They were silent for a while, contemplating the mysteries of the army, until Williams spoke.
‘I have a favour to ask you both.’ His voice shook a little. He also went pale, something the others had noticed he was prone to do at moments of emotion. ‘It is important.’ Billy Pringle thought of a few flippant replies, but then judged that this was not the right time.
‘At your service, as always,’ he said. Hanley made a similar pledge.
‘I have written these letters and would be most grateful if you could deliver them should I fall.’
‘You are not going to die, Bills.’ Pringle’s voice was assured. ‘None of us are. We are too handsome.’
Williams still looked earnest. ‘Nevertheless, it happens. It would be a comfort to know that if either of you should survive [thank you very much, thought Pringle] you would make sure that these notes reach their destinations. I cannot ask anyone else, but you two know more. I keep them in the bottom of my pack, wrapped in oilskin with my books.’ He hesitated, and now flushed with embarrassment. ‘One is for my mother. The other . . . well, the other . . . it is for Miss MacAndrews.’ He scanned their faces intently, trying to see whether they were surprised or even amused. Both men were solemn and that reassured him.
‘Of course, but it will not be necessary. You will see them both yourself one day. And you will be tall and proud as an officer.’ Pringle tried not to sound too light in tone for he knew that Williams was as serious as only he could be.
‘You have my word on it,’ added Hanley, rather surprised at his use of the expression, but there was something oddly important about the scene and for once it felt natural.
‘Mine too,’ said Pringle. ‘And that is the word of a man who was very nearly a parson.’ He realised that was the wrong thing to say so added, ‘More importantly, it is the word of a true friend.’
Williams took each man’s hand in turn and shook it, staring fixedly into their eyes. After that he had to return to help a carrying party on the beach.
‘Well, that was all solemn and more than a bit morbid,’ said Pringle after the other man had gone. ‘I hope you are not going to ask me to perform the same service for you.’
‘I have no one worth sending a last letter.’
‘Truly? No old enemy you would like to send a last batch of insults!’ Pringle noticed that his friend was obviously moved. ‘Not you too?’
Hanley looked at him. ‘I confess thoughts of mortality have been prominent in my mind these last days.’
‘You and I dare say just about everyone else in the army.’ Hanley was surprised, although the exchange with Williams had begun to make him wonder whether his grim mood was more typical than he thought. ‘The trick is not to let anyone notice. Anyway, you are not to die and that is an order. You can’t leave me with only that ass Redman for company – oh, and Bills, of course, but it can all get a little too sober if you spent too much time solely with him.’
Hanley smiled dutifully. Oddly enough the thought that no one would care whether he lived or died had made him angry. A perverse part of him was determined to live just to spite the world that had cast him adrift. ‘Well, if it is an order . . .’ he said.
20
GENERAL ORDER, 7TH AUGUST 1808
Major General Spencer’s corps having joined the army, the
regiments will be brigaded as follows, from the right
1st Brigade – 1/5th, 1/9th and 1/38th regiments
under Major General Hill
3rd Brigade – 1/82nd and 106th regiments
under Brigadier General Nightingall
th Brigade – 1/45th, 1/50th and 1/91st regiments
under Brigadier General Crauford
4th Brigade – 1/6th and 1/32nd regiments
under Brigadier General Bowes
2nd Brigade – 36th, 1/40th and 1/71st regiments
under Major General Ferguson
6th or Light Brigade – 2/95th and 5/60th
under Brigadier General Fane.
The foregoing will be the general formation of the brigades in one
line, excepting that the light brigade will be ordered to take post in
front or in rear, or on either flank, according to circumstances. The
cavalry will be in reserve, and posted as may be necessary. A half-
brigade of artillery will be attached to each brigade of infantry.
Howitzers will be attached to the 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 6th brigades,
and the 9-pounder brigade will be in reserve.
‘Spencer’s now second-in-command to Wellesley,’ said Moss, reading the rest of the general’s order. A few weeks before it had been planned that the commander of the Gibraltar force would lead a brigade including the 106th. Evidently that plan had been discarded even before the force landed. ‘Everyone clear about the new order of battle?’ he asked Toye, MacAndrews and Thomas.
The senior major grinned. ‘I notice they have split up the Highlanders. Very wise, or we could end up with another forty-five to deal with!’
Moss snorted with laughter. MacAndrews simply said mildly that there was an idea, and did anyone know where to buy the white cockades worn by Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men.
‘Well, we should be off at last.’ Moss resumed his instructions. ‘The advance will commence before dawn on the ninth. That will give us a few hours’ marching before the sun gets too hot.’
‘Where are we going, sir?’ Toye’s skin was heavily burned and already beginning to peel. It took great effort for him to resist picking at it.
‘No details yet, but the talk was all of Lisbon last night at the general’s table.’ Moss had been invited to dine with Wellesley along with two of the other battalion commanders. He enjoyed giving the impression of special knowledge, although in truth the conversation had dwelt mainly on hunting and horses.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘by the end of tomorrow we will issue three days of rations to every man. I’d be grateful if you would have a word with Mr Kidwell about that.’ Moss addressed the adjutant.
‘Ammunition?’ asked MacAndrews.
‘Just sixty rounds per man at present. The rest will remain with the train, along with eighteen more days’ worth of food.’ Moss watched his two majors closely. His dissatisfaction with them had grown even stronger. It was not that they failed to perform their duties. Both men were efficient and reliable, but at the same time they seemed to lack any spark of enthusiasm. Too old, Moss thought, looking at MacAndrews’ grey hair. Yet Toye was only a few years older than Moss himself, and always looked like a puppy nervous of being kicked. What was wrong with the man?
‘Well, at least we are not too far from the front of the column,’ said MacAndrews. ‘Not so much dust.’
That was true, but seemed to Moss another symptom of worrying about the little things. ‘Better yet, it puts us closer to the enemy if we should encounter the French unexpectedly. Shame we are no longer with the Lights, which ought to have ensured us of an early blooding. Anyway, it should not be long now. Remember, gentlemen, if in doubt, go straight at the enemy and show them British steel. I want the French to get to know the 106th – and fear us!’
Toye smiled politely. MacAndrews wondered at the colonel’s growing tendency to make speeches at every opportunity. It was almost as if he were performing. ‘The lads are ready,’ he said simply. ‘And the eighty-second look like a solid corps.’
‘Yes, all in all, we are well placed. General Nightingall is a good man.’ Moss’s tone suggested generous condescension in this judgement. Before the others left his tent, the colonel’s servant brought them a glass of indifferent wine and they toasted the regiment and the honours it would win. MacAndrews had an unsophisticated palate, but Toye was only just able to restrain himself from wincing at the sour taste. The loss of his personal stores was an additional annoyance, and perhaps added to Moss’s disappointment with his senior officers. As yet there had been no opportunity to detach any of them from the battalion. Thomas w
ould do, for an adjutant required a thoroughness and attention to detail which the man clearly possessed, however dull he was as company. The other two lacked animation, and the fire he wanted to impart to the entire regiment.
Moss grimaced as he took a sip of some truly foul port. It was the best his servant had been able to buy, and since there were only a few bottles, it was reserved for his own use and the mess would have to make do with even worse muck. Well, they would have to make the best of it and so would he. It fell to him to inspire the regiment, and by God he would do it. He would also have to make sure that his seniors understood the true situation. The years of waiting for another chance to distinguish himself were almost over, and the moment would not find him wanting.
‘Mathematics has never been my strong point, but it seems an odd way to count,’ said Hanley. A group of subalterns from the regiment were sitting around the table in the mess and studying a copy of the new general order. ‘I mean, one, three, five, four, two, and six.’
‘Well, it is the order in which we would stand when formed for battle,’ offered Williams in explanation.
‘Still seems odd. Why not just number us off from right to left? Or from left to right for that matter?’
There was stunned silence for a moment, so that Anstey’s voice saying ‘My trick, I believe’ carried clearly from the game in progress among a group of officers sitting on stools outside. ‘That’s ten shillings you owe me, you rogues.’
‘Seniority, William,’ said Pringle in a tone that suggested this should be adequate explanation. Hanley still looked puzzled, prompting Truscott’s strong pedagogic instinct.
‘I’d never have believed it.’ He shook his head. ‘You are sometimes quite the griffin. And you have been with us now for a couple of months? Truly amazing.
‘Seniority is everything, and a grenadier most of all should know that. You do understand why your company is placed always o anight?’
Hanley said that he supposed everyone had to be somewhere, and that it was simpler if they were always in the same place.
Derryck broke out in a fit of giggles. Others were smiling ruefully at such unbelievable ignorance.
‘No,’ Truscott continued patiently, as if speaking to an invalid or small child – or still worse a civilian – ‘it is because you are senior to all the other companies in the regiment. Therefore you have the place of most honour, the right of the line. The Lights come next in seniority, so they are on the left, the second place of honour.’
Williams could see his friend framing the question and so answered before he had a chance. ‘It goes back to the Greeks. A man carried his spear in his right hand and his shield in his left. It was the spear that attacked and the shield that defended, so the right was associated with attack and therefore became the place of most honour. The entire army was viewed as if it were one man, and so the right flank was the most prestigious place. If you remember your Thucydides . . .’
Truscott was grateful for the sanction of antiquity, knowing that Hanley would appreciate that, but was in no mood to listen to a long digression from Williams. ‘With officers of the same rank,’ he cut in, ‘seniority is given to the man first appointed. We have two major generals, so naturally they are given the first and second brigades. Major General Hill has been longer in the rank, so equally naturally he and his First Brigade take the post of greatest honour on the right of our line.
‘General Ferguson and his Second Brigade have the second post of honour on the left of the line. After that our brigadiers are stationed according to their seniority.’
He could see Hanley about to raise another question, but held up his hand to stop him as he felt it important to complete his explanation. ‘The third place of honour is once again on the right of the line, just to the left of the First Brigade, and so that goes to the senior brigadier.’ Truscott began to arrange cups on the table to mark the positions, ignoring a call of ‘Hey, I have not finished’ from Pringle. The explanation continued and Hanley struggled to follow.
‘And so each brigade takes post according to seniority, working in towards the centre. The Sixth or Light Brigade is the only exception. It contains our riflemen and so is different to the others. Their duties require them to cover any advance or withdrawal and often to close with the enemy and skirmish. Therefore where they are actually stationed will vary, but nominally they are treated just as if they were the light company of a regiment and so stationed on the far left of the rest of us.’ He looked at Hanley, expecting signs of enlightenment.
‘It does seem very complicated,’ he ventured. Truscott rolled his eyes.
‘It is actually simple, William,’ said Pringle. ‘It becomes as natural as eating once you get used to it. May I have my cup back now, or will it break up the army?’ He grabbed the pewter cup and quickly drained it. ‘Alas for the Third Brigade. Morituri te salutant.’
‘But surely the brigades could deploy in the logical sequence of their numbers,’ Hanley suggested. ‘Would not that be still simpler?’
‘God save us from logical grenadiers!’ Truscott decided to try again. ‘That would ignore the places of honour and danger. The flanks of a line are vulnerable, so the best and steadiest officers and regiments should be there. Seniority ensures that this happens. It is the same for a battalion though Heaven knows why we should grant precedence to grenadiers.’
‘Because their minds work so slowly that they will stay in position even after they are dead,’ offered Derryck.
Truscott ignored him as usual. ‘It is the same within a brigade. Each regiment’s seniority determines its position relative to the others. Surely you appreciate that.’
‘I had simply assumed we went where we were told.’ Hanley was struggling with the grammar of this new language.
‘So tell us, fount of knowledge, where will we be in the Third Brigade?’ asked Pringle mischievously.
‘I understand that we are a new corps,’ Hanley ventured.
‘The newest, in fact.’ Williams had decided to join in again. ‘And so the most junior regiment of the line.’
‘But the best!’ asserted Derryck stoutly, and the more enthusiastic officers pounded the table in assent.
‘Quiet in there. I can’t hear myself losing money,’ yelled a voice from outside the tent. They banged harder and cheered at that, and it took a while for the noise to subside.
‘Oh, so does a lower number denote seniority?’ Hanley felt he was making some headway, and was surprised by the expressions of universal dismay that he had only just realised something so obvious. ‘Does that mean we shall be in the centre?’ There was general and still incredulous amusement.
‘In a larger brigade that would be true.’ Truscott raised his voice to carry over the noise. ‘But since we have only the Eighty-second with us, then our station is on the left. You see, it really is so very simple. Every company, every regiment and every brigade has its natural place. And then every one of us has his post within the company. We are threads within a much larger web.’
‘Very poetic,’ said Pringle. ‘I have a suspicion you read books.’
‘How about bricks in a wall, like the Spartans?’ proposed Williams.
‘Now you are confusing the man, he was much happier as a thread.’
‘Bloody grenadiers,’ swore Truscott wearily. ‘At least he should know what is going on now.’
Hanley raised his head. ‘So what precisely is a howitzer?’ Groans came from all around the table.
‘He’s dead, sir,’ said the one-eyed sergeant, massaging his knuckles.
Denilov had been paying little attention to the last few minutes of the interrogation, but a quick look confirmed that Varandas had died at last.
‘Old bastard was tougher than he looked.’ There was the faintest hint of respect in the sergeant’s voice. Neither he nor any of his soldiers was as tall as their officer, but they were all broad shouldered and well used to hard toil. They had begun by simply beating the old man, and then the interp
reter Roberto translated the count’s questions, while the soldiers took turns to pound his face, ribs and stomach if the old man did not answer satisfactorily. For some time Varandas had stubbornly pleaded ignorance, until the pain finally grew too much and he began to moan the answers. Roberto licked his lips as he watched, first flinching at the blows, and later smiling as he enjoyed being on the side of men capable of unleashing such violence.
‘It does not matter. I have learned all that is necessary.’ That had happened a while ago, but it seemed reasonable to keep up the questoning, just in case there was something extra he might learn. Denilov gave a dismissive gesture and the sergeant ordered two of his jaegers to carry the corpse outside. They took it into the garden of the cottage and tossed it into a large dung heap. Then they shovelled more of the waste to cover the body, complaining as each spadefull unleashed new waves of stench from the manure.
‘You have done well, Roberto,’ said Denilov in French.
‘Thank you, sir.’ The small man touched his forehead respectfully. As usual he was crouching, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His skin was sallow, his face pockmarked, and his eyes never stopped moving and never looked at anyone directly. The Russian officer made him nervous at the best of times and the brutal questioning of the steward had only added to his fear, but it had also increased his greed. He had been well paid so far, and there was the promise of more.
True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) Page 21