Beat the Drums Slowly (6 page)

Pringle laid down the paper. ‘So what, apart from the life of London nearly two months ago, is going on in this wide world?’

‘Well, I do not really know all that much, and suspect I understand even less,’ began Hanley. The last was quite probably true. Born of an indiscretion between a man of business and an actress, Hanley had never known either of his parents, having been raised by his maternal grandmother. His father paid for an education, even allowing him in later years to travel abroad and pursue his artistic dreams. He had also secured him an ensign’s commission at the age of ten, before such abuses had been stopped. It gave him an officer’s salary without any obligation to earn it. Only when his father had died and his half-brothers cut off his allowance had Hanley been forced to return to England and take up this only opportunity for employment. Half a year later, and he still felt himself very much a civilian. His ignorance of many military matters continued to astound his friends. They trusted his courage, for he had proved that in Portugal, and had schooled him so that there was a better than even chance that his uniform was fit to be seen for longer than the first five minutes after he had dressed. Yet in many ways he remained an astounding griffin.

‘Napoleon is here in person,’ said Hanley, confirming the rumour that had been circulating throughout the army in recent days. Many had repeated the story, but on questioning their ‘certain information’ invariably proved to have come from someone else, who in turn had been told by a friend or simply a passer-by. The army knew very little of the wider war beyond what they saw day to day as they marched with their regiment.

Major Alastair MacAndrews could not now recall when first he had been told of the emperor’s presence in Spain. For some reason he had always believed it. The French army had been beaten, first by the Spanish and then by the British in Portugal, and with the rest of continental Europe now forced to submit to his will, it seemed only reasonable for him to come in person to avenge the defeats in the Iberian peninsula. An overlord made by war could not permit any crack in the illusion of his infallible power. He was bound to come, and it seemed equally reasonable that he would bring with him regiments greater in number and older in war than the young conscripts whom he had sent a year ago to overrun Spain and Portugal.

Such matters had only a general concern for MacAndrews, for he had no say in such great matters and no one was likely to ask him how the campaign should be conducted. Forty-eight was very elderly for a major still to be on active service with a regiment. In the spring, he had been a fractionally less old captain, with no apparent prospect of promotion, for he lacked both money and influence. The 106th was the most junior regiment of the line, lacking any battle honours or the slightest prestige. Lieutenant Colonel Moss had purchased the command of the battalion, and his relentless pressure had finally been rewarded when they were added to an expeditionary force. MacAndrews succeeded to his majority following the sudden death through alcohol and rage of the 106th’s senior major.

Moss had died in the first attack at Roliça – privately MacAndrews felt he was recklessly dangerous as a battalion commander. Of the two majors, Toye was senior, but he had been wounded and captured at the same time, and that had left MacAndrews in command of the 106th for the remainder of the campaign. They were mentioned in Wellesley’s dispatch for Roliça, and more than played their part at Vimeiro. Toye was released from captivity after Cintra, and as the senior man naturally became the new lieutenant colonel. Custom dictated that vacancies created by battlefield casualties were filled in accordance with seniority.

Toye commanded the 106th, but his wound from Roliça proved a bad one, and his recovery, and indeed his life, was placed in jeopardy by a savage bout of fever. After several weeks the doctors no longer despaired of his life, but it was feared that his health was permanently broken. With Toye unable to attempt his duties, MacAndrews continued to lead the battalion, and had taken them north to the border fortress of Almeida. Their task was to ensure that the terms of the Convention were enforced, and the French garrison permitted to leave. In a few places there had been difficulties, when the local Portuguese troops showed an understandable reluctance to let the French escape so easily. The sight of redcoats, as a reminder of their goodwill towards their ally, had sometimes proved necessary. In the event, matters had already been decided peacefully before they arrived, and instead they had begun a quiet spell reinforcing the garrison of the spacious fortress.

‘I think we have done well,’ said Brotherton, interrupting his commander’s thoughts. ‘The Reserve Division appears a fine formation, and General Paget and his staff know their business. It would be nice to think that our attachment was a tribute to our conduct in August.’ The two men had claimed a room with a table as the battalion office and worked long into the night. They had almost finished and had dismissed the clerks, leaving them a moment to settle any more private matters.

‘Aye, perhaps,’ said MacAndrews, registering sufficient Caledonian doubt that even a man who knew him far less well than the adjutant would have realised his scepticism. ‘Although it does appear to be true that we have been summoned to replace the Sixtieth, on account of their misconduct.’ The 5/60th were greenjackets, armed with rifles rather than the inaccurate smooth-bore muskets of the line infantry. Officially the Royal Americans, most of the recruits these days were Germans, and the battalion had enlisted a large number of men who claimed to be German or Swiss from those prisoners taken in August who were reluctant to return to the French army. The same men were equally reluctant to accept British discipline, and on advancing into Spain had plundered and used violence against the inhabitants to such an extent that Sir John Moore had ordered them back to Portugal.

‘So we are considered an improvement over a pack of thieves, which I suppose is still a compliment of sorts.’ Brotherton was only in his late twenties, but had an older demeanour, reinforced by the baldness that had by this time claimed all of the top of his head as its own. He had a good attention to detail, as well as sufficient knowledge of bribery, bullying and contagious enthusiasm to be very good at turning the battalion commander’s wishes into actions. He and MacAndrews worked well together.

‘Let us sincerely hope that we can maintain such a good opinion,’ said MacAndrews.

‘I’ll keep an eye on the lads. Doubt there is much to steal here anyway.’

‘There is always something.’ MacAndrews nodded in satisfaction. ‘You are right, though. I believe we are well placed. There was talk of putting us with Bentinck. That would probably be well enough, but on balance we may well be better off here. How do you find the administration of the division?’

‘Good. In fact, on the whole, remarkably good, except for the …’

‘Commissaries.’ MacAndrews echoed the expected complaint with a wry smile. The civilian commissariat department had recruited many new officials to oversee the supply of the expedition. Almost none of them had any experience.

‘Not very much we can do about that.’ The 106th had joined the army just two days ago. Although summoned to replace the 5/60th, they had been tasked with escorting an ammunition convoy, and so spent weeks toiling over atrocious roads with the slow-moving ox-carts. Fortunately a few companies from the Buffs had been sent to take the empty wagons back to Portugal, so that MacAndrews’ battalion was left at comfortably over six hundred men. ‘I believe that the army is to have a day or two to rest, before we advance again. It is clear that the general expects a major action before very long.’

‘Happier now that we are led by a Scotsman?’ suggested the adjutant.

‘Aye, well enough.’ MacAndrews deliberately broadened his soft accent again. ‘Sir John has a fine reputation, although I have never had the honour of serving under him.’

‘He behaved most handsomely to me earlier, when he rode past with his staff. Stopped and bade me good day, and then asked about the condition of the regiment. Seemed pleased with our turnout after a fatiguing march through foul weather to get here.’

MacAndrews had rarely seen the habitually cynical Brotherton so openly enthusiastic. He guessed that his adjutant had been burning to tell the story, so listened with patience. It was flattering to hear such a high opinion of the 106th, and remarkable how quickly the general had won the utter devotion of one of his officers.

‘A long day,’ the major said at the end of the story. ‘And no doubt longer ones are to come, so I believe we have a duty to rest. We shall parade the battalion at eight thirty tomorrow morning. After the inspection, I think an hour of battalion drill and then the same by company. They can have the afternoon to rest and look more fully to their equipment. Good night, Jack.’

‘Good night, sir.’

The room opened on to the corridor, but on the far side was another room which had been allocated as quarters to the major’s family. It worried MacAndrews to have his wife and daughter with the army. They had always followed him to garrisons around the world, but he had hoped to prevent their coming to Portugal and then following him to Spain. His wife’s determined ingenuity had thwarted that hope, when she managed to find passage and follow the army. He was afraid for them both, and especially that Jane might see things no girl of her age should see, let alone that worse might happen to her. Those last thoughts he tried to force from his mind, without much success.

Yet for all those fears, it was a deep pleasure to have them with him. His hair was white, his career perhaps unlikely to advance, for Brotherton had received a letter from one of the wounded officers left in Madrid which said that he believed Toye would sell out and retire from the army. That meant a new lieutenant colonel would soon buy his way to command of the 106th. Well, that was the future. For the moment MacAndrews led the battalion and had the deep satisfaction of regulating it according to his own theories. He was proud of the result, and confident that they would do well. All of that pleasure was redoubled by the knowledge that he would each day see a daughter of whom he was even more proud, and a wife whose willingness to be with him still caused him the greatest wonder in all the wide world.

It was with a warm sense of joy that he knocked and then entered their room. Smiles greeted him, at least for a short moment.

‘You can take off those damned boots or clean ’em, MacAndrews! Jane and I have not toiled these long hours to have you spreading filth across the floor!’

Alastair MacAndrews was a very happy man.

L
ieutenant General Sir John Moore flicked open his handsome new telescope, but even with its excellent lenses he could make out very little of the landscape. The hill they were on was open to pale winter sunlight, but most of the ground beneath them was smothered in thick mist, which was only slowly rising and burning off. There was certainly no obvious trace of the enemy, but Marshal Soult was out there somewhere, his army corps holding the villages around Saladaña and Carrion to the north-east.

‘Two divisions and a brigade of cavalry. Perhaps fifteen or sixteen thousand men?’ Colonel Graham knew that the general was running through the calculation one more time and did not require comment. More than a decade older than his forty-seven-year-old commander, he understood when to keep silent. His trust in Moore as a general was absolute, while he still saw himself as no more than an enthusiastic amateur.

‘They have not moved,’ the general said very definitely. ‘The prisoners the hussars took confirm that. By the way, did you hear Georgie Napier say how worried he was when he found a cellar full of them last night who seemed to have had no treatment for their wounds? He gave orders for a surgeon along with food to be sent. An hour later he went back and found them playing the fiddle and dancing reels!’ Sir John permitted himself the luxury of laughter. The rest of his staff were out of earshot, and although he was never obsessively serious with them, there was nevertheless a sense of some freedom having only the older Graham beside him.

‘Suggests a good spirit at least,’ the colonel commented.

Moore nodded. Soult was out on a limb. The French marshal must by now be aware that the British were close. He would guess that there was force behind the cavalry attack at Sahagun, although he would probably not know how much. Sir John knew the names of Soult’s divisional commanders and the numbers of their regiments. He also knew that for the last weeks Napoleon had been assuring the recently arrived marshal that the British were fleeing back to Portugal, and that only a few thin remnants of the Spanish armies were in a position to oppose him. Sir John knew this because he had in his sabretache a dispatch, written by Marshal Berthier, the Emperor’s chief of staff, to Marshal Soult – or the Prince of Neufchâtel and the Duke of Dalmatia as they styled themselves, happy recipients of the deluge of titles issuing from the self-proclaimed Emperor. It listed the various French armies in Spain, giving strengths and positions. None was near enough to offer immediate support to Soult, and this was Moore’s chance. For a brief moment he would have an all too rare advantage in this campaign.

‘We will give the men another day’s rest,’ he said firmly. ‘The infantry have come a long way and have earned it. We’ll begin tomorrow evening, march through the night, and be at Marshal Soult on the twenty-fourth.’

Graham waited, but Sir John did genuinely appear not to have marked the date. ‘Christmas Eve,’ he pointed out.

Moore looked blank for a moment and then smiled, shaking his head. ‘Of course. I had quite forgot. Hah, my grandfather would not approve. He was a minister, you know.’ Graham nodded. ‘However, he was all in favour of smiting the ungodly, so I dare say would forgive us.’