Drums of War

by Edward Marston

  Daniel reached out to brush the snowflakes from the headstone. His father's name had been chiselled in the stone along with the date of his death. Few people now remembered the blatant savagery of his execution and the public mortification attending it. His had been one of countless bodies that swung in the wind that summer. Nathan had met his end fearlessly. Daniel had been inspired by that. In his eyes, his father was no mere rebel but a hero prepared to fight for what he truly believed in. There was dignity in that.

  He knelt beside the grave for a long time, pulling out weeds that had sprouted up since his last visit and clearing away the twigs that had been blown on to it. Before he rose to leave, he offered up his usual prayer for the salvation of his father's soul. A bond had been renewed. His visit to the past was over. Daniel rode slowly away from the village, his sorrow fringed with a strange feeling of pride. It stayed with him all the way back to London.

  The Duke of Marlborough spent the winter months in the company of his beloved wife, Sarah, bemoaning his long absences and assuring her that the end of the war might be in sight if his calculations were proved to be correct. Details of his strategy were discussed at length with his inner circle, Daniel Rawson among them. Plans were put in place to guarantee that there would be adequate provisions for a large army on a longer march than had ever before been attempted during the war. Marlborough was brimming with confidence. He had the support of Queen Anne and of his close friend, Sidney Godolphin, Lord Treasurer and skilful manipulator of Parliament. Everything boded well for the new offensive.

  Unfortunately, it was the French army that seized the initiative.

  While the commander-in-chief of the Confederate armies was refining his strategy in England in April, 1706, a strong French force under Marshal Vendôme defeated a Hapsburg army at Calcinato in northern Italy. Instead of deploying his armies in defensive positions as he was wont to do, Louis XIV elected to engage the enemy. Marlborough and his staff crossed to The Hague almost a week later to be met by delay, disappointment and confusion. The Dutch had welcomed the idea of reinforcing Italy from the north. Once they realised that Marlborough intended to go there in person, they feared that he'd weaken their defences in doing so and render them vulnerable to attack.

  Dutch vacillation was followed by a blank refusal to cooperate from other quarters. The Danish, Hessian, Hanoverian and Prussian commanders reneged on their earlier undertakings and withheld their support. The prospect of taking the war to Italy frightened them. It was a crushing setback for Marlborough, made worse by the fact that the careful preparations needed for a sustained march were well short of completion. There had been a woeful lack of urgency in setting up depots. It was as bad as in the previous year. Marlborough was furious and dismayed. It was almost as if his allies were deliberately holding him back. Though he tried to rectify the situation with commendable energy, it was an impossible task. The strategy he'd nurtured for so many months was now in danger of falling apart.

  The final crippling blow came early in May. With great secrecy, Marshal Villars and Marshal Marsin had prepared an offensive against the position held in Alsace by the Margrave of Baden. They took the Imperialist troops by surprise and captured Haguenau, forcing Baden's men to retreat in disarray across the Rhine. The fortress of Landau, which had changed hands many times, was under siege once more. The dramatic change in French tactics had been rewarded. In Alsace, as in northern Italy, signal victories had been secured. It was an ideal start to the new campaign. At the same time, it was a declaration of intention. France was on the attack.

  Daniel was at his side when Marlborough received a dispatch, telling him of the Allied defeat in Alsace. All hope of marching to Italy vanished. His bold plan would never be put into operation. They were back where they had been the previous year, losing ground to the enemy and compelled to restrict their activities to the Low Countries. Overcoming his frustration, Marlborough adapted swiftly to the change of perspective. He even found cause for optimism.

  'Our intelligence from Versailles was inaccurate,' he said. 'The King has realised that you can only win a battle if you engage with the enemy. If he's ready to sanction an attack, we don't have to provoke the French any longer. They'll come at us of their own volition.'

  'That will make a change, Your Grace,' said Daniel.

  'It's a very welcome change.'

  'What's brought it about, do you think?'

  'King Louis wished to remind the Dutch of his power,' said Cardonnel. 'We know from our spies that he secretly offered peace to the States-General during the winter. Naturally, he wishes it to be negotiated on his terms. By securing these early triumphs in Italy and Alsace, he's sending a message to The Hague.'

  'Unfortunately,' said Daniel, 'many people will heed it. The closer the French encroach on us, the louder are the calls in Holland for a peace settlement.'

  Marlborough was adamant. "The only way to achieve peace is to defeat the French,' he said. 'I firmly believe that we have the money, men and spirit to do it.'

  'We're somewhat short of men, Your Grace,' Cardonnel told him. "The Hanoverians and Hessians have not yet arrived and the Danish cavalry will not be here for a week or more.'

  'What about the Prussians?' asked Daniel.

  'King Frederick is having another tantrum, alas. He's refusing to send his contingents until we've listened to his grievances.'

  'I thought they'd all been remedied, sir.'

  'Since our visit, he's invented some new ones.'

  'His support is more trouble than it's worth.'

  'Forget about the Prussians,' said Marlborough, shaking off his depression at the prospect of action. 'Forget about the Hanoverians and the Hessians. The time for talking is over at last. Everything points to the possibility of a battle against Marshal Villeroi. By the time it takes place, we'll have sufficient forces. We may have lost our chance of a telling attack in northern Italy but we've gained something in return. We now have an opportunity for a decisive engagement on our own doorstep, so to speak. I feel exhilarated, gentlemen,' he went on, raising a fist. 'For the first time since Blenheim, I feel that destiny is at hand. Nothing will content me more than to offer battle to the French. I have every confidence that we'll achieve a complete victory.'

  Chapter Sixteen

  'Greetings to you, stranger!' said Welbeck, sardonically. 'This regiment is the 24th Foot. It's always a privilege to welcome a new officer.'

  'There's no need for sarcasm, Henry.

  'How do you come to know my name, sir?'

  'It was a lucky guess,' said Daniel.

  'Wonders never cease.'

  'Stop this horseplay, will you?'

  'Why?' said the sergeant, pretending to recognise him for the first time. 'I do believe it might be our long-lost Captain Rawson.'

  'You know bloody well it is.'

  'We thought we'd never see you again, sir.'

  'I haven't been away that long,' said Daniel. 'In fact, it seems like no time at all since I saw that hideous visage of yours. What's been happening in my absence?'

  'There's been nothing of consequence, Dan.'

  'Something must have occurred.'

  'You know what winter quarters are like. We get up, visit the latrines, eat, drill, eat again, go back to the latrines, drill again then moan about the fools who're supposed to lead us. Whenever I look at our officers,' said Welbeck, mordantly, 'I think that a lot of villages back in England must be missing their idiots.'

  'It's good to know that you have such faith in us, Henry.'

  'Present company excepted, of course.'

  Daniel laughed. "Thank you.'

  It was months since he'd seen his friend. For most of them, he'd not even been in the same country as Welbeck. While it was rewarding to be one of Marlborough's aides-de-camp, it did distance him from so many friends in the regiment. Simultaneously, it also set him apart from his few enemies. One of them popped into his mind.

  'How has Major Cracknell been treating you?' he asked.
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  'He's been the soul of kindness, Dan.'

  'I refuse to believe that.'

  'I was joking,' said Welbeck. The major is a conceited, spiteful, self-serving cunt but you already know that.'

  'I've said as much to his face,' recalled Daniel, 'though not in those precise words. He tried to hit me.'

  'Really - when was this?'

  'The day I left here. I offered to fight but he thought better of it. To be honest, I expected him to challenge me to a duel.'

  'He's not that stupid, Dan. The major has seen you practising with a sabre. He knows you'd cut him to shreds.'

  'It's no more than he deserves, Henry. Is he still harassing your nephew?' Welbeck nodded. 'What's he been up to now?'

  'He's still looking for another excuse to have the lad flogged again. Since he can't find one, he keeps reprimanding Tom for trivial bloody offences that were never committed in the first place. It's upsetting to watch,' said Welbeck. 'Can't the army find the major something more useful to do than hounding a harmless drummer?'

  'It's going to find him something very soon.'

  'What's that?'

  'Fighting a battle,' replied Daniel. "That's the one thing Major Cracknell can do with any distinction. When he's fulfilling his duties against the Frenchies, he won't have time to bother Tom Hillier.'

  Welbeck was cynical. "There's no earthly hope of a battle with those cowardly bastards,' he said. "They'd much rather just look over the ramparts and wave at us.'

  "That's where you're wrong, Henry. His Grace has every reason to believe that Marshal Villeroi is prepared to engage us this time.'

  'It will never happen.'

  'It will,' said Daniel. 'The marshal is as eager to bring this war to an end as we are. According to our latest reports, he has an army of 74 battalions and 128 squadrons. I don't think he'll keep a force of that size sitting on its hands. Marshal Villeroi has two very strong incentives,' he continued. 'The first is that he wishes - like everyone else in France - to avenge the defeat at Blenheim. That still rankles at Versailles.'

  'So it should, Dan. We kicked their arses hard that day.'

  "The second thing that drives him on is that conviction that he's a better commander than His Grace. He thinks he proved that last year at the River Yssche.'

  'We were betrayed once again by the fucking Dutch!' said Welbeck, angrily. 'Villeroi was lucky. If we'd been allowed to attack, we'd have smashed his army to smithereens.'

  'We may have a second chance to do that, Henry.'

  'I won't believe it till I see it.'

  'You've every right to be sceptical,' said Daniel. 'We've been in this position before and nothing happened. This time, however, I'm certain that it will. Prepare for battle, Henry. Marshal Villeroi simply wants to avenge Blenheim — we have a chance to repeat it!'

  Corswaren was a little village that lay in a hollow beneath the whirring sails of its windmill. The Allied armies camped nearby. It was country they knew well from previous campaigns. At their back, less than twenty miles away, was the River Meuse, curving its way south. Ahead of them were the French lines. At 1 a.m. on 23 May, Marlborough sent off Brigadier-General Cadogan, one of his most trusted men, with an advance guard. Their orders were to reconnoitre the high ground between two rivers, the Mehaigne and the Little Gheete. Conditions were poor. After three days of pelting rain, there was a thick fog that night. Two hours after dispatching Cadogan, his quartermaster, Marlborough led the main body out of camp. Captain Daniel Rawson was with him.

  The advance guard had ridden beyond the village of Merdorp when they encountered a French patrol. As soon as they heard distant firing, the patrol withdrew. Though there was full daylight now, mist was still swirling unpredictably around. Cadogan could see very little at first then something uncannily reminiscent of their experience at Blenheim occurred. The mist began to thin and lift. What he saw through his telescope was a wide sweep of open country with hardly any trees and hedges to impede movement. On a high ground some four miles off, he picked up clear signs of movement. Guessing that it was Villeroi's advance guard, Cadogan promptly sent a galloper to alert Marlborough. It was not until 10a.m that the brigadier- general and the commander-in-chief were able to survey the scene together. Marlborough was astonished at what he saw.

  'It's just like Blenheim,' he said. 'It's a natural battlefield.'

  He scrutinised it through his telescope. The vast expanse of land would allow huge numbers of soldiers to be aligned in rigid mass formation. It was a perfect arena for war. The rolling acres bore such a resemblance to the plain near Blenheim that Marlborough's spirits soared. As in all battles, his strategy was dictated by the nature of the terrain. Little discussion was required. It was obvious to him, his staff and the accompanying Allied officers that the engagement had to take place on the undulating plain between Taviers and Ramillies. All that remained was to deploy his cavalry and his troops. Three hours later, they were all in position. The battle of Ramillies was imminent.

  'What are we waiting for?' asked Tom Hillier, holding his drum.

  'Reinforcements,' said Hugh Dobbs. 'Some of our allies are late.'

  'Where are they?'

  'Shitting with fright behind a hedge, I expect. You can never trust foreigners, Tom. They always let you down.'

  'Will there really be a battle this time?'

  'That's what it looks like.'

  'Who's going to win?'

  'We are,' said Dobbs with a strained laugh.

  He expected a comment from Hillier but his friend's attention had already wandered in a way that was wearisomely familiar. Since his flogging, Hillier had been withdrawn. Though he went through the drills with the other drummers and slept in the tent with his friends, he was no longer the fresh-faced, earnest young recruit. Eighty lashes had taken something out of him and replaced it with a brooding sadness. Instead of enjoying the company of the others, he was detached and melancholy. Nudging him in the ribs, Dobbs tried to bring him out of his dejection.

  'This is what you joined the army for, Tom,' he said.

  Hillier woke up. 'What's that?'

  'You want to kick seven barrels of merde out of the Frenchies.'

  'All we can do is to beat our drums.'

  'Where would the rest of them be without us? We control the battle. It's the drum calls that tell the soldiers what to do.'

  'It's not the same as holding a musket, Hugh.'

  'Your time for doing that will come.'

  'No, it won't,' said Hillier, flatly.

  'I thought that was your ambition.'

  'I don't have ambitions now.'

  Once again Hillier's eyes glazed over as his mind drifted away. He was surrounded by thousands of men on the verge of battle yet he might have been somewhere entirely on his own. Dobbs had given up trying to understand his friend, still less hoping to talk him out of his prolonged misery. Even Hillier's uncle, Sergeant Welbeck, had failed to do that. The drummer was beyond help.

  Dobbs didn't have to nudge his friend again. Someone rode up on a horse and turned the animal so that its flank knocked Hillier sideways, making him struggle to retain his balance. Looking down from the saddle was Major Cracknell.

  'Watch where you're going, you numbskull,' he barked.

  'I'm sorry, Major,' said Hillier, dully.

  'I hope you keep your eyes open when battle commences.'

  'Yes, Major.'

  'You have a job to do.'

  'Yes, Major.'

  'Only time will tell if you've the stomach for a fight. I doubt very much if you have. It's always the same with the dregs of humanity we have to endure in our ranks. They're all cowards.'

  'Begging your pardon, Major,' said Dobbs, defensively, 'but that's unfair on Tom. I know how brave he can be.'

  'I don't see any bravery in dropping his breeches for a whore,' said Cracknell. 'Bravery is what a man shows in battle.' 'Yes, Major.'

  'Did you hear that, Hillier?'

  There was a long, considered pause.
'Yes, Major,' he said.

  Daniel had never admired the Duke of Marlborough as much. He'd fought under his command in major battles before but had never been near him during the action. As part of his staff, he now had the privilege of watching him at close quarters. The person beside him was very different to the suave, urbane, congenial diplomat who was at ease in the courts of Europe. What he saw now was John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, a soldier to his fingertips, bold, calm, decisive, vigilant, unflustered and bristling with energy, a supreme commander at the height of his powers. Despair and disappointment were behind him now. Marlborough had a golden opportunity for glory.

  His army had been drawn up in standard battle formation. British battalions and squadrons were positioned in a double line near the Jeuche stream, their scarlet uniforms resplendent in the sun. The bulk of the Allied infantry - some 30,000 or more - occupied the centre ground opposite Offus and Ramillies. On their left were 69 squadrons of Dutch and Danish horse under the command of General Overkirk. Battalions of Dutch Guards were stationed on the extreme left. Daniel had noted the meticulous care with which Marlborough had sited his artillery. In all, he had 100 cannon and 20 howitzers at his disposal. A battery of 24-pounders was gathered in a cluster facing Ramillies. Other batteries overlooked the Gheete and a couple of pieces were attached to the Dutch Guards on the far left. On a battlefield as wide as this, artillery could never dictate the outcome because whole areas were beyond its reach. Marlborough had put his guns where they could do most damage and offer most protection to the cavalry and infantry.