Chapter 15: The Interrupted March

On the last day of January 1815, Jarvis Braxton-Clark got married.
It was common knowledge in the battalion Lord Ashford’s daughter was marrying simply to discharge the debt her father owed to the Braxton-Clarks. Jarvis Braxton-Clark was marrying in order to father a son on an Earl’s daughter and advance himself and his family in Society. It was a business transaction pure and simple, and the poor woman had been sold into marriage just as surely as an African is sold into slavery.
I wondered what would happen if she brought forth a daughter, or had no issue?

The marriage was celebrated in Salisbury Cathedral. Sir Edmund attended on behalf of the regiment, as did several other officers of the battalion, all of them cronies of Braxton-Clark. Many officers declined invitations, including the Adjutant, the second in command and the commander of the grenadier company. I had not been included on the invitation list.

By all accounts it was a lavish spectacle, with Cornelius Braxton-Clark laying out a deal of money to dazzle the onlookers, and show off to his new in-laws, who although aristocrats were as poor as church mice. Their daughter was their only asset, and she had been traded to the Braxton-Clarks to both clear her father’s debts, and further their ambition to raise themselves up in Society.

The New Year of 1815 had dawned cold and wet and miserable. The battalion had been too long in the area and it was time we had a move. During the time spent in Wiltshire I had not been bereft of female companionship, and the Rector’s wife and the proprietress of the Anchor Inn had both been extremely entertaining galloping companions, in their own different ways. However, now I longed for somewhere more sophisticated, with the attendant type of females, rather than this back water in deepest rural England.

It seemed that I would get my wish, as orders came in the middle of February for the battalion to proceed to Lincoln. I had good memories of the place, and I looked forward to renewing old acquaintances at the Temple.

I bid a fond farewell to Jenny; we had a very pleasant last gallop, and I think she was sorry to see me go. As I led my company along the road to Devizes I wondered if Sarah Paylin, the kitchen maid at the Anchor Woody Allen had been galloping, had been left with a bun in her oven. Jenny had said nothing, and Woodrow was marching along looking quite unconcerned, so I assumed there were no worries on that score.

There was a small ceremony at Devizes town hall before the battalion marched out. The mayor said a few words, to which Sir Edmund replied. During this exchange of pleasantries there were several swollen bellied young women crying, and several stony faced privates in the ranks staring rigidly to their front, and thereby ignoring them.

At last, Sir Edmund gave the order. “Advance the colours!”
The ensigns, with the standards flying, and accompanied by the colour sergeants, marched to the front of the battalion and took post behind the regimental band, and the battalion’s goat mascot.

“The Second Battalion, the Sixty-Ninth Regiment of Foot, will advance — Quick March!”

With that order from Sir Edmund the drummers gave a roll on the drums, the grenadier company, now commanded by Captain Peter Tavy, stepped off, and the fifes squealed.

The 2nd/69th bid farewell to Devizes, and marched away to the tune ‘Over the Hills and Faraway’.

The 95th Rifles have more or less appropriated this tune as their own, but the British Army had been marching to it long before the 95th were formed, and in fact Marlborough’s men would have marched to the tune en route to Blenheim and Ramilles.

But of course Mad King George was past issuing decrees, and Fat Prince George was far too busy gorging, gambling and galloping to bestir himself, so it was the Duke of York who now gave the orders that sent regiments marching over the hills and faraway.

Personally, I would have preferred to step off to ‘Lillibulero’, or even more appropriately, ‘The Lincolnshire Poacher’, but Bandmaster Glendale Miller was the sole arbitrator of what music the band played, and not even Sir Edmund had any say in the repertoire.

Winter is not the best of time to march from one side of England to the other, and this winter was particularly wet. The roads were quickly mired by our carts and marching boots. The men had been too long without the forced marches we had been accustomed to in Spain, and found it a great difficulty to march through the mud and floods. Consequently we had numbers of men who fell out exhausted, or who just took advantage of the looser discipline under these conditions, and went foraging and looting.

I was put in charge of the rear-guard, and was told to keep the stragglers marching, by hook or by crook. I recalled a stratagem I saw the King’s German Legion (KGL) use in Spain. Anyone who fell out from the column was stripped of their uniform, boots and weapon, and was left to freeze or starve to death. I employed the same procedure, and it was amazing how men who swore they were on the brink of death could suddenly find strength to fall in and march with the column. The men of my company called these suddenly reinvigorated men “Lazaruses”.

By the middle of March we had reached the village of Hatfield, on the Great North Road. Grantham was only a five day march up that road, and from there it was but a two day march to Lincoln. The worst of the journey was over, and we were all looking forward to the many delights the city of Lincoln could offer, after rusticating in the back-waters of Wiltshire.

The country residence of the Marquess of Salisbury is situated at Hatfield House, and His Grace generously allowed the battalion to camp overnight in the Great Park, besides inviting the officers of the battalion to dine with him that evening.
Several officers were on furlough, including Jarvis Braxton-Clark, who was still desperately trying to father a son, so far with no results.

‘I dare say he has forgot which hole to plug for procreation, after using the other one for so long as recreation’, was one comment I heard.
Even with many officers absent it was still a goodly company sat around the dinner table, along with the Marquess of Salisbury and his family.

The dinner had finished, the ladies had withdrawn, cigars had been lit and the port decanter was making its second circuit round the table when a mud spattered rider was ushered into the room, with dispatches for Major Graffoe, as Sir Edmund was also on furlough. Major Graffoe read the message and then let out a great cry.

“God’s Teeth! Napoleon has escaped from Elba. The battalion is to remain at Hatfield until further notice.”

Utter commotion ensued as we all tried speaking at once. Major Graffoe called for order, and then started firing off instructions. All those officers on furlough would need be recalled at once. Sir Edmund must be informed. The men would be put on alert, ready to move at a moment’s notice. We all scurried off to rouse our men and tell them the dread news — Boney was back.

After that first shock it seemed as if the Powers That Be had no idea of what to do. All the great and the good of Europe were at the Congress of Vienna, attempting to reorganise Europe, now the man responsible for the upheaval of the past ten years was safely caged. When the news of his escape reached them it caused much consternation and confusion, and while they scratched their heads and wondered how to react the 69th Foot sat at Hatfield and awaited instructions.

The few delights of the small village of Hatfield soon paled, and I would ride the six miles to St Albans for entertainment. It is a sizeable town, with an Abbey church, which had been built on the site where the first British saint, Alban, had been martyred. There were also many Roman antiquities in the local museum, and Roman ruins around the town, as St Albans stands on the site of the Roman city of Verulamium. Unfortunately, the Abbey church was in a bad state of repair, and as somebody used to the magnificence of Lincoln Cathedral I found it a mere dilapidated barn like structure. However, many antiquarians and theologians came to visit the town’s twin attractions; the place of martyrdom and the Roman remains, and in consequence there were many book publishers, and book stores in the town, several of them specialising in Theology and History, but many more catering for the wider tastes of the educated townspeople and visitors.