As he plunged into the Bois de Sars on his right, Daniel first came upon the reinforcements sent from the Allied centre by Orkney. A glance at their uniforms and facings told him that he was looking at a battalion of the Second Guards and one of the Royal Scots. They were being pounded by the guns in the French redoubts but fought back gallantly. To their right, at last starting to make a significant advance, were General Lottum’s battalions. Beyond them were Schulenburg’s forces, also making some headway. The wood was a deafening echo chamber, trees crashing to the ground as they were struck by stray cannon shot, musket balls whizzing in all directions and sparks flying as bayonets met each other over the parapets. Daniel rode as hard as he could in such hazardous conditions but his mission was doomed. Before he got anywhere near Lottum, Daniel’s horse was shot from under him and went down with its body riddled with musket balls and its legs splayed helplessly. Daniel was thrown violently to the ground, rolling over until his head struck the trunk of a tree with an awesome thud and sent blood cascading down his face.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘It would be madness,’ argued Janssen. ‘There’s no point in it, Nick.’
‘There’s every point,’ insisted Geel. ‘I hate to see Miss Amalia suffering.’
‘It was a bad dream, that’s all. My daughter will get over it.’
‘I want to go. It will soothe her mind.’
‘It’s more likely to trouble it,’ said Pienaar. ‘She’s already worried enough about Captain Rawson. If you go haring off to Flanders, Miss Amalia will have your safety to fret over as well.’
‘Besides,’ Janssen pointed out, ‘you’re no horseman. How can you expect to ride all that way on your own? It’s lunacy. If there is bad news about Captain Rawson, it would already be on its way to us. His Grace would surely inform us of the details in his own hand.’
‘I must go,’ said Geel, smarting with frustration. ‘Don’t you see?’
‘Frankly, I don’t.’
‘And neither do I,’ added Pienaar.
They were in the workshop and Geel’s offer was being flatly rejected. Dopff was the only person who understood why he’d made it. While he approved of the gesture, however, Dopff saw how unrealistic it was. Geel could never ride alone through hostile countryside. Last reports placed the Allied army near Mons. Even if he survived the journey, it might take Geel weeks to get there and back again. Dopff foresaw another potential problem. If, by chance, Daniel’s death was confirmed by Geel, it would hardly bring any solace to Amalia. In trying to alleviate her pain, he’d only be making it more intense.
Yet Geel felt impelled to do something on her behalf in order to fend off the stabbing guilt. The prospect of staying in Amsterdam while Amalia was suffering so much upset him. His relationship with her had altered. Having done everything he could to contrive a meeting with her, he’d now be terrified to cross Amalia’s path. After his gross intrusion into her privacy, he felt unworthy of her. His redemption lay in courting danger on the road to Flanders. Geel needed to be seen by Amalia to be making a huge sacrifice for her. His firm belief was that Daniel was still alive. Since he could never claim her for himself, Geel could at least take satisfaction from being instrumental in securing her happiness. By acting as her go-between, he hoped to find Daniel, tell him of Amalia’s distress and bear a letter from her beloved back to the Janssen household to reassure her. Geel wanted no thanks for his efforts. What he would be doing was in expiation of his crime. His behaviour had been dishonourable.
‘Why don’t we all get back to work?’ suggested Janssen.
‘Yes,’ agreed Pienaar. ‘Forget this idea of yours, Nick.’
Geel gritted his teeth. ‘I can’t do that, Aelbert.’
‘It’s too reckless.’
‘Perhaps it’s high time I showed a bit of recklessness.’
‘Not when you’re at your loom,’ said Janssen with a smile. ‘Reckless weavers are no use to me. It’s an occupation that requires concentration and precision.’
‘Let’s talk it over later,’ said Pienaar, ‘when you’ve calmed down a little.’
Geel bridled. ‘I’m perfectly calm.’
‘Then why are you behaving in this headstrong manner?’
‘It’s because I want to do something to help.’
‘You’re taking this far too seriously,’ said Janssen. ‘My daughter had a nightmare. It happens to all of us occasionally. Amalia will recover from the shock. Meanwhile,’ he went on, staring at Geel, ‘I think that you should carry on doing the work for which you’re paid.’
‘I endorse that,’ said Pienaar.
‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, Aelbert,’ snapped Geel.
‘You’re a weaver, not a soldier.’
‘Unlike you, I happen to care.’
The intensity of his declaration brought the discussion to an end. There was an awkward pause. Dopff and Pienaar eventually turned away and resumed their work. Janssen studied Geel with mild alarm. He’d never seen him so animated. Geel was squirming with embarrassment. His plan to help Amalia had been dismissed and he’d lost his temper with Pienaar. He’d also given himself away. Life in the workshop was going to be very uncomfortable from now on.
‘Nobody cares as much about Amalia as I do,’ said Janssen, firmly. ‘I’m her father and understand her best. There’s no reason at all for you to interfere in family matters, Nick. I hope that I make myself clear.’
Geel was mortified. He moved to his loom with his mind aflame.
Stunned by the blow to his head, Daniel took time to recover consciousness. When he tried to open his eyes, he was horrified to discover that he could only see out of one of them. The fear that he’d been partially blinded was the stimulus that brought him fully awake. He sat up, put a hand to the sightless eye and realised that it was simply covered in blood from his scalp wound. He’d not suffered any permanent blindness. The throbbing pain in his head helped him to locate the gash. Blood was still oozing from it. Hauling himself to his feet, he staggered slightly and needed a moment to regain his balance. Then he walked across to one of the many puddles and knelt down beside it. After washing his face and cleansing his wound, he went in search of some bandaging. It was donated by an Austrian soldier who’d been shot dead and who lay motionless in the mud. Daniel opened the man’s uniform, pulled it off then tore the shirt from his back. He put a strip of it over the top of his head to stop the bleeding, tying it tightly under his chin before putting on his hat again.
Having dealt with his wound, Daniel was at last able to take his bearings. He was on the western edge of the Bois de Sars beside his dead horse. The battle was raging. Cannonballs from French batteries were still claiming victims or crashing into the trees. Musket volleys rattled continuously. Forlorn howls of dying soldiers were punctuated by the despairing neighs of wounded horses as they threshed about on the ground. Drums dictated the movements of battalions. Daniel had a message to deliver but could hardly do that on foot. He needed a mount. Now that he was back on his feet, he was able to defend himself. Armed with his sword and pistol, he was fit for action. All that the fall had done was to give him an aching head and an assortment of bruises. It didn’t take long to find a riderless horse. He only had to wait in a clearing for a few minutes before one came cantering towards him. It had belonged to a German officer who’d been shot from his saddle. Daniel spread his arms wide to slow the animal down then grabbed the reins as it reared up on its hind legs. After some soothing pats on its neck, the horse became more amenable and allowed Daniel to put his foot in the stirrup.
The battle for control of the woods seemed even more intense than on his first visit. With additional troops in support, General Lottum’s battalions were pushing forward. He was difficult to find at first but Daniel eventually tracked him down. Sweating profusely and barking orders, Lottum was glad to hear that Marlborough had staved off the possibility of a counter-attack in the centre. Undaunted by the scale of their losses, he and Schulenburg would press on unti
l they were masters of the wood. He looked at Daniel’s makeshift bandaging.
‘That wound needs proper treatment from a surgeon.’
‘I’ve no time for that, General,’ said Daniel.
‘Brave man!’
‘It’s just a scratch. Others have real injuries.’
‘What news of our left flank?’ asked Lottum.
‘The last thing I heard was that the Prince of Orange had been driven back. The French defences are stout and Marshal Boufflers is deploying his men well.’
‘It’s the same here, Captain. The enemy gave us a hiding at first. It’s taken us hours to make any real advance. But you can tell His Grace that we are in good heart.’
‘Thank you, General.’
‘The enemy is finally starting to buckle.’
Yet it didn’t sound as if they were anywhere near defeat. The resistance that Daniel could hear was robust and positive. They might be slowly buckling but they would kill or wound scores of Allied soldiers before they cracked. As he rode through the woods on his way back to the captain-general, Daniel was already convinced of one thing. Malplaquet was the bloodiest battle in which he’d ever taken part. There was a sobering footnote to add – the result was still very much in doubt.
Though they’d been held back in reserve, the 24th Foot was not excluded from the fray. Henry Welbeck was glad when the order was given for them to move forward to the beat of the drum. Listening to the colossal struggle that was taking place made him yearn to be involved and it was a feeling shared by the whole regiment. They marched in formation with a collective urgency, muskets loaded, bayonets fixed, eyes locked on the battle ahead. Welbeck knew that his men would acquit themselves well. He’d drilled them hard and instructed them repeatedly in the technique of platoon firing. When some were cut down by enemy fire, the others would close ranks and move on, discharging their muskets in rehearsed sequence. Somewhere ahead of him was Rachel Rees, one of the fearless scavengers who’d scorned danger in their pursuit of rich prizes. In hoping that she came to no harm, Welbeck realised just how much he cared for her. Then an enemy musket ball whistled past his ear and he forgot all about Rachel. It was time to kill French soldiers.
His voice rose above the cacophony, exhorting his men to fire. As their muskets popped, there was an answering volley from the marksmen behind the daunting triangular breastwork and dozens of British soldiers fell to their knees. One of them was Ben Plummer, grasping his neck before going limp and collapsing to the ground. When Welbeck rushed across to him, he saw that the private was beyond help. Plummer had been shot in the throat and the head. Barely able to recognise Welbeck through the haze closing over his eyes, he reached into his pocket, took something out and thrust it into Welbeck’s hand. The sergeant was holding four dice in his palm. It was Plummer’s last bequest.
When Daniel came galloping up to him, Marlborough was disturbed by the sight of the bandage around his head and urged him to have the wound properly dressed. Dismissing the suggestion, Daniel apologised for the delay in returning and told him about developments in the western side of the Bois de Sars. Lottum was about to take command of it but it had taken thirty thousand troops to win what was a comparatively small stretch of woodland and almost a quarter of them had been killed or wounded. Carnage was also occurring on the left flank.
‘Take this message to the Prince of Orange,’ said Marlborough, handing over written orders. ‘He’s to hold his position without moving forward.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘He’s already led two attacks on the French entrenchments and his men have been cut to pieces. The Prince must not expose them again until ordered to do so.’
‘I’ll see this delivered,’ said Daniel.
‘Make all haste.’
It was unnecessary encouragement. Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, Daniel set off at a fierce gallop. He was not simply determined to hand over the orders as soon as possible. He knew that a moving target was far more difficult to hit. To get to the left flank, he had to race across open ground that was well within range of the enemy. Shot was falling everywhere and musket balls were still raining. As he glanced back towards the right, he was pleased to see that his own regiment had been called up in reserve. With other British regiments, they were firing at the triangular redoubt jutting out from the Bois de Sars. If and when victory was achieved, the 24th would therefore have its share of glory.
When he finally reached the Bois de la Lanière, it was as perilous and full of clamour as the rest of the woodland. Artillery and musket fire seemed to come from every side. Daniel was stunned to learn the full details of Dutch losses. After two failed charges, the casualties were horrendous. Yet the sheer bravery of the survivors was inspiring. They were eager to attack again and hoped that the fresh orders would help them to do so. The Prince of Orange opened the letter and read it with obvious dismay.
‘We are to hold our position?’ he asked, balefully.
‘That’s what His Grace has decided.’
‘But we have a score to settle with the French.’
‘Our information is that they’re too well defended,’ said Daniel.
The prince was annoyed. ‘His Grace should have more confidence in our ability to judge the circumstances,’ he said, huffily. ‘It’s true that we’ve twice been repulsed but the French have sustained losses as well. And if Marshal Boufflers really thinks that he has the beating of us, why hasn’t he come out from behind his barricades and launched an attack?’
It was not Daniel’s place to argue with him. He had neither the rank nor the authority to do so. As for the exact situation in the Bois de la Lanière, the Prince had a far more detailed knowledge of what was going on. All that Daniel could do was to deliver the orders. Whether or not they’d be obeyed was a different matter.
Marshal Villars had been perfectly satisfied with the early stages of the battle. In the centre and on both flanks, the French had either driven the attackers back or kept them comfortably at bay. As the reserve forces of foot and horse were brought into the arena of battle by Marlborough, however, the odds tilted slightly in favour of the Allies. When his men were in a dominant position, Villars had sanctioned a bold counter-attack by twelve battalions under General Chemerault. The strategy had been seen and neutralised by Marlborough. The French battalions therefore remained behind the fortifications in the centre. With Morellon mounted on a horse beside him, Villars reviewed the situation in the light of reports coming from each sector.
‘The Bois de Sars may soon be lost,’ he said darkly. ‘They’ve taken all that we can throw at them, yet they still come on. Our left flank is in severe danger.’
‘Yet our centre holds and our right flank prospers. Marshal Boufflers has not so much ruffled Dutch feathers as plucked them out wholesale.’
‘His entrenchments are almost impregnable and I admire him for the way he has put the enemy to flight. But I do wonder at his lack of ambition.’
‘How so, Your Grace?’ asked Morellon, surprised at the criticism.
‘He had the opportunity to sally forth and harry them before reinforcements arrived,’ said Villars. ‘By that means, Boufflers might have secured the right flank completely.’
‘It will not be pierced while he holds command.’
‘But the chance to counter-attack has been lost.’
‘He’s done what was asked of him,’ said Morellon, reasonably, ‘and that was to frustrate the attack. As you so rightly predicted, Marlborough has used his stale tactics once again, concentrating his assault on the flanks in order to draw our men out of the centre. Marshal Boufflers has driven them back heroically.’
‘I wish that the same could be said of our left flank,’ said Villars, sadly, ‘but Marlborough has committed too many troops to the area. Lottum and Schulenburg are shrewd generals and they have Prince Eugene at their heels to bring out the best in them. More worrying,’ he admitted, ‘is the news of a secondary force of foot and horse, moving in a
wide arc to loop around the western edge of our defences.’
Morellon blenched. ‘If they get behind our lines, we are in dire trouble.’
‘Our first task is to hold our left flank and that can only be done with fresh soldiers. I propose to move the dozen battalions poised for the counter-attack to a position close to the Bois de Sars.’
‘But you’d be doing exactly what Marlborough intends you to do.’
‘I have no choice,’ said Villars, brusquely. ‘When Schulenburg fights his way out of the wood, he’ll find that I’ve posted a substantial force to receive him.’
Daniel arrived back at headquarters to find Marlborough in a state of controlled excitement. He’d been summoned by Schulenburg to view the advance made on the right flank. Daniel joined the party as they cantered off together. Entering the Bois de Sars for the third time, he found it even more littered with Allied corpses but the losses had not been in vain. Schulenburg’s men had forced their way out of the wood, held off the French reinforcements and somehow managed to get seven large cannon behind enemy lines. This enabled them to batter the French cavalry stationed on a ridge behind their foot and guns. Hit by a merciless salvo of shot, they were forced to pull back out of range. Schulenburg’s artillery could now turn its fury on the French entrenchments, distracting them before Orkney’s imminent attack on the enemy centre.
5 A Very Murdering Battle Page 30
