“Gentlemen, we should march. I believe we would be well-advised to advance at least as far as Dunkirk. We should now be seen to play our part in the pacification of France.”
They set out at dawn, passed down an empty road and through the two razed villages. The men showed angry as they saw the unnecessary devastation. Some looked inside the burned hovels and came out swearing.
“They say there are children’s bodies in some, milord.”
“That is how France makes war. It should not be how we respond, Colonel Osten.”
“It may prove impossible to stop them, milord. The men are bitterly angry.”
Septimus did not envy the colonel the task of keeping discipline in his ranks. There would be little alternative to the noose, he feared, and yet he, personally, would be most unwilling to hang men who sought what they saw as revenge on a nation of savages. The Duke had been forced to send his Spanish troops home after invading the South of France in the previous war, and Septimus feared that he would have to pull his own little brigade back to home soil after a very few days.
There were two French battalions dug into trenches outside of Dunkirk. Septimus sent a truce flag to talk with them. The colonel in command demanded to speak with him in person. Septimus advanced reluctantly, sat his horse a few yards in front of his troops, forcing the Frenchman to walk across to him. Captain Forsythe made brief introductions while Septimus remained silent, making no greeting, refusing to return bow or salute.
“The Belgians are traitors to France. I will not talk with them, Lord Pearce.”
“You are traitors to the King of France. Why should I talk to you? The criminal, Bonaparte, is running and faces a warrant for his arrest and probable execution. His army has been destroyed and its remnants are in flight. There is no other army in France. King Louis XVIII is to return from England within days. Disarm your troops and use them to police the streets of Dunkirk, or face the hangman as a traitor.”
The Frenchman tried to bargain, to lessen the humiliation.
“Will you keep your soldiers out of the town?”
“If they are forced to fight, they will sack Dunkirk. Otherwise, they will not enter the town.”
That was the best that could be hoped for. The French colonel had heard the first reports from the frontier, knew that the Grand Army that had marched out a few days before was no more.
“I request honourable terms, Lord Pearce.”
“Traitors have no honour. Pile your arms and march out, with neither flags nor drums. Officers to surrender their swords and pistols.”
“But…”
“The guns will open fire in fifteen minutes.”
The French colonel was within reason certain that his men would run at the first shot, and would probably sack the town themselves as they fled. He was a local man and could see no choice.
“There will be an immediate surrender, milord.”
“Good. March your men out of their trenches and to this spot where they will leave muskets, powder and ball and flags.”
It was a deliberate humiliation. Septimus hoped that the Dutch-Belgic regiments might vent their spite on the surrendered men, would content themselves with that mockery. He did not intend to allow them within reach of the civilian population if it could possibly be prevented.
Septimus held his brigade in the farmlands outside Dunkirk and managed to reduce their depredations upon the civilian population to less than wholesale; he was fairly certain that at least one half of the females in the farms had not been raped. The degree of hatred was such that he thought he had done well to curb his men to that extent; he had no provosts and could rely on few men from each regiment to discipline the remainder. The sole solution would be to remove the troops, and that he could not do, he was under orders to show a military presence.
Before the end of the month he received orders to surrender his brigade to an officer appointed by the House of Orange and to report to Horse Guards.
He mustered his family together, informed them they were to return to London.
“What do you intend, Mr Rowlands?”
“I am to go with you to London, sir. Once there, I shall sell out and return to Nieuwpoort, sir.”
“I hoped you might. I think you may be wise. I wish you happy. Do not forget my brother.”
For the rest Septimus hoped to be able to find them appointments from London. Provided he was in good odour, it would be possible, he thought.
He made his farewells to the brigade when his successor arrived, enduring a parade at the insistence of the three colonels.
The new brigadier, unknown to Septimus and not, it seemed, a favourite of the Prince, was very courteous and congratulated Septimus on his distinguished service. He made use of the parade to inform the colonels that each had been awarded senior decorations in recognition of the work they had done. The regimental flags would bear the names of their battles upon them, he said. He announced the promotion of Major Maartens and of the two gunner captains, and then stated that His Majesty was most appreciative of their loyalty and service to him.
“Not the Prince, my lord,” Captain Forsythe whispered.
Septimus nodded; the King of the Dutch-Belgic state, or whatever his title might finally be, was using the occasion to chastise his erring son and heir by favouring those the Prince had wished to humiliate.
They exchanged salutes and left the parade ground, waited in the offices to the rear of the barracks in Dunkirk, appropriated for the day, in order to finally hand over the command to the brigadier and his staff.
“Lord Pearce! I am to convey His Majesty’s thanks for your discretion after your meeting with the Prince. Obviously, there can be no public recognition of that particular action, my lord. His Majesty has informed Horse Guards of his great satisfaction in your service, my lord.”
Septimus made his thanks and rapidly made his way out to the horses waiting for them; the less he said, the better, it seemed. They sailed from Ostend next day.
“A shocking affair, the battle at Waterloo, Lord Pearce. There has never been the like of our losses. It is a damned good thing that the battle has ended the wars, Lord Pearce, because we would be hard pressed to put another army together after such a butcher’s bill.”
The Duke of York was much moved, unable, it seemed, to take joy in so hard-won a victory.
“We have peace, Lord Pearce, and it may be said that no price can be too high for that, but I wonder if that be truly so when I look at these figures. Do you want a command in the Army in France, Lord Pearce? There will certainly be an Army of Occupation this time. There will be no opportunity for the Bonapartist rogues to plot again.”
Septimus refused; he would not soldier again, he believed. He had done his duty in time of war, but the need now was to look to his family during the many years of peace to come.
“Well said, my lord. You must, however, purchase a house in London, for I do not propose to allow you to rest in idleness, my lord! We shall deal with that on another day, however. I believe that there is a matter of the Bath, my lord, at the insistence of the Duke of Wellington, and there may be something from the House of Orange as well – their King is very pleased with you. You will be required to make your bow before the Prince Regent. That will wait for a month or two, of course. In due time, I shall speak to you again. For now, home, my lord!”
It occurred to Septimus that he had not had time to send a letter, to warn Marianne that he had a trivial, and rapidly healing, graze across his head. He might, he suspected, be wise to make his way to the jewellers before taking a post-chaise in the morning. As well, he begged the favour of a word with the manager of the hotel, to ask advice.
“Tell me, sir, how does one go about purchasing a house in London? The Duke of York has informed me that I must do so, for I am likely to be employed in London for many a year. I, of course, do not know where one must live, or how to go about the whole process.”
The manager was pleased to assist – Lord Pearce was known to him as
a coming man. Had he been no more than a half-pay officer, he might have been unable to help, but the gentleman would undoubtedly grace the Metropolis for years to come and would host many a dinner and no doubt have guests to accommodate in a hotel.
“A lawyer, my lord, one who knows his way about Mayfair. I shall send the gentleman a note and he will be pleased to see you today, my lord.”
Septimus took the lawyer’s direction and set out to make a purchase at the royal jeweller, Rundell and Bridge. He was welcomed by name, recognised as a minor but not insignificant Public Man, in the elegant, understated shop – no great, flashy displays of gold and diamonds here – all in the best of taste.
“A coloured stone, my lord, a ruby perhaps, to celebrate the end of the wars and your assumption of a peacetime existence? One gathers that your brigade held the coast open to Britannia, my lord, though far outnumbered. An active and effective little campaign, one is told, and one of great value to the Duke.”
“The French were poorly commanded, sir. Their best men were appointed to the Grand Army and the generals in the provinces were of little distinction.”
“Of course, my lord. That might be one explanation of your success. Rather than a ruby, you might consider an emerald, perhaps, my lord? An unusual stone, and disposed of by a refugee from France, one who had fled and left his income behind. I will confess, my lord, that I found no need to pay too high a price to the gentleman, feeling that he had run rather far and fast, as one might say. As a consequence, I can offer the stone as a pendant to a favoured customer at a very reasonable consideration.”
Septimus closed at the price suggested, making no attempt to chaffer. He was, always, aware that he was of the merchants in his background – he must never, he thought, seem sharp when it came to matters of cash.
He visited the lawyer as well, came away most impressed by the gentleman’s courtesy. He had merely mentioned that he was brother to Sir George Pearce and the attorney had offered him every consideration. Septimus was not so naïve as to believe in coincidence – his merchant brother was clearly not a man to be offended, which was worth knowing. It did not occur to him that his brother had financial power, but that he was a Public Man himself now and the combination was sufficient to impress any mere solicitor. He made his way into Bond Street, returning to his family well-laden.
He went home, bearing gifts, including books for Sarah and lead soldiers for the boys and a sporting twenty-bore for Jack, who was just of an age to carry a gun out, in company with a keeper, always. Rachel was too young for books – a doll for her.
Marianne insisted that he must consult with their doctor, a very able man, she said, although located in the countryside of Micheldever rather than in Winchester where the bulk of the moneyed folk might be thought to dwell. A wound to the head must be treated with care, she said.
Doctor McDonald had a reassuring Scots name – all knew that the Scot had universities where their medical men studied. English medicos picked up their skills as mere apprentices, walking the wards of the few hospitals and accompanying established doctors on their rounds. Any man with discretion, and cash, chose to be treated by a Scot, or by one of the increasing number of Englishmen who had made their way north to achieve an education.
He examined the wound and declared it to be healing well and to need no treatment. He expected the hair along the shallow furrow to grow back white, he said, but there should otherwise be no deleterious effects. He thought to ask whether Septimus was experiencing headaches, was relieved to discover none. There was no fear, none at all, he insisted.
Marianne was most relieved – she had had a premonition – irrational, she admitted – that Septimus might die in the last flurries of the wars.
“Then, of course, the reports of Waterloo reached us before your despatch was published in the Gazette, sir. Such an honour, the Duke himself writing that your action had protected the flank and had ensured that the ‘line of communications’ stayed clear. There was some favourable comment in the newssheets, mostly, one must admit, admiring the Duke for making so sensible a choice for the command!”
Septimus laughed, said that the Duke would be pleased – he was a man not without vanity.
“A fine soldier, my love. I much doubt that I shall come to his notice again, for I am to soldier no more. I cannot wish to suffer the tedium of parades and inspections that is all that a soldier knows when the guns are no longer firing. The Duke of York has bidden me purchase a house in Town, for I shall be needed, he says – but I cannot imagine that I shall be used in a place of any eminence. Was it not for the children, I might cry off London life, but we will be able offer Sarah, Jack, George and Henry, and little Rachel, so much more for being in with the Public Men of the day.”
Septimus made the necessary visits, particularly to the Osbornes, who he noticed to be growing old – Squire must be five-and-sixty he realised. On his second day at home he stirred out to his brother’s place of business.
“Septimus – my lord, I must say – you are very welcome, brother. Is that a dressing I see behind your ear?”
“A fool with a musket, George – Sir George, that is! An assassin who sought revenge on the world for the downfall of his god, Bonaparte. I lost a little of blood and more of hair; my men caught him red-handed and he lost his life.”
“Quite right too, Septimus! We need no more of these bloody-handed emperors and their like. What is next for you, Septimus?”
“Half-pay, George. I shall go to war no more, and will not accept an appointment out of England, so it is an end to soldiering. I believe my income will suffice for a genteel existence, and I shall be used in London on occasion, I am told. I have been ordered – by the Duke of York, no less – to buy my house in Town. I think I must be able to afford it.”
George laughed, said he need have no concern for his finances.
“You wrote me a letter to say that I need have no fear for the outcome of any battle against Napoleon. I took your word as gospel, brother. I sold all of my holdings – and yours - in Consols and East India Company stock, and I waited. I sold at nearly seventy, Septimus. Rumours of defeat came to England and prices tumbled – at their lowest Consols reached forty-two. That was the point at which I bought. The true word came of victory and prices soared and I sold again. We had held nearly fifty thousand pounds in stocks, Septimus, and when I finally sold I cleared more than eighty thousand. A profit of more than thirty thousand, brother! Twelve thousand of that has been added to your accounts. You are comfortably placed, brother – more than comfortable, indeed, from that little venture alone. In addition, you will remember the man Arrowsmith?”
Septimus did, said that he would rather call him a disgusting beast than a man.
“Be that as it may, brother, he has a rich father who was grateful that his son had made major at an early age, and without purchase in recognition of his merits. He attributed all to your beneficence, as he said at length in more than one letter.”
“How kind of him, George!”
“More than that, Septimus. You will remember that I placed some money into a cotton mill and a coal mine, for wishing to have a part in the new prosperity of the North Country?”
Septimus recalled that, and his own wish to inspect the new industrial lands of the north, a world unknown to him.
“Well, to cut the story short, in his letters Mr Arrowsmith proposed that he might take my ventures under his wing – better that they should have a local eye upon them than rely on a distant owner. I agreed, and he proceeded to make them grow massively in size and profit through the issue of stocks, and then begged my permission to sell them, at the height of the boom, he said. He tells me that the end of the war will cause a slump in mines and mills, and proposes to purchase the best mills and new and almost unexploited coal seams when their price is lowest. He has pledged himself to turn my few thousands into one hundred inside five years, and to do the same for you. I put the Northern enterprises into our joint names, Septimus �
�� having grown very well-off on your back, as it were, it seemed best to me. It is fair to say that you are rich, brother – and I, of course, will be even more so!”
Septimus found himself much in favour of the idea of being wealthy. He wondered what he must do in response.
“It seems that decision will be made for you, Septimus. You have friends in high places who will undoubtedly continue to protect you. If you are lucky, they will employ you in the richer public offices! If you were to be used on the Ordnance Board, Septimus, well… they say that is worth five thousand a year in itself in inducements from the contractors!”
“Wondrous, is it not, George? I was an unpleasant youth and found myself to be good at killing people. As a result, I am now a peer and am to be a minor power in the land. Jack may become a Public Man of some importance. George and Henry will enjoy careers of their own, and will themselves be gentlemen. Sarah will, if she wishes, marry well and breed a family of aristocrats, and little Rachel will live a genteel life, however she may marry. In the end, truly, if that fat Irishman with the punt gun had not stepped in my way, and if I had not found that I enjoyed fighting and general mayhem, none of this would have come about.”
George nodded gravely and said that the wonders of Providence were unfathomable.
“Will you not miss the life of adventure, Septimus?”
“Of course I shall, George. I shall probably become a great bore in the clubs, reminiscing of old campaigns and of the men I met. I shall always, however, be buoyed up by one circumstance – I am alive and so many of the folk I recall are dead!”
“So they are, Septimus. You are now to enjoy a quiet life, while so many have no life at all. You knew General Picton, I recall. You saw that he was dead?”
“I did. He died well. A fine fighting man, despite certain flaws of character. So many fell in that damned battle, George.”
“So many did. You have heard that your friends and erstwhile subordinates, Colonel Perceval and Major Taft, both perished? Their names were in the most recent list – it has taken weeks to enumerate so many dead officers.”
06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6) Page 25
