The truth behind Jack Lark

Time to put Waterloo behind us and turn to another battle, later in the 19th century.

A few weeks ago I reviewed Paul Fraser Collard’s novel, ‘The Scarlet Thief’ which tells the story of the Battle of the Alma in the Crimean War (1854). It’s told from the point of view of Jack Lark, a common soldier, who has stolen the identity of an officer and now finds himself leading a company against Russian troops. I looked at some other reviews and saw that many people were uncomfortable with the central idea that a regular soldier could pass himself off in this way. It's an interesting question for two reasons.

Firstly there's the whole issue of how realistic fiction needs to be. I have had criticism of ’The White Rajah’ on the grounds that my narrator, like Paul Collard’s hero, is unrealistic, because an illiterate sailor could not have learned to express himself so well on paper. But both Paul and I are using our character as a sort of "Everyman" to allow more insight into the events they are describing. It's a well-established technique in fiction where, strange to say, not everything the author writes is absolutely true. That, after all, is what fiction is.

Secondly, and rather importantly, it's not always clear that these "unrealistic" characters are all that unrealistic at all. I had that problem in ‘Cawnpore’ where my European protagonist disguises himself as an Indian. It is, as I’ve explained on this blog, not nearly as unlikely as some critics claim. Today, though, I’m handing over to Paul Collard to explain why Jack Lark isn't necessarily as unrealistic as you might think.

The Epaulette Gentry

Jack Lark is an imposter. I make no bones about it. He steals other lives, taking them as his own, and these assumed identities plunge him into adventures that he could never have dreamt of experiencing when he was just an ordinary redcoat serving on garrison duty in a quiet English town.

To some the notion of such an imposter is mere twaddle, the premise so wholly unlikely that Jack’s stories are just not credible. I do not agree with this accusation. For one, it plays to stereotypes, something that I do not like one bit. It assumes that all officers of the period were highly educated gentlemen from a world unrecognisable from that lived in by the men under their command. It also assumes that the men in the ranks, the fabled British redcoats, were uneducated brutes, who had no idea how to pass the port, or how to talk about fox hunting, or any of the other things that a stereotypical upper class officer would clearly have talked about at all times.

The Battle of the Alma

Neither of these two assumptions is necessarily true. I worked hard on Jack’s story, taking the time, and thought, to give him the skills he would need to succeed as an imposter. I am happy to say this part of Jack’s story now forms a central part of the three short stories that are being published alongside the main series, and it was a real treat to be able to show more of where my Scarlet Thief came from.

You see, not every redcoat was an uneducated ruffian, and rudimentary reading and writing skills were more common than some may imagine. Around one in six redcoats were literate, a number shocking by today’s standards, but not perhaps, as scarce as the stereotype requires. These skills were essential for any redcoat looking to progress up the ranks, and many regiments actively encouraged their acquisition. It would be true to say that the education of the men in the ranks was largely dependant on the mindset of the regiment’s colonel, but many regiments had libraries, albeit stocked by the colonel himself and likely to reflect his thoughts on what was suitable for his men. Soldiers deemed worthy were given the chance to use these facilities to acquire the clerking skills they would need to progress to a higher rank, but there would often be an older soldier happy to help in their education that could be as broad as many found in a school of the period. Many redcoats would have become quite as educated as their officers.

We should also consider what manner of man became a British army officer at the time Jack carries off his scandalous imposture. Would they really be cut from such a different cloth from the men they commanded, that a ranker pretending to be an officer would really be as noticeable as a peacock in a henhouse? We must remember that this is the period where no qualification was required to become an officer, and there was no formal military training provided outside of that given by a new officer’s regiment. Quite simply, if you could afford to buy your first commission then that was deemed the only qualification needed.

It is true that a number of officers would hail from the upper classes, especially those who purchased commissions in the fashionable guard and cavalry regiments. But what about those regiments with a little less dash, those humble line regiments that came from the counties of Britain? Many of these regiments were officered by the epaulette gentry; men from respectable enough backgrounds, but for whom their purchased commission was really their only evidence of belonging to some notion of gentry. Such men hailed from a world surprisingly close to that inhabited by some of the men they would command.

I believe that these younger sons of country squires, clergymen or successful tradesmen, would not be so vastly different to a man with a keen mind and the brains to use his time in the regimental library to acquire some degree of learning. In such company Jack would hardly have stood out, his time as an officer’s orderly giving him an insight into the officers’ world and the opportunity to learn, and then ape, their ways.

He is given time to practice his imposture, the long journey to the Crimea offering him the opportunity to play his assumed role in the company of his fellow travellers, but not in the familiar setting of an officer’s mess where perhaps his deception would be revealed all too quickly. Once in the Crimea, there is little time for any to doubt him, the start of the campaign against the Russian Empire consuming every officer’s energy, and surely enough of a distraction to let them put aside any concerns about a fellow officers manners or accent. In battle, social distinction means nothing, and Jack’s true talent as an officer comes to the fore. It is there that he demonstrates the courage and leadership that his men need so desperately in the maelstrom of battle.

So perhaps he does stand out after all. He is a fighter and a leader of men, traits rare in any period of history. His education may be lacking in parts, but he has the vital ingredients that any officer requires.

For me, and for my story, that is enough.

Paul Collard

Paul's love of military history started at an early age. A childhood spent watching films like Waterloo and Zulu whilst reading Sharpe, Flashman and the occasional Commando comic, gave him a desire to know more of the men who fought in the great wars of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. At school, Paul was determined to become an officer in the British army and he succeeded in winning an Army Scholarship. However, Paul chose to give up his boyhood ambition and instead went into the finance industry. Paul stills works in the City, and lives with his wife and three children in Kent.

Waterloo summary and a request

So, finally, the Battle of Waterloo is behind us.

Two hundred years ago, things weren't quite over. Despite what Abba tells us in the song, Napoleon did not surrender at Waterloo. He left the field and fled south in a carriage. After Waterloo, though, the dream of a return to power was over. Despite a heroic final stand by French soldiers north of the capital, Paris fell to the Prussians and was soon occupied. Napoleon headed west, believing that he would fare better as a prisoner of the British than if he fell into Prussian hands. Eventually, of course, he did surrender to the British who, despite calls for his execution, allowed him to live, but exiled on St Helena.

Last week I blogged on the battle of Quatre Bras, the Battle of Waterloo, and the aftermath of the battle. I also had a guest post on Antoine Venner's "Dawlish Chronicles" blog, which discusses the implications of Waterloo for today. On my own blog, there was a discussion of the importance of Waterloo to British history published in April.

So there you are, over 5,500 words telling you everything you need to know about Waterloo. And all free, thanks to the wonders of blogging, Which makes this an obvious point at which to mention that my work on the facts of Waterloo was background for my novel Burke at Waterloo. It's a spy story, starting in Paris with British agent, James Burke, hunting down Bonapartist spies. (There really were an awful lot of them about.) The pursuit moves north and, when Napoleon escapes from Elba James Burke finds himself fighting alongside Belgian troops, so he sees the Battle of Waterloo from the perspective of the Belgian cavalry. It's an exciting read and will give you an idea of what Waterloo and the buildup to the battle would have felt like. It's only £2.99/$4.59 on Kindle and also available in paperback. If you have enjoyed reading the blog posts, you might well enjoy the book. In any case, you might like to buy a copy if you are appreciated my efforts here. Thank you.

Waterloo

So today's the day!

Two hundred years ago today, the armies of Britain, France and the Netherlands met in a field just south of the Belgian village of Waterloo. It's doubtful if what happened there really changed the history of Europe, but it certainly brought an end to Napoleon's career and probably changed the history of France. It also changed the way that the British saw themselves for the rest ofthe century and beyond.

In my novel, Burke at Waterloo, my hero, James Burke, is riding with the Belgian 8th Hussars, who were part of a Netherlands light cavalry brigade which, contrary to the stories of Dutch-Belgian cowardice, behaved with conspicuous gallantry on the field.

Putting my hero at the centre of the action at Waterloo made me very nervous. Waterloo is a tricky thing to write about. It is, for most British military history enthusiasts, the battle of the 19th century. Hundreds of books are written about it. The Internet is full of websites, including some very erudite ones, discussing various aspects of it. War-Gamers refight Waterloo all the time. Anything you say is likely to be read by quite a lot of people who know enough about what happened to pick up any mistakes.

This should make research easy. Unfortunately, although much has been written about the battle, it was not particularly well documented as it happened. Wellington’s dispatch to the Secretary of State for War, formally describing the battle, runs to just over 2,300 words. This created considerable controversy at the time for its failure to mention many of the acts of valour performed on the field. Wellington started writing it on the evening of the battle and he had, by any standards, had rather a hard day. Even if he had delayed and written a longer account after he had had time to consult with his generals, it would still have had errors and omissions.

Although Waterloo was fought on a very small field (barely three square miles) it was a large and complex battle. Napoleon had around 72,000 troops and Wellington commanded just under 68,000. (Even these figures are much disputed: I’ve used Elizabeth Longford’s.)  

Wellington’s force included troops of the Netherlands Army (Dutch and Belgian) and 5,000 men of the Brunswick contingent. Although all accepted him as the supreme commander on the field, they had different command structures, different languages and different uniforms. On at least one occasion, confusion as to the uniforms led to British troops opening fire on their allies with significant loss of life. Confusion was not only possible, but practically guaranteed.

We talk nowadays about "the fog of War" but it is difficult to imagine the chaos of a 19th-century battlefield. There was no radio or other means of long-range communication. Wellington's orders were carried to his commanders by riders who would cross the field of battle to take them to the people who would carry them out. It was dangerous work and many of his staff officers did not survive – and thus the orders did not necessarily get through. 

Wellington positioned himself on the ridge overlooking the battlefield because he had to rely for information about where his troops were on what he could personally observe. Unfortunately, once the firing started the smoke from the muskets and cannon fire obscured much of the battlefield, so generals often had no idea where their forces were. The reason that military flags (the colours that are trooped at Trooping the Colour) are so significant is because that gave everybody at least a chance of seeing them through the smoke.

With the chaos and confusion that threatened the field, it is hardly surprising that both Wellington and Napoleon made really serious mistakes. Napoleon, in particular, was not the brilliant strategist that he had been before Elba. Much is made nowadays of the fact that he suffered from piles, no joke for a man who spent much of the day in the saddle. He was also probably suffering from other diseases picked up in a lifetime of campaigning across Europe and in the Middle East. Some of his most valued military commanders were no longer at his side. He had been particularly distressed by the loss of Louis-Alexandre Berthier, who had refused to join him on his return from Elba and who had fallen from a window in mysterious circumstances at the beginning of June. Tired, sick and no longer confident of the support of his people or some of his oldest friends, Napoleon delayed his attack and then threw men away in what had been intended as a diversionary attack on Huguemont. He failed to reinforce his centre with infantry when it could have made a difference and then, too late, threw away the Old Guard when the battle was all but lost.

Louis-Alexandre Berthier

Wellington's strategy was, essentially, to hold his position and pray that the Prussians would arrive before he was over-run. It was a sound (and ultimately successful) approach, but it was hardly the stuff of strategic genius. Basically, the British held their ground and took their punishment for over six hours. Inevitably, thousands died.

At the end of the day, pursued by Prussian cavalry, French losses were even greater. Famously, the Old Guard, surrounded by the enemy, refused to surrender and were slaughtered to a man. No one knows how many died altogether, but it must have been close to fifty thousand.

The loss of life is even more appalling when you consider what this battle achieved. It is often described as having shaped the history of Europe. This is nonsense. The whole continent was united against Napoleon and the armies of Austria and Russia were ready to move on Paris. Napoleon faced opposition even within France – many of his troops had to be left behind to protect against monarchist opponents at home. Victory at Waterloo might have bought Napoleon time, which he could have used to consolidate his domestic position and negotiate improved surrender terms with the Allies. It might well have changed the history of France: it can hardly be claimed that it would have changed the history of Europe.

What Waterloo did do was define the character of Britain for the next hundred years. Wellington's famous calmness and "stiff upper lip" (typified by his insisting that the Duchess of Richmond go ahead with her ball, even as the French crossed the Belgian border) may have been nothing more than a propaganda ploy to reassure nervous civilians, yet it came to define how an English gentleman should behave. The steadfastness of the British troops, who held their positions all day under heavy fire, also came to typify the martial virtues of the British Army. It is significant that the British attribute heroism to stoicism under fire, such as that shown by British troops in the trenches during the First World War or Dunkirk in the Second, rather than enthusing about the kind of strategic genius that can lead to victory without heroic losses. Waterloo was also seen as confirming Britain's pre-eminent military position in Europe. Although the battle had been an Allied effort – less than half of Wellington’s troops were British and he admitted that it could not have been won without the Prussians – it was presented as a British victory. Wellington (although Irish – a fact that he did not care to advertise) was the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied forces. Britain was the only country to have fought against Napoleon consistently throughout his rule and now a British commander had put an end to Boney once and for all. Waterloo has therefore attained a mythic status in British history and inconvenient details that do not fit with this narrative are forgotten or ignored.

Unfortunately, my hero is fighting in a Belgian cavalry regiment. As everyone knows it was a British victory, the role of regiments like the Belgian 8th Hussars has been quietly forgotten. Many historians claim that the Dutch and Belgian troops made little, if any, contribution to Wellington's success. In fact, the First Netherlands Light Cavalry Brigade, of which the 8th Hussars were a part, covered the retreat of the Scots Greys, saving the remnant of that regiment after their famous charge. The brigade was described as fighting with "insane gallantry".

In the end, I am sure that much of what I write about Waterloo could be debatable. Burke's experiences, though, do reflect one view of the reality of Waterloo  – and a view more firmly rooted in the reality of the battle than many others. At least Burke recognised the courage of the Dutch-Belgians who were so often dismissed as 'Waterloo cowards'. Two hundred years after the battle, perhaps it is time to put the record straight.

Images are from Wikipedia. This is an edited version of an article I first wrote for Carol McGrath's blog, 'Scribbling in the Margins'.

You've read the blog. Now read the book.

Delighted as I am to inform, educate and entertain on my blog, I don't get paid for this. I do get paid (about 40p a copy) when you buy my books. And you get the history you've been reading about here wrapped up in an exciting tale of spies and Bonapartist plots and beautiful women and all the excitement and glamour of 1815 Paris and Brussels.

Burke at Waterloo starts with a plot to assassinate Wellington in Paris and ends in the drama of the battle itself. Give yourself (or a friend) a historical treat for just £2.99/$2.44.

The Duchess of Richmond's Ball

Two hundred years ago today the Waterloo campaign started as Napoleon crossed the Sambre at Charleroi. It was a move that displayed a flash of his old strategic genius and fooled Wellington who had expected an attack further to the west. In Brussels, the British civilians, who had flocked to the town since Napoleon was sent to Elba, were sublimely unaware of the advance of the French. It was the night of the Duchess of Richmond's ball and la crème de la crème of British society was  joined there by Wellington and many of his officers. It was there that Wellington received the news that Napoleon was on his way and, the story goes, pointed at a map provided by his host and marked a field just south of Waterloo as the point where the decisive battle would be fought.

There are many fictional accounts of this ball, starting with Thackeray's in Vanity Fair, and carrying on right up to Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe's Waterloo. Most of them (especially those that have made it onto film) have a happy disregard for details of what the ball would actually have been like. Many people have said that we cannot know exactly where it was held or how the evening would have progressed, which is odd as there are accounts of it by people who were there (including a convenient plan of the house where anyone who wants to look at it) and there are some modern accounts with details of the guest list and the food that was served.

I have not read all of the modern research, but my version is based on eyewitness accounts from the time and should give a reasonable idea of what the evening would have been like.

Here's a taste (edited to take out the spoilers):

The roads to the east of the Place St Michel were little more than lanes and the throng of carriages – and even the occasional coach – that the Richmonds’ ball had attracted meant that the drivers were reduced to jostling for position and they travelled well below walking pace. Indeed, had the road not been so dirty, Burke might well have suggested that they walk the last quarter-mile, but Lily’s dress was very fine and it seemed wiser to wait. The occupants of the other carriages had obviously come to the same conclusion and they sat, more or less impatiently, the ladies fluttering their fans and the gentleman staring ahead impassively as the lower orders gathered at the side of the road to gawp at this unwonted spectacle.It was not until eight that their carriage finally rolled up at the gate in the Rue de la Blanchisserie. A liveried gatekeeper took one look at Burke’s uniform and Lily’s splendid dress and barely glanced at the invitation before bowing them through.Other servants lined the carriage drive that swept to the rear of the house, directing them away from the main entrance that faced onto the road. Looking at the parade of vehicles ahead of them, Burke could see why they were being sent this way. There would be more space for the carriages to manoeuvre around the back. The Richmonds had a large garden and Burke expected much of it to be trampled into mud by the morning, but they could afford gardeners and such inconvenience was part of the cost of entertaining on a lavish scale.The arrangements for the carriages meant that guests entered the house through the doors at the rear, but these were every bit as grand as those at the front, normally allowing the Richmonds and their friends to walk as a group into the gardens. Now, with a canopy to protect guests in case of rain and a positive army of servants to hand ladies down from carriages and direct drivers, the entrance was as imposing as the Duchess might have wished.The doors opened into a hall that ran right through the house. Burke could see other servants waiting by the front doors, presumably ready for the guests of honour who would be speeded to that entrance without having to jostle with those being admitted from the garden. There was, he understood, a hierarchy of privilege even amongst those singled out as suitable to obtain tickets to the Duchess’s entertainment. Indeed, his own invitation was discreetly scrutinised in the hallway to see whether it was on the list of those who should be formally announced on their entrance to the ballroom or if he was even amongst those so specially privileged as to be guided first to one of the other rooms of the house, where they might be greeted in person by the Duke or Duchess. Being, though, a mere mortal, he was directed towards a passage off on the right, which led to an anteroom which, in turn, opened out into the ballroom.Given the excitement that gripped Brussels society over the evening, Burke was surprised that the room was by no means grand. It was long and low, and made to appear still lower by a gallery that ran around it. The gallery was crowded, as the floor was far too small to allow for more than a fraction of the guests to be dancing. Not that this seemed to be worrying anyone. There was a constant buzz of conversation, more animated than usual at such occasions. Besides the inevitable gossip about Lady John Campbell and the various other unsuitable companions that the Duke of Wellington had been seen with, Burke heard, unusually for such occasions, remarks about the deployment of troops or the likely plans of the French.They edged their way through the crowd and found space on the dance floor. To Lily’s delight, they were playing a cotillion. Burke suspected that she had their hostess to thank for that. The Duchess of Richmond was quite old-fashioned in her tastes and had probably insisted on some more traditional English dances. The cotillion was soon over, though, and it was back to quadrilles. Another cotillion and then, as if to make up for such unfashionable music, the band started a waltz. Burke, like every other man in the place, had practised the steps so that if he ever found a girl daring enough to dance it, he would not be found wanting. He was gratified to discover that Lily had obviously practised it as well. The two of them whirled around the room until the music stopped, their cheeks red with excitement, and half dizzy from turning so enthusiastically.The master of ceremonies took to the floor and asked that everybody should clear a space there. Burke and Lily found themselves pressed back towards the wall. At least they had the advantage of being close to a window, which allowed some much-needed air.Above them, the gallery creaked alarmingly as more guests gathered there to see the spectacle below, but any creaking was soon drowned out as the sound of bagpipes announced the entry of a body of Highlanders into the room.Burke’s own, brief, experience of serving alongside the Highlanders had not endeared them to him, but, unlike many Englishmen, he admired their music, and enjoyed the spectacle of the kilted figures as they marched onto the dance floor. The Duchess herself was in the first rank of the spectators and the enthusiasm betrayed on her face suggested that she was happy with the selection of the troops who made up this band. It was clear that they had been carefully chosen, for, even in a regiment noted for the size and strength of its soldiers, these men stood out. Marching in in their bearskins, they seemed as much like heroes of antiquity as soldiers in the British Army.As the cream of Brussels society looked on, the Highlanders performed a string of reels one after the other to the accompaniment of their traditional instruments. The reels were followed by a strathspey and then swords were laid on the floor so that the four handsomest of the company could demonstrate their skill in the sword dance. At the conclusion of the display, the men formed back into columns and followed their piper out of the room, to the applause of the crowd. It occurred to Burke that, if any of the rumours he had heard were true, they could well be marching directly from the ball to the battlefield.

Another book by someone else

200 years ago today Napoleon set out to Paris on a journey north that was to end in the fields just south of Waterloo.

I've been following the countdown to Waterloo on sites like the excellent 'The Last Stand' from the University of Warwick and giving my own take on some of the key events here, but my site statistics suggest that most of my readers aren't that interested. So, instead of going on about Napoleon, here's a plug for a book by Fia Essen.

Fia generously offers writers 100 words on her blog to pitch their books. So here's 100 words on mine, where she pitches Ariel.

Ariel Morton’s life was perfect … until it wasn’t. Now she’s stuck in a rut. At the age of thirty-four, she has a dead-end job, a rented hovel of a home, and a rising stack of unpaid bills to keep her company. Just when Ariel is starting to fear she will never get her life back on track, she’s contacted by the mysterious Muse Agency. Suddenly, she is forced to question everything she thought she knew about herself and those around her. Who is Ariel? And what does she want? The truth is she can’t answer those questions. And finding the answers is the only way out of her rut.

Ariel is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ariel-Fia-Essen/dp/1625262051

The Scarlet Thief

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I was thrilled to have Burke at Waterloo endorsed by Paul Collard, who writes the Jack Lark series, much praised by the likes of Bernard Cornwell. Unfortunately, I hadn't ever actually read any of them. (*Blushes*)

I have now and, to my immense relief (because this could have been very embarrassing), The Scarlet Thief is really rather good.

Jack Lark starts out as an officer's servant in a regiment garrisoned at Aldershot. After a run-in with an evil Colour Sergeant (something of a central casting villain) he is happy to be transferred with his major to the fictional King's Royal Fusiliers who are to join the expedition to fight the Russians in Crimea. Unfortunately, the officer dies en route. Lark cannot face the prospect of returning to his own regiment, so he takes on the major's identity and finds himself in command of a company landing at Kalamata Bay.

I've had a look at what other people have said about this on Amazon and, while most people seem quite relaxed with this, some have complained that it's entirely incredible. I'm not sure that it is. Collard takes care to explain that Lark is literate and experienced and the major has encouraged him to have some understanding of the campaign that he is about to find himself involved in. In peacetime, Lark's imposture would almost certainly be discovered very quickly, But there's a war on, he's been thrown in with people who do not know the real major, and everybody is too stressed and busy to spend too long worrying about some of Lark's apparently idiosyncratic behaviour. More to the point, though, this is a work of fiction. Setting up the situation in this way allows us to see the British Army from a uniquely qualified viewpoint. I've had similar criticisms (fortunately from a similar minority of readers) about John Williamson's role in The White Rajah. If readers want everything to be unquestionably true, I would recommend that they read one of the many non-fiction histories of this period. (As an aside, I'd note that I've been criticised as often for 'errors' that are actual historical facts as for mistakes or implausibilities.)

It is with the arrival in Crimea that the book comes alive. Collard does a good job of sketching out why the British are there and giving some idea of the chaos of the expedition. Unlike Sharpe, Jack Lark has not worked his way up from the ranks – he is an impostor, pure and simple. We see the officer class from his viewpoint: vain, arrogant, often incompetent. But Collard gives a much more nuanced picture of the role of the officers than we have grown used to in this sort of novel. Jack Lark comes to realise what the responsibility of command entails, both in terms of the interminable bureaucracy and the emotional stress of looking after the needs of your soldiers. Whilst he has a clearer view of battleground tactics than some career officers, he soon comes to realise that there are times when he is out of his depth. He learns quickly, though, and his company becomes an effective fighting unit, just in time to be thrown into the Battle of the Alma.

The Battle of the Alma is one of those 19th-century battles that have now become so deeply unfashionable that most readers will never have heard of it. For many serving soldiers (and Collard apparently looked seriously at an Army career) the Battle of the Alma still matters: to have 'Alma' as a regimental battle honour is a source of real pride. It was one of those battles (and we have seen all too many of them in recent years) where Britain sent fighting men to a war far away for reasons that made little sense and then pitched them, under-equipped and under-prepared, to attack the enemy on their own ground. At the Alma there was no strategy or subtlety. The Russians were dug in in a strong point at the top of a hill. The British forces had to cross open land under artillery fire, ford a river (the Alma) and then climb up the hill and take the fortified position at the top, under continual artillery and small arms fire the whole time. It was insane and should have been impossible. The strong point was taken by the bloody-minded stubbornness of troops who, for little in the way of pay or respect from the government at home, simply kept on going in the face of unimaginable casualties. It was a classic example of the approach described by the modern infantry as "bags of smoke and straight up the middle". It is never a good idea, but it works surprisingly often.

Unlike many people describing battles, Collard sticks closely to the point of view of one character. While the reader may therefore lose some sense of what is going on across the whole field, it is all too easy to understand exactly what is going on where the Kings Royal Fusiliers (in real life the 33rd Regiment of Foot) are climbing toward the Russian guns. Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe books try to communicate the horror of warfare with a lot of detail of amputation and evisceration, but, as in most war stories, Cornwell allows the good guys to survive. What makes 'The Scarlet Thief' different is that Collard confronts full-on the reality of the high casualty rates that were typical of this sort of warfare. Writers of military history do not generally give us finely drawn characters, but Collard's supporting actors are definitely three-dimensional. We may not care that much about them, but we recognise them and, as they move into battle, we are confident that most, if not all, will survive. As one after another falls we are brought, like Jack Lark, face-to-face with the reality of what an assault like the British attack on the Russian redoubt actually means. After it was all over, the British could understandably reflect on the glory of their achievement, but Collard shows that that glory was actually built on suffering and death on an appalling scale. Jack Lark himself is wounded and evacuated to Scutari, where he sees at first hand the horrors that were later to be addressed by Florence Nightingale. As he struggles to survive amidst the squalor, neglect and infection, he is not remotely interested in the progress of the war, what, if anything has been achieved, or why they are fighting there. What he is interested in is getting back to active service and marching under the Colours and into the fight. The reality of a soldier's life is that he (and it usually is 'he') fights and, all too often (although less so today) dies. If soldiers spent too long thinking about what they were fighting for, it's quite possible that they would refuse to do it.

Paul Collard has done a workmanlike job producing a highly readable account of mid 19th century military life and a conflict that deserves to be better known. I can thoroughly recommend it.

The Maharajah's General

There have been several more Jack Lark books since I wrote this. There's a review of the second one (The Maharajah's General) here: http://thewhiterajah.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/lark2.html

Countdown to Waterloo - 17 days: The Champ de Mai

Our countdown has been stuck for a while. It's not that nothing was happening, but there were no obvious dramatic highlights. In France, Napoleon had been consolidating his position. He had been active on several fronts. At the grandest level, he had amended the French constitution, extending the suffrage, guaranteeing press and religious freedom and giving real power to an elected Chamber of Representatives. As ever, he was also involved with smaller projects that he believed would benefit the French people. He resumed building the Elephant Fountain at Bastille and the Louvre market at St Germaine. At the distinctly personal level, he was paying court to the 36 year-old Mlle Mars a celebrated Parisienne Actress. He was, as during his previous rule, constantly busy, intervening at all levels of French life, although he was, perhaps, a little less energetic and confident than he had been before his exile. Most of all, though, he was building up his army.

Napoleon's enemies were preparing militarily as well. The British were already established in Belgium. They were to be joined by the Prussians, ready to advance on Paris from the north. Meanwhile the Russian and Austrian armies were preparing to move against France from the east.

On 1 June, 1815, Napoleon decided his armies were ready. A huge review was held in Paris, ostensibly to mark the introduction of the new constitution, but the procession of troops passing Napoleon's reviewing stand took two hours, a display of military power that cannot have been lost on the countries allied against him.

The Allied armies were still moving into position, but France, Napoleon believed, was ready to strike. In two weeks, the Waterloo campaign would begin.