under competent command. The Duke of York personally informed me that you, or more accurately, the King, had placed three battalions of infantry, a regiment of dragoons, and two artillery batteries at his disposal. No doubt you will wish to communicate with the Duke and your father, Your Highness.”
Septimus had been told that the Prince was at loggerheads with his father, for many reasons, not least being his ambivalent, but overactive, sexual life. The King had already paid off blackmailers and had expressed his unwillingness to do so again.
“Irrelevant, Brigadier! Baron Burghaus has my full confidence and will remain as colonel in command of the 7th, which will continue to be part of your command.”
“Excellent, Your Highness. I am glad that you confirm Baron Burghaus to be subject to my command. I shall forward his court-martial papers to you personally, Your Highness, in case of his further refusal to obey me. I will reiterate, Your Highness, that I expect his officers to be recalled to duty with immediate effect, and that he must return his regiment to discipline within the next three weeks. This is to be a fighting command, Your Highness, and will have no place for dilettante courtiers. If Baron Burghaus will not ready his command for action, then he must accept the price – I shall press for the death penalty at his court, Your Highness.”
Lord Charles intervened, seeing that his master was rapidly losing his self-control.
“Perhaps it would be better, Your Highness, for Baron Burghaus and the 7th to be transferred to Brussels. The 12th, you will remember, is to be posted out of the city and must be placed.”
The Prince, by now bright scarlet in the face, refused out of hand.
“I shall appoint Baron Burghaus as Brigadier in the place of this arrogant Englishman, Sir Charles. That will solve the problem!”
“I do not believe, Your Highness, that this Brigade is under your command. You wo
uld need to obtain the approval of the King, sir, and of the Duke of York.”
The Prince was further incensed by this disloyalty from one who was an old favourite; never renowned for his emotional stability, he fell into a screaming tantrum, kicking the furniture and swinging his fists wildly. Lord Charles edged to the door and called in members of the Prince’s train, very large junior officers who had experience of his problems and who closed around him, accepting his kicks and blows until he had calmed down.
Septimus watched in overtly supercilious amaze.
“Of course, Lord Charles, His Majesty has been known to suffer from similar problems. I understand that to be why he is locked away in Windsor Castle.”
“Lord Pearce, I beg of you… We must not make a public noise about this minor outburst.”
“But, of course not. Lord Charles. I believe Baron Burghaus is to be removed and replaced by another Regiment entirely…”
“It will be done, Lord Pearce. His Highness will need to recuperate for a while… I shall find the carriage and send the orders to take immediate effect, Lord Pearce. There will be no overwhelming need to communicate with Horse Guards, I am sure, sir.”
“None at all, Lord Charles. Royalty does tend to have these little problems – there is no need to make them public, particularly with the Republican spirit so prevalent in the Low Countries.”
Septimus was aware that he had made an enemy of Lord Charles; had he appreciated the occasional closeness of the relationship between the Prince and his colonel he might have been more tactful, but he cared very little for either man.
Captain Forsythe had remained in the background, saying nothing. The Prince had not requested that Septimus’ staff be presented, which at least meant that Forsythe’s face might not be remembered. He now stepped forward to say that the Prince’s carriage was ready for him and led the little group outside. He returned to say that they had had to lift the Prince inside, exhausted by his outburst.
“He will be your enemy, my lord. You may expect him to demand your head, I believe.”
“No doubt Lord Charles will second him. A pity that one cannot call Royalty out, Captain Forsythe – but it is not to be done.”
“He is thought to be a capable pistol shot, my lord.”
“I know that I am, Captain Forsythe.”
“I had not heard that, sir.”
“Bombay. Hopefully the story will not have spread too far. Forgotten now.”
Except that it would not be, as Forsythe would try to discover the details for himself.
Baron Burghaus rode out of the town that afternoon, leaving his regiment to follow behind him. They straggled out of their billets over three days, finally clearing the town just before the 12th marched in, very smart in their column, rigidly ordered and taking pace from their band.
They had sent a lieutenant ahead on horseback to discover their destination and saluted Septimus as he sat his horse, watching them in.
“Colonel Osten, at your command, milord.”
Short, lean, fortyish weather-beaten – the colonel looked like a soldier, Septimus thought.
“My pleasure, Colonel Osten. You have a fine looking regiment, sir. Old soldiers, the bulk of them?”
“Some of them marched to Moscow and back, milord. Not too many, of course. Most joined in ’13 and saw the last few months of the war. Walloons, the bulk of them. Just two companies of Flemings, milord. Probably loyal, milord, except they see the Emperor in person – I would not wish to guarantee them then.”
“Who would? I expect us to be busy if Bonaparte returns. Hard marching, which your men seem good for, and fast, straight volleys. Three a minute, sir – and work every day at the butts to attain that speed, or better.”
Man of Conflict Series
Book Six
Chapter Five
“Captain Smit; Captain Blankenburg! Please be seated, I am glad to see you here. I must admit that I had expected to see you yesterday in company with the other commanding officers.”
Neither man admitted to speaking English, though Septimus had been told that Smit had been taken prisoner in the first war and had spent the years from 1799 to the Peace in England.
They had brought their own translator with them, a very young ensign who found the need to introduce himself.
“Van Arents, milord. My parents fled to England, where I was born. I consider myself a Fleming, milord.”
“A man takes his nationality from his parents, Mr Van Arents, until he is of an age to make his own determination. I suspect you will one day need to make a choice between Flemish, English and French – I believe the Low Countries were declared part of France at one time.”
“Yes, milord. Captains Smit and Blankenburg felt that they were not welcome in the company of the infantry colonels especially – they being appointees of the new Kingdom. Both wish me to inform you that they are loyal to command.”
“Excellent! I had hoped that to be so. Can you tell me if one is senior to the other? I do not wish to cause unnecessary offence.”
“Captain Smit was promoted first, sir, but they have agreed to consult each other if need arises.”
Septimus wondered just what need that might be; he hoped he might not discover.
“I expect to use the batteries as horse artillery in the traditional sense, Mr Van Arents. That is to gallop forward, loose a bombardment, limber up and away again. I hope not to put them as fortress guns in a strongpoint. We may well find ourselves defending Nieuwpoort from an advancing column, our aim being to slow any invaders and drive them away from the coast roads. The captains should familiarise themselves with the town, knowing where they will stand and how they will retire from such points. It would be as well if they could identify other firing places south and west down the coast.”
Ensign Van Arents translated at length, answered some questions, listened to a brief statement from Captain Smit, turned back to Septimus.
“Your orders will be obeyed, milord. Captain Smit wishes to know whether it will be possible to supply new horses. Not all of his battery, but some of his horses are old and not so strong as they used to be. There are very few horses left in the whole of Flanders – too long at war, sir.”
“I need your guns, so must, if at all possible, provide you with your horses. One moment while I speak to my staff.”
Captain Forsythe was present – as senior he was to hand in every meeting.
“Mr Forsythe – this is one for you, I think. Establish with the two captains what horses they require, that to include riding horses for the mounted men. Set out the requisition in proper form and bring it to me for signature, and then take it to Horse Guards for me. I suspect it will be quicker for you to argue the case in person than for letters to pass between Nieuwpoort and London, repeatedly. If the need arises, speak to General Taft, who will be able to pull a string or two.”
Septimus turned back to Van Arents who had heard all, as had the two captains.
“I can make no promises, gentlemen. I do not possess the magic wand that will make the clerks in London work quickly. What can be done, will be done. I can lay my hands on powder and ball; in fact, I have already done so. There will be a ship coming into Nieuwpoort within the week, loaded with supplies from the Royal Arsenal in Paris – the sole source of ball in Gribeauval calibres. Grapeshot is more easily obtained, needs merely to be made up into its nets. It has occurred to me that you might wish to spend money here in the town to purchase such nets – a man or woman who can knot a fishing-net can do the same for an eight-pound bag of grape.”
Van Arents spoke to the pair and they quickly agreed that the local people would benefit from the business, particularly if they could set a within reason generous price.
“I do not have gold to throw away, gentlemen, but I can find a few guineas, I am certain.”
The town was poor; even a very few gold pieces would be welcome.
A new idea struck Septimus.
“Would it be possible to rais
e a militia, even a small company of men, who could assist in the defence of the town? It might be possible to pay a little, and to provide muskets and ball which could be kept in the men’s homes…”
Once kept, the guns could be lost in battle, and might then be useful in some distant future when the Flemings decided they would no longer be ruled by the Dutch. Neither party said those words; both thought them.
“Captain Smit is very certain that the proposal would be welcomed in the town, sir. The fisherfolk especially would be pleased to defend themselves. Possibly some of their women as well as the men, sir, would wish to fight for their homes and boats and livelihood.”
An appalling prospect – women had no business going to war, Septimus was convinced. Against that, no woman would wish to be taken by the French Army, as Spain had demonstrated, and it was none of his affair what the people of a foreign land chose to do.
“The militia, if I can organise it, will come under my distant command, but the officers and sergeants will be of the town, and will decide who does, or does not, join their ranks. Captain Forsythe, you will have two tasks to perform in London; you will of course point out that we need more bodies and a militia is far cheaper than an army!”
Forsythe was perfectly happy to return to London for a few weeks; he would need to spend a few days on duty, but the bulk of his time would be his own.
Septimus turned back to the artillery captains, bringing Ensign Porteous to their attention.
“Mr Porteous will act as your liaison with me; he will, no doubt, see one or the other of you most days, accompanying you on exercise sometimes and getting to know the lay of the land. He will report to me most days as well, and anything you wish to bring to my attention, without necessarily making too public a fuss, should go through him.”
06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6) Page 10
