‘Good gracious, it’s Miss MacAndrews, is it not?’ Colonel Graham’s tone suggested a happy coincidence on the street of some market town. ‘I am most delighted to see you. Your mother expressed considerable concern about your welfare.’ He was beaming with genuine pleasure.
Jane looked up, still pressing a pad of cloth down over the wounded man’s stomach. He kept bleeding, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. They had no bandages, so were cutting and tearing up the cleanest of the clothes taken from the dead. The room was crowded with moaning men, the wounded from this morning’s fight added to the sick. There were fewer of those now. The frostbitten soldier had died, as had MacDonald. The grey-haired Highlander’s coughing had grown worse during the night, and then he began to cough up blood and had simply died. The bodies were outside, laid out in a row beside the wall. She and the women did their best to care for those still alive, as well as looking after the children. The less badly wounded or sick men tried to help the worse off, and she was amazed at the patience of them all.
For all the ghastly sights and smells of the makeshift hospital, Miss MacAndrews’ manners formed a reply before any conscious thought. ‘Good day to you, Colonel Graham.’ Her memory for names was excellent, even though the meeting with the elderly officer seemed an age or more in the past. ‘I trust that you are well?’
‘I am in robust health, I am pleased to say, but all the happier to come into the presence of such beauty.’ Jane’s dress was heavily stained with blood, and there were dabs of red on her face where she had unconsciously brushed it with bloodstained hands. Graham thought that she looked exhausted, and yet the smile that greeted him was so wide and warm that it genuinely lifted his already buoyant spirits. ‘But I am forgetting my manners. Good day to you other ladies.’ The colonel went so far as to raise his cocked hat to the soldiers’ wives. He was standing in the doorway, and now he turned to call to someone behind him. ‘Send for Mr Murray!’
Jane’s thoughts came slowly. For hours they had worked, doing what they could and somehow hoping that this little would be enough. ‘Has rescue come?’ The words were awkward, but they were the best she could frame. Jacob began to cry and the girl tried to tie the bandage in place on the wounded man so that she could tend to the infant.
‘Reckon he’s hungry,’ said Rose. ‘Greedy little beggar,’ she added.
Graham raised his voice a little to be heard. ‘Well, I am not sure that rescue is quite the right word. I am positive that your young Mr Williams will deny that he was in any such need. But, yes, we are here as reinforcement.’ He moved to let the surgeon come through the door. Murray blinked as he came into the gloomy room, and then gasped as his eyes adapted.
‘Work to do,’ he said to his two assistants.
Major Colborne of Sir John Moore’s staff stared at Williams and did his best to stifle a smile. In his pocket he had the ensign’s message to the general, carried by the German hussar. The words of the conclusion stuck in his mind.
It appears to me that it would be of utility to the army if we were to deny this crossing to the French. The bridge is narrow and offers us some chance of repulsing attacks even by a moderately stronger enemy force. At this moment, we have only heard reports of cavalry – a scouting force of one or two squadrons. No doubt should they secure the bridge, the enemy would be able to summon more troops to exploit the success. I have the equivalent of a company, although composed of men from many distinct corps, and two cannon.
Therefore, I am resolved to stay here and hold for as long as possible, trusting that this decision by a junior officer will not be considered too presumptuous.
I am, Sir, you most humble and obedient servant
H. Williams, Ensign, 106th Regiment
For an ensign to take such a decision was indeed presumptuous, however much he might make claims of humility. It also made perfect military sense.
Sir John immediately recognised the danger. If the French were able to outflank his position at Lugo in any strength, then not only would fighting a battle be impossible, but even retreat would be made more difficult. It meant that there was no longer much point delaying the withdrawal, but first he needed to ensure that this threat was blocked. The message had been written twenty-four hours ago, and there was no assurance that this ensign and his little force had not already been brushed aside.
His thoughts turned naturally to the brigade just arrived from Corunna, whose men were far fresher than the rest of the army.
‘Who are your best marchers, General Leith?’ he had asked its commander.
‘The Fifty-first, Sir John.’ The reply did not surprise Moore. They were a good corps and there was talk of training them as light infantry according to the system he had helped to develop at Shorncliffe Camp. Colborne was immediately given command of one wing of the battalion, and told to march at best speed to the bridge. With him went engineers and powder to destroy it if feasible. Now that he had arrived after marching through the night, that looked unlikely. The French had not attacked again, but the voltigeurs were still extended as skirmishers and fired at even the most fleeting target. The cavalry waited farther back, but were unlikely to watch passively if Colborne sent a company or two across the river.
Colborne listened to Williams’ formal report, as the ensign stood to attention in his ill-fitting jacket and thoroughly disreputable cap. A lot of men would have blustered and boasted. This young officer looked tired, and seemed almost embarrassed by what he had done. He kept praising his men, and particularly Mr Groombridge, and the dead sergeant and corporal. Colborne suspected that he might get a clearer account from the quartermaster sergeant at a later point. Williams appeared to doubt each of the decisions he had made, suggesting that a different plan might have cost fewer lives.
Both men turned as one of the guns boomed.
‘Mr Groombridge fires every five or ten minutes just to keep them honest,’ explained Williams, far more animated when he spoke of someone else’s action. ‘He is a good man, sir.’
‘Excellent, by the sound of it,’ agreed Colborne. He finally abandoned any thought of destroying the bridge. They would retreat. There was no sign that the enemy had enough strength to trouble five companies of steady infantry.
‘Cheer up, Mr Williams – you won!’ he said suddenly, clapping the ensign on the shoulder. ‘And it was a first-rate piece of soldiering.’ Williams looked at his feet, and muttered something incomprehensible.
‘When were you commissioned?’ asked the staff officer.
‘In August. I served as a volunteer from the start of the year.’
That helped to explain some of his reticence. The man clearly lacked the funds or connections to begin his career as an officer. That could leave a fellow with a sense of inadequacy, as if he did not quite deserve his rank. The date was also significant. Colborne had not landed until after the battles in Portugal, but the 106th had played a full part in both, and no doubt Williams had earned his commission through courage. His conduct in the last few days also suggested a considerable talent beyond mere bravery.
‘You have done well, sir, truly well, and I am sure that the general will feel the same.’ Graham was even more effusive in his praise as they marched back to the army. Williams marched with his remaining men, alongside their wagon, which was stripped of everything else so that it could carry the wounded and the women. Three of the injured were in no state to move, and they were left behind in the house in the confident expectation that the French would give whatever aid they possessed. The guns were abandoned, in spite of a brief protest from Groombridge.
‘The Spanish army has already left forty or more cannon beside the road, and I do not believe them capable of employing these usefully,’ said Colborne. Groombridge drove a spike into each touch-hole, and took the time to cut off the head so that it would be more difficult to pull it out. The old artilleryman then mounted his mule with the rearguard of the 51st and Colborne took the opportunity to quiz him about the recent action.
When it was clear that the French were not going to press the pursuit, Graham rode back to the wagon, but found Miss MacAndrews asleep, and so instead rode alongside Williams. The ensign had been offered the use of a horse, but stubbornly insisted on marching with the men. He was carrying the musket of one of the redcoats, who was struggling to keep up. Cooke, the big artilleryman, had no fewer than three firelocks strung over his shoulders as well as another man’s pack, and was strolling along as if they weighed nothing at all.
‘Splendid, Mr Williams, absolutely splendid.’ Colonel Graham’s delight appeared wholly sincere, and in spite of his age, he dismounted to walk beside the young officer. His appreciation was not restricted to the ensign. ‘You have all given the damned French a taste of British pluck! I do so wish I had been there. Sir John will be most pleased with your conduct.’
After half a mile the colonel grew restless. Colborne had caught up to check that they were coping with the rigours of the march. ‘Eh, John, what say you we ride up to that ridge and take a look. See if the Frogs are following close?’ Colborne nodded. ‘Don’t wait for an old man like me,’ said the colonel. ‘I’ll catch up as best I can.’ In less than a minute he was streaming ahead of the younger man, riding with all the abandoned enthusiasm of the hunting field.
It was dark by the time the column reached camp. At first, no one appeared to notice Williams and his men as they trudged the last few hundred yards. The camp was bustling, as the army’s baggage train began to move out.
Jane woke from her deep sleep just as they arrived. For the moment, she felt refreshed, and for a reason she could not fully explain did not want to ride in the wagon. She eased herself carefully over the tail of the cart, not worrying when she landed in a puddle and splashed yet more mud on to the hem of her stained dress. Then she insisted that Rose hand her down Jacob. The baby stirred for a moment, and it was somehow pleasant for the girl to hush him back to comfortable silence.
She waited for Williams to reach her, as he marched at the rear of his men. He returned her smile.
‘Thank you, for doing so much,’ he said softly.
Williams’ men crossed a bigger track, but he and Jane had to wait as three ox-drawn carts piled high with powder barrels passed. Their ungreased axles squealed in protest. Near by a mule started braying and set off a dozen more. Williams found the sheer noise overwhelming after the comparative peace of their march back from the bridge.
The last of the carts passed, its driver mercilessly prodding the team with his goad, and there were Major MacAndrews and his wife standing and looking at them.
Jane could see that there were tears in her mother’s eyes, and knew that her own were glassy. Esther MacAndrews ran to her daughter and kissed her. Neither of them could find words to say.
Her father waited for what seemed a long time. He was not a man who readily betrayed his emotions in public.
Suddenly he whooped, as she had only ever known him to do after drinking plenty of whisky and deciding to dance a reel.
Jane could not help laughing, even when her mother kissed her again.
Major MacAndrews, no longer caring whether or not his behaviour was appropriate for a battalion commander, threw his hat into the air, caught it, and whooped again. Then he ran to Jane and took hold of her, spinning her around. He made to lift her high into the air, and only her protests and a wail from the baby prevented him.
‘You silly old fool,’ said Mrs MacAndrews with the fondness of many years.
At last they noticed Williams.
‘It is good to see you, Mr Williams,’ said Jane’s mother. The major simply nodded and shook his hand firmly.
A staff officer was already with his men, sending each back to his own corps. Williams thanked them again. Jane and her parents waited for him, and together they all walked back to the battalion’s lines. Williams felt that he was swaying as he walked, the urge to lie down and sleep for ever closing around him. Sounds became muted, neither readily comprehensible nor in any way important, and although his eyes saw clearly, it took time for the images to register in his mind. His feet felt heavy, each step a conscious effort.
No one had the energy to speak, and the story would have to wait for a more fitting occasion. There even seemed to be a fear that if they spoke too much this would all turn out to be a dream. Major MacAndrews could feel nothing but joy at seeing his little girl safe and well. His mind had no room for anything else. Concerns and fears over what may have happened to his only daughter while she was traipsing around in the middle of a war were left to simmer as he went back to the battalion.
The Grenadier Company was forming up as they arrived. Pringle chuckled when he noticed the babe in Miss MacAndrews’ arms as she walked beside Williams. He nudged Hanley.
‘That’s damned quick work,’ he said.
Their amusement was drowned when the grenadiers began to cheer. It was soon taken up by the rest of the 106th, as men quickly guessed that it meant the prodigals had returned. Officers and men alike felt happier because of this good news, and it did something to lift spirits lowered by the order to continue the retreat instead of fighting Marshal Soult.
Dobson was briefly introduced to his grandson, before Miss MacAndrews carried the baby away. She had grown used to looking after him, and for the moment would continue to do so as she accompanied her mother and tried to keep the regiment’s families and baggage together. Mrs MacAndrews was almost as enthusiastic to care for the little boy. From somewhere she had found a side-saddle and had it fitted to Bobbie.
‘Oh well, I suppose I am used to walking by now.’ Billy Pringle did his best to sound morose and failed dismally, as a wide grin kept returning to his face. Then he cupped his hands to lift Jane into the saddle. Once she was settled, Mrs MacAndrews passed up little Jacob. Jane was weary, but cradling the baby in the crook of her arm immediately gave her energy and a sense of the need to care for someone else. She looked down at his peaceful face and smiled as she urged the mare into a walk.
Williams had little time to talk to anyone. He wanted to sleep and could never remember such exhaustion. People said things and he nodded and sometimes even said words in response, but none of it meant anything. An aide came, leading a horse, and telling him to attend on the general.
Sir John was every bit as warm in his appreciation as Colborne and Graham had predicted. The former had given him a full report, much fleshed out by his conversation with Groombridge and his own observation of the debris of battle.
‘Well done, sir.’ The general stood beside his horse, watching regiments pass on the road. For all his weariness, his enthusiasm revived Williams. The ensign could not really believe that he was meeting the commander of the army, let alone being praised by him. Then Sir John removed his glove and offered a hand. The handshake was firm and decisive.
‘Thank you, sir. You are most kind, but most of the praise more deservedly goes to the men.’
‘They shall not be forgotten. Do we have a list?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Colborne, waving a piece of paper. He had written it quickly, resting on his sabretache, the broad bag suspended alongside his sword’s scabbard, as Williams dictated.
‘Would it be possible for their respective corps to be informed of their good conduct?’ Williams’ admiration for the men overcame his timidity in the presence of so many senior officers. ‘Sergeant Jowers and Corporal Mulligan played an especially gallant role in the defence, and this should be known by their regiments, and those of the other dead men.’
‘See to it, George,’ Sir John said to another of his aides. ‘Now, sir, are you mounted?’
Williams struggled to understand the question. ‘I … er …’
The general understood his confusion. ‘Do you have a horse?’
‘No, sir.’
‘A pity. If you were mounted then I should have attached you to my staff for the remainder of the campaign.’
Williams was stunned, but the compliment was clear. ‘That is a great honour.’ It was indeed, for no officer as junior as an ensign was likely to be found in any commander’s staff.
‘Well, I would make you work, so the honour might wear as thin as the seat of your breeches,’ said Sir John with a remarkably impish grin. ‘But you cannot perform these duties on foot.’
‘Again, I must thank you, although if you would forgive me, I feel that I still have much to learn with my regiment.’
The answer greatly pleased the general. ‘Such a sentiment does you credit. I do believe that you are a serious soldier.’ The trace of Edinburgh, always there in the general’s speech, had grown stronger. ‘I am glad to see it, for we have too many fellows who consider war to be a game. It is a serious trade, sir, and there is much to learn, and not all can be learned in regimental duty. One day I may call upon you to serve away from your corps. It will be work, sir, hard work, and some of it dull in the extreme, but you will learn what it takes for an army to operate in the field.
‘We shall have need of trained men, and serious soldiers, if we are ever to return.’
‘Then are we leaving, sir?’ The question came before he had time to consider its brazenness, or he would never have dared to utter the words.
Sir John took no offence, sensing no malice or reproof in the question. ‘There is not food to support us for any time, and no useful purpose to be gained by remaining in northern Spain. So, yes, we shall leave. But first we need to give Marshal Soult the slip. You have already helped to make that easier. Thank you again, Mr Williams, you may return to your regiment.’
The Reserve Division set out at 9.30 that night, but halted again within an hour and formed up facing the enemy. Williams was aware of very little, nor did he have the energy to care. It was dark, and heavy rain soon turned into sleet, which made it hard to see any distance. The rest of the army was supposed to have preceded them, but regiments and brigades got lost. When the darker shadows of formed bodies appeared in the night, it was impossible to know whether they were friend or foe until they had come very close.
The reserve would march a short way, and then stop again. Each time the ‘enemy’ proved to be British. Many corps fragmented in the darkness and confusion. Men were tired, and the enthusiasm at the prospect of a battle had sunk again into despair, which made that fatigue hang especially heavily on hearts and bodies. Williams kept walking, and stopped when everyone else stopped, but he was aware of little. The curiosity of his friends was buried by the sleet and his brief, largely incoherent responses.
The retreat continued throughout the night and the next day. Stragglers were everywhere. Sir John’s staff passed one battalion, composed of a lone captain, two sergeants carrying the Colours, and thirty or so men. Yet returning to their familiar task as rearguard, General Paget insisted that not a single officer or man from the Reserve Division leave his place in the formation. In the light of dawn he halted the men, and they took up position to face any advancing enemy, but were allowed to stand, or even sit at ease in the ranks. There was no food other than some hard biscuit. Rumour said that four thousand loaves baked by the commissaries had been left in Lugo to welcome the French.
There were stragglers everywhere, and orders came for the 106th to flush any redcoats out of a cluster of ramshackle houses beside the road. A wine store had been broken open, and barns found with plentiful stocks of straw. One or both temptations proved too strong for a good few men. The grenadiers dragged men from their peaceful beds, kicking or prodding those who refused to stir.
Williams sat on a bale of straw, sheltered from the wind and sleet just inside the door of a barn. He had been yawning all morning, eyes shutting as his mouth opened wide. This seemed to be the first rest he had had for as long as he could remember. He lay back, revelling in the softness of the straw. Sleep came almost instantly.
‘Are we allowed to kick him?’ said Murphy, and it was the first joke he had made for days.
‘You are not,’ Major MacAndrews had appeared from nowhere, ‘although I suspect that I am.’ Instead he gently shook Williams by the shoulder.
‘Takes more than that with our Mr Williams,’ said Dobson, and so the major renewed his efforts with far greater vigour.
Williams stirred, and whispered ‘Jane?’ so faintly that the girl’s father could not be perfectly sure that he had heard correctly.
‘Get up, man.’ MacAndrews tried to be jovial. There seemed no obvious way of asking this young man whether he had conducted himself with the utmost respect and decency while stranded alone with his daughter. Even if he could think of suitable words, this was scarcely the moment or the place. ‘Get up, we will be marching again soon.’
Williams stood. He had slept for no more than five minutes, but felt surprisingly refreshed.
Hanley thought him almost indecently bright when he joined them outside. His own mood darkened farther when an elderly Spaniard appeared from one the houses and shook his fist at them.
‘Los franceses son mejores que los ingleses, los ingleses son ladrones!’
Hanley shrugged, but could not think of a reply.
‘That did not sound very complimentary,’ commented Pringle.
‘The French are better than the English – the English are bandits!’ guessed Williams.
‘Well done, Bills. You really are surprising us all these days.’ Hanley’s beard was wild and wiry. They had been ordered to clean uniforms in the halt at Lugo, but there had been no opportunity for a shave. ‘It is good to have you back.’
‘It’s even better not to be carrying that damned pack of yours!’ added Pringle.
They pressed on. Some men had been stirred into life. Others were left behind, still insensible or too well concealed to be readily found. The sleet held off, and as the sun shone they caught reflections off the helmets of the French cavalry. Later they halted on a ridge, looking back. The advancing French patrols again injected life into men who seemed past caring. Perhaps they remembered the massacre at Bembibre, or perhaps they were simply less drunk this time. A few score of the isolated redcoats banded together. Then there were hundreds and eventually over a thousand. A sergeant commanded them, and they retired in two ordered bodies, halting to fire volleys whenever the enemy cavalry came too close.
‘Let us go down there!’ Pringle suspected that the voice was Murphy’s, but was relieved that General Paget only heard the words and did not remark the speaker.
‘Never, sir, never,’ he called out angrily. ‘I would not risk the life of one good man for a hundred drunkards who have so forgotten their duty as to abandon the Colours.’
Williams felt the judgement a little harsh, but soon it was obvious that the stragglers needed no aid. They went down only when the French were driven off, because the general had noticed that some of the men were inclined to wander again, once the danger had gone. They were herded along the road, marched in groups to their respective corps. Before they went, Sir Edward had every man searched and his pack emptied. Anything that appeared to be loot was taken from them and piled up. Soldiers from the reserve were free to take whatever they wanted.
Hanley’s curiosity took him over to one of the piles. There were candlesticks, bits of plate and some coin, although rarely anything of real value. A bundle of at least seventy cheap spoons was the oddest thing he saw, but he watched as the eyes of a man from the 20th lit up at the sight of this treasure. The redcoat quickly bundled it into his own pack.
They were soon moving again, and marched for the rest of the day.