Run Them Ashore

by Adrian Goldsworthy

‘Their main forces stay in the towns,’ Don Antonio told them. ‘They move around a lot. We can at least make them do that by threatening their outposts and making them march to the rescue. If nothing else, at least we shall wear out their boots!’

  Other guerrilla chiefs said much the same thing. The French were kept busy and were spread out in garrisons or mobile columns. Everything Hanley saw confirmed Major Sinclair’s reports, save that the partisans did not seem to think the foreign allies stationed in the area were of such low quality. Malaga’s defences were certainly weak.

  ‘Of course they are, man,’ Sinclair assured him when they encountered the major around the campfire of another band, a few days later. ‘It’s a plum ready to fall.’ The Irishman was pleased when Hanley told him to write a list of the aid he needed and where he would like it delivered, and even more excited to hear that there was a serious prospect of an expedition in the next few weeks.

  He was also still convinced of the low quality of most of the troops in the area. ‘Look, the irregulars are brave fellows, but to them all soldiers look the same. These Germans and Poles hate it here. They’re stuck in garrisons and murdered if they stray alone outside, and all this for an emperor who doesn’t give a damn about them and shows it. Why, a good quarter of El Lobo’s band are deserters – Swiss, Italians, Germans, Poles, and God knows what else. There are some with nearly every leader.’

  Hanley had to admit that was true. El Blanco and a few others led only Spaniards, but in several bands he had seen such men, usually silent and often grim. They had fled from their regiments, and tended to fight with the desperation you would expect from men whose only alternative was the firing squad.

  On the last day they looked at one more French outpost.

  ‘Moorish work, I do believe,’ Williams said, as he studied the sand-coloured fort overlooking the sea.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Hanley said after he had taken a turn with his friend’s telescope. ‘Three guns by the look of it.’

  ‘That is Sohail Castle,’ Vega informed them, and smiled. ‘I was born in the village near it. It is called Fuengirola.’

  Two hours after sunset they showed a lantern from the beach, and Sparrowhawk’s gig pulled through the surf to take them off. Hanley was well pleased by the success of the mission, encouraged by the spirit of the guerrilleros and the quality of the information they had supplied. Yet most of all it was the ease of it. For five days they had ridden almost at will through land occupied by the enemy. They had seen plenty of little French outposts, but only twice had they seen cavalry patrols, and in each case only from a distance. El Blanco had teased one group of dragoons, running away, and then appearing again in plain sight, always just out of reach. For two hours the horsemen in their brass helmets and green jackets had followed. No shots were fired, for the enemy never came within range, but it was a fine display of cunning and easy familiarity with the ground. Don Antonio’s Andalusian horse had not even broken into a sweat.

  This coast was vulnerable, Hanley was sure of it, and said as much to Williams as the boat pulled them across to the brig.

  ‘Very well,’ he said with an air of exasperation, after his friend did no more than grunt and rub a deep gouge on the side of the boat. ‘You tell me what I have missed?’

  ‘I am not privy to the councils of the mighty, so I may be the one who does not see clearly.’

  Hanley pressed him. ‘Come on, Bills. Something is worrying that fat head of yours and I would like to know what it is.’

  ‘I do not believe that the enemy are demoralised,’ Williams said. ‘From what I have seen of them, Napoleon’s allies fight as hard as the French.’

  ‘Well, others have similar doubts, but that does not alter the fact that their garrisons are widely dispersed. They are vulnerable,’ Hanley insisted.

  ‘Yes, the enemy is not prepared to meet an attack from the sea. The opportunity you speak of exists. Yet from the little you have said, I am puzzled as to what such an attack is meant to achieve. Are we to hit for the sake of it or with clear purpose?’

  It was a question Hanley dared to ask a few days later when he was back in the stateroom of the Milford in conference with the admiral and his chaplain.

  ‘The wisdom of a lieutenant.’ Sir Richard Keats chuckled to himself. ‘Ah yes, Williams of your regiment. Do you know General Graham himself mentioned the fellow to me quite specifically? Think of that. It seems this subaltern has caught his eye and so he asks me “not to steal promising officers from the army without good reason”. The impudence of the man.’ The admiral chuckled again. ‘Yet your lieutenant has asked a most pertinent question.’

  Sir Richard paced over to stare out of the stern window. There were distant pops from near the French-held shore as some of his gunboats engaged their French counterparts. ‘They’re damned lively today,’ he said. Hanley and Wharton waited in silence.

  ‘Malaga,’ Sir Richard said at last, still staring from the windows. ‘If we can take Malaga and hold it then not only will we deny the privateers a base, but it will be a thorn in the French side. They will have to concentrate troops to mask it and keep them there, and even then will not be able to stop us raiding and supplying the irregulars. If thousands of their soldiers are tied down watching Malaga, then it will make it harder for them to bring their full force against Cadiz, and harder too for them to support the assault on Portugal.’

  The admiral nodded. ‘Yes, if we can do that then it will be well worthwhile.’

  ‘You do not sound sanguine, Sir Richard,’ Wharton ventured.

  ‘Well, it may work. But the truth is that Campbell dreamed up this idea, the Spanish want it, and there are times when it is better simply to try anything than to do nothing.’ General Campbell was the governor of Gibraltar. ‘I would prefer Graham to be in charge, but he has plenty to keep him busy securing Cadiz. The Regency Council had done next to nothing to prepare for the siege. Indeed, had it not been for the initiative of one Spanish general who came here against his orders, then the place would have fallen to the French and the war in this part of the world would be over – maybe the war in the whole country.’

  ‘The Duke of Alburquerque,’ Wharton explained.

  ‘Yes, I have had the honour of meeting him. He impressed me greatly,’ Hanley said. ‘But I did not know he was in Cadiz.’

  The admiral snorted in disgust. ‘He’s not, not any more. The fellow saves Spain, saves her government anyway, and then gets torn to shreds in the newspapers. Always plenty of rivals for a successful man, and they weren’t going to let him show judgement as good as that and take the credit for it. He is now ambassador in London, if you’ll believe it! While we have to deal with bloody-minded clowns like Blake and old women like La Peña! It is enough to make a man weep.’

  ‘Lord Turney will lead the expedition itself,’ Wharton said.

  ‘He may be up to it. I cannot say I care for the man, but he has a good deal of experience.’ Sir Richard glanced sharply at Hanley, no doubt with regret at expressing his opinion before so junior an officer.

  ‘Yes, he may do well, and this could prove a great stroke. Malaga would be a prize.’ Sir Richard came back from the window. ‘Now then, what does that remind me of ?’

  ‘The Liberté, Sir Richard,’ Wharton said.

  ‘Of course, of course. I think it important you know, although you must not speak of it. That boat your friend Williams helped cut out – here is the damn fellow again intruding everywhere. Well, she was more important than she looked, for she was carrying more than bales of cotton.’

  ‘Gold, Hanley.’ Wharton enjoyed revealing the secret. ‘Six chests full of gold coin. And a senior French officer, although sadly your friend and the other boarders cut him about so much that he has been in no position to talk.’

  ‘Pay for the army?’ Hanley suggested.

  Wharton looked dubious. ‘Maybe, maybe not. It would seem odd to risk sending that by sea. No, that suggests they needed the money quickly – perhaps to buy sup
port?’

  ‘The Frogs are up to something,’ Sir Richard cut in, ‘so we must cut across their bows and rake them before they can do it. We can start by taking Malaga, and you can help Lord Turney do it – you and that friend of yours. Promising officer indeed! I am sure General Graham would be happier if the two of you do not get killed in the process.’

  ‘That is kind of the general,’ Hanley said.

  Sir Richard grinned. ‘Well, he is a sentimental old fellow. I should also like you back, because you seem to have your uses. Good luck, Hanley, good luck to all of us.’

  ‘Amen,’ the chaplain added.

  11

  ‘So you bring me to watch a battle, Mr Williams,’ Jane MacAndrews said, slim eyebrows raised. ‘Some might consider that a strange choice of sights likely to amuse a young lady. Or did you perhaps bring me here so that we could quiz the crowd assembled to witness the slaughter from afar? There are plenty of ladies among them. Do you see the one with the red scarf – mantilla, I believe it is called in case you do not know. She is on the arm of that elderly gentleman in the frock coat and tall hat. Now, do you believe her to be his daughter, or the young wife sold in marriage by a cruel stepfather to an ancient and wicked old miser? Or is there something worse in her tale?’

  Williams knew that he was not being very good company this morning, and struggled for something to say. The ramparts were thronged with civilians and some soldiers staring north at the headland curving round at the far end of the bay. There was a French fort at Santa Catalina, and today the British and Spanish gunboats were to attack it at ten thirty. The whole town appeared to know all about it, and so the crowd had gathered. Williams doubted that the French would not have seen the boats and other vessels assembling for the assault, but even so was worried that there was so little secrecy. Rumours spread in Cadiz even faster than the yellow fever raging in some of the poorer areas.

  ‘Your thoughts suggest a changed taste in novels, Miss MacAndrews, running more to the macabre and Gothic than the humorous,’ he said at last. There was so much he needed to say, unpleasant though it was, but he did not know how to say it. The girl overwhelmed him. There were plenty of other attractive, even beautiful, ladies, a good number of whom were lively, witty, accomplished, and some even brave, but none thrilled and daunted him as she did. Being in her company – especially like this, alone in her company in spite of the crowd – brought him a joy he had never otherwise experienced, even now when it was laced with the bitter knowledge that he could no longer in decency hope to win her heart.

  ‘A response,’ Jane said. ‘One might even say a gentle riposte. So in turn may I suggest that your own fondness for the dramatic and the grim has also grown. Last week it was an attempted assassination by ruffians, and now a battle. If I let you escort me next week then what am I to expect? A grand gladiatorial combat perhaps?’ The girl leaned her head forward so that she could peer up at him, trying to look like a tutor reproving a child. ‘Or perhaps pirates will descend to plunder and burn, and I shall be carried off to the harem of a Barbary sultan? Do you think I should be flattered by the gauzy garments that heroines in stories are forced to wear in such circumstances? I believe I might carry off a veil.’ She pulled loose the long ribbon tying her bonnet and stretched it across her face. ‘But would you come and rescue me, Mr Williams, climbing the castle walls and carrying me back to the bosom of my family with virtue still intact?’

  That was no real question. Williams had fought to protect this girl before, and would not hesitate to do it again. He would die for her without hesitation, and would certainly kill for her.

  ‘Well,’ he said, and spread his hands in apology, ‘I do have many duties keeping me busy.’

  Miss MacAndrews tapped him lightly on the arm in reproof, and the crowd gasped and then cheered because a long object had shot into the sky. It sparked with flame and trailed a long streak of smoke, and a moment later a high-pitched screaming sound reached them. The missile arched high and then looped back to fall in the sea a hundred yards short of the French battery.

  ‘A rocket,’ Williams said. ‘A Congreve rocket. I have never seen one before.’

  A dozen gunboats fired, flashes, puffs of smoke and then dull booms as the sound wafted back to the shore. In reply the fort blossomed clouds of smoke. One of the Navy’s bomb vessels joined in, and Williams was amazed to see its hull shudder when the great mortar fired. The flight of the shell was clear to the naked eye, and reminded him of the bombardment at Ciudad Rodrigo earlier in the year. From this distance it all seemed harmless, a display less impressive that the fireworks in Vauxhall Gardens, but he had plenty of memories of the carnage wrought by jagged fragments of shells, or the ease with which heavy shot ripped men into fragments.

  The crowd applauded, and then cheered when another rocket shrieked into the sky.

  ‘I should say that the carnage appears to be a popular success,’ Miss MacAndrews said.

  ‘Surely you did not think that I would bring you to an inferior engagement? No, no, I gave strict instructions to the admiral to ensure satisfaction. What would best entertain a young lady, I said to Sir Richard – failing a descent by Barbary corsairs, which he was unable to lay on. I must have nothing but the best, I said.’

  ‘Perhaps next time the admiral might instead suggest that we attend a race day. I understand that several are planned by the regiments on the Isla for later in the month.’

  ‘There will be fewer explosions,’ he explained, breaking the news to her gently. ‘And certainly no rockets.’ Another Congreve whizzed into the air, going lower this time and diving into the cloud of smoke surrounding the French position. The sound of firing was now a steady rumble.

  ‘Nevertheless, a race meeting has considerable advantages. For one thing it is far easier to know what is appropriate to wear. I do not know whether this is suitable for today’s occasion.’ Miss MacAndrews had on a dress in Indian muslin, white with a faint pattern of fine flowers. A deep blue jacket protected arms and neck, gloves covered her hands, while the broad-brimmed straw hat worn tied as a bonnet shaded her face. She once again wore her hair down, the thick mass of curls falling around her shoulders. Further shelter was provided by a new parasol, and the absence of any but the faintest breeze made this easy to manage. ‘I feel safe from the sun, but is it all appropriate for watching mortal combat?’

  ‘You look magnificent.’ He wondered whether he should mention that such fashionable gowns were sometimes a little revealing when bright light met shadow. Presumably that was occasionally true in England – he had certainly seen a cartoon on that very theme, with fat gentlemen leering at the silhouettes of young ladies in the latest fashions.

  ‘You truly look magnificent,’ he repeated. ‘I do not believe there could ever be any sight more lovely.’ He meant every word, but cursed himself for he should no longer say such things. There was no hope.

  Miss MacAndrews smiled. ‘There now, was that so difficult? It is merely courtesy for a gentleman to pay some compliment to a lady when he escorts her out. Some admiration of a bright ribbon or a new fabric will usually suffice. But I shall take “magnificent”.’ Her eyes flicked down for a moment, a practised gesture although one he knew also marked real emotion. Then she looked up and the mischief was back. ‘However, I am left unsure whether this is suitable for a battle at sea.’

  ‘You can never be too well dressed to be a corpse,’ Williams said under his breath, his harsh thoughts bringing the saying to mind.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It is something French officers say. They like to dress well for a battle in case it is their last.’

  The girl frowned and was silent for a long time. More rockets flew high, and the bomb ship fired again. Williams thought that it must take a long time for them to load so cumbersome a weapon. One of the gunboats rowed back towards them, withdrawing from the fight, but the others continued to pound the fort. Now and then plumes of water were flung up by the French return fire. />
  ‘Do you wish to die, Hamish?’ It was rare for Miss MacAndrews to use his Christian name and always a sign of intimacy and her seriousness. With her soft voice, touched with no more than the merest hints of Caledonia and the Carolinas, she managed to bring him close to caring for the name.

  ‘My soul is secure,’ he said. ‘The saved sinner does not need to fear death or what follows.’ For all his fervent belief, Williams rarely spoke about his faith, fearing to boast. He hoped he lived in a worthy manner. Miss MacAndrews’ faith was not the same, but he felt it to be real and differing only in detail.

  ‘That is not what I asked.’ She lightly bit her lip, and he recognised another sign of deep consideration and earnest purpose.

  ‘I hope to live to a ripe and active old age,’ he said. ‘And I am prudent enough to wish for a peaceful end. Not fearing for what follows does not mean I do not care for this world – or some who are in it.’ Damn, he should not have said that, but the words rushed out before thought took control.

  Another dip of the eyes showed an appreciation of the compliment. When first he had met her, Jane had done such things with art, changing her manner to win over whoever she was with. She was still well able to flirt with the best of them, but was more natural with her true friends. That only made her manner all the more overpowering – and her anger terrible.

  ‘Then why do you fling yourself into danger so recklessly?’ Miss MacAndrews flushed with a deep rage, only just under control. Her eyes were moist. ‘Why do you seek death as if nothing in life could matter?’

  Williams reeled at the unexpected onslaught. A bigger explosion came from the French battery at La Catalina. There were shouts of joy from the crowd. The girl took his hand, pressing it tightly. ‘I am a soldier,’ he managed to say. ‘My duty takes me into danger.’

  ‘Was it duty that had you volunteering to join the Navy and raid an enemy port! Was it duty had you climbing on to a ship filled with enemies!’

  ‘You have been talking to Dobson, Miss MacAndrews.’