Military history

Chapter 11

Williams tried to concentrate on his letter in spite of the noise. The colonel had instituted an officers’ mess on the day of his arrival, hiring the main room of the inn exclusively for the purpose. The money came out of his own pocket. There were mess bills to be paid by each member, but the adjutant had taken Forde and Williams quietly aside and informed them that they would not be required to contribute anything for the first three months. Moss covered this expense, making clear that this was a gift and not a loan. He was also matching every penny paid by the other officers from his own funds. These ‘secret’ arrangements were common knowledge and only added to the high esteem that Williams and the others felt for their commander. The story was that Moss planned to eat and drink only what was available to his officers. Since he had no desire to live like a Johnny Raw Ensign then he would ensure that everyone else could live at his standard.

The colonel also expected every officer to spend as much of their off-duty time in the mess as possible, although some leeway was given to the married men. Williams would have preferred to write his weekly letter home in the privacy of the t arrahe shared with Pringle, Redman and Hanley. Although past ten it was a bright night and the light would have been adequate even without lighting a candle. Inside the inn it was gloomy, filled with smoke. Williams rubbed his hair. It was still a pleasant sensation to be free of powder. Less pleasant was the lack of any real privacy. If his duties permitted he would try to take a long walk tomorrow evening, getting away from everyone for at least an hour or two.

The volunteer was struggling to think of things to say. One paragraph had described his admiration for Colonel Moss. Then he had detailed the duties they had performed, and been as charitable as he could about his fellow officers, while noting, ‘sadly all too many are given over much to drinking and are prone to cursing’. Personally he disliked the smell of tobacco, but knew his mother liked the scent and so did not add that as a criticism. He reported the promotion of Major MacAndrews and mentioned the delight of his family. That was as far as he came to mentioning Miss MacAndrews. It was hard not to spend pages telling of her wonderful qualities. He did not have the right to do that. Instead Williams described the appointment of Wickham to command the company, describing him as a true and handsome gentleman.

He glanced across at the new captain, who was playing cards with Hanley and a couple of officers from the Light Company. They had been at it for hours. Wickham was one of the most frequent gamers in the 106th, and often seemed to show no enthusiasm to return to his billet and his wife. He was generally lucky, seeming to win far more than he lost, but this evening the cards were going against him. Pringle was watching, joining in the conversation, but not the game. The lieutenant often declared that gambling was the one of the few vices that held no appeal for him. He had reversed a chair and sat with his legs either side of its back, his hands resting on the top.

Williams decided against mentioning the card school to his mother. Another omission was the raucous laughter and often crude jokes of the younger – and in most cases well-liquored – officers. Forde was one of a group who now began an enthusiastic, if scarcely musical, rendering of ‘Spanish Ladies’. Since they had heard of their destination it had become one of the most popular songs in the regiment. Williams could remember some of his mother’s lodgers singing the same song when he was a boy, and decided that he could at least make that part of the evening sound picturesque. Still the words did not come easily and he found himself rubbing his chin. He was also thirsty, having long since finished the second glass of wine which was all that he would allow himself in an evening – indeed, was all he could stomach. Perhaps some water would help. Williams got up, leaving his papers and the stubby pencil on the table.

At the far end the colonel, Major Toye and some of the more sober captains were deep in conversation. MacAndrews was not there, having already taken his leave and gone to see his wife and daughter. Howard of Number Eight Company was reading aloud from a newspaper. Moss noticed Williams passing and beckoned him over to join them.

‘This will interest you, Mr Williams. It is from the debate in Parliament which committed our expedition to help the Spanish. I was there,’ the colonel threw in a matter-of-fact way, ‘but it will be good for all our officers to know.’ Moss gestured to Major Toye, who raised his voice.

‘Quiet now,’ he yelled. ‘This is important.’ Several voices were still bidding farewell and adieu to the ladies of Spain, and it took more shouting before they were hushed into silence.

Spanish ambassadors had come to London on 8th June, prompting a debate in the Commons a week later to discuss their appeal. For once the Whig opposition agreed with the Tory government. So did the newspapers and even old Cobbett, the former Dragoon and radical champion of the ordinary soldier’s rights. Howard read extracts from the speeches. Mr Sheridan of the opposition had argued cogently and in great detail for supporting the Spanish with both financial and military aid.

Moss let them in on a secret. ‘Of course, that’s not what he actually said. It was all going so slowly that morning that old Dick Sheridan wandered off upstairs and joined some friends. By the time he came back he was as drunk as a lord. Poor fellow could hardly stand.’

They laughed as Moss had known they would. Williams joined in, since although he rather disapproved of the country’s leaders misbehaving, there was something so essentially comic about the image.

‘So what happened next? Did Canning embrace him and swear undying friendship?’ suggested Pringle, who had come over to join them.

The laugh was smaller, as befitted a joke made by a junior officer, but Moss hesitated only for a moment before joining in, and that encouraged the rest.

‘No, Billy’ – using the familiar name was a careful touch – ‘Canning was as sober as a judge. His speech is fairly accurate.’

‘So he did really say there was “The strongest disposition on behalf of the British government to afford every practical aid to the Spanish People”?’ Howard was reading carefully from The Times. ‘So is the practical aid bit about us?’

‘Well, everyone above the rank of ensign anyway,’ suggested Major Toye, producing more laughter. That seemed to end things and the group dispersed. Williams heard Derryck saying to another ensign that he was strongly disposed to ask on behalf of himself for the loan of five guineas. He grinned, and then realised he was still standing beside the colonel. Moss noticed his confusion, but was still in a generous mood. ‘Mr Williams, will you take a glass with us?’

It was obviously impossible to refuse, but Williams felt awkward as he sat. Moss asked him a number of questions, chatting affably although in his usual rapid manner. The port came and Williams dutifully consumed the glass, and tried not to grimace each time he took a sip. He realised that this was expensive stuff, from the colonel’s own cellar, and that he ought to be privileged. That did not stop it tasting foul to him, or reduce the sense that his throat was burning.

Perhaps it loosened his tongue a little, for at one point he found himself talking with great enthusiasm about Caesar, Hannibal and Marius. Major Toye had merely asked politely whether he had studied any military history. Williams’ voice had risen sharply in volume as he warmed to such a favourite theme.

‘I confess I know little of the ancients, especially of Marius,’ said Moss briskly.

‘He said one thing worthy of note. One day an enemy general wanted to fight a battle, but Marius would not bring his Romans down from a high hill. “If you are such a great general, Marius, come down and fight!” his enemy said. Marius just replied, “If you are a great general, then make me.”’ Williams looked immensely pleased with the story.

‘We shall keep that advice in mind,’ said Howard. ‘Now, Mr Williams, would you mind returning his paper to Mr Anstey? Thank you.’ He held The Times out.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Williams rose and left, still looking pleased at having been included n the conversation.

‘A keen young man, though rather sober,’ said Toye, once the volunteer had moved off.

Moss nodded, but looked a little doubtful. ‘Rather a cautious moral to his story. Still, he may learn. Another glass, gentlemen?’

Williams’ admiration for the colonel had increased still further. He felt proud to be in the 106th, confident that with such a true gentleman at their head they would win fame. With luck he might get his commission sooner rather than later. He pictured himself as a wise and noble colonel, condescending to his juniors as easily as Moss. He was clearly the model he should endeavour to match.

Having returned the newspaper, Williams headed back to the table where he had left his unfinished letter. He tried to think of a modest way of describing his conversation with the colonel. When he reached the spot his papers were missing. Behind him he heard a voice.

‘Dearest Mother, I do hope the pox has cleared up.’ Williams turned to meet a gale of laughter. Redman had his head back and his mouth wide open, showing his bad teeth as he guffawed. Ensign Hatch had hold of the letter and was pretending to read aloud.

‘How is sweet sister Emily and her latest bastard? Can she remember whether it was the parson or the sweep who is the father this time? Tell her she must take payment immediately next time and not rely on their good faith.’

Williams was furious. He strode towards them and grabbed the letter from Hatch. It tore slightly as he pulled it away, but the man was too drunk to resist properly or make a game of it. For a moment he kept staring at where the pages had been, not noticing that they had gone.

‘Do not judge my family by the standards of your own,’ said Williams as coldly and calmly as he could. He felt rage within him, was flexing the fingers of his free hand, itching to ball them into a fist and slam it into the man’s face. With an effort, he spun on his heels and walked off, knowing that acting quickly was the main thing.

‘That told you,’ said Redman to Hatch.

‘I left a bit out. All about having to share a tent with an ugly bugger called Redman,’ replied his friend. ‘How he kept making unwelcome advances on poor Williams.’ Some of the nearby gentlemen howled with laughter. Redman looked confused and then glared at his friend. Hatch froze for a moment. ‘You know, I do believe I am going to be a little ill.’ He staggered up and left.

In the corner Williams was still fuming. He flinched, turning angrily when Pringle patted him on the shoulder.

‘Well done, Bills.’

‘I should have knocked them down.’

‘They are drunk, and will fall down well enough on their own. That would not have proved anything.’

‘I would have enjoyed it, though.’

‘Would you also enjoy being expelled from the regiment? If officers fight it must be an affair of honour properly conducted. You can count on me as a second if you need me.’

Williams began to understand. ‘That is most kind of you.’

‘Think nothing of it. What little honour William Pringle still has is always at your disposal.’ He smiled. ‘But not over nonsense like this. Best to show you can take a joke. Anyway, Redman is a damned fool, but he is our goddamned fool and we have to live with him. What was it you were saying earlier – only fight when your eney makes you? If it’s good enough for Marius I am sure it’s good enough for you.’

‘You heard that?’

‘Half the room did,’ said Hanley, appearing from nowhere.

‘Your speech was a little loud and forceful,’ confirmed Pringle. ‘I wish I had a voice as strong!’

‘Oh dear, should I apologise, do you think?’

‘Of course not. You were perfectly polite if a little deafening,’ said Hanley.

‘Given up the game?’ asked Pringle.

‘Too rich for my liking. I have lost fifteen shillings and that is enough. Anyway, I thought I would seek some intelligent company for a change. But . . .’

Pringle finished the sentence. ‘You couldn’t find any so decided to make do with us. Bills, we are desperately undervalued. Tell him something about Caesar and prove him wrong.’

‘Well, he’s dead for a start,’ said Williams, grateful for their company.

‘Oh, I am so sorry. Had I known, I would have sent flowers.’

‘He is supposed to have killed a million Gauls,’ said Hanley.

‘Obviously not enough, as there are still plenty of Frenchmen out there,’ replied Pringle. ‘Apparently you cannot rely on an Italian to finish a job.’

‘He fought in Spain a few times. In fact he fought nearly everywhere,’ added Williams.

‘Had affairs with women everywhere too,’ said Hanley.

Pringle’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, now you interest me strangely. I had almost forgotten why I enjoy history so much! Tell us more.’

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