by Griff Hosker
Waterloo
The Hundred Days and Robbie's last adventure
By
Griff Hosker
The cover is a section taken from the Lady Butler painting of the charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo- historically inaccurate as they were not charging over flat ground but a magnificent painting. I have a copy on my living room wall.
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2015
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Prologue
February 1815
I had left the service of His Majesty when the beast was finally cowed. Bonaparte had fought like a cornered dog but eventually he was brought to heel and sent in exile to a tiny island off the Italian coast. There he would have grandiose plans for the few thousand inhabitants and the Guards he had been allowed to keep. With an English officer to watch over him he was thought to be safe.
As soon as the allies had a toe hold in France I finally left the Duke of Wellington having served England for over twenty years. The thought of fighting in France when the French army was in tatters had little appeal to me. I had been fighting since the Revolutionary wars. I had loved and lost and I was battered and scarred. I had had enough of war. I returned to the estates of the D’Alpini family in Sicily with my servant and friend, Alan Sharp. There I could retire in peace. I was not yet forty and I could begin a new life. We were both rich men and I wanted us to enjoy the fruits of our labour. Trading lemons and fine wine to London had proved lucrative. I now owned two and a half ships and Alan owned a half share in another ship. Matthew Dinsdale, who had been my first partner, now owned a fleet of ships. I was guided by his keen eye and sharp business mind.
The first month of retirement had been difficult for me. I found it hard to sleep late and perform actions which, at the time, seemed to have no purpose. It was as though I craved action but my cousin, the Count D’Alpini, had helped me to relax and learn to become part of the easy Sicilian culture.
Now, more than a year later, Sharp and I were about to pay a visit to London. We had money to spare and our lazier lifestyle meant our clothes no longer fitted quite as comfortably as they once had. I was sailing in one of my own ships; a fast trading ship which ensured that our lemons and olives reached the markets of Europe as fresh as possible. As we headed north towards the French coast I reflected on the changes peace had wrought. Not far away was Napoleon Bonaparte’s new kingdom, a little rock with eleven thousand subjects. For the man who had ruled Europe from Russia to the English Channel it was something of a come down. I had served both the Emperor and the Duke of Wellington. I believed I knew them both; I liked neither of them but I respected them as leaders and generals.
The General, whom I had served and admired more than any other leader, General Moore, had been killed at Corunna. I wondered how events would have turned out had he not died on the lonely hillside. That thought had haunted me for the last seven years. As I watched the coast of Italy in the distance I wondered if the loss of so many fine soldiers had been worth it.
My reverie was ended by a lookout shouting, “Sails to port.”
Jack Robinson was the captain of my ship, the “Donna Maria”. I had known him for many years. He had been in the Royal Navy but, after the war ended, was left on the beach like so many others who had served their country and then been discarded. I had a new ship and he was the perfect captain for her. He ran a tight ship and our shared past made us almost family. He took out his telescope.
Turning to me he said, “That is strange. The leading ship is painted like a British brig.”
“What is strange about that?”
“She has no flag from her jack staff. If she was Royal Navy then she would have and she looks a little lubberly to be Royal Navy. And her lines… if I didn’t know better I would swear that she was French.”
I had learned to trust my captain in the six months that he had served me. I also trusted my instincts and when the hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle I said, “Go a little closer, Captain Robinson. It is peace time and we shall be civil. We will chat to these captains and ask about the weather. ” I turned to Alan Sharp who had served with me since I had joined the British army, “Fetch my telescope, Alan.”
As my ship changed course I wondered at the ships sailing in convoy. It was unusual for three ships to sail together. In the war it had been commonplace but now that there was peace, captains preferred to move either as quickly or as slowly as they chose. “Donna Maria” was a fast ship. When I had bought her I had chosen a ship which could make fast voyages. We wanted our ships to sail quickly not least because in the Mediterranean there were still pirates. My ship could out run them all. Alan returned with my telescope. It had been a rare present from the Duke after the battle of Salamanca.
I could now see the three ships with the naked eye. The two larger vessels could have come from anywhere in the Mediterranean but Jack was correct, the smallest of them did have the look of a Frenchman about her. When I looked with the telescope I could see what Jack had meant. There was something not quite right about them. I saw that they changed course to avoid us. That, too, was unusual, for we flew the flag of Naples and had none of our gun ports open. It was normal for ship’s captains to exchange pleasantries and news. It was only in war that strange ships avoided each other. Not that we would have any kind of threat to them. We only carried ten four pounders. They were just enough to discourage Barbary pirates.
I lifted the glass again to my eye. I examined the brig painted in English colours. I do not know what I expected to see but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when I saw the distinctive uniform of a Polish Lancer walking on the poop deck. They were the personal bodyguard of Napoleon Bonaparte and could mean only one thing…the beast was loose again! The Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had left his island and was heading for France. That did not bode well for France and for Europe.
Part 1: The Emperor Returns
Chapter 1
Jack confirmed it when he said, “I recognise her and she’s a French brig. I can’t remember her name but I saw her in Toulon towards the end of the war.”
Sailors could easily discern between seemingly identical ships. It was a mystery to me. Despite owning ships I was still a landsman. I nodded, “I am guessing that Boney is not supposed to leave his island home. Captain, resume your normal course. There is little point in chasing three of them. You had better put on all sail and make for Antibes.”
As he left to give his orders I turned to Sharp. "I think our little holiday just ended and we have come out of retirement.”
Alan had been with me for as long as I had served His Majesty the King and nothing ruffled him. “What do you plan to do, sir?” He could never get out of the habit of calling me ‘sir’, even though he was now a wealthy man and a junior partner in all of my enterprises. He seemed more than happy to still play the role of aide.
“We must get to Paris and warn the ambassador there.”
"The Ambassador?"
"I believe it is the Duke of Wellington; not the most sensible of appointments but handy for us."
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“But how do you know what Boney intends?”
“I do not know what he intends but I can guess. It will involve mischief of that you can be sure. I know that his Guard still yearn for his return. The Bourbons are not popular. Good God, the King of France has spent twenty three years in England! He is not French any more than I am.” I had been born in France, the illegitimate son of a French Count and a Scottish lady fallen on hard times. I spoke French but I felt English. It was bizarre.
I looked up as the sails began to fill and we overtook the two transports and the brig as though they were standing still. The Polish Lancer had disappeared and the decks and sails were filled with sailors; he was maintaining the illusion that there were a peaceful trio of commercial ships. “He has to get his army first which gives us time. Perhaps the French army can stop him.”
“But you do not believe so.”
“No, Alan. For the French Army, Bonaparte is almost a God. In him they see success and victory. In Russia he was defeated by the weather and the land and in the last days it took four armies to finally crush him and even then he almost grasped victory from the jaws of defeat. Our only hope is Wellington. Thank God that he was appointed Ambassador to France. I know he was not a popular choice but he is the only man to take on Bonaparte and beat him.”
We went below with the captain to study the maps. I knew the area well for I had served there with the French army when Bonaparte had conquered Italy. I worked out the fastest route to Paris. We gathered what we would need for the journey. My sword and four pistols were obvious choices. Sharp packed two cloaks for me. One was an oilskin cloak which was lined. I had bought it some years ago and it was invaluable. I took just one change of clothes; we would need to travel light. Force of habit made us pack the mould for musket balls. Our two leather bags were well scuffed but they were hard wearing. I had purchased them in London and they had been expensive. Finally I packed gold coins in the money belts we would wear. We always carried gold in the ship. We could have used credit but gold had a way of smoothing our passage in the most difficult of waters.
We reached the French coast by nightfall. I knew that there was a consulate at Genoa but I knew that Bonaparte would land as close as he could to the main road to Paris. As we disembarked I handed the letters to Captain Robinson. “Hand this letter to the most senior official in Gibraltar and then make the “Donna Maria” fly to England and deliver this to Colonel Selkirk at Horse Guards.”
He nodded, “And then what sir?”
That had me, briefly, stumped. I smiled, “Well I daresay Mr Fortnum will be delighted to get his lemons and his wines so promptly. If you tell him that I think Napoleon is on the loose again he may throw a lucrative cargo your way. If not see what you can pick up. Sharp and I may be away some time.”
He nodded, “I can give you a couple of hands for protection, Mr Matthews. I have some tough lads here.”
I laughed, “Despite our increasing grey hairs, Mr Sharp and myself are more than capable of looking after ourselves.” I nodded to Alan who was strapping his sword on to his waist. “We can handle ourselves. I have money and we know this land. Take care, Captain Robinson and look after my ship. You may tell Captain Dinsdale and the Count what we are about when you return to Sicily. I am confident they will conduct my business for me in my absence.”
As we descended the gangplank I reflected that it was only one or two grey hairs that either of us had but we had been warriors for so long that we appeared older than we really were. Small scars and care marks lined our faces and our bodies showed that we had fought.
We were experienced travellers and we would only need two riding horses and a packhorse. Our clothes were well made and extremely functional. We could deal with whatever the weather and the land threw at us. We entered the walled town of Antibes through the gate the fishermen used when they landed and then sold their catches. They had all gone but the detritus of fish gutting and the smell of fish remained along with the puddles of water they had used to sluice down the dock. I turned and watched as my ship turned and headed south west. We were alone in France once more.
I had a dilemma, as we hurried into the French fortress. We had gained time on the Emperor, as I still thought of him, but I needed to find out where he was and what were his plans. He had the whole coast of France on which to land. We would need to find out what we could about the defences now that the Bourbons had taken charge once more.
The sentries who were on guard at the gate told me that there was a garrison here. Would the Emperor risk all from the moment he landed? I did not think he would land anywhere which had a garrison. Not only did Antibes have a garrison it had a fort which commanded the entrance. If the commander was loyal to the new king then Bonaparte's dreams of Empire would be shattered before he even landed.
We approached them and they regarded us with curiosity rather than suspicion. "What is your business here?"
"We are Italian business men and we are keen to export our produce to France."
The senior of the two nodded towards my sword; our pistols were packed in our cases. "You come armed sir. We are at peace."
"True but we both know that there are bandits and a man needs to protect himself." Seemingly satisfied he waved us through the gate into the narrow streets of Antibes.
I stopped by the small fountain and regarded the street which ran next to the wall of the town. “Sharp, let us find a room and horses. We may end up not using the room but we need as much intelligence as we can gather.”
He nodded and we began to search for a small inn. I had spied for the French and both Sharp and I had both been agents for Colonel Selkirk, Sir John Moore and the Duke of Wellington. We knew how to gather information. Somewhere small and inconspicuous was always the best choice. I knew that we were in France legally and were now allies with our former foes but old habits die hard. We settled upon a small inn just inside the gate. While Sharp went to buy three horses I began to question the owner. My payment for the room in advance with a gold coin loosened his tongue.
I kept my hand hovering over the coin as I spoke, “Tell me sir, what other ports are there along this coast?” He looked at me suspiciously. I smiled. “I own many ships in Sicily and I transport wine, lemons and olive oil from my estates. Now that the war is over and commerce has begun again I am looking for new markets.”
He looked relieved. I had painted a picture of a businessman. My newly acquired paunch helped the illusion. A few days living on the road would make me look more like my old self. “You do not look Italian and you sound French.”
I smiled, “A French father.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He laughed, "Then already I like you. I can forgive your Italian half." He stroked his moustache and glanced at the old map which stood behind the desk. “Ah let me think, there is Juan le Pins and Cannes just along the coast but neither have a harbour. You would not want to land your cargo on a beach would you?" I shook my head. "I thought not. Golfe Juan might suit. It is small and has a harbour. Yes, Golfe Juan would do. But what is wrong with Antibes? We are a good port and our harbour is safe.”
“Nothing, my friend but I need to get my goods to Paris as quickly as I can and I need a fast road to do so.”
“Then Toulon or Marseille might be better.”
I knew that Napoleon would have to avoid those two places as there would be regiments in both who would probably be loyal to Louis. I leaned forward and tapped my nose, “I am guessing that there are fewer customs officers at Golfe Juan than there would be at Toulon or Marseille?”
He grinned; now he thought he understood my motives. My story was more believable. He deduced that I was trying to avoid paying duty by choosing a smaller port where the officials might be corrupt. “Ah, I see. You are right. There are just a couple of old soldiers there and they spend more time in the bar near to the harbour rather than checking manifests.” He rubbed the small gold piece I had finally given him between his fingers. “I can see why you are
so successful." He closed the register. "It is not a bad port I must confess. Although smaller than Antibes it has a stone jetty and harbour."
“We will be leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“Breakfast may not be ready.”
I nodded, “There is a boulangerie just along the street. I think we will make do with some fresh bread.”
“Albert makes good bread. We use it here. Will you be eating tonight?”
“What is on the menu?”
“Cassoulet.”
“Then a bottle of your Provencal wine and two bowls of Cassoulet when my companion returns.” I stayed at the entrance while he went to place the order. When he returned I asked. "Has Antibes and the land around here changed much since the war?"
"There is a little more business but it is slow. We have not enjoyed the same business we did in the past. Unfortunately there are many old soldiers returning and they have little money and few job opportunities. Here it is not so bad for many of those who went to war served in the navy and there are always ships which need sailors. It is the villages and the towns further inland where there is more discontent. Old soldiers would rather march and fight than tend vines and herd animals." He shook his head. "Such is life. I will go and bring your food. The tables are in there."
Sharp arrived and nodded “I have bought three horses.” He smiled, “I had plenty to choose from. I think two of them are old cavalry mounts. They are sound. I suspect that when,” he looked around to see if the innkeeper was close by, “he lands, the price of horseflesh may go up. I bought two good saddles for a song. I managed to get two with holsters for our pistols. They have a night man and we can take them whenever we choose.” He smiled, "A sous or two goes a long way here."
We went into the dining room and the steaming bowls of food were on the table. A day at sea always made me hungry. It looked appetising and was totally different to the food we ate at home. This was the food of my youth and reminded me of happier times when my mother was still alive and the servants at the big house made such a fuss of me. They were all dead now. I ate in silence and the taste brought pictures of them into my head. I sipped the wine. I knew that here in Provence you drank rosé or you didn't drink wine.
