True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) (13 page)

W
illiams tried to concentrate on his letter in spite of the noise. The colonel had instituted an officers’ mess on the day of his arrival, hiring the main room of the inn exclusively for the purpose. The money came out of his own pocket. There were mess bills to be paid by each member, but the adjutant had taken Forde and Williams quietly aside and informed them that they would not be required to contribute anything for the first three months. Moss covered this expense, making clear that this was a gift and not a loan. He was also matching every penny paid by the other officers from his own funds. These ‘secret’ arrangements were common knowledge and only added to the high esteem that Williams and the others felt for their commander. The story was that Moss planned to eat and drink only what was available to his officers. Since he had no desire to live like a Johnny Raw Ensign then he would ensure that everyone else could live at his standard.

The colonel also expected every officer to spend as much of their off-duty time in the mess as possible, although some leeway was given to the married men. Williams would have preferred to write his weekly letter home in the privacy of the t arrahe shared with Pringle, Redman and Hanley. Although past ten it was a bright night and the light would have been adequate even without lighting a candle. Inside the inn it was gloomy, filled with smoke. Williams rubbed his hair. It was still a pleasant sensation to be free of powder. Less pleasant was the lack of any real privacy. If his duties permitted he would try to take a long walk tomorrow evening, getting away from everyone for at least an hour or two.

The volunteer was struggling to think of things to say. One paragraph had described his admiration for Colonel Moss. Then he had detailed the duties they had performed, and been as charitable as he could about his fellow officers, while noting, ‘sadly all too many are given over much to drinking and are prone to cursing’. Personally he disliked the smell of tobacco, but knew his mother liked the scent and so did not add that as a criticism. He reported the promotion of Major MacAndrews and mentioned the delight of his family. That was as far as he came to mentioning Miss MacAndrews. It was hard not to spend pages telling of her wonderful qualities. He did not have the right to do that. Instead Williams described the appointment of Wickham to command the company, describing him as a true and handsome gentleman.

He glanced across at the new captain, who was playing cards with Hanley and a couple of officers from the Light Company. They had been at it for hours. Wickham was one of the most frequent gamers in the 106th, and often seemed to show no enthusiasm to return to his billet and his wife. He was generally lucky, seeming to win far more than he lost, but this evening the cards were going against him. Pringle was watching, joining in the conversation, but not the game. The lieutenant often declared that gambling was the one of the few vices that held no appeal for him. He had reversed a chair and sat with his legs either side of its back, his hands resting on the top.

Williams decided against mentioning the card school to his mother. Another omission was the raucous laughter and often crude jokes of the younger – and in most cases well-liquored – officers. Forde was one of a group who now began an enthusiastic, if scarcely musical, rendering of ‘Spanish Ladies’. Since they had heard of their destination it had become one of the most popular songs in the regiment. Williams could remember some of his mother’s lodgers singing the same song when he was a boy, and decided that he could at least make that part of the evening sound picturesque. Still the words did not come easily and he found himself rubbing his chin. He was also thirsty, having long
since finished the second glass of wine which was all that he would allow himself in an evening – indeed, was all he could stomach. Perhaps some water would help. Williams got up, leaving his papers and the stubby pencil on the table.

At the far end the colonel, Major Toye and some of the more sober captains were deep in conversation. MacAndrews was not there, having already taken his leave and gone to see his wife and daughter. Howard of Number Eight Company was reading aloud from a newspaper. Moss noticed Williams passing and beckoned him over to join them.

‘This will interest you, Mr Williams. It is from the debate in Parliament which committed our expedition to help the Spanish. I was there,’ the colonel threw in a matter-of-fact way, ‘but it will be good for all our officers to know.’ Moss gestured to Major Toye, who raised his voice.

‘Quiet now,’ he yelled. ‘This is important.’ Several voices were still bidding farewell and adieu to the ladies of Spain, and it took more shouting before they were hushed into silence.

Spanish ambassadors had come to London on 8th June, prompting a debate in the Commons a week later to discuss their appeal. For once the Whig opposition agreed with the Tory government. So did the newspapers and even old Cobbett, the former Dragoon and radical champion of the ordinary soldier’s rights. Howard read extracts from the speeches. Mr Sheridan of the opposition had argued cogently and in great detail for supporting the Spanish with both financial and military aid.

Moss let them in on a secret. ‘Of course, that’s not what he actually said. It was all going so slowly that morning that old Dick Sheridan wandered off upstairs and joined some friends. By the time he came back he was as drunk as a lord. Poor fellow could hardly stand.’

They laughed as Moss had known they would. Williams joined in, since although he rather disapproved of the country’s leaders misbehaving, there was something so essentially comic about the image.

‘So what happened next? Did Canning embrace him and swear
undying friendship?’ suggested Pringle, who had come over to join them.

The laugh was smaller, as befitted a joke made by a junior officer, but Moss hesitated only for a moment before joining in, and that encouraged the rest.

‘No, Billy’ – using the familiar name was a careful touch – ‘Canning was as sober as a judge. His speech is fairly accurate.’

‘So he did really say there was “The strongest disposition on behalf of the British government to afford every practical aid to the Spanish People”?’ Howard was reading carefully from
The Times
. ‘So is the practical aid bit about us?’

‘Well, everyone above the rank of ensign anyway,’ suggested Major Toye, producing more laughter. That seemed to end things and the group dispersed. Williams heard Derryck saying to another ensign that he was strongly disposed to ask on behalf of himself for the loan of five guineas. He grinned, and then realised he was still standing beside the colonel. Moss noticed his confusion, but was still in a generous mood. ‘Mr Williams, will you take a glass with us?’

It was obviously impossible to refuse, but Williams felt awkward as he sat. Moss asked him a number of questions, chatting affably although in his usual rapid manner. The port came and Williams dutifully consumed the glass, and tried not to grimace each time he took a sip. He realised that this was expensive stuff, from the colonel’s own cellar, and that he ought to be privileged. That did not stop it tasting foul to him, or reduce the sense that his throat was burning.

Perhaps it loosened his tongue a little, for at one point he found himself talking with great enthusiasm about Caesar, Hannibal and Marius. Major Toye had merely asked politely whether he had studied any military history. Williams’ voice had risen sharply in volume as he warmed to such a favourite theme.

‘I confess I know little of the ancients, especially of Marius,’ said Moss briskly.

‘He said one thing worthy of note. One day an enemy general wanted to fight a battle, but Marius would not bring his Romans
down from a high hill. “If you are such a great general, Marius, come down and fight!” his enemy said. Marius just replied, “If you are a great general, then make me.”’ Williams looked immensely pleased with the story.

‘We shall keep that advice in mind,’ said Howard. ‘Now, Mr Williams, would you mind returning his paper to Mr Anstey? Thank you.’ He held
The Times
out.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Williams rose and left, still looking pleased at having been included n the conversation.

‘A keen young man, though rather sober,’ said Toye, once the volunteer had moved off.

Moss nodded, but looked a little doubtful. ‘Rather a cautious moral to his story. Still, he may learn. Another glass, gentlemen?’

Williams’ admiration for the colonel had increased still further. He felt proud to be in the 106th, confident that with such a true gentleman at their head they would win fame. With luck he might get his commission sooner rather than later. He pictured himself as a wise and noble colonel, condescending to his juniors as easily as Moss. He was clearly the model he should endeavour to match.

Having returned the newspaper, Williams headed back to the table where he had left his unfinished letter. He tried to think of a modest way of describing his conversation with the colonel. When he reached the spot his papers were missing. Behind him he heard a voice.

‘Dearest Mother, I do hope the pox has cleared up.’ Williams turned to meet a gale of laughter. Redman had his head back and his mouth wide open, showing his bad teeth as he guffawed. Ensign Hatch had hold of the letter and was pretending to read aloud.

‘How is sweet sister Emily and her latest bastard? Can she remember whether it was the parson or the sweep who is the father this time? Tell her she must take payment immediately next time and not rely on their good faith.’

Williams was furious. He strode towards them and grabbed the letter from Hatch. It tore slightly as he pulled it away, but the
man was too drunk to resist properly or make a game of it. For a moment he kept staring at where the pages had been, not noticing that they had gone.

‘Do not judge my family by the standards of your own,’ said Williams as coldly and calmly as he could. He felt rage within him, was flexing the fingers of his free hand, itching to ball them into a fist and slam it into the man’s face. With an effort, he spun on his heels and walked off, knowing that acting quickly was the main thing.

‘That told you,’ said Redman to Hatch.

‘I left a bit out. All about having to share a tent with an ugly bugger called Redman,’ replied his friend. ‘How he kept making unwelcome advances on poor Williams.’ Some of the nearby gentlemen howled with laughter. Redman looked confused and then glared at his friend. Hatch froze for a moment. ‘You know, I do believe I am going to be a little ill.’ He staggered up and left.

In the corner Williams was still fuming. He flinched, turning angrily when Pringle patted him on the shoulder.

‘Well done, Bills.’

‘I should have knocked them down.’

‘They are drunk, and will fall down well enough on their own. That would not have proved anything.’

‘I would have enjoyed it, though.’

‘Would you also enjoy being expelled from the regiment? If officers fight it must be an affair of honour properly conducted. You can count on me as a second if you need me.’

Williams began to understand. ‘That is most kind of you.’

‘Think nothing of it. What little honour William Pringle still has is always at your disposal.’ He smiled. ‘But not over nonsense like this. Best to show you can take a joke. Anyway, Redman is a damned fool, but he is our goddamned fool and we have to live with him. What was it you were saying earlier – only fight when your eney makes you? If it’s good enough for Marius I am sure it’s good enough for you.’

‘You heard that?’

‘Half the room did,’ said Hanley, appearing from nowhere.

‘Your speech was a little loud and forceful,’ confirmed Pringle. ‘I wish I had a voice as strong!’

‘Oh dear, should I apologise, do you think?’

‘Of course not. You were perfectly polite if a little deafening,’ said Hanley.

‘Given up the game?’ asked Pringle.

‘Too rich for my liking. I have lost fifteen shillings and that is enough. Anyway, I thought I would seek some intelligent company for a change. But . . .’

Pringle finished the sentence. ‘You couldn’t find any so decided to make do with us. Bills, we are desperately undervalued. Tell him something about Caesar and prove him wrong.’

‘Well, he’s dead for a start,’ said Williams, grateful for their company.

‘Oh, I am so sorry. Had I known, I would have sent flowers.’

‘He is supposed to have killed a million Gauls,’ said Hanley.

‘Obviously not enough, as there are still plenty of Frenchmen out there,’ replied Pringle. ‘Apparently you cannot rely on an Italian to finish a job.’

‘He fought in Spain a few times. In fact he fought nearly everywhere,’ added Williams.

‘Had affairs with women everywhere too,’ said Hanley.

Pringle’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, now you interest me strangely. I had almost forgotten why I enjoy history so much! Tell us more.’

L
ieutenant Colonel Moss was impatient and was never a man to suffer in silence.

‘Damn it, Toye, where the hell are they? Thomas has been gone for nearly an hour.’

Mr Thomas the adjutant had ridden off to look for the two missing companies less than twenty minutes earlier, but Toye did not think it prudent to point this out. ‘I am sure they will be back soon, sir,’ said the major guardedly. They were not too far from the men, and he was uncomfortable with appearing to criticise any other officer in front of them. Anyway, Thomas was reliable and would no doubt be back as soon as he could. The adjutant had joined as a private soldier and risen through sheer merit. If he was not the most elegant horseman among the officers, he was more than competent, and his little chestnut cob had plenty of stamina. Thomas would be back as soon as was possible. It was not as if they faced a real enemy.

Today Moss had divided the battalion. MacAndrews had been given the grenadiers and Companies One and Eight and sent off before dawn. They were to build a small redoubt on a prominent hill some three miles away. At ten the rest of the 106th would advance to take the position, forcing their way across a river en route. Moss himself led the main force of five companies to the bridge. The Light Company along with Number Five Company had been sent downstream to cross by the cattle ford and then move round to outflank anyone MacAndrews had posted to defend the bridge.

Yet when Moss and his men had arrived at the bridge there was
no sign of anyone. The ‘enemy’ were not waiting for them, nor w1">‘Light Company’s Captain Headley and his men. Moss had waited for five minutes and then the main force advanced over the humpbacked bridge to a low rise beyond it. They waited, and after a while he let the men sit down to rest. It was a warm day, and some were soon lying stretched out in the long grass. Quite a few of the older men dozed off, taking advantage of any chance to rest. Others were smoking their pipes. Most of the officers clustered in the centre of the line formed by the five companies. They remained standing, and a few had lit cheroots.

Hanley was the senior ensign in the battalion and so today was detached from the Grenadier Company and carrying the King’s Colour of the 106th. At the moment the large silk Union flag – it was more than six feet high and a little longer – remained covered by its protective leather case. He had been given a white shoulder belt fitted with a metal holder in which to rest the butt of the pole when he raised it high, but for the moment he let the heavy standard stand on the ground.

‘I suppose we ought to think of you as a spy, Hanley,’ said young Derryck cheerfully. He had only a week’s seniority over Ensign Trent, and so the latter was given the task of carrying the regimental colour. This had a small Union flag in the top left-hand corner. Normally the main field matched the colour of the collar and cuffs of a regiment – its facings. The 106th, however, had red facings identical in shade to the rest of the jacket. (As Pringle said, it rather suggested that their first colonel was not a man of great imagination.) As was usual in such cases, the 106th’s standard had a white field with a large red cross on it. In the centre of this, like the King’s Colour, was a green wreath containing the regimental number CVI in gold lettering. This colour also remained in its case, however. It was clear the weight was already tiring the diminutive Trent, but he stubbornly refused to let Derryck or anyone else hold it for a while to ease his burden.

Moss and Toye stood about fifteen yards ahead of the group of officers. At least Toye stood. Moss paced up and down restlessly. Now and again his angry tirades against the delay carried back to
where the others waited. Their horses were held by two soldiers who knew enough to keep their expressions utterly blank.

‘Where is the bloody man?’ asked Moss for the tenth time. ‘The goddamned ford is only half a mile away, what in the name of all that’s holy is damned well keeping him?’

‘I am sure Mr Thomas will be back very soon. Either with the companies or at least with news of them. Perhaps they got lost?’ suggested Toye, more for something to say than out of any conviction. He instantly realised it was the wrong thing.

‘For God’s sake they can’t have got lost. Even Thomas can read a map. So can that arse Headley. Bloody hell, it is a simple lane, and then they can follow the river to us.’ Moss was red in the face, his anger boiling over. Someone would pay for this. Still, he was a soldier and in war things went wrong. There was nothing to be done but carry on.

‘That’s it. I am not wasting any more time. They can catch up with us if they are able.’ Moss was already striding back towards the companies. ‘Mr Fletcher, fall them in if you please.’ The RSM’s voice echoed through the wide field.

‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked Toye.

Moss barely managed to bite back a cutting remark. ‘We must always be sure, Major Toye.’ With a struggle he managed to pause for a long moment. ‘If we wait any longer they may not arrive, and all the time we wait MacAndrews’ boys can be strengthening their position. So we go.’ Moss grinned. go.’ MoIf in doubt, go straight for the enemy’s throat!’ he declared cheerfully. Toye was unconvinced, but he smiled back, the habit of obedience strong. MacAndrews’ men had very few tools and were unlikely to construct anything too formidable. When Moss waved away the private leading his horse, the major felt obliged to do the same. They would both walk the last mile with the men.

Moss put the five companies into open column. They were not one of the wings of the battalion. Whether through design or chance the colonel had broken up the usual subdivisions of the 106th and scattered the companies. The change from line into column was a little slower and less tidy than usual. Moss
was displeased, and once they were on the move beckoned to the RSM and had a few words with him. Speed was what mattered, and he was not unduly concerned whether this offended the sergeant major’s fondness for precision in drill. ‘Being fast is the key, Mr Fletcher. That way you can respond to anything the enemy throws at you before they have time to think.’ He liked that, and made a mental note to tell his officers the same thing at some point.

Finally – it was now long past noon – the main force arrived at the foot of a gentle ridge. On a modestly projecting spur the dark red earth of a rampart stood out. It stretched for little more than thirty yards and was scarcely three foot high. There was a flurry of activity when Moss’s men appeared, and soon the earthwork was lined with two ranks of redcoats, the men in front kneeling.

‘Can’t see any sign of side walls,’ said Toye, as he and Moss studied the position through their telescopes. The colonel grunted in agreement, but was more concerned with the deployment of his men. He turned to see the RSM bellowing at the companies. To make the change into line more speedy, Moss had instructed him to form with the first company in the column as the centre of the new line. Arnold’s Number Three Company was at the head of the column, Davenport’s Number Seven behind them, then Mosley’s Number Four, Hamilton’s Number Six, and finally Kitchener’s Number Two Company at the rear.

With the men unused to their positions in this ad hoc formation, things had quickly gone wrong. Davenport’s men had wheeled to the left rather than the right and that left both them and Hamilton’s company trying to occupy the same position to the immediate left of Arnold. Both had to halt. The sergeant major marched stiffly over, yelling orders as he did so. Davenport’s men were already in place, so it was easier to turn Hamilton’s company about, wheel them round ninety degrees and then march them to form at the very far left of the line next to Kitchener’s Number Two Company. That left Mosley’s company on the far right, with a company-sized gap between them and Arnold’s Number Three. Fletcher had them turn to their left
and then march until they were in contact with the rest of the line. A good deal of more minor shuffling was required before the five-company line was ready, somewhat to the left of where it was originally intended to be.

‘A bloody shambles, Mr Fletcher!’ yelled Moss, unable any longer to hide his displeasure with his subordinates. The RSM stiffened slightly, but remained otherwise unmoved. Inwardly he was cursing his commander, who criticised him for his own haphazard instructions.

‘Sir, sir!’ A voice was crying out, and Moss heard someone run up beside him. He turned to see Mr Thomas on foot.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Moss spat the words at his adjutant.

Thomas was breathing hard as he came to attention in front of the colonel. ‘I beg to report that the flanking force has been captured, sir.’

‘What? What the devil are you blathering about, man? And where’s your screw of a horse?’ demanded Moss.

‘Ambushed, sir. Both companies were defiling through a sunken lane, and found MacAndrews had his men waiting for them. They rolled wagons behind and in front to block the lane, and then two of his companies popped up from the hedges. Had Headley and his men cold.’ For once Moss was speechless. ‘A neat piece of work. They had just sprung the trap when I arrived. It seemed only fair to declare the flanking force dead or captured.’

‘You did what?’ Moss was beginning to marshal himself.

‘Told them to pile weapons and sit down. They said that I was a prisoner and I told them that I damned well was not. So MacAndrews took my horse and said if that was the case I should walk back.’ Service in the ranks had long since taught Thomas to let a superior officer’s anger flow past him. He also took care not to reveal any trace of his own amusement.

Moss rallied, realising an opportunity. He turned to Toye, who was still studying the makeshift earthwork with his telescope. ‘Who can you see up there, John?’ he asked, deliberately using the major’s Christian name.

‘Captain Wickham. He is standing on the rampart. Couldn’t be anyone else.’

‘No other officers?’ enquired Moss eagerly.

‘No, sir. Not that I can see.’

‘Excellent,’ said Moss. ‘We have them, gentlemen. MacAndrews must still be away with the two companies and has just left the grenadiers to hold the redoubt.’ The term was rather grand for what Toye could see, but that was just the colonel’s way. Still, he had his doubts.

‘Maybe we just can’t see them?’ he suggested cautiously.

‘Nonsense. Use your head, man. Thomas here was on his own and has only just got back. Marching men move more slowly than an individual. MacAndrews is still away being clever and we outnumber the grenadiers by five to one.’ Thomas thought it unnecessary to mention that MacAndrews had made him pledge to wait half an hour before he started back.

‘Mr Fletcher,’ Moss called. ‘The 106th will prepare to advance. Uncase the colours.’ He would have liked to give the order to fix bayonets, but that could easily result in accidents and it was prudent to keep the sharp spikes in their scabbards. Still, the unveiling of the two flags gave the moment some drama. Moss felt the excitement rising, feeling the thrill of leading his own battalion – if today only part of it and not against a real enemy. That moment could not come too soon for him.

Moss waved away the soldier with his horse, and so of course Major Toye immediately did the same. The young colonel drew his sword, an expensive curved blade with an oriental-style hilt. He turned back to face the five-company line.

‘Boys, we’re going to take that hill! No shooting, we’ll just go straight at them.’ He nodded to the RSM. ‘Mr Fletcher, if you please. The battalion will advance.’

‘’Tallion will advance. Forward march!’ Moss was moving before Fletcher had finished calling the order. Toye was left behind and had to jog to keep up. Yet as the five companies moved forward the colonel slowed to the steady pace of the drill book. This was not a heady charge up the beach in Egypt, but a formal
attack on a strong position, and Moss wanted it done properly.

The 106th marched in silence. Even Hanley at the centre of the line found this stillness a little eerie. There was only the rattle of pouches and equipment, the swish of feet tramping through the long grass, the steady beat of the drums and now and again the sharp call of a sergeant rebuking any man who strayed even slightly from his position in the formation. The sergeants carried a six-foot pike known as a spontoon rather than the muskets of the ordinary soldiers. In each company they were stationed behind the second rank, ready to steady the men, and in extreme cases use the shaft of their pike to straighten the dressing or even force soldiers back into their position. A sergeant stood between Hanley and Trent. Another was to the young ensign’s left and four more stood in the second rank behind them. These men had as their sole duty the protection of the colours. As Hanley understood it, the protection of the ensigns carrying the flags was at best a secondary concern.

The line went up the gentle slope. The men still had their muskets shouldered. This made them easier to carry, but also its very nonchalance suggested a confidence that could unnerve a real enemy. There was no wind, and the silk colours hung lazily down. Hanley was glad of the belt to help him support the weight. He tried to look as rigid as the men around him, but still found something unreal about his life as a soldier and kept wondering when he would wake up from this dream. The playacting element of today – ‘fighting’ against their fellow soldiers and his own friends – made the whole thing more than a little absurd. The thought made him giggle, and it was difficult to suppress this and impossible not to smile in spite of the stern look from the sergeant next to him.

At one hundred and fifty yards, Moss saw the redcoats behind the low rampart level their muskets. Wickham had stepped down and the tall white plume of his cocked hat was just visible behind the shakos of his men. Then the whole line vanished in an explosion of dirty smoke. The sound of the volley came a little later.