‘Platoon, halt. Right face! Present arms!’ For just a second the RSM drew breath. ‘As you were, as you were.’ He paced along the line, back ramrod straight, his stick tucked ferociously under his arm. ‘Now I’m glad Mr Thomas can’t see you. You see, he’s a sick man. It’d kill him to see you! Now, we will do it again.’
If anything, there was even less of a spiritual quality to the celebrations in the mess that evening. Tomorrow was Sunday, and the battalion would rest and ‘make and mend’, repairing and cleaning uniforms and equipment. On the Monday morning they would begin the march to Portsmouth. The Saturday night was devoted to dinner in honour of Moss’s engagement. All officers were expected to attend, but the occasion was not open to wives, which gave a good indication of the type of celebration envisaged by the colonel. Champagne specially brought down from approval, own stocks flowed freely for a good three hours, before other bottles appeared.
Toasts were drunk to the colonel and his lady, to the regiment, to the army, to the King, to England, and to anything else they could imagine. Songs were sung, loudly and lustily, if with scant regard for tune or rhythm. As usual ‘Spanish Ladies’ was one of the most popular. A pitched battle was fought between the subalterns of the left and right wings, lobbing bread rolls from the heights of the long trestle tables which ran down either side of the room. Moss and the senior officers watched from the gallery above, and periodically lobbed apples at anyone they felt deserved to become a target. After that, things became a little more lively.
The main event was the joust, with the officers paired off in teams as charger and knight. The grenadiers inevitably found themselves acting as horses. Williams carried young Derryck, who proved himself a deft hand with the pillow used as a weapon. Especially satisfying was a rapid victory over Redman as charger and Hatch as knight, aided greatly by the latter’s advanced state of drunkenness. Hanley and Anstey offered more of a struggle, as surprisingly did a diminutive combination from the Light Company. In the end they faced the final challenge of Pringle and young Trent.
That battle lasted for a good five minutes, the two knights slogging away with pillows while the horses circled. Williams almost slipped on a puddle of spilled port, but managed to steady himself and grab Derryck before he tumbled down. Everything would probably have been fine had not Pringle seized the moment to shoulder-charge the volunteer. Williams and Derryck were flung back, knocking down one of the tables. Trent fell, but Pringle caught him and held him upside down by the legs, loudly proclaiming their victory. The shouted opinions on this seemed more in their favour than against, and Truscott’s comments on the value of an Oxford education were all but drowned out.
All in all it was a highly successful evening, especially since the injuries were all minor. Proceedings were less formal after the joust, but continued for another couple of hours. By then, a number of officers were slumped over the tables snoring noisily and exposed to the practical pleasantries of their comrades.
Williams had managed to avoid Redman and Hatch apart from during the joust. Sharing a tent, it was impossible to have nothing to do with Redman, but the ensign curbed his now bitter hostility when the other grenadier officers were present. As far as was possible, the two men ignored each other.
It was around two when Hanley, Pringle and Williams came out into the night air. The two officers needed to relieve themselves, so the volunteer waited for them, leaning against the side wall of the inn. He had discovered that he rather liked champagne, which seemed unfortunate given the state of his finances. Although the wilder aspects of mess life had never appealed to him, there had been an air of excitement about the evening which had in itself been intoxicating. The prospect of going to war, and the knowledge that both life and honour might well depend on the quality of the men standing beside you, was a powerful bond. For all their drunkenness and ribaldry, Williams felt very close to the officers of the 106th.
The sound of violent retching came from behind him. He turned to see Hatch bent over double as he threw up on the ground. Redman was patting him on the back. Williams felt a truce was in order.
‘Quite a night, eh?’
‘What the devil would you know about it, you goddamned peasant!’ Redman’s hatred was surprising. Even Hatch looked up with a puzzled expression
‘Just making conversation.’ Williams’ reply was mild, but he felt his anger rising.
‘Kiss my arse!’ Redman was almost screaming. Hatch tried to hush him, but was ignored. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace, having people like you pretending to be gentlemen.’
Williams shrugged. ‘You are drunk, otherwise I might take that personally.’
‘I’m not drunk enough,’ claimed Hatch.
Williams turned to walk away, making sure he moved slowly. Pringle and Hanley had emerged and looked confused.
‘Don’t you damned well dare turn your back on me,’ yelled Redman. ‘You hear me! You’re nothing. A piece of Welsh shit!’ Williams’ fingers flexed, but he kept on walking.
‘That wasn’t the first time I’ve had Jenny Dobson. Same with Hatch. You liked seeing her tits, didn’t you?’ Hatch was straight now, nervously watching the confrontation. ‘She’s just a young slut. A whore like your mother!’ Redman threw the taunts at Williams’ back, encouraged by his refusal to be drawn.
Pringle and Hanley came up to the volunteer. They fell in on either side of him and Pringle tapped him on the shoulder. Williams started at the touch.
‘Forget it, Bills. He’s just a drunk. Not worth the trouble,’ whispered Pringle.
‘You call yourself a gentleman. Where is your honour? Damn me, you’re a coward. A gutless coward.’ Redman was following, enjoying his victory. Hatch tried to pull him away, but he shook his friend off. ‘You think you’re better than me. You and your God.’
Williams kept walking with the others, one either side of him. Redman stopped his pursuit, was about to stalk away and then added as an afterthought, ‘Better than me, are you, you damned saint? What about Jane MacAndrews? We saw you. Wouldn’t mind ploughing her myself. Was she good?’
Redman was laughing when Williams spun on his heels, brushed off his friends and strode right up to him.
‘I will fight you any time and anywhere. With pistol or with blade.’ He almost spat the words. Redman’s eyes showed surprise, but no fear.
‘A pleasure,’ he said, seeming now a lot more sober. ‘I’ll enjoy killing you.’
‘Mr Pringle will act for me.’ Billy had forgotten his promise, never guessing that it would be taken up.
‘And Hatch for me.’ The nominated second was busy throwing up again.
‘Then there is no more to be said. Good night to you.’ Williams made a very precise about-turn and marched off five paces. Then he stopped. Slowly he turned and marched back as neatly as he had come. A few feet away from Redman he swung into a punch and his right fist struck the ensign cleanly under the chin. Redman dropped.
‘I forgot the insult,’ said Williams, and about-turned once again. Pringle joined him as he marched away, putting one arm around his shoulder. Hanley caught up with them.
‘That’s not quite the way you are supposed to do it,’ Pringle said mildly. Privately he was afraid his friend had just thrown away his career.
16
If Pringle hoped that the two men would have forgotten the challenge by the time they woke up then he was disappointed. He tried reasoning with Hatch. The ensign showed little enthusiasm for the duel, but had spoken to his friend and knew that Redman was adamant. Hatch could not really understand why. Pringle took him to see the adjutant, and Thomas made it abundantly clear that the colonel would not approve. Duelling was prohibited by the Articles of War, the strict code of military discipline imposed on the army by Horse Guards. Anyone surviving a duel would face court martial, and anyone who killed another in a duel was to be treated as a murderer.
These were hard rules to enforce, and often all witnesses somehow forgot everything when it came to giving tes
timony, as the regiment accepted that honour was involved. Mr Thomas made it clear that Moss would not permit this. If the young fools did not kill each other then they would certainly be dismissed. The adjutant also promised to keep quiet about the whole affair in the hope that the pair would come to their senses.
Hatch spoke again to Redman, and Pringle spent time with him as well as trying to reason with Williams. Hanley also did his best, and after a consultation they enlisted the ever affable Truscott, letting him in on the secret. Nothing worked. Redman could not remember the cause of the argument, but knew that he loathed Williams. He simply could not permit himself to back down. Williams spoke passionately about honour and defending a lady’s reputation. After a while he fell silent and simply looked stubborn and mulish.
Somehow they managed to convince them to wait. Williams in particular was a little reluctant to fight on a Sunday. They attended the church parade along with the rest of the battalion. No army chaplain was available, but Moss had pulled a few strings and secured the services of the dean of the nearest cathedral. It seemed proper to have a ceremony and ask divine blessing before the regiment went off to war. Afterwards Jenny Dobson married James Hanks in a much smaller affair conducted by the local curate, a painfully thin and lisping individual, who was very glad of his modest fee. The proper words were said and the marriage made legal, and Williams read a psalm and prayed at Dobson’s request. The old soldier had wanted someone who really believed to take part in the service, hoping this would make the bond more powerful. He had chosen Hanks for the girl, although Jenny had readily agreed. A quiet, gentle man, he would most likely be dominated by her, but at least he would be kind. Her father hoped she would respond to that and be faithful in turn. A lot of girls had worse husbands. Dobson knew that Hanks was not the father of the child growing in her belly. It did not matter, he was a good man and knew the truth.
After the ceremony there was a meal with most of the company invited. Finally, the new couple were escorted to a tent laid aside for their own use for the rest of the day – the men from it were crowded into other tents or would sleep beneath the stars. It would probably be the only taste of privacy the pair would have during their army life.
Even Williams was in no mood to think of fighting for the rest of the day. It was pleasant to have a leisurely day, although he was a little piqued when Pringle and Hanley insisted on accompanying him on a walk. In the event it was pleasant. They talked of history and books, and told stories of places they had been and people they knew. There were no chance meetings, agreeable or otherwise, and the whole country seemed to be asleep.
The next day the regiment marched off at 8.30 in the morning. The band played the inevitable ‘Girl I Left Behind Me’ and some of the men sang, changing the verse to ‘and now I’m bound for Portsmouth camp’. There was no real crowd to see them offad not been there long enough for there to be many girls left behind. The soldiers’ families walked at the rear of the column and the officers’ wives rode or travelled in carriages.
The roads were good, and though the day was hot, the regiment made good progress. Each time they came to a town the band struck up and they marched at attention, but there were never any crowds – no cheers or garlands. Soldiers were not an uncommon sight, nor an especially welcome one. The English were not fond of their army. The local belles lacked interest in regiments that did not stay long enough to flirt. Honest folk despised all redcoats as the drunks and criminals that some of them were. They took care to lock their doors and guard their livestock, both female and animal. The best the 106th could hope for in each place was the appreciation of gangs of small boys, and the sight of an old veteran standing to attention or a retired officer raising his hat. Sailors were the heroes – and usually at sea and so out of sight. Soldiers were a burden on the kingdom. Who cared that they marched off on some far-flung expedition? It would no doubt end in disaster and shame like so many others. Enthusiasm for helping the Spanish did not extend much outside London, or persuade anyone to show affection for the soldiers who would do it.
On the second day the Grenadier Company at the head of the column halted at a crossroads to permit a fine coach to pass. Moss raised his hat to the elderly occupant, who gave no more than a curt nod in response. The man’s companion, an elegantly dressed lady whose mature years were artfully concealed by her make-up, was more generous and leaned towards the window and waved a greeting. Her face was striking, and enough of her visible to hint at an excellent figure. Pringle whistled softly through his teeth.
‘The perks of wealth,’ he whispered to Hanley. ‘I wonder if I shall ever be able to afford such things?’
The ensign did not reply for a moment, and Pringle turned to see his friend staring after the swiftly departing coach.
‘I do believe that was my mother,’ he said at last. Pringle could think of no response beyond a hurried apology. Hanley was not inclined to speak of it any more.
The days of marching were long and left everyone weary. Pringle was able to persuade Hatch to move slowly and so no time was set for the meeting. There was no success in convincing Williams and Redman to relent. Although there were rumours of a quarrel, it remained a secret that a challenge had actually been issued. Yet suspicions were roused and the adjutant reminded Pringle of his earlier comments and expressed a wish that no meeting should occur.
Another distraction came on the third day, when the regiment encountered the 20th Light Dragoons, also on their way to embark at Portsmouth. Their dark blue jackets had yellow facings, and were richly decorated in front with rows of white lace which grew wider at the top, to make the men’s shoulders look bigger. Some of the officers affected pelisses, after the style of hussars. Officers and men alike wore tall black helmets with thick crests running from front to back.
‘Tarletons,’ muttered Major MacAndrews sourly. The headgear had been invented by Bloody Ban back in the American War. The Scotsman could remember the British Legion cavalry wearing the same helmets and their green uniforms as they galloped from the field at Cowpens and left the infantry stranded. MacAndrews was in a sour mood for the rest of the day, not helped by the frequent and ‘accidental’ comments by his wife and daughter as to how handsome the dragoons looked. Yet he was forced to be polite when the officers of the two regiments took lunch together at tables laid outside an inn. Moss presided, along with Lieutenant Colonel Taylor of the 20th.
There was usually a feeling of cordial loathing between different regiments in the British Army. Hostility between infantry and cavalry was even more firmly entrenched. Cavalry officers were paid more than their infantry counterparts. Their expenses were far higher, and service in the mounted regiments was almost exclusively confined to the rich and well connected. Still, the 20th’s commander was a genial man, and showed particular delight at the discovery that Pringle had gone to Oxford. Taylor had been at Christ Church and the two managed to discover a few mutual acquaintances and common haunts.
Amid the toasts and laughter the usual jokes and insults were exchanged. Pringle told Hanley the story of the cavalry officer who was so stupid that even his fellow officers noticed it. Williams chipped in to suggest that that one had first been told by Julius Caesar. The dragoons responded with jibes about yokels who had to walk everywhere, and dressed up pretending to be soldiers.
The dragoons moved on that evening. The 106th stayed where they were, but paraded to salute the cavalry as they passed. Ironic cheers went up when the third squadron of the 20th marched out on foot. Space was limited on the transport ships, and they were supposed to receive horses when they landed in Spain. Nothing delighted infantrymen more than watching cavalrymen marching in their awkward boots and tight breeches. The sergeants of the 106th gave the men a few moments before barking out the orders to be quiet.
The battalion rested for three hours, to give the cavalry time to move on. Most of the men were allowed time off, but the adjutant insisted that the recruit platoon did an hour’s drill. On this occasion he
watched as Redman ordered them through their paces. This he did with some competence. Afterwards, Hanley felt this was a good opportunity to talk to his fellow ensign.
‘Well done, John. I felt that even I knew what was happening some of the time.’ He offered Redman his hand, and the latter took it after a moment.
‘Well, some of the time is at least a start.’
‘Nonsensical, really, that I am senior to you, and yet they would scarcely let me give orders to a single sentry.’ Hanley was doing his best to be affable. Even sober, Redman was touchy and disliked any hint that he could be inferior.
‘Well, if all of us had influence.’ Redman’s tone was sharp.
‘Had is the word. The connection which got me my commission has now been permanently severed. I have no friends outside the regiment. I even have to survive on my pay!’ As soon as he said it Hanley realised that that was a mistake. As far as he knew Redman’s family gave him only the tiniest allowance and this caused him shame. Fortunately they had walked out of earshot of any of the men.
‘Money is not everything.’ There was no conviction in Redman’s voice, but pride and suspicion.
‘At least you have experience and talent.’ Hanley decided that flattery might work if he could appear sincere. ‘In war, advancement is open to the brave. Personally, I’ll be lucky not to trip over my own sword, but you could easily make a name for yourself.’
‘I will do my duty,’ said Redman defensively. After a while he added, ‘As I am sure will you.’
Oh well, all or nothing, thought Hanley. ‘Yet all that will go when you kill Williams.’
‘He has a chance in a duel.’
‘Oh, think, man. He’s just some lump of a religious clod. I’d back you any day with sword of pistol. He might be dangerous with a cudgel, but a gentleman’s weapons . . . ?’
‘Williams is your friend.’ The suspicion had returned.
True Soldier Gentlemen Page 17
