The Gun Line

(Source)

Chef d'escadron Augustin Couturier gasped in shock as the squadron to his front crested the ridge and was almost immediately enveloped in a cloud of powder smoke. The sound of canister hitting the armored breastplates and helmets of the men to his front was like hail on a tin roof. The screams of the horses and men, many in their death throes, nearly unnerved him.

A solid shot hissed past him, taking down the mount of the man directly behind him. He thought to check his squadron's advance but knew it would only lead to confusion, yelling back at his trumpeter he had but one thought, "Sound the charge!"

The horses were willing, Couturier felt his own mount try to break into a canter, but the beast was already tired from struggling up the increasingly muddy slope. The the horse shied and nearly threw Couturier from his saddle.

Looking at the ground, he saw dead and wounded men and horses everywhere, the leading squadron of his regiment had been torn to red ruin by British cannon. A number of his men surged past him, they were letting their emotions get the better of them.

"Rally! Rally to me!"

His trumpeter was sounding the rally call, but the excitement of the men, their rage after being under long range cannon fire throughout the day, couldn't be contained. So Couturier and his trumpeter picked their way forward and joined the charge of their squadron, following, rather than leading it.

Ramsay feared that perhaps he'd left it too late, but their first volley had stopped the French in their tracks. For the moment, already a second squadron of cuirassiers had burst through the lingering powder smoke and were coming on at a fast trot.

"Right lads, back to the infantry, look lively now!"

One of the sergeants yelled over at him, "What about the wheels, Sir? Shall we pull one?"

"Sod the bloody wheels, Sarn't. There is no time!"

As the men began to run back, one crew had their piece reloaded and were ready to fire, but the cavalry were on them quickly.

"Leave it, Jock!" he screamed.

But it was too late, most of the crew of his number two gun were sabered where they stood. Jock MacKay, the gun captain managed to unhorse one of the cuirassiers. Before he could dispatch the man and get under his gun for cover, another cuirassier brought his heavy sword down directly onto MacKay's head, cleaving his skull in two.

As Ramsay drew his sword he realized that to stand and fight was to die. As no one seemed to be paying him any mind, he started to make his way back to the squares. The ground was horrible, he could barely lift his feet due to the muck caked to his boots.

Still he went on. He heard, or rather felt, hoof beats coming up behind him. He turned, so quickly that he slipped and fell. Which saved his life for the moment.

"Où vas-tu cochon d'anglais?¹"

Ramsay heard the sibilant hiss of the cuirassier's saber slice past over his head. Had he still been standing he would have been decapitated. Scrambling, Ramsay managed to regain his feet as the horseman turned his mount.

Ramsay was angry now, how dare this cad refer to him as "English"? As the Frenchman came back, Ramsay ducked low and slashed his blade across the horse's back legs. As the French horse collapsed in the mud, Ramsay brought his sword down on the Frenchman's head.

Sparks flew as the blade glanced off the cuirassier's helmet, though it did seem to stun the man. Ramsay's next move was to give the Frenchman the point, at his throat where there was no armor.

Ramsay again turned back towards the nearest square, the other horsemen had shied off rather than face the bayonets of the formed infantry.

The infantry for their part dared not fire a volley, reserving their fire for a real threat. Discharging their muskets at close range would have brought down many a man and horse, but there was always the danger of a dead or badly wounded horse and rider crashing into the square, disrupting the ranks and leaving a hole for others to attack.

"Jaysus, Sir, but ye look a sight!"

Corporal Tommy Adair, his shako gone and his face powder stained, helped pull Ramsay into the square.

"Quite. Where are the rest of the men, Tommy?"

"All here, Sir, save number two gun's crew, 'aven't seen 'em."

As Ramsay tried to scrape the mud from his uniform, he turned to his batman, "I'm afraid they're done for, Tommy. They got off a last shot, then went down under French sabers."

At that moment a cheer went up from the infantry, the cavalry had pulled back out of sight.

Adair looked sad for a moment, then looked to his officer, "Back to the guns, Sir?"

"Right, Tommy, back to work. Let's go lads!"

Ramsay and what remained of H Troop went back to man their guns.

"Côté, how badly were we hurt?" Couturier and his squadron had fallen back to the dip between the ridges where they were sheltered from the English artillery.

"Seven men, twelve horses. I've got the fourriers² rounding up stray mounts. Dubonnier's squadron ahead of us was cut to pieces."

Couturier heard a trumpet call, another unit, this one of dragoons, was heading back up the slope to try their luck with the enemy guns and squares.

"Damn it, where is the infantry?" Couturier wondered.

Some eleven hundred paces from where Couturier's squadron was reorganizing itself, Maréchal Ney was gathering a body of infantry to assault La Haye Sainte. He had been given a direct order by the Emperor to seize the farm complex.

Much of d'Erlon's I Corps was still disorganized and demoralized from their earlier attack. Ney suspected that a number of men had made their way to the rear rather than go forward again.

One of his aides had already told him that some of the infantry were in a rather mutinous mood, muttering "treason" and "betrayal" as they did not know nor trust their officers.

A patchwork brigade of veterans had been mustered, it consisted of a number of battalions from three of d'Erlon's four divisions, the fourth was over on the right flank, still engaged in desultory fighting around Papelotte, Smohain, and La Haye³. This cluster of farm buildings and dwellings had been seized and lost a number of times already.

Ney drew his sword and placed himself at the head of these men.

"Soldiers of France! You know me, we must have this farm, this La Haye Sainte! The Emperor commands it!"

With shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" the men went forward, skirmishers to the front, two squadrons of Milhaud's cuirassiers to either side of the column in support.

As they approached the complex, the volume of fire was less than it had been earlier. Many of the men suspected that the enemy was waiting for them to get closer before firing. They marched bent over, as men would walk into a heavy rain.

Only the occasional shot rang out, then the drums began to beat the pas de charge and the infantry surged forward. Clambering over the walls surrounding the courtyard of La Haye Sainte and forcing the gates along the Brussels chaussée.

For the garrison was down to their last few rounds.

Ney left a brigade commander to take on the task of seizing La Hate Sainte. One of his aides asked him where they were bound.

"The cavalry attack is fading. We must put heart into them. Go tell Guyot that the Emperor commands him to charge! The hour of decision is upon us!"

"But Guyot will know ..."

"He will advance this time. I know the man, he won't pass up a second chance at glory!"

Slowly, but surely, the attack of the French Armée du Nord was devolving into a series of uncoordinated and unsupported attacks. But in truth, Wellington's army was slowly bleeding to death.

Upon his ridge, sheltering in an infantry square as the French cavalry swirled all around, the Great Duke consulted the angle of the sun and his pocket watch, he was alleged to have muttered, almost to himself, "Dear God, give me Blücher or give me night. The army can't take much more of this."

Night was still hours away, but Generalfeldmarschall Blücher and his Prussians were far closer and were nearly ready to go into action.

¹ Where are you going English pig?

² Quartermasters, each cavalry troop had one. A squadron of two troops would therefore have two. In cavalry charges it was typical to lose more horses than men, but a man without a horse is of no use.

³ Not to be confused with La Haye Sainte in the center of the battlefield. See this map.