SECOND TO NONE.
A Military Romance.
BY
JAMES GRANT,
AUTHOR OF
"THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD,"
"THE YELLOW FRIGATE," ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE,
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL.
NEW YORK: 129, GRAND STREET.
1864.
CONTENTS
OF
THE THIRD VOLUME.
CHAP.
I. WE TAKE THE FIELD AGAIN
II. THE TWO PRESENTIMENTS
III. BATTLE OF MINDEN
IV. PRINCE XAVIER OF SAXONY
V. THE BRIDGE OF FREYENTHAL
VI. LES VOLONTAIRES DE CLERMONT
VII. THE DUC DE BROGLIE
VIII. AN OLD FRIEND ARRIVES
IX. MONJOY
X. THE STORY OF MONJOY
XI. A SAD CONCLUSION
XII. THE FROZEN FORD
XIII. LAST OF THE EMERALD RING
XIV. THE WHISPERED ORDER
XV. THE DEAD HUSSAR
XVI. ARNAUD DE PRICORBIN
XVII. THE HEIGHTS OF CORBACH
XVIII. A NIGHT ATTACK
XIX. IN LONDON AGAIN
XX. THE DRAWING-ROOM
XXI. COUSIN AURORA
XXII. THE LAST
SECOND TO NONE.
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.