Run Them Ashore (17 page)

‘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

A
frica 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 before 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.

‘They don’t trust us, you see,’ a major from the 2/4th Foot told them. ‘And if you want proof of that take a stroll with me along the walls.’ Williams did, and quickly realised that all the embrasures of the citadel were empty. ‘That happened the week before we arrived. Must have taken them ages, but they moved every cannon out just in case we had any ideas of outstaying our welcome.’

Yet his first impressions of the Toledo Regiment were good. The soldiers were neatly turned out in blue jackets cut rather in the French style, with a white front and yellow collars, cuffs and turnbacks. Officers still wore cocked hats, but the rank and file had replaced the bicorne of the pre-war Spanish army and adopted a broad-topped shako, which again looked distinctly French. A few months ago the regiment had taken part in a raid which had marched deep into enemy-held territory, fighting a few skirmishes, but wisely retreating as soon as a strong force came against them. It was already in a better state of training than many of the Spanish regiments Williams had seen. Given more time, and the confidence which came with a few early victories, he suspected that these would prove very fine troops.

Lord Turney certainly liked the look of the blue-coated soldiers, and visited several of the transports to ensure that they were properly accommodated. To Williams’ surprise the general spoke Spanish well, albeit with a somewhat Italian accent, and so was able to ask the officers whether they were satisfied. Several were not, complaining that the rations they were given by the British masters of the ships included meat even though it was a Friday.

‘Damned fellows don’t have the sense to realise that they are dealing with Catholics,’ the general said to his staff after a pointed discussion with one of the merchant captains, who had insisted that he had nothing else to give them and had done everything
according to regulations. ‘Damn the authorities for not thinking of this either.’

On the last transport Lord Turney greeted the Spanish colonel with considerable warmth, apologising for the provisions, praising the condition of his regiment and asking whether there was anything they lacked.

Pleased with the compliments, the colonel said that he needed nothing.

Lord Turney frowned with concern. ‘It seemed to me that not all the men carried firelocks as they embarked?’

The colonel was embarrassed, and Williams guessed that the failure of his own commanders was something he had hoped to conceal from his foreign allies. Lord Turney persisted, and with considerable reluctance the colonel admitted that his battalion lacked no fewer than one hundred and forty-eight muskets.

‘You have cartridges for the remainder, I presume?’ Lord Turney asked, a hard edge growing in his voice.

‘None,’ the colonel said.

‘What are our own reserves?’ he asked his brigade major, Captain Mullins.

‘If you recollect, my lord,’ Williams interrupted, remembering what Hanley and Pringle had told him, ‘the balls from our own firelocks will not fit the Spanish ones.’

Lord Turney gave a curt nod. ‘Ah yes, I remember. Thank you, Mr Williams. Captain Mullins, see that the Toledo Regiment is issued with the muskets needed to make up the deficit from our supplies, and ensure that they have a hundred English cartridges for each one.’ He explained the arrangement to the colonel. ‘It is not ideal, sir, not ideal, but if you take care it will be possible to supply each soldier with the correct ammunition. Now I must go to your governor to supply the want of cartridges for your own firelocks.

‘You would not believe such neglect,’ he added, switching to English. ‘Such damned dirty neglect that would send soldiers to fight without giving them powder and ball – without even giving some of them a musket. Some fat old bugger hoarding
his stores to flatter his own sense of importance, no doubt. Or selling them off at a profit and denying the brave men under his authority the slightest chance of doing their duty.’

Williams hoped that the Spanish colonel did not speak English, for this was delivered within earshot. No doubt the man knew and deplored the failures of his superiors, but no proud man – and a good soldier was inevitably a proud one – would care to hear them exposed so openly by a foreigner. Yet Williams had to admit that Lord Turney appeared to know his business. He had sensed that all was not quite right with the Toledo Regiment, and worked hard until it was remedied. He immediately wrote to the Spanish governor of Ceuta, using language of considerable tact, and late at night a healthy store of cartridges came on board.

‘At least he has moved promptly, but why the bloody man didn’t do his job in the first place escapes me. Too many rogues promoted to high office, that is the problem,’ Lord Turney declared. ‘Do you know, in Gibraltar there is a fellow who used to play in an orchestra who is paid considerable sums and given charge of substantial stores, and charged with their distribution to help the partisans. He is a rich man, and as far as I could see spends most of his time playing the guitar to serenade young ladies – and some not so young. Don’t blame the rogue for that, but there is a war to be fought or he will back to playing the fiddle in some orchestra instead of living in a great house.’

For the moment, the war was not to be fought quickly whether they willed it or not. On the 13th they left Ceuta, but the wind had shifted against them, and, although it was still light, it took hours for the clumsy transports to beat their way back to the Spanish coast. Williams spent much of the day on deck, finding that he was far less inclined to feel ill in the open air than below decks in the crowded frigate. The convoy crawled along, while Lord Turney grew impatient and Captain Hope grasped the rail so tightly that his knuckles went white as he hoisted signal after signal to keep the convoy together.

Night had fallen, with a slim crescent moon hardly challenging the bright starlight by the time they neared the Spanish coast
and made the rendezvous with the gun-brig HMS
Encounter
and five gunboats from Cadiz under the overall command of Captain Hall, who soon reported on board the
Topaze
as Lord Turney summoned his officers to receive orders.