Beat the Drums Slowly (10 page)

‘I said that one must admire the enterprise of a villain even as you deplore his actions,’ repeated Pringle loudly.

Williams was snatched from his thoughts, and looked puzzled.

‘We were speaking of whoever it was climbed up so high to steal the bronze letters,’ explained Hanley. Williams still appeared to be lost to the world, and so he returned his attention to Pringle. ‘The aqueduct at Toledo is almost as large, although these days less well preserved. I have a rough sketch of that somewhere near the back …’

Captain Wickham and Miss MacAndrews passed close enough for the girl to raise her long whip in greeting, but neither she nor her escort showed any inclination to stop and talk. Williams could not quite make out the words she spoke to her companion, but the tone, and her manner in general, indicated deep sympathy.

The captain’s voice was deeper and carried more clearly. ‘I should have been a parson,’ he said in a resigned tone, ‘in a good living in Derbyshire, encouraging kindness in the world rather than making war. All through the jealousy of a man raised to be as a brother to me. I am almost glad his poor father did not live …’

The riders had passed, and perhaps were speaking more quietly, for he could discern nothing more. It did not matter. Like most of the officers of the 106th, Williams had heard this story from Wickham. Knowing the man better, he was inclined to believe that there was more to the tale, but could remember how readily he had sympathised when Wickham had first confided in him such an apparently intimate part of his history. Miss MacAndrews’ sweet nature would most likely respond in the same way and this worried him.

‘I am forced to question whether that man’s intentions are honourable,’ he said firmly.

‘Oh, I should not think so,’ replied Pringle without thinking. He was intent on Hanley’s sketchpad, as the latter pointed out features in drawings of other aqueducts and bridges, including one of the great bridge at Salamanca. ‘Of whom are we speaking, anyway?’

‘Of Wickham.’

Pringle had grave doubts about the integrity and general probity of George Wickham, but when he looked around and realised that Miss MacAndrews was the principal focus of his friend’s concern he realised that some delicacy was necessary.

‘Miss MacAndrews is a thoroughly sensible young lady,’ he ventured.

Hanley stood up. ‘She is,’ he agreed.

‘She is still very young,’ replied Williams.

‘She also has her parents with her to keep her under observation. I do not think that the major would take kindly to any attempt at his daughter’s honour.’

‘The mother is even more intimidating,’ added Pringle, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘You are a fine fellow, Bills, but sometimes just a little too ready to jealousy. You even became suspicious when out of the sweet kindness of her heart Miss MacAndrews was so assiduous in visiting old Truscott in hospital!’

‘I grew to suspect that he was enjoying her company and exploiting her sympathy.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Pringle. ‘We only have his word for it that it was the French who shot him! Perhaps it was all arranged as part of some devilish scheme to win Miss MacAndrews’ favour?’

Hanley threw his head back in laughter. Williams joined in after a moment.

T
he next day was as restful. The brigades leading the attack were to march at eight in the evening. The 106th were ordered to parade with the rest of the Reserve Division at 9.30, to follow on once the order came. MacAndrews insisted on a spell of drill in the morning, but that still left the greater part of the day to prepare. In the afternoon the commissaries drove half a dozen bullocks into a pen at the end of the street, where they were slaughtered and butchered. The meat was fresh, if rather tough, and to everyone’s delight there was an issue of bread that was only just going stale. It made a change from ships’ biscuits, which seemed to be either hard enough to crack teeth or soft and teeming with worms. There was time to cook and eat a good meal and everyone was grateful for it.

Mrs MacAndrews kept close to her daughter whenever she was away from their billet. They saw Wickham from a distance, but spoke no words to him. Jane was surprised at being so disappointed, but was struck by the ardent glance he gave her. Then the rain began to fall, and no one was inclined to venture out unless required to by duty.

At 9.30 that night the drums beat for muster.

Rain still fell steadily, washing away the last remnants of the snow and turning the roads into slippery mires. A torrent of water cascaded down from the gutter fringing the roof of the convent and spattered on the stones of the courtyard. Sir John Moore’s cocked hat was protected by an oilskin cover, and a heavy cloak kept him reasonably dry. Even so water gathered at each end of his hat and now and then a drip fell in front of his face. Captain Napier had wrapped his pistols carefully to keep the powder within them dry as he handed them up to the general, who pushed each in turn into the holsters on the front of his saddle, and then flipped the tops closed.

There was shouting from outside the gateway, and a moment later Graham brought in a Spaniard, drenched to the skin and covered in mud. The colonel explained that the man was carrying an urgent message from La Romana. Moore sheltered under the roof of the porch as he scanned the letter and translated its contents. The general looked impassive, but all present knew that the contents changed everything. The French were moving north from Madrid. Napoleon was coming.

By the time the 106th had paraded the rain had stopped and a bright moon shone amid the ragged clouds. The men all wore greatcoats, and had their white cross-belts over them. Each man’s pouch and pack had sixty rounds of ball ammunition, and between them the pack and haversack carried hard tack biscuit for three days. In spite of the hour, many of the women of the regiment stood silently watching their menfolk, when they marched off the mile or so to join the remainder of the division nearer to Sahagun. A brigade from another division was formed up in column, preparatory to moving off ahead of them.

Then they stood for an hour, awaiting an order that did not come. At the end of that time MacAndrews and the commanders of the other battalions were called to General Paget. After ten minutes they came back, but there was none of the usual rush which accompanied the issuing of important orders. Their horses seemed almost to slouch, and more than one senior officer appeared slumped in his saddle.

MacAndrews nodded to Sergeant Major Fletcher to call the 106th to attention. Before the major had begun to speak a murmur came from one of the other battalions and quickly surged into a roar of dismay. Similar shouts came from other regiments. Williams and Hanley, standing behind the rear rank of the Grenadier Company, both turned as they heard a strange clattering sound. A hundred yards away and facing in the opposite direction a Highland battalion had paraded. First a few and then almost all of its soldiers threw down their muskets in frustration.

‘Boys,’ began MacAndrews, ‘the 106th showed its courage back in Portugal. We also proved to the rest of the army that its youngest regiment not only knew how to fight, but how to keep good discipline. We may not like some orders we are given, but I know that you will always obey them.

‘The advance is called off. We will return to our quarters and then the army is to withdraw.’

There was silence. Although many must have guessed what was happening it did not make the shock much less. They were ready to advance and expecting to fight. It seemed shameful to stop when the enemy was near. They knew that they could beat the French, and wanted the chance to prove it once again.

The mood was sullen as the 106th marched back to the hamlet. There was almost no talk, and MacAndrews wondered whether it would not have been better to hear a few murmured complaints.

After the men had been dismissed back to their billets, at close to midnight he crammed the officers into the small church, which was the only place big enough for all thirty men to be in one room. It lacked much of its roof, which was why no men had been quartered there, but with the aid of a lamp it was good enough for his purpose.

‘Gentlemen, the enemy is moving against us in great force, led by Bonaparte himself.’ That was dramatic news and provoked an excited buzz that for a moment lifted the sombre mood. ‘They are perhaps three days’ march away, perhaps more, but in numbers at least double our own even before they join up with Marshal Soult. Our Spanish allies are for the moment unable to provide any real support.’ There were sneers at this. Hanley, concerted defender of all things Spanish, just looked at the floor. ‘If we remain where we are, then we will face enemies on two sides and must be overwhelmed. Therefore, from tomorrow morning, the army will begin to retreat. We of the Reserve Division, along with the light brigades and the cavalry, will remain a little longer to cover the retreat. I doubt that we will be pressed so early. Marshal Soult does not have the strength on his own, and the other French armies are still too far away. At most we may see some of their cavalry. It is unlikely that we will begin to move until Christmas morning.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It will not be much of a celebration, I fear.’

The mood was gloomy throughout the battalion. Williams noticed that some men were more than usually irritable and argued over the slightest disagreements. Others were uncharacteristically silent and apathetic.

Major MacAndrews was far too old a campaigner not to sense the frustration of officers and men alike, and so he determined to keep everyone busy throughout Christmas Eve. Inspections were rigorous, and he urged every officer to look at packs and boots in particular. Most of the latter were in a bad state. They had hoped to draw new ones from store after reaching the main army, only to be told that none was available from the nearest depot.

As far as possible nothing that was not essential was to be carried. Experience had taught him that men burdened themselves with all sorts of useless weight on campaign, most of all trinkets they had scavenged or looted. While he doubted that any inspections would catch and make them discard even a quarter of such rubbish, it would at least be something. Alastair MacAndrews did everything he could to keep the battalion occupied and as ready as possible for the trials of the coming days.

It was not until late in the day that the major was able to snatch a few short moments with his wife, and even then there was much to arrange regarding their personal baggage and little or no opportunity for leisure.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ said Esther MacAndrews, only half in jest. ‘Tidying up your own little corner in the midst of impending disaster.’

‘I trust that things are not so very bad yet.’ Yet he had to admit that that the activity and the overall sense of urgency were most invigorating. ‘There is danger certainly. A march at this time of year through the mountains and pursued by the enemy is no gentle prospect.’

‘You need not sound quite so gleeful,’ she mocked him.

He smiled, and then looked serious. ‘You do realise that my duties will be heavy, I will not have time …’

‘You old goat, I should very much doubt there will be time for that!’

‘I meant …’

Again she interrupted her soft-spoken husband. ‘You meant that you shall be far too busy to pay much attention to your wife and daughter. That the journey will be arduous for us, and once again you silently wish that we had not accompanied you.’ She reached out and brushed her fingers against his cheek.

‘Only my concern makes me think that. In every other regard I am proud to have you with me.’ He took her hand with both of his and pressed it gently.

‘You are learning charm in your old age.’ Esther was only a few inches shorter than her tall husband. ‘Do not worry, we shall be careful, and I do believe your daughter and I can take care of ourselves.’ Silently she was pleased that this should keep Jane busy. Esther had noticed her daughter’s sudden interest in Wickham. Perhaps if they had remained at rest for many more days, she would have been forced to say something to the girl. Memories of her own reluctance to pay heed to the admonishments of her mother had made her cautious, lest a warning have the opposite effect. It was best that the girl work things out for herself, but although sensible and assured in many ways, it was doubtful that she had before confronted as charming a rake as Wickham.

‘I will look after Jane,’ said Esther firmly. Her husband seemed to detect the edge in her voice, but if he was puzzled he said nothing. Esther wondered whether to speak to him of her concerns. No, she thought, for then he would be bound to do something, and perhaps call the rogue out. Our daughter has sense enough already, or will soon learn it. He has enough to worry about without this additional burden. She smiled fondly at her husband, who was busy trying to cram far too much into one of the valises from his saddle.

‘Let me do it, you lump,’ she said, taking over.

At that moment, in the little room next to their own, Jane sat on one of the folding beds they carried in their baggage. It had proved an extremely wise purchase, given the dirty and often verminous furniture offered to them in the billets along the line of march. For the tenth time she read the words, the note clutched tightly in her hands.

My dear Miss MacAndrews

My mind can no longer contain anything beyond the thought of you. Instead of sleep come only images of your shining eyes, flawless skin, the radiance of your smile and liveliness of your company. Madam, you haunt me, exalt me, confuse and overwhelm me all at once
.