Run Them Ashore

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  She nodded. ‘It took some time to worm it out of him – and then more about the summer and battles and sieges. In the end he enjoyed himself telling stories about you. He laughed and said that it was amazing that you came through it all with scarcely a scratch, and that you acted as if you were afraid of nothing.’ She frowned, struggling to understand. ‘Do you believe you cannot be hurt, or does life hold so little worth to you?’

  ‘I know that I can be hurt. There are so many things I have seen – worse than anything I could ever have imagined before I enlisted. If they can happen to others they can happen to me.’ This hurt now, in a different way, for the girl’s concern was surely stronger than that for a friend. ‘Your father is a soldier,’ he went on. ‘I should have thought that you would understand the perils incumbent on any officer. If I am to be a soldier then I would wish to be a good one, to prove myself, and for advancement.’ He wondered whether Dobson had told the lady of how her father had led a desperate charge just a few months ago, riding up a hill at the head of a mix of men from several corps, somehow driving the French back. Men had fallen all around him and yet the major rode unscathed.

  ‘Advancement.’ She spoke with obvious disappointment and more than a little scorn. ‘Is that all it is for, Hamish? Vanity and gain!’

  ‘No. There is no choice, for I am a poor man and I must do my best to rise. Otherwise I could never offer comfort and security.’ How could he explain? If he rose and kept rising in the army, became colonel of his own battalion, then he would be a man of some means. Not equal to the girl, but not so much poorer. Then, but only then, might it be honourable to seek her hand. Yet how long would that take – ten years if he enjoyed the greatest good fortune ever a man could, but twenty more likely, or never at all. MacAndrews had served for thirty-five years and was one of the finest soldiers he had ever known and was still a major. He could not ask the girl to wait, even if she were so inclined.

  ‘I am no longer so very poor.’ She spoke slowly, and once again her eyes flicked down from his gaze and did not look up. ‘Comfort is pleasant enough, but far from everything.’

  ‘Honour.’ He gasped the word, clinging to it although the taste was so bitter. ‘It would not be right. Not equal,’ he tried to explain. He wanted to hold her, to press her tight, but this was agony for it was the closest she had ever come to hinting at feelings matching his own and now it was too late.

  She looked up, eyes moist, but with fire in them again. ‘If it were unequal the other way, would you hesitate?’

  Williams wanted to tell her, to repeat all he had said before of his utter devotion, and to say it all as finely as he had so many times in his dreams.

  ‘It is not the other way around,’ he said.

  Jane straightened up, slipped her hand free and looked out to sea. ‘I believe we have been neglecting the battle.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke.

  They said no more for a while, but several civilians looked in their direction. Williams wondered whether their emotion had been so very obvious, and then caught traces of the conversations and laughed.

  ‘You sound cheerful.’ Miss MacAndrews sounded displeased. ‘And what are they all saying about us?’

  He laughed again. ‘They are talking about your eyes. “Blue eyes”, they keep saying. I should have thought your hair was just as remarkable, but it seems to be the eyes that fascinate.’

  ‘You have blue eyes,’ Miss MacAndrews said. ‘Indeed, bluer than mine, for my own are more grey than blue.’

  ‘It is not the same,’ he said.

  Out in the bay the gunboats were withdrawing, rowing back out of range. A high plume of black smoke coiled up from the French fort, so some damage had been done, although Williams doubted that it was more than could be swiftly repaired. At least one gun was still firing and he saw a strike in the water smash through the oars of a gunboat. Sieges happened slowly. Today’s battle might delay the enemy for a few days, but fortifications would be repaired and new guns placed in the embrasures. For that delay, much powder had been spent and men had no doubt died or been maimed on both sides.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asked, offering his arm.

  Miss MacAndrews nodded, and they made their way down from the wall and into the street.

  ‘When we met in England last year,’ she said after a while, ‘do you remember what happened?’

  ‘Every moment,’ Williams said. ‘We were awkward and then agreed to be friends, who would not rush, but grow to know each other slowly. Then I made you angry again when I told you that I was soon to depart for Spain. Oh yes, and then you hit me.’

  ‘That rather suggests an unprovoked assault. Is your memory truly so false?’ The girl’s arm pressed against his far more tightly than was usual.

  Williams stopped to raise his hat to a Spanish general and his staff riding along the busy street. Resplendent in gold lace, his cocked hat lavishly plumed, the general had a soft, uninspiring expression. He gave a curt nod to acknowledge the salute, but then touched his hat to the young lady.

  When they had passed, Williams looked at his companion. Jane stared back with her usual ram-you, damn-you confidence, but also with something else. It was an expression he had seen only once before.

  ‘If I recollect,’ he began, and wondered how he could pretend that the memory was not burned into his heart, ‘then I must confess that there was provocation and that the fault was mine. Yet I shall not beg your pardon, for the act was deliberately done and I stand by it.’ It had happened after she had begun to storm off, and he had chased, pulled her close into a long embrace and kissed her.

  ‘Any suggestion of contrition would also be spoiled by the silly grin you now have on your face,’ Miss MacAndrews said.

  ‘For that at least, I shall apologise,’ he said, the smile spreading.

  ‘It was not so terrible a thing that I should never care to have it repeated.’ Jane spoke quietly, scarcely louder than a whisper, and then she matched his smile.

  The street was packed, and they walked quickly to turn off into the lesser lanes taking them towards her home. Their arms were still looped tightly around each other, and to Williams the girl beside him felt different, tense and excited at the same moment, and guessed that he was the same. They were both like children lost altogether in an exciting game. His mind yelled out to him that this was wrong, that he should not lead her on because he could offer her nothing at all.

  As they walked, they kept looking at each other, smiling and laughing even though nothing was said. They cut through a narrow lane, but a fruit seller appeared at the moment they thought they were alone, and so they pushed on into a wider way, Jane tripping along so that he did not have to slow his longer stride.

  ‘Lieutenant Williams!’ a voice shouted. ‘Lieutenant Williams!’

  Silently he cursed, swearing with a fluency he would never have employed out loud. It was a surprise how easily the thoughts came to him.

  ‘Ah, Lieutenant Williams, this is fortunate.’ It was Edward Pringle in his best uniform, with white breeches, stockings and the shoes with the gold buckles. Beside him was Cassidy in less splendid attire, though no doubt his finest. The poor man had failed his lieutenant’s examination and was thus back to master’s mate instead of acting lieutenant. ‘Our orders have come to leave on the afternoon tide. Hanley knows, for we sent to your billet, but he could not find you and has sent the two sergeants to look for you.’ The naval officer bowed. ‘I regret to take your escort from you, Miss MacAndrews. By the way, may I present Mr Cassidy.’

  ‘Sir,’ Jane said, formal once again, even if her skin was a little red.

  ‘I thought we were not to go until tomorrow, sir.’ Williams tried to keep the despondency from his voice.

  ‘The convoy is ready, so we are to go now. They are eager. I have just come from Admiral Keats and have my orders. Cassidy will take you to your billet and once you have your things will take all you redcoats down to the harbour. You have forty-five minutes before the gig will
take us aboard Sparrowhawk, so we must hurry.’

  ‘I ought to escort Miss MacAndrews to her door.’ He was sure the argument was doomed, but made the attempt. Part of him wondered whether it was for the best, which did not reduce his regret even slightly.

  ‘No time, no time.’ Pringle bowed again, wincing a little since his wound was still not quite healed. ‘I know it is small consolation to the company of a very old friend, but I would be honoured to escort the lady. My business is done, so I shall still be able to meet you all in the harbour.’

  ‘It is not necessary, sir, I am quite capable,’ Jane said.

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense. You are a friend to my brother and to my good friends from his regiment. I will not hear of anything else.’ Edward Pringle was ebullient. ‘Indeed, I shall accept no contradiction.’

  ‘Give my compliments to my father.’ Jane had already asked him to perform this service and given him a letter to carry from her mother. ‘You are to serve with Lord Turney, I believe?’

  ‘Best not to speak of such things in the street,’ Pringle whispered in mild rebuke, but Williams nodded.

  ‘Goodbye, Miss MacAndrews,’ he said, and kissed her hand, holding it for one long moment. His whole body thrilled to the touch, and he thought he felt a tremor from her. Miss MacAndrews leaned forward a little and spoke so that only he could hear. ‘I know nothing of Lord Turney as a soldier, but I suspect it is unwise to trust him as a man,’ she said, and then straightened up. ‘Good luck, Mr Williams.’

  It looked as if she wanted to say more, but the company held her back. She glared at Edward Pringle, who did not appear to notice.

  ‘You must hurry, Mr Williams,’ Edward said, very much the master and commander of his own ship.

  Williams wanted to ask the girl more, but then he did not want to leave her at all.

  ‘Duty,’ he said, and led Cassidy away.

  ‘Splendid fellow that,’ he heard Pringle saying to the girl as he left. ‘Just like a hound straining at the leash, and not even so fair a damsel as yourself can hold him back when there is a whiff of powder in the air. And only a few weeks ago he was carving his way through a host of foes …’

  ‘Damn,’ Williams said.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Cassidy, nothing at all.’

  12

  Africa did not look so very different after all. There were no camels or sand dunes, and Williams searched in vain for new smells or sights. Some of the crowd were dressed differently, with men in robes and a few – a very few – veiled women walking abroad, and the beggars clustered around Ceuta’s main gate looked older, more wrinkled and even filthier than those in Spain, but these days limbless men were common enough everywhere. Houses and walls alike resembled those of Granada and the rest of Andalusia. It was hard to decide whether this province of Spain looked more Spanish or southern Spain looked more African, for a thousand years of intertwined history blurred such distinctions. The oddest thing was to look back north and see Gibraltar and the coast of Spain – indeed of Europe – across the narrow Straits. It did not quite seem real to him.

  There was plenty of time for such reflections, for after a promising start, everything was taking far longer than it should. Sparrowhawk had carried him to Gibraltar, where he had transferred to the Topaze, for Lord Turney was using the frigate as his headquarters and Williams was temporarily attached to his staff.

  ‘Good to have someone who has seen something of the country,’ Lord Turney had said in greeting, before going ashore on urgent business. He had not explained his intentions in any detail, nor paused to ask Williams any questions about the coastline or the irregulars on shore. The lieutenant had to assume that the general had already seen the reports he and Hanley had prepared.

  Hanley had gone, taken by Edward Pringle in his brig to carry a fresh stock of arms and ammunition to the bands of guerrilleros, encouraging them to raise the country when the expedition arrived. Dobson and Murphy had both rejoined the battalion, and Williams had given the letter to Major MacAndrews to them since he was not permitted to leave the ship. Captain Hope gave him a very warm welcome, shaking him by the hand and praising his actions at Las Arenas.

  ‘You did well, sir, very well, especially for a man unused to the sea,’ the captain said. ‘Though if you will believe it, the prize agent appointed by the admiral was a greedy fellow, and wanted to rate you as a ship’s cook when it comes to your share. Can you believe it? I have no wish to cause offence, but I suspect that, like me, you could scarcely boil an egg if required!’

  Edward Pringle had made some comment about prize money, and Billy had ribbed him for turning pirate and fighting only for plunder, but he had not taken them seriously.

  ‘Do not worry. Captain Pringle and I insisted that you be rated as one of our officers. I believe it is your sergeant who will become the cook! Ha, ha! Now, sir, I must be about my business.’ That business was organising the convoy, and soon the captain and the naval officers were all hard at work writing out orders and signals for the ships they were to take to Ceuta and then towards Malaga. With nine transport ships, some British, most Spanish – several of which were in a shocking state – and all run by ‘bloody-minded swabs of masters unable to keep station or follow the simplest signal’, Captain Hope had his hands full.

  Only Lieutenant Jones of the Royal Marines was unoccupied, and he too spoke with enthusiasm about prize money. ‘Not wealth, Mr Williams, not to speak of anyway, but even so we can all expect a sum amounting to several years’ pay.’ Jones liked talking about money, and as the two of them sat in the semi-darkness of the gunroom, Williams’ attention soon wandered. His lack of reaction did nothing to daunt the marine, who continued to talk.

  An hour later Williams went on deck to get a breath of fresh air, for it was stifling below decks in the cramped frigate. Apart from in the main cabins he could not stand up straight anywhere – there looked to be barely more than five foot of height on the lower deck. With care he managed to avoid banging his head on the timbers, although the prospect of moving about in the dark and during a storm was not one he cared to contemplate.

  On deck there was no sign of bad weather, indeed the air scarcely moved, making the heat oppressive as the sun began to set. The tense mood of Captain Hope and his officers was not one to invite conversation, and so he stayed on the windward side of the quarterdeck. After a while he was joined by a captain in the blue coat and black facings of the Royal Engineers. Both of them watched while a contingent of gunners came aboard the frigate.

  ‘One Hundred and Sixth?’ the man asked on seeing the red facings on Williams’ jacket.

  ‘Yes, sir. Lieutenant Williams of the Grenadier Company.’ Silently he wondered whether that was still true. Away from the battalion for more than a year, he wondered whether other officers had been posted to the senior flank company in his, Pringle’s and Hanley’s absence. The latter was certainly now on the books of another company.

  ‘I am Harding,’ the engineer said, taking off his hat to wipe his bald head. Like most members of a corps where promotion was by strict seniority, Captain Harding was not a young man. ‘Not with your regiment?’

  Williams explained his attachment to the staff.

  ‘Well, it appears that you will arrive far sooner than the rest of your battalion,’ Harding said. ‘The so-called “Conqueror” looks more like a wreck than a ship.’ The 106th were to be carried in the Spanish ship of the line El Vencedor of seventy-four guns. ‘Looks a death trap to me.’

  Williams accepted the offer of the engineer’s glass and studied the ageing Spanish warship. She was jury-rigged, with temporary spars fitted to the low stubs of her masts – the topmasts having been removed several years ago.

  ‘The yards here are doing their best to plug the holes in her and keep her afloat,’ Harding said. It seemed that he had been in Gibraltar for several years and knew the place well. ‘Hard to know how she managed to limp here from Cadiz, but it will take days bef
ore she will be ready to move again. And I hear the Rodney will stay to escort her. That’s what they say, at least, but I heard a whisper that she will end up towing her all the way.’

  ‘Are we to wait?’ Williams asked.

  ‘The rest of us leave on the morning tide, so I am told,’ Harding said. ‘We will miss your fellows, I do not doubt. Aye, and the Rodney’s guns.’

  Williams shifted the glass to look at the big British seventy-four and the contrast was stark, for she was a new ship, launched just a few years ago and kept in fine trim. On her lower deck she mounted thirty-two-pounders, bigger than the heaviest siege guns used on land. He suspected the engineer was right and that they would miss both his battalion and the weight of shot of the warship. However, he was relieved to hear that the 106th would not be left on their own in the dilapidated El Vencedor.

  Lord Turney came back, but he and his brigade major spent the evening drafting orders and proclamations to be distributed to the Spanish when they arrived, encouraging them to take up arms. Williams, Harding and the other officers were not invited and had still only a vague idea of their purpose.

  ‘The general does not want our enterprise spoken of too freely,’ one of his staff explained. ‘This place is bound to be riddled with spies.’

  On the morning of 11th October Topaze had weighed anchor and led the flotilla south. The fourteen-gun brig Rambler went with her, as did eight transport ships. Captain Hope ordered the slow merchantmen to crowd on as much sail as they could safely bear, but even so the convoy inched forward, fighting the current with the help of only the lightest of breezes. The sun was setting by the time they reached the harbour at Ceuta, and it was too late to embark the Spanish infantry regiment which was to join the expedition.

  At first light on the 12th, boats began ferrying the six hundred and forty men of the Imperial Toledo Regiment to the waiting transports. Williams had gone ashore with Lord Turney’s staff the night before, and slept in rooms provided by the small British garrison in the town’s citadel. Their mess was most welcoming, but it soon became clear that there was little love lost between the Allies in Ceuta.