Adventure stories, English; France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction; Soldiers of fortune -- Fiction
Under cover of this force came two light six-pounder guns, loaded
with grape, and intended to be discharged at point-blank distance. The
infantry brought up the rear in three compact columns, ready to deploy
into line at a moment.
In these very simple tactics no notice whatever was taken of the great
rabble of Irish who hung upon our flanks and rear in disorderly
masses, cursing, swearing, and vociferating in all the license
of insubordination; and O’Donnell, whose showy uniform contrasted
strikingly with the dark-blue coat and low glazed cocked-hat of Humbert,
was now appealed to by his countrymen as to the reason of this palpable
slight.
‘What does he want? what does the fellow say?’ asked Humbert, as he
noticed his excited gestures and passionate manner.
‘He is remonstrating, sir,’ replied I, ‘on the neglect of his
countrymen; he says that they do not seem treated like soldiers; no post
has been assigned, nor any order given them.’
‘Tell him, sir,’ said Humbert, with a savage grin, ‘that the discipline
we have tried in vain to teach them hitherto, we’ll not venture to
rehearse under an enemy’s fire; and tell him also that he and his ragged
followers are free to leave us, or, if they like better, to turn against
us, at a moment’s warning.’
I was saved the unpleasant task of interpreting this civil message by
Conolly, who, taking O’Donnell aside, appeared endeavouring to reason
with him, and reduce him to something like moderation.
‘There, look at them, they’re running like sheep!’ cried Humbert,
laughing, as he pointed to an indiscriminate rabble, some hundred yards
off, in a meadow, and who had taken to their heels on seeing a round
shot plunge into the earth near them. ‘Come along, sir: come with me,
and when you have seen what fire is, you may go back and tell your
countrymen! Serasin, is all ready? Well then, forward, march!’
‘March!’ was now re-echoed along the line, and steadily, as on a parade,
our hardy infantry stepped out, while the drums kept up a continued roll
as we mounted the hill.
The first to cross the crest of the ascent were the ‘Legion,’ as the
Irish were called, who, dressed like French soldiers, were selected for
some slight superiority in discipline and bearing. They had but gained
the ridge, however, when a well-directed shot from a six-pounder smashed
in amongst them, killing two, and wounding six or seven others. The
whole mass immediately fell back on our grenadiers. The confusion
compelled the supporting column to halt, and once more the troops were
retired behind the hill.
‘Forward, men, forward!’ cried Humbert, riding up to the front, and
in evident impatience at these repeated checks; and now the grenadiers
passed to the front, and, mounting the height, passed over, while a
shower of balls flew over and around them. A small slated house stood
half-way down the hill, and for this the leading files made a dash and
gained it, just as the main body were, for the third time, driven back
to re-form.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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