Whose Business Is to Die (20 page)

‘We know Mr Hanley, Mama,’ Jane MacAndrews said, ‘it is not necessary for the sake of decency.’

‘Stuff and nonsense, child, I do not care too much for that, but I have not ridden so far in wind and rain to miss out on hearing of this secret.’

In the end they agreed, at least to make an attempt, and arrangements were made. After that he went to see Jenny Dobson, determined to make the most of his last chance to visit for some time.

‘Keen, aren’t you,’ she said, as he came in and took her in his arms.

15

W
illiams heard the news when he visited his friends in the 106th. It was a fleeting opportunity, seized when he was sent back to Marshal Beresford’s headquarters with a report and was told to return in three hours to receive new orders to carry back. The Fourth Division were near by, had been dismissed from morning drills, and so he found Pringle and Truscott ready to take lunch.

‘One may suspect a friend who only appears when food is on offer,’ Truscott said without looking up.

‘One might also suspect a fellow who clears off just before the regiment is to be set to labouring,’ Pringle added happily. ‘Oh, not to loaf about on the staff like others I could mention. No, it is simply that the gallant Captain Truscott is to serve as an assistant engineer, and so the real work is left to poor silly fellows who lack the learning or connections to seek higher callings.’

‘I suspect it will be an arduous and dangerous task,’ Williams suggested.

‘Not the way Truscott will do it, I’ll be bound.’

‘Friendship is such a rare and precious thing,’ Truscott said. ‘In truth I had forgotten putting my name forward many months ago, but the colonel remembered when the request came round. It should be of interest at the very least, for unlike you fellows I have never witnessed a siege.’ Pringle, Hanley and Williams had all been on detached service in Ciudad Rodrigo when the French took the place in 1810, but Truscott had remained in England with the battalion.

‘You can have my experiences and welcome to them,’ Pringle
declared, ‘but since we were inside rather than outside, they may not be of much help. I can tell you one thing of profound importance that will guide your hand at every stage, for it is the secret road to success.’

‘Then I lend you my ears.’

‘Thank you, I am sure they will prove indispensable. For the moment it will be sufficient to listen. You too, Bills, for this is the voice of wisdom and maturity, and all the lore of the ancients. So are you listening?’ Pringle was going red in the face, a sure sign that he was revelling in his own wit. They nodded.

‘Good. Well, this secret way takes ten years, and once you have waited that long you must … find a good supply … of wood …’ Pringle was struggling to get the words out as he chuckled with delight. ‘And then … and then … you must set about building a great horse …’

Williams groaned. Truscott flicked hot stew from his spoon and Pringle swayed out of the way, lost his balance and fell off the camp stool, still roaring with laughter and somehow keeping his own plate level.

‘I have missed listening to you fellows,’ Williams said.

‘Our intellect is surely far greater than that of mere staff officers.’ Pringle was rolling as he tried to get off his back without spilling his meal. His glasses had slipped up on to the top of his head.

‘Dear God, I hope not,’ Truscott said, and then looked at Williams. ‘Sorry.’

‘You know I never complain,’ he replied.

‘Yes, that is why I apologise, my dear Williams.’ Truscott had always been a serious-minded fellow for all his jollity.

‘If you have quite finished a comrade in arms requires your aid,’ Pringle called, having failed to work out how to get up without dropping his food. ‘Anyway,’ he added, as Williams took the plate and gave him a hand up. ‘I shall be left here to keep an eye on things, and attempt to cope with whatever havoc young Mr Truscott can wreak.’

Williams had already heard about the ensign’s folly at Olivenza.
‘He broke the main pole on the colonel’s tent last night,’ Truscott added. ‘He has taken to drinking with some of the other subs and fell against it.’

‘Heaven knows how he did it,’ Pringle said. ‘The thing was twice as thick as your thumb. I could not have snapped it if I tried with all my strength.’

Williams shared their meal, and they chatted happily about the affairs of the 106th and of people they knew. Apart from the antics of Truscott’s brother, and the usual minor accidents and misadventures, all seemed to be well – and Williams tried not to be too excited by the discovery that Miss MacAndrews was not so very far away after all.

‘Mary Murphy is as big as house,’ Pringle told him, ‘and the surgeon says that the child should be born in about a month.’

‘And more to the point the women of the regiment agree,’ Truscott cut in, ‘and they are far more likely to know about such things than that old drunk.’ Williams was pleased, for Sergeant Murphy’s wife had lost a baby to the bad weather and fever a few years ago.

‘I am hoping to make sure that she is in a house when the time comes and has plenty of chance to rest afterwards.’ The sergeant was in Pringle’s Grenadier Company. ‘Mrs Dobson is keeping a close watch on her. And yes, she is well, and so is old Dob.’

An hour and a half went by in stories and nonsense before any of them noticed.

‘I must go,’ Williams said.

‘Eats up our poor meagre fare and then bolts once the larder is empty.’ Pringle shook his friend firmly by the hand. ‘Off to find an excuse to go to Elvas, no doubt.’

The thought had certainly occurred to Williams, and at the very least he felt that he must write after all, since then his apology could be followed by the pledge that he would soon be able to repeat it in person. He did not know where he stood, whether any hope at all was left, but as always even the possibility
of meeting Jane thrilled him and made him forget his fears and despair.

‘I doubt that I shall be so fortunate,’ he said, and then had a thought. ‘However, if either of you should be sent to the place and have the time to call on Major MacAndrews’ family, then I trust that you will give them my very best wishes.’

Pringle patted him on the arm. ‘Of course we shall.’

The orders were not ready when Williams returned to the marshal’s headquarters in a big farmhouse. The commander himself passed while Williams stood outside waiting and filling the time by talking to a captain in the deep blue uniform of the Portuguese service. Beresford noticed him, and glared – although with his one good eye his expression may have seemed more hostile than was intended. Colonel D’Urban gave him a friendly nod.

‘Our fellows are splendid,’ the captain went on. Like all the British officers who had transferred to a Portuguese regiment he had received a step in rank. ‘It is quite splendid how they have come on. But they are not big men. Half my regiment is barely an inch or two over five foot and they are slightly built – strong for their size, but then, as I say, their size is not great.’

The captain had received an issue of spades, picks and other tools and been asked to see how well his men worked with them. ‘The shafts were all too long for them, far too long, and the tools themselves simply too heavy,’ the captain told him. ‘They did their best, but worked clumsily and were soon tired out. I cannot see us being of much use unless someone finds us something better made and more suited to their size.’

Williams declined the offer of a cigar, and after a while the captain was drawn away by a rather harassed-looking engineer, with black facings on his navy blue coat. He got the impression that this was simply one more piece in a long stream of bad news.

After half an hour he was summoned and D’Urban in person gave him a heavy sealed envelope. ‘We shall be keeping you all very busy,’ he announced with a smile. ‘And I shall hope to meet you more than once.’ There was no verbal explanation to
accompany the instructions, and so Williams saluted and went outside to where Musket was tethered. He had noticed a basket of pears, so took one and offered it to the gelding. It vanished in just a couple of large bites, so he patted the horse’s neck and climbed into the saddle. He was growing fond of the animal, almost as much as he was of Francesca. The chestnut remained a fragile beast, even if Stiles promised to fix him in time.

Lieutenant Colonel Colborne took the new orders and went alone to study them for a good half-hour, working with a map spread out on his little table. When he called Dunbar and Williams in, he had the eager, predatory look that the Welshman had not seen since the early morning at Campo Major.

‘We have a job to do,’ he announced. ‘One that will keep us all fully employed and should prove amusing, but the key will be to march hard and fast and never give the French a chance to regain their balance. Gentlemen, we are going south.’

It was to be a raid, launched by the brigade supported by a couple of Portuguese squadrons and a pair of light field pieces provided by the Spanish. There would be other Spanish detachments moving parallel with them in the first few days, but after that they would be on their own.

‘“The object of this movement”,’ Colborne read from the orders, ‘“is to check the inroads of the enemy’s parties of pillage, to give confidence to the people of Estremadura, and to cover the collection of our own supplies, while it would announce in Andalusia the neighbourhood of a British force by showing troops on the frontier.” Just that, and no more, so as you see we have considerable freedom to act. All told it is believed that there are eight or nine thousand French soldiers still in Estremadura, but they are dispersed, and we must not let them concentrate or realise how few we are by comparison.’

The colonel chuckled. ‘As you can see, we shall have plenty to do to prepare, so we had better begin now.’ They worked for the rest of the day, taking a brief dinner in his tent, still gathered around the map. Distances were measured, routes discussed and plans made for each possible occurrence. Dunbar rode out to
visit the four battalions and give warning of the move so that they could ready themselves, repairing shoes, and drawing any food and ammunition they lacked. Only a small baggage train of mules would accompany them, for ox carts were too slow.

The next day it was much the same, as every detail was set out. The guns arrived, little four-pounders drawn by teams of mules, commanded by an eager young captain who looked as if he knew his business. Williams rode out with Colborne and Dunbar to inspect the battalions, to welcome the newcomers, and to take a look at the first stretch of road they would follow. Then he rode out on his own for a longer reconnaissance. The rest of the day was spent in copying down orders. In the sole, very brief lull, he forced his stiff fingers and aching wrist to write the long-delayed letter.

Dear Miss MacAndrews

I hope that you are well, and that the same is true of your good mother
.

Please accept my most sincere and deepest apologies for my outburst at our last meeting – I shall beg your forgiveness in person at the earliest opportunity
.

Miss MacAndrews, you cannot be under any illusion as to my sentiments. They have not changed, nor do I believe them capable of change
.

yrs in haste
H. Williams

30th April 1811

He handed the letter to a commissary who was heading back to the Fourth Division and promised to find someone going to Elvas if he did not go there himself in the next few days. Williams was too tired and too busy to spend much time reviewing the composition. Part of him wondered whether the girl ever spent hours puzzling over his phrases from their meetings or their
correspondence and trying to see beneath the surface. Somehow, he doubted it.

The next morning the drums beat and the Light Company bugles sounded at a quarter to five, an hour and a half before dawn. Each battalion mustered at its alarm post, then marched to form up, right in front, ready to move.

Colborne and Williams visited the picket line, confirming as expected that there was no sign of the enemy, and gave orders for them to return to their units. Dunbar was waiting for them as they rode back to the head of the paraded brigade.

The captain saluted. ‘All present, sir.’

‘Very good.’ Colborne turned to the Portuguese major in charge of the cavalry. ‘You may advance, Major.’

Dunbar went to his station with the advance guard, a company of the 1/3rd. The rest of the battalion was formed ready to follow. Behind them were the guns, then the 2/48th with buff collars and cuffs, the 2/66th with their green facings, and with the 2/31st, apart from one company, bringing up the rear of the main force. The baggage was behind them, with the women, children and other followers, at least as far as they could ever be regulated. All that could be ensured was that they were not permitted to walk with the formed companies. The rearguard was provided by the company from the 2/31st. Like the other battalions apart from the 66th, these men had buff facings, even though they had not yet the antiquity of this distinction or the seniority of the 3rd Foot or ‘Old Buffs’.

‘By sections of three, march!’ Dunbar called out the order a half-hour before dawn. It was already growing quite light and the intention was to cover a good stretch of ground as early as possible in case the day proved hot. At the moment there was no sign of rain, and the roads they were to follow were baked dry and not seas of mud.

The advance guard moved off. Colborne said nothing as he watched them march, ranks neat and arms sloped on the left shoulder, each man stepping as close to the regulation thirty inches as was humanly possible. Williams could sense the colonel’s
pride and contentment. The entire procedure was a familiar one, and yet there was something of near-mystical satisfaction in watching all their efforts and those of others fuse together, and seeing the brigade move like some great machine.

‘Earth has not anything to show more fair,’ he thought, as the Buffs came past, and then each battalion in turn.