Fire and Sword cr-3 Read online

  ‘We should have been in a position to dictate the terms of the encounter,’ complained Vendome, ‘and not have it forced upon us. If you’d listened to my advice at the start, the Allies would still be fretting outside the walls of Lessines.’

  ‘That’s all in the past,’ said Burgundy, dismissively. ‘We have to meet this new situation and do so with vigour.’

  ‘On that, at least, we can agree. We should attack at once.’

  ‘I think not, my lord Duke.’

  ‘All that we’re facing at the moment is the advance guard. If we fall upon them without delay, we can put them to flight then march on Oudenarde.’

  ‘I have a better strategy.’

  ‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Vendome. ‘Have you learnt nothing? Every second we delay gives the enemy time to bring more men across the river. We should strike now before reinforcements arrive. With deference to your position,’ he went on, trying to show a semblance of respect, ‘I submit that there is no better strategy.’

  ‘Then we must agree to differ,’ said Burgundy with muted anger. ‘I suggest that you calm down before you make a judgement. A cool head is required, my lord Duke.’

  ‘What use is a cool head without a detailed knowledge of warfare?’ said Vendome under his breath. Controlling himself with a conscious effort, he became apologetic. ‘Forgive my hasty words, my lord. The prospect of battle excites me somewhat. I implore you to follow my advice this time and act decisively.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend to do. Having inspected the terrain with care, I want the army to form into line of battle along the ridge to the north of the River Norken. From there, we’ll be able to see the spires of Oudenarde.’

  ‘The time to look at spires is when we’ve defeated the enemy,’ said Vendome, earnestly. ‘Strike now and we can rout them.’

  ‘You’ve heard my decision,’ declared Burgundy, ‘and it will stand. Like everyone else under my command, you must obey orders.’

  Vendome scowled. There was nothing more to be said.

  By the time that Marlborough and Eugene caught up with him, Cadogan had already had a brush with the cavalry of the French advance guard. Undaunted by larger enemy numbers, he hailed the arrival of the others and was eager to attack. His unassailable buoyancy raised the spirits of his men. After conversing with Cadogan about what had already occurred, Marlborough watched the enemy deploying along a low, partly wooded ridge that was punctuated by three small villages.

  ‘They’ve chosen well,’ he said with grudging admiration. ‘It’s a strong position.’

  ‘Do we still attack, Your Grace?’ asked Cadogan.

  ‘We came here to fight and that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘There are many risks involved.’

  Marlborough grinned. ‘That’s never stopped you before, William.’

  ‘And it won’t do this time,’ said Cadogan, heartily.

  ‘Now that we have them in our sights, we’ll offer them battle. We must do — nothing else will suffice. We need a victory to appease our critics. If it miscarries, I’m ready to shoulder the blame.’

  Overhearing the exchange between the two men, Daniel was impressed. Both men were confident and clear-headed. Since most of the Allied army were still scrambling over the pontoons, their leaders would be courting danger with an attack. Simultaneously, however, they’d be signalling to the enemy that they felt capable of inflicting serious damage on them even with a depleted force. The boldness of the plan appealed to Daniel.

  Cadogan’s appetite for action had been whetted. He was keen to be in the field again. Ahead of him were seven enemy battalions, made up of Swiss mercenaries. Sent forward by Vendome, they had, by an oversight, never been recalled. Cadogan acted decisively. With the consent of Marlborough, he unleashed his attack on them with British redcoats to the front supported by Hanoverian cavalry to their flank and rear. When the two sides met, there was an ear-splitting cacophony of clashing blades and musket fire, supplemented by cries of agony from men and horses as they were shot, hacked or bayoneted to the ground. The popping of musketry became a roar and clouds of smoke marked the successive volleys. The Swiss had erected some rudimentary barricades but they failed to hold back the onslaught. Cadogan’s men were well trained, quick to respond to orders and merciless in combat. As soon as some of them fell, others stepped over their bodies to continue the fight with an iron determination.

  The result was never in doubt. The Swiss brigades had been taken unawares. Their leaders had never imagined that Allied forces in such strength could be so close. Shocked and unprepared, they were no match for Cadogan’s infantry and were soon put under intolerable pressure by the surging waves of redcoats. Cadogan deployed his men with such skill and purpose that they overcame all opposition within an hour. As the Swiss retreated, the Hanoverian cavalry harried them ruthlessly. Daniel was thrilled at the early success. Cadogan had not merely vanquished the Swiss and taken masses of prisoners, he’d bought priceless time for reinforcements to catch up with them. It augured well for the battle ahead.

  Burgundy was dismayed by what he saw. From his position on the ridge, he witnessed the complete destruction of his Swiss battalions. It made him think again about how to fight the battle. Vendome, who’d been an ardent advocate for striking hard at the enemy, now felt that it was too late to attack. Once again, he was overruled. On the orders of Burgundy, the French right wing began to pick its way down the slopes and over the River Norken, one of the many streams that crisscrossed the area. It was close countryside with ditches, marshes, bushes, hedgerows, copses, brambles and thick undergrowth hindering progress.

  At approximately five o’clock, the right wing attacked Cadogan’s forces with ferocity, overlapping it to the west and threatening to engulf it. Some relief came from a battery posted by Marlborough to fire away incessantly at the advancing French hordes. To counter the threat of being enveloped, Cadogan changed his front to the left but his line remained thin and potentially fragile. Fortunately, the nature of the terrain left little scope for cavalry. At Blenheim and at Ramillies, they’d been offered a wide, open, uncluttered plain on which troops could be aligned in strict formation and cavalry charges used to effect. The battle of Oudenarde, it was now clear, would be decided by fierce, unrelenting, hand-to-hand fighting by the infantry.

  Vendome led from the front with a verve that inspired his men. While Burgundy remained on the ridge with the left flank, his second-in-command was in the thick of the action, wielding a half-pike with unflagging power and driving his army on. He was quick to notice that the only open ground was to Cadogan’s left and that it was occupied by Prussian and Hanoverian horse with no supporting infantry. It was a weak point that needed to be exploited. Conscious of this, Vendome sent an urgent message to Burgundy, telling him to overwhelm the cavalry by launching the left wing. In doing so, the French would be able to attack Cadogan from both flanks and crack his army like a walnut.

  Like much of Vendome’s sound advice, it was disregarded. Burgundy’s staff reported incorrectly to him that his troops would be hopelessly caught in a morass if they descended from the left. To the eternal chagrin of Vendome, therefore, thirty thousand soldiers remained as passive spectators on the high ground. Instead of being crushed by greater numbers, the Allied forces were being steadily replenished. Tragically for the French, the messenger sent to inform Vendome that the left wing would not come to his aid was killed before he even reached the general. The message was thus never received. Vendome fought on courageously, waiting in vain for the requested left wing to join in, betrayed by Burgundy’s inexperience and by the false information on which the commander-in-chief based his decision.

  Daniel was encouraged by what he saw. The cultivated fields and the widespread thickets deterred a French cavalry that would have held a distinct advantage. Instead, it was the superior infantry of the Allies on which the result would rest. Marlborough ensured that the battle didn’t drift into utter confusion. He gave it shape and direc
tion. Daniel was employed as a galloper, carrying messages to and fro between the various generals. Seeing that Vendome’s forces were putting Cadogan under severe pressure, Marlborough brought up twenty battalions under the Duke of Argyll and extended the Allied flank westwards. In spite of repeated French attacks, the line held out. The very real danger of being swamped by enemy numbers had passed.

  No sooner had Daniel returned to Marlborough’s side than he was dispatched to bring some other reinforcements into action, riding across the battleground with sabres flashing murderously all round him and musket balls whistling past his ear. Eugene, meanwhile, was given command of the right flank, leaving Marlborough to operate on the left. Over to the west, the captain general observed a rim of higher ground swinging round the perimeter of the battle, largely free of vegetation and suitable for cavalry. It was time to use General Overkirk’s troops, a combined force of Dutch infantry and cavalry. They were sent wide and deep to the enemy rear. Though he, too, was a sick man, leading his troops from the comfort of his coach, Overkirk responded to the call, following orders to send some of his men in a tighter turn against the flank of the French infantry line.

  Daniel was galloping all over the battlefield, carrying orders and using his sword to hack a way past any opposition. He brought news to Marlborough that Eugene was hard-pressed on the right flank and twenty battalions of infantry and seventeen squadrons of British cavalry were immediately dispatched to his aid. When he looked down from higher ground at the field of battle, Daniel marvelled at the way Marlborough had marshalled his men, rushing reinforcements to vulnerable points and searching out points of potential weakness. It was in sharp contradistinction to the role of the French commander-in-chief. Still on higher ground, well behind the front, Burgundy was a helpless bystander who made no meaningful contribution. Far below him, the indefatigable Vendome was flailing away with his half-pike, too engrossed in the battle to be able to impose any control over it. Marlborough looked up at the sky. Evening was closing in.

  ‘How much more light do we have, Daniel?’ he asked.

  ‘No more than an hour, Your Grace,’ replied Daniel.

  ‘Then there’s no time for delay.’ After scribbling some orders, he handed them to Daniel. ‘Take this to General Overkirk with all speed possible. He is to attack.’

  Burgundy could not believe what he saw. Masses of Dutch infantry and cavalry seemed to appear from nowhere and surge down the slopes like a waterfall. French cavalry, aching with fatigue and thinned out by heavy losses, turned to face the newcomers but they were swept aside by Overkirk’s men who rode deeper and deeper into the French rear, spreading panic wherever they went. Keeping a much tighter line, another part of the Dutch forces descended on the French to effect a double encirclement of them. The noose was slowly but inexorably tightened. One of the largest French armies ever to take the field was being strangled into submission. Indeed, so tight was the encirclement that the Dutch were, at one point, inadvertently firing at each other.

  In the arrogance of youth, Burgundy had been composing in his mind the report he’d expected to send to Versailles of a magnificent victory. Instead, he would have to describe a humiliating defeat and try to explain why his left flank — comprising fifty battalions and a hundred and thirty squadrons — was marooned on a ridge throughout the whole six hours of battle.

  Daniel claimed his share of the action. As the French were driven from ditch to ditch, splashing madly through stream after stream in their headlong retreat, Daniel hacked and thrust away with his sword, killing four men outright and wounding several others. When his horse was brought down by a stray shot, he jumped clear and fought shoulder to shoulder with the advancing line of redcoats. The noise was deafening, the smoke blinding, the battlefield littered with dead and dying. It was a complete rout. French cavalry, infantry and dragoons were mixed higgledy-piggledy. Battalions and squadrons became so hopelessly entangled with each other that there was no sense of order or definition. They fled in desperation.

  Somewhere in the vast melee, Henry Welbeck was still fighting as well, using a discarded half-pike like the sail of a windmill and exhorting his men to pepper the backsides of the retreating French with volleys of musket fire. Lieutenant Ainley was also in his element, leading fearlessly and fighting with a ferocity that belied his mild temperament. After killing and wounding indiscriminately, his men rounded up prisoners by the score. Along with all the other British regiments of foot, the 24^th had distinguished itself yet again.

  As the rings of terror tightened even more around the enemy, the light gradually faded and the battle had perforce to be adjourned. Marlborough’s delight was edged with disappointment.

  ‘If we’d been so happy as to have two more hours of daylight,’ he said, ‘I believe we should have made an end of this war.’

  As it was, unbeknown to him, the outcome had already been decided. His exhausted soldiers spent the night on the battlefield amid the butchered corpses of men and horses, sprinkled by gentle rain. Their captain general slept in the saddle, waking early in order to renew hostilities at dawn.

  But there was no foe in sight.

  The ridge above the River Norken was deserted. Burgundy and Vendome had limped ignominiously away to Ghent with the remnants of their shattered army. It was all over. When Marlborough and Prince Eugene entered Oudenarde itself and rode into the square, they were cheered to the echo by their soldiers. Thousands of French prisoners were being held in the town, including some six hundred officers. When the full numbers of dead, wounded, prisoners and deserters were known, it amounted to twenty thousand men. Forty French battalions had been smashed out of existence and others had suffered savage losses. Marlborough was exhausted but exultant. He dashed off a note for the Earl of Stair to deliver to Sidney Godolphin in London.

  I must acknowledge the goodness of God in the success he was pleased to give us; for I believe Lord Stair will tell you they were in as strong a post as it is possible to be found; but you know when I left England I was positively resolved to endeavour by all means a battle, thinking nothing else would make the Queen’s business go well. This reason only made me venture a battle yesterday, otherwise I did give them too much advantage; but the good of the queen and my country shall always be preferred by me before any personal concern; for I am very sensible if I had miscarried, I should be blamed. I hope I have given such a blow to their foot, that they will not be able to fight any more this year. My head aches so terribly I must say no more.

  Daniel stayed long enough in camp to see Matthew Searle, Edwin Lock, Hugh Davey and the other renegades hanged for their crimes. While the rest of the army were celebrating a glorious victory, eight men who could have taken part in it were dangling from the gallows. It was not a sight that Daniel enjoyed because it reminded him too much of the occasion when he watched his father being hanged with other rebels after the battle of Sedgemoor. He turned away from the scene. Welbeck was beside him.

  ‘The bastards got what they deserved,’ said the sergeant with grim satisfaction. ‘It’s as well that they’re so fond of fires because there’ll be plenty of them where they’re going.’

  ‘I didn’t think you believed in heaven and hell,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I don’t believe in heaven, Dan, but I know all about hell.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘It’s called army life.’

  Daniel laughed. ‘Only you can be grumbling at a time like this,’ he said. ‘You helped to give the French another hiding and you’ve had the pleasure of seeing Searle and his men strung up. Yet you still can’t find a good word to say. I suppose you’ll even criticise His Grace for the way he led us into battle.’

  ‘No,’ said Welbeck, ‘I salute him, Dan, and I take back what I said about him earlier. He’s neither blind nor stupid. The way that he routed the enemy showed that he’s still at the height of his powers. And while we’re on the subject,’ he continued, ‘I’ll admit that I was wrong about Lieutenant Ainley as well. He’
s not the complete idiot I took him for. Once the smell of battle got into his nostrils, he fought like a demon. I saw him scything his way through the French.’

  ‘I must make a note of the date and time of day,’ teased Daniel. ‘I’ve never heard you praise two of your superiors at the same time. Such a rare event needs to be commemorated.’

  Welbeck grinned. ‘It won’t happen again, I can tell you.’

  ‘And you were wrong about heaven — it does exist, Henry.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it.’

  ‘Then you must have kept your eyes closed at Oudenarde. That’s my idea of heaven — a wondrous victory that reminds me why I joined the army in the first place.’

  ‘You only joined in order to use that bleeding sword of yours.’

  After sharing a laugh, they exchanged farewells. News of their triumph had already been sent to The Hague. Daniel had been given the task of delivering a full account of the event to Grand Pensionary Heinsius. It was an honour he readily accepted because it would take him back to Holland and he didn’t intend its capital to be the only place that he visited.

  Glancing out of the window, Beatrix was the first to see him and her cry of delight roused the whole house. When Daniel was admitted to the voorhuis, the welcoming committee comprised Amalia, Beatrix, Emanuel Janssen, Kees Dopff, the other weavers taken on by Janssen and the rest of the servants. Daniel only had eyes for Amalia. He greeted everyone individually but was pleased when all but one of them melted away into the house or the workshop. Left alone with Amalia, he was able to embrace her and kiss away the time they’d been apart.

  ‘What are you doing in Amsterdam?’ she asked.

  ‘I was hoping that you’d be thrilled to see me, Amalia.’

  ‘I’m overjoyed.’

  ‘His Grace instructed me to deliver dispatches to The Hague,’ he explained. ‘I think he knew that I’d relish the opportunity of paying a brief visit to you.’