Текст книги "Fire and Sword"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

‘What is their strength?’ asked Baird.

‘At least a division.’

Not enough to have any hope of defeating Cathcart’s force, Arthur decided, but if they managed to break through to Copenhagen it would make any assault on the city a much greater risk.

‘They must be halted,’ said Cathcart. ‘Halted, or, better still, driven off. But we must move swiftly.’

Before any of the other officers could speak, Arthur rose to his feet. ‘My men march as fast as any men in the army, my lord. Let me deal with the Danes.’

Cathcart considered the offer. ‘I admit your men are fine soldiers, Wellesley, but setting a brigade against a division? Those are not good odds.’

‘I beg to disagree, sir. A brigade of good British soldiers is worth a division in any foreign army.’

Cathcart grinned. ‘Well said, sir! Well said. Then you may put your confidence to the test.Take your brigade and drive those rascals before you.’

‘Thank you, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I must rouse my men. We’ll march within the hour.’

Chapter 36

‘What town is that?’ Arthur asked, nodding across the fields towards the modest-looking settlement two miles away. Even at this distance he could see the figures of a line of men well in advance of the buildings. Skirmishers most likely, he decided. Beyond them scores of men were busy barricading the streets that led into the town.The Danes must have been alerted to the approaching column of redcoats at first light and had used the intervening hours to prepare to make their stand.

His question was greeted with silence by his staff officers and Arthur looked round with an irritated expression. ‘Well?’

General Stewart came to their rescue. ‘It’s called Køge, sir.’

‘Køge.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Well, it seems that the Danes have reached the place before us and dug themselves in. That could be a promising sign.’>

‘Promising?’ Stewart cocked an eyebrow. ‘How is that, sir?’

‘If the Danes have stopped and are setting up defences, that means they are not confident of advancing any further, not without reinforcements. So we have a moral advantage over them already, and I intend to exploit that to the full.’

‘You will attack then, sir?’

‘Of course.’ Arthur fished for his fob watch and glanced down. ‘Just after eleven. Plenty of time to clear them out.’

‘Good! I’ll give orders for the brigade to deploy. Two battalions in the front line and the third in reserve,’ Stewart announced. ‘Better send our guns forward to soften them up first. Then a rapid advance while they’re still reeling should do the trick.’

Arthur listened to his subordinate’s plan with a growing sense of irritation. Before Stewart could elaborate Arthur raised a hand to still his tongue and smiled genially. ‘Come, come, General Stewart, it is my turn to command.’

‘What?’ Stewart looked puzzled for an instant before he realised he had overstepped the mark and was being put back in his place. He stiffened his back and nodded.‘Yes, sir. Of course.What are your orders?’

‘That’s better. Now then, I’ll have the brigade formed up, as you suggest. No closer than a mile to the town. No sense in exposing the men to any cannon fire unnecessarily.’ Arthur smiled at Stewart. ‘Be so good as to see to it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart saluted and turned his mount away to ride back down the column and pass the orders on to the battalion. Arthur concentrated his attention on Køge once again. If there really was a division there, and they had entrenched themselves effectively, it would present a sizeable challenge for his brigade to overcome.They would be outnumbered at least two to one, and would have the further disadvantage of being forced to attack regular troops in prepared defences. Normally, it would be rash to even contemplate such an action, Arthur mused. But he had meant what he had said to Cathcart. His men were more than a match for the Danes. Provided they were manoeuvred and fought well, they should win the day.

As the British battalions marched up the road and then turned off it to deploy into line, Arthur and his staff rode ahead until they reined in just outside the range of the Danish skirmishers. It occurred to Arthur that he had not once referred to them as the enemy. The only enemy that mattered was the French, the common enemy of all the nations of Europe, if they but realised it.This conflict with the Danes was a matter of tragic necessity. Britain could not afford to let the Danish fleet fall into Bonaparte’s hands, just as the Danes could not let their national pride be shamed by submitting to British demands. Even so, Arthur decided, there might still be a chance to avoid bloodshed. He turned to his staff.

‘Wait here. I will return shortly.’

Spurring his horse forward, he trotted along the road towards Køge, making directly towards a small party of Danish soldiers spread across the turnpike. They advanced their muskets and eyed him warily as Arthur approached. He slowed his mount and halted no more than ten paces away from them, and saluted.

‘Good day. Is there any man amongst you who speaks English?’

There was a pause before a sergeant nodded. ‘A little.’

‘I am Major-General Wellesley and I have a message for your commander. Would you be kind enough to ask him to speak to me? I will wait here for his reply. Do you understand all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant saluted and summoned one of his men, to whom he passed on the message. The soldier handed his musket to a comrade and ran back along the road to Køge. While he waited, Arthur took the chance to examine the Danish defences as discreetly as he could. They appeared to have sited all their cannon to cover the road leading into the town.The same was true for all the infantry that Arthur could see. To his right the country was open and sparsely dotted with trees and farms, offering little cover or concealment from that direction. In the other direction, however, a dyke angled across the flat fields to the edge of the town before bending round the houses there and continuing across the landscape in the direction of the sea. Looking back over his shoulder, Arthur saw that his brigade had completed its deployment and the thin lines of scarlet with white cross-straps looked neat and bright in the sunshine, like toy soldiers.

A quarter of an hour after he had ridden up to the Danish skirmishers a small party of horsemen appeared from the town and galloped up the road towards him. Their leader wore heavy gold epaulettes and a broad scarlet sash across his chest.The sergeant snapped an order and the skirmishers fell in and stood to attention as their general and his staff slowed to a walk, and then stopped just in front of Arthur.

‘General Wellesley at your service, sir,’ Arthur said firmly, and bowed his head.

‘General Schmeiler at yours,’ the Danish commander responded in slightly accented English. ‘You asked to speak to me.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur indicated his men. ‘We have orders to prevent your column from approaching Copenhagen. I would ask you to withdraw your men from Køge and retreat.You can do nothing to prevent the surrender of Copenhagen. If you remain here, or attempt to continue your advance, then there can only be unnecessary loss of life.’

Schmeiler smiled. ‘I thank you for your concern, General Wellesley. But you must know that it would be unthinkable for me to retreat, particularly in view of the minimal threat that your force offers.’ He squinted at the redcoats standing in the distance. ‘You must have no more than what . . . two thousand men? I have over five thousand. It is I who should be requesting that you fall back.’

Even though he had known that the chances of persuading the Danes to retreat were slight, Arthur felt a heavy sense of sadness in his breast. ‘General Schmeiler, I understand your sense of duty, and I commend it. But I implore you, sir, to be rational. My brigade is only a small contingent of the army that is besieging Copenhagen.You cannot hope to penetrate through to the city. If you are not defeated on this ground, then you will surely be crushed further along the road. And to what end? Copenhagen will still surrender.’

Schmeiler’s expression hardened.‘We shall see about that. Nothing is certain in war, General Wellesley, but I think that you are perhaps too young and inexperienced to have learned that. I only pray that you survive today and learn a valuable lesson. Now, unless there is anything else, I would ask you to return to your men. Good day, sir.’

Arthur touched the brim of his hat in a parting salute, turned his horse away and galloped back to his staff. He gestured for them to follow him and they returned to the brigade, where Stewart was waiting beside the colour party.

‘They mean to fight us,’Arthur announced.‘Their general thinks that we can be swept aside easily enough.’

‘Does he now?’ Stewart growled.‘Then we must teach him a lesson!’

‘Quite,’ Arthur responded. He had made his plan of attack on the ride back from his interview with Schmeiler and gave the orders immediately. ‘Stewart, you are to take the Light Companies of all three battalions, the Thirty-Second Foot and the Twentieth, and advance directly on the enemy line until you are within musket range.Then you are to halt and engage the enemy. But you are not to advance any further until I give the order. Is that quite clear?’

‘Yes, sir. But in the event that I discern an opportunity to—’

Arthur cut him short. ‘You will not move until you receive orders.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart nodded. ‘And what of the last battalion?’

‘I shall be leading the Thirtieth in person,’ Arthur replied, ‘together with the Grenadier Companies of the other battalions. I mean to attempt an outflanking manoeuvre, there beyond that dyke, as soon as the gunpowder smoke obscures the enemy’s vision.’

There it was, he realised with a slight shock.The Danes had become the enemy. He had tried to prevent it from happening, but now there was nothing for it but to fight and to kill. To win victory, or suffer defeat. Perhaps even to perish here in some obscure skirmish in an unregarded corner of Europe. Arthur shook off the morbid thoughts and glanced round at his officers. ‘Gentlemen, we are outnumbered, but we are superior in training, discipline and morale. Set the right example and make sure that your men fight hard, and die hard if necessary, and the day is ours. Now, if you please, to your positions.’

As soon as he saw that his officers and men were ready Arthur nodded to the drum major standing beside the colour party and the brigade’s drummers struck up the advance, a harsh rhythmic rattle that set the redcoats on their way. The Light Companies trotted ahead, opening up a gap between themselves and the rest of the brigade as they closed on the enemy and began to fire at will at their opposite numbers. On the flanks, the two nine-pounders attached to the brigade opened fire with a deep roar, firing solid shot against the defended buildings on the edge of the town.

As the leading battalions caught up with the skirmishers, Stewart took command of the whole formation. They continued forward to within two hundred yards of the town, then halted and began to exchange fire with the Danish infantry formed up in front of them. After the first half-dozen volleys a thick pall of gunpowder smoke hung in the still air, obliterating each side’s view of the other.

This was the moment Arthur had been waiting for. He filled his lungs and turned in his saddle to bellow an order. ‘The Thirtieth will form column to the left!’

The line of redcoats turned swiftly and doubled their ranks so that they formed a column, four abreast, facing the dyke a few hundred yards away.

‘Advance!’

With Arthur riding at their head, the battalion, led by the Grenadier Companies, quick-marched over the pastureland, scattering the sheep before them as they trampled down the grass. Glancing to his left, Arthur saw that the smoke was building up nicely. Even the roofs of the buildings were barely visible in the thickening haze hanging over the acrid yellow smog that consumed Stewart’s men, and the front line of the enemy.

As he reached the dyke Arthur spurred his mount up the grassy slope. As he had thought, there was a broad expanse of polder on the far side, and the hot weather had dried out a thin strip of land alongside the mound of the dyke.The battalion swarmed up and over and set off parallel to the far side, following Arthur as they headed at an angle towards the town.The sounds of battle to their right were now muffled by the dyke and as they tramped on Arthur could not help noticing the brightly coloured butterflies and drowsy insects flitting through the long grass and wild flowers growing along the bank, quite oblivious of the bloody affairs of men.

Turning round, Arthur urged his column on. General Stewart and the rest of the brigade would be able to keep the Danes occupied for some time before the enemy was able to concentrate superior fire and force the redcoats back. The flank attack had to be made before that happened. When he estimated they had gone nearly a mile, Arthur halted his men and dismounted. Leaving the reins in the hands of one of the battalion’s drummer boys, he made his way carefully up the dyke. As he approached the top he removed his cockaded hat and peered over the crest.

The outskirts of the town were no more than two hundred yards away, guarded by two companies of Danish regulars and a small artillery piece that had been laid to cover any attempt by Stewart to filter men round the side of Køge. Away to the right came the continuous crackling of musket fire. Arthur re-joined his men and summoned the battalion’s officers.

‘It is as I’d hoped. The enemy have left us an opportunity to attack from this flank. Have your men fix bayonets. When I give the word we cross the dyke and approach the town at the trot. We will halt at fifty paces and fire a volley, and then charge. After that, stop for nothing.You strike hard and you strike fast. Give them no time to recover, and make as much noise as you can. Stewart will hear and make his charge, and taken from two directions I doubt that the Danes will stand. Questions?’

There was no reply and Arthur shook his head.‘Very well. Carry on.’

The officers trotted back to their companies and Arthur drew his sword and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder.There was a low scraping and rattling as the men drew their socket bayonets and fixed them over the muzzles of their muskets. With the weapons advanced, the men charged their flash pans with powder and firmly closed the frizzens. Then all was still and Arthur glanced round to see that the officers were watching him expectantly. He stepped forward, and climbed halfway up the bank where he could be clearly seen.

‘Thirtieth will advance at the run!’ He raised his sword, and the blade glittered in the bright sunshine for an instant before he swept it towards the town. ‘Advance!’

The redcoats swarmed up the bank, grunting and scrabbling as a handful slipped in the long grass. Then they poured over the crest and started towards the town, their boots rumbling softly over the dry ground. The Danes saw them coming at once. Snatching up their muskets they turned towards the threat, and glanced uncertainly at their officers for a moment until the latter recovered from their surprise and began to shout out orders. At once the Danish regulars hurried into formation and stood at ease, muskets grounded, facing the British battalion rapidly approaching them. Meanwhile the crew of the solitary artillery piece had rushed to their weapon and grabbed the trail, struggling to turn the gun round to face the oncoming enemy.

Arthur led the way, setting the pace, urging his men on.At a hundred yards he saw the gun crew drop the trail and make ready to blast the redcoats.The portfire flared above the firing tube for an instant and then a bright yellow jet of flame leaped from the muzzle as a plume of smoke billowed out. The weapon had been loaded with case shot and the deadly cone of iron balls swept through the company on the right flank of the British line, knocking several men to the ground. The battalion did not even pause, but continued rushing forward as one of the gunners sprinted round to the front of the gun and began to sponge it out.

Gauging the distance between his men and the two companies of Danes, Arthur waited a moment and then drew up, thrusting his sword into the air. ‘Thirtieth! Halt! Make ready to fire!’

The battalion drew up, swiftly dressed their ranks and then advanced their muskets, the men panting for breath.

‘Aim!’

The muskets came up, the bayonets pointing directly at the enemy. The Danish officers were busy bellowing their own orders and their men raised their weapons in response.

‘Cock your muskets!’

‘Fire!’

The two sides fired within an instant of each other and the volleys thundered out. Arthur felt the wind of a ball pass close by his head and heard the thudding impact and gasps of his men as they were struck down. From the right came the sound of another blast from the cannon.

‘Charge!’Arthur bellowed, the cry torn from his throat.Thrusting his sword forward, he raced through the thin cloud of gunpowder smoke and saw through the opposing veil that the Danes had already grounded their muskets and begun to reload. On either side the men of the Thirtieth burst through the smoke and raced across the open ground directly at the enemy. As they closed the gap Arthur could see that the Danes would not have time for another volley and already some of them were stepping back in the face of the line of bayonets sweeping towards them. Only a handful managed to discharge their weapons before the redcoats were among them.Arthur made for a tough-looking veteran, who had managed to fix his bayonet and now advanced the point towards Arthur’s stomach.With a vicious slash, Arthur parried the thrust and slammed the hilt of his sword into the man’s face, crushing his nose and knocking him senseless. On either side the men of the Thirtieth tore through the enemy line, stabbing with their bayonets and using the butts of their muskets like clubs as they smashed into skulls with savage roars.The Danes, outnumbered and stunned by the ferocity of the charge, died where they stood, or broke and ran, fleeing towards the shelter of the town.

‘Keep after them!’ Arthur roared. ‘Charge! Charge!’

The officers and sergeants took up the cry and the redcoats rushed over the last stretch of open ground before plunging into the town. Arthur drew up, and grabbed the arm of one of the young ensigns.

‘Circle round the town. Find Stewart and tell him to charge. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The ensign nodded, wide-eyed and breathing fast.

‘Then go!’ Arthur thrust him in the right direction and turned to re-join the tide of screaming British soldiers charging into the town.

Their blood was up and they cut down any Danish soldier they came across, whether they attempted to surrender or not. Arthur joined a loose column of men surging up one of the wider streets leading into the heart of Køge. Ahead of them, at an intersection with another broad thoroughfare, stood another company of soldiers, formed up and facing the redcoats.They raised their muskets and thumbed back the cocks.

‘Get down!’ Arthur cried over the heads of his men. Most instinctively obeyed, falling to their stomachs or crouching on hands and knees. A few slower souls reacted too slowly and were cut down as the Danish volley crashed down the length of the street.

‘Up and at ’em!’ Arthur shouted and the charge surged forward again. This time the Danes put up more of a fight and there was a heaving scrummage as the soldiers were thrust against each other and then pressed on from behind. The war cries subsided into agonised groans and the grunts of men straining to push their foes aside. The weight of numbers was on the British side and the Danes were steadily forced back, the men striking at each other with their fists as well as their weapons as the resistance eased. Again the enemy broke and fled and Arthur and the others pursued them down the street towards the heart of the town.

One of the redcoats stopped outside a door and kicked it in, splintering the wood around the latch.There was a female scream from within, then Arthur grabbed his arm.

‘Move on!’

The man stared at him, wide-eyed and wild, his teeth bared in a snarl.

‘That’s an order!’ Arthur shouted into his face and thrust him away from the door. ‘Move yourself !’

The soldier’s snarl faded as some sense returned, then he turned and ran after his comrades, and Arthur had a glimpse of a terrified young woman clutching a child before he ran on after his men. A short distance ahead the street opened out on to a large square, filled with a milling confusion of Danish soldiers.Those who had fled from Arthur’s columns had run headlong into the formed units of their comrades and caused confusion and chaos, a situation made far worse the moment the grenadiers and the men of the Thirtieth burst into the square and threw themselves on their enemies. Arthur stopped, heart pounding, gasping for breath. Seeing a supply wagon parked close by he thrust his way through his men and climbed up on to the driver’s seat for an overview of the struggle.

Now that he could see right across the square Arthur realised that his men were hopelessly outnumbered. With surprise and shock on their side they would hold their own for a short time yet. But beyond the nearest mob of Danish soldiers stood over a thousand more men, formed up and ready to fight. In their midst Arthur could make out Schmeiler and his staff officers. He watched for a few more minutes as his men pressed the enemy back, and then the impetus of their wild charge died and the melee formed a static line across the edge of the square. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the British soldiers began to give way, forced back by weight of numbers, and they began to be cut down by the vengeful Danes. Arthur looked in the direction from which Stewart would come and prayed that the ensign he had sent had managed to get through. If the other two battalions did not appear now, the Thirtieth’s attack would fail and they would be hunted down and killed in the streets.

Seeing that his men were now winning the fight, General Schmeiler rode through the ranks and drew his sword, bellowing encouragement to his soldiers. He looked over the heads of the combatants and for a brief instant he met Arthur’s gaze and his lips curled into a smile of triumph.

Just then a volley crashed out to Arthur’s right, then another, as musket balls swept into the square from the side streets. The range was close and scores of Danes went down. A moment later the first of Stewart’s men surged into the square, charging home with wild abandon.

‘We’re saved, boys!’ a grenadier sergeant close by Arthur cried out, then his head snapped back in a welter of blood and brains as an enemy officer fired a pistol into his face at close range. But it was too late for the Danes. Those who had been facing Arthur’s men stopped moving forward and glanced over their shoulders in panic at the sound of a new threat.

‘Thirtieth!’ Arthur cried. ‘One more effort and the day is yours!’

Someone cheered, the cry was taken up and the tide reversed as the men of Arthur’s column pressed forward again, thrusting the Danes back across the square. Assailed from two directions the enemy’s discipline broke and the weaker-willed were already fleeing from the redcoats, racing off down the streets that were still clear.As the panic spread more and more men turned and ran, many casting aside their weapons in a bid to escape. Jumping down from the wagon Arthur thrust his way through the ranks of his men towards General Schmeiler, who was caught in a tight press of bodies. His horse’s nostrils flared in terror at the shouts and screams that filled its ears. It lashed out with its hooves, breaking the bones of those immediately behind the general, and the Danish soldiers tried to make space for it. Ahead of Arthur a burly sergeant of grenadiers clubbed aside two Danes before grasping Schmeiler’s sleeve and hauling him bodily from the saddle.The general crashed on to the cobblestones, emitting an explosive gasp as the air was driven from his lungs.The grenadier laughed, grasped his musket tightly in both hands and raised the bayonet ready to strike.

‘No!’ Arthur yelled, pushing his way to the side of the sergeant and grasping the barrel of the musket with his spare hand. ‘This one lives!’

The sergeant growled a curse and lowered his musket, then strode forward a few paces and slammed the butt into the side of an enemy officer’s head. Already the Danes were little more than a mob, each man running for his life, and the square was beginning to empty, leaving the redcoats to claim their prize and their victory. Arthur stood over General Schmeiler, who was still badly winded and dazed by his fall. Schmeiler shook his head to try to clear it, and then his hand groped for the hilt of his sword. Arthur lowered his blade and let the point rest on the Danish general’s breast.

‘Sir, I must ask you for your surrender.’

Schmeiler did not reply and his lips pressed into a thin line as his hand closed round his sword hilt. Arthur applied a little pressure with the point of his blade.

‘General Schmeiler, I insist that you surrender.’ Arthur paused. ‘Or die.’

Schmeiler stared back with a bitter expression, and then nodded, letting his hand slip to his side.Arthur breathed a quick sigh of relief and then leaned down, grasped his opponent’s arm and hauled the Dane to his feet. General Schmeiler bowed his head for a moment and then drew his sword and offered the hilt to Arthur. ‘I surrender. My sword is yours.’

Arthur accepted the ornately decorated weapon with a nod and tucked it under his arm.

‘General Wellesley! Sir!’

Arthur turned towards the voice and saw Stewart striding towards him. He had lost his hat and blood streaked his face from a cut in his scalp, but he was grinning like a madman. ‘We did it, sir!’ Stewart laughed self-consciously. ‘My apologies, General. You did it, sir. The town is yours.’

‘I thank you.’

‘What are your orders, sir?’

‘Orders?’ Arthur forced himself to calm his thoughts. ‘Right. Pass the word to all officers to continue the pursuit only as far as the limits of the town. Have the grenadiers take charge of any prisoners, and weapons collection. Find somewhere for the treatment of the wounded, and let the men know that there is to be no looting. No rape and no drunkenness. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh, and one other thing.’

‘Sir?’

‘Send a messenger to Lord Cathcart. Tell him I have the honour to report that the brigade has taken Køge, and that the Danish relief column has been routed. Nothing can save Copenhagen now.’