Run Them Ashore (11 page)

Sir Richard nodded. ‘As we thought. There is nothing to be gained by throwing all our aid behind this one man.’

‘Yet if I may make a suggestion, sir,’ Hanley began.

Wharton gave an encouraging smile – the errant parishioner was about to redeem himself. ‘Please do.’

‘Then there might be something to gain by giving the major a little of what he wants. That would place the burden of justifying this and future support firmly on his shoulders. Better a man kept in eager hope than one already disappointed.’

The admiral and his chaplain exchanged glances. ‘Then we are of one mind,’ Wharton said. ‘And I am most pleased to see that the recommendation of a certain gentleman in Lisbon on your behalf appears to be most sound.

‘Good,’ the chaplain concluded. ‘We keep Sinclair going and see what he does. A better prospect may still appear and we may as well get the most out of the resources we have. And we will also keep you fully occupied.’

‘This raid will go ahead. It makes sense, but such affairs are never straightforward and there is always an element of risk where wind and tide are involved – something you soldiers never seem to realise,’ Sir Richard admonished gently. ‘Lord Turney will command, for this will principally be mounted by the forces at Gibraltar and he is the senior major general there. Well, he is an
experienced officer with a long record of distinguished service.’ There was a trace of doubt in his voice, but the admiral did not choose to explain, and laughed instead. ‘Well then, he will command, and I trust him more than I trust Sinclair, although perhaps that is because I have no wife or daughter with me on station.’

‘Lord Turney has something of a reputation,’ Wharton said, and added when Hanley showed mild surprise, ‘as I said, we hear things, my dear Hanley, even here at Cadiz. And at the moment his morals do not concern us.’

‘Indeed not, and I am glad for it,’ the admiral said, before turning back to Hanley. ‘More than likely your regiment will form part of the expedition, so you may be seeing them soon.’ When they arrived at Cadiz, Hanley and the others had learnt that the 106th was in Gibraltar, save for a few stragglers here in the city.

‘My fellow officers are eager to rejoin the battalion.’

‘Yes, well, in time, but for the moment, we may need some of them as much as we need you.’ Sir Richard smiled. ‘You trust them, do you not?’

‘Most certainly, sir.’

‘Good, they do seem capable, especially that young fellow Williams. I have named him in my report on the attack on Las Arenas.’

‘That is most kind, sir, I am sure he will be honoured.’

‘There may be even better news than that for him,’ the admiral began, but was interrupted when Wharton coughed. ‘Indeed, that is a subject about which we must be discreet. I may be able to tell you more when we understand things a little better.’

8

‘
A
re you sure that this is wise, Ned?’ Billy Pringle asked his older brother.

‘For the last time, William, don’t fuss,’ came the distinctly querulous reply. ‘You sound like Mother.’

‘I do not, for I have not once bid you wrap a muffler more tightly around your neck against the chill.’

The sun baked down on them and sparkled on the blue water of Cadiz Bay. They were walking along the city walls overlooking the outer harbour and every now and then the soft breeze picked up and gusted over the ramparts, swirling up dust and making Williams and the others cling on to their hats for dear life. The two officers had gone to visit Pringle’s brother in the hospital, and he had then insisted on taking a promenade. ‘I want to see my ship, and make sure that damned fool Reynolds has not run her to ruin in the last week.’

The
Sparrowhawk
was in the outer harbour under the temporary command of its lieutenant, since Edward Pringle loudly insisted that he would return to duty in a few days and so there was no need to find a replacement for him. ‘I need to be seen up and about,’ he had said, and so with reluctance they had agreed, but only if they accompanied him. In the last half-hour he had bid good morning to several naval officers, whose duties or desire for exercise took them near the harbour. Williams noticed that the wounded commander always straightened up and brimmed with bonhomie whenever they saw another sailor. For the moment there were only soldiers and Spaniards in sight, and the show of rude health was relaxed a little.

‘It is a slight scratch to the stomach, William, a mere trifle. You will realise when you have seen more service and taken a wound yourself.’ Edward Pringle peered up at his taller brother, brushing away the arm proffered for support.

‘I was shot in the stomach at Talavera, Ned. I am sure the family will have mentioned it to you.’

‘Not surprised, you are a damned big mark for them to aim at.’ Billy Pringle ate moderately, was an active man who had held up well to the rigours and privations of campaign and yet somehow always remained bulky, indeed plump, around the waist.

‘They had no trouble hitting you either, Ned, and you are still just skin and bones, for all that you throw yourself at food like a starving man.’

‘Yes, but my fellow had to get close, is that not right, Mr Williams? With you he could stand off a cable’s length and still be sure of his aim.’

The change in Edward Pringle was remarkable, as the ship’s captain receded. It did not vanish, but on shore and in the company of his brother he was a different man; a far more emotional one, willing to laugh and much inclined to snap and mock.

‘Damn it, William, do not stand so close, I need no support. Dear God, even Clara never pressed so close.’ It was the first mention of Edward’s late wife, and it seemed to shock him. Williams had been wondering whether it would be proper to express his sympathy, or whether that would be the unkind opening of a deeper wound than the cut to his side.

‘I believe she knew your peppery disposition,’ Billy Pringle said with a gentle smile. ‘And yet still persisted in her affections.’

‘Aye, she did, poor thing.’ Edward turned away, leaning on the parapet of yellow stone and gazing out at the water. ‘It’s a terrible and lonely thing to be a sailor’s wife. There was added joy when I heard that she was with child, more than simple pleasure, for I hoped it would give her company of a sort.’ Billy moved to stand beside his brother, and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. Williams dithered, unsure whether he should step away and give them some privacy.

‘She was a sweet girl, but had the strangest of notions. Did I tell you that if it were a boy she wanted us to name the poor devil Lemuel? She was fond of the name, it seems, remembering a kindly uncle.’ Edward’s tone was incredulous.

‘My parents called me Hamish,’ Williams said. ‘And yet were in every other way devoted to all their children.’

Edward Pringle’s shoulders began to shake. No sound came, but Williams feared that emotion had overcome him. He had grown up with three sisters who cried often, and in the last few years had seen plenty of strong, brave men reduced to tears at the deaths of friends. There was always the wave of sympathy and the desire to offer comfort, but it troubled him because at the same time his instincts were repelled. A man looked so unlike a man when he cried, more like some animal or less than an animal, and it was hard not to turn away in disgust, unwilling for them ever to know that he had witnessed their collapse.

‘Hamish Williams! You poor, poor bugger!’ Edward Pringle was laughing, and though tears streamed from his eyes they came as a flood of near-hysterical amusement. The naval officer threw back his head and guffawed. ‘No wonder you have such a talent for violence!’

Williams bowed, grinning, and Edward laughed all the more.

‘I regret to say that my sisters are fond of calling me Ham,’ the Welshman continued, pitching the sailor into fresh hysterics.

A finely dressed party of Spanish gentlemen, several in the powdered wigs and velvet jackets still popular at court, stared at them in disapproval.

‘It’s fine, my dear fellows,’ Edward said to them, his face bright scarlet and stumbling over his words as he laughed. ‘We are busy consoling a pickled ham!’ Williams did not really understand the joke, but Billy was at the mercy of the slightest pun and was now as helplessly convulsed as his brother.

‘It is the pickle, do you see …’ he said before he became incapable of further speech.

Williams apologised in Spanish, bowing to them, but saw only
scorn on the gentlemen’s faces. They did not acknowledge him in any other way, and simply moved on.

It was some time before the brothers recovered, and Williams let them laugh it out, wondering what it must be like to have a brother. A few redcoat officers passed them by, but he recognised none of them. Two were guardsmen, as disdainful as the Spanish gentlemen of his two companions’ display. Most of the British troops were several miles away, further south on the Isla, the long peninsula connecting Cadiz to the mainland. Only part of one battalion was actually in the city itself, along with various unattached officers like themselves, and men serving on the staff. The commander, General Graham, spent as little time here as possible, and in spite of his advancing years, rode out each day inspecting the defence works being dug on the Isla. Williams had met the general when he was still a colonel and serving with Sir John Moore, and had found him not only an affable soul, but a splendid soldier. The prospect of serving under him again was most appealing, although it seemed unlikely since the 106th was in Gibraltar, and presumably they would soon be sent to join them.

‘Oh, dear me, dear me.’ Edward Pringle had laid his hat down on the parapet and was dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘You could always make me smile, young William,’ he said to his brother.

‘And you could always terrify me, you great tyrant. Do you recall the time you strapped my wrists to the bedposts and told me it was a grating and that you would give me twenty-four lashes with the cat for stealing your top?’

‘Well, you had stolen my top – and theft from a shipmate is a serious matter.’

‘You had just broken my whirligig!’

‘Entirely accidental.’

‘I was only seven!’

‘You must stamp on the impulse to crime before it grows,’ Edward Pringle said, and smiled at the memory. ‘But it did not matter, since Father was drawn by the noise and beat us both.’ He
thought for a moment. ‘He ran a taut ship, did Father. I imagine his men feared him more than the Devil himself. He certainly scared poor Clara, but since Mother adored her it probably did not matter. After all, Father was so rarely at home.

‘Forgive us, Mr Williams, but reunions are a rare thing in our family. Did your father frighten you when you were a boy? It is hard to imagine such a thing, meeting you as a formidable soldier.’ Edward did not notice the expression of his brother.

‘My father died when I was very young,’ Williams explained.

‘I am so sorry – for both my clumsy question and to awaken an unhappy memory. This can be a sad and sorrowful world, but do not let my ill fortune deter you or my rogue of a brother here. You should marry, both of you.’ This time Edward noticed Billy’s expression and realised that he must have touched on another sensitive topic. ‘That is my opinion at least – the joys far outweigh even the worst sorrow. Come, let us resume our walk, I have not yet seen my ship.’

The ramparts were more crowded as they approached the main anchorages. Most of the time they had a hand to their hats, either to raise them in greeting or stop them from being plucked away by the wind. Cadiz was home to Spain’s Regency Council, the successor to the junta which had collapsed when the French swept through Andalusia at the start of the year. The city was full to the brim, packed with tens of thousands of people who were part or wanted to be part of the free government, or who simply wanted to live in the last great city of free Spain. Prices rose atrociously, finding accommodation was an expensive nightmare, but Cadiz thrived and ate food brought in by sea. Protected as it was by the grand bays of the harbours to the east and the Isla to the south, as yet the French siege did not press tightly on the city itself. Free of this threat, the ambitious schemed for power or reform and the clever or greedy made money. In the morning people promenaded, and in the evening they dined and danced. Cadiz lived as if in a constant festival.

Few smiles greeted the three British officers, save when they met others of their own kind. Their uniforms were faded and
drab against the bright gallery of colours worn by the wealthy civilians and the gaudily uniformed officers and volunteers of the Spanish army. The fighting regiments were outside the city, manning the defences, and here they encountered solely the men less keen to be near a likely battlefield. There were also the women, as richly garbed as their escorts, although invariably wearing a dress of heavy black material. This was more than compensated for by the bright gloves, sashes and parasols. They walked with grace, dresses stirring in the wind, and Williams knew his friend well enough to be sure that Billy Pringle was subjecting them to detailed scrutiny. It was soon clear that Edward was doing the same.

‘You should marry.’ The bitter words kept going through his head, mocking a dream which had surely become unattainable. Since he had met her more than two years ago, Williams had loved the only daughter of Major MacAndrews, the second-in-command of the 106th. Beautiful and high spirited, Jane MacAndrews was just twenty, but the child of this elderly major had lately received a substantial inheritance from her mother’s American family. Williams loved her, the emotion all the more deep from coming to know her as more than a mere vision of loveliness. When the army retreated through the mountains to Corunna she had been left behind, and Williams had found her and brought her back to the regiment and her family, rallying stragglers and fighting off the French on the way. Seeing the girl tramping through the snow, helping along a child, or crouching on the floor of that cold barn, cleaning and comforting filthy soldiers dying of wounds and disease, had caused an esteem that had seemed already boundless to grow far greater.

Jane was fond of him. During those days there had a been an instant, all too brief before it was interrupted, when she had fallen into his arms and they had embraced, lips pressed together. He cherished that memory, but it had never been repeated. At Corunna, after it was all over, he had proposed, clumsily using the worst possible words in his nervousness, and had been rejected with vehemence. Then they had parted, and save for a single
encounter when he had returned to England after Talavera he had not seen her. That meeting was another pleasant memory, with encouragement of renewed friendship and perhaps of more. They had corresponded a little since then, her letters brief and formal, but still so precious. Yet there was no promise of any sort, and thus it was too late. His funds were modest, his income now solely from his pay. He hoped for promotion, but needed another year of service even to be eligible for a captaincy, assuming one came vacant, and that would yield no more than a salary of one hundred and ninety-one pounds, twelve shillings and sixpence a year before deductions. Though more than he had ever earned in his life, it was scarcely wealth, and for a man of such comparative poverty to propose to a wealthy heiress … No, that could not be borne. If there had been some understanding between them then it would be different, but there was not. Honour dictated that it must be over.

‘She is quite lovely, is she not?’ Edward Pringle said with great pride and even greater force, wanting to gain Williams’ attention.

‘Perfect,’ he said, mind still far away.

‘I should not go that far.’ The naval captain was surprised at the reaction. ‘Indeed I should not, for I have always felt the rake of her masts is not quite as it should be. But then they will never let a sloop rest in the yard for long enough to make such an experiment.’

Williams realised that he was talking about the
Sparrowhawk
, and after a moment found her twin masts, beside a big third rate. The outer harbour was crammed with ships, at least nearer to this shore. There were French guns on the other side of the bay, and so the ships sat at anchor out of range. Williams had never seen so many warships in one place, not even when the army had first sailed to Portugal, for then they had mainly been carried in transports and merchantmen.

Thoughts of the past again rushed his mind back to Jane MacAndrews. She and her mother were here, somewhere in Cadiz. The major had been here for some weeks, promised command of a temporary formation being put together for the defence
of the Isla. Then news had come that Lieutenant Colonel FitzWilliam was so seriously ill as to necessitate a return to England. MacAndrews was summoned to take command of the 106th at Gibraltar and had left a day before his family arrived here to join him. Sergeant Dobson had seen them and been invited to call at their rooms, for the major and his wife were fostering his grandson, abandoned by its mother to the care of Williams and Jane before Corunna. The veteran’s wild daughter, Jenny, was somewhere with the French army, mistress to an officer, and selling information about their forces to men like Hanley.