Flashman's Waterloo Page 32

  There were shouts of delight and congratulation, for this meant that the battle was won and for the time being France was safe. I confess that I felt a sense of relief myself, for this also meant that the killing would stop and my old comrades would soon be marching, somewhat hurriedly, to Antwerp.

  Napoleon held up his hand for silence and then pushed it back inside his waistcoat to massage his stomach. “Gentlemen, we do not need to wait for Grouchy to end this battle. We cannot have him thinking he has rescued his emperor.” He smiled at his officers and they grinned and nudged each other in delight. Now any uncertainty had gone, their confidence had soared and most looked gleeful at the prospect of further action. That was not a reaction I shared, and I began to wonder if my ‘recovery’ from wounds had been premature. I needed to find an excuse to escape this gathering. “In a short while—” the emperor continued before being interrupted by a new mud-splattered courier, who reined his horse up hard from the direction of Hougoumont. Napoleon looked up, “Has the château fallen?”

  “No sire,” gasped the courier, who looked uncomfortably aware that he was now the focus of attention of both his emperor and almost the entire general staff. “Scouts on our left flank report that the allies are falling back. Thousands of them are retreating into the trees.”

  “They must have seen Grouchy,” called a voice, which was the obvious conclusion. But if anything, Napoleon looked surprised at this development.

  “You are sure that thousands of them are pulling back?” he queried.

  “So the scouts report, sire,” confirmed the messenger.

  “Well then, I had better send new orders to Marshal Ney.”

  “I’ll take them, sire,” Like a fool I spoke up. Several officers there knew I was on Ney’s staff and so they would have expected me to volunteer, but in that moment I actually thought it would take me away from danger. I could also take my sweet time delivering it to give the allies more time to escape. I was not going to help any coup de grâce on their collapsing line. Then I realised that I had no idea where to take the message. “Where is the marshal, sire? I have just come back from having my wounds treated.” I gestured at my horse-blood stained clothes.

  Napoleon gave me a look of genuine concern. “Ah, Colonel Moreau, I trust you are fit for the duty? The marshal is on our right with the cavalry.” He gave me a look of close inspection before continuing. “Whatever you did to earn my attention before, if it was a wrong, you have righted it. The blood-stained ribbon on your Legion of Honour is far nobler than a pristine new one.”

  “Thank you, sire,” I replied while unconsciously straightening the little white cross I wore on the ribbon around my neck. His eyes were boring into me as though he could see my thoughts. I knew I must be shifting awkwardly under his inspection, while I wished I had kept my damn trap shut.

  “Did you have a moustache before?” he enquired and I felt the sweat break out on my brow. I had to distract him and close off this enquiry or he would remember where he had seen me and who I was with.

  “No sire. But I had a brother who people say looked very like me. You may have met him, but he drowned at sea before he could mention it.”

  “Drowned at sea,” the emperor repeated, his eyes closed and his brow frowned in concentration. “No, it wasn’t a drowning.”

  The human mind is an awesome instrument, a tangled forest of memories, but sometimes it takes just a small spark of light to illuminate a whole panorama. I cursed myself for a purblind fool: why had I mentioned drowning or anything nautical? I already knew that the emperor’s memory was exceptional and now it was hard at work, burrowing away for that nugget he sought. When we had met at the Viennese embassy reception thirteen years before, we had talked about me being one of the few survivors of a naval battle. At that moment I knew exactly where his memory was going to take him and I was already edging back through the crowd as the emperor gave a cry of triumph.

  “It was a ship wreck, he survived a ship wreck.” The emperor still had his eyes closed but others were glaring curiously at me as I stepped away with Napoleon still considering my suggestion. “Where was it now?” he was musing. “No, not a French ship... Spanish, yes Spanish, one of their big ships in a battle with the British.” I was pushing through the crowd now, for it could only be a second or two before he remembered I had been with Britain’s spymaster. A hand tried to grab me but I shook it off, while another man cried out for me to stop. I was free of them and just turning to run for the horses when the emperor’s voice called out, “Wickham, he was with Wickham!”

  Half a dozen bounds and I had torn some reins from the hand of a startled trooper and swung up into the saddle. I glanced back; the emperor was standing there staring at me open-mouthed, as though his rational mind was struggling to believe what his memory was telling him. The rest just stared, either in anger at my rudeness or surprise. Probably none of them had the first clue who Wickham was. I did not wait for them to recover, but just pushed my heels back and galloped away.

  “Arrest that man,” the emperor roared after me. “He is a British spy!”

  Chapter 38

  The problem with a panic-stricken flight – and I should know as I have had more than a few in my inglorious career – is that you rarely know where you are going. My first thought had simply been to get away from the emperor. I had no further plan than that. When I looked over my shoulder again as I rode away, I saw an officer of his Imperial Guard running towards the horses and gesturing for some troopers to join him. I had to get away – and fast.

  My mind raced through the available options: all were bleak. If I stayed in French-held territory I was bound to be arrested and, after an unpleasant interrogation, executed. Even if I managed to escape my pursuers, I would become the most wanted man in the empire within hours. If the emperor’s people did not catch me Fouché’s would, and he would want me silenced too. On the other hand, if I rode for the allied lines, then the emperor would have every gun in the grand battery trying to blow me to pieces all the way across the valley. If by some miracle I survived that, then I still might be captured as Grouchy closed in on the allied rear. I was trapped. I glanced back again to see the Imperial Guard officer and four troopers coming after me, but only at the trot. The officer was pointing at me and laughing at something said by one of the cavalrymen. They knew they did not have to rush. They preferred to keep their horses fresh, for they could see as well as I that I had nowhere to go.

  As I galloped on, I stared back at the allied ridge; I still preferred my chances on the allied side of the valley. There would be all manner of chaos to hide amongst during the retreat. If only I could find a way of getting across safely. Then I saw the French cavalry formed up ahead with Marshal Ney at their front and an idea began to grow.

  The marshal had been studying Grouchy’s men through his glass but put it down irritably when I reined in beside him. “Moreau, where the devil have you been? Oh...” He paused as he noticed my blood-stained chest. “Have you been wounded?”

  “No, I am fine, sir.” I gestured to the dark columns on the horizon that he had been watching. “The emperor has announced that they are Grouchy and his men. He has also received reports from the left flank that the British are pulling back into the trees behind their line. Can I suggest, sir, that we send a squadron of cavalry to confirm the British are retreating? I would be honoured to lead it.” It was, I thought, a masterstroke of a suggestion. The grand battery could hardly fire on a whole squadron of their own horsemen just to kill one man. Once I was up on that allied ridge I could escape my surprised comrades and ride for the trees to join the chaos of the British withdrawal.

  “He has announced that those men are Grouchy’s?” Ney queried. “Has he spoken to General Bernard?”

  “Yes sir. That was how he found out it was Grouchy.” I glanced back over my shoulder. My pursuers, sensing some mischief was now afoot, had increased their pace to a canter. In a minute they would be up to me. I turned back to Ney, who s
eemed lost in his thoughts, staring back to Grouchy’s men and then along the ridge in the direction of the emperor’s headquarters. I had no more time; I had to sting him into making a decision. “Sir,” I whispered so only he could hear. “You don’t want the emperor accusing you of letting the British escape a second time.”

  Ney’s head snapped round at me and a look of indignation crossed his features. “How dare you…” he began. But then he must have mistaken the look of terror on my face for one of extreme concern. He had one final glance in the emperor’s direction and took a deep breath. “We should finish this battle quickly,” he announced. “We will do as you suggest, but with more horsemen.”

  At that very moment I heard a distant shout of, “Arrest that man,” but it was too late, for already Ney was turning to the colonel of the nearest regiment of cuirassiers and ordering his men to advance in column into the valley. I did not hesitate to push my horse into the middle of their ranks, while shouting that the marshal had ordered me to join them. There were five hundred of the elite armoured horsemen in that first regiment. Some looked surprised at having a blood-spattered infantry colonel force his way amongst them, but reluctantly they made way. We were advancing at the trot – the more experienced French were not making the same mistake as the British cavalry; their horses would be fresh for that final charge up the slope. Unfortunately for me, that gave the Imperial Guard officer the chance to catch up. I risked a final look back. Amongst my steel-clad comrades, I stood out like a boil on a buttock, but equally, I was near impossible to reach unless the column stopped moving.

  I saw the Guards officer pointing at me and shouting to Ney but he was paying no attention. Instead, he was having an altercation with the general commanding the cuirassiers, who was probably objecting to Ney giving them orders without informing him. With all the jingling of harnesses and continuing cannonade, I could not hear what was said, but Ney was losing his temper and pointing to the allied line. Then I was past them and out of sight, shielded in the armoured ranks. The mist of gun smoke began to close in around us as we descended into the valley and at last I began to relax a little.

  Against the odds my plan had worked. I had escaped arrest, at least for now. But then I began to consider the price. A squadron of cuirassiers among a retreating enemy was bad enough, but a whole regiment could be devastating. I had seen the carnage a regiment of these elite cavalry had created during the earlier attack. I vividly remembered them carrying away at least one colour from a destroyed British regiment, not to mention the poor bastards they had caught in line at Quatre Bras.

  We wheeled left once we were in the valley to ride along the hillside below the grand battery. The guns were firing shells across the allied ridge as fast as they ever had. They must have seen the horsemen and guessed where we were going. If there were any allied troops still on the ridge they were getting a pasting. The noise was deafening; you could feel the thuds as much in your chest as in your ears and any conversation was impossible.

  Several of my new comrades were glancing at me suspiciously; perhaps some had heard the calls for my arrest. Certainly a man in the rank ahead was nudging the riders either side to point out that they now had a colonel riding behind. We crossed the road that ran through the middle of the battleground. Ney was planning to charge up the ridge on the British right as that was where the men had been seen fleeing. The sound of gunfire diminished slightly as we left the battery behind and the man next to me reached out and tugged on my sleeve.

  “Is it right,” he shouted, “that you told the marshal that the men on the horizon are Grouchy’s command?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “The emperor has just announced it.”

  The rider nodded and passed the confirmation along the line to his mates. Then he turned to me with another enquiry. “So why did that Imperial Guard officer want to arrest you?” I might have the uniform of a colonel but I had pushed my way through to ride among their ranks like a common trooper and they knew something was not right. I could have told him to mind his own business and was on the cusp of doing just that when I noticed a crest on the saddle of the horse I had stolen. I grinned and pointed at it.

  “I borrowed the wrong horse.” The man looked and laughed. It was an imperial eagle; there was another on the saddle cloth, showing that the mount’s original owner had been in the Guard. “I could not find my horse,” I explained. “And the emperor wanted me to rush with the information to the marshal.”

  “Aye, they can be arrogant bastards sometimes,” agreed the trooper. “They take what they want from others, but don’t like it when someone does it to them.” We rode in silence for a while. Well, when I say silence, there was still an artillery barrage behind firing shells and balls over us towards the enemy and a group of troopers behind me were singing a revolutionary song; but there was no conversation along my rank. The smoke was thinning now as we got further from the battery. While the steel breastplates were hard to spot in the mist, the black horses and horsehair plumes on the helmets of my comrades were not. Staring into the distance, I saw activity up ahead around the château of Hougoumont. The British gunners had seen our approach and as they were out in the valley, they were busy harnessing up and making a run for it. I did not doubt that British gunners on the ridge had spotted us too, but they would wait until we were closer before opening fire or they would be destroyed first by the grand battery.

  I looked back over my left shoulder and was surprised to see another column of armoured horsemen coming up alongside. I pointed them out to the man I had been talking to.

  “Are those men part of this regiment?”

  He stared across and then grinned. “No,” he replied simply and then he pointed to another officer riding out at their head. It was the man I had seen Ney arguing with earlier. “That is General Milhaud, commander of our corps. He must be bringing the rest of our cuirassiers.”

  “How many cuirassiers are there?” I asked with a growing sense of foreboding.

  “We must have at least two thousand five hundred.”

  I repeated the number feeling slightly sick. I might have saved my own precious skin but in doing so I had virtually assured the destruction of the entire allied army. But then I stood up in my stirrups to see the rest of this force and discovered that the situation was even worse. The cuirassiers were coming in three columns but beyond them, I could see coming out of the gun smoke more horsemen, including hussars and lancers with their little pennon flags flapping at their lance points. Then, looking further down the French ridge I saw yet more horsemen coming to join the charge, thousands of them. Whether they had been ordered to join or just came of their own accord it was hard to say, for the dream of every cavalryman on earth is to find himself riding among broken infantry; when he can wield the power of life and death with virtual impunity.

  I felt physically ill at the thought of what I had started. There must have been well over five thousand horsemen, of every description, preparing to charge the allied ridge. Nothing could withstand that. The allied army would be annihilated just because I was determined to live. I will be honest with you and say that there are not many things that I would not sacrifice to save myself. It is easy to be noble from a distance, but when the prospect of torture and a firing squad is very real, things are different, at least for me. But it was a heavy price. I tried to reassure myself that at least no one would know that I had started it and Ney or Bonaparte could have thought of it without my help, but it did not ease my conscience greatly.

  “We should try to take as many prisoners as possible,” I shouted at my riding companion. “It will help the emperor agree a peace with the allies.”

  “Then they’d better drop their weapons smartly,” he laughed and loosened his sword in its scabbard. “My steel wants to taste blood today.”

  It took several minutes for the vast body of horsemen to form up. I watched as the allied gunners around Hougoumont made their escape, guns and caissons bouncing up in the air over ruts as
they whipped their horses into the gallop. I thought that they would form up again behind the ridge, but heard later that they did not stop until they were halfway to Brussels. Some allied gunners did make their presence felt, though, for we were a target so large that they would struggle to miss. Most allied guns stayed behind the ridge firing over the crest, but one did show itself on top of the ridge and was soon under heavy fire from French guns.

  A line was formed from roughly south of La Haye Sainte all the way to the edge of the trees around Hougoumont. This vast space was filled with rank after rank of horsemen. It was a riot of colour and uniforms; bugles were sounding, the occasional shell was exploding and horses and men were calling out in their excitement. I dare say none had been in a charge as big as this. I had certainly seen nothing this size before and I imagined that just over the ridge the allies were running pell-mell into the trees in panic to get out of its way. I just hoped that they had enough time, for at least it would be difficult for horsemen to pursue infantry into a forest. As soon as I got the chance I would be tearing off my uniform coat and doing my very best to disappear into the woodland too.

  Then the bugles called the advance and the whole mass began to move forward. We went at the walk at first. My regiment, being the first to enter the valley was in the front rank at the extreme right of the formation. We were soon going through the boggy valley floor but many of the crops in this part of the field had not yet been trampled and it was not too heavy going, at least for the first few ranks of horses. There were more allied guns firing directly from the ridge now and I heard a horse scream a whinny of pain from further along the line as it was hit and shouts as other men moved around the flailing animal. Then men began to fire on us from La Haye Sainte farm. There were riflemen there, picking off horsemen at the end of the line. Those nearest edged their horses away, compacting us so that my legs often touched those of my companions on either side or their horses. Some claimed later that their horses were lifted off the ground in the crush, but mine stayed grounded.