True Soldier Gentlemen

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  Williams decided against mentioning the card school to his mother. Another omission was the raucous laughter and often crude jokes of the younger – and in most cases well-liquored – officers. Forde was one of a group who now began an enthusiastic, if scarcely musical, rendering of ‘Spanish Ladies’. Since they had heard of their destination it had become one of the most popular songs in the regiment. Williams could remember some of his mother’s lodgers singing the same song when he was a boy, and decided that he could at least make that part of the evening sound picturesque. Still the words did not come easily and he found himself rubbing his chin. He was also thirsty, having long since finished the second glass of wine which was all that he would allow himself in an evening – indeed, was all he could stomach. Perhaps some water would help. Williams got up, leaving his papers and the stubby pencil on the table.

  At the far end the colonel, Major Toye and some of the more sober captains were deep in conversation. MacAndrews was not there, having already taken his leave and gone to see his wife and daughter. Howard of Number Eight Company was reading aloud from a newspaper. Moss noticed Williams passing and beckoned him over to join them.

  ‘This will interest you, Mr Williams. It is from the debate in Parliament which committed our expedition to help the Spanish. I was there,’ the colonel threw in a matter-of-fact way, ‘but it will be good for all our officers to know.’ Moss gestured to Major Toye, who raised his voice.

  ‘Quiet now,’ he yelled. ‘This is important.’ Several voices were still bidding farewell and adieu to the ladies of Spain, and it took more shouting before they were hushed into silence.

  Spanish ambassadors had come to London on 8th June, prompting a debate in the Commons a week later to discuss their appeal. For once the Whig opposition agreed with the Tory government. So did the newspapers and even old Cobbett, the former Dragoon and radical champion of the ordinary soldier’s rights. Howard read extracts from the speeches. Mr Sheridan of the opposition had argued cogently and in great detail for supporting the Spanish with both financial and military aid.

  Moss let them in on a secret. ‘Of course, that’s not what he actually said. It was all going so slowly that morning that old Dick Sheridan wandered off upstairs and joined some friends. By the time he came back he was as drunk as a lord. Poor fellow could hardly stand.’

  They laughed as Moss had known they would. Williams joined in, since although he rather disapproved of the country’s leaders misbehaving, there was something so essentially comic about the image.

  ‘So what happened next? Did Canning embrace him and swear undying friendship?’ suggested Pringle, who had come over to join them.

  The laugh was smaller, as befitted a joke made by a junior officer, but Moss hesitated only for a moment before joining in, and that encouraged the rest.

  ‘No, Billy’ – using the familiar name was a careful touch – ‘Canning was as sober as a judge. His speech is fairly accurate.’

  ‘So he did really say there was “The strongest disposition on behalf of the British government to afford every practical aid to the Spanish People”?’ Howard was reading carefully from The Times. ‘So is the practical aid bit about us?’

  ‘Well, everyone above the rank of ensign anyway,’ suggested Major Toye, producing more laughter. That seemed to end things and the group dispersed. Williams heard Derryck saying to another ensign that he was strongly disposed to ask on behalf of himself for the loan of five guineas. He grinned, and then realised he was still standing beside the colonel. Moss noticed his confusion, but was still in a generous mood. ‘Mr Williams, will you take a glass with us?’

  It was obviously impossible to refuse, but Williams felt awkward as he sat. Moss asked him a number of questions, chatting affably although in his usual rapid manner. The port came and Williams dutifully consumed the glass, and tried not to grimace each time he took a sip. He realised that this was expensive stuff, from the colonel’s own cellar, and that he ought to be privileged. That did not stop it tasting foul to him, or reduce the sense that his throat was burning.

  Perhaps it loosened his tongue a little, for at one point he found himself talking with great enthusiasm about Caesar, Hannibal and Marius. Major Toye had merely asked politely whether he had studied any military history. Williams’ voice had risen sharply in volume as he warmed to such a favourite theme.

  ‘I confess I know little of the ancients, especially of Marius,’ said Moss briskly.

  ‘He said one thing worthy of note. One day an enemy general wanted to fight a battle, but Marius would not bring his Romans down from a high hill. “If you are such a great general, Marius, come down and fight!” his enemy said. Marius just replied, “If you are a great general, then make me.”’ Williams looked immensely pleased with the story.

  ‘We shall keep that advice in mind,’ said Howard. ‘Now, Mr Williams, would you mind returning his paper to Mr Anstey? Thank you.’ He held The Times out.

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ Williams rose and left, still looking pleased at having been included n the conversation.

  ‘A keen young man, though rather sober,’ said Toye, once the volunteer had moved off.

  Moss nodded, but looked a little doubtful. ‘Rather a cautious moral to his story. Still, he may learn. Another glass, gentlemen?’

  Williams’ admiration for the colonel had increased still further. He felt proud to be in the 106th, confident that with such a true gentleman at their head they would win fame. With luck he might get his commission sooner rather than later. He pictured himself as a wise and noble colonel, condescending to his juniors as easily as Moss. He was clearly the model he should endeavour to match.

  Having returned the newspaper, Williams headed back to the table where he had left his unfinished letter. He tried to think of a modest way of describing his conversation with the colonel. When he reached the spot his papers were missing. Behind him he heard a voice.

  ‘Dearest Mother, I do hope the pox has cleared up.’ Williams turned to meet a gale of laughter. Redman had his head back and his mouth wide open, showing his bad teeth as he guffawed. Ensign Hatch had hold of the letter and was pretending to read aloud.

  ‘How is sweet sister Emily and her latest bastard? Can she remember whether it was the parson or the sweep who is the father this time? Tell her she must take payment immediately next time and not rely on their good faith.’

  Williams was furious. He strode towards them and grabbed the letter from Hatch. It tore slightly as he pulled it away, but the man was too drunk to resist properly or make a game of it. For a moment he kept staring at where the pages had been, not noticing that they had gone.

  ‘Do not judge my family by the standards of your own,’ said Williams as coldly and calmly as he could. He felt rage within him, was flexing the fingers of his free hand, itching to ball them into a fist and slam it into the man’s face. With an effort, he spun on his heels and walked off, knowing that acting quickly was the main thing.

  ‘That told you,’ said Redman to Hatch.

  ‘I left a bit out. All about having to share a tent with an ugly bugger called Redman,’ replied his friend. ‘How he kept making unwelcome advances on poor Williams.’ Some of the nearby gentlemen howled with laughter. Redman looked confused and then glared at his friend. Hatch froze for a moment. ‘You know, I do believe I am going to be a little ill.’ He staggered up and left.

  In the corner Williams was still fuming. He flinched, turning angrily when Pringle patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Well done, Bills.’

  ‘I should have knocked them down.’

  ‘They are drunk, and will fall down well enough on their own. That would not have proved anything.’

  ‘I would have enjoyed it, though.’

  ‘Would you also enjoy being expelled from the regiment? If officers fight it must be an affair of honour properly conducted. You can count on me as a second if you need me.’

  Williams began to understand. ‘That is most kind o
f you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. What little honour William Pringle still has is always at your disposal.’ He smiled. ‘But not over nonsense like this. Best to show you can take a joke. Anyway, Redman is a damned fool, but he is our goddamned fool and we have to live with him. What was it you were saying earlier – only fight when your eney makes you? If it’s good enough for Marius I am sure it’s good enough for you.’

  ‘You heard that?’

  ‘Half the room did,’ said Hanley, appearing from nowhere.

  ‘Your speech was a little loud and forceful,’ confirmed Pringle. ‘I wish I had a voice as strong!’

  ‘Oh dear, should I apologise, do you think?’

  ‘Of course not. You were perfectly polite if a little deafening,’ said Hanley.

  ‘Given up the game?’ asked Pringle.

  ‘Too rich for my liking. I have lost fifteen shillings and that is enough. Anyway, I thought I would seek some intelligent company for a change. But . . .’

  Pringle finished the sentence. ‘You couldn’t find any so decided to make do with us. Bills, we are desperately undervalued. Tell him something about Caesar and prove him wrong.’

  ‘Well, he’s dead for a start,’ said Williams, grateful for their company.

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry. Had I known, I would have sent flowers.’

  ‘He is supposed to have killed a million Gauls,’ said Hanley.

  ‘Obviously not enough, as there are still plenty of Frenchmen out there,’ replied Pringle. ‘Apparently you cannot rely on an Italian to finish a job.’

  ‘He fought in Spain a few times. In fact he fought nearly everywhere,’ added Williams.

  ‘Had affairs with women everywhere too,’ said Hanley.

  Pringle’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, now you interest me strangely. I had almost forgotten why I enjoy history so much! Tell us more.’

  12

  Lieutenant Colonel Moss was impatient and was never a man to suffer in silence.

  ‘Damn it, Toye, where the hell are they? Thomas has been gone for nearly an hour.’

  Mr Thomas the adjutant had ridden off to look for the two missing companies less than twenty minutes earlier, but Toye did not think it prudent to point this out. ‘I am sure they will be back soon, sir,’ said the major guardedly. They were not too far from the men, and he was uncomfortable with appearing to criticise any other officer in front of them. Anyway, Thomas was reliable and would no doubt be back as soon as he could. The adjutant had joined as a private soldier and risen through sheer merit. If he was not the most elegant horseman among the officers, he was more than competent, and his little chestnut cob had plenty of stamina. Thomas would be back as soon as was possible. It was not as if they faced a real enemy.

  Today Moss had divided the battalion. MacAndrews had been given the grenadiers and Companies One and Eight and sent off before dawn. They were to build a small redoubt on a prominent hill some three miles away. At ten the rest of the 106th would advance to take the position, forcing their way across a river en route. Moss himself led the main force of five companies to the bridge. The Light Company along with Number Five Company had been sent downstream to cross by the cattle ford and then move round to outflank anyone MacAndrews had posted to defend the bridge.

  Yet when Moss and his men had arrived at the bridge there was no sign of anyone. The ‘enemy’ were not waiting for them, nor w1">‘Light Company’s Captain Headley and his men. Moss had waited for five minutes and then the main force advanced over the humpbacked bridge to a low rise beyond it. They waited, and after a while he let the men sit down to rest. It was a warm day, and some were soon lying stretched out in the long grass. Quite a few of the older men dozed off, taking advantage of any chance to rest. Others were smoking their pipes. Most of the officers clustered in the centre of the line formed by the five companies. They remained standing, and a few had lit cheroots.

  Hanley was the senior ensign in the battalion and so today was detached from the Grenadier Company and carrying the King’s Colour of the 106th. At the moment the large silk Union flag – it was more than six feet high and a little longer – remained covered by its protective leather case. He had been given a white shoulder belt fitted with a metal holder in which to rest the butt of the pole when he raised it high, but for the moment he let the heavy standard stand on the ground.

  ‘I suppose we ought to think of you as a spy, Hanley,’ said young Derryck cheerfully. He had only a week’s seniority over Ensign Trent, and so the latter was given the task of carrying the regimental colour. This had a small Union flag in the top left-hand corner. Normally the main field matched the colour of the collar and cuffs of a regiment – its facings. The 106th, however, had red facings identical in shade to the rest of the jacket. (As Pringle said, it rather suggested that their first colonel was not a man of great imagination.) As was usual in such cases, the 106th’s standard had a white field with a large red cross on it. In the centre of this, like the King’s Colour, was a green wreath containing the regimental number CVI in gold lettering. This colour also remained in its case, however. It was clear the weight was already tiring the diminutive Trent, but he stubbornly refused to let Derryck or anyone else hold it for a while to ease his burden.

  Moss and Toye stood about fifteen yards ahead of the group of officers. At least Toye stood. Moss paced up and down restlessly. Now and again his angry tirades against the delay carried back to where the others waited. Their horses were held by two soldiers who knew enough to keep their expressions utterly blank.

  ‘Where is the bloody man?’ asked Moss for the tenth time. ‘The goddamned ford is only half a mile away, what in the name of all that’s holy is damned well keeping him?’

  ‘I am sure Mr Thomas will be back very soon. Either with the companies or at least with news of them. Perhaps they got lost?’ suggested Toye, more for something to say than out of any conviction. He instantly realised it was the wrong thing.

  ‘For God’s sake they can’t have got lost. Even Thomas can read a map. So can that arse Headley. Bloody hell, it is a simple lane, and then they can follow the river to us.’ Moss was red in the face, his anger boiling over. Someone would pay for this. Still, he was a soldier and in war things went wrong. There was nothing to be done but carry on.

  ‘That’s it. I am not wasting any more time. They can catch up with us if they are able.’ Moss was already striding back towards the companies. ‘Mr Fletcher, fall them in if you please.’ The RSM’s voice echoed through the wide field.

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked Toye.

  Moss barely managed to bite back a cutting remark. ‘We must always be sure, Major Toye.’ With a struggle he managed to pause for a long moment. ‘If we wait any longer they may not arrive, and all the time we wait MacAndrews’ boys can be strengthening their position. So we go.’ Moss grinned. go.’ MoIf in doubt, go straight for the enemy’s throat!’ he declared cheerfully. Toye was unconvinced, but he smiled back, the habit of obedience strong. MacAndrews’ men had very few tools and were unlikely to construct anything too formidable. When Moss waved away the private leading his horse, the major felt obliged to do the same. They would both walk the last mile with the men.

  Moss put the five companies into open column. They were not one of the wings of the battalion. Whether through design or chance the colonel had broken up the usual subdivisions of the 106th and scattered the companies. The change from line into column was a little slower and less tidy than usual. Moss was displeased, and once they were on the move beckoned to the RSM and had a few words with him. Speed was what mattered, and he was not unduly concerned whether this offended the sergeant major’s fondness for precision in drill. ‘Being fast is the key, Mr Fletcher. That way you can respond to anything the enemy throws at you before they have time to think.’ He liked that, and made a mental note to tell his officers the same thing at some point.

  Finally – it was now long past noon – the main force arrived at the foot of a gentle ridge. On a mo
destly projecting spur the dark red earth of a rampart stood out. It stretched for little more than thirty yards and was scarcely three foot high. There was a flurry of activity when Moss’s men appeared, and soon the earthwork was lined with two ranks of redcoats, the men in front kneeling.

  ‘Can’t see any sign of side walls,’ said Toye, as he and Moss studied the position through their telescopes. The colonel grunted in agreement, but was more concerned with the deployment of his men. He turned to see the RSM bellowing at the companies. To make the change into line more speedy, Moss had instructed him to form with the first company in the column as the centre of the new line. Arnold’s Number Three Company was at the head of the column, Davenport’s Number Seven behind them, then Mosley’s Number Four, Hamilton’s Number Six, and finally Kitchener’s Number Two Company at the rear.

  With the men unused to their positions in this ad hoc formation, things had quickly gone wrong. Davenport’s men had wheeled to the left rather than the right and that left both them and Hamilton’s company trying to occupy the same position to the immediate left of Arnold. Both had to halt. The sergeant major marched stiffly over, yelling orders as he did so. Davenport’s men were already in place, so it was easier to turn Hamilton’s company about, wheel them round ninety degrees and then march them to form at the very far left of the line next to Kitchener’s Number Two Company. That left Mosley’s company on the far right, with a company-sized gap between them and Arnold’s Number Three. Fletcher had them turn to their left and then march until they were in contact with the rest of the line. A good deal of more minor shuffling was required before the five-company line was ready, somewhat to the left of where it was originally intended to be.

  ‘A bloody shambles, Mr Fletcher!’ yelled Moss, unable any longer to hide his displeasure with his subordinates. The RSM stiffened slightly, but remained otherwise unmoved. Inwardly he was cursing his commander, who criticised him for his own haphazard instructions.