Chase the Devil

By John Madderson

The idea for Chase the Devil came about by my desire to write a story about the peninsular war between Britain and France and features the battle at Salamanca in Spain in 1812. Although factually correct in most part, I wanted to introduce some fictional characters engaged in a battle that may have taken place in the back-ground and therefore introduced Captain Robert Lockhart of the 5th of Foot the Northumberland Regiment, and the French officer, Major Philippi Duval, known to his men as (The devil.)
French General Marshal Augusta Marmont is afraid Lord Wellington is about to break out of Salamanca into Spain and sets a trap for him by reducing the strength of his right flank therefore inviting Wellington to attack at that point.
Wellington suspects a trap has been laid for him behind Marmont’s lines and dispatches Robert and a small band of men to investigate. Robert discovers the trap set by Major Philippi Duval but is too late to inform Wellington and decided to take action. Meanwhile the battle at Salamanca has started and Wellington has started his push into Spain, now it is up to Robert and his men to save the day.
Major Duval, (the devil) escapes capture but in doing so exposes the horrific inhuman crimes of torcher and death he has inflicted upon his British and civilians prisoners. Horrified by what he has seen and heard Robert sets out across Spain in pursuit of Duval, a journey that will eventually take him back to Canada.
Yours faithfully
John Madderson.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Madderson
• Release date: Mar 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301656400

John Madderson

Hi.My name is John Madderson and I love writing horror.I was born in the small industrial seaside town of Blyth Northumberland. In 1964 I joined the Army and enlisted into the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers where in 1966 I met my wife Sylvia while on leave from Germany en-route to Aden and active service. On returning to England Sylvia and I were married and in 1968 we were blessed with our son Lee Raymond. In 1977 I left the army and went into self-employment for a great number of years. I have had a full life but now nearing my retirement I have taken up writing and dedicate my time into bringing back the original saga of Dracula and the blood craved beast he was created to be (with a slight twist.)My books, under the sub-title “The Vampire Hunter,” are a series of four books each depicting a separate time in the past, present and future. The two main characters the villain Alucard, and the hero Joseph Beck, are locked in an eternal battle from which there can be but one survivor.EnjoyJohn Madderson.

Book preview

CHASE THE DEVIL

By

JOHN MADDERSON

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 By John Madderson

All Rights Reserved.

Message to you by the Author

The idea for Chase the Devil came about by my desire to write a story about the peninsular war between Britain and France and features the battle at Salamanca in Spain in 1812. Although factually correct in most part, I wanted to introduce some fictional characters engaged in a battle that may have taken place in the back-ground and therefore introduced Captain Robert Lockhart of the 5th of Foot the Northumberland Regiment, and the French officer, Major Philippi Duval, known to his men as (The devil.)

French General Marshal Augusta Marmont is afraid Lord Wellington is about to break out of Salamanca into Spain and sets a trap for him by reducing the strength of his right flank therefore inviting Wellington to attack at that point.

Wellington suspects a trap has been laid for him behind Marmont’s lines and dispatches Robert and a small band of men to investigate. Robert discovers the trap set by Major Philippi Duval but is too late to inform Wellington and decided to take action. Meanwhile the battle at Salamanca has started and Wellington has started his push into Spain, now it is up to Robert and his men to save the day.

Major Duval, (the devil) escapes capture but in doing so exposes the horrific inhuman crimes of torcher and death he has inflicted upon his British and civilians prisoners. Horrified by what he has seen and heard Robert sets out across Spain in pursuit of Duval, a journey that will eventually take him back to Canada.

Yours faithfully

John Madderson.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hi.

My name is John Madderson and I love writing.

I was born in the small industrial seaside town of Blyth Northumberland in January 1947.

In 1964 I joined the Army and enlisted into the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers where in 1966 I met my wife Sylvia while on leave from Germany en-route to Aden and active service.

On returning to England Sylvia and I were married and in 1968 we were blessed with our son Lee.

In 1977 I left the army and went into self-employment for a great number of years, during which time I have wrote numerous horror books, but have now tuned my hand to writing historic fiction. The first book is set in Spain during the peninsular war of 1812, and is called CHASE THE DEVIL.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my lovely wife Sylvia as without her help and relentless drive in pushing me forward, this book may not have been finished on time. And I thank all those who waited patiently for this, the first book of in the Captain Robert Lockhart Series. Again I thank you.

John Madderson

OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

Captain Robert Lockhart Series.

Chase the Devil

The Vampire Hunter Series

Blood Empire.

Blood Lust.

Blood Fury.

Blood the Vampire.

BATTLE OF SALAMANCA

22nd JULY 1812

British/Allied forces

To the right stand lesser Arapile and General Campbell with the 1st Div.

French/Allied forces

To the right stand Greater Arapile and General Bonnet, Marmonts 2/ic.

CANADA, 1806

On Detached Duty

It had been an hour since his escape from the British camp on the Niagara River, and Lieutenant Robert Lockhart now sat on a branch suspended ten feet above the ground.

Out of breath and in severe pain due to an arrowhead removing a good portion of flesh from his left side, Robert gritted his teeth and pressed his hand hard against his wound in an attempt to stem the weeping blood.

The camp had been attacked during the early hours, and though still dark, the enemy’s movement through the dense foliage had been that of a snake, weaving in and out, and around any obstacle in their way.

The silence was deafening, and stealth came naturally to the heathens with their painted faces, that stalked like ghosts in the night. Quickly they took out the guards with a flight of deadly arrows, and then moved through the barriers into the interior of the eight-tent encampment, where they started their deadly slaughter.

After a short fight, the call to ‘scatter’ ripped through the camp, and those who were left fled into the night and the interior.

The sun was not yet up as Robert stared down into the darkness. Even from his vantage point, the ground hid a multitude of dangers that he could not see. A twig cracked, grass moved to one side and the silhouette of an Indian came into view.

He crouched as he approached, but Robert could see that he was tall and looked powerful both in limb and body. Skilfully he moved through the undergrowth. His head was shaved both sides, whilst across the top of his skull, in a thick mass of hair, was the telltale sign of a Mohawk Brave. He was tracking him. Another twenty feet and he would see Robert’s footprints disappear, and would look up into the tree and see him.

Slowly Robert removed his red coat and dropped it to the ground, the sound of it striking the underbrush like a rush of elephants crashing through the trees in the silence of the night.

The Brave froze; then, like a lightning bolt, he sprinted towards the sound. Robert waited. His breathing slowed, controlled, and his muscles tensed, his eyes following every movement of the heathen’s fast approach until it was time to act.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, the Indian stopped and looked down at the scarlet-red coat lying twisted across a shrub, and at that moment he must have realised his mistake – a mistake that cost him his life as Robert hurled himself from the tree, clutching his sabre in both hands as it passed through the Brave, pinning him dead to the ground.

Robert quickly removed the sabre and hid in the thicket as a strong French voice rang out through the darkness and an officer appeared, dressed all in black. The officer spoke to his sergeant as they looked down at the dead Mohawk. The sergeant replied and called him Major D…. Robert didn’t hear the officer’s full name, as the death rattle of another British soldier’s screams continued to fill the night.

Although Robert never saw the French officer’s face, he knew he would always remember the venomous voice in which he spoke about the British men that he and his savages had slaughtered, and would indeed continue to do so at a slow, agonising rate all through the night.

Some weeks later, on his return to England, Robert returned to his own regiment, the 5th of Foot, the Northumberland Regiment, and in 1811 he was posted to Spain, where our story begins.

CHASE THE DEVIL

CHAPTER ONE

Cannon roared, men screamed in death, pain and defiance as the opening shots of battle broke the relative silence among the hills around Arapiles, south of Salamanca, on Tuesday 22nd July 1812.

Salamanca: Sunday 20th July 1812

Captain Robert Joseph Lockhart was a tall, proud man of six foot two, his broad shoulders and billowing chest making him look very much like a mountain of muscle and a man not to trifle with. This is the way he wanted to portray himself, as he commanded a company of one hundred and thirty foot soldiers in the red uniforms of the 5th of Foot, the Northumberland Regiment, a regiment not for a faint-hearted officer, but one who could control them through threats of flogging.

The firstborn son of a blacksmith, Robert grew up in the backstreets of Newcastle and, as expected, was to learn the trade from a very early age. His father was a strict disciplinarian who believed in the power of the fist, a lesson Robert was soon to learn. James Robert Lockhart fought in his spare time in numerous bare-knuckle fights, the outcome of which some very wealthy and influential men would place large wagers on, and his father never let them down. Although a hard man, he was also proud and wise, and used the money to send Robert to a school in Durham at the age of eight, where he remained for seven years until 1805. Robert’s mother, a fair-headed loving woman, died in 1798 of consumption of the lung during his time at school, a bereavement his father neglected to inform him of until his return to Newcastle and which Robert never forgave him for. In 1806, at the age of only fifteen, Robert joined the 5th of Foot, the Northumberland Regiment under the command of Colonel Sir William Wynyard.

Educated, and with the help of some his father’s influential acquaintances, Robert joined as a lieutenant, and in a few years made his name as a hard-hitting infantry officer who could control his men in a ‘most unorthodox method’, Sir William was heard to say.

Robert had one very good and well-proven way of gaining the respect of his men, and that was to beat the shit out of them in a fair fight behind the tents, and because of this, his men would follow him into the very pits of hell itself.

Being called to attend a briefing with Lord Wellington and his brother-in-law, the Adjutant General Sir Edward Pakenham, was in itself a surprise honour to Robert, and even more so when, on his arrival at Wellington’s tent, he found himself to be the only other officer there.

Both Wellington and Pakenham were standing at a large table when he arrived, and as the Provost Sergeant announced him, Wellington threw a cover over the map and looked up at him, beckoning him forward to the table.

Got a little task for you, Robert; I may call you Robert, is that right? Wellington asked, then immediately returned to the table.

Wellington cleared his throat and turned to face him again.

How well do you know Richard Sharp?

Richard Sharp of the 95th, sir?

That’s the man. Bit of an oddball officer, but a bloody good fighter. However, Sharp’s not here and, according to my sources, you’re every bit as good. Is that right, Lockhart? Are you? Are my informants correct?

Well, your lordship, I don’t want to sound off my own ability!

Good, then look here and take note!

Lord Wellington removed the cover from the table to reveal a map of the battlefield, the allied dispositions, and those of the French around Arapiles.

We have been pushed back far enough, wouldn’t you say, Lockhart? Now it’s time to make a stand or bloody well go home with our tails between our legs, and leave Spain to that damn little Frenchman. God knows he’s welcome to it. However… Wellington stopped and looked at Pakenham. The decision is not mine to make.

Wellington raised his head from the table and again cleared his throat. He walked to the entrance of the tent and looked out, his hands clasped firmly behind him. Robert watched him. He was a tall, thin man with sharp facial features. His eyes, Robert had noticed when he entered the room, were black with dark rings that drooped to his cheeks, and were overshadowed by thick bushy eyebrows giving him a most menacing appearance.

Look here, Pakenham said as he drew Robert back to the map. See the French line? Well, there’s something amiss just here! He pointed to the left of Marshal Augusta Marmont’s army.

Robert stepped forward. Marmont’s army covered a wide area both in line and in depth of sparsely covered terrain, and he looked hard to find anything wrong with his formation until he studied Marmont’s left flank.

It would seem, sir, that the marshal’s left flank is pitifully weak and should…

Exactly, my good fellow – weak, weak, weak! he shouted as he beat the table with his fist. The man is no fool, Lockhart, there has to be a reason, and you and your men are to find that reason and report back here!

When do I start, sir?

You already have, my dear fellow! Wellington said as he re-joined them at the war table. Find out and report back before disaster befalls us all, again!

Pakenham stepped forward to take Robert by the shoulder and guided him back to the war board.

See here, my good fellow, we are here at the village of Arapiles, Pakenham pointed with his cane to a cluster of houses. Salamanca is here, only a few miles behind us, and as you can see, the French hold the land between the main road to Salamanca and the hills of Greater Arapile over there.

He stopped to stare into Robert’s face. Robert looked back and Pakenham continued outlining the French positions.

Beyond General Bonnet’s position is General Sarrut’s Brigade held in reserve, he said, twisting his head from side to side, seemingly to dislodge a knot in his neck. Then he stooped over the table again. Now here is where it gets tricky for you. He straightened up and cleared his throat. You need to get between Lesser Arapile and forward of our first division under General Campbell – your route has been cleared through his lines, so he will be expecting you. From there you will travel south to a position behind the French lines commanded by General Bonnet, here, on the high ground at Greater Arapile, and there you will take up a position where you can see what the devil Marmont is up to!

Pakenham stopped and stood back from the table.

Listen, my good fellow, Marmont has for some reason grossly overstretched his left flank; we have seen it, though apparently he has not! My brigade of heavy cavalry stand ready to attack, so too do the 4th, 5th and 6th divisions, but as you have heard this day, we suspect a trap. He again looked at the table. Find out, Robert, find out!

Robert jotted down the scale map and then tucked it into the top of his boot.

You have all that you require, Captain, now I bid you good luck and God speed!

The tactics and speed of Marshall Augusta Marmont’s army had all but pushed the British army and its allies out of Spain, and now Lord Wellington found himself almost back to where he had started, Portugal. Wellington knew that should he be pushed back into Portugal, his career would be over. He needed to take the initiative and break out, but where, and how? He desperately needed a plan, a plan that would see his enemy on the offensive, and he believed it had arrived with the help of Marmont’s apparent bad judgment and the help of Captain Robert Joseph Lockhart’s excursion into enemy-held territory.

Robert left the tent feeling good. Wellington had intrusted him with a task no other officer could resolve and he made his way across the sun-drenched field towards his encampment.

Sergeant Major Simons saw him crossing towards him and stood to greet him. Simons was a career man of twenty years, having joined at the age of only thirteen, and had found glory in the Americas and India. Recently, he had been drafted to the training barracks at Horse Guard until finally securing a position with Captain Lockhart and the 5th of Foot.

A big man, William Simons was a typical senior NCO. He liked his drink and would brawl quite readily in the street with anyone who was fool enough to scoff his regiment, though never while on duty; he would simply name a place and time, and bets on the outcome would be encouraged. Together the two men controlled the best fighting men the north-east of England could produce.

Well, sir, heard about your visit with his lordship! the sergeant major said as he picked up the step. We off to do a bit damage then, sir?

Could be, Sergeant Major. Yes, I definitely believe we are. Have the men mustered by eighteen hundred and I’ll inspect them, and find Lieutenant Merewether, will you? You’ll probably find him in the officers’ mess tent. Tell him I would welcome his attendance now and then!

I believe there’s a heavy card game going on in the mess, sir.

Mm, best take another with you then, Sergeant Major. If there’s to be a fracas, I’d sooner a soldier be gaoled rather than you right now!

Thompson’s a heavy lad – he’ll do the trick, sir.

Thompson; isn’t he the soldier that sat on Colonel Jackson’s back during a fight?

It was a fair fight, sir, the sergeant major protested. And it was at the colonel’s invitation. Unfortunately, Thompson somehow invites trouble by the sheer size of the lad, and the colonel was spoiling for a fight, sir.

Nevertheless, he was wrong, Sergeant Major.

He surely was, sir. Thompson bloodied the colonel’s nose and…

I was referring to Thompson, Sergeant Major, it was wrong of Thompson!

Oh, sorry, sir, thought you meant the colonel!

Well, see that he doesn’t sit on Merewether’s back, would you? Actually, on second thoughts, you had better go.

Robert had heard about the fight between the colonel and Private Thompson at breakfast the following morning, and that by all accounts, Thompson was the much better of the two fighters. He was also told that a number of officers in the mess had placed money on the outcome, though none of them was about to tell Colonel Jackson.

Unlike Robert, Lieutenant William Merewether was a tall, spindly man, the third son of Sir Frances Basil Merewether and leader of the House of Commons. Unfortunately, William shot a man in a duel over the man cheating at cards, and so to save his son from prison – as some say the other fool was drunk at the time of the duel – Sir Frances Merewether suggested that, for a short while at least, William should join the army. However, he insisted William disappear into a lesser-known regiment, a request Sir Frances was to later regret.

Salamanca: Sunday 20th July 1812

Marshal Augusta Marmont stood over his desk, peering at a map spread out across his war table. He was feeling the strain; his army had won battle after battle against Wellington, but now, nearing exhaustion, he knew the combined forces of the British and their allies outnumbered his army and would undoubtedly push one last time at his centre. So he had designed a plan, a trap for Wellington, but he realised that should his plan be discovered and foiled, then all would unfold, and he would be on the defensive and required to withdraw to Madrid.

Well, gentlemen, here we are. He pointed to the map, drawing his officer’s attention across the table to the scale model of the line of battle. "Here we have Wellington with his back