Chapter 16: Sturm Und Drang

The day of the Loyal Address in Birmingham dawned bright, and the cloudless sky promised a warm, English spring morning. I heard birdsong as I rode along the towpath from Britannia towards the canal basin at Gas Street. However, as I approached the basin the odour of the canal and its surroundings intensified while the bird song slackened. Eventually there was no sound of birds, and I held a cloth to my nose to avoid choking on the stench. Foundries, textile mills, tanneries, and all manner of enterprises situated alongside the towpath, ejected wastewater and other noxious substances into the canal, and the Gas Street basin seemed to be the chief beneficiary of the accumulated filth.

It was only an hour after dawn as I made my way to St Phillip’s Church, but the city was stirring with the day shift of workers making their way to factories, mills, and foundries.
Captain Botham’s troop was already in positions on the many avenues of approach to the church ground. I detailed a file of his men to check underneath the dais for infernal devices or hidden assassins, and another to make a sweep through St Phillips Church in case a marksman had secreted himself.

As I watched their progress Colonel Cross arrived with two companies of the 28th Foot and the artillerymen. I glanced at my fob watch; the Royal Party was not due to arrive until ten of the clock but already the ground was filling up with parties of serious looking men. I saw no women or children with these groups, nor did it appear there were organised groups with banners indicating their affiliation, although Colonel Cross had said it was the local branch of the Hampden Club who had organised the petitions that were to be presented. There were some placards being carried, most of which mentioned the Reform Act.

I had little knowledge of the Reform Act, other than it was a source of great debate and brouhaha, not only at Parliament but also among the general population. Living in rural Flanders for part of the year I was not cognisant of the political situation of England, and even less so of France.
Both countries seemed to have similar problems, with the peasant/working class demanding more say in the running of their particular country.

The crowds increased and began to encroach on the area in front the dais. Cross formed his men up in two ranks about one hundred yards forward of the dais, but his force only extended the width of about a hundred paces. The men stood at ease, with their bayonets in scabbards.
It was then I heard the sounds of an approaching band, and a procession, similar to the one I had seen at St Peter’s Field in Manchester, came marching along Colmore Row.
First came the brass band, dressed in a mishmash of faded and patched uniforms, and obviously worn by veterans of the Napoleonic War. Then came men holding aloft brightly coloured banners depicting agriculture labourer holding scythes, colliers with pickaxes, foundry workers against a background of smoking furnaces.
These were the members of the local Hampden Club, marching in groups applicable to their trade and occupation. There were also banners proclaiming similar sentiments as those carried in 1819 at Manchester, extolling ‘universal suffrage’ and ‘a fair days pay for a fair days work’.

The banner carrying men halted about twenty five yards before the front rank of Cross’s men, and the bandsmen put down their instruments.
A half dozen men detached themselves from the Hampden Club contingent and approached Colonel Cross.
“We have demands we wish to put before the Royal persons.” A slight built, balding, man of about fifty years of age said, holding a document in his hand.
Cross pointed to me standing five yards behind the rear rank of his men.
“Colonel Greenaway is the officer charged with the security of the Royal Party. You best have a word with him “
I walked forward through the ranks and stood alongside Cross.
“The Royal Party is not expected to arrive for another hour, and I would advise you to rephrase your submission. Royalty do not take kindly to having demands made on them. May I suggest you ‘request’ rather than demand?”
The man smiled and nodded. “I shall take your advice, Colonel, and thank you. I am Clem Atlee, and represent the Bloomers and Shiglers of the city.”
I had no idea what the occupation was, or even in what sort of enterprise a Bloomer and Shigler would be employed.
“I will contact you after the Loyal Address has been completed, Mister Atlee, and escort you to the dais, although I cannot guarantee your request will be accepted.”
There were angry murmurs, and shouts of ‘It will be the worst for them if we aren’t heard.’

Unexpectedly Captain Hutton rode up and dismounted. “I came ahead of the Royal Party to see the lay of the land, and where you want my troop to deploy.” He gazed at the rapidly forming crowd with the banners. “These are the same demands made at St Peter’s Field in Manchester. Thirteen years have passed, and still the working man’s pleas are disregarded.”
“You were at Peterloo, Leonard?”
“Yes, with the Eighteenth Dragoons.”
“Well, at least these men can look forward to the Reform Act.” I said.
Hutton scoffed. “Too little, too late, Colonel. The status quo will be maintained whatever the result of the vote in Parliament.”
I was rather uneasy that Hutton, a commissioned officer in His Majesty’s Army, should be so interested in politics, and obviously a supporter of the men in standing in front of us.
As if reading my mind Hutton said. “I am a loyal subject of the King, Colonel, and obey all orders given me.”
We led our horses back to the dais and I pointed out where he should post his men. I then changed the subject.

“Oh, by the way, Leonard, Captain Erzählenmann informed me that the Third Hussars suffered such heavy causalities at Leipzig the regiment was reformed with new men and officers, which is why he could not name any of those members of the regiment you met at Ligny, also...”
“That’s not how the officers I met at Ligny recalled the battle,” Hutton said. “They were only engaged on the first day in skirmishing, and were then held in reserve until the last day, where they spent most of their time chasing down fleeing Frenchmen. And what about Erzählenmann’s unusual accent, and Oberleutnant Stachelbauch?”
“Who?”
“Oberleutnant Stachelbauch, the regimental mascot of the Third Hussars, and the traditional greeting when officers of the regiment meet. He had no idea of what I was talking about, and thought I was referring to a fellow officer.”
“It is probably a tradition only followed by young and junior officers. And the reason Erzählenmann speaks in an unfamiliar accent is because he was attached to Barclay de Tolly’s First Russian Army in eighteen fifteen and...”
“Russian!” Hutton exclaimed. “Of course, that is where I heard the accent before, in Paris during the two years the city was occupied by the Prussian and Russian armies. Captain Erzählenmann speaks German with a Russian accent.”
“Yes, because of his attachment at Russian Headquarters, as you were with...”
“The Russian Army did not have any Prussian liaison officers attached. There were no Prussian units serving with the Russian First Army. Bavarian, Württemberger, and Bohemian were the only Germanic troops with Barclay de Tolly. Captain Erzählenmann, or whatever his name, is a German speaking Russian, probably a Volga Russian. Catherine the Great encouraged her fellow Prussians to emigrate to Russia. Thousands did, and they retained their religion, language, and culture, or at least most of them did. Some Volga Germans converted from Protestant to Eastern Orthodox Christianity.”
I remembered seeing Wilhelm cross himself, which had surprised me at the time.

“We can get to the bottom of this mystery when Captain Erzählenmann arrives with the Royal Party.” I said calmly, but felt slightly anxious. If Wilhelm was a Russian he could only be in England on behalf of Prince Igor Vladimir Andreyevich Stuart–Stroganov, possible claimant to the throne of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
“Erzählenmann isn’t with the Royal Party, Colonel. I thought he was with you.” Hutton said.
My anxiety developed into full-blown worry at this information. “He was recalled to Mount Bank Hall yesterday afternoon.”
“I had a tight cordon around Mount Bank Hall, and can assure you he never arrived.”
“So where in God’s name is he?” I said.
That was a stupid question; Captain Hutton had no more idea of an answer than I.

Hutton’s troop trumpeter heralded the arrival of the Royal Party by blowing ‘Assembly’, and I scanned the approaching horsemen, hoping to spot Wilhelm’s grinning face amongst the dragoons, but to no avail.
The Loyal Address began, and I paced around at the back of the dais, fearful that Wilhelm could be an assassin sent by the Russians, or at least those Russians with a claim to the British throne through their descent from Margaret Tudor.
The Loyal Address ended, and the Duchess of Kent stood and thanked the Lord Mayor on behalf of King William. A band stuck up ‘See the conquering hero comes’, which appears to be the only piece municipal bands can play.
Next on the agenda was a display of country dancing; with young maids dancing around a Maypole, to be followed by an exhibition of Morris dancing by the Smethwick and West Bromwich Morris Men.

I made my way back to where the 28th Foot were facing a restive crowd. There had been relative quiet during the Loyal Address, but other than those men with an eye for a pretty maid the rest were beginning to get bored, and wanted to approach the dais.
There was a commotion to my rear and I glanced over my shoulder to see a troop of cavalry approaching at a fast trot.
Colonel Cross threw me an indignant look. “Who the devil called out the Yeomanry?” he bellowed. “I certainly have not.”
“Nor did I,” I said hotly, thinking Ted was accusing me of going behind his back.
The troop came to a skidding halt no more than twenty yards from the rear rank of the 28th Foot.

At the head of the troop was a florid faced man in an elaborately braided and laced tunic, and wearing a lancer’s shako. He leaned from the saddle and addressed himself to Colonel Cross.
“Well, here we are. Where are the Jacobins we have to deal with?”
What in Hades are you doing here, Aster? You have not been called out.” Cross replied.
Aster pulled a sheet of paper from his tunic pocket.
“The Lord Lieutenant ordered us here to protect the Royal Party from an attack planned by Jacobins and Petitioners. Here are my orders, duly signed by him.”
He handed the paper. to Colonel Cross, who glanced at it, balled the paper in his fist, and then threw it on the ground.
“There are no Jacobins, no plot against the Royal Party, and the petitioners are peaceful working men, here to present a list of requests to Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent.” He said.
Aster shook his head. “Not so. The Lord Lieutenant has information of an imminent attack, and called out my troop to defend...”
“Where did the Lord Lieutenant get his information -- out of one of his piss pots?”
Astor flushed in anger. “My uncle was contacted by a Major Tellerman of the King’s German Legion. The man has been undercover with a Continental Jacobin group and told us of the plot...”
“Us – you have met this Major Tellerman?” I asked.
Aster glared down at me from his saddle. “Who the devil are you? I was talking to Cross here.”