by Griff Hosker
British Light Dragoon
Book 3 in the Napoleonic Horseman Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2014
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.
The cover courtesy of Wikipedia – published before 1923 and public domain in the US
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Map
Glossary
Historical note
Other books
Maps courtesy of Wikipedia (William Robert Shepherd) This image (or other media file) is in the public domain because its copyright has expired. This applies to Australia, the European Union and those countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 70 years.
Chapter 1
The road to Canterbury
December 1802
My name is Robbie Macgregor and I am a wanted man both in England and in France. I dare say that I cannot return to Egypt either. I fled the French Army after I killed an officer in a duel and I am wanted in London for the deaths of some cut purses. I do not regret any of the deaths; all of the men I killed deserved to die. All of them were trying to kill me. I regret the effect the deaths had on my life. I was forced to change my name to Matthews to avoid detection and capture and I had to change my appearance. The moustache I had grown as a chasseur and my pigtails had had to go. That was the most inconsequential of the effects. I would now, however, be constantly looking over my shoulder and I would be able to trust no one. My new master, for I was, in all but name a slave, was Colonel Selkirk. He worked in a shady area of the War Department and I was to be his spy in France. Of course I had to be an officer in a cavalry regiment as well. Colonel Selkirk was a Scotsman and liked to get value for money. The fact that I was born, illegitimately of a French aristocrat and a Scottish lady meant I was fluent in both languages. I had even learned to speak Italian quite well and I could understand some German. All of these would aid me in my life as a spy. He was building on the experiences I had when working for Napoleon Bonaparte. He was now Consul of France; the ruler in all but name.
Colonel Selkirk had obtained for me a captaincy in the 11th Light Dragoons. It had been his brother’s commission so I suspect he had not lost any money. I had been a captain in the 17th Chasseur a Cheval when I served Napoleon Bonaparte. He was the main reason I was in England. His cold blooded attitude had caused the death of almost all of my friends and comrades when we had served with him in Egypt. Now that he was running France I felt that I owed it to my dead father, who had been an aristocrat guillotined in Paris, to fight Napoleon until France was returned to its people.
I did have family. The Alpini family who lived in Sicily were my distant cousins and they had taken me in when I had landed on their shores after fleeing Egypt. I had a home there should I want it. Ironically the island was under the rule of Bonaparte too, which gave me another reason to hate him. The family had helped to make me well off. I had money in a bank in London and shares in a ship which brought the Alpini goods to London. The money meant nothing and could not make my life better. It enabled me to buy objects which made my life bearable.
As I rode along the road to Canterbury, where my new regiment was based, I felt lonelier than when my mother died and I was left alone in the world. All my friends from that time, Jean, Albert, Tiny, Charles and Jean-Michael were all dead. Only the crippled, irascible Pierre still lived close to where I had been brought up in France. Nor was I looking forward to joining this new regiment. I had been happy in the 17th Chasseurs. I had risen through the ranks from trooper to captain. I knew all the men and felt safe. I would know no-one in the 11th. Colonel Selkirk had explained to me that the British Army did not work the same way as in France. In England, the officers were all from wealthy backgrounds and shared similar education. I did not think I would fit in. I was just grateful that, now that we were at peace, the officers were on half pay and the majority would not be in the barracks. I could find my feet and then leave for the mission Colonel Selkirk had planned for me. I had two months of army life to endure and then I would return to my homeland, this time as a spy.
I had known nothing but a life in the army for the last nine or ten years. The difference was that when I had been a soldier in France I had been amongst friends. Now I would be amongst, not only strangers, but the same men I had fought in the Low Countries when I was a young trooper. I had never known a peaceful life in a barracks and I was not sure I would enjoy the tedium. During the quiet times in the 17th Napoleon Bonaparte had used me and my friends as his tools. We had travelled in Italy to spy for him and to Austria to guard his envoy. We had even scouted out Malta before that island had been captured. I was used to an active life and the next couple of months promised me nothing.
I have never been one to dwell on misfortune and I decided to make the best of my new life. I was alive unlike most of the people I had served with.
The day was pleasantly cold yet dry and my horse, Badger, enjoyed the opportunity to ride beyond the confines of Hyde Park. I had sent my trunk with my uniforms and weapons, by cart, to the barracks directly. It would not arrive until the following day and so I had decided to find an inn close to the barracks and enjoy a night there. One advantage of having a little money was that I could afford one or two luxuries. I had slept in enough fields to appreciate a good bed and a cooked meal.
I saw a sign telling me that Canterbury was only two miles away and I spied a small village. I reined in outside the ‘George and Dragon’. It was a typical Kentish inn. I could see that coaches used it as it had an inner courtyard. That usually meant better food but, more importantly, a good stable for my horse. The ostler came running out when he heard Badger’s hooves clattering on the cobbles.
Badger began to drink greedily from the horse trough and the grey haired and rather thin man said, “Yes sir?”
“I need a room for the night and a stall for my horse.”
He grinned cheerfully as he nuzzled Badger’s nose. “We have both, sir. If you would like to come with me.”
I dismounted and he led me through the gate into the courtyard. The stables were ahead of me. “Do you mind if I see where you put Badger?”
“Of course not sir.” He gave me a curious look. “You are a horseman then.”
It was a statement and not a question. “Let us say I appreciate a good horse and I wish mine to be as comfortable as I hope to be.”
He seemed satisfied, “I wish more young gentlemen were like you. I love horses, sir but the condition of some of the mounts who come in here.” He shook his grey head in wonder. “Their sides are score
d with the rowel marks of spurs and they are lathered to the point of exhaustion.” He took off my saddle bags and laid them on the ground and then began to take off Badger’s saddle. “You wonder why they joined the cavalry at all.”
“Do you get many young men like that? I would have thought this quiet inn just had the carriage trade from London.”
He put a nose bag on Badger and hefted my bags on his shoulder. “Aye sir. There is a barracks just a mile away from here and they like to come here at night. Thank the lord there is peace at the moment and many of them are still on leave. It fair upsets me to see horses mistreated like that. Still the master likes the money they bring.”
I could understand that. Times were hard and a man had to earn his crust any way that he could.
I ducked beneath the low lintel and we entered the inn. “Customer, Master Popwell.”
The inn had a roaring and welcoming fire blazing away. The room was empty allowing me to get a better view of the interior. The tables and chairs were rough and simple and showed the evidence of much wear. I had learned, in my time in England, that this would be what they called the bar area. This was where the ordinary folk would eat and drink. I looked around and saw there were rooms leading off. These would be the private areas used by those with more money, power and status. I looked at my fine clothes and knew that the landlord would treat me and charge me accordingly. I would be paying the highest rate but I would get good service.
The owner popped his head up from behind the long oak bar. Mr Popwell was a rotund and cheerful fellow. He was not a tall man and only came up to my chest. He reminded me of one of those children’s toys which always right themselves whenever they are knocked over. He had a clay pipe sticking out of his mouth. I learned that he rarely took it out, save to refill it.
“Good afternoon sir. A room?”
“Yes please, just for the night and stabling for my horse.”
He looked up at the ceiling as though that was where the list of empty rooms was written. “Just take the gentleman’s bags up to room two, Harry.”
The ostler knuckled his head, “Yes sir.”
“Here Harry,” I slipped Harry a sixpence.
He seemed genuinely surprised and delighted. “Thank you sir.”
Mr Popwell’s cheerful face darkened. “It doesn’t do to tip them sir. It gives them ideas above their station.” I shook my head. It was worse than the days in France before the Revolution. Even this little inn keeper wanted to look down on another. He took out a ledger, “And your name sir?”
“Matthews, from London.”
He carefully wrote it out and asked, “Will you sign, sir?”
I suddenly realised this would be the first time I would be signing my new name and it felt strange. I would have to get used to this.
That done he looked up and said, “We have fine food here sir. Mrs Popwell is a good cook. Will you eat now or later?”
“I think I will clean up first.”
“Good. I will keep you a table.”
I was surprised; I had seen no other horses. “Why, will it be busy?”
“It depends how many of the young men from the barracks come but don’t you worry sir. You shall have a table and a comfortable one at that.”
The bedroom was simple but comfortable. I smiled to myself. I had slept in the royal residences of Austria. I couldn’t expect that now that I was merely Captain Matthews of the 11th Light Dragoons. I had no military clothes with me and only my stiletto as a weapon. I had acquired the blade when attacked by bandits in Italy and it had served me well in the years since. My four pistols and my Austrian sword were all in my trunks. Colonel Selkirk had made it quite clear that I had to be as anonymous as possible.
At our last meeting, in Whitehall he had wagged his finger at me. “Do not speak French or Italian. Remember the British Army is not the French one. We do things differently. They will expect you to be raw and not know what to do.“ He had ruefully laughed, “The British Army is led by amateurs who think they are on a fox hunt.”
I had much to learn I knew that. I changed out of my riding clothes and gave myself a body wash using the bowl of cold water which was on the dresser. I like horses but their smell tended to linger longer than one would like. I had good civilian clothes; a fine silk shirt and tailored trousers, waistcoat and jacket. When I crossed to France in two months I would need to be taken for a gentleman. After I had shaved I dressed myself. I looked in the mirror. I missed the pigtails and queue I had had as a chasseur but I knew that they marked me out as a Frenchman and a French horseman at that. Colonel Selkirk had also made me shave off my moustache. It was hard to see it go it had taken years to achieve the effect I desired. I remember how my friend Pierre had brought me oils and waxes from Paris to make me look dashing but the English did not trust men with moustaches; at least not in the regiment I would be joining. It had changed my appearance radically and I was not sure that anyone would recognise me. Certainly my clothes now matched my station as an officer and a gentleman.
When I was quite ready I descended the stairs. At the bottom I turned left to go to the stables. I would see that Badger was happy in his new environment. There were four new horses there and Harry shook his head, “Do you see what I mean, Mr Matthews?”He pointed at the lathered horses which stood forlornly sweating and shaking in their stalls contrasting sharply with the calm and sleek Badger. “And they have only ridden a couple of miles. How can you get a horse in that condition after such a short ride?” he shook his head, “And they call themselves cavalrymen! Wouldn’t have happened in my time.”
“Soldiers from the barracks?”
“Yes sir.” He pointed to the number shaved into the rump, 11th; my new regiment. He patted Badger. “This is a good ‘un though sir. How big is he?”
“Almost sixteen hands.”
He nodded approvingly, “He’ll keep going all day if you ride him steady.” He pointed to the other horses all of which looked to be about fourteen and a half hands. “They couldn’t handle a horse like this one.” He saw me stroking Badger’s nose. “Don’t worry sir, I sleep above the stalls. I’ll keep my eye on him.”
“Thank you Harry.” I paused, “Were you in the cavalry?”
He stood proudly, “Yes sir. The 14th Light Dragoons. They were a fine regiment.”
As I left him I reflected that he was, at least, able to continue his life in the world of horses. There were many old soldiers who were crippled and discarded after a lifetime serving their country.
I heard the noise and smelled the smoke as soon as I walked into the inn proper. It was as though a flock of seagulls had landed; a cacophony of noise and smells assaulted both my ears and my nose. It was in marked contrast to the serenely peaceful place I left a couple of hours earlier. There was barely enough space to move through. The bar area looked to be filled with the troopers of my new regiment. They were all dressed in their overalls with forage caps. They seemed a lively and raucous group of men save for one solitary figure who appeared to be trying to disappear into the bar. Had he been in France I would have marked him as a spy trying to remain unobserved. He was an unhappy looking trooper and he was squeezed between a wall and the bar. His comrades did not appear to even notice him.
Mr Popwell was busy serving a couple of soldiers and so I stood to watch these men with whom I would soon be serving. There were none above the rank of corporal which I found interesting. One of the corporals looked like a huge brute of a man and he was very loud. It was obvious to me that some of the men were afraid of him; I recognised the looks that they shared. It was one of fear. This man made them cower. I had seen his type before. The other corporal looked oblivious to it all and smoked his pipe whilst watching the flickering flames of the fire.
I heard Mr Popwell shout, above the noise, “Be with you in a moment, Mr Matthews. Sorry about the delay.”
I waved an airy hand to show I was not concerned. My movement attracted the attention of the soldiers but they soon f
orgot me when they saw that I was not wearing a uniform. The loud corporal, however, had noticed the soldier at the bar.
“If it isn’t butter fingered Sharp! Hey landlord, you had better watch out; that dozy bugger drops everything. He’ll break all your tankards.”
The rest of the men dutifully laughed but the other corporal said, “Leave him alone Jem, he looks miserable enough as it is.”
The loud corporal became angry quite suddenly and he stood. “Well if he was a better soldier we wouldn’t have had to clean out the stables for Mr DeVere so he will have to take it for a while longer eh?” He approached the man called Sharp. “Drink up and then sod off!”
The man looked thoroughly miserable and complied. He swallowed the beer quickly. I had always hated bullies and I stepped close to the corporal and said quietly, “Why don’t you leave the man alone and let him enjoy his drink in peace?”
The young trooper gave a frightened little smile, “It’s all right sir; I had finished anyway.”
The corporal saw another target and he turned aggressively to me, “What’s it got to do with you, Mr Fancy Pants?” His breath reeked of beer and tobacco whilst his personal odour left much to be desired. He stood as close to me as he could get without actually touching me. I had seen this tactic before and it did not worry me. I was almost a head taller than the corporal and I stood my ground.
“I hate bullies and you, Corporal, are a bully.”
His eyes widened and he reddened, “I’ve a good mind to…”
Suddenly Mr Popwell appeared next to me. “Sit down or get out. Do not abuse my customers Jem Green.”
Despite his portly frame the landlord must have handled people like Corporal Green before. The corporal suddenly smiled but there was no smile in his eyes. “Of course, anything for a peaceful life. Besides the useless bugger has left. He’s a coward as well.” He gave an ironic bow, “Enjoy your meal eh?”
