Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (4 page)

Which is why, next night, Dick found Ensign Drew dead in a sap from the trench the company had just taken over. Powder burns around a hole in the lad's head mystified him. But, since he was busy settling his men in the position and was still suffering from his debauch, he credited Drew's death to some French marksman who had daringly crept into the Allied lines.

"Always the juniors," he regretted. "It's only beardless boys who die now, while majors and colonels go unscathed."

With that epitaph, he ordered the body carried to the rear.

Ram knew no other brat than Carla. Everyone else was grown up, like Meg, who fed, at times bathed, cuffed and, more rarely, petted him. Too, there was Dobbin or Bagabones. Dobbin pulled Cart, in which Ram lived with Carla, Meg and Nan—known also as Scotch-nan—who had a loud voice and a heavy hand. When Cart wasn't moving, she and Meg washed clothes, which they hung on lines to dance in the wind.

There were also many Red Soljers. Some came to Cart at night and would put their arms around Meg and Nan when they were lying

in their blankets, just as Ram and Carla put theirs around each other on cold nights. Ram liked them all except Nickely who had a bad voice when he drank from bottles.

Then there was Father, though Ram didn't see him often. Whenever Meg took Ram to him, she first scrubbed him hard and brushed his clothes. Ram had to call him y'honor and Captain because, Meg said, Ram belonged to him forever.

Sometimes there was Boom! Boom! far off and all the Red Soljers would march away. Then Meg would hit Dobbin with a stick and Cart would go fast, fast! And there'd be Red, Blue and White Soljers on the ground and they had Blood on them. Others were carried away and had Blood on them too and would cry loudly.

Ram didn't like to hear them cry, for that's what Carla did when Meg hit her. He sometimes cried too, but not often. If Meg or Nan hit him or he fell down, he would hit them back or kick the ground that had hurt him, and everything would turn red and he'd feel hot inside. Yet he liked red. He liked it still more after Meg gave him a red coat with yellow on it, and red breeches and stockings. The yellow meant he was in Howe's and the red stockings made him Captain, like Father.

Dick remained "Poor Dick," despite his gin-inspired scheme. His mother refused him any money. His dead father, she wrote, had won his captaincy under Cromwell and not bought it like merchandise. Besides, hadn't she already purchased his ensigncy for him seventeen years ago? And he'd been mad, entrusting important letters to a deserter. She grieved for the poor bride and the parents who'd died, and he must send his son home at once and not leave his care to foreigners who had no English.

Worse followed: The vacant captaincy went to Frank, who had won the purchase price by gaming—mostly at Dick's own expense. Too, the 1707 campaign brought only skirmishes, so there was much marching but few casualties. However, the English and Scots received new colors; at last the Two Kingdoms had been united, and the new national standard blended the Red Cross of St. George with the White Saltire of St. Andrew. Men began speaking of English and Scots collectively as Britons.

Eariy in 1708, Dick was quartered in Ghent, where he diced and drank while his money lasted and kept Ram in his billet, Meg coming

daily to tend him. By this time he'd convinced himself that the boy really was his son; so he growled at him for not growing faster or learning more and loved him with all the selfishness of the lonely.

His friends, meanwhile, argued politics: Queen Anne was ailing and childless. Government had offered the succession to her aging cousin, Sophia of Hanover, who, though of Stuart blood and a Protestant, was German by marriage and training. And if she died her son, George, would be her heir.

The alternative was Anne's half brother, exiled James Edward Stuart. Now twenty but a Catholic and called the Pretender, wily old Louis XIV had already recognized him as James III, Britain's true king. Even in the army there were many called Jacobites who toasted him and cursed the Hanoverians.

Dick took neither side, gloomily sure that, whoever sat on the throne, his luck would never change.

Yet change it did, for Louis was fitting out a fleet to carry the Pretender and 6,000 French troops to invade Britain. At once Marlborough readied many of his veterans for passage home to meet the threat.

Howe's was among the chosen. No camp followers were to go, but Dick took Ram. There was vast excitement as the troops moved coastward. Had the Pretender sailed? If so, where—to Ireland, Scotland or England itself?

News came of a great storm which had already driven off the blockading Royal Navy squadron and allowed the French ships to reach the North Sea. The chase was on, with the invaders well in front.

Dick's company, with four others, under Major Armstrong, embarked at Ostend in the 200-ton flute Martha. Having just brought horses from England, she stank vilely; but 300 men were crammed into her. The senior officers shared the cabin, the juniors were under the break of the poop, the sergeants under the forecastle and the privates in the main hold. Tarpaulins were rigged to keep the worst of the weather from the men, who had to sleep on bare planking with rats swarming over them.

When the Martha reached the open sea the tarpaulins proved useless, and driving rain soaked and almost froze the men in the hold. Too, seasickness struck like a plague.

Though dry in the fetid little cabin the senior officers, including Dick, were as sick as any. As for Ram, who lay in a bed made from an old cloak, he soon retched himself green.

With dawn the wind fell and a frigate came rounding up the scattered transports. She reported that the fighting squadron was already seeking the French toward the Scottish coast.

Dick still lay groaning in the cabin, holding Ram close to give him a little warmth; so Armstrong sent for Nick Ely to care for the boy. Strong-stomached Ely not only did so, but looked after Dick and others. They paid him well. Even if they hadn't, it saved him from the ghastly hold, where men had died and were still dying.

On the third night, Dick dragged himself out onto the heaving deck to relieve himself at the beakhead. On returning aft he slipped and fell into the scuppers and lay there, too exhausted to rise. Someone brushed forward past him and in the moonlight he saw it was Ely, carrying Ram. Self-disgust bit him. Up! he told himself. D'ye want your boy to see you wallowing like a pig? As he regained his feet, he heard a thin wail and saw Ely, not ten feet away, holding Ram outboard.

He staggered forward and grabbed the child. "God blast you, have ye no sense?" he snarled. "A slip and he'd have gone!"

"I had him fast enough," Ely protested. "I wanted but to insure he'd not foul himself."

'Til take him back. Go get him some broth." Curse him, 'tis well I broke him at Ramillies, he's even useless as a lackey, Dick thought as he regained the cabin and put Ram back in his bed.

Early on March 21, land was sighted to larboard. Soon the small Durhamshire town of Shields opened, with transports and frigates already at anchor. When Dick learned its name, he forgot his sickness and carried Ram on deck. "England, lad! Home's not forty mile away." Somehow, he must get home, show the boy to his mother and so wheedle money from her.

Among the other transports was that carrying the rest of Howe's, under Lieutenant Colonel Britton. The latter came aboard the Martha and, when he heard of the deaths, groaned aloud, having lost many himself. "Twenty good men gone. Bad as a battle. Damme, it's the Devil's own luck we can't recruit while we're here!"

It was Dick's chance. On his farm, he promised, were good lads willing to take the Queen's shilling. Give him but four days and he'd bring them back. Besides, he'd not been home for seven years and his mother had never seen her grandson.

Grinning at the "grandson" fiction, Britton refused, for the convoy might sail at any minute. But if any leave could be granted, Mr. Anstruther would certainly receive priority.

A hundred miles northward. Admiral Forbin's flagship was anchored off the Isle of May in the Firth of Forth, and two Scots officers were being rowed to the mainland to announce the arrival of James III, rightful King of Britain.

James himself was pacing the quarterdeck with his advisers. Though this was the only ship thus far to reach the rendezvous, he was afire to unfurl his standard ashore. But older heads dissented. It would be madness, some said, to land until sure English troops weren't waiting to slaughter them. What use, a French general asked, to land before the arrival of his veterans, around whom the undisciplined Scots could be organized?

The admiral, too, had objections. The vessel was in the lee of the small island, and landsmen didn't realize the force of the southeast wind. Though it had blown the ship into the firth and could bring in the rest of the squadron, it was also fair for the British. As he spoke, lookouts reported several French sails in the firth's mouth, but with the British close astern. Though brave enough, Forbin shrank from being hemmed in against the shore, with no sea room for fighting.

But now a smoke signal told that all was well ashore.

"The die's cast!" James cried. "We land at once."

"Impossible, now that the British ships are so close!" cried one who, having plotted against Anne for years, knew that capture meant his execution,

A tall, gaunt Irishman stepped forward. "A blow, sire, and England's rule is over! Appear in Edinburgh and Scotland's yours. Give me but leave to reach my own land and in a week all Ireland will be up for you!"

"Ah, if only all were like you, Major O'Duane!" the prince praised, reinspired. "A boat! Who follows Royal Stuart?"

But for Forbin a miracle had happened. "Your Majesty, the wind's changed—we may yet escape! On behalf of my master. King Louis,

I cannot permit you to endanger your royal person longer." He pivoted. "Ohe, up anchor!"

He was obeyed. Sails filled and slowly the ship wore around; each seaman aware that, penned in these narrow, strange waters, his life was at stake. Already the leading French vessels had crossed the firth's mouth and were sailing on northward, the British so close astern that their guns' flashes were visible.

While a Scots pilot conned the flagship through the shoals, James gazed at the receding shore, his lips moving in prayer. Faflure! His golden moment had passed.

Brian O'Duane watched him, tight-lipped. This young prince sought kingship for its power and glory. But to men of Brian's race he must be served and sacrificed for, because only through him could they hope to return to Ireland, free to worship as Catholics, with their stolen lands restored.

The months after Ramillies when, his mind deranged, he had long hovered between life and death, he had aged so greatly that no longer could he be called "Red" Brian, for even his eyebrows had turned white. But with regained health had come the cold resolve to exact personal revenge against all English, since it was they who'd despoiled his countr}', desecrated his dead wife and left his baby son to rot in some unknown grave.

And now he, too, watched the receding shore, eyes wet with futile tears. Patience! he told himself. There'll be another time!

Two days later, a frigate put into Shields with news of the invasion's failure and of the French being harried back whence they came. All warships were ordered into the chase and transports must wait until an escort could return for them.

So Dick got his four days' leave and at once sent for Ely. "You come with me. Get the boy into a boat. We hire hacks and ride at once."

Soon they were mounted, Ram held on Dick's pommel. Born where Yorkshire's North Riding marched with County Durham, Dick knew the road well and pointed out landmarks to wide-eyed Ram, even throwing a few jests at Ely,

But the latter, no rider and having to sling his flintlock dragoon fashion, was chafing badly and became morosely silent.

They reached Bishop Auckland in bright moonlight, but there had to spend the rest of the night, Ram having grown feverish and Dick himself not yet recovered from seasickness. But they went on again at dawn, crossing barren fells and deep-cut dales.

"There's Barnard Castle, where many a dark deed's been done," Dick indicated at last. "Home's not five miles off." Home! His to do with as he chose, even to gamble it to the devil! Ecod, was he a beardless cub, to let an old woman stop him?

Skirting the grim old stronghold, they crossed the bridge over the gorge-enclosed Tees, then along a hedged lane. But as they rounded a curve, Dick was almost ridden down by a redcoat.

"Damme, look where you go!" he bellowed, having almost dropped Ram. He stared. "Will—and a captain!"

"Dick!" Will Anstruther stared in turn. "What brings you home? And your son, I'll be bound." He ranged alongside, hand out. "Eigh, lad, 'tis good ti see thee!"

Dick still stared. After nineteen years, he himself was merely a mock captain, while this bucolic brother was a real one. The realization was a dagger rip through his pride.

"Aye, he's Ram," he muttered. "But where so fast—Captain?"

Will, understanding, looked apologetic. "Eigh, we raised a regiment of fencibles 'gainst the invasion, and I captain Bowes Company. 'Tis said all Scotland's marching on us."

A fencible! Dick's ire died. He'd feared their mother had bought Will a regular commission. He studied him. Two years his junior. Will had the full-bodied ruddiness of their family, yet he seemed ill at ease in his new red coat. Dick glanced down at his own senice-frajed livery with fierce superiority. "No Scotch will come." He explained why.

Will looked relieved. "Then it's no sense holdin' the men under arms longer, not wi' sowin' afore us. I'll but carry tha news ti Colonel Robinson and I'll be home ti greet thee reet an' proper." He spurred away.

Dick continued along the lane. But on rounding a farther curve, he had to rein in before a long, high wall that was pierced by a pair of fine iron gates, with a lodge-house behind them.

" 'Fore Gad!" he gaped. He jerked the bell chain until a man shuffled from the lodge, mouthing toothless protests. "Have done and