by Tom Williams
Captain Henderson rose to his feet.
‘You’re in league with that man, Lieutenant. If he does kill you, I’m not sure that it’s any more than you deserve.’
And with that, he was gone, shouting at the door for de Liniers to provide him with an escort back to the fort.
That night James was locked into a room on the upper floor of the house with a guard mounted on his door. He heard the firing continue through the night. He tried not to think about what life must be like in the fort but whenever he closed his eyes to sleep, the bleeding bodies of the men of the 71st filled his vision. He imagined that he could hear the screams of the dying on the night breeze.
In the fort, Beresford, too, was having a sleepless night. For him, the screams were all too real. Almost ninety of the men under his command were already dead with more than twice that number wounded.
In the morning, Colonel Beresford rode out of the fort and presented his sword to de Liniers.
James heard later that many of the private soldiers of the 71st had been in tears when they were told that they were to surrender. When the gates opened so that they could march out, the square was full of people: gauchos, merchants, servants. All were jeering as the Highlanders formed up behind their pipers. Even the whores had joined the crowd to pelt the soldiers who had occupied their city.
Looking at the crowd, one of the columns threatened to break away and charge into the mob in a final, futile act of defiance but their sergeants beat them back with their fists while the officers stood at attention and prayed to get the humiliation over with.
It would take over a week to get a message to Popham and arrange the practicalities of embarking the shattered remains of the army. Meanwhile, the men of the 71st were to camp in the stockyards where the cattle were driven on their way to slaughter. The officers fared better, being billeted in private houses around the city. Special provision, however, was made for Lieutenant James Burke, who found himself housed in a small cell in the liberated Castillo de San Miguel.
After nine days in the cell, James was brought to the walls of the fort to see the troops embark. The transports lay off shore under de Liniers’ guns. All day, longboats rowed from the shore to the ships. In some, the men were silent; in others, those of the wounded who had not yet died screamed or moaned as they were laid into the boats. At the end of the afternoon, James saw Beresford shake de Liniers’ hand and make his way onto the final boat. Half an hour later, the transports had hoisted sail and were already moving away from the shore.
De Liniers wasted no time but came straight from the beach to the fort.
‘I have kept my part of the bargain. Where’s my money?’
‘When I tell you, you will kill me.’
De Liniers sneered.
‘Your life was never part of the bargain, Burke. I have spared your countrymen. Your honour demands that you tell me where the treasure is.’
They were still standing on the walls of the fort. James looked toward the horizon and the vanishing sails of the transports. It had, he decided, been a good bargain.
‘Ask Mr O’Gorman where the llamas are stabled. There’s a dung heap there. Your treasure is buried in that.’
For a long moment, de Liniers looked at Burke. Then, swinging back his right hand, he struck him once across the face. A moment later, he turned on his heel and went to recover his fortune.
*
The next day, James was left alone in his cell. The day after, too, he was fed and the bucket left for his ablutions was changed but otherwise he saw no one. The situation continued for a week, during which he tried to discover something about his fate by talking to his guards, but to no avail.
On the eighth day, he was ordered from his cell and into the courtyard. There, a line of soldiers waited with their muskets. De Liniers himself was in command.
They offered him a blindfold, which he declined.
They stood him against the wall.
Muskets were raised to shoulders.
De Liniers held out his sword and, as he dropped it, six hammers fell. The priming powder exploded with six sharp cracks and smoke drifted from the priming pans.
Chapter Seven
I’m still alive.
James looked at the firing squad and saw them turn and march away.
De Liniers was walking toward him.
I’m still alive.
Now the Frenchman was just a foot from him. He leaned forward and spoke directly into James’ ear.
‘If I had my way, the guns would have been loaded. But you have been spared. The Santa Theresa is in port. I think you will remember her. You have safe passage to Brazil. When you get to Rio, you will write to Mrs O’Gorman in your own hand to assure her that you are well.’
De Liniers turned and stalked from the courtyard.
Dear Mrs O’Gorman,
I write to let you know that I have left La Plata and am now safe in Brazil. I will take an English ship from here, which sails tomorrow for London.
I humbly beg your pardon that, yet again, I have left Buenos Aires without first taking my leave of you. Our mutual friend arranged my departure and I was put aboard ship with scarcely any notice and with only the clothes I was wearing. I have no complaints, however, as my well-being required an immediate change of air.
Our friend suggested that I write to you to let you know that all has gone well. I was delighted to understand from this that you have interested yourself in my health and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your good wishes and concern.
I remain, madam, your affectionate friend,
Lieutenant Burke arrived back in London at the beginning of December 1806. He disembarked at Tilbury and took the stagecoach through the rain to town. His nominal regiment was serving in India, but he had been provided with temporary quarters in the barracks at the Tower. There he settled to sleep on English soil for the first time in two and a half years.
The next morning he was woken by a familiar voice.
‘Cup of tea, sir.’
‘William, by all that’s wonderful! What are you doing here?’
‘Detached duty, sir. I’d missed the regiment – by the time I got back, they were already heading for India. So they kept me at the Tower doing this and that but mainly waiting for you, sir.’
‘Well, it’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you as well, sir. Adjutant’s compliments and you’re expected at Horse Guards at ten o’clock.’
William had his uniform – stored in an army chest for the past thirty months – ready for him to put on. Burke had lost a little weight working as a dockhand but the uniform was still a good fit. William brushed off the jacket and fussed over the buttons and facings.
‘I’m not turning out for inspection, Private.’
‘No, sir. But I’ll not have it said that my officer didn’t leave my care the best-turned-out lieutenant in the army.’ He straightened the tunic sleeve. ‘Sir.’
Not wishing to soil his boots, which William had polished until they fairly gleamed, Burke rode from the Tower to Horse Guards and Colonel Taylor’s office. To his surprise, though, the adjutant who met him escorted him, not to the colonel’s office, but to that of the Commander-in-Chief himself.
The office from which the British army was run was an unassuming room that looked out over the parade ground. It was rather smaller than that occupied by Colonel Calzada Castanio, although it did have the advantage of a view of St James’s Park in the distance.
Burke saluted the figure sitting behind the one desk in the room. Frederick Augustus, the Duke of York and Albany, was just approaching his forty-second birthday. Inclined to stoutness and already balding, he was widely ridiculed as the Grand Old Duke of York who had led his men to defeat against the Dutch six years earlier. James, though, knew him to be a sound organiser who, if not a great military tactician, was a man with a good strategic grasp of the political realities of war.
‘At ease, Lieutenant.’
When Burke entered, the Duke had been poring over some maps showing the latest position of Bonaparte’s forces in Europe but now he pushed these to one side and concentrated his attention on James.
‘Bad business in Buenos Aires.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Not your fault, Burke, not your fault at all. You set the situation up for us and Popham and Beresford failed to exploit it. Bad show all round. Take a seat.’
Burke sat and a servant entered with sherry. The Duke made a show of pouring and passed a glass across the desk to James.
‘I understand that you had more than a little to do with negotiating the release of the 71st.’
James summarised his negotiations with de Liniers, omitting the role that Ana had played in getting him out alive.
‘You did a good job there, Burke – a very good job.’
The Duke searched among the papers on his desk and, finding the one he wanted, read through it quickly.
‘It’s unfortunate that Captain . . .’ He looked again at the paper in front of him. ‘. . . Henderson seemed not to appreciate your position.’
He put the paper down and looked again at the Lieutenant sitting in front of him.
‘The army operates on the principle of chain of command, Burke. Can’t have a lieutenant ordering a captain about.’
Burke coloured.
‘The situation was exceptional, sir.’
‘Even so, Burke, it shouldn’t have happened. You’ve been doing this sort of thing for me for years. I think I’ve rather overlooked your rank.’
‘Sir.’
‘So you’re a captain with immediate effect. It will be gazetted tomorrow.’
For a moment, Burke could think of nothing to say and then, recollecting himself, he managed, ‘Thank you, sir.’
Finally, he had been made up to captain. And he was not to have to buy his new rank. To be given the rank without payment was an honour he had never hoped for. The strange thing was that, after so many years of dreaming that he might one day somehow gain his captaincy, now that he had achieved it, it seemed hardly to matter. Already the Duke was talking about the future of the war with Spain, and James’ next mission. Captain Burke put thoughts of his new rank aside and concentrated on what he was being told.
‘Spain is now firmly allied with Napoleon and it is the view of the government that we require a decisive action against her. A victory in South America will damage her economy and draw troops away from the European field of battle. My staff officers are also anxious that the army should have the opportunity to redeem itself after such a humiliation.’
‘So I am to return to South America.’
‘In time, Captain Burke, in time. I am afraid that one thing that we have learned from our experiences so far is that if we are to attack the Spaniards in the Americas it must be done properly and with a proper army. No more half measures.’ The Duke pursed his lips. ‘Of course, given the military situation in Europe, finding the men and materiel for a proper army may be easier said than done. I do not anticipate any action before the end of the year ahead of us and it may well be longer. However, in the meantime, I think you can help us prepare by providing us with a proper understanding of the likely response to any invasion. Your skills will be invaluable in judging Spain’s position to react to attacks by our forces, whether in South America or in Europe.’
He smiled, as if bestowing a favour.
‘Captain Burke, I think it’s time you went to Spain.’
*
Madrid in January was little warmer than London and definitely just as wet. The rain was falling in sheets as the stagecoach from Marseille pulled into the city.
The passengers got out and stretched, happy to stand in the rain after days of travel in the coach. They did not have to suffer the effects of the weather for long, though. Porters ran from the inn carrying umbrellas to shelter the gentry. The servants sitting outside the coach were already soaked, and it seemed of no concern to anyone if they got wetter.
Not that I could really get any wetter, thought William, clambering stiffly to the ground and calling for porters to help get Burke baggage out of the weather as his master hastened to the warmth of the inn.
‘Monsieur Defarge?’
‘Yes.’ James turned to the innkeeper.
‘Your rooms are ready, monsieur.’
James followed a potboy to his rooms, leaving William to organise the porters with his baggage.
By the time that William had joined him, James was already halfway through the hearty meal that had been served in front of the fire.
‘Settled in, Jacques?’
‘Oui, monsieur.’
William had been practicing his French religiously since James had told him he was going on this trip, but he still didn’t sound like a native. If questioned, William was to claim that he was Flemish, forced south to escape the war. It wasn’t ideal but James needed a servant to be credible and William probably spoke enough French to get by.
‘I still don’t understand why you have to be French at all,’ he complained. ‘After all, we’re in Spain.’
‘Just so.’ James speared himself a piece of beef on his fork. ‘And a fake Spaniard will be more easily detected in Spain than anywhere else in the world. Besides which, I need a reason to spend time around the court. Applying for Spanish citizenship gives me just that.’
‘I thought the French in Buenos Aires managed very well without Spanish citizenship.’
‘Ah, but I want to build my trade with Spain and I think this would be easier with Spanish nationality.’
James pushed his empty plate away from him.
‘Anyway, we can start to worry about all that tomorrow. Find yourself some food and get some sleep.’
‘Yes, sir.’
With the tiniest shrug of regret, he tore himself away from his position near the roaring fire and took himself to the servants’ quarters at the rear of the inn, where a few logs flickered fitfully. The food was good, though, and the bed better than sleeping on the ground.
Half an hour later, master and man were both dreaming. In Burke’s vision, he was leading a mighty army while George III and the Duke of York looked on approvingly.
William dreamed that he had dry clothes.
*
The bureaucracy that had so tangled any attempts to travel round La Plata was as nothing compared to the bureaucracy that Burke now faced in Madrid. He had hoped that at least some of the interminable delays and self-importance of the Viceroy’s officials stemmed from provincial pettiness but he was fast discovering that their officialism was but a pale imitation of that prevailing in the capital of Spain’s Empire.
On the first day, he attempted to arrange an appointment with the assistant to the deputy of the undersecretary who was responsible for matters of citizenship. It was patiently explained to him that an appointment was first necessary with the appropriate functionary whose job it was to confirm that you were worthy of a meeting with any higher beings, and who would, if he judged you fit, arrange such further appointments as were necessary. His immaculately forged letters of introduction from French officials eased the way but, even so, it was clear that he would spend weeks waiting for the appropriate formalities to be completed.
James was by no means unhappy at the delay. The longer he spent waiting to petition the various secretaries and under-secretaries, the more people he met who orbited the court of Charles IV, and hence the more chance he had of gathering useful intelligence. As the weeks turned into months, though, he began to despair of gathering any useful information at all. It seemed to him that the Bourbon court knew little of the world beyond Madrid.
By March, James found that, far from gathering intelligence about Spanish forces, the officials he dealt with would ask him for information about conditions in their own provinces. When he admitted to having travelled across the Andes and visiting Potosí, the secretary for South American commerce was thrilled.
‘Señor Defarge, I am h
onoured to meet someone who has seen with their own eyes the source of our country’s wealth. To have travelled from coast to coast of our South American territories! So few people have done that!’
The secretary insisted that Burke join his family for dinner so that Sr Defarge could tell them about the wonders of La Plata from his first-hand experience. Word spread about the handsome Frenchman who had journeyed all around South America and – although James insisted that he had scarcely begun to explore that continent – he was soon looked upon as almost another Humboldt, whose fame as an explorer was just beginning. He began to receive invitations to soirées given by ministers and courtiers and finally, at Easter, he was summoned to present himself at an audience with King Charles himself.
Charles IV was almost sixty and showing his age. A small wig, perched high on his head, did nothing to conceal his baldness. His nose was prominent, as was his chin, reminding James irresistibly of Mr Punch.
His wife, Maria Luisa, was in her early fifties. She was running to fat and her yellowing hair and the missing teeth that she revealed when she smiled added to the suggestion that this was a Punch who had found his Judy. James, though, knew that appearances could be deceptive. Maria Luisa might be middle aged, ugly, and suffering from a range of ill-defined but enervating maladies, but she held the power in Spain.
Although she had lost her looks, Maria Luisa liked to surround herself with handsome younger men. There were several of them in attendance on her now. James recognised Godoy, the chief minister – who was widely believed to owe his position to his activities in the Queen’s boudoir. Godoy was not the only one that the Queen bestowed her favours on, though. As James watched, she laughed flirtatiously at some comment from one of the other courtiers – an effect spoiled only by the gaps she displayed in her dentistry. None of the men around her allowed this to put them off, though. They fawned on her every word, laughed at her every joke and, as soon as the floor was cleared and musicians appeared, they almost came to blows as they competed to ask her to dance.
If Godoy was not happy with this state of affairs, he was wise enough not to show it. Looking on at the dancers, he smiled benignly – almost, James thought, like some pimp calculating the potential profit in his merchandise.