The Colonel had seen death too many times not recognise it now in Harry’s drawn face and clouding eyes. He took one of the boy’s hands and held it, saying gently: ‘That’s famous. We must get you to the rear as soon as these hordes of cavalry have drawn off.’
‘I’m so tired!’ Harry said, with a long sigh. ‘Is George safe?’
‘I hope so. I don’t really know, old fellow.’
‘Give him my love, if you see him.’ He closed his eyes, but opened them again after a minute or two, and said: ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. The worst fight I ever was in.’
‘Well, I’m glad I was in it, anyway. To tell you the truth, I haven’t liked it as much as I thought I should. It’s seeing one’s friends go, one after the other, and being so hellish frightened oneself.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you think we can hold out, Charles?’
‘Yes, of course we can, and we will.’
‘By Jove, it’ll be grand if we beat Boney after all!’ Harry said drowsily. A doctor bent over a man lying beside him. The Colonel said urgently: ‘Can’t you get this boy to the rear when the cavalry draws off again?’
A cursory glance was cast at Harry. ‘Waste of time,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve enough on my hands with those I can save.’
The Colonel said no more. Harry seemed to be dropping asleep. Audley stayed holding his hand, but looked up at a mounted officer of the Royal Staff Corps who was standing close by. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Our cavalry’s coming up. By God, in the very nick of time too! I think Grant must have brought back his fellows from the Nivelles road. Yes, by Jove, those are the 13th Light Dragoons! Oh, well done! Go at them, you devils, go at them!’
His excitement seemed to rouse Harry. He opened his eyes, and said faintly: ‘Are we winning?’
‘Yes, Grant’s brigade is driving the French off the plateau.’
‘Oh, splendid!’ He smiled. ‘I say, you won’t be able to call me a Johnny Newcome any longer, will you?’
‘No, that I shan’t.’
Harry relapsed into silence. Outside the dogged square Grant’s light dragoons had formed, and charged the confused mass of French cavalry, hurling it back from the plateau and pursuing it right the way down the slope to the low ground near the orchard of Hougoumont. In a short while, the plateau, which had seethed with steel helmets, copper crests, towering white plumes, and heavy bearskin shakos, was swept bare of all but Allied troops, mounds of French dead and wounded, and riderless horses, some of them wandering aimlessly about with blood streaming from their wounds, some neighing piteously from the ground where they lay, others quietly cropping the trampled grass.
The Colonel bent over Lord Harry. ‘I must go, Harry.’
‘Must you?’ Harry’s voice was growing fainter. ‘I wish you could stay. I don’t feel quite the thing, you know.’
‘I can’t stay. God knows I would, but I must get back to the Duke.’
‘Of course. I was forgetting. I shall see you later, I daresay.’
‘Yes, later,’ the Colonel said, a little unsteadily. ‘Goodbye, old fellow!’ He presse
d Harry’s hand, laid it gently down, and rose to his feet. His horse stood waiting, snorting uneasily. He mounted, saluted Harry, who raised a wavering hand in return, and rode away to find the Duke.
Twenty-Four
The cavalry attacks were abating at last, but under cover of them renewed attempts were being made on La Haye Sainte. Again and again Major Baring sent to his brigade demanding more ammunition. One wagon never reached the farm; another was found to contain cartridges belonging to the Baker rifles used by the 95th, which were of the wrong calibre for the German rifles.
Colonel Audley arrived at the centre, immediately west of the Charleroi chaussée, in time to witness Uxbridge leading the gallant remnant of the Household Brigade against a column of French infantry, covered by cavalry, advancing upon the farm. Their numbers were so diminished that they could make little impression, and were forced to retire. Uxbridge, his hussar dress spattered with mud and soaked with sweat, went flying past to bring up Trip’s Carabiniers, a powerful body of heavy cavalry, nine squadrons strong, who were drawn up behind Kielmansegg’s brigade. He placed himself at their head, gave them the order to charge, and rode forward, only to be stopped by Horace Seymour snatching at his bridle and bellowing: ‘They don’t follow you, sir!’
Uxbridge checked, and rode back, ordering the reluctant Carabiniers with a flood of eloquence to follow the example of the shattered Household Brigade. Nothing could avail, however: the squadrons would not attend to him, but began to retire, seeping a part of the 3rd Hussars of the legion before them. Old Arendtschildt’s voice could be heard above the bursting shells, raised in a fury of invective; the German hussars, scattered by the sheer weight of the Carabiniers, were only restrained from engaging with their Dutch allies by the exertions of their officers, who rode among them, calling them to order, and re-forming them as the Carabiniers passed through to the rear. The stolid Germans, roused to rage by their forced rout, rallied, and charged down upon the French about La Haye Sainte. They were driven back by the cuirassiers supporting the infantry column; and the Hanoverian regiment, the Cumberland Hussars, which had been brought up, began to retire. Captain Seymour, despatched by Uxbridge to stop this retreat, thundered down upon them, a giant of a man on a huge charger, and grabbed at the commanding officer’s bridle, roaring at them to get his men together, and bring them up again. The Hanoverian colonel, who seemed dead to all feeling of shame, replied in a confused way that he could not trust his men: they were appalled by the repulse of the Household Troops; their horses were their own property; he did not think they would risk them in a charge against such overwhelming odds. He almost cringed under the menace of the English giant who loomed over him, pouring insults on his head, but he would do nothing to stop the retreat. Seymour abandoning him, appealed to his next in command to supersede him, to any officer who had courage enough to rally his troops and lead them to the charge. It was useless: he galloped back to his chief, reporting failure.
‘Tell their colonel to form them up out of range of the guns!’ Uxbridge ordered.
But the Cumberland Hussars had no intention of taking part in the fight, and by the time Captain Seymour reached the Colonel again, the whole regiment was in full retreat towards Brussels.