Drums of War (3 page)

'That's
the best bloody thing that could possibly happen to it.'

He
was about to launch into one of his tirades when he caught sight of a youth,
walking briskly towards them with a regimental drum hanging at his side.
Welbeck was irritated.

'Here's
my latest affliction!' he said through clenched teeth.

'The
drummer boy?'

'He's
more than that, Dan. He's my nephew and he's got some lunatic idea that being a
soldier is something to do with honour.'

'What's
the lad's name?'

'Tom
Hillier — he's my sister's boy.'

'You
never told me that you had a sister.'

'It's
something I try to forget.'

Daniel
studied the approaching youth. Tom Hillier was tall, skinny and fair-haired
with pleasant features yet to shake off all the signs of boyhood. His slender
torso was emphasised by the fact that his uniform was too tight for him. From
the look in his eyes, it was clear that he held his uncle in high regard.

Welbeck,
however, stared at him with a mixture of distaste and resignation.

'What
do you want?' he asked, gruffly.

'I
just wanted to speak to you, Uncle Henry,' replied Hillier.

'This
is an army engaged in a war, not a tavern where you can pass the day in idle
chat.'

'I
know that, Uncle.'

'Of
course, you do,' said Daniel, looking him up and down. 'So you're Tom Hillier,
are you?'

'Yes,
Captain Rawson.'

Daniel
was taken aback. 'You know who I am?'

'Everybody
in the 24
^th
knows who you are, sir,' said the drummer with a sense
of awe in his voice. 'On my first day here, I was told about some of your
escapades.'

'And
when was that, Tom?'

'Two
weeks ago.'

'You've
only been with us two
weeks?

'Yes,'
said Welbeck, sourly, 'and it's a fortnight too long. Tom ought to be at home,
looking after his mother, instead of coming here to be butchered by the French.'

Hillier
stiffened defensively. 'I'm not afraid of a fight, Uncle.'

'You
can't kill anyone with a pair of drumsticks.'

'Strictly
speaking, he can,' Daniel put in. 'Drums are vital instruments of war. Because
they can be heard above the noise of battle, they're ideal for issuing
commands. You know that as well as anyone, Henry. There was a time, many years
ago, when
you
were merely a drummer boy.'

'That's
why I joined this regiment,' Hillier explained. 'I wanted to follow my uncle's
example. I've always looked up to him. I may begin with a drum but I hope to
carry a musket in time.'

'More
fool you, lad!' said Welbeck, scornfully.

'You
couldn't have picked a better man on whom to pattern yourself,' Daniel
observed. 'Henry Welbeck is the finest sergeant in the whole British army.' He
winked at his friend. 'He's also the kindest and sweetest.'

Hillier
smiled nervously. 'That's not what I've heard, sir.'

'Then
you heard right,' said Welbeck. 'Look for no kindness from me, Tom, and expect
no sweetness. Harsh words and a kick up that scrawny arse of yours are all
you'll get from me or from any half-decent sergeant. We're here to mould
recruits into good soldiers not to mollycoddle them. Your mother did you no
favour, sending you here.'

'Mother
tried to stop me joining the army.'

'Then
you should have heeded her.'

'Why
did you defy her?' asked Daniel.

'I've
thought and dreamt of nothing else, Captain Rawson,' said Hillier, face
igniting with pride. 'I love the sound of drums when a regiment is on parade. It
stirs my blood. Back in England, I had a life of boredom on our farm. There's
nothing heroic in doing all those chores. I want to see action on the
battlefield. I want to fight against the French. I want to serve Queen and
country.'

'Wait
until the first musket ball whistles past your ear,' warned Welbeck. 'You'll
change your mind then. Wait until you've filled your breeches with terror at
the sight of an enemy attack. You'll forget all about Queen and bloody
country.'

'I
think the lad's got more backbone than you give him credit for, Henry,' said
Daniel, tolerantly. 'A willing volunteer should be nurtured. Welcome to the
regiment, Tom,' he added, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. 'I'll
leave you and your uncle alone to become more closely acquainted.'

'I
don't
want
a closer acquaintance!' insisted Welbeck. 'I joined
the army to get away from my family. As far as I'm concerned, they don't
exist.' He glowered at Hillier. 'Did you hear that?'

'Yes,
Uncle,' said the drummer, backing away. 'I'm sorry. Forgive me for intruding.'

After
bidding them farewell, he turned on his heel and walked disconsolately away.
Daniel watched him go.

'You're
being very cruel to the lad, Henry,' he said.

'Tom
needed to be told the truth.'

'He's
your
nephew!

'Yes,'
said Welbeck, 'and that's what unnerves me. He reminds me of all the things
I've struggled to put behind me.'

'Try
to see it from his point of view.'

'He's
a drummer, Dan. He doesn't
have
a
point of view.'

'Tom
is a callow youth, chasing his ambition. He's alone in a foreign country, cut
off from his family and friends. He deserves a little guidance from his uncle.
Is that too much to ask?'

'Yes,
it is.'

'Even
you are not that hard-hearted, Henry.'

'I
don't want him here.'

'Why
ever not?' said Daniel.

'Because
he's a responsibility - Tom is someone I ought to care for, Dan. As soon as I
do that, I know I'm going to be hurt. Let myself grow fond of the lad,' said
Welbeck, ruefully, 'and what will happen? He'll be shot to pieces or trampled
to death by a cavalry charge at the Lines of Brabant and
I'll
be the one who has to write to his mother.'

'You
could at least be civil to the lad.'

'He
has to respect my rank. Tom has to look at me as an army sergeant and not as a
relative of his. If he were my own brother, I'd treat him the same way.'

'Blood
is thicker than water, Henry.'

'It
can be spilt just as easily.'

'Encouragement
was all that Tom was after.'

'Well
he won't get it from me,' said Welbeck, firmly. 'I'd never encourage anyone to
join the army. It's a dog's life and my nephew will soon find that out - if he
manages to stay alive long enough, that is. When he sees how many French
regiments are defending the Lines of Brabant, he'll wish he stayed at home on
the bloody farm.'

John
Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, was nothing if not a supreme strategist. Having
lost the initiative in the Moselle valley, he knew that he had to regain it
swiftly in the Low Countries. First, however, he was obliged to have a council
of war with his Dutch allies. Seated around a table in his tent, they did not
show great confidence in his plan. They believed that the Lines of Brabant - a
series of strongholds, ramparts, palisades, redoubts and trenches running all
the way from Antwerp to Namur - were an insurmountable barrier. To cross
anywhere along its seventy-mile extent would, in their opinion, be to court
certain defeat and heavy losses.

As
usual, the general who led the opposition to Marlborough's proposal was
Frederik Johan van Baer, Lord of Slangenberg, a proud and resolute man of
sixty. He stood out from his colleagues for a number of reasons, including the
fact that he was a staunch Roman Catholic in an avowedly Protestant army. From
the very start of the war, he had been a thorn in the side of the
commander-in-chief, questioning his every move, delaying his campaigns and
refusing to acknowledge the victory at Blenheim as Marlborough's crowning
achievement. It made for frosty relations between the two men.

'I
dislike the idea intensely,' said Slangenberg, stroking his beard with
aristocratic disdain. 'It's fatally flawed and will not deceive the French for
a moment.'

'I
believe that it will,' countered Marlborough. 'You prevented me from forcing
the Lines two years ago and it was a costly mistake. I mean to break through
them near Leau. Marshal Villeroi will then be drawn to that sector, allowing
your forces, General Slangenberg, to find an easy way through the weakened
defences near the Meuse.'

'It
will not work.'

'My
feint will deceive the French.'

'It
would not deceive a child,' said Slangenberg, snapping his fingers. 'Marshal
Villeroi will stay where he is and we'll find ourselves up against his
strongest battalions. It's a foolish plan.'

Marlborough
stifled a sigh and exchanged a glance with Adam Cardonnel. Councils of war were
invariably a contest between British boldness and Dutch caution. To
Marlborough's consternation, those contests were often lost and some of his
most daring projects never outlived discussion. Another strategy now seemed in
danger of being overruled. Fortunately, Marshal Overkirk, commander-in-chief of
Dutch forces, came to Marlborough's aid.

'It's
a sensible plan,' he claimed, 'and well worth trying.'

'You've
always argued
against
an assault on the Lines in the
past,' said Slangenberg, pointedly, 'and rightly so. Geography favours the
French. Where they've not built fortifications, they have natural defences of
mountains, hills and rivers.'

'Those
natural defences can be pierced.'

'Not
when we're outnumbered, Marshal.'

'There's
no possibility of that,' said Overkirk, meeting his gaze. 'Many of the
regiments will have been withdrawn to stiffen resistance near Leau. We'll have
a numerical advantage.'

'Nonsense!'
cried Slangenberg.

'Try
to moderate your language, General.'

'It's
complete and utter nonsense!'

'We
must agree to differ,' said Marlborough shooting Overkirk a look of gratitude
for his support. 'I have the greatest respect for your military experience,
General Slangenberg, but, if I'd listened to your advice in the past, I'd never
have ventured outside Dutch territory and secured advances elsewhere in
Europe.'

'To
do that, Your Grace,' asserted Slangenberg, 'you gambled with the lives of
Dutch soldiers.'

'The
gamble paid off handsomely on the Danube last year.'

'It
failed dismally this year on the Moselle.'

'We're
bound to suffer reverses from time to time, General,' said Marlborough, stung
by the comment but reining in his temper. 'We now have a chance to make amends
for what happened on the Moselle. Behind the Lines of Brabant, the enemy feel
that they are wholly invincible. Since they don't fear attack, we have the
element of surprise on our side.'

'Then
we must use it,' said Overkirk with an authority that silenced even Slangenberg.
'A clever strategy has been put to us by our commander-in-chief. We must adopt
it bravely.'

There
was a murmur of support from some of the Dutch generals but Slangenberg was unconvinced.
He brooded sulkily. As the council broke up, British and Dutch commanders rose
from their seats and dispersed. In the end, only Marlborough, Cardonnel and
Overkirk remained. Marlborough shook hands with the Dutchman.

'Thank
you,' he said. 'Your intervention was appreciated.'

Overkirk
smiled. 'It's a brilliant strategy, Your Grace.'

'That's
why you needed to understand the thinking behind it.'

'It
was good of you to explain. Had you not done so, I would have been in the
invidious position of having to agree with General Slangenberg. On the face of
it, your plan is a poor one.'

'It
will not deceive Villeroi for an instant,' said Marlborough. 'I'm counting on
that fact.'

'I
hope that he reacts in the way you anticipate.' 'We know the way that his mind
works.' 'The marshal has one glaring fault, Your Grace,' remarked Cardonnel.
'He believes he knows the way that
your
mind works.'

Marlborough
laughed. 'Then I'll take the utmost pleasure in disappointing him, Adam.'

On
17 July, 1705, Marshal Overkirk led the Dutch forces towards the fortress of
Namur at the southernmost tip of the Lines of Brabant. Allied engineers worked
hard to build twenty pontoon bridges over the River Mehaigne so that the army
could cross with its equipment. As soon as French scouts became aware of the
operations, they sent urgent dispatches to Marshal Villeroi. He responded by
marching a substantial part of his army - 40,000 soldiers, in all - to a
position between Merdorp and Namur. The first part of Marlborough's plan had
worked perfectly. He had read the French commander's mind like a book. Instead
of being distracted by what he assumed was a deliberate feint in the north,
Villeroi hastened to repel an apparent attack in the south. He had swallowed
the bait dangled so temptingly before him.