All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) by Adrian Goldsworthy Read Free Book Online Page B

Bonaparte, he wanted the country to throw out the invader.
    ‘They certainly should,’ Williams added with less passion, but considerable assurance.
    Truscott carefully wiped up some spilled champagne with his one hand. His friends knew he liked to be left to do such things himself rather than be helped. ‘You may both be right, but that does not mean that they will. Napoleon is free again to lead all his armies into Spain. If he does that, then I do not see that there is the strength to resist him. Only a year ago Moore declared that Portugal could not be defended. Spain is crumbling, if it has not already crumbled. Much as I admire Major MacAndrews, it is hard to see his efforts making any difference.’
    They finished the bottle in gloomy silence.
     
    Pringle arrived that evening, leading in more new recruits. The battalion paraded the next morning, and then was busy with drills and inspections until lunchtime. That afternoon Lieutenant Colonel FitzWilliam invited him to his rooms for a private chat.
    The colonel was of average height, but Pringle only noticed this when he stood close to him. FitzWilliam was the son of an earl and his upbringing, combined with his years in the Foot Guards, produced a confidence and poise that magnified his presence. It looked as if he had been poured into his uniform, the coat suggesting a broadness of shoulder and slimness of waist that stopped just short of caricature and gave an impression of height. FitzWilliam’s face was very round, an effect deliberately reduced by his full side whiskers, a little darker in shade than the hair on his head. By no means a handsome man, the colonel had presence, helped by the lively spark in his brown eyes and the smile that spoke of a ready wit. His welcome was warm, and full of praise for the battalion’s record and Pringle’s own conduct.
    ‘I saw the One Hundred and Sixth marching out from behind the hill at Vimeiro, and then again when they tumbled back that French column,’ said the colonel. ‘Was on Burrard’s staff in those days, so did not have a chance to do more than watch.’ He modestly waved down Pringle’s instinctive praising of staff work. ‘Well, the next time we get a chance to have a go at the French I shall be with you.’
    ‘Do you know when that might be, sir?’ asked Pringle, who already felt comfortable talking to his commander.
    ‘Not before next year, I suspect. Probably in the spring or summer.’ FitzWilliam gave a disarming smile. ‘And before you ask me, no, nothing is certain as yet. Perhaps Portugal, perhaps the Mediterranean or further afield. I fear Horse Guards have yet to inform a mere lieutenant colonel!
    ‘Still, that is for the future. When the time comes I shall rest easily knowing that you have my Grenadier Company.’
    ‘You are too kind, sir, too kind.’
    ‘My dear fellow, I am merely stating the truth,’ said Fitz-William with obvious sincerity. ‘The battalion has been well led, or it would not have distinguished itself so highly in Portugal and Spain. I was not present to witness Moore’s campaign, but have already listened to those who were. However, I should be indebted to hear from you of Talavera.’
    The colonel listened avidly to Pringle as he described the last campaign. Throughout he smiled encouragingly, only interrupting to ask questions that were always pertinent. Pringle began to realise that there was a sharp and clinical mind behind the suave exterior. FitzWilliam gave every impression of being a serious soldier, and Pringle responded by speaking in greater detail, giving his own opinions and the reasons for them.
    ‘Tell me more of the Spanish,’ said the colonel as Pringle reached the end of the campaign.
    ‘I have seen something of them, although in truth Hanley and Williams have seen far more. They were at Medellín.’
    ‘A grim day.’ It was one of many defeats suffered by Spanish armies. ‘I shall most certainly seek their views, but I should also greatly