Young bloods

Arthur gestured back down the road, towards the column of smoke. 'Just regretting the waste.'

'Yes, it seems absurd. Quite absurd,' Fitzroy replied. 'Here we are, having waited months to get into the fight, and the first bloody thing we do is bolt for cover. It's no way to run a war.'

'True.' Arthur nodded.The 33rd had been given orders to join a convoy bound for the West Indies, before being plucked from their ships at the last moment to join the army being assembled by Lord Moira to invade Brittany. After long months of preparation the force had appeared off the French coast to discover that the uprising they had been sent to support had just been crushed. And so, finally, the 33rd had landed in Ostend, keen as mustard to get stuck into the enemy, only to find that their orders were no longer relevant, thanks to the sweeping advances of the French.

Arthur sca

'I think you might get your chance to fight rather sooner than you think. Look there.'

Fitzroy followed the direction indicated. 'The enemy?'

'Who else? Certainly not our men. And hardly likely to be the Austrians. Last I heard they were scurrying back to the Rhine.'

'Scum,' Fitzroy muttered darkly. 'Take all our bloody money and then leave us dangling in front of Frenchie. Scum…'

'Well, yes – quite,' Arthur nodded. 'But we are where we are, Fitzroy. Nothing we can do about it now.'

'No. Suppose not. Still, eh? Bloody Austrians.'

'Yes. Bloody Austrians…'

'No doubt those Frenchies over there are going to be reporting on our every move.'

'You can bet on it.'

'Really?' Fitzroy gri

'I distinctly said, you can bet on it. I'm no longer a betting man.'

'So you say. But I bet if I offered you good enough odds-'

'Fitzroy, you are becoming tiresome.' Arthur was not in much of a mood for conversation, particularly over a subject that could only add to his sense of frustration. He glanced back at Fitzroy's company. 'Your fellows are already slowing down. I'd be obliged if you'd hurried them along, Captain.'

The adoption of a formal air caused Fitzroy to raise his eyebrows, but he saluted none the less and wheeled his mount round and trotted off.

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief that he was alone with his thoughts once again. Such moments had been something of a luxury since he had left Dublin. Immediately his mind was filled with the image of Kitty.The familiar stab of anger was there in his chest as he recalled the humiliation he had been subjected to by her brother when the latter had refused to permit Kitty to marry such an impecunious prospect as Arthur. In the months that followed he had thrown himself into his duties, partly to enhance his understanding of military matters, but mostly to divert his mind from thoughts of her. Shortly before quitting Dublin he had endured one last humiliation and wrote to her, frankly acknowledging his unsuitability but asking her to reconsider his offer of marriage should the Pakenhams judge that his fortunes had significantly improved at some point in the future. He had concluded the letter by saying that he would always love her and would always honour the offer of marriage. Not that there seemed much chance of improving his lot at the present, Arthur grimaced. There had been few opportunities for anyone in the army to win their spurs, and those opportunities that had availed themselves had largely been squandered in defeat and disgrace. There was little sign that this campaign in Flanders was going to be any different.

Lord Moira's force consisted mostly of infantry, with two batteries of six-pounders and a depleted regiment of light cavalry who were of little use apart from scouting and courier duties. Such a poorly balanced force would be vulnerable if the enemy managed to pin it down long enough to bring up sufficient artillery to finish them off. So they were kept on the move, driven hard by their officers and NCOs as they marched north-east under the blazing summer sunshine. In wool jackets, leather stocks and carrying over sixty pounds of equipment and supplies, the men were soon exhausted, and by dusk of the first day the column had already lost a handful of stragglers. Some would catch up during the course of the night, but those too unfit to rejoin their comrades would be at the mercy of the enemy.There were more stragglers on the second evening, and by now the French scouts were much closer to the column and Arthur heard the brief sound of distant shots as they finished off a small party of redcoats who had lingered behind the rest of the column.

The march resumed the next morning in an even more subdued tone and the light spirits that the men had evinced after quitting Ostend had gone, replaced by a sullen determination to keep going. At noon they halted a short distance from the village of Ondrecht where a bridge crossed over the Anhelm river, a small tributary of the Schelde.

'Down packs!' The order was relayed down the column and the men gratefully undid the buckles on the uncomfortable chest straps that restricted their breathing and set their packs down at the side of the road. The stoppers were pulled from canteens and the soldiers swigged a few gulps of tepid water into their parched mouths. Arthur made his way down the dusty road, exchanging a few words with the officers and trying to preserve the calm imperturbability that he believed a commanding officer should demonstrate to his subordinates.

As he remounted his horse, Arthur noticed a troop of British cavalry galloping across a field to the south. They approached the column at a tangent and then swerved towards the party of staff officers just behind the vanguard.

'There's trouble,' one of the sergeants muttered.

Sure enough, as Arthur watched, the ensign in command of the troop was gesticulating wildly to the south-east as he made his report to Lord Moira.The general quickly consulted with his staff officers and then one of them rode down the side of the column, bellowing orders. Behind him, officers and NCOs hurriedly formed their units up on the road, ready to continue the march. The staff officer was still some way off but Arthur decided not to delay for a moment.

'The regiment will form up!'

At once the men sitting along the sides of the road scrambled to their feet and struggled into their packs, snatched up their weapons and hurried into position. They stood still and ready to march as the staff officer reined in beside Wellington, scattering gravel and clods of dirt across the nearest men.

'General's respects, sir,' the staff officer saluted. 'Scouts report the enemy is approaching from the south. His Lordship fears the French might be trying to prevent us crossing the Anhelm.'

'What is the enemy's strength?'

'Scouts report two regiments of cavalry, a battery of horse artillery, and several battalions of infantry following on a mile behind.'

'How far away are they?'

'Ten, maybe eleven miles. At least they were when the scouts observed them.'

'Ten miles?' Arthur frowned as he made some hurried calculations. The French were three hours away, at the most. The bridge over the Anhelm was at least four miles down the road. There was a good chance that the enemy cavalry would catch the column before it could cross to safety. The race was on.

Arthur smiled grimly. He looked at the staff officer and nodded. 'Very well. My compliments to Lord Moira. Tell him we will do our best to keep up.'

'Yes, sir.' The staff officer saluted, wheeled his mount round and galloped back towards the head of the column, already moving off down the road and stirring up a dusty haze as they advanced at a fast pace. One by one the units of the British column edged forward, until at last Arthur gave the order for his regiment to march. Easing his horse out to one side of the road, Arthur watched his men pass by for a moment before he reached inside the saddlebag for his spyglass. He sca