Battle of Ligny - The Retreat

Gneisenau at the Battle of Ligny
Richard Knötel (PD)

"Herr General! We have no word on the Field Marshal's whereabouts. He was last seen at the head of Röder's cavalry."

Gneisenau knew that the army was in danger of collapse, he really had no choice other than order a retreat. But in which direction?

"Schmitz!" he barked at a nearby aide, "Orders to all four Corps commanders, withdraw north, towards Wavre." It went against his instincts, he wanted desperately to retreat towards Lüttich where the army could regroup and take in replacements.

"Wavre, Herr General?"

"Yes, Generalfeldmarschall Blücher gave his word, the important thing is to break contact with the enemy. Sometime tonight we might reconsider the direction of our retreat, but for now, Wavre."

Gneisenau shook his head, he prayed to God he would not regret this decision.

Blücher is unhorsed as he leads a desperate counter-charge during the final stages of the battle.
(Source)

"Easy, Herr Generalfeldmarschall, your leg might be broken." Von Nostitz was concerned, the French were all around but they seemed to be more intent on celebrating their victory than in the plight of the Prussian commander.

Unterwachtmeister¹ Schneider was nearby, his carbine at the ready, even though he knew that to fire a shot would probably be the death of them all. He heard his name and he turned.

"Quickly Schneider, your horse, give it to me."

Without thinking Schneider dismounted, then helped the field marshal up onto the horse. Shedding his cloak he wrapped it around the old man's shoulders. "Keep your head down, Herr Generalfeldmarschall."

Amazingly enough, the field marshal grinned at him, "For now my boy, for now. We retreat to fight again tomorrow. Genau?²"

Schneider nodded and said, "Aber natürlich, Herr Generalfeldmarschall³."

Then the young cavalryman began to make his way to the rear as von Nostitz and Blücher galloped off into the gathering dark.

Napoléon snapped his glass shut and handed to the soldier from the duty squadron who had been detailed to act as the Emperor's personal guard for the day. "De la Bédoyère!"

De la Bédoyère nudged his horse closer to the Emperor in order to hear him over the roar of battle, "Sire?"

"Any word from Ney?"

De la Bédoyère lowered his eyes, then looked back up, chagrined to be the bearer of bad news. "Nothing, Sire. After directing the Comte d'Erlon to bring his corps here, we've heard nothing. My aides tell me that d'Erlon has turned his men back towards Quatre Bras."

De la Bédoyère braced himself, the Emperor looked like he was about to explode.

Napoléon wanted to lash out, at someone, anyone. It seemed as if the very Fates were conspiring against him. The desertions from Gérard's corps the day before, now this seeming incompetence on the part of Ney. With a great effort, he controlled himself before speaking.

"Very well, send scouts in the direction of Quatre Bras, then send someone to have Maréchal Grouchy join me here. All things considered, it has been an excellent day. It is 1806 all over again!⁴"

Premier-Lieutenant Horst von Buchholz looked around, the remnants of his ad hoc unit, now down to twenty-five men, followed him like faithful hounds. Buchholz was proud of this little band, they had fought off multiple French attacks. Only when the units to either side of them had fled had he given the order to withdraw.

"You there, Lieutenant! Where is your unit?"

Buchholz looked up to see his battalion commander, he was missing his hat, his left arm was in a sling and the man looked battered and beaten.

Buchholz came to attention and snapped a salute, "Herr Oberst-Lieutenant, I have seven men from my company, the rest are from other units. I haven't seen the rest of the battalion for many hours."

His lieutenant colonel looked to the east and said, "I suspect they've run with the rest of the army, we are defeated Buchholz. That bastard Bonaparte has made fools of us again."

Buchholz remembered, his battalion commander had been a young lieutenant at Jena, he had lived through the disasters of that year. This probably seemed all too familiar, though it was nine years ago, when Buchholz was still a school boy, that the disaster had occurred.

The battalion commander dismounted, he sighed and asked, "Might I tag along with you, my boy? Your lads seem unbeaten, ready to go again."

One of the men, a sergeant, heard that and piped up, "Wherever you lead us, Herr Oberst-Lieutenant, the froggies have won this round, we shall win the next!"

Oberst-Lieutenant Hermann von Lutz gave a wan smile, "With men like you, I have no doubt of that." Turning to Buchholz he said, "Lead on, Lieutenant. I place myself at your disposal."

Buchholz nodded and pointed to the north, "Most of the army seems to be moving north, we shall follow. Are you with me lads?"

With quiet resolve, the Prussians of Buchholz's little command followed their lieutenant north, towards Wavre. They were not done fighting, not by any means.

Maréchal Grouchy reined up, he was slightly annoyed at having to meet up with the Emperor, he was a cavalryman, didn't the man understand the need to pursue a beaten enemy?

"Sire, I need to get my men moving, the Prussians are retreating!"

Napoléon looked for a moment at his newest Marshal, the man was being presumptuous. "There is time enough for that, my dear Marquis, the men are exhausted, my scouts tell me that the Prussians are moving towards Liege. Let the men make their soup and get some sleep, we shall move at dawn."

"But Sire ..."

"Enough, I shall have Soult give you your orders before midnight, be ready to move in the morning."

"Very well, Sire." Grouchy turned his horse, a most unhappy man. It seemed that the Emperor of old, the man of activity and action, had not returned from Elba, only this tired, slightly overweight, shadow of the man he had been in his prime.

Shaking his head, Grouchy returned to his troops. Disgusted, he looked to one of his aides, "LaSalle, let the men know, we move at dawn. Feed the horses, feed the men, apparently we are in no hurry."

¹ Cavalry equivalent of a sergeant.

² Right?

³ But naturally, Field Marshal.

⁴ 1806 saw the French Grande Armée smash the Prussian army at the twin battles of Jena and Auerstädt, then go ahead to completely occupy Prussia.

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.

Battle of Ligny - The Tide Turns

Lieutenant von Schmeling at the bridge next to En Bas Farm
by Adalbert von Roessler (engraving 1899 PD)

Capitaine Joseph Martin was awaiting the order to advance. He wasn't sure how many times they had crossed the brook, taken the village, then been driven back out again. All he was sure of was that his company was missing at least twenty men.

"At least twenty, mon Capitaine." Sergent-major Alphonse Juin had reported after the company had fallen in once more after the last trip into the village.

Martin noticed blood trickling down the left side of Juin's face. "Are you wounded, Alphonse?"

Juin removed his shako, there was a rough bandage tied around his head, the left side of that bandage was soaked through with blood.

"A scratch, mon Capitaine. No doubt a fragment of stone or something, at first I thought it was sweat. But when I touched it my hand came away red. You know how head wounds bleed. I'll bind it up again in a moment. Are we going in again?"

Martin sighed and looked back up the slope which was littered with French dead and wounded. "Yes, we need to get out of the open, the Prussian artillery is hurting us, badly."

At that moment, the drums began to roll. Martin looked at Juin, who winked back at his captain after donning his shako once more.

"Let's finish this." Juin muttered, as the battalion went up the slope once more.

"Are the infantry reserves all in, Gneisenau?" the old field marshal asked his chief of staff.

"They are, Herr Generalfeldmarschall. I've sent messengers off to Wellington, I knew that bastard wouldn't come."

"Tsk, tsk my old comrade, you said yourself, he's in a fight for his life with the French at Quatre Bras!"

Ignoring the disgusted look on Gneisenau's face, Blücher turned to the nearest aide-de-camp. Quickly, Blücher dictated orders for his last reserves, his cavalry. "Fast as you can, young Holzmeyer!"

As the aide galloped off, Blücher turned to Gneisenau once more, "Any other problems I should know about?"

The chief of staff sighed, then spoke, "The artillery are running low on ammunition. It's the only thing which have kept the French at bay so far. And yet the Schweine keep swarming across the stream as if they can't wait to die!"

"I see that bastard whore Bonaparte is assembling his Guard," Blücher gestured across the valley. "And whoever recalled those people coming in on the right have done us a great favor."

Gneisenau nodded and said, "My scouts say it was Bonaparte's I Corps, I have no idea what they're about, I'm just glad they are no longer our problem."

"We will face those bastards again, better to kill them now!" The old field marshal seemed to forget for a moment that his army was in dire peril.

Gneisenau ignored that and asked, "Who shall lead the charge, Herr Generalfeldmarschall? We should start to withdraw our guns and the trains under cover of that. The hour grows late."

Blücher seemed to stare off to the east, perhaps remembering his days as a young hussar, "I shall lead them, you get my children to safety. If I don't return, withdraw north, towards Wavre ..."

"Sir, I must protest, the English have left us in the lurch, we should withdraw towards Lüttich¹ along our lines of communication ..."

Pulling his horse's head around in anger, Blücher struggled to control himself, his next words dripped with ice, "I gave my word, Gneisenau, my word."

"Zu befehl, Herr Generalfeldmarschall², I shall get the army to Wavre, those that stay with the colors anyway."

Nodding, the old man placed himself at the head of thirty-two squadrons of Röder's cavalry. Drawing his sword, he stood in his stirrups and bellowed, "Forward my children! To glory!"

As Martin's battalion swarmed into the village, the Prussians fell back, it seemed as if they had had enough.

"At them, let no one escape!"

The French were in a barbarous mood, they had seen buildings where the wounded were burning to death, they had watched Prussians bayoneting the wounded.

Sergent-major Juin screamed at the company, "They give no quarter, they shall receive no quarter." As he turned back to the front, a Prussian ball struck him in the chest.

Gasping for air, Juin dropped to one knee. "Damn it," he thought, "again?"

One of the soldiers knelt next to him, a concerned look on his face. Juin shook off the man's hands, "Advance, don't worry about me or any other wounded man! Go! Go! Go!"

Juin dropped onto his hands and knees now. Oddly he felt no pain, he was just having trouble trying to catch his breath. "Perhaps a little rest," he thought as he lost consciousness.

Sergent Nicolas Guilbert looked to his right, the lads were perfectly aligned. The drums beat the advance and the 1st Chasseurs stepped off, into battle. The Prussians were wavering, it was time for the coup de grace!

As the Guard moved forward, Napoléon saw the Prussian cavalry moving forward.

"De la Bédoyère! Look there, the old man is launching his cavalry, a desperate moved to be sure!"

Turning to an aide, Napoléon dictated an order, "I shall match him with my cuirassiers!²"

In moments all that the Emperor could do had been done. It was a glorious day, Napoléon thought to himself. Yet a nagging suspicion that something wasn't quite right came over him. Why hadn't he heard from Ney?

As the cavalry thundered past, the Guard raised a cheer.

"Chantilly, have you seen the Sergent-major?" Martin was loading a musket he had taken from one of the fallen. This was no time to play with his sword, the Prussians were breaking after fighting like lions all day.

Soldat Henri Chantilly fired his musket and saw a Prussian just up the street fall, twisting in agony. There was no way he could be sure it was his ball which had dropped the man, just reload and keep firing.

"Non, mon Capitaine. He was there back by the bridge across the brook, then he wasn't."

Martin fired his musket then stood and looked around him, he scarcely recognized any of the other French soldiers in the vicinity. A number of units had gotten mixed together in the vicious hand-to-hand fighting.

"Frenchmen, to ME!" Martin screamed, then advanced up the street.

"Don't move, Herr Generalfeldmarschall, the damned French are all around us."

Blücher stopped trying to pull his leg from under his dead horse. His aide was right, the French were galloping past, sabering everything in their path.

One moment he had been leading a glorious charge, the next he was lying on his back, winded and confused. When he tried to get up he remembered what had happened.

They had burst from the powder smoke and not thirty paces to their front was a French infantry square. Time had seemed to slow down at that point.

Leaning forward to shelter behind his horse as he had been trained so many years before, he had heard the hiss of shot passing close by. His horse had stumbled, screaming, the animal had gone down, pinning its rider underneath.

Blücher knew then, that even if he survived, this battle was irretrievably lost.

"Get me out of here, August."

Guilbert nodded, satisfied, just as in the old days, when the Guard advanced, the enemy crumbled and ran. The day is ours, he thought to himself.

The Prussians were fleeing but damn it, night was falling, there was little likelihood of a pursuit at this late hour.

As the cheers erupted up and down the line, "Vive l'Empereur!" Guilbert felt his heart swell, it felt like 1806 all over again.

La Victoire est à nous!³

¹ The name for Liege in German.

² Heavy French cavalry, big men on big horses, they wore a helmet and steel breast and back plates. Napoléon's vaunted battle cavalry.

³ Victory is ours! Chase the link for the march of the same name.

...and Master of None!

 Well...This has been an extraordinarily educational week for myself.  Lots of lessons learned, mostly the hard way.  But, those are the ones that are hardest to forget also.  So...I got that going for me.

What lessons are those, juvat?

Well, Mrs. J asked for my assistance in installing a drip irrigation for her plants.  The Lady has quite the green thumb.  Not only does she do well with flowering plants....

Lantana

But also vegetables and herbs. 

Anaheim Peppers, the Poblanos are in the background

 

The reason she wanted the irrigation system is summer is nigh and we have several "events" scheduled over the next several weeks where we will be out of pocket for a couple of days or more.  One of those we'll be discussing later in this missive.  But, in any case, she wanted something to insure the plants would be watered.  That task will be called "Plumbing".  

We went to the Big Box Store (BBS) and bought all the accoutrements we thought we'd need, RTB'd and began construction.  One of the first lessons learned is there's a difference between "Pipe Threading" and "Hose Threading".   

Yes, Beans that's the "Pet-tio" and the Doggie door AKA "The Pet's Bathroom".

 

So...First return trip to BBS for a hose threaded pressure fitting.  Got a little further on in the project and realized we had miscounted how many 90 degree connectors we'd need.  

Second return trip to BBS.

Finally, got it all connected and time for the big debut.

Yes, Sarge the diagonal white line from the center of the picture to the top left is water.

Third trip to the BBS.

At that point, we're out of time as we are leaving for CStat the following morning.  Called my Sister and added "Watering plants" to "Feeding the Animals" on her caretaker list of To Do's.

So...Add Plumber to the list of skill sets I wish I had mastered but have not.

The morning after our arrival at CStat, we started the kitchen project for MBD and The Rev's new house bright and early at 1PM.  Unfortunately, one of the other skill sets I wish I had but don't is "Doctor"

MG was feeling quite under the weather and ended up visiting the ER at around Midnight one evening.  Thankfully, there were fully trained medical personnel there and she is on the road to recovery now (4 days later).  But getting on track to work the house project took a bit longer than expected.

But we did manage to get started.  I was confident that "Painter" was one of my actual skill sets having done so during summers to pay for college.. Unfortunately, whilst on a ladder later in the week, I came to the realization that I'd done that in 1973.  Beans, before you take off your shoes, that was 50 years ago almost to the day.  A lot of things have changed since then, primarily my Back and Knees.

At that point, we also discovered the difference between "Fleeting Glance" and "Intense Deliberation".  On the first look at the project requirements, my assessment was "No big deal, just a bit of painting."

 Foolish, Foolish, me.  As I started to remove the drawer and cabinet handles in prep for painting, MBD decided to count them so we'd know how many we had or would need if she decided on new ones.

Who knew there would be 87?

Well, No big deal, they just unscrew.  Let's get started.

  Except several of them didn't "just unscrew" and required drilling out the bolt.  This slowed down the expected progress somewhat.

So...Add Cabinet Maker to the list of Skills I have not!

MBD had decided she wanted a lighter, brighter kitchen than was currently in the house and her friend, the interior designer, had recommended a couple of shades of white.  One for the cabinets, one for the walls.  Off to the BBS to pick up samples.  Applied the samples to the appropriate areas and Voila'.

This Eagle-Eyed Father could NOT detect a difference in the colors.  Saying nothing about that deficiency to my Daughter, I was relieved/irked when she asked if I'd used the same paint on both areas

At that point, my advisory staff, Mrs. J and MBD, went into a conference and came out later with a request for a color change.  Off to the BBS, I went.  Found out the BBS I had been visiting had none in stock.  But...It was on the truck and would be delivered in the next few days.

RIIIIGGGGHHHHHTTTT!

Off to another of the BBS, all the way across town, and picked up the paint.  We are now at the end of the next to the last day of the planned excursion.  

The following day, we get to work and start "cutting in" the cabinetry.  Did you know that 87 cabinets and drawers have a lot of angles, hinges, edges etc that need to be addressed before painting with a roller can be accomplished?

The spots above the cabinets are the two "different" paints.

I did.  

So...Guess what?

I get to make a return trip to CStat next week.  By myself.  (Mrs. J, LJW and Miss B have a few Doctors visits to make next week.)

On RTB, our transit of Moscow on the Colorado involved the usual pain. So, on arrival at Ranch Juvat, we decide to have a relaxing glass of wine (or three) on our front porch that evening.

 Ahh...relaxation.  Mrs. J comments that the forecast over the next few hours will be severe thunderstorms.  The astute, educated, experienced Fighter Pilot says "Nah, it's going to miss us to the North."

I think she managed to get a few excellent pictures of the storm before it hit us, don't you? Left another 2" of rain on the property.  My Hay Guy needs to stop by soon.

Lastly, I've been working on my Friend's Retirement gift and had been making excellent progress on the mechanical pencil.  Everything was going well.

 I mean, look at the right part.  Notice, no difference between the bushing and the pen blank.  Woohoo!  Learned my lesson.

Well, juvat, you learned that lesson, here's another.

One must make sure that the entire tube is covered with glue when inserted into the pen blank.  Else...

 

Well, crap!  Good thing I started this project early.  "Wood Turner" has yet to be an awarded title for me.

So...I learned a lot of lessons this past week on what I am not.

I'm not a Plumber, Doctor, Cabinet Maker, Painter, Weatherman nor Wood Turner.

But I'm also not a Quitter.

Never Give Up, Never Surrender!

Now...If I only had an Omega 13!!!

 

Peace out, Y'all!

 

Rainy Saturday

OAFS Photo

Day two of a lazy weekend, nothing planned, nothing that I need to do. Just kick back, relax, and watch the world go by.

Zero ambition to do anything, zero energy to motivate myself.

Which is okay, I needed this.

New book came via the magic Amazon truck on Friday ...

(Source)

It's next on the list to read, it's one of those ten new books I mentioned yesterday. The title intrigued me to say the least.

At the moment I'm reading a book containing eyewitness accounts from the battle from those French soldiers assigned to headquarters, the Imperial Guard, and d'Erlon's I Corps. Interesting to say the least.

Reading some of these accounts I found myself asking, "Were these guys actually at the Battle of Waterloo?" Maybe they just heard about it through someone else.

Well, they all were there, or at least within a mile or so of the battle, one account was from an aide to Napoléon who got no closer to the battlefield than the Caillou farm. (Which while close, within hearing distance, is not within sight of the field at any point.) Most of what he knows about the battle itself is from other people's accounts.

I've read a lot about this battle over the years, this new book looks to be interesting, perhaps I might learn something new. Something I always enjoy.

Anyhoo, back to my wet afternoon reveries, listening to the Winery Dogs and contemplating the meaning of life.

There are days I just want to chuck it all and go play with my grandchildren, full time.

Soon enough I think.

Just not today.

Be well.

Pacing Myself

British troops on the road to Quatre Bras
An officer of the Royal Horse Artillery salutes the Duke of Wellington
(Source)

Though it was a short campaign, less than a week from start to the finale on the slopes of Mont St. Jean¹, I'm attempting to get a novel out of it. Obviously it won't stretch to the length of Tolstoy's War and Peace but I think there's enough material to make it a decent size book.

Thousands of books have been written about this campaign, I have ten new ones in my possession since the turn of the year, and have read many more. So why another one? Well, because I can and because I want to.

It was an interesting campaign and I mean to do justice to the men who fought there.

But I'm going to pace myself on this effort, I ain't getting any younger. To tell the truth, the last week or so has worn me out.

Not so much the drive down to Maryland, then the drive up to Antietam and a day spent traipsing the battlefield, nope. It was more the drive home the Friday before Mother's Day, then the drive up to New Hampshire on Saturday, then the drive back on Sunday. Some seven-hundred miles right there.

Back in my younger days we thought nothing of piling into the car then doing five hundred miles a day until we got to where we wanted to go. Often that trip was from Omaha down to Louisiana. Beauty of that was that none of it went through the New York metropolitan area.

But I noticed this past week that my butt was dragging, being back to work was fine, it was the getting up early and the staying up too late that did me in. I need to stop doing that.

Yesterday's post was an epic effort on my part, three pieces of research close to hand and two actual historic figures involved in the persons of Lt. Col. Robert Macara and Capt. Archibald Menzies of the 42nd Regiment of Foot, also known as the "Black Watch." My favorite regiment, that one is. Paraded with and partied with a few of the regiment's pipers back in the day.

Good times.

But in order to keep the quality of the writing up, I need to pace myself and not go all out charging in like some berserker. Nope, slow and steady will win this race.

I hope.

Anyhoo, I'm well rested from not doing a damned thing yesterday (Friday) so perhaps you'll get another episode this weekend.

Keep your fingers crossed and your powder dry.

Until tomorrow!

¹ The French call the battle by that name (Mont St. Jean) as it was the nearest village to the battlefield, the Germans La Belle Alliance for the name of the inn where Blücher met with Wellington after the battle. Wellington called it Waterloo in his after action report as that village is where his headquarters was and he thought the name easy enough to remember and pronounce in English.

Quatre Bras - The Fight of the Highlanders

(Source)

Lieutenant Colonel Robert Macara, commanding the battalion, had his company commanders gathered near the road. To the front he could hear the boom of artillery and the rattle of musketry. "Sounds rather hot out there, gentlemen. Back to your companies now, keep your eyes and ears open, this damned rye is tall enough that a fellow on foot might as well be facing a damned wall!"

Captain Morris McGilvery was in a thoughtful mood, truth be told he was still a bit tipsy from the night before. Though the march to this small crossroads, damned if he could remember the name of the place, had sweated most of the alcohol from his system, he still felt a bit woozy.

McGilvery winced as he heard his name shouted out not two feet behind him, "Told ye it was one tot too many Morris." The slap on his back nearly pitched him into the road.

Captain Archibald Menzies, commander of the 42nd's grenadier company was a big bear of a man. He had been razzing McGilvery all day as to the amount of drink McGilvery had consumed the night before.

"I'll be aw-right Archie, provided ye don't crack my spine. I've almost sweated it all out by now. A whiff of powder smoke and I'll be fine." McGilvery acted as if it was nothing, but truth be told, the coming action worried him. A friend of his in the Gordons had had a premonition of death the night before, which had spurred the drinking on as both men worried over their individual fates.

Rejoining his company, McGilvery had a sense that something was wrong, very wrong.

"Fix bayonets lad, move quickly now." he ordered as he drew his basket-hilted claidheamh-mòr¹, something was up, he could sense it on the wind.

Caporal Pierre Roget couldn't see very far through the tall crops to his front. His horse, Maria, was nervous as well, she couldn't see either!

His brigade was composed of a regiment of Chasseurs à Cheval along with his own regiment of Chevau-Légers-Lanciers.² The troopers had their lances at the ready, the enemy had been glimpsed from time to time where the crops had been trampled down.

The regiment came into the open, crossing a road, which Roget noted was paved, had to be the main road to the north he thought. As they went across the road he could see infantry in red tunics and tall hats to their front, facing the wrong way and in line to boot!

As their speed increased, he noted that these opponents seemed to be wearing skirts. What insanity was this, did the English have female soldiers?³

The battalion was advancing and had just stepped into a relatively open area where the crops had been trampled down.

Captain McGilvery noticed a body of cavalry advancing in their direction, they must be Brunswickers, he thought. At any rate the battalion's skirmishers were deployed in that direction, if they were enemy we would have heard something by now.

As they advanced, the line was jostled by a party of Dutch-Belgian skirmishers withdrawing in rather a hurry. McGilvery could hear shouting and cheers to the front, French cheers.

"Standby lads, we'll gi' 'em a volley first then go in with the ..."

Before he could finish, a frantically gesturing Dutch officer rode up to the line yelling, "Franchee! Franchee!"

What the hell, McGilvery thought, why is this chap pointing at those Brunswickers? After a moment, a chill ran down McGilvery's spine, those were French cavalry!

"Rally square lads, prepare to receive cavalry!"

The battalion was caught in the open, in line, they would be lucky to survive. McGilvery saw the lance pennons flutter as the Frenchmen dipped their lances. Dear God ...

Roget was leaning forward, his body braced in the saddle for impact, he saw an officer waving a sword. He picked that man as his target.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he heard the bugle sound the charge. He didn't need to do a thing as Maria sped up, she knew the bugle calls as well as Roget.

He winced as a small group of the enemy managed a volley, a horse went down near by, its rider screaming with anger as he fell. He didn't know it but the man directly behind took a ball to the throat. That one had just missed Roget.

Then it was into the smoke!

Colonel Macara was down, Menzies had seen him fall from his horse. Menzies had the sick feeling that the ragged volley loosed at the advancing French had hit the colonel.

"Graham, McKay, Pierson, Douglas! Get to the colonel, we've got to get him back to the battalion! Lads, on me! On me! Rally square, protect the colonel!"

A number of his grenadiers fell in on Menzies, it was going to be close. A lancer came out of the smoke, his lance just missing Menzies who managed to impale the Frenchman with his claidheamh-mòr. The Frenchman dropped his lance and hissed as he bent forward over his saddle.

Wrenching his sword free, he brought it up to parry yet another lance, this time his luck ran out. The lance cut into the top of his shoulder, ripping away his epaulette. The pain was immediate, though bearable.

Roget turned his mount after he had passed through the ragged Scottish formation. He drew his saber as his lance was still stuck in the man who had fired a wild shot at him.

Galloping back the way he came, he sabered another Scotsman down through the man's hat, which appeared to be made of feathers!

He and three other lancers saw a man being carried from the field, an officer from the look of him. At that moment, Sous-lieutenant Bertrand came galloping up with ten other men.

"Tuez cet officier et ces hommes! Tue-les!⁴"

Roget joined them as they bore down on the small party bearing their wounded colonel.

Menzies and what was left of his company were nearly back to the line when he saw the French charging his men carrying Macara.

"With me Lads! Save the colonel!"

One of the lancers, sawing on his reins, turned and actually threw his lance at Menzies. He moved to the side but nevertheless the edge of the blade ripped across his thigh.

Though his shoulder was in a great deal of pain, Menzies was enraged. He advanced on the lancer who swung his sword at Menzies, knocking his bonnet aside and opening a gash on his head. Menzies managed to grab the lancer's boot and lift him up and out of the saddle.

When the Frenchman landed heavily, he started to get up. Private Jock Campbell's bayonet went into the man's back and he sank back down to the ground.

Menzies screamed out, "NO!" as he saw that they wouldn't get to the colonel in time.

One of the Scotsman turned and fired at the approaching lancers. Roget knew that at this range he couldn't miss. The man beside Roget went down hard as his horse went down screaming.

"Cochon!" Roget screamed as he brought his saber down on the Scotsman who was trying to bring his bayonet to bear. The Scotsman died in a spray of blood as Roget's saber cut into the man's neck near the shoulder.

Another of the Scots aimed at Roget, only to go down with a lance in his back. The enraged lancers made quick work of the men who had been carrying the wounded officer. They died hard and took at least two more lancers with them.

Sous-lieutenant Bertrand was nearly insane with rage. "SOLDAT! Give me your lance!"

The man tossed the lance to his officer, who immediately turned and stabbed down at the wounded officer on the ground.

Though Menzies had been wounded multiple times and was growing weak from blood loss, he still attempted to gain his colonel's side.

"NO!" he screamed as he saw the French officer plunge his lance into Macara, who had his hands up as if to ward off the blow. Two more of the French stabbed Macara, killing him.

As Menzies lost consciousness, he heard the survivors of the battalion moving up, he heard the command to fire, then he passed out.

Captain McGilvery and the remainder of the rallied 42nd drove off or killed the remaining lancers. His sergeant, MacNeill, pulled on McGilvery's tunic sleeve.

"Sir, innit that Cap'n Menzies?"

McGilvery looked, it certainly was Menzies. The man was covered in blood. Going to his side he checked the fallen officer, "He's still alive, let's pull him into the square lads! Lively now, I don't think the Frenchies are done wi' us yet!"

The 42nd had managed to form a proper square once the cavalry had withdrawn. Now they waited for what was to come.

Though a lot of the crop around them was now a ruined mess, enough remained to make visibility uncertain. But every man in that square heard, and some could feel, the sound of hoofbeats. More cavalry!

"Steady lads. We hold here or we die here!" the acting commander of the 42nd bellowed.

"Pipers! Give us cogadh no sith⁵! Prepare to sell ye're lives dearly!"

And the men of the Black Watch waited for what was coming through the rye for them.

Author's Note: Lieutenant Colonel Robert Macara was indeed killed in action at Quatre Bras. Perhaps not exactly as I've described but near enough. For the rest of the campaign the 42nd took no prisoners. They would shout out "Where is Macara?" to Frenchmen trying to surrender. Then would kill them.

¹ Gaelic for "great sword," pronounced claymore.

² Chasseurs à Cheval were a type of light cavalry used much like hussars but with much cheaper uniforms. Chevau-Légers-Lanciers translates to light horse lancers, typically referred to simply as lancers. As the name implies they carried a long lance. Later in the century only the front rank carried the lance, the rank behind were armed with light cavalry sabers as once they closed with the enemy, the lance was a bit unwieldy in close quarters.

³ Roget hadn't served in Spain and was unfamiliar with Highland dress. Many of the French referred to the kilted Scottish regiments as the sans-culottes, literally "without trousers."

⁴ Kill that officer and those men! Kill them!

⁵ An old Scottish war tune, "War or Peace"