A Close Run Thing

Charleroi: he has made so many moves of this like before.’

‘Yes,’ said the duke slowly, as if surprised by the discernment of the reply and intrigued by the question posed by ‘many will think’.

‘But that is excessively risky,’ Hervey continued, thoroughly warming to his subject. ‘His strategic aim must surely be to knock us — the British I mean, sir — out of the fight, back into the sea, and to send the Prussians back across the Rhine. It seems to me, your Grace, that if he puts his effort into an envelopment, then what he is doing is trying to use sheer weight to achieve his design. He might not have enough weight, and he might also drive us towards, rather than away from, the Prussians — and then he would simply have too big an army to defeat.’

The duke was about to say something, but Hervey failed to notice and instead pressed on to his second conclusion.

‘If, however, Bonaparte strikes direct for Brussels he might drive a wedge so deep between the two armies that each falls back along its own lines of communication, and he would thereby have achieved his strategic purpose by the indirect method. That I am sure is much more at the heart of what he seeks to do with his so-called “manoeuvre”, yet everyone — excuse me, your Grace — many seem only to see the movement rather than the purpose.’

‘Well, well!’ replied the duke. ‘Whoever would have thought it! I have officers in the cavalry who have studied Bonaparte rather than just Reynard! Do not take offence, Mr Hervey: the two have much in common!’

There was more laughter.

‘So you are acquainted with Bonaparte’s so-called “Strategy of the Central Position”?’ continued the duke.

‘Yes, sir; I have read much on the subject. It is the strategy that I believe would give the best chance of success here.’

‘Well, then, describe it — briefly — for the benefit of my friends here,’ he added, indicating the three staff officers who were now looking at Hervey with evident regard, rather than merely through him as before.

‘Briefly, sir, divide et impera. His army, divided into two echelons, drives between the two opposing armies. He uses just sufficient force to fix one in place and then concentrates the rest to defeat the second. He does not have to destroy the second completely, just to destroy any hope of its assisting the other. He then turns to defeat in detail the first army which he has fixed in place.’

‘And what are the prerequisites of the strategy?’ asked the duke, his eyes now fastened on him, hawk- like.

‘Pre-requisites, sir?’ Hervey began, stressing the anticipatory so as to be wholly clear of what his answer was conditional upon. ‘Surprise and security.’

‘Just so,’ nodded the duke pensively, and without another word he broke into a trot.

It was midday by the time they returned to the commander-in-chief’s forward headquarters at Ghent. Hervey had fallen back to his original place next to Jessope, who was much amused by the ‘strategic tutorial’ as he called it. As they entered the courtyard of the inn which had been pressed into military service, the duke turned to them both. ‘Thank you, Mr Hervey. I have much enjoyed your company,’ he said warmly. ‘Captain Jessope, you must bring your thinking friend out again. Yes, gentlemen, surprise and security: they are everything!’

It became even hotter in the days that followed. Supply, as far as it affected the Sixth, seemed to be much better, although the troops were still scattered about numerous villages in order to take forage direct from the farms rather than through the system of depots. And while this suited them in many ways it still made mustering for drill difficult: the brigade had only been able to hold two field days since arriving, although there had been yet another change of location, this time to the River Dendre around Grammont. Here, though, they were plagued by midges, and it was not long before sweet itch appeared, particularly in those horses billeted in the poorer, unkempt farms where there was little cover and scant waste-discipline. Never had the regiment suffered from it so badly. In ‘C Troop one morning sixteen horses could not be saddled, so abraded were their backs, and Edmonds became affeard of an epidemic. There was no agreement, even, as to its cause, for many believed the connection with midges to be circumstantial. Neither was there unanimity as to treatment. The new veterinary officer, young and active, had no doubts, however, and managed to procure large quantities of sulphur, treating all the cases with his own foul-smelling potion. It had unusually early results, although three of the worst cases had to be dispatched by the farrier’s axe. Captain Lankester had sniffed when he heard of the losses, for each day he had had all his troop horses brought in before dawn, and again before dusk, when the midges were the most active, and had lit fires to smoke them away. As a consequence they had lost not one trooper, nor had any been unfit for saddling for more than a day. His own chargers he anointed with a most precious lotion he had bought the previous year in London on the recommendation of a tea-planter: oil of citronella, one of the East India Company’s most exotic and expensive imports (the planter had sworn by it). It had a most pleasing smell yet was wholly repugnant to any flying insect, and Lankester had been able to enjoy his shooting and fishing unplagued after daubing his face and hands with it. And he had now been able to transfer exactly this protection to his beloved hunters.

But if the new billets did not favour the horses they certainly suited many of the officers, since it took less than two hours to get to Brussels. The capital had almost as many theatres as London, and dances and levees carried on apace. At one of these (and he had only been to the one) Hervey had met Lady Fitzroy Somerset.

‘Are you the officer who courses hares with his sabre?’ she had asked laughingly.

To which Hervey had replied that he could have done better with a lance.

‘My husband tells me that your conversation with my uncle set him thinking for several hours. Quite an achievement, Mr Hervey!’

‘I am sure the duke is thinking constantly, madam,’ had been Hervey’s reply. It had been the best he could manage, for he was not as yet at ease in that company, and Lady Fitzroy Somerset put him in mind of Henrietta Lindsay and of his initial awkwardness in her company. It had been a charming enough exchange, no doubt the inconsequential talk of such gatherings, but even if there had been only a fraction of truth in the idea that the duke had found his discourse stimulating, then it was some comfort for a man whose prospects, still, were so comprehensively blighted by General Slade.

Then, in the second week of the month, Hervey received another invitation from Jessope to ride out with the duke. The party, a bigger affair than before, assembled in the courtyard of the Hotel de Ville in Halle, on the Mons- to-Brussels high road, and it soon became apparent that its purpose was more than morning exercise. Standing beside a large map fixed to the double doors of the empty stables was Sir William de Lancey. ‘He acts as the duke’s chief of staff until Sir George Murray arrives from Canada,’ explained Jessope. ‘And those other two officers are the duke’s artillery and engineer commanders, Sir George Wood and Sir James Smyth. I think we shall see good sport this morning!’

The duke duly appeared, walked to the map and, taking the pointing-stick which de Lancey proffered, began to address the assembled party. ‘Gentlemen, I want today to complete my reconnaissance of defensive positions in the event of Bonaparte’s making a direct move against Brussels — a move which I am still far from convinced he will make. Nevertheless I intend being ready for him if he does. If he should strike for Brussels, it will not be to take possession of the lace factories.’ There was polite but restrained laughter. ‘His purpose will be to divide the Prussians and ourselves. Although it may seem, therefore, that he has the initiative — in that he chooses the time of attack — he does not entirely choose the place. He must attack astride the junction of the two armies — and that junction is where the good General Blucher and I make it. And where we make it is as far east as we dare without exposing my right flank and Ostend. So we shall of course make plans to cover the Mons-Brussels road, but that is not his likely axis since the junction will be further east towards Charleroi,’ he explained, pointing to the features on the map. ‘Now,’ he continued, with a pause for further emphasis, ‘we will not hold him forward on the border: there is little chance of our being able to concentrate there in time. But we will delay him there — make him pay the price of time — and we will stop him along this line here, through Braine-l’ Alleud, Mont St-Jean and Wavre. And this morning we shall examine a defensive position astride the chaussee on this ridge at Mont St-Jean which, if these maps are at all faithful, promises to have capability — as that other landscaper might have described it.’

There was more polite laughter. ‘Torres Vedras, Duke?’ asked his engineer. ‘Capability Brown would have