The Battle Dance: Waterloo

Whiff of Victory

Sir Felix Pollard had fancied he had forgotten the realities of battle, erased every unsavoury smell, sight, and sound from his memory, preserving only heroics to amuse socialites. However, as he was reacquainted with its horrors, he relived experiences of ten years ago. The scenes had never slipped out of his mind, he had locked them up in a cabinet. Buried memories were now slapping him in the face. Inevitable in entering similar scenarios, he realized.

As the cascade of mounted French soldiers rounded the black Brunswick squares, Felix cursed the idiosyncratic urge that had reinitiated him into the British army. What the hell am I doing in this damn war? the dandy demanded of himself. Of course he had done everything in his power to alleviate discomfort. Attired in the lesser of his brilliant uniforms to preserve the best, and protected in the folds of a blue cloak against traveling stains, Sir Felix had arrived at Quatre Bras in a chaise and pair, his valet as companion. His carriage he directed into a field in which he was confident it could cause no inconvenience and refreshed himself with a nap while awaiting his command.

Byng's brigade was the second of Cooke's division to be deployed and Sir Felix Pollard was seen mounted up beside MacDonald trotting at the head of the light companies moving up to support Maitland. The quantity corpses in the flattened fields was what initially shocked him into the belief he had time travelled. His handkerchief was insufficient to stifle the stench of death. But even this palled in comparison to his second shock.

The enemy horsemen had appeared as if from nowhere. Noise of battle had gradually grown and the officers were aware of German infantry engaged right ahead, but these lancers were unexpected. Mercifully enough moments elapsed before the enemy actually gained their ground for the light companies to scurry into a crude square.

"My word, have we a chance in hell?" Felix gasped to his colonel.

"If our square is compact enough," Colonel Macdonald answered grimly, "our lads will hold off them devils. Cavalry has only ever broken an infantry square once and it was an accident. The horse stumbled and catapulted the cuirassier onto the lined foot soldiers, who collapsed under him and created a gab in their bayonet wall the other horsemen could enter."

Sir Felix trotted his horse over to his company and retained enough wits of his own to command the men to volley at the correct split second. At once he was reacquainted with the sulfurous smell of gunpowder and for the following moments he was too caught up in a fit of coughing to observe anything beyond his red nose. At last the tears and smoke parted sufficiently to show him the gleaming lancers had veered off and the mascara of his men he had dreaded had been averted.

"A cavalry attack is far less consequential than I had recollected," he murmured.

Macdonald scoffed. "Expect many more! The real danger lies in the canister, grape, and round shot. Oh, also these new fangled shells. They cause havoc. That is all until we face their musketry. If our infantry is tight in square, cavalry is more time and energy consuming than threatening."

"Speak of the devil, I believe this is a shell now," Sir Felix said, catching a piecing scream. "I suppose we just sit here and get blown to bits, colonel?"

"Hell, no!" McDonnell yelled, moving immediately. "Disband, men, and to the right!"

The square swung stealthily out of the shell's path and succeeded in avoiding several more such in the same manner. Sir Felix was impressed. "Capital, colonel," he cheered. "Oh, no, here comes the cavalry!"

"Form square!" Macdonald shouted and the maneuver was completed without loss. The French horsemen careered off directly the muskets crackled and Sir Felix was beginning to feel he was actually enjoying this when the shriek of shells scattered the light companies into their second flight. The colonel winked. "Tedious work, aye?"