Young bloods

'Grab a weapon and follow me!'

Then he was off, charging forward amongst the men streaming towards the fort. Along the ramparts puffs of musket fire appeared amid the figures of men entangled in desperate hand-to-hand fighting. Napoleon reached the ditch, scrambled down the steep slope, narrowly missing the sharpened points of a spiked wooden frame set in the mud at the bottom. A few of the men were already wounded and making their way down from the rampart as Napoleon started to climb on hands and knees. All along the rampart on either side, the French were struggling to break into the fort. The desperate faces of redcoats were visible above the parapet as they thrust with their bayonets or swung their muskets like clubs. Both sides went for each other like wild animals. As he climbed amongst the men locked into the desperate struggle, Napoleon drew his sword and raised it as high as he could.

'Forward!' he cried out. 'Forward! Follow me!'

Thrusting between two of his men he grasped the top of a gabion and hauled himself up and into an embrasure.The fort was laid out before him, and in the brief time he took to glance round Napoleon saw that this rampart was sparsely defended, but more men were forming up on the far side of the fort near the enemy's accommodation bunkers. There wasn't much time before the enemy reinforced this side of the fort.

'Colonel!' Marmont shouted close by. 'To your left!'

Napoleon was aware of the blur of scarlet as he twisted round and just had time to sweep his sword across to ward off the bayonet thrust. The spike of steel clattered away and stabbed into the wicker wall of the embrasure. Napoleon punched the hilt of his sword into the face of the British soldier and the man fell back with a grunt, dropping his musket. Napoleon paid him no more attention and jumped down inside the fort, frantically waving at the men immediately behind him to follow. On either side small groups of Frenchmen were also inside the rampart and chasing after the enemy who ran before them. Only a few British troops with stout hearts faced the enemy, fiercely determined to defend their fort and their honour. Beyond, their comrades were hurriedly forming a firing line, ready to counter-attack the French and drive them from the fort. Napoleon turned to look for Marmont and saw him a few paces away, clambering over the rampart.

'Captain! Get a message back to the general. Tell him we've taken the wall. Tell him to send more men and the fort is ours. Go!'

Marmont nodded, turned back and dropped out of sight. Napoleon stared round frantically, assessing the situation. Scores of French were over the rampart, a mass of soldiers, leaderless and disorganised, and now showing signs of confusion and fear as their earlier rage was wearing off. Many were artillerymen, armed with little more than stakes and knives.Those that carried muskets had discharged them at the enemy in the initial assault. Napoleon realised he had to form up his men immediately; get some order and restore discipline before they melted away when the well-ordered ranks of redcoats advanced towards them.

Nearby a volunteer sergeant had clubbed a redcoat to the ground and was now going through the man's pockets. Napoleon grabbed his arm and harshly tugged the man away from his looting. 'Get the men ordered! Form them in line, those with muskets at the front.'

The man looked back blankly, and Napoleon shook him. 'Form the men up! Understand?'

Awareness returned to the sergeant and he nodded, turning away to bellow orders at the men milling about across the rampart. Napoleon turned the other way, found some more sergeants and Lieutenant Junot, and passed on his instructions. Slowly, too slowly, the mob was shoved and cajoled into a rough line just below the rampart, and as more men spilled into the fort they were rushed into place alongside their comrades. Napoleon gave the order for all those that had muskets and ammunition to load up and hold their fire until ordered. As the air filled with sound of ramrods driving home the powder cartridges and musket balls, Napoleon knew that if they could just hold the wall long enough for Carteaux to feed organised and fully armed units into the fight then Fort Mulgrave would be captured.

From the far side of the fort a drum roll echoed across the interior. As Napoleon watched, the British line rippled forward at an even pace, closing on the French with muskets still resting on their shoulders. Napoleon could not help smiling in admiration at the coolness of the enemy.Then the smile faded at the realisation of the imminent danger he and his men were in. He drew a breath and shouted the order.

'Advance your muskets!'

Those in the front line thrust their weapons out at an angle towards the enemy.

'Raise muskets!'

Up and down the hurriedly formed line the muskets rose up, butts held firmly into the shoulder and right thumbs poised over the firing hammers.

'Cock your weapons!'

As the ratchets clicked along the line one man's nerves overwhelmed him and he fired his weapon immediately.

'Hold your fire, damn you!' Napoleon shouted in the direction of the puff of smoke that betrayed the man's position. 'Hold your fire until I give the order!'

Opposite them the British line halted, little more than fifty paces away. Close enough that Napoleon could make out the individual features in their faces and the face of the officer who had found a mount in all this confusion and now towered over his men. The British officer barked an order and the redcoats lifted their muskets from their shoulders and advanced them towards the enemy in a bristling hedge of deadly steel. Napoleon raised his sword.

'Prepare to fire!… Fire!'

The French volley went off in a ragged flurry of explosions that instantly wreathed the air in front of them in a temporary veil of sickly yellow smoke. The men in the rear ranks cheered, but as the smoke dissipated the cheering quickly died in their throats. Only a handful of the enemy had fallen and now it was their turn to fire. The redcoat officer gave his orders with stentorian precision; up came the muskets, back went the cocking hammers, then there was a short pause and a dreadful quiet hung over the fort, save for the moans and feeble cries of the injured.

The redcoat officer shouted an order that was instantly swallowed up by the roar of a massed volley as flames stabbed out from the British muzzles and they were obscured from view by a thick bank of smoke. The volley swept through the French line like a hailstorm and the air around Napoleon was filled with the sharp whip and thud of musket balls as they shot past or struck his men. The head of a man in front of Napoleon snapped back and dissolved into a messy pulp of bone, brains and blood that splattered across Napoleon's face and chest like hot rain. Then came the gasps and cries of the victims, and as Napoleon wiped his face he saw that scores of his men were down and the rest looked at the carnage about them in horror.

'Fire back!' he shouted, and those still possessing the wit to act, snatched cartridges from their pouches and began to reload. From the line of redcoats came the sound of ramrods rattling down barrels. As they prepared another deadly volley the fastest loading of the Frenchmen fired back, an uneven ripple of pops with the occasional fizz of a misfire. Then the second enemy volley crashed out and more Frenchmen buckled over and crumpled to the ground. A handful of men at the rear melted away, creeping back towards the ramparts. As soon as Napoleon saw them he charged over to the nearest man.

'Get back! Back into line!'

The man looked at the young officer as if he was mad, shook his head and scrambled desperately through the embrasure, knocking aside the hand that Napoleon thrust towards him. Napoleon stared after the man, his heart sinking and for the first time he felt the icy hand of mortality upon him. That he might die here, on this muddy, corpse-strewn rampart when there was so much still to achieve, appalled him. If only there were reinforcements. Where the hell was Carteaux? Then beyond the rampart, over by the French trenches, he saw a column of men marching across the open ground to the fort. It would still take them some time to reach the ramparts. Too long. Napoleon swallowed nervously, aware that there was only one chance left to him now.