Send Me Safely Back Again (28 page)

The colonel scanned the pages, and smiled as he read aloud. ‘“The troops are on half rations of bread. They can get little meat – often none at all. The results of starvation are making themselves felt in the most deplorable way. The men are going into hospital at the rate of several hundred a day.” Yes, well, we have some idea of what that is like. “The whole population of this region has retired within Cuesta’s lines, after destroying the ovens and mills, and removing every scrap of food. It seems the enemy is resolved to starve us out, and to leave a desert in front of us if we advance.” Laying it on a bit thickly, isn’t he? I doubt the land is as empty as he claims.’

‘There were certainly plenty of folk left in the city and some of the villages when I was there,’ said Hanley.

‘Well, many cannot risk leaving all that they have. Oh, this bit is good. “Carefully estimating all my stores I find that I have barely enough to last for five days in hand. We are menaced with absolute famine, which we can only avoid by moving off, and there is no suitable cantonment to be found in the whole space between the Tagus and Guadiana: the entire country is ruined.” Hmm, well, perhaps they should not have robbed the country blind in the first place.

‘That confirms what Baynes tells me. He has returned to Cuesta’s army for the moment. Does your fellow Espinosa have any word on where Victor is going?’

‘Back north of the Tagus. The corps is to concentrate and hold
the bridges from Almaraz to Talavera de la Reina. They are probably there by now. The bridge at Alcantara is destroyed.’

‘Yes, Wilson’s fellows blew it up.’

‘Well, Victor says that without it he cannot advance against Portugal. They wanted him to help Soult, and have only lately learned of his defeat. So he has put the river between himself and Cuesta. They do not seem to know about Sir Arthur’s army and believe that only a small Portuguese force is here at Abrantes.’

‘Good to know they are even more blind than we are.’ Murray beamed happily. ‘Well done, Hanley, this is splendid stuff. It fits with everything we know and fills in quite a few gaps. Yes, Mr Espinosa is earning his pay – at least at the moment. Did the fellow turn up in person?’

‘He sent a servant. The man seemed to know the country. The guerrillas tell me he used to be a smuggler.’

‘How appropriate.’

‘Espinosa writes to say that he will send a new message on the ides of each month and use Caesar’s cipher.’

‘Gone all classical on us, has he?’

‘Probably for my benefit,’ said Hanley.

‘Is he being clever or witty, do you think?’

‘He probably feels both.’

Murray nodded. ‘Good, let him keep thinking that way.’ He looked Hanley up and down. There was dust on his boots and clothes, and smudges from where he had wiped the dirt from his face with a wet towel. ‘You must be greatly fatigued. Let me have your observations on the roads and then go and take some rest. But well done, man, well done indeed.’

The training for the day over and his duties complete until he did his evening rounds of the men’s billets, Williams sat in the shade of an orchard wall and read the letter again. It was hard now to share his sister’s excitement in the early pages.

Oh joy, dearest brother, our heart’s desire has come true! Mrs Waters did decide to take the
waters
!!! and asked us to accompany her. Mama
would not let Charlotte go this year, saying that she was still too young and needed about the house, but said that Kitty and I should go and that it would be good for us. So we waved our poor sister goodbye and she wished us joy
. . .

Williams suspected this was through gritted teeth.

. . .
and have been in rooms in Bath for ten days now. Kitty was all for calling on Mrs MacAndrews at once, but I felt it incumbent on us to spend our first days attending on Mrs Waters since only her generous invitation had allowed us to come at all. Bath is a far more handsome town than Bristol, although most hilly and Mrs Waters soon became tired on each of our walks and would stop and sit for a long while
. . .

Williams skimmed through the lines.

. . .
On the fourth day we went to the Assembly rooms, but I cannot speak with warmth of the lack of kindness we encountered there for no one came to speak to us. Mrs Waters lacks acquaintances. But then Miss MacAndrews appeared from nowhere – a picture of beauty, elegance and friendship. She expressed her great delight in our coming to Bath and chided us sweetly for not yet calling upon herself and her mother
.

The sinister hint came late.

. . .
Also in Bath was a party including Colonel FitzWilliam and so through Mrs MacAndrews two of your little sisters have now been presented to the head of your regiment! Oh think of that!! He is not as tall as you, dearest brother, and though I speak as a sister I would not say so handsomely furnished by nature. Yet he is the most gentlemanly person I have ever met, not at all afflicted with pride or disdain and open in his friendship without ever demeaning his position in life
.

And he danced with us!! On the next evening he came and asked both Kitty and I for the ‘honour’ – not once, but twice!! He is a most
accomplished dancer and attentive as a partner, with an elegant poise and leg. He danced with Miss MacAndrews more often – and they stood out in every set as by far the most elegant of couples. She was in a deep blue gown
. . .

Much as he was fond of picturing Jane MacAndrews, Williams skipped the extensive description of her costume, followed by comparisons with those of his sisters and apparently each one of the other one hundred and fifty or so ladies present.

Kitty is sure that they are in love and that they make the most perfect pair that anyone could imagine, but Kitty is young
[a full fifteen months separated the sisters]
and inclined to fancy. Yet I believe she is correct to see a considerable partiality on the part of the colonel beyond simple good manners. Who could not fall in love with so fine a lady as your major’s daughter
. . .

Who indeed, thought Williams bitterly, and how could he compete with a colonel, an aristocrat and a man by all accounts generally held in high esteem. His elevation to lieutenant seemed hollow and perhaps his failure to inspire the company was deserved. Miss MacAndrews was beautiful, kind and courageous – he had seen her fortitude and inventiveness in the winter’s retreat. She was admirable in every way. If he were honest then she surely deserved better than he was able to offer.

He wished some word would come from her. They had no promise, and the girl admitted nothing beyond friendship. He just wished she would write to him, even as a friend. For the hundredth time he wondered about sending a letter to her. Over and over again he had composed it in his mind, trying the phrases, testing them and refining each word in desperate quest for perfection.

He could not. He had proposed and she had turned him down. The warmth with which she waved to him from the passing ship still thrilled him with the hope of a change of heart,
but perhaps that was merely a presumptuous dream. The letter remained unwritten.

Williams shook the thoughts away. It was time to visit the company, to see their rigid faces. He still did not know these men, however much he tried. In the winter he had led a band of stragglers, but then there had been no time to learn even the names of some, and yet they had responded to fight like tigers.

The men of the Light Company – the Highlanders, the 43rd and the mixture of men from the hospitals all alike – struck him as good soldiers. It could be a most excellent command. Williams wondered gloomily whether he was good enough to lead them.

He passed a cheerful Pringle, out visiting the billets of his grenadiers.

‘Rumour has it we will soon be off,’ said Billy. ‘Take a stab at Marshal Victor.’

‘Good,’ said Williams, and glumly wondered whether a battle might solve all his worries.

Hatch paused and absent-mindedly licked the tip of his pencil. The lead tasted sour, making him grimace, and he reached for the wine and took a sip straight out of the bottle. His funds were low, and when faced with the choice of buying ink or wine the decision had been easy. A moth flirted with the candle flame, casting weird flickering shadows against the canvas of his borrowed tent, but the ensign ignored it and stared fixedly at the paper before him. He skimmed over the first few pages of pleasantries and small news and decided that they were engaging enough, imagining Mrs Davenport’s demure chuckles and Lydia Wickham’s brazen giggles.

The last page was the one that mattered and he studied it closely. The tone must be light, that of a well-meaning friend, amused and generously tolerant of the failings of others.

Our Mr W continues to provide amusement throughout the battalion and army for his misadventures. Elevated in rank, and now in responsibility since the illness of an experienced officer leaves him at
the head of a company – the Light Company, no less! As you know, our ‘light bobs’ as we call them are chosen from slight, agile men with quick wits. Poor W is a slow giant among them, puffing as he runs to keep up, bellowing out orders five minutes after the men have obeyed them. ‘They must learn,’ says he, by which we all know that he must discover for himself what his men already know, and so the weary fellows of the Light Company must run about in the evening sun or under the light of the moon, training an officer who most earnestly believes he is training them! They indulge him generously, for they know the lieutenant means well and is doing his poor best
.

‘
A company must be ordered,’ W declares, his brow furrowed in the sober cares of high command, for even Sir Arthur appears less sensible of his heavy responsibility. The Light Company are regulated in every aspect, and even the soldiers’ wives ordered to starch their petticoats just so, and lay their infants down to rest at seven o’clock precisely. W is always inspecting the company lines and passing the time of day talking to their women. No doubt he is pleased to find them fascinated by his conversation – especially following his previous disappointments with the fair ones (although this term scarcely extends to the followers!). He is quite the success, and these sweet damsels smoke their pipes and listen to his stories of his bravery. If this continues I dare say some husbands will be jealous of their new rival!

Hatch was tempted to add more, and kept his pencil poised over the page for a while before laying it down. The moth, its wings irreparably burned, tumbled on the table beside him.

No, that was enough. He would wait and write more strongly in the next letter – for he was determined that there would be more letters. Let Williams be a poltroon for the moment, paving the way to blackguarding him thoroughly in the future. Mockery would readily turn to disdain and contempt. Hatch feared to fight the man, but he would kill his character and reputation stone dead.

Flicking the dying insect aside, Ensign Hatch folded the pages and slipped them into an envelope. He used the candle’s heat to melt his stick of wax and sealed the letter. Pritchard Jones had
arranged for all officers’ correspondence to be carried in a single packet that would leave the next morning.

Satisfied with a task well begun, Hatch smiled to himself and reached again for the bottle.

19

T
he salvo rolled along the line as Spanish gunners touched the burning match of the linstock to the tube of powder thrust into the touch hole of each dark bronze cannon. It flared and an instant later the main charge boomed out and the cannon jumped back a good two feet. The charge was small, for there was no ball or shell loaded in the barrel, and so there was not the dreadful violence of artillery firing in battle. The booms were flatter, the plumes of smoke smaller and the recoil gentler, but still this was a powerful battery and the flames were vivid against the darkness of night.

Hanley’s horse flicked its ears back at the noise and stirred underneath him. He patted its neck to calm it and pressed slightly with his heels to stay at a steady pace, trailing at the rear of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s party.

‘We’ve woken someone up,’ muttered Sir Charles Stewart, an immaculately dressed cavalryman riding beside the general.

Torches flamed into light and bonfires were ignited across the rolling plain. They began to walk their horses along the front of the parade.

Hanley smiled. The sight was dramatic – well worth a picture if he could impress the scene on his memory. It reminded him of the stories of Austerlitz, where Napoleon’s veterans were supposed to have lit torches to cheer their Emperor the night before the battle. Before he had seen the French massacre a crowd in Madrid, Hanley had possessed a great enthusiasm for Bonaparte, and followed his legend with eagerness.

‘Must have taken a quick bit of organising to be ready to do this in the dark,’ he said.

‘Pity they did not simply give the dragoons a map!’ replied Colonel Murray mischievously. Sir Arthur had been invited to review Cuesta’s army, and a squadron of Spanish cavalry sent to escort the British officers fittingly. Unfortunately, the dragoon officer lost his way on the return trip to his own army. They rode for miles and arrived over four hours late, by which time the sun had set.