As the boy dashed off, Arthur gave the order to change formation and facing. He watched with some satisfaction as his regiment carried out the manoeuvre with a fair degree of proficiency. The 33rd had only recently adopted the drills set out by Sir David Dundas, and Arthur had been glad to be relieved of the task of drawing up his own drills, a duty that had been required of all regimental commanders before the advent of the Dundas code of military movements. Within minutes the regiment had deployed across the ground either side of the road and now stood in two ranks, ready for action. Half a mile down the road the French cavalry was forming up amid a dense cloud of dust through which twinkled the reflections of polished brass and steel. Arthur was aware of a dull rumble of iron-shod hoofs, and fancied he could almost sense it through the ground beneath his own mount.
A glance over his shoulder revealed that the British column had edged forward a little more, the regiment ahead of the 33rd having just entered the rough track that ran through the length of the village. But there was still no chance of the column crossing the Anhelm before the enemy cavalry attacked. Arthur quickly gauged the distance between his position and the village before he gave the next order.
‘The 33rd will retire two hundred paces!’
Once the order had been relayed the men turned about and began marching closer to the shelter of the crude buildings of the Flemish peasants, even now nervously glancing at the approaching soldiers through their shutters and doors.
‘They’re coming!’ a voice shouted, and Arthur turned to look as the French cavalry began to ripple forward, the first two lines distinct, those that followed lost in the dust. There was no mad pell-mell charge such as British regiments were inclined to make. Instead the enemy came on at a trot, which gradually increased into a canter - but no more - as the officers kept their men under control. An impressive spectacle, Arthur mused. And a deadly one.
‘Halt!’ he called out. ‘About face … Prepare to receive cavalry!’
The regiment drew up a short distance from the village and turned to face the threat.
‘Fix bayonets!’ The sergeant major bellowed, and there was a brief scraping cacophony as the men drew the blades from their scabbards and then mounted the bayonets on to the muzzles of their muskets. All the time the enemy cavalry was drawing nearer, and now Arthur could see that they were hussars: light cavalry armed with pistols or carbines in addition to their sabres. They faltered for an instant as the British turned to face them.
‘Prepare to fire!’ Arthur called out, and the officers relayed the instruction down the line. The men loaded their weapons and as soon as the last ramrod had been slid back into place the muskets came up into the firing position. The enemy cavalry drew closer, still at the canter, until they were no more than two hundred yards away.
‘Steady men!’ Arthur called out. ‘Wait for the order!’
There was always some hothead, or simpleton, who could not wait to discharge his weapon even though there was no hope of scoring a hit at this range.With a sudden blaring of trumpets and a great throaty roar the French cavalry at last launched themselves into a charge and the ground trembled under the impact of their mounts.
‘Steady!’ Arthur shouted.
The men waited, muskets levelled, as the cavalry rushed towards them, braided hair flapping out from beneath their caps and mouths agape beneath waxed moustaches as they cheered themselves on.The points of their swords flickered before them, pointed towards the British at full arm stretch.The instant they had closed to within a hundred yards Arthur bellowed the order to fire.
The volley crashed out, instantly obscuring the cavalry. Then the air was filled with the cries of injured men, the shrill whinnying of maimed horses and the harsh exclamations of men caught up in the tangle of destruction wrought by the withering hail of British musket balls.
‘Reload!’
As his men drew out fresh cartridges, bit off the ends and spat the balls down into the muzzles of their muskets, Arthur rose in his stirrups and tried to see over the bank of powder smoke drifting across the ground in front of his regiment. He caught a brief glimpse of a guidon waving in the air as the enemy rallied the survivors of the volley and attempted to renew the charge. As soon as the men had reloaded Arthur raised his arm, waited an instant and then swept it down.
‘Fire!’
The second volley rippled out in bright stabs of flame, more smoke, and a renewed chorus of screams and confusion.Again, the redcoats reloaded and then there was a short pause before Arthur heard Fitzroy’s voice calling out from nearby.
‘They’re falling back!’
His words were greeted by a ragged chorus of cheers from the ranks.
‘Silence!’ Arthur bellowed. ‘Silence there!’
The noise swiftly subsided and then Arthur heard for himself the sound of the enemy’s withdrawal. He waited a moment longer, until the smoke had dispersed enough for him to be certain that it was true, and not some French ruse, before he gave the order for the regiment to continue falling back towards the edge of the village.The 33rd moved at a slow pace to ensure that the line was not disrupted, the sergeants concentrating their attention on keeping the lines dressed as they passed over broken ground.
It did not take long for the French to recover their nerve, reform their line and come forward again. This time the line was extended and fresh units were added to each end.Their intention was clear to Arthur as soon as he saw them approach once again. He turned to his adjutant.
‘By God, 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 horsemen on the wings steered their horses straight ahead, aiming to pass 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 passed 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 horsemen 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.
Assured 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 passage, 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 assault 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 buttress 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.