Napoleonic Wargame Club (NWC)

It would not be fitting if our good Field Marshall's fine steed should be incapacitated with a bout of Thrush! A most excellent precaution for the health of our cavalry, Sir Rat.

This is most excellent. Thank you, Sir. My horse and I appreciate the thoughts. My horse claims, however, that his "war stance" is sufficient to deter any French cavalryman from challenging us. I think he overstates the threat posed by his "stance" and demeanor. Although he can be quite ornery when his spirit is up. Did I ever tell you about the time he decided that we should charge the Emperor's Household Guard all by ourselves?

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FM Sir 'Muddy' Jones, KG
2nd Life Guards, 1st Squadron, Household Cavalry
1st Duke of Uxbridge & Anglesey K.G.

I, for one, would love to hear the stories of your daring exploits Herr Field Marshall. Whereas the good Marechal Bardon claims to be weary of your tales, the recounting of such heroic deeds performed by our revered senior officers is bound to lift the morale of our rank and file.

I am certain that yours was a most bold ride, cutting a path through the stunned French cavalrymen only to turn around a cut a new one back out!

By jove, you've got the guts of it, but the devil is in the details. We were serving the Tzar of Russia at the time -- a bloody time but we came out of it alright.

We were on the field of Borodino keeping company with a large group of ungroomed but feared Russian cavalrymen... that's right, some Cossacks! We had been posted to the left flank late in the day and the Cossock commander decided to try to find a way behind the French front. We entered a thick wood and followed a narrow trail that would barely accomodate a single rider at a time. When we exited the thicket, we were indeed behind the front and could see a large group of supply wagons and a few gun limbers on the far side of a wide open field. As the file continued to empty into the field, we could see the French wagoneers begining to run to and fro trying to save the wagons.

Well, in a blink the Cossocks were charging across the field and into the wagons. My horse didn't see the need to rush into things and trotted at a leisurely pace behind the stampede. As the Cossacks pillaged the wagons, a squadron of French lancers entered the field and immediately drove into the Cossacks from the flank. It was total chaos. One minute the Russians were gleefully pilfering French wine and silver plate and the next minute they were making track back to the wood. The whole scene seemed somewhat surreal. The French horsemen, naturally, were in hot pursuit of the Cossacks but drew up short when they saw my horse and I standing in the middle of the field. Since we weren't running, and because I was wearing the King's colors, they assumed the worst and quickly formed a regimental line, two ranks deep.

My horse by this time, had stopped nibbling on the flowers and assumed his "war stance". I drew my heavy cavalry sword (good German steel that one) and held it so that it shone brightly in the afternoon sun. I must admit that the sword appeared enchanted by the sun's rays and I began to wonder if it was truly a magical blade. A rousing yell from the French squadron snapped me out of my trance and as I looked across the field I could see the horse's hooves throw up the turf as they dug in for the charge.

Now sirs, I am not a fool. Don't think for a second that I would accept the charge of a full squadron of enemy. With some urgency, I pulled the reins to turn my horse about. But he was having none of it. He snapped his head around and jumped to the charge -- numbers be damned. There was no turning him. It was he and I against the whole wave of French cavalry. You know, time really does slow down when things are happening in the blink of an eye. But I remember parying the first two lances aimed at my torso and then slashing right and then left and back to the right again. The last blow bit into the back of a Frenchman as he passed by -- not a lethal blow but one that was certain to leave a scar.

Anyway, we were through the first rank but faced an unyielding second line. There was simply no where to go, as the French had packed the line so tightly. It didn't matter, I had no control anyway. Just as I was about to be impaled by multiple lances, my horse dipped deeply and then sprang deftly to the right. It put us just under the tips of those lances and then we were among them -- hacking our way through the thick of those shocked Frenchmen. And again we were clear and running towards the wagons. As we approached, I caught a glimpse of a short rider wearing a grey overcoat on a handsome white stallion and pointing in our direction. But my horse had finally come to his senses and he veered into the nearest patch of forest. The French wagoneers threw a few musket shots in our direction but to they were well off the mark.

After making good our escape, I had a moment to examine my myself. Although my uniform was torn in two places, I had suffered nary a scratch and my horse was walking like he was quite proud of himself. I felt back in my necessaries for my flask and took a good swallow of French brandy -- a little something I had picked up earlier in the week. As we made a wide circle through the woods, I began to think more and more about that short fellow on the white horse. Nah, I said to myself, it couldn't have been.

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FM Sir 'Muddy' Jones, KG
2nd Life Guards, 1st Squadron, Household Cavalry
1st Duke of Uxbridge & Anglesey K.G.

A thoroughly rousing tale, Sir Muddy! I say, it is almost enough to make this old Jager commander petition our revered Commander-in-Chief for a posting in the British cavalry. Such a tale of valor serves to stir the spirit of our men, instilling an overwhelming pride in the might of our arms, the justice of our cause and our loyal service to our benevolent King. It also elicits a great respect for our senior officers who lead by such a dashing example as you have recounted to us. I salute you, sir, for your courage in facing down so many French adversaries at once, but even more so for the greater courage required to continue riding the same horse on the field of battle after such an exhilarating event.

Your reference to a short fellow in a grey overcoat sparked a memory from my childhood. When I was but a wee lad, before the entire world was plunged into this wretched war, my parents took me on a trip to Paris. Many of the events are forgotten to me now, but one does still burn in my memory. I remember a small, French chap selling baguettes at a carriage stop near the Bastille. Although the weather was somewhat sultry, he was dressed in a long, grey overcoat to which he had, by some great measure, yet to grow into. It seems he was a student at the local military academy and was trying to raise money for his studies through his sales. Artillery was his interest as I recall. I shall never forget his eyes.....