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

by Andrew Wareham

“Show yourself, Major Maartens – just to discover what may be stirring among the Frogs.”

  Captain Forsythe brought news from the harbour.

  “Shipping, my lord. Two troopships, carrying a full battalion at a glance. I have yet to speak them, but assume they are bound for us.”

  “Possibly they are for Brussels, the harbour at Ostend too full for them to disembark there. It would be a courtesy to greet them, in any case. I am tired of this desk, Captain Forsythe!”

  Even a small brigade generated an unending flow of paper – returns of powder and ball expended in training, of rations consumed, of men sick, of serious disciplinary matters, of battalion animals needing replacement, of the never-ending demands for boots and uniform clothing. Even where his staff officers had dealt with the detail, Septimus must read and sign the final documents that made their way to Horse Guards, with copies to Brussels.

  “Think how much worse it will be when you are Major-General, sir.”

  “It will not be, Captain Forsythe, because I shall be on half-pay when that day inevitably arrives.”

  Promotion after lieutenant-colonel came by seniority, equally to those on half-pay as to the officers on the active list.

  “I do not doubt that you will be a member of some Board, my lord, or possibly serving the government as a Minister of State. Those who have served with distinction will continue in office of some sort, I am sure, my lord.”

  “Possibly, Captain Forsythe, but let us survive these next few weeks first. What have we in port?”

  The First Battalion of the Hampshires was disembarking when Septimus arrived, standing to attention and making much of his presence.

  “Passing through, sir, I much regret. We must be in Brussels yesterday, if not sooner! Colonel Perceval has ridden off to discover exactly where we are to report. Three days at anchor off Ostend, sir, and the port so busy we might have been there another week. We were diverted here, sir. There may be others to follow, I would imagine. Have you been at all busy, sir?”

  Major Taft seemed happy to be back to war. Septimus had thought he had taken his half-pay, in pursuit of domesticity.

  “Due to take a wife in September, sir. Pleasant enough young lady – my father’s choice, of course – good for the family and all that. I like the girl, and she seems to have no aversion for me, so it will do very well. Bit worried, you know, sir, with the missing arm and all that, thought it might put a young girl off, but she has taken it in her stride – good of her, you know, sir.”

  Septimus had a strong suspicion that Major Taft had developed an affection for his young lady; he hoped so, he liked Taft.

  “Anyway, sir. Talked with her and her Papa and my father and between us we decided that there was a good chance of a last big battle and the regiment showing well and I was not to miss that. The downfall of Bonaparte, you know, sir – much too good an affair to simply sit down in London and wait, so here I am, you might say. Almost all of the others have come in as well, sir. I see young Melksham waiting to have a word, sir.”

  Captain Melksham made his greetings, said that he had been at his father’s estate in Sussex, discovering the life of an English country gentleman when the word came that the game was up again.

  “Not like life in India, sir. Not an awful lot for me as younger son, of course. My father was very willing to put a respectable income my way, and a small house and a few acres. I shall take him up on it in a few years, I do not doubt. But the chance of another campaign, and perhaps a posting with a King’s Regiment to India afterwards… Well, sir, I shall settle down, but not for another ten years, perhaps.”

  Septimus said the appropriate words, seeing yet another young man who had enjoyed active service and could not find it in him to sit back to watch the corn grow in the timeless, monotonous, fields of Old England. He had some sympathy for the lad. He hoped Mr Melksham might find himself a lady, a family, a source of interest – for life would be very tedious for the single man.

  “I am coming to the end of my career, Mr Melksham – but I have wife and children and a warm home waiting for me…”

  “And a busy life, no doubt, sir – my lord, I should say, of course. I was very pleased to hear of that, sir. So very well deserved!”

  “Perhaps. I am pleased with the thought that my boy will become Lord Pearce in his turn. There is much to be said for watching the children grow up, you know!”

  Three more battalions passed through on consecutive days before Major Maartens returned.

  “The word is, milord, that the Emperor is marching, well inland of us. There is a division stirring on the frontier facing us, milord. They also are marching, very slowly, with a full battalion of voltigeurs, so-called, to their front. Militia, milord, who have had six weeks of training as light infantry! Still no horse of any significance. Short of guns as well, milord. The word passed to us was that the privateersmen of Dunkirk would not bring their guns ashore a second time. They are waiting the chance to sail, but there are ships of the Navy offshore, just begging them to show their noses, it seems. The best guess I can make, milord, is of nine or ten battalions of foot in the main body. They are all of them locally raised, the two battalions of veterans we saw having been sent to join the Emperor. There are many ex-soldiers in their ranks, of course, milord, but I suspect, from the whispers I heard, that they were conscripted, forced to serve, and very unwilling. The young men, the enthusiasts, have gone off to Paris; those remaining had thought to settle down at home. Given the chance, home is where they will be found.”

  Septimus was pleased by the news – ten battalions said six or seven thousand men, a goodly number on paper. Even better was that the bulk of them could be described as veterans. He sat to his desk and wrote despatches to Horse Guards and to Brussels, informing them that he was much outnumbered but intended to hold Nieuwpoort against the invaders and believed he had some prospect of success. He had the assistance of a pair of naval bombs and did not doubt they would be very useful.

  With a little of luck, the messages would reach their destinations far too late for any action to be taken. The Duke would not release any of his battalions from Brussels if Bonaparte was on the move, and Horse Guards could be expected to have nothing to spare, having sent all of their troops to the Duke. The contents of his despatches would become known in London – there were no secrets there – and so, a few days later, would the announcement of his success in holding the town, provided, that is, that he actually encompassed that achievement.

  He laughed aloud – he had profited from purest luck in the past. Now, he hoped, his last campaign would show the benefits of careful planning.

  “Major Maartens, did you see anything of a baggage train, sir?”

  “A few wagons, milord. I suspect they intend to live off the land.”

  “In June? A month and more before the harvest, just when the stock cupboards and larders are at their thinnest? They must be bloody daft, man!”

  “Poor, more like, milord. The Emperor impoverished the country – they have no money to buy anything. The army has no choice other than to steal. I suspect they are even short of gunpowder, milord, for not being able to bring it in from overseas. There is little enough of brimstone in France, milord, and saltpetre has to be picked up from the night-soil people. They cannot bring in saltpetre by the shipload as the British do from India, milord. I doubt you will find too many full cartridge-pouches in the division marching against you, milord. It will be column and bayonet rather than line and volley, I doubt not, milord.”

  “That is interesting, Major Maartens. Please to take your men out and herd every beast you can find to the north of the town. Not a goat or chicken, or even a bunny-rabbit if you can arrange it, far less pigs or cattle, to remain to feed them as they make their way towards us. The peasants may stay if they are so foolish, but suggest to them that they would be wiser far to remain with their own animals if they wish to see them again.”

  “They will not wish to move, milord. Nothing has
changed, in their minds.”

  “How very unfortunate, Major Maartens. Do not burn them out. Do not, under any circumstances, molest them or their families, but make it clear that they will not be left in possession of food that the French might steal.”

  Major Maartens took his men out and Septimus conferred with the three colonels.

  “The question, gentlemen, is whether we are to hold all three of your battalions in the town or place one or two of you out in the countryside to amuse yourselves profitably. There are arguments for both courses.”

  Colonel Jansen took the lead, laughing quietly.

  “In town, milord. My regiment has been very pleased to fight against the odds, when it has been a question of, in effect, ambushing and pulling away. In the open countryside, they would be far less happy. I doubt I would wake up in the morning commanding as many men as I did the night previous! In town, they will have walls to cover them, and will know that they can shoot and then run. I can trust them in Nieuwpoort, milord.”

  The others agreed – the open country was a little too much for their people to swallow.

  “They are still very new to the game of soldiering, milord. The young officers believe they will kill out of hand any number of Frenchmen, but the recruits who have been forced into the regiments for lack of any other occupation and the chance of eating regular meals, they are not quite such fire-eaters. They have been very pleased to have won their little skirmishes, but I suspect that in the back of every mind is the wonder whether they might enjoy a great battle equally well. They might not choose to stay to find out, milord. Given another year, and I would trust them wholly; but, while they are still green, I might wish to cosset them a little. In town will make them happier, milord.”

  Septimus was convinced; the three colonels knew their battalions – regiments, they insisted on calling them – well. The seniors were good soldiers, and they were acquainted with the mood of their men.

  “So be it, gentlemen. I had thought to place two regiments to the outskirts of Nieuwpoort, the militia immediately to their rear and the third regiment to base itself in the fish market, where it can march to any part of the town as needed. Take some pains to let the French make a lodgement in the town, gentlemen. Not too far, but sufficient to tie them down.”

  They agreed that to make sense, and left to give their orders to their own regiments.

  “Never too old to learn, Captain Forsythe. If I had given the orders to their regiments, they would have resented it. They will give exactly the same orders, and they will be perfectly acceptable. Pride is a very strange thing, I fear me.”

  “Important to them, it seems, my lord. Do we expect the French to reach this far, in truth?”

  “They must, Captain Forsythe. While their emperor marches, so must they, in case he wins. If he was to defeat the Duke, and they had lagged behind, showing their lack of faith in the Military Genius of the Age – for such he is understood to be – they might easily give the guillotine a close and personal inspection. They have no choice, but I suspect they will retreat at far greater speed than they advanced when they hear of his defeat. But, of course, we would far prefer them to surrender than to remain as a force in being, potentially offering a threat to our inevitable invasion.”

  “So we should, my lord.”

  “I think it best that the staff officers should return to your regiments, available to the colonels at all times. Mr Rowlands will, naturally, stay at the Mayor’s shoulder.”

  “I do not doubt he will, my lord. I shall not have to persuade him to obey that order.”

  Major Maartens reported that he had driven pigs, goats and cattle to the heathlands up the coast from Nieuwpoort.

  “The bulk of their owners have remained behind to work their fields, milord, but each has sent one or two of his children to protect his animals. Some of each family will survive, it would seem. I have suggested that the womenfolk would be safer at a distance from the soldiers; some of them have come into town, but not all.”

  “Sheep?”

  “Many of the peasants resemble them closely, milord, except for having less of simple sense! There are none of the actual animals hereabouts, for some reason. Perhaps the land is in some way unsuitable. Chickens, ducks and geese are in surprisingly small numbers, milord, possibly for the armies having passed through over the years. Flour is in short supply – but at this time of year, it would be. I have brought a ton or two into town and laid it up safe in a warehouse. The French will not be able to feed eight thousand men off these lands, milord.”

  “Good. That will force them to advance or retreat with some speed – they will not be able to haver and waver and make their minds up slowly. Their general has already made mistakes, and you have now given him the opportunity to make more. Where are the French now?”

  “On the border, milord, waiting. I suspect they will be given the order to advance simultaneously with the Emperor, in some hope of splitting the Duke’s defences. Perhaps they think to bring the Prince of Orange to the coast while the Duke is left close to Brussels.”

  “They must not know that the last thing the Prince is likely to do is to bring forces to my aid, Major Maartens!”

  “What do you expect the Prince to do, milord?”

  Septimus shrugged.

  “The wrong thing.”

  “He is a foolish youth, from all I hear, milord.”

  “I would agree, but I would advise you not to say so where you can be overheard, Major Maartens. I can display my contempt in safety – but you cannot, sir.”

  “Contempt, milord? How can that be? I am a loyal subject of His Dutch-Belgic Majesty!”

  “So are you all, Major, I do not doubt!”

  They waited three more days and then the patrols reported that the French had moved; they had crossed the border and announced their presence by burning the first two hamlets they had reached. There was a sudden influx of peasants, the word spreading fast that the French were butchering as they came.

  “They have forgotten nothing from Spain, it would seem, gentlemen.”

  The light infantry arrived outside Nieuwpoort next day, emboldened by the lack of opposition. They delayed outside the town for an hour while they formed into their companies, skirmish order evidently not considered appropriate, and then advanced down the flat coast road, across the waste land into the town.

  Septimus stood behind the little walls guarding the road, calling the defenders to keep low, to hide, to wait and telling the guns not to fire.

  “Wait, Captain Smit. Canister at fifty yards followed by a volley – that will give them cause to think!”

  The leading company, forty strong, the voltigeurs being a thin battalion, formed into four ranks, forced together by the ditches on either side of the road. They marched towards the low double walls that served to slow entrance and prevent a charge, bunching together and readying themselves for the fight. Two sentries appeared on the walls, as if they were the sole garrison; they saw the soldiers advancing and shouted and jumped down, as if to run away.

  The guns were in line abreast, half a furlong back from the chicane. Colonel Osten waited with the 12th immediately behind the guns.

  The French ran through the gap, shouting boldly, and reformed their lines as they discovered the guns that had been hidden from them, unable to run straight back again for the company following them blocking the road.

  “Fire, Captain Smit!”

  The five eight-pounders shot at point-blank range, forty pounds weight of two-ounce balls blasting into the French ranks. The gunners made no attempt to reload, simply grabbing hold of their guns and running them back and out of sight around the first bend in the road, into the houses of the close-packed old town.

  Colonel Osten ran his men across the road in three ranks and called them to their volleys. A minute and he shouted for bayonets and they doubled forward and cleared their killing ground. They then disappeared into the town, left the chicane undefended.

  Septimu
s, who had watched the 12th, silent and unmoving, walked back with them.

  “Very pretty, Colonel Osten! Two companies effectively destroyed and the French left at a loss for what to do next. They will not understand why we have fallen back after dealing out such punishment. Those voltigeurs will have no wish at all to follow their first two companies into that taste of hell. They will delay and clamber across the ditches and run across the fields outside the town and force their way through the gardens and houses to the road inside. The militia should be in place inside the houses on the other side of those roads, and will take a toll of the French as they appear. You will take your men back to the first set of old alleys, of course.”

  The old town was made of terraces, the houses all shoulder to shoulder and penetrated by narrow, winding lanes, easily defended. There was an outer ring of newer houses, built by the shopkeepers and small tradesmen of the town in the prosperous years, and these were to be the first battleground. Septimus suspected they would be utterly destroyed by the end of the day; he felt slightly sorry for their owners, but was far too busy to have any great concern for them.

  Captain Smit was to take his battery to the road leading from inland, from the east, in expectation that the French would make some attempt to circle round. He was to use roundshot at a distance and hopefully persuade them to go back to enter by the coast road.

  Septimus placed himself and his Headquarters Guard a road back, in the house closest to the road from the chicane, back doors wedged open and a route mapped out to take them quickly into the cover of the next road. He needed to see the French, to get a feeling of them, to discover whether they were unwilling and frightened or angry and determined. There was also a good chance that there would some senior officers leading from the front, as they properly should. He wanted to kill them if they appeared, removing the best from command.

  The new, large houses were brick-built under tile, of two storeys, with only small sash windows – presumably it was cold here, next to the German Ocean in winter. Each had a back and side garden, in most cases cultivated for vegetables. In peacetime there might be a pleasure garden, but the war and its shortages of food had made cabbages more valuable.