Young Bloods (22 page)

‘The Régiment de la Fère,’ Napoleon read from the notice board outside the captain-commandant’s office. His eyes glanced further down the list and he smiled. ‘You too, Alexander. Do you know anything about the unit?’

‘Of course!’ Alexander’s eyes twinkled. ‘My brother, Gabriel, is a captain in the regiment.’

‘Besides the family connection,’ Napoleon said patiently.‘What else do you know about the de la fère?’

‘It’s part of the Royal Corps of Artillery, stationed at Valence.’ Alexander punched his arm. ‘We’re going to be gunners.’

‘So it seems.’ Napoleon nodded with satisfaction. Although the cavalry was a more glamorous arm than the artillery, the latter had a far greater reputation for professionalism, Napoleon reminded himself. And at least it wasn’t a posting to the infantry, the preserve of the social and intellectual detritus of those men who sought an officer’s career in the army. An ambitious man could make a name for himself in the artillery, Napoleon reflected, and he would have less need of social rank and an independent income in seeking advancement up the chain of command. He read the final details on the notice board and turned to his friend with a smile.

‘We had better prepare. The regiment’s expecting us to arrive on the tenth of September.That’s less than two weeks from now.’

The Régiment de la Fère, as an artillery unit, had its own purpose-built barracks where the rankers lived and the guns, ammunition and other supplies and equipment were kept. Napoleon and Alexander presented their papers to the sentry at the main gate and were directed to the headquarters building overlooking the artillery park. Leaving their chests in the guardhouse, the new arrivals marched over to the headquarters entrance. Napoleon looked over the guns that they passed with a growing sense of excitement. Very soon he would be serving some of the four- and eight-pounder cannon that stretched out across the artillery park in neatly ordered lines.

The two new officers made their way up the steps, into the headquarters and asked for directions to the adjutant’s office.

Napoleon knocked on the door and immediately a gruff voice shouted out to them, ‘Don’t just stand there! Open the damned door and come in.’

Inside, the room was small, barely big enough for the two cupboards, desk and chair that it contained. Behind the desk a man glanced up with a stern expression.

‘Gabriel!’ Alexander shouted. ‘You rogue! What kind of a way is that to welcome your younger brother?’

‘Lieutenant Des Mazis! That is no way to address a superior officer. Stand at attention, damn it! And your little friend too.’

They immediately responded and stood stiffly, eyes fixed straight ahead, until Captain Des Mazis could no longer keep a straight face and began to laugh. ‘Enough! At ease, gentlemen.’

As they relaxed Napoleon and Alexander exchanged uncertain looks, not yet sure how to address Alexander’s older brother. But Gabriel was already squeezing his large frame round the end of the desk and then he embraced his brother and kissed him on both cheeks.

‘When did you get here? You’re not expected for another two days.’

‘We were keen to take up our duties as soon as possible. So here we are,’ Alexander beamed. ‘Now introduce us to our men and our guns and we’ll take on anyone the King tells us to.’

‘Not so fast, Alex.’ His brother punched him lightly on the chest. ‘This is the artillery; we’re proper soldiers, not like that riffraff in the cavalry.You have to earn command here.’

‘Earn command?’ Napoleon raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean, sir?’

The captain turned to him with a warm smile of greeting. ‘You must be Buona Parte, the touchy Corsican.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon tried to hide a frown.

‘Don’t worry. That’s not from official channels. It’s what my brother wrote in his letters.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon glared at his friend and Alexander shifted uncomfortably as his brother continued addressing them.

‘Everyone gets a fresh start here. Well, nearly everyone.Young Alex here is going to be under close scrutiny since I recall only too well what a mischievous wretch he was as a child. Imagine what he might do if we entrust a cannon to him, eh?’

‘Sir,’ Napoleon said evenly, ‘you were saying something about earning command.’

‘All new officers must serve a probationary period. I expect you already know that, but the Régiment de la Fère goes a bit further. For the first three months you will serve as ordinary gunners, until you learn the ropes. Then, if you satisfy our commanding officer, he might let you take up your duties as lieutenants.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Alexander laughed. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘But I am.’ The captain’s expression hardened a little. ‘It’s a serious business, the artillery. Also a very complicated one, and we’re not going to let a couple of new boys loose on our very expensive equipment until they know how to treat it, and the men who operate it, with respect.’

‘I see,’ Alexander replied. ‘Does that mean we have to share rooms with the rankers as well?’

‘What? Of course not.’ The captain looked scandalised. ‘That would be taking things too far. Don’t want to give them any egalitarian ideas, do we?’ He looked from one to the other.

‘No, sir,’ Napoleon agreed quietly. ‘They shouldn’t get ideas above their station.’

Alexander laughed. ‘Ignore him. It seems that Corsicans have an insatiable appetite for equality. You’ll get used to it after a while.’

The captain stared at Napoleon briefly. ‘I’m not sure that I care to. Never mind. I’ve been ordered to settle you two in. Where are your bags?’

‘We left them in the guardhouse.’

‘Let’s go and get them, then I’ll take you to find lodgings in town.’

As with all other regiments, the officers of the Royal Artillery were expected to look to their own resources for accommodation and sustenance. Napoleon rented a small room for ten francs a month in the house of Monsieur Bou, a kindly old man who lived with his daughter and who was fond of the young officers he accommodated. Napoleon took meals at the Three Pigeons inn for another thirty-five francs a month. Together with the repayments on the money he had borrowed to buy his uniform and books there was little left from the ninety francs pay he received each month.

His duties as an ordinary gunner began the morning after his arrival. Each day, he rose before dawn, dressed in the plain blue coat tunic and breeches of the artillery and hurried over to the barracks to join the other men being roused by their corporals, who let fly with the foulest language Napoleon had heard since he had played with the soldiers of the garrison at Ajaccio as a child.

The sergeant responsible for his training was a short, overweight man with a huge moustache. When the company had assembled on the parade ground he strode down the line and stood in front of Napoleon, hands on hips, and sneered.

‘What have we got here? Not another new gentleman?’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘Name?’

‘Lieutenant Buona Parte, Sergeant.’

‘Fuck that. You’re Private Buona Parte until the colonel says otherwise. Got that? Meanwhile, you call me sir, and I call you sir. The difference is, you mean it.’

‘Yes, Serg—sir.’

The sergeant cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, sir! Can’t hear a word.’

‘I said, yes, sir!’ Napoleon shouted, reflecting that the stories he had heard about deaf artillerymen were true after all.

‘That’s better. Now then, sir. I’ve got a man off sick on “Magdalene” - you’re taking his place. That means you are the number two on that gun, the spongeman. Understand? Good. You’ve come at a good time. Today’s gun drill.’

He turned and walked off, to inspect the other men in the company, and left Napoleon none the wiser about his duties.

The company marched over to the artillery park, attached ropes to four of the eight-pounders and began to haul them across to the drill field. Napoleon, at only sixteen years of age, and slightly built, was soon sweating freely from the exertion of hauling on the rope that had been fastened to the right arm of the gun carriage. But the day’s trials were only just beginning. As soon as ‘Magdalene’ was in position, the sergeant thrust a long pole into his hands. At one end was the sponge, a tightly packed wad of sheep’s wool. At the other end was a stout plug of wood.

‘That’s yours. Look after it, sir. You stand there.’ He indicated the ground to the right-hand side of the barrel and roughly shoved Napoleon into position. ‘You’re number two. When I call your number you dip your sponge in that bucket there and thrust it down the barrel, as far as it will go. Twist it both ways and pull the sponge out. Then shout “Clear”. Number three, he’s the loader, will place a cartridge in the end of the barrel. When he’s done, he shouts “Loaded”. Then it’s over to you again. Stick the wooden end of your rod into the barrel and ram the charge down as far it goes.Then you pull it out, get back to your position and shout “Ready to fire”.’ He looked closely at Napoleon. ‘Got all that, sir?’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘All right, then. Let’s see.’

The sergeant strode back and took up a position well behind the trail of the cannon. ‘Standard battle drill. The gun is about to fire … BANG! Recoil … Number two!’

Napoleon stepped up to the barrel and thrust the ramrod in, sponge first.

‘Stop!’ The sergeant hurried over. ‘You haven’t dipped it, sir.’ He pointed to an empty bucket hanging from the chassis. ‘In there.’

‘But there’s no water in there, sir,’ Napoleon pointed out.

‘And there’s no fucking charge in the gun, neither, sir. Just pretend, for the drill, like.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon withdrew the rammer and dipped the sponge into the bucket. He looked up at the sergeant and saw that the man was frowning at him. ‘Splash, splash?’ he ventured.

The sergeant smiled. ‘Now you’re getting the hang of it, sir. Continue.’

Napoleon sponged out the gun and stood to one side. ‘Clear!’

The loader pretended to place a cartridge in the muzzle. ‘Loaded!’

Napoleon reversed the rammer and thrust the imaginary charge down and returned to his place. ‘Ready to fire!’

‘BANG!’ roared the sergeant. ‘Nice try, sir. But let’s give the sponge a nice twist this time.After all, we don’t want to blow your arms off the moment we start live firing, do we?’

In addition to firing drills Napoleon was taught to harness and unharness the gun, how to clean and maintain the equipment, how to keep his uniform tidy and make sure that his boots gleamed. Then there was watch-keeping, guard duties, route marches and camp skills. The last proved to be an interesting experience after Napoleon’s previous year of fine dining at the Military School. At the end of the day the sergeant major called for the cooking pots to be taken out of the supply wagon. The ingredients for the stew were purchased from local farmers out of the ‘frog’, a kitty to which all members of the gun crew, including probationary officers, had to contribute. Once the stew was ready, the gunners took their turns at the pot in order of seniority. Since Napoleon was the most recent recruit to the regiment he came last and had the dregs. At first he had considered protesting and pulling rank, but then he realised that he would be leading these men in a matter of months and that he could not afford to earn their ill will. The men soon came to respect him and, as time passed, someone coined an affectionate nickname for the young officer when he moved on to the second stage of his probation and was made an NCO - the ‘little corporal’.

At first Napoleon had endured this part of the training, but as he got to know the men and worked alongside them, so he learned his trade in detail. By the end of the year he could have exchanged places with any man in the company and carried out his duties to the same standards of efficiency and effectiveness. Alexander, by contrast, was suffering the probationary period without concealing the distaste he felt for carrying out common duties and having to associate with the rankers. As soon as his duties were concluded for the day he rushed back into town to change clothes and go out drinking with the other officers. Napoleon tended to linger in the barracks, talking with the soldiers and making sure that he fully understood all that he had learned that day. Besides, he did not have enough money to waste on drink and women.

At last, as the new year of 1786 began, the colonel summoned Napoleon to headquarters. A light snow had fallen, dusting the barracks with a fine powdery layer and Napoleon pulled his coat firmly around his thin shoulders as he strode up the steps and exchanged a salute with the sentry, a man he recognised from the company he had served in.

‘Cold morning, Gaston.’

‘Yes, sir. If I’m not relieved soon they’re going to freeze off.’

‘Be a shame. Wipe the smile off that miller’s girl.’

They both laughed before Napoleon stepped inside and made his way to the commanding officer’s office. The door was open and Napoleon rapped on the doorframe. Inside, the colonel was sitting close to his fireplace, warming his hands over the glowing embers. He glanced round.

‘Ah, Buona Parte, come in. Pull up a chair.’

When the young man had taken his place and was also enjoying the fire’s warmth the colonel smiled at him. ‘You’ve probably guessed by now. The probationary period is over - you have passed with flying colours. From now on you can assume all the duties of lieutenant.’

‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.’

‘Glad to hear it. Unfortunately, that tearaway Des Mazis is going to have to serve another month or so before I can justify ending his probation. He has a rather specialised understanding of the proper conduct of an officer. But we’ll knock him into shape soon enough when he sees that you have completed your probation ahead of him.’

‘Let’s hope so, sir,’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Des Mazis is a good man at heart. I’m sure he’ll be a fine officer.’

‘I genuinely hope you’re right, my boy. Now then, once your friend has passed his probation, I have a job for a few young officers.There’s a live firing trial at the arsenal in Nantes in spring. Some new cannon designs are being tested out and the Minister for War has asked me to send along some observers. I’ve chosen Captain Des Mazis to lead the party. There are places for four more officers so I will include you and the younger Des Mazis. I haven’t yet decided on the last two officers. Interested?’