Soldier of Fortune

The suggestion did not reassure Abigail. If anything, it made her feel even more distressed. She believed that Daniel

Rawson had kept the facts from her because he perceived her as too weak and fragile to cope with such grim tidings. Instead of sharing his worries with her, he had kept them to himself. Abigail had been deliberately kept in the dark and that hurt her. Daniel was under threat. Her pleasant stroll with him now took on a more sinister and disturbing aspect.

It was the morning after the battle and the two women were standing outside the tent in which they had spent the night. Most of the camp followers slept in the back of wagons or rigged up some rudimentary cover. Abigail and her maid were more fortunate because Marlborough had arranged for them to have a small tent. Though they were miles away from the battle, the women had heard all too clearly the booming of the cannon, the popping of musketry and the constant roll of drums. News of victory had been brought back but it was offset by reports of heavy losses. Abigail had lain awake all night, praying that Daniel Rawson was not among the fallen.

Already tired and distraught, she was close to despair when she was told about the attempt on Daniel's life. While she had been imploring him to withdraw from the Forlorn Hope, he had almost been killed by a sniper in the bushes. Clutching her hands tightly together, she walked up and down as she tried to absorb what she had been told. Emily took a more practical view.

'We shouldn't be here, Miss Abigail,' she said firmly.

'We have to be here, Emily.'

'If that's your wish, then I'll obey you as I've always done. But I've been talking to the others. They belong here. They know what to expect and are hardened by experience.'

'We, too, have shown endurance.'

'It's not the same,' said Emily. 'We're outsiders.'

'The other ladies have been very kind to us.'

'That's because they all pull together in adversity. They're used to supporting each other. I've been talking to some of them, Miss Abigail. Their stories are heart-breaking.'

'I know that army life can be testing.'

'It's an ordeal. You deserve better.'

'I still prefer to stay, Emily.'

'Then I'll stay with you,' said the other with resignation. There was some commotion off to their right and they traded an anxious glance. 'What's that noise?'

'Let's go and find out,' decided Abigail.

Picking their way through the tents, they came to an avenue down which a long column of wagons rumbled. Blood-curdling moans were coming from wounded soldiers brought back from the battlefield and the sound was swelled by wailing women who had just discovered that their husbands had lost limbs or had their faces shot off. Abigail and Emily were transfixed by the gruesome sight. Medical provisions were primitive and the most that surgeons had been able to do was to amputate arms and legs before gangrene set in, or to bandage hideous wounds without being able to stem the bleeding.

It was a scene of undiluted horror. Gallant soldiers who had marched off proudly into battle were now little more than bundles of bones in ragged uniforms, crying out pitifully for someone to relieve their agony. There were so many of them. The column stretched back out of sight. Abigail stood there and gaped as an endless stream of human misery went past. She blenched when she saw a man waving a bandaged stump of an arm at her and was sickened when she observed another who had lost both legs at the knees. Wherever she looked, there was some new assault on her sensibilities. It was like viewing an endless parade of corpses.

Yet she could not tear herself away. Afraid that Daniel Rawson might be part of the mournful traffic to Nordlingen, she forced herself to look into every wagon, revolted by the sight of so much blood and shocked by the fact that some of the men had already expired from their injuries. The cloying stench of death and the stink of putrifying wounds invaded her nostrils and made her retch with nausea. As she checked yet another cargo of mutilated soldiers, a skinny hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

'Give me a kiss, darling!' begged a desperate man whose head and body were swathed in blood-soaked bandages. 'I need something to keep out this terrible pain.'

But even as he spoke, his strength waned visibly and he lost his grip on Abigail. His fingers fell away, leaving a bloody imprint on the sleeve of her dress. She jumped back in alarm. Emily had already seen more than enough.

'Come away, Miss Abigail,' she said. 'You shouldn't look.'

Abigail was trembling. 'I hadn't realised it would be like this.'

'Turn your back on it.'

'I have to see if Captain Rawson has been wounded.'

'If he has, you'll be told soon enough. He'd not want you to see him in the state these poor men are in. Most of them are nearer to death than life. Could you stand to see the captain like that?'

'No,' said Abigail, closing her eyes. 'It would be intolerable.'

'Then let me take you away,' suggested Emily, holding her by the arm and leading her off. 'You may not think it to look at them but those are the lucky ones.'

'Lucky!'

'They survived the battle.'

'But what kind of lives do they face with injuries like that?' asked Abigail as she envisaged their bleak futures. 'And what kind of burden will they be on their wives and children?'

'Women who marry soldiers know where it may all end. If they don't have to watch their man being buried, they may well have to care for an invalid. That's their lot and they put up with it because they have no other expectation. I told you before,' said Emily, 'they belong here and we don't. I think we should go home.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Sergeant Henry Welbeck had fought with his usual blend of skill and ferocity when they stormed the hill. Now that the battle was over, it was time for recriminations. Alone with Daniel Rawson, he felt able to express his complaints in language he would never dare to use to any other officer. Daniel's tent gave him the freedom of privacy.

'It was bloody madness, Dan!' he bellowed. 'Sending us up that hill was the worst fucking thing that Corporal John has done.'

'The end justifies the means, Henry.'

'He always used to care for his men.'

'He still does,' said Daniel, 'but there was no way that he could protect them yesterday. They had to be ordered into battle.'

'But why did it have to be British bloody soldiers who died? Aren't there enough Dutch and Danish and Austrian troops to send off to their deaths? Why did we have to provide the Forlorn Hope?' he went on. 'More to the point, why did you take leave of your bloody senses and volunteer to join it?'

'I wanted to be in the thick of the action.'

'Well, you came very close to being in an early grave. I had to organise the burial details. Do you know how many of my men I saw being dropped into the ground — what was left of them, that is. Going up that hill was nothing short of suicide.'

'What else could we have done, Henry?'

'We could've had a good night's rest, for a start.'

Daniel laughed. 'Have you ever rested on eve of a battle?'

'You know what I mean, Dan. We'd marched all day. We were in no condition to give of our best. Yet that's what His Grace, the Duke of Bloody Marlborough, expected us to do.'

'I saw nobody shirking on the battlefield.'

'It was needless fucking slaughter.'

'They had far more casualties,' said Daniel.

Welbeck glowered. 'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

'We won, Henry. That's all that matters.'

'Thank you for telling me,' said the other sarcastically.

Daniel was sitting on a camp stool but his friend was striding restlessly to and fro. Both of them had picked up their share of grazes and bruises during the battle. Welbeck had been stabbed in the arm by an enemy bayonet and the wound was heavily bandaged. He had also acquired a black eye. Daniel's face had been washed but his scars and bruises remained and his lower lip was swollen. The gash on his back had been cleaned and dressed. Now that the thrill of battle had gone, he could feel every bruise and abrasion but, in view of their victory, it was an almost satisfying pain.