Quatre Bras - The French Cavalry versus the British Infantry, Act One

French Cuirassiers catch Halkett's Brigade in line.

Major General Sir Dennis Pack, commanding the 9th Brigade, part of Lieutenant General Sir Thomas Picton's 5th Division, was sheltering in a hastily formed square with a single aide-de-camp.

His men had been caught in the open, in line, by French cavalry. Slowly his men were forming square and gaining the upper hand on the French.

"Sir Dennis!"

Turning his horse's head, Pack looked to the commanding officer of the 44th. More bloody cavalry!

Maréchal des logis Antoine Aulard spurred his mount and lowered his lance. A number of his fellow lancers were attacking an English color party and the men defending their flag had their backs to him. What an achievement this would be, seize an English color and present it to the Emperor himself! Surely that would merit the Cross¹!

Private Jack Sloan thrust his bayonet at a cavalryman trying to wrest the Regimental Color from the steely grip of Ensign James Christie. The Frenchman knocked his musket down with a swing of his sword but then collapsed over his horse's neck as another man shot him from behind. Sloan was terrified, he wasn't used to this.

Ensign Christie, a former Sergeant Major, was fighting like a mad man. The damned frogs wouldn't be taking the colors of the 44th, not while he still breathed.

Sloan turned as he heard hoofbeats behind him, turning he tried to bring his musket to bear but was knocked aside by the Frenchman's horse. He screamed out a warning as he fell to the ground.

Christie heard the shout and turned.

Aulard leaned into his thrust and bellowed in satisfaction as his lance took the English color bearer in the face. As the man went down, Aulard let go of his lance and grabbed for the bright yellow flag.

The man he had thought he had killed held tight to the flag staff as he went down on one knee, blood streaming down his face. Aulard could hear the man shouting commands and he had to wonder, "How is this man not dead?"

Sloan tried to get up, but his left side was numb from the horse running him down. He watched as a large piece of the corner of the Regimental Color tore loose in the grip of the French cavalryman. Though this was his first campaign, he knew the shame which would attach to the regiment if they lost one of the colors.²

While he didn't have the entire color, Aulard still raised his hand in triumph, holding aloft a portion of the colors of the 44th Foot. In the next instant he gasped in agony as a British bayonet entered his lower back. Immediately he lost all feeling from the waist down and fell from his horse.

Aulard tried to drag himself away, but in vain.

Sergeant Major Weston tucked the torn piece of the Regimental Color into his haversack as he looked down at the dead Frenchman. He had tried to save the man's life but the men had their blood up and had bayoneted the cavalryman as he had tried to crawl away, still gripping the piece of the torn color.

Weston had no more time to reflect on the incident as the battalion was now in square and better organized, but their losses had been frightful. Though Ensign Christie was still alive, Weston feared for the man's life. The French lance had pierced the man's left eye and gone down and out of his lower jaw.

"Sar'nt Major!!" he heard an officer shout.

"Sir!"

"Take charge of the color party!"

"Very good, Sir!"

The Duke of Wellington had barely had time to take shelter in a square of the Gordon Highlanders. Though his reinforcements were slowly giving him an advantage in numbers, the French were pressing hard. He feared that the other three regiments in Pack's brigade had been roughly handled.

"Your Grace!"

Wellington turned to one of his aides and cocked an eyebrow.

"The Guards have arrived, Your Grace. They're moving into the Bossu Wood. If we can drive the Frenchies out of there, we'll have secured that flank."

"Quite, Gordon. Thank you.

Wellington had his glass out, though many of the crops were trampled, visibility to the front was still very restricted. So far, the French artillery and cavalry had done a lot of damage to his forces. He saw an artillery battery, Dutch from the look of it, abandoned on a small hillock not far from where he sat on Copenhagen.³

Then he heard a sound, the beating of the French drums. "Good," he muttered to himself, "that will give us a breather from their artillery."

"Those guns are well served, my Lord." An officer of the 92nd foot offered from nearby, nodding towards the French lines.

"Yes, yes they are. Where is your commander?"

"The Colonel⁴ has been wounded, Your Grace. I fear mortally."

"Damn it." Wellington muttered again.

Nudging his horse forward, Wellington shouted over to his aide. "Come along, Gordon, back to the crossroads I think. Can't direct a battle from here."

As the ranks of the 92nd opened, Wellington glanced down the road to the south one more time. Yes, there they were in their damned attack columns. "We shall see, we shall see."

"Your Grace?" Gordon looked puzzled, he thought he'd missed an order.

"Nothing, my dear Gordon, just thinking out loud."

The two men gathered the staff which had been sheltering in other squares and they rode back to the crossroads. Wellington noticed that one or two men were missing. A hot day, this one.

¹ The Cross refers to the Cross of the Legion of Honor.

² British regiments carried two colors into battle, the King's Colour, which essentially was the Union flag with the regimental insignia and battle honors affixed. The Regimental Colour had the Union flag in the top corner, was in the same base color as the regimental facings (the colors trimming the men's uniforms), and had the same regimental details and battle honors as the King's Colour.

³ The name of Wellington's horse.

⁴ Lieutenant-Colonel John Cameron of Fassifern commanded the 92nd Regiment of Foot (the Gordon Highlanders) at Quatre Bras.