An Infamous Army (36 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On the following morning the only news was of Sir Thomas Picton's arrival in Brussels. He was putting up at the Hotel d'Angleterre with two of his aides-de-camp, Captain Chambers of the 1 st Footguards, and an audacious young gentleman who ought to have been in London with the 1st battalion of that regiment, but who had procured leave, and contrived to get himself enrolled on Sir Thomas Picton's staff as honorary aide-de-camp. It seemed reasonable to Mr Gronow to suppose that he could quite well take part in a battle in Belgium and be back again in London in time to resume his duties at the expiration of his leave.

While Sir Thomas, a burly figure in plain clothes - for the trunks containing his uniforms had not yet arrived in Brussels - was seated at breakfast, Colonel Canning came in to say that the Duke wished to see him immediately. He finished his breakfast, and went off to Headquarters. He met Wellington in the Park, walking with the Duke of Richmond and Lord Fitzroy-Somerset. All three were deep in conversation. Sir Thomas strode up to them, accosting his chief with his usual lack of ceremony, and received a chilling welcome.

"I am glad you are come, Sir Thomas," said his Lordship stiffly. He looked down his nose at the coarse, square-jowled face in front of him. He valued old Picton for his qualities as a soldier, but he had never been able to like him. "As foul-mouthed an old devil as ever lived," he had once said of him. Picton's familiarity annoyed him; he delivered one of his painful snubs.

"The sooner you get on horseback the better," he said. "No time is to be lost. You will take the command of the troops in advance. The Prince of Orange knows by this time that you will go to his assistance."

A slight bow, and it was plain that his lordship considered the interview at an end. Picton was red-faced, and glaring. Richmond, sorry for the rough old man's humiliation, said something civil, but Picton was too hurt and angry to respond. He moved away, muttering under his breath, and his lordship resumed his conversation.

No further news having arrived from the frontier, Brussels continued its normal life. It was generally supposed that the previous night's report had been another false alarm. The usual crowd of fashionables promenaded in the Park; ladies looked over their gowns for the Duchess of Richmond's ball; gentleman hurried to the market to order posies for their inamoratas.

Colonel Audley had left his brother's house before Juith was up, but he came in about midday for a few minutes. There was no news; he told her briefly that the chances were that the concentration on Maubeuge was a prelude to a feint; and was able to assure her that no alarm was felt at Headquarters. The Duchess of Richmond's ball would certainly take place; the Prince of Orange was coming in from Braine-le-Comte to dine with the Duke about three; Lord Hill was already in Brussels; and Uxbridge and a host of divisional and brigade commanders were expected to arrive during the course of the afternoon, for the purpose of attending the ball. This certainly did not seem as though an outbreak of hostilities was expected; any further confirmation was later received from Georgiana Lennox, who, meeting Judith on a shopping errand during the afternoon, was able to report that Lord Hill had called in the Rue de la Blanchisserie, and had disclaimed any knowledge of movement on the frontier.

The Prince of Orange arrived in Brussels shortly after two o'clock, in his usual spirits, and after changing his dress in his house in the Rue de Brabant, went round to Headquarters. He had heard no further news , set very little store by the previous night's report, and had ridden in light-heartedly to take part in the evening's festivities, leaving Constant de Rebecque in charge at Braine-le-Comte.

"Well, well!" drawled Fremantle, when his Highness had gone off upstairs to pay his respects to the Duke "Our Corps Commander! One comfort is that old Constant will do much better without him. Think there's anything brewing, Canning?"

"I don't know. Another hum, I daresay. Muffling has heard nothing: he was in here a few minutes ago."

The Duke dined early, sitting down to table with the Prince of Orange and the various members of his staff. At three o'clock a despatch was brought in for the Prince, from Braine-le-Comte. It was from Constant, containing a report received from General Behr at Mons, just after the Prince's departure from his headquarters. The 2nd Prussian Brigade of Ziethen's 1st Corps had been attacked early that morning, and alarm guns fired all along the line. The attack seemed to be directed on Charleroi.

The Duke ran his eye over the despatch. "H'm! Sent off at 9.30, I see. Doesn't tell us much."

"Behr had it from General Steinmetz, through Van Vlerlen," said the Prince. "That would put the attack in the small hours, for Steinmetz's despatch you see, was sent off from Fontaine-1'Eveque. Sir, do you think -?"

"Don't think anything," said his lordship. "I shall hear from Grant presently."

At four o'clock Muffling came in with a despatch from General Ziethen, which was dated 9a.m. from Charleroi. It contained the brief information that the Prussians had been engaged since 4a.m. Thuin had been captured by the French, and the Prussian outposts driven back. General Ziethen hoped the Duke would concentrate his army on Nivelles, seven miles to she west of the main Charleroi-Brussels chaussee.

The Duke remained for some moments deep in thought. Muffling presently said: "How will you assemble your army, sir?"

The Duke replied in his decided way: "I will order all to be ready for instant march, but I must wait for advice from Mons before fixing a rendezvous."

"Prince Blucher will concentrate on Ligny, if he has not already done so."

"If all is as General Ziethen supposes," said the Duke, "I will concentrate on my left wing the Corps of the Prince of Orange. I shall then be a portee to fight in conjunction with the Prussian Army."

He gave back Ziethen's despatch and turned away. It was evident to Muffling that he had no more to say, but he detained him for a moment with the question. Where would he concentrate his army? The Duke repeated: ": must wait for advice from Mons."

He spoke in a calm voice, but a little while after Muffling had left the house he showed signs of some inward fret, snapping at Canning for not having immediately understood a trivial order. Canning came away with a rueful face, and enquired of Lord Fitzroy, what had gone wrong.

"No word from Grant," replied Fitzroy. "It's very odd: he's never failed us yet."

"Looks as though the whole thing's nothing but a feint," remarked Fremantle. "Trust Grant to send word if there were anything serious on hand!"

This belief began to spread through the various offices: if Colonel Grant, who was the cleverest intelligence officer the army had ever had, had not communicated with Headquarters, it could only be because he had nothing of sufficient importance te report.

The afternoon wore on, with everyone kept at his post in case of emergency, but a general feeling over all that the affair would turn out to be a false alarm. Previous scares were recalled; someone argued that if Bonaparte had been in Paris on June 10th with the Imperial Guard, it was impossible for him yet to have reached the frontier.

At five o'clock a dragoon arrived from Braine-le-Comte with despatches for Lord Fitzroy. The Duke was in his office with Colonel de Lancey, but be broke off his conversation as Fitzroy came in, and barked out:

"Despatches from Sir George Berkeley, sir, enclosing reports from General Dornberg, Baron Chasse, and Baron van Merlen."

"Dornberg, eh?" His lordship's eye brightened. "Has he heard from Grant?"

"No, sir," replied Fitzroy, laying the papers before "General Dornberg's letter, as your lordship will see, is dated only 9.30a.m."

"Nine-thirty!" An explosion seemed imminent; his Lordship picked up the letters and read them with a cold eye and peevishly pursed lips. Dornberg, at Mons, merely stated that he had found a picket of French Lancers on the Bavay road, and that the troops at Quivrain had been replaced by a handful of National wards and Gendarmes. All the French troops appeared to be marching towards Beaumont and Philippeville.

The Duke gave the despatch to De Lancey without comment, and picked up Chase's and Van Merlen's reports. Van Merlen, writing at an early hour of the morning from Saint Symphorien, stated that the Prussians under General Steinmetz were retiring from Binche to Gosselies, and that if pressed the I Corps would concentrate at Fleurus.

De Lancey looked up with a worried frown from the despatch in his hand. He was finding the post of Quartermaster-General arduous; he had brought young bride with him to Brussels, too, and was beginning to look rather careworn. "Then it comes to this, sir, that we have no intelligence later than nine this morning."

"No. All we know is that there has been an attack on the Prussian outposts and that the French have taken Thuin. I can't move on that information."

His lordship said no more, but both De Lancey and Fitzroy knew what was in his mind. He had always been jealous of his right, for in that direction lay his communication lines. It was his opinion that the French would try to cut him off from the seaports; he was suspicious of the attack on the Prussians: it looked to him like a feint. He would do nothing until he received more certain information.

Between six and seven o'clock he issued his first orders. The Quartermaster-General's staff woke to sudden activity. Twelve messages had to be written and carried to their various destinations. The whole of the English cavalry was to collect at Ninove that night: General Dornberg's brigade of Light Dragoons of the Legion to march on Vilvorde; the reserve artillery to be ready to move at daybreak; General Colville's 4th Infantry Division, except the troops beyond the Scheldt, to march eastward on Grammont; the 10th Brigade, just arrived from America under General Lambert and stationed at Ghent, to move on Brussels; the 2nd and 5th Divisions to be at Ath in readiness to move at a moment's notice; the 1st and 3rd to concentrate at Enghien and Braine-le-Comte. The Brunswick Corps was to concentrate on Brussels; the Nassau contingent upon the Louvain road; and the 2nd and 3rd Dutch-Belgic divisions under Generals Perponcher and d'Aubreme were ordered to concentrate upon Nivelles. His lordship had received no intelligence from Mons, and was still unwilling to do more than to put his Army in a state of readiness to move at a moment's notice. The Quartermaster-General's office became a busy hive, with De Lancey moving about in it with his sheaf of papers, and frowning over his maps as he worked out the details for the movements of the divisions, sending out his messages, and inwardly resolving to be done with the Army when this campaign was over. He was a good officer, but the responsibility of his post oppressed him. Too much depended on his making no mistakes. The Adjutant-General had to deal with the various duties to be distributed, with morning-states of men and horses, and with the discipline of the Army, but the Quartermaster-General's work was more harassing. On his shoulders rested the task of arranging every detail of equipment, of embarkation, of marching, halting, and quartering the troops. It was not easy to move an army; it would be fatally easy to create chaos in concentrating troops that were spread over a large area. De Lancey checked up his orders again, referred to the maps, remembered that such-and-such a bridge would not bear the passage of heavy cavalry, that this or that road had been reported in a bad state. At the back of his busy mind another and deeper anxiety lurked. He would sen Magdalene to Ghent, into safety. He hoped she woul consent to go; he would know no peace of mind if she were left in this unfortified and perilously vulnerable town.