Drums of War

'His Grace thought about that in advance. The Duke of Marlborough always looks ahead for possible difficulties. It's the secret behind all our victories in the field. I not only travelled with a forged passport for myself — as Marcel Daron — but I've brought papers for you and the others.'

'Does that include Father?'

Daniel grinned. 'We can hardly leave him behind.'

'Oh, you've done so much for us, Daniel,' she said, taking him by the arms. 'I can't believe that anyone else would have gone to such lengths to help us.'

'I'm simply obeying orders.'

'But they could arrest you at any minute.'

'They could, Amalia,' he agreed, cheerfully, 'but they'll have to catch me first and I'm determined not to be caught. That's why I chose the perfect hiding place.'

'And where's that?'

'It's inside the Bastille.'

Henry Welbeck's voice had developed over the years into something akin to the boom of a cannon gun. It had a volume and intensity that compelled his soldiers to listen even as it threatened to burst their eardrums. Drilling his men that afternoon, he yelled out his orders and excoriated anyone who failed to obey them correctly. After the criticism received from Major Cracknell, he paid especial attention to the alignment of his men, keeping them in serried ranks that were perfectly symmetrical. The sergeant didn't notice anyone watching him until the drill was over. Out of the corner of his eye, he then caught sight of a figure standing beneath a tree. It was not the fault-finding major this time. It was a potato-faced drummer boy. The youth took time to pluck up enough courage to approach Welbeck. All that he got by way of a greeting was a bellicose question.

'What do you want, lad?'

'I'd like to speak to you, Sergeant.'

'Who are you?'

'Private Dobbs, sir. I'm a drummer.'

'Then why aren't you practising with your drumsticks? You've no need to be in this part of the camp at all.'

'I needed to tell you something,' said Dobbs.

'Well, speak your mind then bugger off.'

'First of all, you ought to know that he didn't send me. In fact, if he knew I was here, he'd probably punch me on the nose.'

'It might improve your appearance,' said Welbeck.

'I came of my own accord. Tom would never come himself.'

'Tom?'

'Your nephew, Sergeant.'

'I don't have a nephew in this regiment.'

'He said you'd deny it.'

Welbeck checked himself from making a sharp retort. He could see that Dobbs was already in a state of trepidation. It was unfair to rebuke someone who was acting out of simple friendship. He'd already worked out that the youth must be the same Hugh Dobbs who'd tormented Tom Hillier on his arrival and had taken a beating as a consequence. Clearly, they had now settled their differences.

'I don't like people who run to me with tales,' warned Welbeck.

'I know, Sergeant, and I've never done this before — not even on my own account. When I joined this regiment,' said Dobbs, 'the other drummers had great sport with me. It's what any new recruit must expect. One day, they stripped me naked and threw me into a patch of nettles. It stung for weeks but I never thought to report it.'

'I'm not interested in your memoirs, Dobbs.'

'No, sir, and nor should you be. Tom is different, though.'

'Private Hillier's affairs are nothing to do with me.'

'That's what he told me.'

"Then why didn't you have the sense to listen to him?'

'I worry about him,' said Dobbs, earnestly. 'I know what it's like to fall foul of a sergeant. I did it myself once. When it's an officer, it's far worse. He can grind you into the dust.'

'What are you talking about?'

'His name is Major Cracknell.'

'Be very careful what you say, lad,' Welbeck cautioned. 'You're not in the army to question any decision made by an officer. Your duty is to obey. If you have grudges, you keep them to yourself.'

'This is more than a grudge, Sergeant.'

Welbeck held back the expletive that jumped to his lips. If anyone from the ranks came to him with a complaint, they usually received short shrift. He told soldiers that they had to address their own problems and not turn to him like a child running to its father. When disagreements between the men spilt over into violence, the sergeant invariably banged heads together, telling the disputants that they had to learn to get along. Facing this new situation, however, he was torn between involvement and indifference, wanting to know the details yet needing to remain detached from it all. After minutes of pondering, he reached a decision.

'What happened?' he asked.

Dobbs told him about the way that they'd been caught by Major Cracknell and about the punishment meted out to Hillier. There had been a second incident on the same day when the major found a spurious excuse to subject the drummer to further punishment. On that occasion, Hillier had been made to run in a wide circle with a heavy pack on his back. Dobbs talked about the ugly red weals, left on his friend's shoulders by the straps.

'It started all over again this morning,' Dobbs continued. "The major singled out Tom again and made him-'

'That's enough!' snapped Welbeck, interrupting him. 'I want no more of this whining. This regiment is full of people with grudges against certain officers and they're almost always without any foundation. I suggest that you do as Private Hillier seems to be doing and that's to keep your mouth firmly shut.'

'I thought you'd like to know.'

'Then you were badly mistaken, lad.'

Dobbs was crushed. 'Yes, Sergeant,' he mumbled.

'Don't bring any more of these silly stories to me.'

'No, Sergeant.'

'Be off with you!'

Wounded by the rebuff, Dobbs scampered off. Welbeck looked after him and was grateful that his nephew had such a good friend. He was impressed that Tom Hillier had taken his punishment without feeling the need to complain and was struck by something else as well. It was evident that Dobbs knew nothing of the warning that the sergeant had issued to Hillier about Major Cracknell. The drummer had kept it to himself. That pleased Welbeck. Where an officer was concerned, however, the sergeant was powerless to intervene. If he so wished, a major could beat someone from the ranks black and blue without even needing an excuse to do so. Hillier was in grave danger.

His third night as a turnkey at the Bastille followed the same dreary pattern as the others except that, on this occasion, Rivot unloaded more of the drudgery on to Daniel. Now that the new man was familiar with the routine, Rivot kept sneaking off for short, unscheduled rests. This allowed Daniel to be more generous with the distribution of water and to converse with some of the prisoners. Those who stirred from their straw to come to the door were extremely grateful for what they saw as a concession. When Rivot was on duty, they had virtually no human contact. Suddenly, they had a friend who showed interest in them. Daniel was astonished to learn that one of the ragged inmates had once been a member of the Parlement.

'How did you end up here?' asked Daniel.

'I spoke my mind,' replied the man.

'How long have you been imprisoned?'

'Over two years.'

'When will you be released?'

The prisoner gave a hollow laugh. 'There's no talk of release down here. I'm locked up for having the courage of my convictions. And I'd do the same again,' he went on with a battered dignity. 'If I see corruption in government, I have to speak out.'

'Do you have a wife and family?'

'I did have. They're dead to me now.'

'You must have been a person of consequence at one time.'

'That's why I was dragged from my bed one night and arrested. They were afraid I'd persuade others to join in my crusade. I had to be silenced.'

It was a salutary tale and there were others just like it. Talking to some of them, Daniel could see how paltry their so-called crimes were and that they were really victims of rank injustice. All that he could do was to offer them a sympathetic ear and as much water as they wanted. His main interest was in someone confined in less sordid conditions. It was not until the turnkeys reached their break in the middle of the night that he was able to go in search of Emanuel Janssen. Daniel came up from the cachots, gulped in fresh air then crossed the courtyard to a tower on the eastern side of the building. He went swiftly up the stairs, looking into rooms at every level for the Dutchman. Turnkeys who saw him assumed that he had business higher up the tower. Halfway up the circular stone staircase, he reached an open area with a large wooden bench against the wall. Lying full length on it, snoring contentedly, was one of the gaolers.