CHAPTER I.
WE TAKE THE FIELD AGAIN.
While we were in quarters at Paderborn, a mixed detachment (composed of men for various corps) arrived to join the army, and with it came Major Shirley, looking quite the same as when I had seen him last, on the morning we marched from Wadhurst—his uniform new and spotless, his aiguilettes glittering, his wellfitting gloves of the whitest kid, above which he wore pearl rings; his hair curled and perfumed, with his handsome figure, suave and courtly bearing, his sinister and unfathomable smile.
He was one of those lucky fellows who have mysterious interest (feminine probably) at head-quarters, and who, whether at home or abroad, are always on the staff, and never with their regiments; thus he had been appointed extra aide-de-camp to Lord George Sackville, and thus we chanced to meet on the day of his arrival at an old windmill which did duty as a staff-office for the British head-quarters.
"Did you see my cousin, Miss Gauntlet, before leaving England?" I inquired, though in reality caring little whether he had or not.
"Oh yes, frequently—especially when I was last in London; she is the reigning toast at White's and elsewhere."
"She was well, I hope?" said I, dryly.
"Well, and looking beautiful as ever."
"Did she charge you with any message to me?"
"None, Sir Basil. Zounds! none, at least, that I can remember," replied the major, colouring.
"Is there any word of her being married yet?" I asked, having a natural anxiety to know who might next be proprietor of my paternal acres. "So handsome a girl, and so rich, too, should certainly not lack offers."
"Nor does she, 'sdeath—nor does she." replied Shirley, as a shade of vexation mingled with his perpetual smile.
"Aha, major," thought I; "an unsuccessful wooer—eh!"—"And so you have no message for me?"
"None; but I have just delivered one of more importance than that of a London belle—one for the army."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; we are to take the field at once, and advance into Hesse."
"Against whom?"
"The Duc de Broglie."
On hearing this, to me, familiar name, it was my turn to feel a tinge of vexation.
"Our muster-place is Fulda; there the allies are to be concentrated;" and with his constant smile which showed all his white teeth, with his gold eyeglass in his right eye, and his gilt spurs ringing, our gay staff-officer left me.
As it is my object to confine these pages as much as possible to my own adventures, avoiding anything like a general narrative of the war, the reader may learn briefly, that when summoned to the field, the Scots Greys marched to Hesse, "through roads which—as our records have it—no army had ever traversed before," and encamped at Rothenburg, in a pleasant vale, sheltered by high hills.
In April we moved to Fulda, from whence Prince Ferdinand began to advance at the head of thirty thousand men against the Duc de Broglie, whom we found strongly posted near the village of Bergen, which occupies a wooded eminence between Frankfort and Hanover. This village was defended by earthen works, along which were rows of corbeilles, as the French name those large baskets which, on being filled with earth, are placed close to each other, and serve to cover the defenders of a bastion. They are usually eighteen inches high, and are always wider at the top than at the bottom; thus the opening between forms a species of loophole, and through these apertures the red musketry was flashing incessantly as we came within range.
On the 13th of April we attacked the duke.
Early in the morning our corps took post in the line of battle; but it was not till ten a.m. that the columns of attack moved across the plain in front of the French army, whose artillery bowled long and bloody lanes through them.
"Preston," said Major Maitland, as we formed squadrons to attack a body of cavalry; "that column consists of at least fifteen hundred tried men, under the Count de Lusignan, and you have but five hundred——"
"True—but mine are tried soldiers," was the old man's proud reply; "soldiers second to none in Europe."
These were no vain words, for in less than two minutes, by one desperate charge, we had routed them.
The grenadiers of all corps had commenced the action, supported by us and other dragoons, but were repulsed. They rallied again, but were again driven back and forced to retire, under cover of several charges made by us and by the Black Hussars of Prussia.
"Well done, my own hussars—and well done the Scots Greys!" cried Prince Ferdinand, as we re-formed after a furious charge, without having a saddle emptied. "Colonel Preston, you ought to be proud of commanding such a regiment."
"I am proud," was the quiet reply of our old colonel.
In all this affair, our only loss was a single horse—mine, which was killed under me by a six-pound shot; but Prince Ferdinand was compelled to fall back, leaving five guns on the field, where the Prince of Ysembourg and two thousand of our soldiers were slain.
By this victory the French army was plentifully supplied with provisions of every kind, while we suffered greatly by the lack of food and forage. By it, also, their armies formed a junction and advanced together under the command of Maréchal de Contades, while Prince Ferdinand, with his British and Hanoverians, had to retire, leaving garrisons in Rothenburg, Munster, and Minden, to cover his retreat.
But vain were these precautions!
Rothenburg was surprised by the Duc de Broglie; his brother the Count de Broglie, and his nephew the Count de Bourgneuf, "with sixteen companies of grenadiers, one thousand four hundred infantry, the regiments of Schomberg, Nassau and Fischer," took Minden by assault, and found therein ninety-four thousand sacks of grain. Then Munster, though bravely defended by four thousand men, fell after a short but sharp siege. It was severely, I may say savagely, proposed by de Bourgneuf, to put all in Minden to the sword, on the plea that the garrison of a place taken by assault had no right to be received as prisoners of war; "but," as a newspaper informs us, "General Zastrow and his men owed their safety to the noble generosity of the Duke and Count de Broglie."
Considering the conquest of Hanover as certain, the court of Versailles was now occupied mainly by considering how that Electorate should be secured to France for the future, when we advanced to have a trial of strength with their armies on the glorious, and, to us, ever memorable plains of Minden.
Prior to this, my friend Tom Kirkton had been promoted to the rank of cornet and adjutant, for taking prisoner with his own hand, during our first charge at Bergen, the Comte de Lusignan, a Maréchal de Camp.