"Then he is damned different with you from what he is with me," said Sir Charles Stuart bluntly.
"I have got an infamous Army, very weak, and ill-equipped, and a very inexperienced staff," wrote the Duke, in the midst of his balls, and his reviews, his visits to Ghent, and his latest charming flirtation.
"Pooh! Nonsense," said the Duke, but wrote to Hill at Grammont: "Matters look a little serious on the frontier."
The Duke knew as well as any man what was stirring beyond the frontier, for he had got Colonel Grant out in charge of the Intelligence, and no one knew better than Grant how to obtain desired information. More reliable than the data collected by Clarke and his French spies were Grant's brief reports sent in to General Dornberg at Mons, and forwarded on by him to Brussels. Grant told of bridges and roads being broken up in the Sambre district, as though for defence; of Count d'Erlon's Corps lying between Valenciennes and Maubeuge in four divisions of infantry; of Reille at Avesnes, with five infantry divisions and three cavalry; of Vandamme between Lezieres and Rocroi; and of Count Lobau, at Laon. His information was precise and always to be trusted: no flights into the realms of conjecture for Colonel Grant, a dry Scot, dealing only in facts and figures. Oh Yes! matters certainly looked serious on the frontier; and his lordship had received, besides, disquieting Intelligence of a huge body of cavalry forming. Sixteen thousand heavy cavalry were in readiness to take the field, and all over France horses were being bought, to bring the total up to forty thousand or more. A report -was spread of Murat's having fled by sea from Italy; it was supposed that he would be put in command of this mass of cavalry, for who so brilliant as Murat in cavalry manoeuvres? More serious still was the news that Soult had accepted the office of Major-General under the emperor. That would bring many wavering men over to Napoleon, for Soult's was a name that carried weight.
The Duke of Brunswick arrived, with his Black Brunswickers: men in sable uniforms, with a skull and crossbones on their shakos, and the death of the Duke's father at Jena to avenge. A handsome man, the Duke, gallant in the field and stately in the ballroom, with gentle manners and a grave, sweet smile. His men were quartered at Vilvorde, north of Brussels, but he himself was continually at Headquarters, troubled over the eternal question of subsidies.
The Nassauers were on the way, led by General Kruse, and a hopeful young Prince, whom his lordship had promised to take into his family. Rather an anxiety, these hereditary princelings, but they were all of them agog to fight under his lordship, flatteringly deferential and eager to be of use.
Blucher moved his Headquarters from Liege to Hannut, drawing closer to the Anglo-Allied Army; De Lancey arrived from England with his young bride. taking Sir Hudson Lowe's place. With a deputyquartermaster-general he knew, and could trust to do his work without for ever wishing to copy Prussian methods, his lordship found his path smoother. He still had General Roder with him, but meant to drop a word in Blucher's ear when he next saw him. The fellow would have to be removed: he could not learn to fit into the pattern, or to get over his anti-British prejudice. The other commissioners gave his lordship no trouble: Alava was an old friend; he had a real value for clever Pozzo di Borgo from Russia; liked Baron Vincent from Austria; and was on pretty good terms with Netherlands Count van Reede.
He had been shifting his troops about all the month, skilfully concentrating them, forming new brigades, extending here, drawing his regiments in there, until he felt himself to be in a position to withstand any attack. The Prince of Orange's Headquarters were fixed at Braine-le-Comte, but his lordship placed Lord Hill, wise in war, farther west, at Grammont, because to the west lay his communication lines, and the great Mons and Tournay roads from France. In addition to Clinton's and Colville's divisions, forming the 2nd Corps under Hill, his lordship transferred Prince Frederick's corps to him, moving it north-west from Soignes and Braine-le-Comte, by way of Hal and Grammont to Sotteghem, like a piece on a chessboard. Prince Frederick, surviving an interview with his lordship, betrayed a flash of unsuspected humour. "II ne m'a ni gronde, ni mis aux arrets," he wrote to his brother.
On May 29th, a day of blazing sunshine, the Duke reviewed the British cavalry in a natural theatre of ground on the banks of the Dender, not far from Grammont. It was an event that drew the fashionables from Brussels and Ghent on horseback and in carriages: ladies in their newest gauzes, gentlemen very natty in polished topboots, long-tailed blue coats, and skin-tight pantaloons. Worth drove his Judith there in a curricle; Lady Barbara drove herself in a phaeton, with a tiger perched up behind; the Vidals came sedately in their carriage; the amazing Sir Sydney Smith, newly arrived from Vienna, and looking so like a mountebank -that it was almost impossible to see in him the hero of Acre, sat beside his lady in an open barouche; Sir Peregrine Taverner rode out on a mettlesome bay, like a score of others; and a host of French Royalists flocked out from Ghent to gaze, gasp, fling up their hands, and exclaim to see such magnificent troops, such noble horses, such glittering accoutrements!
But the cavalry paid no heed to the early French arrivals. The roads were thick with dust, and as each squadron, each troop, came on to the ground, off went belts, haversacks, and coats, and out came brushes and wisps of hay, and a regular scrubbing and dusting and polishing began, for the Duke was coming, with a galaxy of foreign visitors, headed by Marshal Blucher. and not one speck of dust must dull a shining boot or spoil the smartness of a scarlet coat, and not one hair of a charger's tail or mane must be out of place.
The arena lay on the opposite side of the river from the village of Schendelbeke, whence the Duke's cortege was expected to arrive, and a temporary bridge had been thrown across the Dender. Many were the anxious glances cast towards the riding ground over the river, as the men rubbed down their horses, spat on silver buttons, and polished them till the sweat ran off their bodies; and once an alarm was raised, an agonised cry of: "The Duke! the Duke!"
It was a full hour before he was expected to arrive, but a group of richly-dressed horsemen with waving plumes could clearly be seen coming down the hill from the village. Brushes and rags were thrust into haversacks, coats were flung on and belts buckled, but it turned out to be a false alarm. It was not Wellington after all, but the Duc de Berri, and what did the Iron Duke's troops care for him? The brushing and the polishing were renewed, and the Duc, after riding slowly down to the bridge, suddenly set off at a gallop towards the saluting point, and halted there, glaring at the serried ranks before him. A few cursory glances were cast at him, and one or two coarse jokes cut at his expense, but no further notice was paid him, until he sent one of his suite forward to confer with Lord Uxbridge. A short colloquy took place; the word spread through the ranks that his Highness was claiming the eception due to a Prince of the Blood-Royal, and loud guffaws greeted this jest. The troops knew Mounseer; They had seen him drilling them French fellows; proper bullyragger he was!
Back went the envoy, and off galloped his Royal Highness in a rage, his suite labouring behind him up the slope to Schendelbeke. Lord Uxbridge had evidently refused the required salute: that was the way! hurrah for his lordship!
Not until two o'clock did the Duke arrive, and by that time all the polishing was done, and the cavalry -was drawn up in three imposing lines, facing the bridge. Lining the bank of the river were the Hussars, in squadrons, widely spaced, and with batteries of horse Artillery on each flank; behind them stood the heavy Dragoons in compact order, with four batteries behind behind them, in the same close formation, the Light Dragoons flanked by troops of 9-pounders. There were six thousand men drawn up, and it was small natter for wonder that Marshal Blucher was impressed by the sight. He rode beside the Duke, his blue eyes staring under bushy white brows, and a beaming smile under his long moustache. "Mein Gott, mein Gott!" he said. "Ja, ja, it is goot - it is fery goot, mein frient!"