An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘Then you had no cavalry at all to withstand the French attacks?’

‘No, that was the devil of it. The Lancers cut up Pack’s Highlanders horribly. But you can’t shake the Fighting Division. When Picton retired at last, it was in perfect order. But the loss has been shocking in his whole division. By nine o’clock we outnumbered the French. I saw Ney myself, several times. He kept on rallying his infantry and hurling it against us—behaving more like a madman than a corps commander, we thought. In the end he gave it up, and drew off, and we bivouacked for the night.’ He pushed his plate aside, and reached out a hand for the cheese. ‘The Duke spent the night at Genappe. We had no news from the Prussians: Hardinge was badly wounded at Ligny, and is hors de combat. It turned out that Blücher did send an officer to us overnight, but he got wounded and never reached us. Gordon was sent off down the Namur road with a half squadron of the 10th the first thing this morning, to see what intelligence he could gain. He got as far as a place called Tilly, found that the whole Prussian Army was retreating on Wavre, and that the French were in force about two miles distant. He got back somewhere about eight o’clock, and that was the first news we had of the Prussian corps, and must have been about 40,000 strong. What happened to that corps yesterday we can’t make out. We saw it going off towards Ligny, but it doesn’t seem to have been engaged at all. As for us, we had only 25,000, after the flight of the Dutch; but instead of renewing the attack Ney did nothing. At ten o’clock the Duke ordered the infantry to retire in successive brigades through the defile of Genappe, to the position of Mont St Jean. They did this in perfect order, all except two battalions of the 95th Rifles, which the Duke kept at Quatre-Bras, with all the cavalry.’ He gave a grin, swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese, and said: ‘Old Hookey sat down to read the letters and newspapers from England which had arrived, and then went to sleep by the side of the road, with a paper spread over his face. When he woke up, he had another look at the enemy through his glass, and found them still not under arms. We began to think they might possibly be retreating. However, about two o’clock, Vivian, who was with the Duke, saw a glitter of steel in the sunlight in the direction of Ligny, and we found that it was caused by huge masses of cavalry moving towards us. At the same time, Ney began to show himself on our front. By the by, it was the most curious effect I ever saw in my life. There was an enormous storm cloud blowing up from the north. We were all in a sort of twilight, but the sun was still shining on the French. Queerest thing I ever saw. The Duke ordered the cavalry, and the horse artillery, and the rifles, to fall back steadily, and went on ahead to dine at Genappe, leaving Uxbridge to do the business, which he did beautifully, withdrawing the cavalry in three columns, and keeping Norman Ramsay’s troop to guard the rear. We heard the guns in Genappe just about the time the storm burst, and I went back to see what was happening. Apparently the French opened fire on us, but without doing much damage. They seemed to be concentrating their attacks on our centre column—Somerset’s and Ponsonby’s heavy brigades, and a rearguard of the 7th Hussars and the 23rd Light Dragoons. By the time they were drawn up on the high ground beyond Genappe, the French lancers were in the town. Uxbridge sent in the 7th to clear them out; they were driven back, rallied, went in again gallantly, time after time, but suffered pretty severely. Uxbridge withdrew them at last, and ordered the light dragoons to advance, but as they didn’t seem to relish the task, he snapped out: “The Life Guards shall have this honour!” and ordered them up. Of course they asked nothing better than to show us what Hyde Park soldiers could do. Uxbridge sent a couple of squadrons into the town. They rode in like thunderbolts—magnificent to watch—and completely overthrew the lancers.’

‘George?’ Barbara said.

He turned his head, as though suddenly recollecting her presence. ‘Yes, he took part in it. He was not hurt, merely plastered with mud!’ He smiled, and said, looking at Worth again: ‘That was the funniest part of the business, the Life Guards getting tumbled in the mud. I never remember such a storm. Within half an hour the horses were sinking to their knees, and some of the fields looked like lakes. The 95th were watching the Life Guards from beyond the town—you know what the riflemen are! Kincaid swore that every time one of them suffered a fall he got up covered in mud, and retired to the rear, as though no longer fit to appear on parade! I can tell you, they had to bear a good deal of roasting! Some of the fellows of the 95th shouted to them: “The uglier, the better the soldier!” which is one of our Peninsular sayings. However, even if they did look absurdly ashamed of their dirt they did famously.’

‘There was no serious engagement?’

‘No, nothing but very pretty manœuvres and skirmishing. Uxbridge is a good man, and, what’s more, his work today has given his men faith in him. While all the skirmishing was going on, Whinyates began firing off his beloved rockets, with the idea of amusing our cavalry, drawn up beyond Genappe. The main thing was that it didn’t amuse the French at all: they hate rockets.’

‘What are rockets?’ asked Judith, who was sitting with her chin in her hands, listening to him.

‘Well, they’re just rockets,’ replied the Colonel vaguely. ‘No use asking me: I’m not an artillery man. All I know is that they’re fired from a small iron triangle, which is set up wherever you want it. Port-fire is applied, the horrid thing begins to spit sparks, and wriggle its tail as though it were alive, and then suddenly darts off. I’m frightened to death of the things: you never know where they will go! Even Whinyates admits that no two of them ever follow the same course. They go whizzing off, and if you are lucky the shells in their heads burst among the French. But they have been known to turn back on themselves, and one fellow swears one chased him about like a squib, and nearly was the end of him.’ He pushed back his chair from the table, and stood up, and went to the window, drawing back the curtains a little way. The rain still beat against the panes. ‘A Wellington night!’ he said, and let the curtain fall back into place. He looked over his shoulder at Worth. ‘I want one of your horses, Julian. My poor brute could scarcely stand up under me when I brought him in.’

‘You had better take the bay: he’s a stayer.’

‘You may not see him again,’ said the Colonel, with the flicker of a smile.

‘I daresay I shan’t. How many have you lost so far?’

‘Only one. Judith, will you let me raid the larder? We’re devilish short of rations.’

‘Of course: take what you want,’ she answered readily. ‘But must you go back yet? Is it not possible for you to rest for a while?’

He shook his head. ‘No; I must be back at Headquarters by midnight, you know. It’s nearly ten now, and in this wet and darkness it will take me two hours, or more.’

‘Where are the Duke’s Headquarters?’ asked Worth.

‘At Waterloo.’ He picked up his cloak from the chair on which he had laid it, and clasped it round his neck. His cocked hat in its oilskin cover lay ready to his hand; he tucked it under his arm, and said, with a little hesitation: ‘Judith, if you should see Miss Devenish—’ He paused, as though he did not know how to continue.

‘I shall, I expect,’ she replied. ‘Do you desire some message to her?’

‘No—only that I wish you will tell her that you have seen me tonight, and that all is well.’

‘Certainly,’ she said.

‘Thank you. Don’t forget, will you?’ He kissed her cheek in a brotherly fashion, and said, with something of his old gaiety: ‘You are a capital creature, you know’ You understand how important it is to feed a man well!’

‘C

old beef!’ she protested.

‘Nothing could have been better, I assure you. Don’t be alarmed if you hear some cannonading tomorrow! We shall have at least one Prussian corps with us, and we don’t mean to lose this war, I promise you.’ He gave her shoulder a pat, and turned towards Barbara. She was looking pale, but perfectly composed, and held out her hand. He took it. ‘I don’t know why you are here, but I’m glad you are,’ he said. ‘Forgive me if I seem dull and stupid. There is so much to say, but I’ve not time, and this is not the moment. I believe your friend Lavisse to be unhurt. I should have told you before.’

‘I am glad, but he is not so much my friend that it can concern me.’

‘Tired of him, Bab?’ he said.

She winced. He said at once: ‘I’m sorry! That was shockingly rude of me.’ His hand gripped hers more tightly. ‘Goodbye, my dear. Now, Worth, if you please.’

He released her hand, and turned from her to his brother. The corner of his heavy cloak just brushed her dress as he swung round on a spurred heel; he took Worth’s arm, and walked to the door with him. ‘I’ll take a couple of bottles of your champagne, Julian,’ he said, and the next instant was gone from Barbara’s sight. She heard his voice on the stairs, as he went down with Worth. ‘By the by, the 10th did damned well today. They might have been on the parade ground. However, the rain put an end to the skirmishing.’

Judith walked quickly to the door and shut it. ‘Skirmishing! Champagne!’ she said with a strong indignation. ‘How could he? As though he had not a thought in his head but of divisions, and brigades, and regiments!’

‘He hasn’t,’ said Barbara.

‘When I think of the suspense you have been in, what you have suffered from the circumstance of—And he behaved as though nothing were of the least consequence but this dreadful war!’