WAITING FOR THE GUNS
Mercer held the rank of second captain only in troop G, but Sir Alexander Dickson, whose troop it was, being employed on other duties, Mercer was in actual command. It was a fine troop, perfect in drill, and splendidly horsed. It owed this latter circumstance, perhaps, to a characteristic bit of War Office administration. The artillery was being reduced to the level of a peace establishment when Napoleon broke loose from Elba, and there came the sudden summons to war. A second troop of horse-artillery was at that moment in Colchester barracks. It was broken up, and troop G took the picked horses of both batteries—"thus," says Mercer proudly, "making it the finest troop in the service." One fine troop was in this way made out of two half-dismantled batteries.
The troop was made up of eighty gunners and eighty-four drivers, with the usual proportion of officers and non-commissioned officers. The horses numbered no less than 226. There were six guns—five of them being nine-pounders, and one a heavy five-and-a-half inch howitzer. Mercer has the wholesome pride of a good officer in his own men and guns. He tells with pardonable complacency the story of how his troop shone in a grand cavalry review held on May 29, near Gramont:—
"About two o'clock the Duke of Wellington and Prince Blucher, followed by an immense cortège, in which were to be seen many of the most distinguished officers and almost every uniform in Europe, arrived on the ground. Need I say that the foreigners were loud in praise of the martial air, fine persons, and complete equipment of the men and horses, and of the strength and beauty of the latter? and my vanity on that occasion was most fully gratified, for on arriving where we stood, the Duke not only called old Blucher's attention to 'the beautiful battery,' but, instead of proceeding straight through the ranks, as they had done everywhere else, each sub-division—nay, each individual horse—was closely scrutinised, Blucher repeating continually that he had never seen anything so superb in his life, and concluding by exclaiming, 'Mein Gott, dere is not von orse in dies batterie wich is not goot for Veldt Marshal': and Wellington agreed with him. It certainly was a splendid collection of horses. However, except asking Sir George Wood whose troop it was, his Grace never even bestowed a regard on me as I followed from sub-division to sub-division."
The troop, as Mercer's story shows, was literally smashed up at Waterloo; but Mercer, with great energy and skill, quickly built it up again, and at a great review in Paris, where the allied sovereigns were present, the English guns were once more the admired of all observers. He writes:—
"It seems that we have been the rara avis of the day ever since our review. The rapidity of our movements, close-wheeling, perfection of our equipment, &c., &c., excited universal astonishment and admiration. The consequence of this was an application to the Duke for a closer inspection, which he most magnanimously granted, and ordered Ross's troop out for that purpose. They paraded in the fields near Clichy. The reviewers, I understand, were marechaux de France; but there was also a great concourse of officers of all nations. After the manœuvres the troop was dismounted, and a most deliberate inspection of ammunition, and even of the men's kits, appointments, shoeing, construction of carriages, &c., &c., took place. I believe they were equally astonished and pleased with what they saw, and as there were several among them taking notes, have no doubt that we shall soon see improvements introduced into the Continental artillery."
Mercer, curiously enough, declares that the British artilleryman of his day had no affection for his horse, and in this respect compares very ill with the German artilleryman; the same thing, he says, applies to British and German cavalry:—
"Affection for, and care of, his horse is the trait par excellence which distinguishes the German dragoon from the English. The former would sell everything to feed his horse; the latter would sell his horse itself for spirits, or the means of obtaining them. The one never thinks of himself until his horse is provided for; the other looks upon the animal as a curse and a source of perpetual drudgery to himself, and gives himself no concern about it when once away from under his officer's eye. The German accustoms his horse to partake of his own fare. I remember a beautiful mare, belonging to a sergeant of the 3rd Hussars, K.G.L., which would even eat onions. She was one of the very few that escaped after the disastrous retreat of Corunna, and had been saved and smuggled on board ship by the sergeant himself. In the Peninsula the only means of enforcing some attention to their horses amongst our English regiments was to make every man walk and carry his saddle-bags whose horse died or was ill."