Young Bloods Part 51

'By G.o.d, they mean to flank us.'

'Flank us?' Fitzroy sounded alarmed, but he quickly swallowed, stiffened his back and tore his gaze away from the cavalry closing on the British line. 'Sir, what are your orders?'

Arthur gauged the distance. The cavalry were nearly a quarter of a mile off, and would charge the redcoats before they could take cover in the village. There was only one thing to do, even if it did require a dangerous change of formation and a far slower movement towards safety if the manoeuvre was carried out successfully. Arthur glanced back at the cavalry, already breaking into a trot. There was no time for further thought.

He took a deep breath and called out as calmly as he could, 'The 33rd will form square!'

Slowly - too slowly, it seemed - the line halted and the flanking companies folded back, as if hinged on the corners of the centre of the line that still faced the enemy cavalry. Then, finally the light and grenadier companies turned and completed the rear of the formation. Hardly a square, Arthur thought. More of a box, and the best protection infantry could afford in the face of enemy cavalry: an unbroken perimeter of bayonets that no horse could be persuaded to hurl itself against. As long as the perimeter remained unbroken the redcoats were safe. If the French managed to find a gap and exploit it, then the men of the formation were doomed.

The flat notes of the cavalry bugles blared out again and the riders forced their mounts into a charge at the oblong of British infantry. The hors.e.m.e.n on the wings steered their horses straight ahead, aiming to pa.s.s by the front face of the square, down the sides and then cut the 33rd off from the village - a simple plan, and effective provided they could eventually whittle down the infantry enough to force a break in the square.

This time Arthur held his fire until the hussars were much closer, intending to break the charge in one shattering volley.The hussars slowed momentarily as they negotiated the dead and injured of the first attack, and then flew at the British square.

'Fire!'

The same savage blast of fire and the same carnage as before, followed a moment later by more fire from the sides of the square as the enemy careered past, and several more of them were shot from their saddles or were crushed as their stricken mounts stumbled and rolled across them. There was a brief hiatus as the French cavalry reined in and reached for their firearms. Arthur seized the opportunity.

'The square will retire towards the village! Sergeants, keep the formation tight!'

As the sergeant major called the pace, the square crawled towards the village, one step at a time, not stopping to reload their weapons. Now the advantage pa.s.sed to the enemy as the hussars drew their pistols and carbines and began to fire into the square at close range.The first of Arthur's men began to fall, some killed outright and left sprawled on the ground as their comrades stepped carefully over them. The injured were hauled into the centre of the square where the men of the colour party and the bandsmen did their best to carry them along with the square as it inched towards the village.

Even as Arthur watched, a hussar, not thirty feet away from him, raised his carbine, calmly took aim along the barrel and the muzzle foreshortened until the barrel became a dot, and Arthur realised with a sick feeling of fear that the hussar had picked him as a target.The Frenchman smiled, squinted an eye and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed and Arthur instinctively snapped his eyes shut and waited for the tearing agony of the impact. There was a cry from close by and he felt a body lurch against his boot. Arthur opened his eyes and looked down as a corporal slumped to the ground beside his horse, clutching at his throat, from which blood pumped out in thick jets. The man looked up in desperation and for an instant their eyes met and Arthur felt a horrified panic seize him as he beheld the dying man. Then he shook it off and spurred his horse on towards the front of the square, not daring to glance back at the mortally wounded soldier. Captain Fitzroy was walking his horse up and down behind the front face of the square, shouting encouragement to his men as they endured the sporadic fire from the hussars between the square and the village. At sight of Arthur he reined in and forced himself to smile.

'Hot work, sir.'

'Indeed.'Arthur flinched as a shot smacked into the face of one of the men in the leading company. 'We can't have this. They're hitting too many of our men. We must stop and reload.'

'Stop? Is that wise, sir. It'll give them time to bring up even more forces.'

'Maybe, but I'll not lose more men than I must.'

Arthur wheeled away and sought out the sergeant major. 'Halt the square and reload.'

'Yes, sir.' The sergeant major saluted, drew a breath and bellowed out the orders, bringing the regiment to a standstill. At once the redcoats reached for fresh cartridges and began the steady sequence of movements to ready their weapons.

'Fire by companies!' Arthur called out and a series of volleys flashed out from each face of the square, scything through the hussars who had been tormenting them only a moment earlier. A scattered outline of dead and dying soon formed a short distance from each side of the square with only a handful of shots from the enemy in reply. After several volleys the French sounded the recall and the remaining hors.e.m.e.n swiftly wheeled their mounts and galloped out of range.

'Cease fire! Cease fire!' Arthur pointed towards the nearest buildings. 'The regiment will retire towards the village.'

Once more the square slowly shuffled away from the enemy. This time the French did not intervene but shadowed the redcoats from just beyond effective musket range, ready to charge the moment the British formation was disrupted. However, the long months of monotonous drilling on parade grounds back in Britain proved their worth and the 33rd Foot gained the edge of the village. With buildings and fences to guard their flanks, the square formation was no longer required and Arthur was able to deploy one company across the narrow street as a rearguard while the others filed along the narrow thoroughfare towards the bridge.

a.s.sured that his men were safe for the moment, Arthur turned his horse towards the bridge.The tail of the baggage train was still feeding across the narrow span, and some of the larger vehicles, too wide for the pa.s.sage, had been unhitched from their draught animals and rolled down the steep bank into the river. Lord Moira and his small staff stood off to one side watching proceedings and looked round at the sound of Arthur's mount clattering across the cobbles of the village's market square.

Arthur reined in as Lord Moira waved a greeting. 'What's the situation, Wesley?'

'We have enemy cavalry at the outskirts of the village, my lord. The 33rd has their measure and is keeping them at bay as we withdraw to the bridge.'

'Good.' The general nodded curtly. 'That's good. They're still giving us a pounding with those guns to the south, and their infantry will be ready to a.s.sault the village shortly. But we should hold them long enough to complete the crossing.'

'My lord, might I respectfully submit that we blow up the bridge, to prevent any pursuit?'

'It's already in hand.' Lord Moira gestured towards the river and Arthur could see a handful of engineers stacking kegs of gunpowder on the b.u.t.tress beneath the middle span of the bridge.

'They'll be ready soon.We'll fire the charges the moment your men are across.'

'Very well, sir.'

'Well, no time to waste, Wesley. Return to your men and start falling back.'

Arthur saluted and turned his horse.

'Quick as you can, Wesley!' the general called after him.

Riding swiftly past the leading companies of the 33rd, Arthur drew up by the rearguard. A short distance beyond them, the French hussars had abandoned their horses and were fighting like skirmishers, darting from house to house to fire on the retreating ranks of redcoats. Fitzroy had given permission for the men to fire at will and the air was alive with the fizz and thud of small-arms fire. Arthur dismounted and beckoned to Fitzroy.

'Take my horse and get to the bridge. I want every company but this in the buildings on the other side of the Anhelm.They're to provide covering fire when we reach the market square. Got that?'

Fitzroy nodded.

'Then go.' Arthur turned back to his rearguard, looked past them to the French hussars ducking round corners to quickly fire their pieces before disappearing back to reload; though not so quick that they didn't draw answering shots from the British line. As he watched, one of the hussars broke cover and sprinted diagonally across the street. He nearly made the far side when he suddenly jerked to a stop and was flung on his back as some of Arthur's men found their target. Arthur nodded with grim satisfaction that this example would help discourage the hussars from pursuing the redcoats too enthusiastically. There was no need to keep the company formed up in the face of the limited threat posed by these hussars.

'Break ranks and pull back!'

The soldiers at once moved to the sides of the street, firing and reloading from cover as they steadily gave ground to the enemy. Arthur, trying hard not to show fear, forced himself to remain in clear view as he strode steadily back towards the bridge. As they reached the market square he ordered his men to halt. The engineers were still preparing the charges and the last of the wagons was squeezing across the narrow span. A handful of men from one of the other regiments was defending the southern approaches to the market square and every so often there was a sharp crash and clatter of falling roof tiles as the French battery outside Ondrecht continued to lob shots into the heart of the village. On the other side of the river Arthur could make out the black hats and red jackets of his men taking up position in the houses that lined the far bank. As soon as the last wagon rumbled down into the street beyond the bridge Arthur turned back to his men.

'Withdraw! Withdraw!'

The redcoats, hunched over their muskets, stepped back into the market square and fired their last shots at the approaching hussars, before turning and trotting back towards the bridge. Arthur drew his sword, and fell in with them, boots sc.r.a.ping over the cobbles as they ran. A cry of triumph rose up from the street behind them and, glancing back, Arthur saw the hussars start forward, chasing after the redcoats. At the sight of Arthur's company falling back the handful of men from another regiment still firing at the enemy to the south began to retreat. Then one of their officers, a lieutenant, stopped and pointed.

'Enemy infantry! There!' He turned to his men. 'Stand your ground, d.a.m.n you!'

But already too many of them were hurrying towards the bridge for his authority to hold sway over their instinct for self-preservation. In any case, an instant later there was a crash as an artillery shot grazed the cobbles a short distance in front of the lieutenant before pa.s.sing close beside him and smashing through a wall at an oblique angle. A shower of razor-sharp fragments of shattered cobble tore into the officer. He screamed and slumped to his knees, clutching his hands to the chopped-up flesh of his face.

'My eyes!' he screamed. 'My eyes!'

Arthur started towards him, but before he'd taken more than a few quick strides the lieutenant was. .h.i.t by a shot from the enemy infantry approaching the square. Pitching forward he hit the ground, twitched a moment and then lay still.Arthur stared at him in horror, until one of his soldiers gently took his arm and eased him towards the bridge.

'Come, sir. Nothin' yer can do for 'im now.'

Arthur nodded, then tore his gaze away from the fallen officer as he joined his men running for the bridge. As they flitted past the ends of streets he was aware of dim shapes in dark blue coats hurrying towards the square, and musket b.a.l.l.s whined through the air or cracked off the cobbles as the French tried to cut down the fleeing redcoats. Then Arthur was on the bridge, lichen-covered stonework rising up waist high on both sides. He stopped himself and turned back, waving the last of his men past, and then trotted along behind them as the first of the French infantry burst into the market square and began to race towards the bridge.

'For G.o.d's sake, Wesley!' Lord Moira beckoned to him from behind a wagon on the far side of the river. He was stabbing his finger towards the b.u.t.tresses of the bridge. 'Run, man! The fuses have been lit!'

Arthur ducked his head, clasping one hand to his hat to keep it jammed down, and ran for the cover of the nearest house. As he gained the stone doorway he pressed himself in and glanced back towards the bridge. Over the cambered surface he saw the c.o.c.kaded hats and tricolour flag of the enemy on the far side. Then there was a great blinding flash, a deep booming roar and he was thrown back against the studded wooden door by the shockwave as the kegs of powder beneath the bridge exploded. The centre span of the bridge seemed to rise up intact for an instant before bursting into fragments that rose up and out and began to fall to the ground, showering the area in debris. As the roar of the detonation quickly faded away there was a moment's silence as men on both sides stared at the pall of smoke and dust rolling over the remains of the bridge. Then the first shot was fired, there was a reply, and then a steady crackle of musketry as both sides renewed the fight. But it was already as good as over. A twenty-foot gap yawned over the rubble-strewn river and the British were, for the moment, safe.

The column pulled out of the village and resumed its march towards Antwerp. For a while the French artillery continued to hara.s.s them from the far bank of the Anhelm, but inflicted only a handful of casualties and smashed the axle of a supply wagon that was quickly set on fire by its driver and abandoned.

As the rearguard crested a ridge a short distance from the village Arthur stared back at Ondrecht for a moment, and wondered at his first taste of war. He suddenly felt weary. Weary, but exhilarated. He had stood up to enemy fire and come through it alive. He turned his gaze towards the men of his regiment pa.s.sing by on the road.They were laughing and babbling away in excited tones, no doubt bragging about their deeds. For a moment he was tempted to have the sergeant major silence them, but then resisted the impulse. Let them have their moment of triumph. It would be good for morale, and besides, they had earned it.

Chapter 83.

September 1794 The counter-attack on Boxtel, had been a disaster, just as Arthur had expected. Several regiments strung out across the sodden fields around the fortified town had crept forward under cover of darkness to retake the town from the French. But the orders for the attack had overlooked the question of co-ordination of effort, and each unit had advanced on its own initiative once the initial exchange of shots between skirmishers had begun.The result was a piecemeal attack, which the enemy had had no difficulty in containing and then throwing back with heavy losses for the British side. General Sir Hugh Wilson had made no attempt to try to win back control over the a.s.sault and had refused to call off the attack long after it was clear that it had been a costly failure. As the wan glow of dawn crept across the land the attackers finally pulled back from Boxtel, leaving the ground in front of its defences littered with dead and dying redcoats. General Wilson and his staff officers had simply ridden away to establish, so they said, a new headquarters a safe distance from the enemy. He left orders that the rest of his force was to fall back on his position as best they could.

At first light the French had sortied from their defences, driving back the redcoats with ease, and their general, possessing all the courage and initiative that Sir Hugh so clearly lacked, immediately went on to the offensive, hurling the British back. Arthur had recently been entrusted with the command of a brigade, consisting of the 33rd Foot and the 42nd Foot, and now they were covering the retreat of their comrades as they streamed back along the road from Boxtel.

There was a brief lull in the fighting an hour after dawn, and Arthur cautiously rode forward to look for any sign of the enemy. As he trotted his horse along the gra.s.s verge at the side of the road to m.u.f.fle the sound of its hoofs, he saw that the way was littered with discarded equipment and weapons. Here and there a wounded man was desperately trying to escape the enemy and rejoin his comrades.Those no longer able to move lay and waited, wholly at the mercy of the revolutionaries whose reputation for committing atrocities was the talk of the allied armies. There was nothing Arthur could do for them, and he tried to ignore the pleas for help that some called out to him as he scanned the road ahead for any sign of the enemy.

He was, as best he could estimate it, a mile ahead of his brigade when he reined in and reached for his spygla.s.s. He snapped it open and squinted into the eyepiece. Nothing. He continued looking as his mind began to reflect on the abysmal progress that had been made on this campaign (so far). The skirmish at Ondrecht had set the tone for the months that followed. After Lord Moira had joined up with the Duke of York outside Antwerp there had followed one retreat after another.The failures of senior officers were compounded at every turn by the disorganisation and downright corruption of those bodies of men who were supposed to support and supply the British Army. The Duke of York, who commanded the army, was only three years older than Arthur and while he had some flair and meant well, he simply lacked the drive to do what was necessary to save his men from the effects of corruption and incompetence. Arthur frowned. G.o.d above! This was no way to fight a war. No way at all. At this rate Mr Pitt might as well throw in his hand and offer the revolutionaries the head of King George on a platter.

There was movement on the track ahead of him, and as he directed his spygla.s.s to the spot Arthur saw the head of a column of infantry emerge from a small wooded hill standing between him and Boxtel. An officer rode forward to take up position at the head of the column and Arthur smiled at the array of gold ribbon the man had on his coat.What the French commanders lacked in refinement they more than made up for with vanity. He waited a moment, until the first horse teams emerged from the wood, drawing cannon behind them. But there was no sign of cavalry. Not yet, at least.Very well, Arthur nodded to himself. He would make his stand on the ground he had chosen for the brigade at first light.With luck they would hold the French off long enough for the rest of the army to reform. He snapped the spygla.s.s shut, slipped it back into his saddlebag and wheeled his horse round.

The small group of staff officers looked round at the sound of an approaching horse. Half an hour earlier the colonel had left them with orders to deploy the brigade astride the crossroads, before riding off along the rutted mire of the road towards the enemy. The men had tramped into line and now the dense ranks of the redcoats rippled across the rolling pastureland on either side of the junction.The colonel had chosen the spot well: the left flank was anch.o.r.ed by a patch of soft polder, and the right fetched up against a large copse of elm trees on a small hillock. The French, if they came, would not be able to use their cavalry to flank the British line. Instead they would be forced to launch a frontal a.s.sault if they were to break through. Ahead of the British line the ground sloped down and disappeared into a soupy mist that rolled off the polder and across the road.

The redcoats stood in silence, the b.u.t.ts of their muskets resting on the ground. After the brisk march to take up their present position their bodies had worked up some heat and now a thin milky vapour lazily dissipated above their black hats.

As the officers stared towards the sound of the approaching horse, a figure abruptly materialised from the mist. Colonel Wesley urged his mount towards them.The mare had been ridden hard and its flanks were flecked with foam. He reined in and slid stiffly from the saddle, handing the reins to his groom.

'Any word from headquarters?'

Captain Fitzroy stepped forward. 'No, sir. Nothing.'

Arthur glanced back down the road. 'd.a.m.n . . .'

As soon as he had received word of the approach of the enemy column the previous evening he had sent a young subaltern galloping back to headquarters to request reinforcements, and some artillery to support the army's rearguard. Headquarters would have received the message several hours before dawn broke, and yet there was no sign of any redcoats marching to their aid, not even any acknowledgement that the message had been received. Arthur angrily clamped his teeth together at yet more proof of the incompetence of those who commanded the expeditionary force.This on top of the failure to send any supplies to his men for the last three days. They had been forced to take what food they could from the locals and now the Dutch townspeople hated the redcoats even more than the French invaders. His men were hungry, hated and, worst of all, short of ammunition. Just enough to face one short skirmish, and then they'd have to retreat, or rout.

Captain Fiztroy coughed and Arthur looked at him irritably. 'Yes?'

'Sir? The French. Are they coming?'

'Oh yes, they're coming all right. They'll be here within the half-hour.'

Fitzroy lowered his voice before he continued. 'In what strength, sir?'

Arthur forced himself to smile. 'Enough to give us a decent chance to show what the brigade can do.'The smile faded. 'A full division, I'd say.With at least one battery of horse artillery. But no cavalry. At least none that I could see before I turned back.'

The group of officers glanced at each other anxiously. Even though the 33rd had been blooded at Ondrecht that was the only fight they had been engaged in.The men of the 42rd were nearly all recent recruits, many of them preferring army life, with all its harsh discipline and danger, to the endless toil of scratching a living off the land back in Britain. There were also cutpurses, debtors and other criminals amongst the wretches waiting in the silent ranks stretching out on either side. Once again Arthur wondered if they would hold their ground. So much was riding on that. Not least their survival, and his reputation. Lack of supplies and lack of support would stand for little in the eyes of those who would judge the young colonel. Everything depended upon the officers and men of the brigade holding firm, and putting into effect all the lessons that had been drilled into them over the last few months. The moment of truth would come for all of them when the ma.s.sed column of the enemy, urged on by the insistent rattle of drums, rolled up the slope towards the thin line of redcoats.

'Looks like you've finally got what you wanted,Arthur,' Fitzroy muttered. 'Your very own battle.'

'Yes.' Arthur turned away quickly and beckoned to the brigade quartermaster. 'Hampton! Up here, man!'

'Sir!'The stocky officer trotted up, and Arthur caught the scent of spirits on his breath as the man drew himself up before his colonel.

'Is there any gin left in the wagons?'

Hampton gave a lopsided smile as he nodded a shade too emphatically. 'Plenty, sir.'

'Good. See to it that the men have a tot immediately. I want fire in their bellies when they catch sight of the Frogs.'

'Yes, sir. And a tot for yourself ?'

Unlike every other officer in the brigade, the colonel abstained from alcohol, a fact that had provoked a degree of amus.e.m.e.nt and curiosity in his subordinates, who regularly drank themselves insensible as easily as breathing. Arthur was well aware of their bemus.e.m.e.nt, and took it as further proof of the dire condition of the British Army. While he could accept that the rabble who served in the ranks needed their drink, the gentlemen who commanded them must remain sober and alert in the face of the enemy. He realised that Hampton was still watching him and snapped his fingers.

'Move yourself, man!'

'Yes, sir!' The quartermaster saluted and trotted away towards the small convoy of wagons lining the route beyond the crossroads, calling out to his a.s.sistants lounging beside the wagons as they puffed on their clay pipes. His men reluctantly stirred themselves in response to his summons and slouched after him.

Fitzroy leaned closer to him. 'Gin? Is that wise?'

'Wise?' The colonel shrugged. 'I doubt it will do them any harm, and at least it will help distract them while we wait. Anything to take their minds off the enemy, eh?'

Fitzroy looked down at his hands and rubbed them together to take the chill off his long fingers. 'As you wish, sir.'

The quartermaster's a.s.sistants began to move down the lines of each company. Each man carried a keg of gin under one arm and they paused briefly to pour a measure into each battered mug that was eagerly held out towards them.Arthur watched disdainfully as most of his men downed the fiery spirit in one gulp. Only a few sipped at their mugs as they stared pensively in the direction from which the French would soon appear.

Suddenly, one of the pickets, just visible on the edge of the mist, turned round and cupped a hand to his mouth.

'Cavalry! Cavalry approaching!'

For an instant the officers froze and then Fitzroy c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at his colonel. 'No cavalry, eh?'

'I didn't see any at the time,' Arthur snapped back, before he drew a deep breath to shout out his orders.

'Recall the pickets! Brigade . . . stand to. Prepare to receive cavalry!'

Chapter 84.

The orders were relayed down the lines by the harsh bawling of the company sergeants, and the redcoats hastily downed the last of their gin and stuffed the battered mugs back into their knapsacks before porting their muskets and waiting for the next order.

Arthur paused a moment to think. There was precious little powder to waste on cavalry. That must be saved for the infantry. Since the cavalry could not turn the British flanks they would surely be discouraged by a gleaming thicket of cold steel. 'Fix bayonets!'

The order was bellowed down the length of the brigade and one company after another rasped the long blades from their scabbards and slotted them on to the end of their muskets. As the clatter and rattle of the manoeuvre filled the cold dawn air, Arthur could hear the first sounds of the approaching enemy: a rolling rumble of hoofs, then the c.h.i.n.k of accoutrements buckled to each rider, every sound faintly m.u.f.fled by the mist. The men who had been posted on picket duty were sprinting back up the gentle slope towards their comrades, casting anxious looks over their shoulders as they ran. Behind them the noise of the approaching enemy swelled and filled the still air.