Septimus shrugged and laughed.
“They tell me they are, my lord. One of them, the 12th, has been formed from the Young Guard, three-quarters of them Walloons, the remainder Flemings; whether they will hold – God alone knows. Too many of the officers are courtiers appointed for the skill with which they have kissed royal backsides – I have doubts of them. My dragoon major is, I think, good, but the Prince of Orange has threatened to supplant him with a colonel drawn from his favourites; if that happens, I may see all of my horse trotting over the border to serve under their old generals.”
“I shall beg him not to do so, Lord Pearce. I am also to persuade him to send you a fourth regiment of infantry, if possible.”
“Very welcome, my lord, so long as it is not the 7th under Baron Burghaus – they were withdrawn from me for being utterly incompetent. The Baron is an old friend of the Prince, it would seem – and has no other merits.”
“I would not be able to specify who he selected, I fear, Lord Pearce. Best to leave all alone. What of this militia you have mentioned to Horse Guards?”
“Local men who have heard of what happened in the towns of Spain when the French came, my lord. They have bought arms for themselves and I have lent them officers. They will do well in a trenchline, I suspect, and will fight from house to house. I would not put them into the open field.”
“They have armed themselves, you say? What happens to those arms when the war is over?”
“I have not asked, Lord Hill. I do not, sir, intend to. I would emphasize, sir, that the muskets were not supplied by Britain, nor paid for by Horse Guards. Purely an internal affair between the Dutch-Belgians, sir, and possibly between Flemings and Walloons eventually, but not our pigeon, sir!”
Daddy Hill was entertained – it was obvious that the muskets would eventually fuel a Belgian uprising.
“My word, the Prince did offend you, Lord Pearce! Ensure that it all remains none of our business, if you would be so good.”
“I know nothing of the internal politics of the Dutch-Belgic Kingdom, my lord.”
“Excellent! Can you hold the coast?”
“Not indefinitely, no. But, we can delay the French advance, possibly for weeks – and I do not believe they will have weeks to spare.”
“They will not, Lord Pearce. By the end of July, there might be as many as a million Russians to hand and the Austrians will be marching through Italy and into the south. The Emperor will have a very short space of time in which he will reasonably be able to fight us. I doubt he will choose to attack along the coast, but he might decide to cut the army off from its ships; I doubt it, I say, but it is impossible to be certain. Be ready for a hard campaign, Lord Pearce; you may not see the whole army, but I would be surprised if a division did not attempt to march northeast along the coast.”
“We will not stop them in the field, my lord, but we will delay them and can hold them in Nieuwpoort itself, if they are so very foolish as to enter the town to drive us out. If they circle round the port and simply set a holding force outside, then we will be locked in place and unable to do anything of value. If their general wants a victory, needs to defeat us, then we have him.”
“That could be a bad fight, Lord Pearce.”
High casualties and few prisoners – the worst sort of battling; Septimus nodded, said that was exactly what he was looking for.
“You are the right man for it, I do not doubt, Lord Pearce. It may be possible to discover a pair of naval bombs, inshore vessels carrying huge mortars – one-hundred pound explosive shells, they fire. They can be of use along the shoreline, but will be inside the range of horse artillery when they fire, so need exercise some caution. Tucked away in the harbour here, they could make hay along the outskirts of the town, I doubt not. There will be the normal problems if they do arrive – command!”
Septimus had never had the pleasure of cooperating with the Navy, but he had heard of the entertainment it had provided other officers.
“I would need full command of them, sir, to prevent them firing on my people. Brigadier is the equivalent of what, rear-admiral in the Navy?”
“More or less – it is impossible to give exact equivalents for ranks, particularly as the Navy has far fewer commissioned officers than the Army. A two-decker line of battle ship, for example, could have a crew of six or seven hundred and post-captain and four lieutenants as the sole commissions apart from a pair of Royal Marines officers. A dozen and more of warrant officers, I will admit, but it is not really possible to cite equivalents when the most junior lieutenant has more than a hundred men beneath him.”
“So, Lord Hill, you are really saying that the Navy makes its own decisions on who it is subordinate to.”
Daddy Hill beamed his kindest, said that was precisely the case.
“If you have a pair of bomb ketches, their captains no more than lieutenants or at most master and commander, you must still not wholly expect them to accept junior status without persuasion.”
Septimus was not entirely pleased at the prospect; the use of the great mortars – the biggest of guns commonly available outside of a fortification – would have much to recommend it, but fawning to the Navy was not quite such a desirable process. He might well need the mortars, however, must put up with the side effects.
“The ships might be useful if it came to a retreat, Lord Pearce. They could evacuate the rear guard.”
“Quite possibly, Lord Hill. I do not have it in mind to flee, however.”
“Do not die in stubborn arrogance, Lord Pearce! You are too valuable a soldier to simply throw your life away pig-headedly.”
“I do not intend to, sir – but I may be left with little choice. This is an uncertain brigade, men who will find it easier perhaps to run than to stand. They will need an example, to shame them into doing their duty. I shall spend many an hour at the front so that they can see me, I suspect.”
“Difficult, Lord Pearce – but that is, to an extent, why you were given this command. Troops are being brought back from America as quickly as they can be released. I shall do my best to ensure that some of the ships dock in Nieuwpoort. I am to have a part of the Army at Brussels, so will be enabled to give specific movement orders, but I shall have a word or two in Horse Guards later this week or next which may speed up the process. I must see Slender Billy immediately after that and try to calm the more exotic impulses of his erratic genius; he can display remarkable intellectual powers on occasion, you know, Lord Pearce. Mind you, he can be the most complete idiot at other times. He is, I fear, a mercurial sort of gentleman, but I do not doubt that he can be persuaded to see sense – quite frequently. Luckily, he has a deep respect for the Duke, and a lively fear of his anger; he will understand his own best interests, I do not doubt. A pity that he is on such bad terms with his father, who is a rational man and unable quite to comprehend his son’s nature or his occasional divagations from the more conventional habits of behaviour.”
Lord Hill was incapable of condemning the Prince as capable of gross dishonesty on occasion; he had also once or twice tried to find excuses for the behaviour of the Prince Regent – although he had more recently given up that unequal task. Septimus simply knew him to be an open, kind-hearted gentleman, and accepted that he would try to find good in any man, and thought the better of him for it.
“I shall do my absolute best, my lord, not to offend the Prince again. I shall do all I can to avoid his company, in fact, that being the simplest way of keeping on good terms with him.”
Daddy Hill laughed and shook his head.
“Lord Pearce, you are a prickly sort of fellow, you know – which is why I am glad you have this post. I much doubt that a peaceable sort such as myself would do too well here. Should you need reinforcement at any time, send your runner to me, not to the Prince. Be sure that if I can release troops to your aid, I shall.”
“My despatches will, of course, my lord, be addressed to the Prince of Orange, but their carrier will be told where to
take them.”
“Very good, Lord Pearce! With not a word said, of course, then or later.”
“Said about what, my lord?”
They laughed and parted.
A month to allow the worst of the weather to pass and Septimus called his commanding officers together and announced a field exercise for his command. They were to march to the French border and then fall back to Nieuwpoort in a series of steps, the 4th and 12th Battalions leapfrogging each other, taking it in turns to hold a line, while the 9th skirmished and nibbled at the imaginary flank companies of the oncoming invasion. The artillery was to accompany them, the batteries each holding with its assigned battalion. The horse were to patrol to the flanks, seeking targets of opportunity, preferably in the commissary trains.
“When we reach Nieuwpoort, gentlemen, we return to barracks on this occasion. When the real occasion arises, infantry will enter the town and hold, house by house, street by street. You will fight for every inch of land in the town. You may be able to keep the French out, to bog them down; you may be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. If you cannot hold, then fall back on the harbour. There will be ships there. They will take you up coast, to the next line to start the whole process again. Major Maartens and his dragoons will not enter town, of course, but will continue to work on the flanks and rear of the invaders. The artillery, gentlemen, will also avoid being trapped in the town, pulling back as far as is judged wise. You will note that very often there will be decisions for you to take. If I am in the right place when you need me, I will give the orders, but I am not capable of being in two places at once, however hard I try. You know what to do. Ensure that the junior officers and sergeants know as well.”
The exercise worked well – the men marched and manoeuvred and displayed competence in shifting from column to line to square, all as might be hoped for. They stood on the French frontier and sneered at the Customs officials there before about facing and slowly withdrawing on the coast road, crossing the many bridges of this low-lying terrain.
Septimus enquired whether any of his battalion numbered a Pioneer Company in their ranks. None did, but there was one of Major Jansen’s officers, Captain Mandelbaum, who had worked with Engineers in the last war and knew, he said, how to blow-up a bridge, especially a little one. He spoke English, saying that he had learned the language at school and had read books since, not wishing to lose it in case he was made prisoner one day.
“Big stone bridges are not easy, milord, but the smaller sort, made of wood on stone piers, are not so hard.”
“Good. When the day comes, destroy what you can, sir. Horses and foot-soldiers will still cross, no doubt, but the wagons will be delayed.”
“The French will live off the land, milord.”
“They must move well before the harvest, sir. They will not find it easy. We shall call all of the peasants to run to Nieuwpoort, carrying their larders with them and, particularly, driving in all of their animals. Pass the word of what the French did in Spain.”
“They will not wish to leave their land if the harvest is not in. They will starve over winter as a certainty if they do not work their fields. They will risk the French – many will persuade themselves that they were citizens of the Empire and will be again; they will be safe, they will say. They may be right.”
“You are not convinced they will be able to welcome a French army?”
“I am a Jew, milord. No European Jew ever welcomes an army, whatever its nationality. I am told it is different in England, but here? I joined the French army ten years ago, thinking the Emperor might make a better world – he said that Jews would be citizens like any others. It transpired that we were citizens like any other Jew. It could have been worse, but I had a good knowledge of my chance of being promoted higher than captain – none! The Low Countries became the Dutch-Belgian Kingdom, and I stayed with the army, suspecting it might be safer for me to be a soldier of the new king, rather than an ex-soldier who had refused to serve him. The new officers have made it clear that they do not like to rub shoulders with Jews in their mess; they do not like to mix with commoners, or officers from the ranks, or French-speakers rather than Flemings. One might say that the new officers like themselves only. Still, I am safer here in the army. The peasants do not have that safety.”
“Why not move to England, if you believe it might be safer for Jews?”
“To do what, milord?”
“You have a knowledge of engineering – there is a place for men with skills in the new towns of the north, the home of steam and iron and cotton and wool and mines and quarries.”
“I had not thought of that, milord… I have a few francs saved – gold coins, always valuable, whatever the name on them.”
“I will request your transfer from your battalion to my staff, Captain Mandelbaum. It will be the case that – provided we both survive the Emperor’s return – then you come back to England in my train and it will be possible perhaps to arrange your posting to a battalion in the north where you can look about you for an opportunity. I have some acquaintances in the Army and will be able to organise something, I doubt not. In return – I have my Engineer, who will obey my orders.”
Mandelbaum showed puzzled, then realised what Septimus was demanding.
“My colonel might not like the destruction of important highways, might prefer that bridges in his country remained intact, despite the needs of the British Army, milord. If I am still part of his battalion, I must obey his orders, at risk of my commission…”
He thought a little while, a very few seconds in fact, before smiling.
“I have no family, milord. They did not approve of my actions in becoming a soldier of the Emperor. There is nothing to keep me here. May I beg the honour of joining your staff, milord?”
“I am glad to welcome you, Captain Mandelbaum. Will I offend you if I say that your name will stand out in England? Could you change it, for the sake of fitting in more easily?”
“I have no family to disapprove, milord. The almond tree, is a direct translation of my name, milord. I could be Captain David Almond. Would that sound amiss, milord?”
“Not at all, Captain Almond. Have you a horse?”
“A captain of the 4th must have three, milord, all of them at least respectable in appearance. I had a little of luck during the first month of the Russian campaign in the Year Twelve, milord – being present at the taking of a large country house and laying my hands on an amount of coinage and two good riding horses from the stables. I had an even greater degree of luck when I took a musket ball in the flesh of my shoulder two days later and was sent back to the battalion depot, not so far from Rotterdam; it was not a major wound, perhaps, but it gave the then colonel an excuse to remove the Jew from his company. I spent a quiet winter, schooling my horses, purchasing a third and living genteelly in the Mess. The bulk of the battalion, of course, marched to Moscow - and perhaps one out of ten marched back again.”
“A bad campaign, Captain Almond. I experienced the retreat to Corunna – a very few weeks of similar hardship. The retreat from Moscow lasted for months, I know – a true killer.”
“I am here solely because of that lucky musket ball, milord. The surgeon who treated me recovered the ball from my shoulder. I kept it as a curiosity at first; when I found it had almost certainly saved my life I tucked it away as a valued relic, milord!”
“You were lucky, sir. Over the next weeks, I would be obliged if you would hire a groom to accompany you – he will be an orderly, paid out of my household expenses, which Horse Guards will eventually return to me, in part. Then you should ride the road along the coast to the frontier, making a note of it, discovering where a battalion could stand, where there are bridges which could usefully be destroyed, and the precise location of villages or farming hamlets that might make useful camping grounds for us, although it is a very short march. We have no maps, you see, and some kind of information on the lay of the land could be very handy indeed.”
Septi
mus could think of no more to do, no further preparations to make. If it came to battle, then he had a plan, some knowledge of the ground and a brigade that was within reason efficient. If his people stood and fought, it could be an interesting month or two; if they ran it would be a very busy week while he did his best to escape; if they turned their coats, then they would probably want to take his head with them to present to their old masters as a token of good faith – and there would be nothing he could do about that, for they would be unlikely to give him advance notice of their intentions.
Whatever happened, spring of the Year Fifteen was unlikely to be boring, he supposed.
Man of Conflict Series
Book Six
Chapter Six
“Naval cutter, my lord. Made port just long enough to deliver a pouch of despatches. Left without so much as tying up. Diverted to give us the important news, which can really only be one thing, my lord.”
Captain Forsythe sat to his desk and broke the seals on the leather bag, extracted a closed package.
“From Horse Guards, my lord – not the Admiralty. Wrapped up in sailcloth, itself sealed and addressed to your eyes, my lord.”
Captain Forsythe passed the packet across to Septimus then set to sorting through the routine communications also in the pouch.
Septimus took his penknife and cut through the tape and seals, extracted a single quarto sheet, quickly read it.
“The French king is in England, Forsythe. The Emperor entered Paris two days ago and has resumed his throne. The rumours are correct, it would seem. The declaration of outlawry has been proclaimed, which is not, to my mind, the wisest decision ever made. We are at war again. I must speak to all of the proper people, Forsythe. Orders for war to come into effect. I must write home; my lady had hoped to join me in the late spring, but that is not to be so now. First of all, a request to Major Maartens to report to me, if you would, Forsythe.”
“There may well be refugees fleeing France, Major Maartens. Offer them protection and push them up the coast road and away from the inland routes, if at all possible. Do not cross the border, unless it seems necessary to you to rescue any people being held by the French. I would have thought it too soon for the new government to have managed to close the crossings – but, if needs be, open them!”
06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6) Page 12
