'Tell Lord Moira the enemy cavalry will be on us shortly. I'm taking the 33rd out of line to cover the rear.'
As the boy dashed off, Arthur gave the order to change formation and facing. He watched with some satisfaction as his regiment carried out the manoeuvre with a fair degree of proficiency. The 33rd had only recently adopted the drills set out by Sir David Dundas, and Arthur had been glad to be relieved of the task of drawing up his own drills, a duty that had been required of all regimental commanders before the advent of the Dundas code of military movements. Within minutes the regiment had deployed across the ground either side of the road and now stood in two ranks, ready for action. Half a mile down the road the French cavalry was forming up amid a dense cloud of dust through which twinkled the reflections of polished brass and steel. Arthur was aware of a dull rumble of iron-shod hoofs, and fancied he could almost sense it through the ground beneath his own mount.
A glance over his shoulder revealed that the British column had edged forward a little more, the regiment ahead of the 33rd having just entered the rough track that ran through the length of the village. But there was still no chance of the column crossing the Anhelm before the enemy cavalry attacked. Arthur quickly gauged the distance between his position and the village before he gave the next order.
'The 33rd will retire two hundred paces!'
Once the order had been relayed the men turned about and began marching closer to the shelter of the crude buildings of the Flemish peasants, even now nervously glancing at the approaching soldiers through their shutters and doors.
'They're coming!' a voice shouted, and Arthur turned to look as the French cavalry began to ripple forward, the first two lines distinct, those that followed lost in the dust. There was no mad pell-mell charge such as British regiments were inclined to make. Instead the enemy came on at a trot, which gradually increased into a canter – but no more – as the officers kept their men under control. An impressive spectacle, Arthur mused. And a deadly one.
'Halt!' he called out. 'About face… Prepare to receive cavalry!'
The regiment drew up a short distance from the village and turned to face the threat.
'Fix bayonets!' The sergeant major bellowed, and there was a brief scraping cacophony as the men drew the blades from their scabbards and then mounted the bayonets on to the muzzles of their muskets. All the time the enemy cavalry was drawing nearer, and now Arthur could see that they were hussars: light cavalry armed with pistols or carbines in addition to their sabres. They faltered for an instant as the British turned to face them.
'Prepare to fire!' Arthur called out, and the officers relayed the instruction down the line. The men loaded their weapons and as soon as the last ramrod had been slid back into place the muskets came up into the firing position. The enemy cavalry drew closer, still at the canter, until they were no more than two hundred yards away.
'Steady men!' Arthur called out. 'Wait for the order!'
There was always some hothead, or simpleton, who could not wait to discharge his weapon even though there was no hope of scoring a hit at this range.With a sudden blaring of trumpets and a great throaty roar the French cavalry at last launched themselves into a charge and the ground trembled under the impact of their mounts.
'Steady!' Arthur shouted.
The men waited, muskets levelled, as the cavalry rushed towards them, braided hair flapping out from beneath their caps and mouths agape beneath waxed moustaches as they cheered themselves on.The points of their swords flickered before them, pointed towards the British at full arm stretch.The instant they had closed to within a hundred yards Arthur bellowed the order to fire.
The volley crashed out, instantly obscuring the cavalry. Then the air was filled with the cries of injured men, the shrill whinnying of maimed horses and the harsh exclamations of men caught up in the tangle of destruction wrought by the withering hail of British musket balls.
'Reload!'
As his men drew out fresh cartridges, bit off the ends and spat the balls down into the muzzles of their muskets, Arthur rose in his stirrups and tried to see over the bank of powder smoke drifting across the ground in front of his regiment. He caught a brief glimpse of a guidon waving in the air as the enemy rallied the survivors of the volley and attempted to renew the charge. As soon as the men had reloaded Arthur raised his arm, waited an instant and then swept it down.
'Fire!'
The second volley rippled out in bright stabs of flame, more smoke, and a renewed chorus of screams and confusion.Again, the redcoats reloaded and then there was a short pause before Arthur heard Fitzroy's voice calling out from nearby.
'They're falling back!'
His words were greeted by a ragged chorus of cheers from the ranks.
'Silence!' Arthur bellowed. 'Silence there!'
The noise swiftly subsided and then Arthur heard for himself the sound of the enemy's withdrawal. He waited a moment longer, until the smoke had dispersed enough for him to be certain that it was true, and not some French ruse, before he gave the order for the regiment to continue falling back towards the edge of the village.The 33rd moved at a slow pace to ensure that the line was not disrupted, the sergeants concentrating their attention on keeping the lines dressed as they passed over broken ground.
It did not take long for the French to recover their nerve, reform their line and come forward again. This time the line was extended and fresh units were added to each end.Their intention was clear to Arthur as soon as he saw them approach once again. He turned to his adjutant.
'By God, they mean to flank us.'
'Flank us?' Fitzroy sounded alarmed, but he quickly swallowed, stiffened his back and tore his gaze away from the cavalry closing on the British line. 'Sir, what are your orders?'
Arthur gauged the distance. The cavalry were nearly a quarter of a mile off, and would charge the redcoats before they could take cover in the village. There was only one thing to do, even if it did require a dangerous change of formation and a far slower movement towards safety if the manoeuvre was carried out successfully. Arthur glanced back at the cavalry, already breaking into a trot. There was no time for further thought.
He took a deep breath and called out as calmly as he could, 'The 33rd will form square!'
Slowly – too slowly, it seemed – the line halted and the flanking companies folded back, as if hinged on the corners of the centre of the line that still faced the enemy cavalry. Then, finally the light and grenadier companies turned and completed the rear of the formation. Hardly a square, Arthur thought. More of a box, and the best protection infantry could afford in the face of enemy cavalry: an unbroken perimeter of bayonets that no horse could be persuaded to hurl itself against. As long as the perimeter remained unbroken the redcoats were safe. If the French managed to find a gap and exploit it, then the men of the formation were doomed.
The flat notes of the cavalry bugles blared out again and the riders forced their mounts into a charge at the oblong of British infantry. The horsemen on the wings steered their horses straight ahead, aiming to pass by the front face of the square, down the sides and then cut the 33rd off from the village – a simple plan, and effective provided they could eventually whittle down the infantry enough to force a break in the square.