Free Waterloo by Andrew Swanston Page A

beleaguered troops at Quatre Bras and would have thrown everything in to his defence of the crossroads and the road to Brussels; Ney would have used his heavy artillery, followed by his cavalry, to break it. Macdonell could only hope that the defence had held and that he and his light companies were not cut off. There was no time to dwell on it. He had his own battle to fight.
    From their left a small company of black-clad Brunswickers arrived. Their captain presented himself to Macdonell. He was a man of about Macdonell’s age, almost as tall and fair-haired. ‘Captain Hellman, Colonel. We saw you from our position and thought you would appreciate some help.’
    ‘Pleased to have you with us, Captain. How many are you?’
    ‘Forty, Colonel.’ Despite their taste for dog meat, the Brunswickers were good soldiers who hated the French. Many Brunswick families had suffered greatly from the deprivations of the feared Imperial Guard, to whom Napoleon always gave free rein after a victory. Forty of them would make a difference.
    ‘Our orders are to clear the area of the enemy and push them back beyond the farm at Gemioncourt.’
    Through the rye and up the slope they went, heads low and muskets held across chests. Macdonell had placed Captain Hellman on his left wing. Harry was on the right and he in the centre, Gooch and Hervey with him. He had been too occupied to keep an eye on the ensigns but they were still standing and appeared unharmed. Advancing in an irregular line made life more difficult for the French marksmen, but if the cavalry reappeared, they would be in trouble. It was a calculated risk.
    A few shots whistled over their heads, mostly to Macdonell’s left where the Brunswickers were impatient to get at the French. They advanced ahead of the line, drawing sporadic French fire but never wavering.
    At the top of the field they came to a low, straggly hedge. Beyond the hedge was a sunken track. In the hedge and on the bank of the track, flies swarmed over yet more bodies of dead and wounded men. There were dozens of them. The wounded spoke of the battering they had taken that morning. Macdonell ordered them to be moved into the shade of the oak and birch that grew along the side of the track and to be given water and blankets. Firing from the wood had ceased and the cannon had gone. Either the French were up to one of their tricks or they had withdrawn through the wood.
    Macdonell found Captain Hellman and his company well placed on the bank of the track where the undergrowth was dense. The captain was intent on the wood. ‘Any sign of movement, Captain?’ he asked.
    ‘None, Colonel. But they might be in there waiting for us.’
    ‘Indeed they might. What do you suggest, Captain?’
    ‘I could take some men and try to get round the side of the wood without being seen. If we see any movement, we’ll know they are in there.’
    ‘Very well, Captain. I’ll give you twenty minutes.’
    Captain Hellman grinned. ‘Leave it to me, Colonel. We’ll soon see what they’re up to.’ He gathered four men and set off. Macdonell returned to his place in the middle of the line, where he found Harry waiting for him.
    ‘Orders, James?’ he asked.
    ‘Captain Hellman has slipped round the wood to see if there are any Frenchies still lurking in it. I’ll send word when he returns.’
    Away to their right around the Charleroi Road, artillery started up again. The crash of heavy cannon reverberated through the trees, hammering eardrums and blocking out all other sound. Rooks shrieked in alarm. The men on the bank of the sunken track lay down their muskets and covered their ears.
    When Captain Hellman returned he had to cup his hands and all but shout into Macdonell’s ear to make himself heard. ‘The devils have withdrawn but they might have left a small party to cover their retreat. If you were to hold back your centre, Colonel, and allow both wings to advance through the wood at an oblique angle, we should take any