Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  tinued to thrash him until the bundle of twigs had disintegrated; by then Ram had fainted.

  Eyes glittering, Squiller swung on John. "So, sirrah, ye encouraged his assault on me. Down with thy breeks too!"

  But John, trembling, darted outside, flung himself upon his pony and didn't draw rein until he reached Dalesview, where he yelled that "maister" had cut Ram to pieces and was doing the same to all the other children, including himself.

  Will, having often felt the birch when young, would have dismissed the tale as fantasy, but Hannah shook her head. "I'll see for myself." Soon she was riding pillion behind him, with John trailing, proud to be bringing Gammer and Dad to the rescue.

  Back at school order had been restored, though the children's eyes kept sliding to the small boy lying face down on a bench, his own red coat thrown over him to hide his poor bottom. Ram was conscious but racked by shudders.

  Squiller still tingled with the exultation of having meted Divine Punishment upon the godless little hellion. Yet, had he gone too far? Suppose the child should die? Dame Anstruther was said to be merciless to all who crossed her. He swallowed hard.

  He swallowed harder when Hannah herself appeared, flanked by Will and with John tiptoeing behind.

  "What's this you've been doing to our Ram?" Her demand brought an awed gasp from the cowed pupils.

  He decided upon attack. Anstruther though she was, she was a woman and must give him deference. "I've scourged the corruption from the sinner, lest it destroy him." He retailed Ram's misdeeds: how, without cause, he'd turned upon angelic Dot and attacked her —he didn't say "carnally," though implied it. And when he himself had rushed to save her, the lust-crazed boy had actually attacked him!

  Will was duly impressed, but Hannah went over to Ram. "Lad, Gammer's coom for thee." She lifted the coat.

  "Butcher!" The impact of the word made Squiller gasp. Then the faded little woman was before him, her small eyes blazing.

  "The child's not hurt," he managed. "I did but—"

  "Will, thy whip!" She held out her hand. Will's jaw dropped.

  Lord, she was going to thrash the dominie! She mustn't . . . Slowly he handed her his heavy crop.

  Squiller's eyes sank deeper and glazed with horror. No, no! He, a late minister of God's Word, who'd . . .!

  The first lash curled around his calves. Before he could even yell, the second stung him. He backed vainly, but this fiendish woman followed him, whipping, whipping.

  "Mercy!" he implored and, in trying to escape, he tripped backward over a bench. Circling, Hannah caught him again and only when she was exhausted did she stop.

  "Think thasen lucky I didn't have Will tak' down thy breeksl" she panted. She faced the awed but fascinated pupils. "Go home. Tell tha faithers what I've done. This bum-brusher won't be usin' t'birch on tha backsides more, I'll warrant . . . John, Rob, get mounted." She went to where Ram was now standing, his breeches still around his ankles, droplets of blood on his shaking legs. His breath came in gasps and his hazel eyes stared unseeingly.

  An hour later he was in his truckle bed on his stomach, with greased linen over his wounds. He had a high fever, but when Joan suggested timidly that Dr. Blinkensop be sent for, Hannah sniffed. "Him, wi' his bloodletting an' all? Dost want Ram dead? Nay, get broth quick, to bring strength back in him."

  Ram never went back to school. John and Rob now attended Bowes Grammar School, but Hannah wouldn't send him with them. They, she felt, were of her own plain yeoman stock, unimaginative, stolid. But Ram was of finer breed; further floggings might break his spirit. Best let him stay at home awhile and forget.

  So he rode Battle, swam, met the boys returning from Bowes and grew stronger in wind and limb.

  The news sheets told of a great Allied victory at Oudenarde, and later in the year that they were besieging Lille. But never a word came from Dick.

  Will began to wonder. Were Dick killed, half-foreign Ram would be Dalesview's legal owner. Why then must he himself slave to build up the estate that could never belong to him or his? For the first time he knew the prickings of jealousy.

  The snow was crisp and deep one afternoon, early in 1709, as

  Ram rode through the gates. Yesterday, as he'd cantered all unsuspectingly around the lane's bend, the brothers had ambushed him with snowballs. Today was his turn. Tethering Battle before the bend, he began molding balls of his own.

  The clopping of hoofs! Now! He let fly his squashiest snowball. At once he realized his mistake. His target wasn't a boy on a pony, but a red-coated rider wearing a high conical cap. Came an angry bellow: "Dammit, what's here?"

  He had turned to run when the voice penetrated his memory.

  "Father!"

  "Hey, what, Ram, ye rogue? 'Od's life, boy!"

  He stared up at the red face down which snow was dripping, for the ball had hit just above the band of Dick's grenadier cap, upon which was embroidered the insigne of Howe's Foot.

  "Father, oh, Father!" He was weeping for sheer happiness. Father had come to take him back to the wars.

  "Damme, ye've grown! Here, not too hard 'gainst my side, it's still sore from a French bullet!" Dick had hauled him up onto his saddle. "How did ye know I was coming?" When he heard of the proposed ambuscade, he whooped: "Blast me, ye're a soldier born! Down with ye now and we'll give 'em a hot reception."

  Tying his mount beside Battle, he began making missiles of his own, while Ram gushed words like a mountain spring.

  "Quiet. Here they come." Dick raised his throwing arm. "Give fire!" But again came heavy oaths and again there was a redcoat on a rearing horse. In fact, there were three of them, all wearing tall caps like Dick's own.

  Dick laughed so hard he had to hold his wounded side. "Ecod, sergeant, I clean forgot you was at my heels! 'Twas smaller fry we expected. Aye, and here they are now, on your heels—my nephews. Damme, Ram, the trap's laid bare. Come, 'tis cold here and good cheer awaits us." He swung back into his saddle while Ram remounted Battle. "Tro-op, walk march!"

  Tliis homecoming was far different from his last. Now he came demanding. For he'd won his promotion and was back to recruit for Howe's Grenadier Company which he, Captain Anstruther, commanded. Even as he was kissing Hannah, he was explaining that he'd come seeking ten tall lads and needed loo guineas for ex-

  penses. He'd only a week to spare and he was taking Ram back with him,

  Hannah agreed as to the money but snorted that the camp was no place for a child. But realization of Dick's desperate need for the boy made her give in at last.

  Ram himself was sick with excitement, as were John and Rob, though with envy. Had Dick been recruiting boys under ten, he could have 'listed them and half of Bowes School as well.

  But, flanked by Sergeant Hodges and the two drummers he'd brought, he rode daily around the villages, seeking tall men to serve the Queen. He also offered the magistrates to take all paupers and malefactors who were sound and 5 feet 10 inches tall. So, because everyone was sure France must surrender soon, and because serving under an Anstruther would be a welcome change from wifely nagging or farm work, he got his quota and two more besides.

  A tailor came from York to make Dick and Ram new uniforms. But at Hannah's insistence Ram's fitted him more than loosely. "Dost think we're made of money?" she scolded. "The stuff's finest Yorkshire wool and will last years. The lad grows like a stalk and 'twill be small enough for him before tha knows."

  Dick was all afire to be off, but snow came again and threatened to block the roads. "I must be back before March ends," he fretted, pacing Hannah's ofEce. "And here I am, with a dozen undrilled clods and scores of miles from a port!"

  "Bide a few more days," she soothed and took a chinking bag from her escritoire. "Is it necessary, my fine captain, to march down all England to a port when one's not thirty miles off? Here's ample to charter passage for all from Stockton-on-Tees."

  His eyed bulged. All his life he'd had to wring every slight concession from her, yet now she was offering him
far beyond his dreams. He calculated: If he could get passage from Stockton, he'd gain at least two weeks.

  "Ma'am, you're a master of strategy," he vowed. "Duke John himself couldn't find a more genteel way of moving us."

  Then the last morning. Fred was to drive the wagon carrying the recruits' scanty gear—they'd get no uniforms until they joined Howe's overseas—and Dick and Ram's plentiful baggage: hams, cheeses, a hogshead of ale, an anker of brandy.

  Dick was already mounted, not on the hired hack he'd ridden home, but on Son of Alan, a chestnut stone horse and one of Dales-view's choicest. Ram, up on Battle, felt very, very proud.

  That pride was a little deflated when Gammer hauled him down and held him tight. "God be wi' ye, my bairn!" When she'd put him back, Dick swung her up before his saddle. "Lady Mother!" he blinked. "My thanks—for all."

  "Eigh, I'm reet proud of ye," she returned unsteadily. "Ye won thy promotion like tha father did before thee. God be wi' ye—and if so much as a hair of our Ram's head hurt, I'll coom larrup ye, big as tha art!"

  "Grenadiers, qui-ick march!" he bellowed. The drums rolled and they started down the driveway, John and Rob running alongside Ram—until Rob tripped and went headfirst into a snowbank.

  It was a long bitter march eastward, but to Dick it was glorious. It's Ram who has softened Mother, he decided. Next campaign she'll be even easier. I'll raise my dragoons yet.

  Ram was equally elated for the first ten miles. But by the time they reached Darlington and quartered at a tavern, he was just another tired little boy in need of warmth and sleep.

  Then on to Stockton. Here came a check, for no ships would leave for Flanders for weeks. So Dick had to embark aboard a cat carrying coals southward to Harwich, whence he must find another vessel to cross the North Sea.

  The recruits, along with Son and Battle, shared the hold with the coal, which Dick said should harden them. He and Ram were in the master's cabin. Hodges and the drummers berthed with the crew.

  At Harwich, another check, for the only Flanders-bound craft awaited a "very great person" and wasn't available for soldiers. Frustrated, Dick was pacing outside the harbor master's office when a coach drew up and three army officers descended. One was Marlborough himself! Dick swept off his cap, flustered. The duke bowed, scrutinizing him. "We've met before, sir, I think."

  "Captain Anstruther of Howe's, Your Grace. You were good enough to commend me for a small matter at Lille."

  "Ah, yes. Howe's lost heavily there. They'd have suffered even more but for your courage. My service to you, sir,"

  Made bold by such praise, Dick proved his courage yet again.

  "Your Grace, I've a dozen recruits, stout lads from my own home, but no way to cross. I need every hour to Hck 'em into shape. Could Your Grace order some ship to carry me?"

  "Sir, it's beyond my powers to commandeer private vessels," Marlborough smiled, "but I'll do better. Bring them aboard my yacht. We sail with the tide."

  An hour later, overwhelmed Dick had his men safely aboard, even the dullest of them awed to be sailing with Duke John himself. But Son and Battle were left behind, to be shipped later with some of Marlborough's own chargers.

  As the yacht reached open sea, Dick and Ram watched England dropping astern. "Mayhap I should have left ye back with Gammer," Dick teased and guffawed at Ram's look of horror. "Nay, you're safe. I couldn't put ye ashore now, even if I would."

  "His Grace commands your presence aft, sir." An aide had come up. "And bring this massive young grenadier with you."

  Dick chilled as he followed the major, with Ram trotting behind. What've I done to displease Old John? he fretted. Are my yokels so coal-dirty they disgust him?

  He was sure he had offended when Marlborough said sternly: "Sir, Her Majesty commands that her grenadiers include none under five foot ten, yet I find this midget with you. Do you think we can beat the French with such as he?"

  "He's no recruit. Your Grace, but my son," Dick explained. He hissed urgently: "Boy, make his Grace a leg!"

  Ram swept off his cap and bowed to the fine gentleman whose scarlet coat sparkled with so many jeweled orders. "Sarvent, sir."

  Duke John's lips twitched. "Your servant, sir." He glanced at Dick. "He goes into the field with you? His name?"

  "Ramillies, Your Grace—Ram for short. I'd the honor to serve Your Grace on that great day too."

  "But that's scarce three years ago. If he shoots up so fast, he'll indeed be a huge grenadier when he's fully grown."

  "He's nigh five, sir." Dick would never lie to the duke, but as he told of his wife's death and the boy's delayed christening until after the battle, he actually believed his tale. Ram was, had always been, his son, blood of his blood.

  "I, too, had an heir," the duke said somberly. "He died. Thus I

  envy you. If ever I can be of service to your little lad, command me." He turned away and Dick, head in clouds, marched Ram forward again.

  "Our fortune's made!" he exulted. "One day you'll be telling your son great Marlborough himself promised you his services."

  As straight as a ramrod, if not quite so high, Ram stood two paces rear of Father, who was front and center of his grenadiers.

  It was six months since that day aboard the yacht and once more Ram would be seeing Marlborough. For Old John had ordered a parade of his redcoats so that they could be inspected by his Austrian ally and brother-in-arms. Prince Eugene of Savoy.

  As The Two approached the company's front, Ram slued his eyes to watch them. Behind them lay Tournai, which had surrendered to them this very morning after a desperate three months' siege.

  "Attention!" Father blared and was instantly obeyed.

  "Highness, permit me to present Captain Anstruther," Duke John introduced. "He's served with honor these twenty years."

  Ram felt proud to see Father bowing to the prince, prouder when he realized the duke was beckoning to him also. Happily he marched stiffly to take post on Father's left.

  "Permit me to also present this fine young grenadier, Master Ramillies Anstruther, who's scarcely five," said Old John.

  Eugene's lips curved. "Monseigneur, vous autres Anglais, instruisez vos enfants de bonne heure dans I'art de guerre."

  "Perhaps one day he may have the honor of serving under Your Excellency," Marlborough added as the pair rode on.

  "Now they've both noticed us, our fortune's made!" Father gloated when the parade was dismissed, and he swung Ram high.

  Then it was time for Ram to ride with Carla on their daily foraging task. But though they tried till dusk, they couldn't buy or steal even a turnip, for after so long a siege the Allies had swept the land bare, so that now the peasants were starving.

  "Mother'll be angered," Carla shivered. "She'll beat me."

  "No, not now I'm grown," Ram reassured her stoutly. "If she even touches you, I'll have Father flog her. So there!"

  And indeed Meg merely shrugged at their failure. "Feed Dobbin and Battle good," she said. "We're to move any time now."

  "Move?" Ram remounted Battle. "I must report to Father."

  "Too late. The company's gone, like all the army's grenadiers. None knows where, save they marched east."

  Further, it appeared the rest of the army were striking tents, and by nightfall long columns followed eastward. But last-minute orders came that no camp followers could march till later.

  "Got's eyes, 'tis cheating us of our rightful loot," Meg smoldered. "A battle's sure, and they hold us back." But, while she and Nan and even Carla thus lamented. Ram had a more important worry: as a grenadier—hadn't the Duke himself called him so—his duty was to rejoin Father.

  After four days, Meg rebelled. "Pack," she ordered. "If we're sly, there's side roads none'll stop us on." So at moonrise they drove off, Ram riding rearguard against possible provost's men. But soon Battle lamed himself by stepping into a deep rut, so the pony was tied to the tailgate and Ram rode inside with Carla.

  With only brief halts, they went on all that night an
d the next day, sometimes seeing marching columns to the north. They did rest the second night, but Meg's impatience drove them on again at dawn. As they topped a rise, she pointed to a distant forest ahead, from which arose the smoke of many campfires.

  "Didn't I say I'd lead ye right? Look you, Scotch, drive awhile. I'm for sleep. If ye see provost men, turn out into the fields. They won't follow us far." Crawling inside with the children, she was soon snoring.

  But before long Nan reined in. "Meg, come quick!"

  Meg thrust her face out. "What now? Can't a body rest?"

  "Let be. D'ye see yon uniforms? White!"

  "Eugene's Austrians. Ye've seen 'em before, aye, and had truck with many of 'em, I think." Grumbling, Meg took the reins again. "There's our redcoats on the left." The forest, she saw, was wide, with many troops in white and red near its fringe.

  So it was that she blundered into the Irish Brigade on the left flank of the main French army; unaware that the opposing forces had become transposed, with the Allies now facing west and the French east and only the forest intervening. She hailed a redcoat and asked where Howe's grenadiers lay.

  He stared at her. "Glory be, how did ye come by English?"

  "Why shouldn't I come by it, ye Irish bogtrotter, even though I'm Welsh?" she countered amiably.

  He yelled something in a tongue, not unlike her native Cymric, which brought more redcoats running. Too late she saw that their coat facings were unfamiliar. A sergeant strode up. "Howe's is a Sasanach regiment," he scowled. "Wliy are you here?"

  "Gowd, 'tis the enemy!" Nan screeched and shot back inside the cart. Meg, however, stared defiantly at the swiftly growing crowd. "Ye'd not harm two poor ladies, I think?"

  "Women!" a man bawled. "Sasanach women!" whooped another. "And me that's not let down me breeches to aught but French trulls these five years!"

  Screaming, Meg lashed with the whip as men clawed at her. Nan, inside, did something that should have earned her a place in heaven, for, hissing at them to lie flat, she flung blankets over the children. Next instant she was dragged outside, scratching and squalling frantic protests.