Beat the Drums Slowly (40 page)

They continued firing for some time. The French cavalry were kept back, but they dismounted and began sniping from the houses, and soon infantry columns could be seen approaching, so that Paget recalled the company. The engineers were unable to complete their preparations, and the Reserve Division withdrew, leaving the strip of bridge still in place.

They marched on, climbing a winding road up one side of a ridge and down into the next valley. Two hours later they were beside another river, crossed by yet another bridge, and Williams was uncomfortable.

‘Are we not very close?’ he asked Pringle and Hanley as they watched the engineers once again preparing charges.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so,’ said Hanley, luxuriating in the warmth of the dragoon’s lined cloak. The temperature was rising and the sky was clear, but there was still a chill in the air, especially when they stopped.

‘Yes, Bills, you have missed the efforts of our gallant soldiers of science. They haven’t knocked a bridge down yet. It’s all been very sad.’ Pringle thought for a moment. ‘And talking of objects exciting pity, you really do need to replace that hat.’ Williams’ forage cap had been shot through and wantonly trampled. ‘It obviously hasn’t been a popular success.’

The engineers shouted a warning and lit the fuse.

‘Are you sure we are safe here?’ Williams remained unconvinced. The grenadiers were formed only forty or so yards back from the four-arched bridge. A company of greenjackets stood alongside them. Behind was a village and beyond the houses the rest of the division was formed up and waiting.

‘They assure us that we are in no danger whatsoever and no doubt that is based upon precise calculation. Now let us wait for the pop!’ Pringle was cheerful. They were just a few miles outside Corunna. The fleet was supposed to be waiting in the port and soon they would rest. Even the prospect of a sea voyage did not dismay him. He was tired and simply longed to sleep.

Red flame erupted from the charges on the bridge and then was immediately blanketed in dark smoke and dust. It was louder than any explosion they had ever heard and the shock wave knocked all three officers on to their backs. More grenadiers were flung down and the rest were running in blind panic. The smoke and dust rolled over them. Pringle was coughing and then he was laughing at the absurdity of it all.

‘Bloody engineers,’ said a voice which sounded much like Dobson. There were thumps as pieces of debris landed. Pringle’s amusement vanished when he pushed himself up and saw that Private King was dead and several others injured by the falling pieces of masonry. The Rifles had also suffered casualties.

Both the grenadiers and the company of 95th were ordered to occupy the village and Pringle and their captain split the responsibility and each took the houses on one side of the main road. It offered the greatest comfort they had known for some time, even when the French advance guard arrived and began popping off their muskets from the far bank of the river.

The grenadier officers took the ground floor of the house closest to the bridge, with a dozen of the men on the upper storey. The villagers had left, and the redcoats soon began investigating their food stores. The greatest treasure was three large sacks of potatoes. No one had seen such a wondrous thing as a potato since the days at Almeida. Eyles also led off a group which discovered a well-concealed hen coop and three small sheep. All in all, they had the makings of a grand feast and the officers decided to extend an invitation to the rifle captain to join them. It was issued by shouting across the road, as musket balls flicked the dirt track too often for comfort. Acceptance was signified by more shouting, and the arrangements made. Anticipation was eager, and spirits scarcely dampened when the rumour came that the navy was not there, and that the port was empty of ships.

‘Oh, they’ll turn up,’ said Pringle. ‘The Royal Navy always does.’

Jane MacAndrews was similarly disinclined to worry, as she revelled in the luxury of a hot bath, the water brought to the room by the maids from the hotel. The water was cooling quickly, and the bath was small, but it was still the most sensuous pleasure she could ever remember. The past faded, and seemed already unreal, and there was only the warmth, the relaxation and a wonderful sense of being clean. Fresh clothes from their baggage awaited her, and a bed which, if not perfectly wholesome, was at least free from vermin. She and her mother shared the room, for the town was bursting at the seams and its hotels overwhelmed.

Corunna seemed like a different world. The fields outside were green and untouched by snow or ice, and there was fruit on the trees as if summer still lingered. Corunna itself was bustling. People of all ages helped to carry material to strengthen the fortifications. The British were welcomed and fed, even though everyone knew that they were waiting to leave and that the French would soon be here. A battalion stationed here throughout the campaign stood guard with gleaming badges and buttons and their belts a dazzling white, which spoke of hours of effort and considerable amounts of pipe clay. The restaurants were open and so were the theatres. Jane laughed out loud at the memory of seeing scruffy redcoats rolling in the grass like children as they marched down from the bleak mountains towards the town.

Her mother looked at her curiously for a moment, and then returned to fussing over Jacob. The baby was both quiet and thriving, having the chance to remain in one place for longer than ever before in his short life. Jane suspected that her mother had fallen for the little child, and she was already hinting that they might offer to raise him, since his father was dead and his mother vanished. Perhaps they would, and she most certainly would not object, for watching the little ways of the child had been one of the few unalloyed pleasures of her adventures. Williams was another. Her feelings for him had grown. Jane suspected she was in love, although she was not inclined to think about that now or where it might lead. For the moment the glory of this bath and the sheer joy of feeling smooth and free from dirt were wonders greater than anything else in the whole wide world.

The officers’ delight in their meal was nearly as intense. When preparations were complete, Hanley called out to Captain Cameron of the 95th, and then Pringle put his cocked hat on the end of a stick and raised it from the window. A shot followed almost immediately, and then two more. In the last hour they had noticed that the enemy fire came in groups of three.

‘Come on!’ he called across the road. Cameron burst out of the door and sprinted, the long tails of his greatcoat flapping. A fourth shot snapped through the coat and just missed his leg as he leapt into their house. Hanley grabbed him before he could run in.

‘Sorry,’ said Pringle from the corner. ‘It’s always been three shots up to now.’ He propped the stick and hat against the wall. ‘From this point on, I fear that we are obliged to adopt a less dignified posture. William will show you.’

Hanley got down on his knees and crawled across the bare wooden floor. In the far corner, Williams stood by a table, laid out with a somewhat motley but extensive collection of plates and cutlery.

‘Why?’ asked Cameron, a slim, eager-looking fellow, well known for his pluck and high spirits, as well as the toughness with which he ruled his company. A musket ball came through one of the shutterless windows on the wall facing the river and buried itself in the plaster on the other side of the room. ‘Ah, I see,’ he said, and happily got down on all fours. Pringle followed him.

The food was brought in the same way, Pringle’s soldier servant and two other grenadiers bearing each plate one-handed as they wormed their way below the height of the windows. For all the inconvenience, the redcoats were as cheerful as the officers in taking part in such an unorthodox meal. They also had the complacent happiness from the knowledge that as great or greater portions were left for their own enjoyment. One corner of the table was kept clear.

‘We reckon the French can see just that bit,’ explained Hanley.

There was mutton and roast potatoes, supported by generous amounts of bread and wine. The last was in some fine glasses discovered in a cabinet. The potatoes were soft, more than a little greasy, and rich with the taste of mutton fat. Williams loved them, adding butter since he had no great taste for the thin gravy.

‘You look positively decadent, Bills,’ commented Pringle, seeing the exuberant relish with which his friend devoured the meal and then all too transparently began eyeing the remaining potatoes. His personal taste ran to crisper, dryer food, and opulent pies, but after the poor fare and rigours of the retreat he too was revelling in the richness of it all.

‘A Highlander is raised to be content with little food in his belly, but we all do love a fine meal,’ said Captain Cameron.

‘It is strange to be at ease, is it not?’ said Pringle. ‘I keep waiting for the drums to beat and the order to stand to arms – well, bugles in your case. In the last weeks every moment of comfort was swiftly interrupted.’

‘Aye,’ said Cameron, ‘the French have kept us busy, although I dare say they have regretted provoking the Reserve Division. Still, I hear that Mr Williams has been off adventuring on his own. You have done well, sir, from all I hear.’

‘I had able assistance from the non-commissioned officers, and the strength of a formidable position,’ conceded Williams. ‘The men did their duty.’ Together they tried to cajole more of the story out of him, without much success. He preferred to hear about the exploits of the main army, and as the stories alternated they passed the meal with great pleasure. It was also evident that Cameron enjoyed talking about his own men and had a fierce pride in his corps.

‘I miss having a piper,’ said the greenjacketed officer.

‘I was not aware that the Ninety-fifth employed the bagpipes.’ Williams’ mother had raised him to be enthusiastic for anything Scottish.

‘No more they do, but we are the Highland Company of the First Battalion, and more than half of the men marched down with me from Lochaber back when the regiment was forming. So we have a piper on parades, whenever I can find one. My last got himself shot through the lungs at Vimeiro.’ The captain’s tone implied that the man had been shamefully careless.

Talk turned to the summer’s campaign and shared battles in Portugal. As always, Hanley noticed that they spoke most of the ridiculous moments.

‘Bald as a coot, bald as a coot, with the sun shining off his pate!’ Pringle collapsed into laughter at his own story and barely managed to finish it off. ‘Galloping around, yelling out, “A guinea for the man who finds my wig!” and all the while a battle going on about him.’ The story of the officer who had lost both his hat and hairpiece at Vimeiro was one of Pringle’s favourites. Face bright scarlet and creased, he was incapable of any more talk for some time.

Cameron replied with a tale of a rifleman who fired off all his cartridges at the French. ‘Still in a rage, he pours in loose powder from his horn, digs into his pack for his razor blade, and shoots that at the voltigeurs!’

Pringle had barely recovered his composure, and promptly fell into fresh hysterics. They felt the need for a more gentle atmosphere, and for a while fell silent. Cameron had brought cigars, and all save Williams savoured such a rare indulgence. Their comfort was so great that the rifle officer forgot the warning, and laid down his glass at the edge of the table. The crystal shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying the remnants of the wine everywhere.

‘You would think they had better things to do!’ Cameron said wearily.

‘No respect, the French,’ agreed Pringle.

It was dark by the time they had finished, which made his dash back to his own company a good deal less dangerous. Soon afterwards orders arrived for yet another retreat. They were to wait until midnight and then walk away from their positions. There were to be no shouted orders, no drums or bugles, and not even formation. Every corps from the Reserve Division was simply to get up and leave, going back to rally on a ridge, lower than this one, but closer to the city. Instinctive protests were roundly damned, and each officer told to obey orders. They did, but to Williams and the others it felt as if they were slinking away.

At dawn the next morning they heard the French artillery commence a bombardment on the houses they had left, and the wisdom of General Paget’s instructions became obvious. It was a reassuring sign of the efficiency of the high command. Even more encouraging was the sight of a forest of sails and masts in the bay and harbour.

The Royal Navy had arrived.

H
anley sketched, and wondered whether anyone had ever before seen a sight like this. The noise had been appalling, even here more than a mile away from the powder store. Men had been knocked down by the shock, which felt like a rushing wind, although he was reluctant to employ the expression in case Williams grew all biblical when he came back from his errand in the city.

They had been warned that the engineers were about to destroy a store of more than a thousand barrels of powder, which had been meant for the Spanish. Regrettably, no one had informed the engineers that an even larger cache was stored in a warehouse next to the powder store. The first explosion set off a second as some four thousand barrels blew up. Hanley shaded the two quite distinct plumes of thick black smoke. They had climbed quickly at first, looming over the city, but now they were slowing and the bigger plume was spreading at the top, blossoming outwards into a curious, mushroom-like shape. It was beautiful and somehow terrible, as if man could now control the weather, conjuring up great clouds as he plunged the world into destruction.