Severely wounded during the Battle of Salamanca in the Peninsula Wars, Andrew St. John Danby, a captain in the 3rd King’s Own Hussars, discovered that his brother, the Fifth Earl of Danby, had been killed, so Andrew had to return home and assume the title.
Olivia Thorpe, daughter of a wealthy businessman, was the Incomparable of the 1812 London Season, but no man captured her heart. Kidnapped by a nefarious duke, she managed to escape, only to suffer a severe concussion resulting in amnesia. The new Earl of Danby rescued her, and the attraction was immediate, but was she married? Who was the mysterious, handsome young man in the locket she wore?
Meanwhile, the duke discovered she was alive and had lost her memory. He began plotting.
Severely wounded during the Battle of Salamanca in the Peninsula Wars, Andrew St. John Danby, a captain in the 3rd King’s Own Hussars, discovered that his brother, the Fifth Earl of Danby, had been killed, so Andrew had to return home and assume the title.
Olivia Thorpe, daughter of a wealthy businessman, was the Incomparable of the 1812 London Season, but no man captured her heart. Kidnapped by a nefarious duke, she managed to escape, only to suffer a severe concussion resulting in amnesia. The new Earl of Danby rescued her, and the attraction was immediate, but was she married? Who was the mysterious, handsome young man in the locket she wore?
Meanwhile, the duke discovered she was alive and had lost her memory. He began plotting.
22 July 1812 Salamanca, Spain
As the battle raged around him, Capt. Andrew St. John Danby grimly fought through a knot of French cavalrymen and infantry, slashing his way through while urging his soldiers to keep moving forward. Even Thunder joined the fray by biting those French soldiers who tried to grab his bridle and kicking those who dared to approach from the rear. Parrying saber and bayonet thrusts, Danby and his men had just cleared through the last of the furious fighting; when he felt the white-hot shrapnel hit his left shoulder. He told himself it was just a flesh wound, but he glanced down and saw metal sticking out of his coat and soon discovered he was no longer able to grasp the reins in his nerveless hand.
“Carry on, Lieutenant! I must retreat!” he yelled.
“Fields! Brown! See that the captain gets back to camp safely. Find Gilley and Jones!” ordered the lieutenant as he turned his horse to urge the remaining unit forward.
Using his knees and spurs, Danby managed to guide his trooper through cleared areas of the battlefield, flanked by Privates Fields and Brown. The captain neither saw nor felt the musket ball that laid open a deep cut on his right cheek. Rapidly losing blood from his shoulder, his men guided his mount through the thick smoke from artillery and rifle fire, eventually managing to make it to the outer area of the camp before the captain finally lost consciousness and slumped over in his saddle.
“Sir! I’ve got you!” exclaimed Brown as he steadied his captain, while Fields grabbed the reins and led the steed to an area that was bustling with activity. “Go, find Gilley and Jones. I’ll see to the captain,” Brown shouted to Fields, who immediately began running to Danby’s tent.
Though it was nearly six o’clock in the evening, the heat from the day remained high as surgeons worked feverishly, amputating limbs, stitching gaping wounds, and splinting broken bones. Screams and moans from the dying and wounded, as well as the metallic smell of blood and stench of emptying bowels and stomachs, filled Brown with revulsion, but he tamped down the nausea and found a space big enough to accommodate the tall captain.
Calling for help, the private pulled Thunder’s bridle downward and gave a signal causing the horse to kneel. He had seen both Captain Danby and his groom, Hugh Jones, use this signal several times and was gratified Thunder obeyed him. It was as though the black steed knew his master was hurt. Brown then pulled Danby from his saddle with help from a Portuguese camp follower and laid the insensible officer gently on the ground as an assistant surgeon ran over with his kit and bandages.
Working together, they removed his brass helmet with its black horsehair plume and unbuckled Danby’s sword belt and white leather strap crossing his chest. The surgeon gently palpitated the wound, and then he tugged at the long metal fragment that was about two inches wide. It came out with a bit of effort, causing blood to begin flowing faster, so the surgeon quickly placed a wadded bandage on the wound. Applying pressure to slow the bleeding, he removed the bloody bandage as it became saturated and replaced it several times until the bleeding nearly stopped. Only then did they ease the scarlet tunic off and rip open his shirt, revealing a jagged hole, still sluggishly pulsing blood, just below the collar bone. A bit of poured whiskey on the wound caused the captain to rouse slightly and utter a slight gasp before closing his eyes again and clenching his jaw as the assistant sprinkled basilicum powder on the wound, applied another pad, and wrapped the shoulder tightly. Afterward, the assistant wiped the blood from the oozing facial wound and then used sticking plaster to hold the sides of the cheek cut together before applying a bandage. Just as he finished, Fields returned with Hugh Jones and Charlie Gilley, the captain’s batman.
Motioning to a couple of Spaniards serving as stretcher-bearers, Gilley ordered them to follow him to the captain’s tent as he gathered up the ruined tunic, sword, helmet, and accoutrements, while Jones took hold of Thunder’s reins. Maneuvering through the bustling camp back to the stud of horses he maintained for Danby, Hugh picked up bits and pieces of conversation about the raging battle. It seemed Danby’s cavalry brigade had carried the day and thoroughly routed the French, ensuring victory for the Earl of Wellington. Once Hugh returned to Danby’s remaining remounts, he removed the saddle and shabrack from Thunder, examining him carefully to see if the huge, black gelding had any wounds. Finding none, the groom fed and watered the rest of the horses in his care, giving Thunder a good rubdown before cleaning the saddle and holsters.
When Gilley and the stretcher-bearers reached Danby’s tent, the batman helped them lift the still unconscious captain and lay him gently on his cot. After the Spaniards left, he piled the gear on the floor and placed the bloody, torn tunic on a campstool just as the captain began to stir. Opening his eyes, Danby tried to rise but fell back onto his camp-bed.
“Get Hercules saddled, Hugh,” he said gallantly.
Gilley just folded his arms across his chest, and said gruffly, “Jones ain’t here, sir. Y’ain’t going anywhere, sir. Yer’ve lost a lot of blood, yer weak as a kitten and can’t sit in the saddle. And from the looks of ya, you might just be going back home fer a spell.”
Andrew nodded and closed his eyes. Just then, Hugh came in with a couple of loaves of coarse bread and local cheese and put them on the table.
“I found some food. You still have some wine, don’cha?”
Gilley nodded as he picked up the coat from the camp stool and then shook his head as he examined the tunic.
“I’ll see what I can do to repair it.”
“Looks like I’ve made extra work for you, Gilley,” said a weakened Andrew.
“Sir! You’re awake. The camp is in an uproar, but Jones found some bread and cheese. Let’s get some wine in you first.”
Too weak to argue, Captain Danby just nodded and drank thirstily as his batman lifted the injured man’s broad shoulders and held a cup to his lips. Gilley turned and put the cup down, picked up the plate with local cheese and fresh-baked bread, and turned back, only to find that Andrew had drifted back to sleep. His servant tried to rouse him gently to eat something, but the exhausted young captain did not stir.
Gilley looked at Hugh in alarm, but Hugh said, “He’ll do. He’s a tough one. Just let him sleep. I’m going back to the horses.” And with that laconic prediction, he left.
The batman busied himself by cleaning and stowing the helmet as well as the bloody sword and replacing it in its scabbard and cleaning the two saddle pistols. By now it was quite dark, so he sat by the lantern and began repairing the captain’s coat.
Gradually, some of Danby’s lieutenants and other officers from his brigade drifted in from the battlefield to check on him. Realizing the severity of his wound, they left to file their reports with Colonel Ponsonby or go to their own tents to get something to eat and drink or just sleep. The regiment’s commander, Col. William Cartwright, arrived about ten o’clock to check on Danby.
“Still asleep, sir, but no fever as of yet,” Gilley responded as he stood up from the camp stool.
“I’m awake, sir. Just resting my eyes,” said a weak voice from the cot.
“Good! Good! You did a magnificent job getting back to the surgeons. Until you were wounded, you were fighting like a man possessed. An inspiration to the rest of the brigade. Wellington was quite pleased with our efforts today. I don’t think he will be accused any longer of being strictly a defensive general. We really took it to the French, didn’t we?” Cartwright smiled ruefully.
“Sir, I saw Le Marchant go down. Have you heard how he is?”
Cartwright shook his head. “Killed. Damn bullet hit him in the spine.”
Andrew and Gilley groaned at this unwelcome news.
The colonel sighed and continued, “Danby, you showed strong courage again today. We won the day – thanks to the brave men of the third, fourth, and fifth. And as usual, you were one of the best on the field.” He held up his hand as Danby started to dissemble. “No. You were. Magnificent piece of action. I almost believed you and Le Marchant were going to rout the bloody French all by yourself and leave nothing for the rest of us. And until Le Marchant was hit, he was right beside you.”
“Sir, I just saw a weakness in their lines and exploited it. Anyone would have done so had he been in my position.”
“Perhaps, but you were the one who spotted that weakness. Not everyone would have, but you have a keen grasp for battle tactics.” He looked at Gilley and, with a jerk of his head, indicated he should leave. The batman nodded, laid aside his work, and left. Cartwright looked around the tent before turning back to Danby with a grim face. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Even if you had not been wounded so grievously, you would need to return home. I just received this letter from your solicitor.” He pulled out a rumpled, folded envelope. “It’s Thomas. Your brother. He was killed during a horse race a few weeks ago. Broke his neck. As you are to be named the Sixth Earl of Danby, you must return home as soon as possible. I’m damned sorry. Tom was a fine fellow.”
Danby stared at Cartwright in disbelief as he spoke, his mind trying to absorb the crushing news. He closed his eyes as he struggled to hold back tears. Finally, he nodded and, with a thickened voice, managed to thank his commanding officer for letting him know.
The colonel cleared his throat. “I also need to tell you that Hookey has been so impressed with your battle reports and your continued bravery on the field that he promoted you to major and requested your transfer to his staff. That was before he heard this news, of course. But he insists that the promotion was earned and is official. He is notifying London in his dispatches.”
“I’m honored, sir.” Andrew gave a faint smile and added, “That would have been quite an experience to serve on his staff. I shall have to write and thank him for his trust and for the promotion.”
Cartwright stood and laid the letter on the table along with another piece of paper, and then he fished a couple of epaulets from his pocket. “Colonel Ponsonby was at headquarters when we got news of your promotion and then the reason why you are being sent home. He gave me his old epaulets with a major’s star and wanted you to have them. Have your batman change them on your uniform before you go. As of now, you’re on furlough. That’s the other paper I laid there. It should be long enough for you to get back to London, see a surgeon, and then sell out.”
“Thank you, sir. That is most kind of Ponsonby. I’ll have Gilley take you my captain’s epaulets to pass along.”
The colonel clasped the new major’s unwounded shoulder. “Again, I am sorry. I know you and Tom were close. We always think it will be us, don’t we? Not the ones we left at home. We’re the ones charging off into battle, damning the consequences.” He took a deep breath. “The army is moving on in a couple of days, heading to Madrid, so get some rest before you head back to Lisbon with the other wounded. From there you should be able to get transport home. I hope you will be up to riding by then as the wagons will make for a damned rough trip.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be able to ride. And thank you. It’s been an honor to serve with you.”
Cartwright nodded. “And I, you. You’re one of the best and will be greatly missed.”
He walked out, and almost immediately, Gilley returned with William Marsden, the regiment’s surgeon.
“Gilley tells me you got a bit of shrapnel in the shoulder. Let me look at it.”
Andrew silently bore the surgeon’s removal of the bandage and examination. Noting the wound needed to be stitched up to prevent it from breaking open on the ride back to Lisbon, the surgeon quickly stitched the wound with Gilley’s assistance. Afterward, he sprinkled more basilicum powder on it, applied a new pressure bandage, and then wrapped the shoulder up tightly again.
“I understand we’ll be heading to Madrid in a couple of days, so sleep and rest as much as you can before riding back to Lisbon.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that will be a problem,” said Andrew with a half-smile.
Marsden smiled and looked at Gilley. “Give him some more of that wine and get some food in him.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“Danby, you have your own groom, don’t you?” Andrew nodded. “Good. Have him change your bandage every few days on your way back to London. The sticking plaster should last until Lisbon, but I’ll give him more just in case. Stop and rest when you can. If possible, stay overnight at an inn or cottage along the way. No need to push yourself.”
“I will. Thank you,” Andrew said softly and closed his eyes.
After advising Gilley to call him if Danby developed a fever, Marsden told him to see one of the medical staff for enough bandages to get him to Lisbon. Once he reached headquarters, he would be able to get enough to see him back to London.
Gilley turned back to Andrew. “Sir, you need to eat. Here, let me help you up.”
With his batman’s assistance, Danby managed to eat most of the thick sandwich and another cup of wine. Afterward, Andrew lay back with Gilley’s help and immediately fell asleep.
Two days later, early in the morning, Gilley and Hugh changed the major’s dressing and got him into his ruined coat. Although Gilley had stitched and cleaned it to make it serviceable, it would never be worn again once he reached England’s shores. Because of the bandage, Danby was not able to get his left arm in the sleeve, so his batman turned the left sleeve inside out and pinned the end of the sleeve to the upper right of Andrew’s coat. The sleeve would help support his arm, along with the sling Gilley had fashioned from pieces of Andrew’s bloodied shirt.
Danby looked down and smiled ruefully. “My tailor would be horrified if he saw this coat.”
Gilley just nodded and adjusted a sling to ease the left arm as much as possible.
After taking his leave of Gilley and bestowing three gold sovereigns to him in recognition of his services, Andrew set out for Lisbon with Hugh, along with a train of wagons carrying other wounded. Gilley had packed up Danby’s kit, which was loaded onto a donkey along with the portmanteaus. The major had given his tent and furnishings to his fellow officers, but he sold the rest of his stud to Captains Rutland and Middlestone, who were delighted finally to be able to purchase some of the famous Danby horses. Andrew had long been the envy of his fellow officers as his hunters seldom shied in the heat of battle and withstood sounds of artillery that sometimes spooked other troopers.
The Hussar by M. Battle Jackson is a Regency novel set within Georgian England during the Peninsula War. The novel starts with the Battle of Salamanca in Spain but then quickly moves to England as an injured Earl Andrew St John Danby makes his way back home to take over the estate from his deceased brother. Parallel to this the reader is introduced to Olivia Thorpe and is soon transferred into the world of balls and hopeful suitors. One especially persistent Duke called Greystone in particular has some nefarious plans to make the young Olivia his own.
For some time the two main characters do not cross paths and the reader is regaled with life in this period with a well-researched narrative that shows the author’s deep love for history. The research is so well done that it is arguably the best part of the novel. In the showing versus telling writing method, Jackson prefers the telling method, which at times can be tedious. It is only a third of the way through the novel that the two main characters meet. The way of their meeting however is probably one of the more interesting encounters I have come across in Regency romances. That, and the fact that I in no way could predict this turn of events makes the long wait worth it. What I would have liked to see is the use of irony, some play on words, and the discovery of certain incongruities within that society to add depth to the story.
I would recommend this novel to anyone who loves Period romances and would like to delve deeper into that history. The setting is well-crafted and the story will satisfy any romantic heart, but it is the carefully researched setting that will capture most readers and hold them to the end.