Waterloo by Andrew Swanston Read Free Book Online Page A

his right eye,’ said a medical orderly. ‘The left is also in danger.’
    ‘Artillery shell?’ asked Macdonell.
    ‘Yes, sir. Killed four officers.’
    ‘Get him back to Brussels, if you can. And thank him for his cooperation.’
    ‘I will, sir. And good luck. Give the frogs what they deserve.’
    The fields in which four thousand men gratefully threw off their packs, laid down their weapons and lit fires for their tea, sloped gently up from either side of the road. There was no shade and in the full glare of the sun it was burning hot. Jackets were unbuttoned and shakos removed. On the march, thebuttons would be done up again and the shakos replaced. They left the wagons and artillery on the road rather than laboriously manhandle them into the fields. The horses were left in their traces with their nosebags strapped on and given water and fodder by the grooms. While they ate, farriers came forward from the rear to check their hooves and repair damaged shoes as best they could.
    Enterprising traders, resentment apparently forgotten, appeared from the town with bottles of wine and loaves of fresh bread and moved among the resting men peddling their wares.
    From a vantage point halfway up the slope on the left side of the road, Macdonell saw General Byng arrive at the rear of the 2nd Brigade. Byng dismounted, sat down on a camp stool provided by an aide and mopped his brow. Macdonell waited until the general had a glass in his hand before walking down.
    ‘Ah, James,’ Byng greeted him. ‘We are all through the town. Did you encounter any problems?’
    ‘A vegetable or two, sir, nothing more. Has the Prince sent orders?’
    ‘He has not, dammit. General Cooke has worked himself into a rare fury and I cannot say that I blame him. A poor chain of command almost guarantees failure.’ Byng lowered his voice. ‘And between you and me, I am not at all sure of the Netherlanders. They’ve seen the mess their militia battalions are in and some of them, we should not forget, were fighting for Napoleon not so long ago.’
    ‘We can hardly tell them to go home, General,’ replied Macdonell. ‘So I suppose we must hope for the best.’
    ‘Hope for the best. It’s about all we seem to do at themoment. Orders. That’s what we need. Orders to march and bloody some French noses.’
    Macdonell had seldom seen the general so exercised. It must have been the heat. He spoke gently. ‘The men do need a rest, sir, and food. Doubtless our orders will arrive shortly.’
    The general raised an eyebrow. ‘Go and drink your tea, James. I’ll send word.’
    Harry Wyndham had brewed tea in a Flemish kettle. He handed Macdonell a mug. ‘Hot and sweet, James, just like those highland lassies. Any news?’
    ‘Still awaiting orders. Have you made a count? Has the battalion lost many?’
    ‘Thirty, I think.’ Out of nearly nine hundred, that was better than might have been expected. ‘Exhaustion, mostly, and foot sores.’
    ‘Morale?’
    ‘Up and down. The wagonloads of wounded shook the new men. No one is sure about the Netherlanders and there are voices of dissent.’
    ‘Dissent?’
    Harry affected the voice of a borderer. ‘If His Grace had not spent the night dancing we’d be among the frogs by now, not sitting in a field dripping with sweat, hungry and parched and not knowing where or when we’re going. Something like that.’
    ‘Make sure the new men are mixed in with the older ones. Don’t let them form their own little groups. And tell them to sing. Singing’s good for the spirit. How are Gooch and Hervey faring?’
    ‘Well enough. I think they’ll do.’
    At noon the trumpets sounded and the drums beat to arms. Hastily they packed up, made ready and, under the watchful eyes of Captain Wyndham, Sergeant Dawson and the Corporals Graham, marched down the slope and on to the road south. General Byng was waiting to join his 2nd Division. He saw Macdonell and beckoned him over. ‘Still no orders, James, but General