Waterloo (Napoleonic Horseman Book 6)

by Griff Hosker

  That evening was pleasurable for the two of us. We could actually relax for the first time in a long time and we made the most of it. We enjoyed a leisurely bath, a fine meal and then too much wine. We had learned to take pleasure when we could. Unlike the two dead spies we only drank to excess when there was little danger. Until Bonaparte arrived we would be safe. The French army would be massing south of the Sambre and soon the battle would begin.

  The Duke was pleased with our report; he almost smiled. “Your fellow, Sharp, will not be needed yet but I shall want you with me today. You speak many languages and that may be more than useful.”

  Inside I sighed with disappointment but I maintained my straight face. “Yes, your lordship.” I was a man of action and I hated having to be diplomatic. I got on well with the Duke’s generals: men like Picton, Hill, Uxbridge and Clinton were fine fellows and I could talk to them. Sadly there were too many who played at being a soldier and those I could not bear. This time he had his normal coterie of aides. There was Sir William de Lancey his Quarter Master; Fitzroy Somerset his close friend and confidante. I also recognised, in the distance, General Paget, the Earl of Uxbridge, with whom I had served in the Corunna campaign.

  It proved to be a dull day for me although it was a necessary one as the Duke discovered from his aides and generals the numbers and dispositions of the troops he would have available to fight the French. I had little translating to do as the few Dutch there spoke English as did the Hanoverian officers who had served with Wellington in Spain and Portugal. I could have had another lazy day.

  By late afternoon I was so bored at the petty arguments between some of the Dutch and English I was almost at screaming point. The Duke turned to me. “You have a horse?” I nodded, “Good. Then tomorrow you and your fellow can accompany me while I have a look at the ground where we will fight Bonaparte.”

  I was not surprised that he knew where he would fight the battle despite the fact that Bonaparte had yet to cross the border. He was a meticulous planner.

  “Come along De Lancey, Somerset, we have to meet our Prussian and Dutch friends. Today, gentlemen we smile at our allies and play the diplomat. We cannot beat Bonaparte with the few British and Hanoverian regiments at our disposal. Matthews you may need to translate now.”

  I ventured a question, “Sir, will you be having any other aides this campaign?”

  I had been one such aide in Spain. Wellington waved an irritated hand, “I daresay. I have granted a few favours and there should be three or four young hopefuls joining us soon. But I don’t want them around me yet. They get under one's feet and ask ridiculous questions. There will be time enough when the fighting starts.”

  We headed for the palace where the meeting would take place. As soon as we entered my heart sank. There was Slender Billy, the Crown Prince of the Netherlands. He had served as an aide to the Duke in the latter years of the war. He was only twenty three years old but he fancied himself a general. He was not. He was incompetent. For some reason the Duke liked him. I suspect it was the snob in him. The Duke had been a minor aristocrat from Ireland and royalty, even the Dutch, impressed him. At least I would not have to translate for him; he could speak English well having gone to Eton. That was another reason for my dislike of him. All the officers I had met who had come from public schools had a superior attitude which was totally unjustified. I had had to give him orders in northern Spain and he did not like me. Then he had been a lieutenant; now he commanded a Corps.

  The Prussian I did not recognise. He gave a slight bow, clicked his heels and held his hand out to the Duke. “I am Baron Muffling. I am the liaison with Field Marshal Blucher.” I would be superfluous. Baron Von Muffling spoke good English. However I knew I would have to stay just in case the Duke needed me.

  As the day dragged on I envied Sharp and his freedom. It was a boring meeting but I confess a necessary one. The two armies had to act together if they were to defeat Bonaparte. It was agreed that the two armies would stay in communication and hold a line from Liege in the east as far as Ghent in the west. It was too large an area. I could see that immediately. The two armies would be spread over a hundred miles. Of course the bulk of the two armies would be within twenty miles of each other and they would be touching just north of the Sambre close to the town of Mellet. The problem was that no one knew where Bonaparte would strike or when. The maps I had found suggested the Charleroi or Namur area but, having discovered the loss he could change his plans. Wellington had to remain flexible to counter the attack wherever it came. If he struck west then he could outflank us and cut us off from the Channel ports. That was a very real threat.

  Despite my reports the Duke was convinced that I had my numbers wrong and that the French would not be able to strike for some months. He was certain that the troops fighting in America would be able to return and fight in the final battle. The Crown Prince was keen for the war to start sooner rather than later. When I heard he was second in command for the allied army I feared the worst. My hope was Von Muffling who seemed to know what he was about. I also knew that Blucher was a dependable general but no matter how good they were the outcome of the battle might be decided by who was the better general: Wellington or Bonaparte. The Prussians might be the deciding factor but this would be a battle between two titans of their trade.

  I was happier the next day when the three of us rode south to inspect the ground over which the Duke was convinced the battle would be fought. Colonel Selkirk and Baron de Rebecque tried to persuade him to have an escort of cavalry but he was adamant he did not need them. “Good God man, I have two fine officers with me. I am only going down the road a short way. We will be well short of the border. If that causes me to come into danger then we ought to go home now!”

  I knew that he had garrisoned both Charleroi and Mons with small units. They were our early warning system. However I still feared the rapid strike of the snake that was Bonaparte. We rode first to the area around Frasnes. As we passed Genappe he noticed the narrow streets. "This will slow up Bonaparte's artillery. He can only bring them through here a gun at a time."

  We reached the tiny village of Frasnes. This was the nearest position to the Prussians and on the main road to Brussels. It would be the first place the French would be met if they came from Charleroi. We found that there was a Dutch battalion and some Dutch artillery already bivouacked there. The Duke seemed happy with the position. He nodded approvingly. “Woods to the east and west. These fellows will hold them up.” He spoke to the officer who commanded them and seemed satisfied with the replies.

  We rode down to Charleroi so that he could look across the Sambre. This was the border. I kept my pistol cocked in case we had to leave in a hurry. However the French seemed happy to let us observe them. They would just see three civilians watching them. On the other side we could see the green uniformed Chasseurs and the blue infantry. Bonaparte had started massing his army.

  It was when we rode north that Sharp and I noticed the greatest change in the Duke. He would stop and peer all around him. Sometimes he would dismount and look around again. It happened every couple of hundred yards. As we approached the cross roads at Quatre Bras I plucked up the courage to ask him what he was doing. He sighed as though the question annoyed him and then he actually smiled, “I will answer you Matthews for I know that the question is not intended to be impertinent. I want to see what Boney will see when he comes north. I dismount because I wish to see what the infantry will see.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I believe that he will come along this road. My purpose will be to slow him down and draw him on. I have chosen my battlefield already and if he attacks there then by God we shall have him. Now come along we have far to go.”

  When we reached the crossroads at Mont St. Jean he spent far longer looking at the landscape. Below us was a vast valley filled with rye which would cover the French and Allied skirmishers who were all small men. There was an inn at the other side, La Belle Alliance and a ri
dge such as the one upon which we stood.

  “This is where the battle will take place.” He pointed with both hands to east and west. “This is where Boney will place his cannon and we will wait up there.” He mounted Copenhagen and spurred him on. The road passed between fields of rye which came up to a man’s chest. It was a strange battlefield. The distance between the two ridges was a little over half a mile. This was a killing ground.

  I saw two walled houses; a small one next to the west of the road, La Haie Sainte and a larger one to the south west, Hougoumont. He seemed to ignore them. What I was aware of was the steady climb to the ridge and once we were there and turned around I saw the brilliance of the strategy. The Duke loved hiding men on reverse slopes and here we had one finer than any I had ever seen in either Spain or Portugal. You could hide a whole army here and they would be safe from the Emperor's daughters, the deadly cannon which could cause carnage to regiments in line. As we headed through the village of Waterloo to Brussels I felt, for the first time that we actually had a chance.

  At the Rue Royale he gave a curt, “Thank you gentlemen. I shall see you in the morning.” Then he headed back into his headquarters. We were dismissed.

  The first two weeks in May were spent with Sharp. We set out early each day and rode either to the border or Sharp rode to the border while I sat in on meetings with generals whose English was not up to the Duke’s standard.

  At one such meeting I sat next to the Welsh general Sir Thomas Picton. I liked Sir Thomas. He was bluff and he was hard on his men but they adored him and would follow him anywhere. I knew that the Duke disapproved of his dress. Like us, he did not wear a uniform but he appeared to throw on whatever clothes came to hand. At the meetings with finely dressed officers he stood out like a sore thumb. What you did know about Picton was that he would do the job he was given and his men would never break no matter what the danger. He was one of the most dependable Divisional commanders we had.

  Sir Thomas gestured to the Dutch who hovered near Slender Billy, the rather disparaging name given to the Crown Prince by the British army, officers and enlisted men alike. He spoke quietly for, like me, he did not suffer fools gladly. “What do you make of these fellows? It seems I am to serve under Slender Billy and the Duke is brigading his Dutchmen with my boys. He is a little young to be commanding a Corps. You know him better than I do. Is he reliable?"

  “Brigading the two armies makes sense, Sir Thomas. At least the British soldiers have experience of fighting the French. The Belgians were fighting for Napoleon not long ago.”

  “Experience? Half of them have. The other half is made up of raw recruits. Mind you the French will have the same problem.”

  I shook my head. Sir Thomas was aware of my role behind enemy lines. “The old soldiers are coming back to the colours. The French want a war. They like the glory.”

  He shook his head, “Madness! War is a necessity that is all.” He gave me a shrewd look. "Come along Major Matthews we have served together long enough to trust each other's confidences, what do you make of the Crown Prince as a commander?"

  I sighed. If this were not Sir Thomas then my comments might be considered tittle tattle but the General deserved the truth. "If I was serving under him I would develop a deaf ear and use my discretion. His only experience in war was being a messenger for the Duke," I laughed, "I realise that I am being indiscreet and I suspect that is another reason I have never been promoted!"

  "Sometimes, Major Matthews the better soldiers are not promoted. Incompetent ones, like scum, rise to the top. Remember Dalrymple and Burrard? Their incompetence cost us Portugal and Sir John Moore his life. Do not worry. The Duke trusts you and I believe he will keep a sharp eye on the Prince."

  As we listened to the various nationalities speaking I realised that it was only the British who wanted this campaign for the right reasons. The Prussians still rankled over the losses to their cities at the end of the war and wanted Bonaparte and the French punishing while Slender Billy and the Dutch saw the opportunity to make a name for their country and expand into French territory.

  On the fifteenth Sharp and I were south of Charleroi. We were sent out most days to scout the road leading to the border. I was happy to be out in the fresh air, riding my horse and chatting to Sharp. It was preferable to the politically charged meetings in Brussels. My horse, whom I had named Pierre, had become a better horse than the others we had purchased. Alan had been correct, he had been a cavalry mount in a previous life. He had improved each day as he remembered his training. One just had to remember to give cavalry commands. Sharp and I pampered our mounts; we gave them grain when we could and apples as often as possible. They were plentiful at this time of year. Pierre didn't seem to mind that they were not quite ripe. He had become attuned to my riding style and commands. I gave him commands in French; after all he was a French horse. The various skirmishes we had had made him immune to gunfire and, bearing in mind the battle which was to come that would be useful.

  We were used to seeing the French army and their vedettes. The sentries on both sides tactfully avoided shooting each other and a wary distance was kept. However, on that day whilst riding on the road to Beaumont I saw the unmistakeable and distinctive uniforms of Polish Lancers and Chasseurs à Cheval. That meant that Bonaparte was close by; they were his personal Guards. They were led by a Major in a blue uniform.

  I held up my hand to stop Sharp and we retreated into the trees. They were less than half a mile away. Taking out my telescope I confirmed what my sinking heart already knew, it was the Imperial Guard. That could only mean that Napoleon Bonaparte had joined his army and that could mean only one thing the phoney war was over and the real thing would begin.

  We watched them move up the road. Perhaps our recent escapades had made us complacent or maybe it was just bad luck; whatever the reason the Chasseurs who appeared behind us did so almost silently. Pierre was a good horse but he had not yet learned to detect the enemy. We were taken prisoner. Had they not had levelled, loaded musketoons then I might have tried something but an escape attempt would have been suicidal.

  We were prodded down the road. The officer who was leading the patrol was not in the uniform of a Lancer. He was a major and he wore the blue uniform of a Grenadiers à Cheval. He frowned when he saw us. I knew enough to pretend I could not understand French as did Sharp.

  "Where did you find these? Are they spies?"

  The lancer sergeant said, "They were watching from the trees. They are not in uniform but they are well armed."

  The major reached over and took out one of my pistols. He examined it. "This is a well maintained and well used weapon." He took out my sword. "And this is a fine Austrian weapon. I wonder if they are Prussian spies. You speak German do you not?" The sergeant nodded, "Then ask them their business."

  I feigned ignorance of German and shrugged. The Major then said, in poor English to the sergeant of lancers, "They must be English spies then. Prepare a firing squad and we will shoot them."

  It was a trick and a stupid one. The lancers had no carbines. We maintained our puzzled expressions. He shook his head angrily and snapped, "Disarm them and we will take them to headquarters. There is something about them I do not like. If they attempt to flee then stick them!"

  We were taken down the road towards Beaumont. The fields were filled with the soldiers of this new Grande Armée of the North. I saw row upon row of horses and there was the beginning of an artillery park. It seemed that I had the answers which the Duke would want but not the means to deliver them. Sharp and I would be surrounded by the whole of the Army of the North. Escape would be unlikely.

  The headquarters building was recognisable by the Tricolour and the Grenadiers of the Old Guard who stood guard outside. As we approached I heard a cheer from down the road. Bearskins were placed on muskets and raised aloft. Muskets were fired and I heard a band strike up the Marseillaise. When I saw the Chasseurà Cheval of the Guard leading the column which approached then I kn
ew it had to be Napoleon. He led the small column which approached us. Behind him were his marshals and generals. They made a fine sight in their extravagantly decorated uniforms. They contrasted with the plain green coat which the Emperor wore.

  Bonaparte and his entourage had closed with us. As we approached I saw that exile had not been kind to Napoleon. He was far more portly and his complexion was sallow. He did not look well and he had aged somewhat. I knew I was a mere seven years younger than the Emperor but I know he looked a great deal older than that.

  He recognised me straight away. “Robbie!” His eyes narrowed. “I thought I recognised you in Golfe Juan!”

  I nodded, “Yes, general.”

  He gestured with his arm. “And a spy now unless you have come to join me again?”

  There was little point in denying it. “So it would appear." I shrugged. "I was always a spy. I began spying for you, general, if you remember. And to answer your question, no, I will not serve you again.”

  I saw that those who were closest were outraged by my answers and I wondered if I had gone too far. He frowned and then burst out laughing. “And you were a damned good spy!” He turned to the men around him. “This man helped us to capture Malta for the loss of a handful of men.” He turned back to me. “And now you spy again. Who for this time? Wellington?” I nodded.

  He dismounted. I noticed that it was not easy for him. “Come we will talk.” I dismounted too. One of the Chasseurs went to take my remaining pistols from me. Bonaparte laughed, “I think I am safe. He is a spy but he is no assassin. You will not kill me will you Robbie?”

  I smiled back, “Not without orders.”

  He laughed, “I have missed your sense of humour. Some of these do not know how to laugh or even how to live.” He led me to a small walled garden which adjoined his headquarters. There was a bench there and a tree afforded some shade from the summer sun. We could not be overheard. “I know you said you would not serve me again. Reconsider now out of earshot of the others; would you come back and work for me, Robbie?”