They kept out of sight as best they could, staying away from the tops of hills. They stopped every hour for Jenny to dismount and rest, although she was fiercely and often profanely uncomfortable whatever they did. Early in the afternoon they stopped at a small farm and, piecing together some halting Spanish, they secured some flat loaves, and a bowl each of oily soup. The coin Williams handed over was worth far more, but he and the others were so grateful that none of them cared.
In the late afternoon they halted for well over an hour in a patch of wood as French cavalry passed them in the valley below. They were cuirassiers, their body armour just visible through parted cloaks, and through Pringle’s telescope Williams recognised the two men he had encountered yesterday. Both were clearly officers, and the one in the helmet presumably commanded the cuirassiers.
The French officer raised a hand and no doubt shouted a command, which Williams was too far away to hear. The column halted and he worried that they might be planning to search. Yet he could think of no good reason for the enemy to waste their time chasing a few stragglers – it saddened him to apply the word, but from a military standpoint that was all that they now were. You simply do not matter, Williams thought to himself, partly so that the truth sank in, and also in some superstitious hope that the conviction would carry to the cuirassier officer down in the valley.
Perhaps it worked. The French troopers dismounted, and one of the lancers had to be helped down by his comrades, which suggested a wounded man. Williams wondered whether his shot had caused serious injury. A practical, if callous, part of him felt some satisfaction that this would encumber the enemy. The cavalrymen fiddled with their saddles and then began to march on, leading their horses by the reins. Williams assumed they were resting the mounts, and that suggested they planned a long journey. He watched them continue along the track and disappear, and only then felt secure enough to accept that they were not concerned about him and his companions.
Even so, they waited something like an hour after the French had gone before they moved on. Without a watch, it was hard for any of them to be sure. Williams decided that it would be too much of a risk to press on in pursuit of Baird’s division, now that the French cavalry were sniffing at his trail. So they would head for the bridge at Mansilla, which he knew the Spanish army were supposed to be guarding.
When it was almost dark, they approached another farm. Only a woman and some children were there, but the mother welcomed the travellers with great kindness, especially when she saw Jenny’s condition. There was considerable confusion as the woman tried to work out just which of the two visitors was married to the foreign officer. Eventually she dismissed the matter as some Protestant folly and permitted Williams to sleep in the small barn with the animals, while the two young women each had a straw-filled mattress in the single room of the house, along with her and the children.
There were traces of mist the next morning, but it soon burned off and a winter sun – still markedly stronger than the thin rays at this season in England – gave them warmth as they travelled. They saw no sign of any Frenchmen. Williams insisted on keeping watch when they stopped in the middle of the day for a long rest and to eat. Jane was equally insistent that she take a turn, and so went to the edge of the hollow where they sat in a long-abandoned sheep pen. The woman in the farm had given them slices of ham, apples from a store and a fresh loaf, and angrily refused any payment.
Williams and Jenny ate in silence. Kind though he was, she was left with the distinct impression that she rarely entered his thoughts. He had tried several times to express his sorrow at her mother’s death and his concern for her father. Jenny was sure that the sentiments were genuine. She just did not want to talk about it, and still less did she wish to speak of something that clearly troubled the young officer. He had raised the matter once, asking why she and her husband were so far from the battalion when he stumbled across them.
‘Thought the baby was coming,’ she had said eventually, avoiding his eyes. ‘I weren’t going to be laid up in some field, or with half the regiment gawping at me. So I told Hanks to take me somewhere quiet and warm. We’d have caught up again once the kid was born and I felt strong enough.’ She hoped that she sounded convincing. ‘Poor Ma would have loved to be a grandma,’ she added, changing the subject and then dropping into silence.
Up on the lip of the hollow Jane stretched out and lay looking down the slope beyond. She scratched her arm, and hoped that the itching she was beginning to feel was no more than the inevitable result of wearing clothes which had also been dunked in a river for the third day in a row. She ran a hand through her hair and wondered what state it was in. Mrs Hanks had given her a scarf to wear against yesterday’s rain, but although it was cold today she had done without a covering. She knew her parents would be worried, and that they were still a long way from being safe, yet she had to admit that there was pleasure in such a wild, gypsy-like life. A fresh itch began on her left thigh.
Williams tried not to stare, but knew that his gaze returned again and again to the girl lying in the grass. Since their first meeting Miss MacAndrews occupied a great many of his waking thoughts. There had always been a physical element in those dreams. He was forced to admit that for the moment the carnal was dominating.
‘Dirty devil,’ said Jenny. He looked confused. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking.’ She shook her head. ‘All alike, all alike.’
That night they came to another lone house, but calls and then banging on the door produced no response. They must be near Mansilla by now, and perhaps the people had gone to take shelter there under the protection of their army. Williams prised open the shutters a little way and then reached in with his clasp knife to raise the catch. He shrugged.
‘Your father showed me,’ he said to Jenny. He climbed in and opened the door. It was too low to admit the animals, so he tethered them in the lee of the sloping roof. They had had little to eat apart from grass in the last few days, and he thought he noticed a new thinness. He would have to hope they could find better fodder soon.
By the time he went into the house, a fire was burning and filling the room with smoke. They had made good progress during the day and all were tired. After eating more than half of their remaining food, the three of them slept without undressing, each lying to one side of the fire.
Jenny’s cries woke them hours later. She looked scared and Williams reached instinctively for the sword that lay beside him.
‘The baby’s coming!’ The girl sounded her age, very young and very frightened. Williams was terrified.
11
‘It’s him, I am sure of it,’ called out Derryck. ‘There on the white horse among that group of officers!’ The boy’s voice cracked with enthusiasm. ‘I am sure it is Buonaparte!’ The ensign’s face was scarred and his nose bent from the wound he had suffered at Roliça. Those injuries, and the short captivity which followed, had done nothing to dampen his spirits, but even so Hanley had never seen the lad so excited.
‘Ugly bugger, ain’t he?’ commented Hatch, who had now fixed his own glass on the distant horsemen. They were standing on a rise behind Benevente, looking back over the plain to the river and the low hills beyond it. The distance was great, and he doubted that either of the ensigns could see much with their little glasses. ‘How could any fellow choose to miss out on all this?’ Hatch added more softly.
‘See what you think,’ said Pringle, and passed Williams’ bulky telescope to Hanley. Billy wondered whether Hatch was implying something about their absent friend, although that seemed unlikely. Surely no one thought that Williams had deliberately left the column? Better not to say anything, rather than risk starting talk. Whispers in the mess could sometimes carry a long way.
It took a while for Hanley to find the horsemen, and longer still to twist the lens into focus after the short-sighted Pringle had been looking through it. One white horse stood out, but there was nothing else distinctive about the blue-coated rider.
‘I do not believe it is,’ he said reluctantly. ‘That man looks as tall or taller than those around him.’ It was hard not to be disappointed. The days were long gone when he was a simple, utterly faithful admirer of both the passion of the Revolution and the order brought by the Empire. There was still a great thrill at the thought of seeing the man who had overturned all of Europe.
Pringle agreed, but the younger gentlemen – there were two more ensigns apart from Derryck and Hatch from the 106th, and a couple from the 28th – were unwilling to concede.
‘It must be him. Look! Those cavalry down there are his own guards!’ Derryck was looking with the naked eye, and his vision was truly remarkable, for when Hanley turned the glass on the horsemen he saw their red jackets, dark fur hats and green trousers. He had fled in horror as men in these same uniforms – the jackets had been slung rather than worn in the May heat – had cut to pieces a crowd in Madrid. They were the Chasseurs of La Garde Impériale, veterans of many campaigns and Napoleon’s favourite regiment.
The previous night the British had blown up the bridge over the Esla. It was not destroyed, for the stone structure had proved notably stubborn, but for the moment it could not be used, and so the French cavalry climbed their horses down the bank and forded the river. Only a few outposts of British hussars were visible in the plain to oppose them. As more squadrons crossed, the French threw out skirmishers of their own, and soon there were puffs of smoke and a distant popping of carbines.
A staff officer arrived behind them. ‘Have I missed the fun?’ he asked. ‘Oh, hello, Hanley. How are you this fine grey day!’ It was Major Colborne, Sir John’s military secretary. Hanley had made his acquaintance during his time with Colonel Graham and now made the necessary introductions.
‘Buonaparte is watching the advance,’ Derryck blurted out when he was named to the staff officer.
‘Is he indeed,’ came another voice. It was Lord Paget himself, his uniform a riot of blue with gold lace and accompanied by an infantry officer attached to his staff. Derryck was most impressed, and wondered how long it would take him to grow such whiskers.
‘There is an officer on a white horse,’ said Pringle. ‘More than that we cannot say.’ The ensigns, now cowed by the higher authority of a general and a lord, just managed to restrain their protests.
‘Well, whoever the devil is, we shall give him a warm welcome.’ Down in the plain a concentrated group from among the piquets charged. The leading Frenchmen gave way and retired some distance. Soon, they reached their supporting squadrons and the heavily outnumbered hussars were in turn chased back the way they had come.
‘Good,’ said Lord Paget, taking in the scene. ‘That will give us some time. Come on, Colborne!’ He set off at a gallop to take direct charge.
Colborne had seemed an especially pleasant and capable fellow, but it was a relief that he had left without asking what the infantrymen were doing here. In truth Colborne himself was supposed to be on his way to join Sir John farther up the road, but had been unable to resist the sniff of powder.
The Reserve Division had been allowed to rest for all of the previous day, while other sections of the army continued the retreat. Hanley and Pringle had found the time to visit the castle. The redcoats billeted within its walls had left, but the signs of their presence were everywhere. Remnants of carved legs were all that was left of antique furniture broken up and burned. Some paintings had been added to the flames, while others seemed merely to have been wantonly smashed. Someone had added charcoal beards to a scene of nymphs disporting themselves. Tapestries were left discarded after being used as blankets.
‘We’re as bad as the French.’ Hanley was outraged at the destruction. Pringle had rarely seen his friend so angry.
‘Hardly that,’ was all he could think to say. ‘And remember, it’s cold, and they have had a rough time. Nor are they much in love with the Spanish at present.’ The defence was out of habit. He liked and admired his own soldiers and the army in general. Yet even he was shocked. Worse came when a false alarm during the night created a panic. A mob streamed through the streets. Many were drunk and more than a few were women. The regiment had been called to arms and had then waited for hours in a cold drizzle until dismissed. In the confusion scores of the carters hired in Portugal had taken their teams and fled, abandoning the vehicles.
The 106th had marched at dawn with the rest of the Reserve Division, past the pyres made from the abandoned wagons and the stores they had carried. Pringle and the Grenadier Company were left behind to hunt out a few dozen men who were missing. A few officers and sergeants from the other companies had been left with the grenadiers to deal with their own men. It was clear that other regiments had done the same.
Most of the missing were soon found, lying in drunken stupor in the alleys around their billets. No one was sure where they had found the liquor. A few took longer to find, and in the end only Dobson remained unaccounted for. Then an agitated young priest appeared from nowhere and began berating Sergeant Rawson. Hanley heard the commotion from the far side of the street and when he joined them caught enough to realise that the man was complaining about the behaviour of a big English soldier.
The priest took Hanley and the sergeant to a little chapel, tucked away in a minor alley. Troops had been billeted there on the previous two nights. Benches had been burned, or pulled into little groups, and even the altar rail had perished. There was rubbish, even excrement, in one corner, and the whole place stank of wood smoke and concentrated humanity.
Dobson sat on one of the remaining benches, stark naked except for his shako, singing in a hoarse voice and every now and again taking a swig from a dark green bottle. The verses he sang lacked any significant religious content. The priest began a fresh tirade, screaming at Hanley that the British were all barbarians and telling him to get this Visigoth out of his church at once. It was hard not to sympathise, and the officer made no attempt to explain the peculiar circumstances. Hanley felt ashamed to be wearing the same uniform as men who had treated a once beautiful church so callously. He was also flooded with sympathy for the old veteran.
‘Come on, Dob,’ said Rawson in a strong but kindly voice. He stepped forward slowly, and patted the old soldier on the shoulder. ‘We need to go, my friend.’
Dobson looked at him without recognition. He plunged into a new song, this time at least prominently featuring a parson, albeit one whose conduct was unlikely to win recommendation from the established Church.
Rawson tried again. ‘We have to go, Dob.’ The expression in the bloodshot eyes was still vacant. Hanley came closer, and adopted the coaxing voice he normally reserved for children.
‘Let’s leave, shall we?’
Dobson’s face filled with sheer hatred. ‘You bloody bastard!’ he screamed as he sprang to his feet. His first punch struck Hanley on the side of the chin and sent the officer flying backwards. There was a flash of pain before he lost consciousness.
He woke to the sound of sobbing.
‘Oh, my Sally, my poor, poor Sally.’
Rawson’s face was bruised as he patted the veteran on the back.
‘Sally, girl, I miss you.’
Hanley stood carefully, but there seemed no prospect of renewed violence.
‘My Sally, my darling best Sally.’
‘That’s good, Dob. Let it out.’ Rawson’s voice was tender, in marked contrast to the harsh bark with which he gave orders.
‘She’s gone. Just gone.’ Dobson noticed Hanley. ‘It’s you, Mr Williams. Come and pray for her. Please, sir, you know the right words.’
Hanley was sensible enough not to correct him. He had no religion, and the more he saw of an often cruel world the less he was inclined to believe in God. Yet he caught the desperation in the man’s voice, and so knelt beside him on the flagstones of the desecrated church. The priest had fled at Dobson’s outburst of violence, no doubt to summon more assistance, so he could not be asked to speak the words, but nor was he ther
e to protest.
‘Our Father, who art in heaven,’ he began. A glance showed him that Dobson was staring upwards, his face imploring, eyes wide in awe. Hanley stumbled over the words, and found that he too was crying. He missed lines and jumbled the order before he ended. ‘For ever and ever. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ echoed Dobson. ‘Thank you, Pug, thank you so much.’ The veteran had given Williams the nickname when he was a volunteer. Hanley wished more than ever that his friend was with them, and tried desperately to think of anything else he might say and do.
Rawson gave Dobson his greatcoat and hoped to find something more substantial for him before they marched off. The veteran still appeared to have little idea where he was. By the time they were ready to leave, the grenadiers and the stragglers formed up on the slope beneath the group of officers, the sergeant had found him boots, trousers and a shirt. Dobson’s pack, haversack and musket were still in the billet, so apart from his jacket he was largely restored to a soldierly condition. He had relapsed into silence again.
Pringle knew they ought to leave, but the spectacle of the cavalry action held them all. A fading hope also made him linger. Pringle suspected that MacAndrews had superstitiously chosen the grenadiers in case the presence of his friends somehow made it more likely that Williams and Miss MacAndrews would appear. He doubted that the major had much hope. Even so, only someone who knew him well would have detected any trace of concern for his missing daughter. Neither she nor Williams had reached Benevente. Of that they could be sure, for Major and Mrs MacAndrews as well as himself, Hanley and some of the other officers had gone all around the place. Perhaps they had joined Baird and his troops. If so, then they might see them at Astorga.
Beat the Drums Slowly Page 13
