Disclaimer: These are works of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone's copyright. No rights infringement intended. Warning: General Audience

The Sharpe Fan Fictions of Paul K.

---

Sharpe's Family

PART IV

Chapter 19

SEPTEMBER 1794

THE NETHERLANDS – BRUSSELS



Jean-Charles Pichegru enjoyed the time in Brussels. After his armies had captured Antwerp and Brussels in August, he felt that he needed to rest and reorganize.

Now he plans his next move. “The Coalition forces have made it easy. They have run before us. Now, we have them at the border of the Dutch Republic. For weeks, they sit behind the borders. Our informants tell us that the Austrian, Prussian and British generals argue as to what they should do next. I have only the Revolutionary Council to contend. They gave me the army. I make the plans.”

“September is near. I want to take Breda before winter. It will most likely require a seige. We have rested long enough. To secure a position to lay siege to Breda, I will need to secure the line of the River Dommel. The Duke of York’s force sits behind the River Aa. From there, they can strike at Breda. If we can cross the Aa to York’s east, I can drive him away from the other Coalition armies while securing the siege of Breda. With luck, we can drive York back upon the Meuse and trap his army. I will send a division to occupy Boxtel.”



THE NETHERLANDS – BOXTEL



Lieutenant Colonel David Chassé rubs his right arm. Four months ago he was wounded

at Tourcoing. It is not his first wound. He served with Dutch Army until the revolution. Now he sides with those that value the ideals of the revolution. The wound has healed. He is fit to serve again, but his arm continues to pain him. It hurts more when he must write reports than when he uses a sword.

General Delmas had sent word that Chassé with the Advance Guard of the 8th Hussars, the 13th Demi Brigade Legere and the 4th/9th Light Artillery

“My dear general.”

“After noon, I sent my infantry against the Hessians. As we outnumbered them, I anticipated that we could drive them from the river. By 3 pm, we pushed the Hessian picquets across the Dommel. Sadly, the defenders dismantled the bridges before we could sieze them.”

“We did succeed to take a bridge at Nijnsel, but it was to no advantage. I sent Chef d’Escadron Jacob Marulaz with thirty troopers of the 8th Hussar to cross a ford to the west of St. Oedenrode. Although the water was deep and swift, they crossed by using rafts and swimming the horses. At 6 pm, Marulaz’s small force attacked the Hessian rear. Their infantry panicked and surrendered with little resistance.”

“The surviving Hessians, mostly cavalry was in disarray because of the narrow streets. We drove them out of the village. They set fire to Barrier House as they withdrew to Middelrode. East of Middlerode, we were stopped by Hessian and British cavalry. “

“I hold Boxtel and await your orders.”

Chef de Battalion Chassé



THE DUTCH REPUBLIC – S’HERTOGENBOSCH



By the end of July, the Duke of York had separated from the Austrians. His Anglo-Hanover army is withdrawn across the Dutch border behind the River Aa.

“Gentlemen. “We stand alone. I fear that the Austrians have lost their passion to hold their possession in The Netherlands. The Prussians have gone to focus on Poland. Russia wants Poland too and lands from the Ottomans. The Emperor’s people in Vienna would trade the Netherlands for Bavaria jf the French offered.

“The Dutch Republic soldiers have not fought for forty-five years. They do not measure up when facing the French. Many of them have actually joined the revolutionaries. And, the Prince seems to want only to preserve The House of Orange.”

“Prince Coburg is gone. General Clerfayt now commands us. He sits at Maastricht. From end to end, our line runs twenty miles. Our outposts in front of the main defense line at Ollaud, at Helmond and at Boxtel were to delay any attack.

“General von Linsingen with one battalion of Hesse-Kassel infantry and five squadrons of cavalry anchor our right on the Meuse.” He nods towards Linsingen.

“General von Hammerstein with the Hanovarian Corps and the remainder of the British light cavalry is on the on the left anchored on the Peel Marshes.

The French left us alone for almost a month. We have been watching Helmond in anticipation of an attack on the left.”

“I learned just now that the French have struck our center, not the left. They have taken our posts at Boxtel. General von Düring had two Hessian infantry battalions, two companies of Jägers, two cannon, two squadrons from the British 15th Light Dragoons, four squadrons of Emigrê Hussars, two squadrons of Hompesch and two squadrons of Choiseul Hussars in the center. Von During’s brigade was handled severely. He reports that he has lost two thousand men. Now they are prisoners or dirupted, except for the cavalry. At Middelrode, our 4th Line witnessed the charge of the Salm Hussars and British Light dragoons, fail, then come into our lines. “

“General Hammerstein, what is your situation?”

“Your Highness, After learning what had happened at Boxtel, I retired my force to Erp to protect our flank. “

Before any of the other officers can offer comment, York continues.

“General Sir Ralph Abercromby, I wish for you to take the Guards and 3rd Brigades and ten squadrons of cavalry. Recapture Boxtel.

“Your Highness, it is evening. Do you intend that we attack, now?”

“General, it is urgent that we hold this line. Should we lose the Dommel, we will have no choice but to cede the Aa as well.”

“Very well. I will make ready to depart within the hour. By your leave?” Abercromby exits the gathering.



THE DUTCH REPUBLIC – BERLICUM



Ambercromby’s force was camped at Berlicum. He and his aides rode the five miles from s’Hertogenbosch to Berlicum in an hour as they chased in front of the fading light of day. He called the commanders to him. “Gentlemen, it is urgent that we retake Boxtel. We will advance to Schijndel and then to Boxtel. The cavalry is on the road, already. General Fox, your six regiments will follow the cavalry. Colonel Wesley, your four regiments follow General Hulse.”

Arthur Wesley commands the Third Brigade. The Duke of York had reorganized the brigades after Lord Moira had returned to England. Lord Moira had marched his force from Ostend to Ghent through the French army that was pursuing York. Once he arrived with York’s force, Moira chose to leave. He believed that Pitt had promised him a bigger role than he would fill with York’s army. Other generals and colonels also left the army. The 33rd was moved from the Second Brigade. Arthur is the senior colonel of the four regiments in his brigade. John Sherborne, who bought Arthur’s Majority and then in April, the second lieutenant colonel for the regiment, will command his 33rd.

“John, the 33rd will lead us. We have three hours to Schijndel. Then another three to Boxtel. We support the Guards.”

Arthur considers how he wants the battalion to deploy. He recalls that at Ostend privates of his company served very well as skirmishers. "

Have Horton deploy my company to the fore. Sergeant Hawthorne has them trained the best to screen us.”





Lieutenant Horton had Sergeant Hawthorne get his company up and on the road. “Ammunition, food and water only, Sergeant. We go light, we go fast, we go in the dark. Cavalry and Guards go before us. We lead the regiment. Ten minutes. No stragglers.”

“Yes, sir. Bickerstaff. Sisk. Tridle. Ten Minutes. Have them on the road.”

Sharpe was on his feet when Sergeant Bickerstaff approached. “Grab your packs and water bottles only. Leave anything you don’t need to fight.”

“Another march Dick. Two months. Two months in bloody Flanders. March after march. Still have all of our cartridges. Don’t even fire at targets here.”

“Some day we will shoot again. Maybe today. Time to march. Sun going down. We march in the dark. Do have some moonlight.”

Sharpe has enjoyed being able to watch the skies at night. He marvels at seeing the stars and the moon. In London the skies were rarely clear enough to see the sky. At Keighley, he was too tired to watch the skies at night.

“Not like last week’s full moon though. Tuesday night was bright.”

“All right! Company attention. Column of fours. March!”

Sharpe marched in the same row with Tom, Phil and Henry.

“Get to march, again.” Henry said.

“Dark this time, though. No sights to see” Tom joins in.

“Shame. Since Antwerp, seen pretty country. Lush. Green. They do love their windmills.” Phil adds.

Sharpe looks at the lands they march through with the eyes of a city boy. When he had gone to Yorkshire, it was harvest season. The land was going from green to color. He had seen how green Ireland was on their marches around the fort. But, they had not seen any farmlands. Only sheep grazing in the fields. July and August in Flanders, have been very good for farming. As they trod the roads, the fields on either side are full of plots with vegetable or grain plants or herds of cows grazing on thick green grasses. Many times he had asked Tom or one of the others what was in the fields. In London, he had seen horses, dogs, cats and the animals in the dogpits. He had never known what a cow, pig, goat, sheep or rabbit looked like. The boys who had grown up on farms taught him.

“Any animals we may find in the dark?”

“Deer move at night. But, they keep to cover. Not like us. We are moving at night. In the open.” Phil adds.

Tom smiles. “May not see. May hear. Owls, birds that hunt at night. Frogs croak in their ponds”

“But, the Frogs don’t hunt at night, eh?” Tom jested.

“Frogs animals or Frogs the French? How would we know? Three months. Still haven’t seen or heard the French.”

“Look to your front lads.” Horton calls out. “Sergeant Bickerstaff. Take your section to the front. Watch for the Guards. We set the pace for the brigade. Don’t run up the bums of the lads in front, eh?”

“No sir.” Bickerstaff had his men quick time around Sergeant Hawthorne’s men to lead the company.

“Sharpe! Take the lead.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

Tom says to him, “Can’t see much to the front.”

Sharpe recalls the nights when he left Keighley. “No, but we can follow the edges of the road. Just keep going straight. If we come to any roads that cross ours, we go straight.”

“Unless Sergeant Bickerstaff tells to go somewhere else.”

“Bickerstaff can’t see at night. He trusts your young eyes Tom.”

“Yes, but he will trust you loading and firing your musket if we come to a fight, Dick.”

“If we come to a fight.”

Sharpe marched into the night following the sun as it gave its last light of the day.. He marched eagerly. Something told him that tomorrow he would see the French for the first time.





THE DUTCH REPUBLIC – SCHIJNDE.L



A cavalry cornet of the 14th Light Dragoons was giving a report to Abercromby.

“General, my colonel sends his regards. He wishes you to know that at first light, we approached Boxtel. We saw no French. We advanced riders to scout what lay ahead. As the scouts approached the village, the French picquets challenged them and fired. Two squadrons joined to try to take the French position, but were repulsed. We lost fifteen killed.”

“Thank you, Pack.”

“How many does he estimate to hold the village?”

“He gave no estimate, sir.”

“Düring, you lost two battalions of Hessians. What force do you estimate is now before us?”

“General, prisoners that we captured during fighting at the bridges told us that General Delmas commands. He came with a division of ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand? Is his entire force before us?” General Hulse, ride with me. Abercromby, Hulse and their escorts rode out from Schijndel to observe Boxtel. The morning mists drifted over the fields as they observed the enemy position. A mile short of the village, he joined the cavalry screen. Abercromby’s eyesight is poor. He can not see clearly beyond fifty yards. As he watches the enemy camp he comments to himself,

“I do not believe that we are intended to take the village at all cost. I do believe we face a force superior to our numbers. I shall request the Duke of York to instruct us further. General Hulse, deploy forward to prepare to attack, but hold until I have word from the Duke.”

Hulse has viewed the village too. What he has seen is a defended position, but not enough to conclude that they are stronger. But, he will not challenge his commander.

“I will put the brigade here to await your order, sir.”

“Good. I will have Wesley put his brigade on this side of the village. He will be ready should he need to support you.”

“We should have the Duke’s answer within two hours. I will send word as soon as I have his orders.”

Colonel Arthur Wesley sat his horse with General Abercromby. He had ridden ahead of the 33rd to be ready for how the General would use his brigade.

Abercromby points to the left of where the Guards brigade holds ground.

“Let me borrow a glass.”

One of his aides hands him a telescope.

“There, there. What are those forces.” Abercromby does not see well, even with a telescope. He hands the glass to Wesley.

Arthur takes the glass. Mists intermittently cover the fields around them. He scans from Boxtel towards Eerde, the next village to the east. “Sir, I see cavalry moving on the left. It seems to be several squadrons. They ride away from us.”

“Away? You say?”

“Sir, does not General Hammerstein hold our left?”

“Yes, yes. Hammerstein sent word that he retired on Erp. That would be ten miles distant from us.”

Arthur watches his general. “That cavalry. What keeps them from reaching our rear?”

Arthur waits to reply. Before he can. “I have nothing on the left or to our rear. I shall have to move cavalry from our attack. As we are already outnumbered, we will be too weak to attack. It seems prudent to cancel our attack. We shall withdraw to Berlicum.”

“Sir, should we wait for word from the Duke?”

“No. No. That force will be behind us. Cut us off from the Duke. We can not wait. I will send word to General Hulse to withdraw. Wesley, deploy your brigade to protect the route. Hulse will withdraw through you.”

As Abercromby talks with Wesley, a rider approaches them.

“Sir! Word from the Duke.” The messenger retrieves a document from his sabertache.

Abercromby reads the order. “The Duke says we are to continue the attack. “ He stares at the order. “It is too late. He is not here. He does not see that it is not possible. We will continue to withdraw.“

Arthur considers a moment to share his view with the general. He watches Abercromby staring to their rear and decides that any other opinion is uselesee. “Sir! I will prepare my brigade“ Arthur leaves Abercromby to stare at the order.

First, he seeks out Lt. Colonel John Sherbrooke. “Colonel Sherbrooke, the 33rd will hold here. General Hulse will pass through you. The 12th, 42nd and 44th will deploy beyond the village to either side of the road to protect your flanks and rear. After Hulse has passed through, I will send word for you to withdraw. The other three battalions will lead. You, with the cavalry will serve to guard the army’s rear.”

Abercromby’s force is tired. Throughout the night They had marched in the dark as fast as they could. Other than water and biscuits, they had no nourishment. Once again, they marched. Then, retreated. The Guards had fought in other battles, but their allies had not measured up. Each time, they had to escape the French to retire.

This is the first time Hulse commands the brigade. He knows that the Guards have been mauled during other retreats. He looks to his rear, then addresses his battalion commanders.

“We collapse our line from the center. Pull each regiment out, one at a time. Go towards Schijndel. Pass through Wesley’s men. Those that remain, close ranks as each regiment leaves. Cavalry, continue to screen us as we go. When the last regiment, 1st Foot Guards, is away, withdraw through the fields. Continue to screen us until we are through Wesley.”



John Sherbrooke had placed his companies to either side of the road. There was room for each battalion of the Guards Brigade to pass through them. So far, three battalions have gone. He watches as each marches away. The men hang their heads. They walk more than march. Slowly each battalion passes them.

“Sir.” Captain Byng has been standing with his company near Sherbrooke. “The 1st Guards are in sight.”

“Very good, John. The cavalry will come after them. We will go after the Guards.”



General Delmas had watched the British attack at dawn. He was pleased that his force beat back the attack so easily.

“These British probe us. They sent cavalry only. What did they expect. We would run from their horses? Horses are no good in the streets against bayonets and muskets.”

Colonel Chassé adds, “From the buildings, my voltiguers made them pay for being so bold.”

“Yes, Chassé. There, though, they have brought us infantry to join the cavalry. They sit. Will they not attack us?”

“I think not, mon General. See the infantry retires behind the cavalry.

“So they do, Chassé. We should make them pay. These British do not know how to fight. While they are on the road, they may be disorganized. Food for cavalry, oui?”

“Take two regiments each of infantry and cavalry. Threaten the British. Make them pay. Yes, make them pay.”



Sherbrooke formed the 33rd to leave. The Guards were gone. Before him, the cavalry has been withdrawing by moving troops through other troops. The squadrons to either side of the village move around the edges of the buildings. Those to his front, fall back at the pace that the last infantry has moved. To his company commanders Sherbrooke orders, “Move companies onto the road. Byng. First. Then alternate. Horton, you cover our rear.”

Byng leads his company to the road and then marches off. Finally, Horton’s company waits as all the others go.



Tom stands with Sharpe. They alternate looking towards the French and watching the companies march past them to the rear. Horton gives them the command to leave

“Dick, we go again. When do we get to fight? Over there are the French. We go back.” Tom is disappointed.

“Generals tell us where to go. We came here. We go now. We fight when a general decides to fight. Today, our general tells us to go. Maybe those French will decide differently.” He nods his head in the direction of the French.

Beyond their own cavalry, Sharpe sees two groups of riders come onto the field that the Guards have abandoned.

Sharpe marches with his company on the road. On the east side of town, they follow the other companies. All the companies march in column. Beyond the 33rd, the 1st Guards were moving through the village of Numansdorp. As they emerged, the cavalry on the flanks mixed with them as the squadrons tried to get on the road. The cavalry and infantry become confused on the west side of the village.

“Why are we stopping.” Henry almost ran into the man in front of him.

Sharpe is on the end of their row. Quickly, he steps off the road to look ahead.

“Muddle ahead. Cavalry and Guards trying to go through the village. We will have to wait.”

Tom watches behind them. “Those French are coming on quickly.”



Chassé has been bringing his light troops on as rapidly as the ground permits. The cavalry regiments have stayed on the heels of the British, but not charged them.

“Mon Colonel.” One of his aides points. “The British cavalry recede.”

Chassé sees the British squadrons that have been screening the infantry withdraw around the last battalion of infantry. The horse soldiers move to circumvent the village.

“That battalion is stalled. The road is blocked through the village. They stand on the road. Alone, now. A column of infrantry. Ripe to be harvested by our cavalry, oui? Send word to have the 8th Hussars lead the attack. The other regiment join them. The fields here are soft. Give them a charge on the road.”



Sherbrook watches to his rear. “This is not the plan.” His own cavalry have gone. Towards Schijndel, he sees the French form two columns of cavalry. Beyond them, the infantry is coming on in columns of their own. None of the 33rd’s officers have ever fought in a battle. This is their first test.

“Should form square. No time. Major Shee. Have the battalion face to the rear. Then pivot left. When you are in place, fix bayonets! Have front two ranks form bayonets to repel cavalry.” The column had been marching four men across. When they finish Sherbrooke’s maneuver, they will be in line of four rows that will face the enemy. The men standing on the road will be in the direct path of the oncoming French. The the rest of the line will be on the left flank and able to fire into the roadway from the soft land to the side of the road.

Shee called instructions to each of the companies. The companies’ officers and sergeants called out the words as they had so often in drill.

“Front two ranks will kneel! Present bayonets!”

Quickly the companies follow the orders. The 33rd now presented two rows of bayonets on muskets anchored to the ground. Behind these two rows stand two more rows that await orders to load and fire.

Henry and Tom kneel before Phil and Sharpe. “Just like forming square, eh Dick?”

“Aye, Tom, but when we train, you stand next to me. Sergeant Bickerstaff?”

“What is it Sharpe?”

“Permission to trade Phil for Tom.”

“Permission granted.”

“No offense Phil. Tom is taller than you. Hits the targets more, too.”

“No offense taken Dick. Just don’t shoot me down here.” Phil kneels in Tom’s place as Tom takes the spot next to Sharpe.

“If you are happy where you will fight, will you ladies shut up!” Bickerstaff barks to them.

Sherbrooke watches the French come on. When the lead column is three hundred yards away, he has the men load.

“Rear two ranks will load!”

Sharpe is excited. As he steps through the commands that the sergeants call to load, he has trouble to place the cartridge in the barrel. This is the first time that they have loaded with bayonets fixed on their muskets. And, Sharpe’s bayonet doesn’t fit on the muzzle properly. When he is unable to make the bayonet lock in place on the musket, he returns it to his belt.

“Private Sharpe! Where is your bayonet?!”

“Sergeant, Bayonet won’t lock. Can’t load the musket. Need to load to shoot.”

“Load your damn musket Sharpe. I’ll deal with ye later.”

“Should drill us to load with bayonets fixed.” Shaking in anger and fear, Sharpe finishes the drill of loading his musket, but is the last man in the company to finish. Although it is slower than normal, the battalion stands ready to fire. Tom nudges Sharpe. “Took your good time there, Dick.”

“Bugger you too, Tom. Damned bayonet doesn’t sit right on my musket.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t stop the ball coming out the barrel. Could be bad for some o’ us and you. Remember that poor lad’s musket what h’exploded during training? Bad thing that.”

Sharpe quickly recalled the injured boy back at Kinsale. He curses the musket under his breath, but has no more time to think about his musket other than to prepare for the oncoming French.

At two hundred yards, the French increased their speed. At one hundred yards, Sherbrooke instructs. “Make ready!

The two rear ranks raise their muskets. They point them over the heads of those that kneel before them.

The French cavalry is formed one ahead of the other as they charge down the road. Sharpe can see that those in the front appear to be laughing. “They must think we are funny, Tom. Let’s give them a good laugh.”

Sharpe has known fear before. When the attendants at the orphanage called him, he would shrink into himself suspecting that he would be beaten. On the back of a coach that was traveling along the road, he had clung desperately to any handhold to avoid being thrown from the coach to be injured. In the dark of a house’s room after he had picked a lock, he tensed with each step waiting to hear or see someone else in the room. Standing here in line as the French descended on them was different.

“Bloody great horses they have. Could pull a coach with only one or two.” His mouth is dry. His stomach makes noises that are not only because they haven’t eaten.

When the French are fifty yards from the front rank, Sherbrooke calls “Third rank, Fire! Fourth rank, Fire!, Reload.”

Tom fires first, then Sharpe. They cannot see, but follow their training.

“Third rank, Fire! Fourth rank, Fire!, Reload.” Comes the command again.

One of the ensigns has stood beyond the end of the line to signal to Sherbrooke whether he needs to continue to fire. The ensign signals to hold fire.

When the smoke clears, they see piles of men and horses lying in the roadway or struggling to rise. When Sherbrooke turned the battalion his line extended beyond the French column. Although only half his force was firing, They had fired almost one thousand musket balls into the densely packed group of horses and riders. When the front rows of riders went down, those behind could not react in time to avoid crashing into the fallen. At the speed they were moving, almost the entire regiment now lies on the ground.

The second regiment of French cavalry had been able to halt before colliding with the first. They now stand to wait at a distance for their infantry to come forward.



Sherbrooke had watched the French come on. “Major Shee. Report.’

“No losses, sir.”

“Very good. What is the status of the Guards?”

“Moving, but slowly, sir. We will need time before we can go.”

“Keep the men ready. Watch the cavalry.



Sharpe looks at his right hand. It has been shaking since they stopped firing. As the French came upon them, he feared that they could not stop the powerful horses and men. They fired two volleys. A cloud of white smoke hung for many minutes like the fog in the fields. “Did they stop the French?” All he could see was the smoke.

Minutes passed. Slowly the smoke cleared. Before him was a scene like no other he had every seen before. As he stands with Tom, he can see what destruction they can cause when they hold their fire until the targets are close. None of the French horses had come close to the front ranks. Sherbrooke had timed their volleys to hurt the French the most, but without risking that any of the horses could smash the rows of bayonets.

“Good we kept the French away, Tom. Those swords could have cut us to pieces.”

“Aye, Dick. But, didn’t we give them a show with our shooting. None of those lying before us laugh now. Crying, more like it.”

“Yes, Tom. We’re not done yet.” Sharpe points to his left.

Across the fields, wisps of fog move. From the fog, French move up in skirmish order.

“Sergeant Bickerstaff! Frog infantry.”

Bickerstaff looks then calls off to Lieutenant Horton who calls to Sherbrooke.

“Shee, have the men form into two lines. Extend right and left. Have front rank continue to kneel.”

While they complete the maneuver, the French infantry line came on out of the fog. The French approach in open order. They come without drums beating or bugles calling. Sharpe had been more afraid of the cavalry than of the infantry. He had not yet known that muskets can kill and wound from further away than a cavalry sword or horse. When the French were about one hundred yards away, pairs of men began to shoot at him. He could see puffs of smoke begin to come from the field.

Sergeant Hawthorne walked the line behind them “Steady, lads, steady.” He had reached Sharpe at the end of the line and turned to walk back, when Sharpe heard a zipping sound go past him.

Sergeant Hawthorne stopped walking. A musket ball had hit the sergeant. Sharpe and Tom turned to him. The ball had driven one of the sergeant’s ribs out of his chest. Sharpe saw it sticking out of Hawthorne’s red coat. The wound released very little blood. The only way that they knew that he was hit was the rib sticking out.

Hawthorne stares at his chest with a look of surprise.

“You could hang your hat on that.” He sobs just before he coughs up blood. He drops his head, then falls to the ground.

Sharpe stands a moment looking at Hawthorne. “Sergeant Bickerstaff!! Sergeant Hawthorne is dead.”

“Watch your front Sharpe! Lieutenant Horton, Sergeant Hawthorne is dead, sir!”

“Hold your line men. Hold your line.”

The French continue to fire at them. Sherbrooke does not command them to fire because the French do not give a large target to shoot at.

Down the line from Sharpe, men are hit. Some of them whimper but continue to stand. Others just drop from the line

Sharpe hears Courtenay say. “Why don’t we shoot? If we aren’t going to shoot, why don’t we go?

Other men echo Courtenay’s words. Sergeant Bickerstaff now walks the line in place of Hawthorne. “Steady, lads, steady. We stand here until officers tell us to shoot or to go.”

Bickerstaff walked away. As two men near Crowley were hit, the men around Sharpe start to look over their shoulders.

Sharpe can see that the others with him want to go. He can see French cavalry standing beyond the French infantry. He has yet to see what those mounted soldiers can do, but he knows that the horses can run faster than he can. From working the carriage house, he knows how powerful a horse is when the horse is close. He made the mistake more than once of being caught between a horse and a fence rail. The horse had only bruised him from bumping Sharpe. If a horse was running, he imagined that the horse would hurt a man even more.

“The French will kill more of us if we go alone than they are killing with us together.” To the others around him,

“Tom, Phil, Henry, you too Nate.. We stay here until Sergeant Bickerstaff tells us to go. Those horses there will run us down if we run. Won’t have a chance. Be like rats with a terrier. Stand here with me. Someone sing a song for us!”

“Sing? Sing what?” Someone calls.

“Don’t care! Just sing!”

From down the line someone starts to sing. The singer’s voice cracks a few times from the fear as the bullets zip past. But he keeps singing.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,

And a merry old soul was he.

And he called for his pipe

And he called for his bowl

And he called for his fiddlers three.

Someone calls out. “King should call for us to go. Don’t give a damn for his fiddlers.”

The singer continued.

Then twedie, twedie, twedie, twedie, twedie went the fiddlers

twedie, twedie, twedie, twedie, twedie went thee

There’s none so rare as can compare

To King Cole and his fiddler’s three.

When he stopped, Sharpe called. “Sing it again. Keep singing until Sergeant Bickerstaff calls us.”

Sergeant Bickerstaff walked to the end of the line. “Good work Sharpe. Keep the lads with you.” Then he went back to the lieutenant.

Shortly Bickerstaff returns. “Time for us to go, lads. Colonel wants us to go last. Other companies will go first. As they go, we will dress our line into their spaces. Number seven company will do same from the other end of the line. We will form our lines to open order. Form your pairs as we move. Sharpe, you have this end of the line.”

“Yes Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Bickerstaff? Permission to fire when we see Frogs?”

“Lieutenant Horton, sir?! Permission for the company to fire skirmish order, sir?”

“Yes, yes. The company will fire as skirmishers as we withdraw. Fire as you see opportunities.”

Sharpe hears Horton’s command. He scans his front to find enemies that he may be able to shoot.

Courtenay calls to Sharpe. “Special aren’t you Sharpe. ‘Sharpe, you have this end of the line.’. Not a sergeant Sharpe. Not a sergeant.”

“Shut up Ben. I know I’m not a sergeant. Just standing at the bloody end of the line is all.” He points out two French who have closed to within fifty yards. “Tom, see those two. Phil and you kill them.”

Sharpe has been watching a group of French to his front. As Hartley’s company goes, the French group starts to move towards Sharpe.

“Tom, Phil, Henry are you loaded?”

“Aye.” They reply.

“Next time one jumps up, Tom, shoot him. Phil, take the next, Henry the one after. We fire singly. Reload after. Always keep someone loaded.”

Crowley and Courtney hear Sharpe. They repeat Sharpe’s instructions to their pairs.

As the French try to move towards Sharpe, the others follow his instructions. Shots go out one after the other. Sharpe watches as often the shot hits one of the French. As the French try to send more men faster to close, Sharpe too shoots. “Good shot, Dick.” Tom says while Sharpe reloads. “Spun that one right round.”

“Which way?’

“Which way? The spin?”

“Yes.”

“To his right.” Sharpe had aimed at the man’s stomach. Shot must have carried right. He will adjust for his next shot.

Tom and Phil prepare to shoot. One of the French stands to fire. Before he can, Tom fires. Sharpe watches the man spin when Tom’s ball strikes him. The second Frenchman rises to fire in place of his comrade. Phil fires as the man rises. The second man drops from site. Neither man is seen again.

Tom and Phil reload immediately after they shoot. “Good shooting. Tom, Phil.”Sharpe hears Bickerstaff behind him. “Good shooting, lads. Keep them away. We go soon.” They continue to shoot at the French who try to venture forward.

Tom points as another group comes towards them. “More of them to shoot, eh Dick?”

“Many more.” To his right Sharpe hears shots being fired. He also hears Ben directing the men with him just as Sharpe had.

“Shoot any Frogs, Ben? Or you just pissing your pants?”

“Bugger you Sharpe! Aim small, damn your eyes. That one is still moving.” Ben calls to his cohorts.

Each of the companies around them formed into column to march away. As they go, Horton’s company dresses to their right and opens the spaces between the pairs. Finally, the only two companies are Horton’s and Number Seven. They continue to fill the line that the battalion had held. As they move, they shoot at the French skirmishers. The French keep their distance as the 33rd wins more of the small duels that occur.

Sherbrooke sits his horse behind the line. “Who are those men in your company Horton? They fight like a light company. Damn fine handling of those French light bobs, eh?”

“Sergeant Bickerstaff’s men, sir. Mostly new recruits. First time fighting.”

“Let Bickerstaff know that they performed proudly, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Proudly they have done.”

Sherbrooke watches the French and the companies marching away. “Time for us to go. Captain Hartley, take your men first. Lieutenant Horton, pull your men back, but remain in open order until it is time for you to go. You will skirmish for us. Be ready for the French to rush us.”

Horton relays Sherbrooke’s order, but is nervous that the French cavalry beyond the French infantry will come at them. Before the French have time to seize the moment, Sherbrooke calls, “Horton, Go now.”

Horton is relieved to hear Sherbrooke’s words.

“Time to go, lads. Retire as pairs to the village. We form up on the road to the east of the village. Our cavalry have come forward to escort us.”

Bickerstaff shouts. “Go, now!”

Sharpe and Tom send Henry and Phil first. Then they go. Quickly they reach the village. The French hold their ground. They let the 33rd go.

As they form on the road, Horton has them quicktime away to rejoin the rest of the regiment.

Forty minutes after they left Schijndel, Sharpe arrives at the canal. After they cross the bridge, the 33rd rests. The regiment collects their wounded to send ahead. Colonel Wesley had come forward to meet them. He walked with Sherbrooke to view the French pursuit and see the battalion. As they discussed the action at Schijndel, he sees a seriously wounded soldier who is resisting being loaded onto a cart. The wounded man could be seen to have taken a saber slash to head, a bayonet thrust to the chest and a bullet through the lungs. Wesley asks the man. “What’s your name?”

“Tommy Atkins, sir.”

“Is it bad?”

“Mortal, I think. It’s alright, sir. It’s all in a day’s work.” Before Wesley can respond, the man’s eyes roll back into his head as he dies.

Wesley solemnly watches Atkins’ comrades load him on the cart, then push him along with the rest of the company.

“The men fought well today, Sherbrooke. Get them across the river. When we are safe, feed and rest them.”

Sherbrooke had from the time that Wesley had joined the regiment to behaved condescendingly to those less competent or less well-born than himself. Today he was pleased to receive the words of praise and to accept orders that would be well received by the men.

From a distance, Sharpe sees and hears Wesley and Sherbrooke with the soldier. He had hoped to learn something by listening to the officers.

"Don’t know why we came here. Don’t know what they wanted us to do. Marched through the night. Halted. Protected the retreat. Fired some shots at the mist-shrouded French. They laughed at us. Marched away. It was over so quickly.”

Sharpe remembered the fear when the cavalry was coming upon them, Sharpe felt fear like no other he had experienced. Fear had almost overcome the men around him too. It could have become a rout. But, it hadn’t. For him, when he heard the French laughing, he was no longer afraid. He was angry.

“Don’t like being laughed at. We showed them we are not to be laughed at.”

Now, he is disappointed that they are marching away.

“Was just beginning to have fun.”.

As he thinks more about the fight and what he had done, the sergeants began to call out.

“Company forward.”

Sherbrooke has them on the road again. March a lot. Fight little.

“Is this war? For today, he wouldn’t fight anymore. He would march more. By dusk, the 33rd is back to the fields near Berlicum.

“Can’t take another step, Tom. You?”

“Nor me, Dick. Legs are too heavy to lift. Haven’t slept since two nights. Almost too tired to eat.”

“Almost?”

“Yes. Almost. If they don’t have rations, I have some biscuit to chew before sleep. Something to wash it down would be good too. Maybe some of the beer they get for us here.”

“Aye, an ale would taste good. Helps sleep too. Sad about Sergeant Hawthorne.”

“Yes, but Sergeant Bickerstaff gets to jump up a step, now, eh? One of the corporals should move up too. Major Shee might even give you a shoulder cord for how you kept us together.”

“Me? Not me. Did nothing except follow orders.”

“Dick, you did more. Sergeant Bickerstaff gave you the end of the line to hold. Ya ordered us when and who to shoot like you been doing it all yer life. Sure Bickerstaff and others noticed.”

“Shut up Tom. No one noticed me. Don’t want to be noticed. Stay out of trouble if no one sees me.”

“Time to sleep. Then tomorrow, you can be invisible in the daylight, eh?”

“Sleep Tom.” Sharpe kicks him with his foot. He wants to sleep, but can’t “Tom talks crazy. No one noticed me. But, I did like pointing the others at the French and seeing us score hits. Felt good. Like winning food during training. Maybe we get more food tomorrow for what we did.”

“Some food would be good. A good drink too.”

“Food would be good. Give me some of that biscuit. Then, to sleep.”

“Damn you Dick, don’t you sound just like a sergeant.” Tom smiles as he shares the biscuit.

Sharpe nibbles on the hard biscuit. Before he dozes off, he recalls the day. It had been a messy fight. The fields were wet and muddy. He didn’t rightly know where they were other than some place in Flanders, or so they had told them days before. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered how many more battles he would fight, and how many he would survive.

---

Fiction Index | Sharpe Tales Home | Sharpe's Family Index | Chapter 20

---