Chapter 15: Birmingham

I did not find an opportunity to acquaint Captain Hutton with the reason Captain Erzählenmann was unable to name any of the Prussian officers at Ligny as the itinerary, so carefully constructed by clerks in the Home Office, was completely disrupted on orders of Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent.
The sojourn at Mount Bank Hall by the Royal Party had been so successful that except for a couple of nights to be spent at Blandon Hall near Thornbury, two nights at Rougemont Manor near Worcester, and two nights at Clifton Grange near Bristol, all other stops on the itinerary were reduced to one night only.

The Loyal Address in Leamington was a great success, and a larger, more extended version, was to be enacted in Birmingham. Gallopers were dispatched on a daily basis with streams of orders to both the Lord Mayor and the Garrison Commander of the city, informing them of the requirements of the Royal Party. I was not invited to any of the planning meetings chaired by Sir John Conroy, a petty way of him showing his dislike of me. I cared not a whit, I had more time to spend with Mimi, and if arrangements, other than a breach of security, went awry I would not share in any of the blame.

I did take a day to ride into Birmingham to survey the venue where the Loyal Address, and the various other activities planned to honour both Royal Highnesses, were to be held. The Royal visit was an opportunity for Birmingham, also known as ‘Britain’s Workshop’ and ‘the city with a thousand industries’, to flaunt its importance and civic pride.
Captain Erzählenmann accompanied me to Birmingham; he had not spent any time at Mount Bank Hall since the Leamington Loyal Address, and hoped to remain out of the way of the Duchess of Kent, and her bed.

The Lord Mayor’s office informed me the Loyal Address would take place in the grounds of St Phillip’s Church, and Wilhelm and I rode out to view the area.
I was not greatly impressed. The church sat in the middle of a small open area, surrounded by factories and habitations that had over time encroached onto church land. There were several alleyways behind the main thoroughfares, stinking in filth, and harbouring more rats than Hamelin before the Pied Piper arrived in the town.
“The Birmingham garrison commander, Colonel Cross, will have his work cut out managing a crowd hemmed into this small space.” I said to Wilhelm, who was scanning our surrounds with a practised eye.
He pointed to the church tower. “A marksman could conceal himself up there.”
“True, but look how the dais is sited right in the shadow of the tower. A marksman would have to perch on the very edge of the tower to line up on his target, and thus would be spotted from the ground and dealt with.”
I pointed to the row of houses and factories less than a furlong away. “However, there could be a company of sharpshooters hidden in those buildings. Cross will need a battalion of infantry to sweep and secure the area, and also have men available for unforeseen eventualities.”

There were a number of placards and pamphlets affixed to the railings surrounding the Church grave yard. Wilhelm picked up a pamphlet and began to read it.
“What is this all about, Colonel?” He pointed to the title.
RIGHTS OF MAN
Enact a stronger Reform Act
“It is something our former colonists took to their hearts, and are now exporting to us,” I said. “Thomas Paine wrote a pamphlet in seventeen seventy-six entitled Common Sense, which many believe initiated the American Rebellion. He also wrote the pamphlet Rights of Man in seventeen ninety-one, extolling the French Revolution. As you can imagine the government regard Paine’s works as an invitation to the masses to rebel and revolt, and seeing these pamphlets being distributed here in England sends the authorities into a perturbation.”
“Perturbation?” The word was one he had not encountered before.
“Apprehension, disquiet, unease,” I explained
Wilhelm nodded in understanding “Ahh, angst.”
“Yes, extreme angst.”
The dais for the ceremony had been well constructed, and I made a mental note to have the structure searched before the Royal Party’s arrival.
We then set off for Garrison Headquarters in Barrack Lane.

Colonel Edward Cross, known throughout the army as ‘Blood and Guts’, greeted me warmly.
“Come for your donkey wallopers have you, Jack?” he said, giving me a smile and a firm handshake. We had met at the siege of Badajoz, where he had commanded a troop of horse artillery, and struck up a friendship.
He indicated Captain Erzählenmann. “Who is this cove?”
I introduced the two men.
“Prussian, eh, I saw your lot at Leipzig. They gave them Frogs a pasting and no mistake,” Cross said.
“You were at Leipzig, Ted?”
“I was with the Rocket Brigade, Royal Horse Artillery, serving with the Swedish contingent. Handsome Dicky Bogue commanded the unit and I was liaison officer between the brigade and the Swedish High Command.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Swedish.”
“I don’t, but I do speak French. They all spoke French at Swedish Headquarters, not surprisingly as Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, their commander, was a former French Marshal. He used to be as thick as thieves with Boney but now he was sending British rockets to blow his erstwhile comrades to hell and back, which we did.”

I turned to Wilhelm. “Did you see these rockets being used?”
“No Colonel, but you must remember Leipzig was fought over a huge area, and lasted four days. However, I was aware how effective the rockets were.”
He turned to Colonel Cross. “Wasn’t the commander of the battery killed?”
“Aye, Handsome Dicky Bogue went charging off with our cavalry escort after a retreating battalion of French infantry. Got a ball through the head for his pains.” Ted paused, no doubt memories of far away and long ago in his mind. “Talking of cavalry escort, what do you want to do with the troop of the Fourth Light Dragoons I have here kicking their heels, and their hooves?”
“I will need them when the Royal Party arrive in Birmingham for the Loyal Address...”
Colonel Cross groaned. “That damned Loyal Address will be the death of me. The Lord Mayor wants the city placed under Martial Law when the Royal Party arrive, and thinks two companies of infantry and a battery of artillery are enough men to do it.”
“Martial Law, Ted? Isn’t that overegging the pudding?”
Cross shrugged. “There’s been some unrest lately – but there’s always trouble and tension in Brum. The factory owners pay their workers a pittance and work them to death, there are always plenty of starving folk to take their place. Some damn fools in the local Hampden Club have written petitions they want to present to the King; they think William is coming here, not what’s-her-name.”
“The Duchess of Kent? Princess Alexandrina?”
“Yes, that’s the one, William’s heir, the Princess. She is only a lass, not yet old enough to bleed, or so I have heard. Anyway, Jimmy Long Shanks, I mean James Longstreet, the Lord Mayor of this benighted burgh, wants me to call out the Militia, ask for the Yeomanry to be deployed, and have the artillery battery’s guns loaded with canister and facing the mob he thinks will be storming down Colmore Row when the Royal Party arrives. The man sees revolution everywhere.”
“Well you will definitely need more men, Ted. Have you seen where...”
“Aye, I know, the area around the church...”
“Is dangerously unsuitable,” I interrupted him. “Who chose such an inappropriate location; I know you would not have been the culprit.”