Beat the Drums Slowly

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘That is an honour, sir. I am flattered and do not quite know how to respond for the question is unexpected and so much has happened.’

  She had not yet refused, and his hope soared. ‘The reply need not be made in haste. One single word could make me the happiest fellow in the world, but I will wait for ever to hear it.’

  Jane was not quite sure what he meant, and then remembered something. ‘You are kind.’ There was something endearing as well as infuriating about his odd mixture of passion, worship and calm reason. ‘And yet it is but a few months since you told me that you were in no position to ask for my hand. I am surely entitled to know what has changed. I am not aware that you have come into a fortune.’ Miss MacAndrews glared at an hussar officer who was lingering and obviously eavesdropping on their conversation. The sense that she was being watched offended her.

  ‘That is sadly true. I have little to offer.’ He also turned to stare at the officer, recognised the captain he had met at Sahagun and nodded amiably. The hussar sauntered off. ‘I know I have so little to offer.’ He leaned closer to her and dropped his voice. ‘I simply love you, Jane.’

  He was genuine. She could tell that. The tremor in his voice was not affected. An hour before and she would no doubt have responded, an open street or not. Instead, the gesture reminded her of Wickham and she sickened herself remembering her former excitement at his attentions and how close she had come to ruin.

  ‘You have not answered my question, Mr Williams? I cannot see how matters have changed.’

  Williams shrugged; he did not wish to be indelicate. Surely the truth was obvious? He stated it anyway. ‘We have travelled since then. Alone, and for days on end. And we have …’ He stopped himself. Did she not understand? ‘It is a question of honour.’

  ‘Honour?’

  He failed to catch the angry inflexion. ‘I would not have the slightest tarnish on your reputation.’

  ‘Would you not?’ He had not managed to say anything in the way that he had planned. Williams knew that he had angered the girl even if he did not truly understand why.

  ‘Would you not?’ repeated Miss MacAndrews. Her voice was quiet, but absolutely clear, and her speech was fast. ‘And so you would deign to marry me, disgrace or not? As a favour, and a kindness. No one else would have me so I should be grateful for your condescension, even though you openly confess to be a man without wealth or obvious prospects.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Disgrace, sir! What disgrace? I do not recall any moment of disgrace. And I might add that if such had occurred then you would have been responsible, and would not you who speak of honour be the cause of dishonour?’ She thought of Wickham and his obvious lechery.

  ‘I did not mean …’

  ‘How can you expect any woman who is not truly degraded to appreciate an offer made so discourteously? Oh, you are generous, sir, so generous to speak now of marriage! The proud and kind gentleman and the wayward girl!’

  She had to draw breath at some point, and Williams just managed to make a weak protest. He was confused and more than a little angry. ‘My admiration of you is long standing. I first told you of it when we were still in England so that you can be under no illusion that I speak from pity or a sense of obligation. If I were not involved I would have spoken no differently. My life, my everything, will always be at your disposal to save you from the least harm, whether to person or reputation.’

  ‘I do not recall asking for your protection,’ said Jane, although she remembered how he had rescued her and knew that in truth she was both grateful and flattered. Everything was happening the wrong way.

  ‘You have it anyway, for I have no choice in the matter.’ He almost flung the words at her, and his face had grown red. ‘I do not believe such a thing is dishonourable, but whether or not, it is beyond my control.’ Many of the passers-by were watching. Williams no longer cared, but Miss MacAndrews was wishing they had not chanced upon each other at such a time and place.

  Mrs MacAndrews rescued them before worse was said and greater offence taken.

  ‘Ah, Jane, they found the material in the end, so we have enjoyed success.’ She appeared to notice her companion for the first time. ‘Oh, Mr Williams, I am most pleased to see you. You must tell Dobson that his grandson thrives, and that when it is convenient I wish to have a word with him to discuss the boy’s future.’ She permitted him the briefest of replies. ‘I understand that you are helping to arrange the transportation. Do you have any news for us?’

  ‘The cavalry and artillery are already embarking. The baggage will follow for each division, so you may be sent for this evening or tomorrow morning. The major sends his compliments and says that he hopes you will both be put on board the same ship as him, but that nothing is yet certain.’

  ‘Then I am sure you have much to do, and we must not detain you from your duty.’ Mrs MacAndrews stared fixedly at him. ‘I trust that duty will not prevent you from obtaining a more suitable item of headgear.’ Williams was still wearing his bedraggled forage cap, and wondered whether this was a reproof for not having removed it. He raised it now, bade them good day and hastened up the street. Williams felt more battered and bruised than after the fight at the bridge, and a good deal more confused. He was simply uncertain whether or not his hopes and thus his life were in ruins, and tried to tell himself that if he were not sure then there might still be some faint chance.

  Esther MacAndrews looked at her daughter. She had still only wormed a little out of her about her escapades. Jane looked flustered, but she was nineteen and the mother could remember that when she had been young the important and desperate emotion of one day had faded by the next. There was no indication that anything too terrible had happened, either during her adventures or in the last few moments.

  ‘It seems that Mr Williams has been taking care of you once again, my dear.’ The mother spoke with as much innocence as she could muster, and consciously or not the accent of the Carolinas became stronger.

  Jane looked briefly angry, but did not wish to be drawn.

  ‘A chance encounter,’ she said. ‘We spoke only for a few moments as I waited for you.’ It seemed better to move her mother on to a different subject. ‘May I see the cotton roll?’

  ‘It is wrapped, so better to wait until we are back at the hotel. I think you will be pleased, though.’ Esther MacAndrews was not about to be so easily diverted. Jane’s own sense of mischief was inherited from her mother, along with much of her character, if not her appearance. As Williams passed beyond earshot, Esther smiled warmly at her daughter. ‘I have become very fond of that young man,’ she drawled.

  ‘I believe that Mr Williams also holds himself in very high esteem.’ Jane was not inclined to be fair at that moment.

  ‘Well, Jane, you know him far better than I,’ responded her mother, with an emphasised lack of conviction.

  Jane was unsure what was meant by the comment. Her mother was already expecting another man’s child when she met and fell in love with her father. They too had their adventures, hunted by the militia as he escaped from captivity to reach the British lines. Was her mother suggesting that Jane’s own recent behaviour was similar? Surely, given her own history, she would not be disposed to judge, but what conduct would she consider to be natural and so assume had occurred?

  ‘There is a great deal I do not know about Mr Williams – a very great deal indeed,’ Jane declared.

  ‘There seems no doubt of his valour, and men value that considerably.’ Esther MacAndrews was determined to continue her daughter’s discomfort. Although she might not discover the details of what had happened since Christmas, she was confident of discerning Jane’s mood more clearly.

  ‘Ensign Williams has his virtues, I am sure,’ Jane said primly. ‘Yet they are accompanied by a considerable pride, and too little sympathy for others.’

  ‘You know best, of course.’ Esther now felt sure of considerable attachment on both sides, whether or not either was willing to admit
it. ‘It is a pity he dresses like a ragamuffin, for in many respects he could be considered well favoured in his appearance.’ Jane’s face went rigid. ‘Of course,’ her mother continued, ‘I am simply an old woman, and should leave such judgements to the young.’

  Jane, long accustomed to such blatant insincerity, glared at her mother. ‘This is scarcely the place to speak of such things.’

  ‘What things, my dear? I have simply expressed a good opinion of one of your father’s officers, and a gentleman who is a friend to us both. I do not see anything indiscreet in such a conversation.’ Esther MacAndrews lied with practised fluency. ‘Still, we must not linger. Little Jacob will most likely be awake by now. Come, carry this package for me.’

  On the way back to the hotel, their talk was solely concerned with babies and their care. Jane was relieved after the morning’s encounters, and apart from that delighted in the theme as much as her mother.

  28

  ‘Halt!’ MacAndrews’ order was more of a remark than an instruction for the 106th had already stopped in its tracks as soon as they heard the French guns. He flicked open his watch and saw that it was just past two o’clock. No wonder everyone from the general down had assumed that Marshal Soult was not planning any attack. Both armies had waited all through the morning, the French on a higher ridge and the British on a lower line of high ground some two miles south of Corunna. The Reserve Division was ordered to be at the harbour to begin embarkation at four. Sir John had chosen them to go first of all the infantry as an acknowledgement of their services as rearguard.

  General Paget rode past. ‘Turn them around. I dare say we’ll be going forward soon!’ He sounded positively cheerful. MacAndrews sensed that the 106th and all the other regiments shared his enthusiasm. They had been happy to head for the ships. In spite of the likely discomforts of transport ships, it would mean days or weeks of little work and light discipline, and rations would be more reliable than in the last few weeks. It was not to be for the moment, and he could see no sign of regrets. They turned about, frustrated only because no order had yet arrived for them to move forward.

  They were on the right of the British line, but held back some distance from its centre. The French held a peak some way ahead of them, which he could just see over the closer crest. Paget had explained to them earlier that the general was deliberately making his right appear weak, so that Soult would see a path through to the harbour. He wanted the French to come that way, to tire themselves crossing a land cut by gullies and split into small walled fields. With some of their energy already gone, the enemy would suddenly be hit by two of his divisions, with the Reserve Division in the lead. It was just a question of waiting for the order. MacAndrews patted his horse on the neck and sat listening to the guns pounding.

  The French guns were loud, and the answering noise of the British artillery seemed almost puny by comparison. Soult had forty guns, a dozen of them lined wheel to wheel in one battery shooting down at close range on to the village at the centre of the British line. Sir John had barely a quarter of this number, and three of those were back with the reserve. The rest of his guns were already on board ships, along with all the cavalry. There was not room for most of the horses and only the best were being taken. Hundreds more had been slaughtered in the streets or on the beaches.

  Bobbie shied as Williams tried to take the mare past a row of dead cavalry chargers. The troopers had struggled to kill them efficiently with their pistols. Tearful men had flinched, and wounded rather than killed, so that some horses suffered horribly. They were then ordered to cut their throats as a surer and quicker means of killing, so the earth around the bodies stank from the dried blood, and his mare would go nowhere near them.

  Giving up, he took her to the side and turned back into town, threading through the streets to go out by a different route. When they heard the opening salvoes of the enemy artillery, all of the officers detached from their battalions had immediately asked Wickham for leave to rejoin their respective corps. Most were on foot, and so were trudging as best they could, but Williams knew that Bobbie was close by and did not think that Pringle would object if he borrowed the mare. Wickham, whose own pair of horses had already been embarked as too valuable to be left behind, let him borrow a saddle. He declared that he would like to go himself, but must remain at his post, but Williams did not even bother to listen.

  He passed along a stretch of quayside, and wondered on which of the ships the major’s wife and daughter were. Miss MacAndrews’ behaviour still baffled him, and he had thought over their conversation – and indeed all their conversations – many, many times without reaching any certain conclusion. He threaded through the streets, got lost, but managed to obtain directions from a sentry and eventually emerged on the main road.

  In half an hour he saw the columns of the reserve waiting, their Colours flapping in the breeze. Before he reached the 106th, General Paget’s chief of staff beckoned to him.

  ‘It’s Williams, isn’t it? Where is Captain Wickham?’ he called out.

  ‘Still at the harbour.’

  ‘Indeed. Well then, we are short handed and you have a horse, so you must serve in his place. Take this to General Moore.’ He handed a folded note. ‘Follow the road till you reach a little village. Then cut due south over the fields for Elvina. He should be there.’

  ‘But, sir …’ Williams tried to explain that the horse was not his.

  ‘Damn it, sir, do as you are told!’

  Williams rode off, passing close to the 106th. ‘Your family are embarked, sir,’ he called to Major MacAndrews, who acknowledged with a wave.

  Pringle pointed, lifted his glasses off, and then put them on again as if to confirm what he was seeing. ‘He’s taking my damned horse again!’ he shouted out, and the grenadiers laughed.

  The sound of cannon fire grew heavier as Williams approached the centre of the battlefield. He passed wounded men, limping or supported by comrades. By now he could hear bursts of musket fire, both sporadic shots and heavy volleys, and then the wind carried chants of ‘Vive l’empereur!’ and the beating of many drums, which fought against the skirl of bagpipes. He could still see little, as the ground rose in front of him and hid the fighting. There was a volley and then a cheer that he knew to be British.

  He came over the low rise and saw a line of Highlanders driving back the head of a French column. More redcoats were charging alongside them, and disappeared into a maze of low houses and walled gardens. Their regimental Colour was a red cross on black, so they must surely be the old ‘dirty half hundred’. A battalion to his right was inclining its right wing so that the line now formed an L shape. Once in position it resumed steady platoon volleys to the front and side, the fire rippling up and down the companies.

  There were a few horsemen clustered near the battalion. Moore stood out. His horse was unusual, for it was a light cream colour with a black face, but that only enhanced the impression he made. It was obvious that the rider was in charge, and as Williams rode towards him he felt a sense of awe at simply being in the man’s presence. Sir John noticed him, nodded in recognition, without stopping as he dictated an order to one of his aides. Graham waved to him. Two more men waited with messages. The second was delivering his as Williams reined in beside them.

  ‘Sir David’s wound is grievous, but does not appear mortal,’ said the staff officer. ‘He may lose an arm.’

  Sir John acknowledged the report. ‘I pray that he does not. Ride now, and inform Sir John Hope that he succeeds to the command if I should fall, now that Sir David is unable.’ The man rode off.

  ‘Now, Mr Williams, I see that we have you at staff work after all.’ Major Colborne took and scanned the message he had brought. ‘Sir Edward informs us that the Reserve Division is in position and awaits your orders. Judging from the time he cannot have received your instructions.’

  ‘You know the ground, John. Ride to Paget and take him along the stream to drive back the enemy right, but tell him not to
go too far.’

  ‘Sir.’ Colborne immediately set off. Williams was about to follow, when the general stopped him.

  ‘Stay, Mr Williams, I may well have need of an additional officer as the day goes on.’

  The fighting in the village was hard to follow. They heard bursts of very heavy firing, and French and British cheers. The 50th had surged right through the houses, but the attack had lost momentum and some had become cut off when the French counter-attacked. The Highlanders of the 42nd were on the edge of the buildings, firing steadily. One company was on the slope, and Sir John now rode over to them to get a better view of the combat.

  Round-shot from the French battery skidded over the grass, sometimes falling between the horses. One ball took the leg off a Highlander below the knee. The man screamed in his agony.

  ‘Carry him back to the surgeons,’ said Sir John with quiet authority to a sergeant standing in his place at the rear of the company. ‘My good fellow, don’t make such a noise – we must bear these things better.’

  The soldier did not reply, but his cries slackened as two of his comrades supported him between their shoulders. Soon afterwards the company charged down to reinforce the fighting. The broken ground gave few chances for whole battalions to fight in formation. Companies went in on their own, and often found themselves split up into little clusters of men, fighting small, savage and often private battles.

  It was soon clear that the momentum was shifting back to the French. The two British battalions were forced back from the village on to the slope behind.

  Sir John sent orders for the two battalions of the First Foot Guards to come to their support. Williams took the order, and would long cherish the reaction of the brigade commander at the sight of his battered forage cap. His expression mingled profound distaste with a strong disbelief that any officer could so resemble a scarecrow. Yet reaction to the order was prompt, and as he cantered Bobbie back to the general, the Guards were already marching over the crest.