Soldier of the Queen (25 page)

‘Three battles in five days,’ Ackroyd said wonderingly. ‘Where in God’s name will they put the wounded?’

By evening the first of them were arriving in Metz with the last from Mars-la-Tour. The scene was nightmarish as the stream became a flood and finally a stampede. Every courtyard and open space was full of men too tired or too weak to walk any further, and the air was filled with a high ullulation of complaint and sorrow. Ambulance men were struggling to remove the wounded towards the Place Royale where marquees had been erected in the gardens of the Esplanade, and, as more long convoys appeared from the west, a priest waited by the roadside to give them a blessing as they passed. There were so many it was clear nobody knew what to do with them. The Palais de Justice had a Red Cross flag at each corner and other public buildings overflowed with them until they were pushed into convents, barracks, hotels and even private houses. The hundreds of tricolours flapping in the gusty air left wet smears on windows and walls, the waiting rooms of the station were occupied by the medical staff and the floor was packed with stretchers. In the dim glow of the gaslight the red cross on its white background glowed like blood.

‘It’s time we were leaving, Tyas,’ Colby said. ‘This place is going to be besieged. The Prussians are already moving round it and the French staff haven’t the foggiest idea what to do.’

‘Where are we goin’?’ Ackroyd asked.

Colby gestured. The sky looked tortured, with green and gold thunderheads building up in the east. The wind coming from the north made the telegraph wires hum with what sounded like ominous messages of war. On the gusts, they could hear the muttering of guns.

Colby sighed. ‘Belgium,’ he said. ‘Then home.’

‘They had them in tents,’ Colby said. ‘And in marquees on the Esplanade. They dragged railway wagons off the rails into the Place Royale and slung hammocks inside for them. But the weather changed and they started to die in hundreds. The North African troops didn’t even seem to wish to live, and the stink of pyaemia and gangrene from the Coislin had to be smelled to be believed.’

Wolseley’s rooms were full of the same books and plans, and on the wall hung a map of France that was better than anything Colby had seen in the hands of the French staff. Wolseley sat in a leather chair, watching as Colby’s hands moved across it. There was a strange reserve of vitality about him that indicated a firm will and a strong sense of knowing what he wanted.

‘Bazaine had no plan and nobody knew what to do,’ Colby continued. ‘The troops wandered about and nobody attempted to do anything with them. The army had split into factions – Imperialist, Republican and Monarchist – and they were all blaming each other for the defeats and doing nothing about breaking out, although the Prussians were already erecting long-range batteries on the hills. We got out without any trouble at all towards Plappeville and there were hundreds of troops up there, pushed north by the fighting at Gravelotte. The whole army could have got clear and fallen on the southern flank of the Prussians at Sedan, but they didn’t even try.’

As Colby became silent, Wolseley shifted in the chair. ‘And Sedan?’ he said. ‘Tell me about Sedan.’

Colby’s hand moved. ‘It stuck out a mile that the Prussians would try to stop MacMahon and the Emperor joining up to rescue Bazaine. But the French made no attempt at a feint or any effort to draw them away from their path. As they were forced further and further north, they found themselves pushed into the angle of the frontier near the Belgian border where they hadn’t room to manoeuvre.’

‘Then?’

‘Mixture as before, sir. There was little wrong with the ordinary soldier or even with his weapons. The confusion was all at the top. The disaster was colossal. The Prussian army’s now heading for Paris.’

‘Will Paris come to an arrangement?’

‘Not yet, sir. But I think eventually. When I passed through on the way to Calais, they were preparing for a seige but there was no plan and no order.’

Wolseley was silent for a moment then he lifted his head. ‘What’s your view of the Prussians?’ he asked.

‘They made a lot of mistakes, sir, but they had one quality that saved them again and again. They marched to the sound of the guns. The French seemed to march away and seemed only to think of using their cavalry when in trouble – as if it were the effort of despair. To me there seemed no place on a battlefield dominated by breech-loading rifles for masses of horsemen.’

Wolseley’s eyebrows lifted and he gave a thin smile. ‘If that’s your view, how do you propose to handle it if ever you succeed to the command of your regiment?’

‘I intend to give it a great deal of thought, sir. There’s still a need for horsemen, but not used in that way.’

‘That’s a crafty retort if ever there were one,’ Wolseley said. ‘So what’s the answer?’

‘Train ’em to use their carbines, sir.’

Wolseley permitted himself another slow smile. ‘I think you’ll be highly unpopular with some of our mounted regiments,’ he said. ‘Go on. Tell me more about the Germans. What makes ’em so able?’

‘Their army’s a machine, sir. By the use of railways and telegraphs they manage numbers not known up to now. I think we shall have trouble from them in Europe before long. I suspect that they like war. But it’s not the old kind of war, sir. The French provided that. Their doctrine was always that they wouldn’t win by defence. They never went anywhere but forward. I think their success lies in the fact that their staff is trained. Bravery isn’t enough. A staff officer needs to be more clear-headed than brave, methodical rather than dashing.’

‘Are you suggesting we recruit scholars?’

‘No, sir. Just the more intelligent of what we have. I think this war shows the trend of future wars and it’ll be a good idea if we take note of it.’

Wolseley was silent for a long time, staring at his fingers as they rested on the brown wood of his desk. ‘I read the pieces you wrote for the
Morning Advertiser
,’ he said at last. ‘They were well-written and succinct. Can you write all that again? For me. In a report.’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘Then you’d better get on with it. You’ll be found a room and a couple of secretaries. I want it setting down with as much clarity as you showed in the reports for the
Morning Advertiser
. You have a gift with a pen and the Secretary for War will be very interested.’

Colby hesitated. ‘Sir, it was not my intention that I should be away from my regiment for good.’

‘Nor is it ours,’ Wolseley snapped back. ‘The best leaders of the future will be men who have done alternate spells on the staff and with troops. We shall all be seeing a change in a year or two when the reforms we plan take effect. The purchasing of commissions will go. It has to go. It’s illogical, iniquitous and indefensible in these modern times, and when it does go we shall perhaps be able to push a few of our more capable men into ranks commensurate with their ability.’

He paused, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘I have no time for politicians,’ he said. ‘They’re nothing but a race of drones, and Cardwell stands head and shoulders above the rest for the forwardness of his ideas. But–’ he hesitated ‘–they
all
act in accordance with the national tradition of starving the army of brains and then complaining about the hidebound military mind when it comes to war.’ He paused again. ‘You ought to learn a lot here that might be good for you, because politics and military leadership are very closely connected.’

Brave, brilliant, ambitious, unpopular at court but popular with the press, Wolseley clearly had his finger on the pulse of the army. He turned to the window again. ‘Have you got rooms in London?’ he asked over his shoulder.

‘No, sir.’

‘Then you’d better get some. Got anybody trustworthy to look after you?’

Colby didn’t think Ackroyd would object to being away from home a little longer. ‘I think I can manage that, sir.’

‘Then you’d better get on with it and get yourself settled in. You may be going back to France. I’m interested to know what the Prussians will do about Paris.’

‘I can answer that now, sir,’ Colby said. ‘They’ll besiege it.’

‘Starving ’em out won’t win the Prussians the love of the civilised world.’

‘I suspect that won’t worry Bismarck too much, sir. I met General Sheridan, the American, at Sedan. He and I had a few things to talk about. He’s got a reputation for ruthlessness, but I suspect the truth is that he’s just a clear-thinking man. Moltke had come to the conclusion that wars could be won simply by the movement of troops. Sheridan pointed out that this was only the first requirement of victory and that the way to end a war was to cause the inhabitants of an invaded country so much suffering they’d force their government to demand it.’

‘And?’

‘I think Moltke took it to heart. I think the Prussians will bombard.’

London had a wintry look about it and the cabbies shivered in their high seats on the hansoms. There were a few men Colby knew at the Cavalry Club, including a captain who had been at Balaclava. He was thinking of selling out before the purchase system was brought to an end and was in a gloomy mood. There was also a note for Colby from his sister Harriet who had been on a visit to her father and was surprised to hear he’d been entertaining a young woman.

‘He said she was asking after you,’ she wrote. ‘She refused to give a name because she wished to surprise you. What have you been up to?’

Colby decided he’d better go home and, catching a train the following morning, he was in York by the afternoon. At Harrogate, a trap from Braxby was waiting for him, driven inevitably by one of the Ackroyd family. Harriet met him at the door, grave-faced, to announce that his father had been put to bed with a chill.

‘I don’t think he has the will to fight it,’ she said.

Despite the grey day there was something about Braxby that nudged at Colby’s heart. This was where he belonged, where the bones of his ancestors rested, where he, too, would eventually rest, God willing, and that knowledge was surprisingly important.

The pleasure at coming home was spoiled by the frailty of his father. Grey-faced, his white hair like a wispy halo round his head, the general lay on pillows in the bedroom. A huge fire burned in the grate and the housekeeper sat by it, knitting. As Colby entered, she rose, bobbed a curtsey and disappeared.

The old man’s face lit up as he saw his son but he found talking difficult. ‘Been in France, I hear,’ he murmured. ‘Involved in the war.’

‘Not involved, Father,’ Colby said, bending to kiss the fragile looking skull. ‘I was sent by the War Office. Wolseley sent me.’

‘Don’t like Wolseley. Stirs things up too much. How’d you find the French?’

‘Not as good as when you were fighting them, Father.’

‘Weren’t even then. Marshals were a poor lot on the whole. Even Napoleon was past his prime. How about this other Napoleon?’

‘Also past his prime, Father. And
his
marshals are even worse. Most of them, as far as I can see, shouldn’t have been in charge of a corporal’s picket. They got their rank because they went down well with the Empress’ ladies.’

The old man sniffed. ‘Well, that’s all finished now,’ he said. ‘Napoleon’s a prisoner in Germany and the Empress is a fugitive in England. Got a place in Kent, I heard. Would have done better in Yorkshire. Still, I always did think the French lacked backbone.’ He was silent for a moment, exhausted by talking. ‘Who’s this gel?’ he ended.

‘Which girl, Father?’

‘The one who came here.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Father.’ The only person Colby could think of was Germaine.

‘Time you were married.’ The old man’s muttering was barely audible now. ‘Hoped I might see a grandson before I go. Nothing odd about you, is there?’

Colby laughed. ‘Not on your life, Father. You were none too young yourself when I was foaled.’

‘True, but things are different these days.’

How, Colby wondered. Men and women still went to bed together. ‘Who was she, Father? Didn’t she say?’

‘No.’

‘What was she like? Tall? Good figure?’

‘Dunno. You’d have to trot her up and down a bit. All she did was sit in a chair. Seemed intelligent, though. Pretty. Dark hair. People without dark hair look as if their faces have faded. Always had dark hair in our family. Good breeders.’ The old man moved restlessly on the pillows. ‘Better go now. I’m tired. It’s bloody awful when you’re old. You’re always tired.’

Harriet was sipping a sherry in the library when Colby went downstairs. ‘How’s Henry?’ he asked.

‘My husband,’ Harriet said briskly, ‘is bursting with health. I wish to God sometimes he were a little more pale and wan.’

Colby wondered if he chased Harriet round the bedroom at night. Harriet was no wilting lily herself, however, and he suspected she enjoyed her life as much as her husband enjoyed his. It made him feel lonely.

‘Making money?’

‘By the thousand.’

‘Children?’

‘All snotty-nosed at this time of the year. But they’re well. George is starting to ride and doing rather well at it. Sarah’s got a pony.’

Seemed to be following the family tradition, Colby thought. He himself had been stuck on a pony at the age of three and expected to stay on. He hadn’t, of course, but he’d learned quickly enough through falling off.

‘This girl–’ he began.

‘Which girl? The Rector’s daughter? I hope you’re not thinking of marrying her, Coll. She’s an awful bore.’

‘Damn the Rector’s daughter!’ Colby snapped. ‘I know she’s a bore. No, this girl who came looking for me. Who the hell is she?’

‘God knows. Father said she didn’t have an English accent.’

‘Jesus Christ in the mountains!’

‘That’s a splendid oath!’

‘Picked it up in the States.’ Colby poured himself a whisky and sank it at a gulp. ‘What was she like? I couldn’t get more out of him than that she had dark hair.’

‘That’s about all he told me.’

‘Pale skin? Dark eyes?’

He didn’t say.’ Harriet sighed. ‘He’s getting a bit old to notice females.’

‘He wasn’t too old to notice she was pretty.’ Germaine for a quid, Colby thought. After all, he’d asked her to marry him and she’d probably decided, with France in its present mess, that it was a good idea. ‘Did he say what she wanted?’