Текст книги "The Generals"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

She looked up and forced a smile. ‘I’ll still be here. If you still want me.’

Arthur felt a raw flood of emotion fill his heart, only to turn to a terrible aching agony at the cruel knowledge that in a short time they would be parted, perhaps for ever.

‘Kitty. On my life, I will still want you. I promise.’

Chapter 14

December, 1795

It was a fine, clear winter day and the harbour at Southampton was filled with shipping.The masts, spars and rigging looked like a vast, intricate spiderweb from where Arthur observed the scene from the main quay. In amongst the coasters and small trading vessels were the large Indiamen flying the East India Company’s flag. Further out lay the warships of the Royal Navy, from small sloops up to the stately ships of the line. The vessels were anchored to one side of the channel as several ships, taking advantage of a favourable breeze, glided into Southampton, passing those setting sail for other destinations. Their topsails were sheeted home and bulged as they filled under the pressure of the wind, canting the vessels gently to leeward.

The quay was filled with men unloading cargo from the merchant ships, and others loading supplies and equipment aboard the troopships berthed near the naval yard. Arthur watched as his officers and sergeants marshalled the red-coated men of his regiment, the 33rd Foot, and marched them up the ramps on to the decks of the vessels that would be their cramped quarters for the next few months. The harsh shouts of the sergeants competed with the breeze singing through the rigging and the shrill cacophony of seagulls. Once the last of the men were aboard, Arthur turned away and made his way back to his lodgings at the Crown and Anchor inn to settle his personal affairs before joining his men. If the wind direction remained constant, the regiment would sail on the noon tide of the following day. So he worked hard to complete the remaining tasks before he quit England.

He still owed the family’s land agent over a thousand pounds and had arranged for his mother, Lady Anne Wesley, to guarantee the debt until he should return from foreign service to repay it. He owed Richard considerably more once he had reckoned up all the loans advanced to him by his brother to purchase commissions and pay for the costs of his election to the seat at Trim. Lastly, he wrote a final letter to Kitty, in which he set down his intention to make a name and a fortune for himself, and should she still be unmarried on his return to honour his pledge to marry her. Arthur had given much thought to this letter. Time could change a man’s feelings, yet he felt sure enough of the permanent nature of his love for Kitty to commit himself to her in writing.

He signed the letter, folded it carefully, wrote Kitty’s name and address on the front and then sealed it. Then he sat back in his seat and poured himself a large glass of Madeira. It was dusk and the light was fading.The rooms he had rented at the Crown and Anchor were comfortable enough, but the windows were small and stained and looked down into the coach yard. Not that there had been a moment to contemplate a view had there been one.

As soon as Arthur had arrived in Southampton he had been overwhelmed by the host of tasks demanding his attention. He had to ensure that the regiment was fully equipped for the coming campaign, and that all the men with families had made arrangements for a proportion of their pay to be sent directly to their wives. Wills had to be written and countersigned before being sent back to the battalion’s depot. A small number of men were in jail for sundry offences and debts and Arthur had had to humbly request their release, or cajole the local magistrates into believing that it was their patriotic duty to return the miscreants to their colours so that they could atone for their sins by fighting for King and country. One of his officers had run up a large gambling debt which Arthur had borrowed money to pay off rather than lose the young man’s services. The debt would be recouped from his pay, eventually. The letter to Kitty had been the final task, and one that had been put off until there were no lingering distractions to interfere with the composition of what might well be his last message to her.

Now it was finished, and there was nothing more to do. As soon as the wind was favourable Arthur would board his ship and sail away from England. As he sipped, sparingly, from his glass Arthur realised how tired he was. Frantic weeks of activity had taken their toll and he felt drained of energy. His head was pounding and his body ached. He rose from his seat wearily and undressed. Leaving his clothes hanging over the back of his chair, he climbed into his bed and closed his eyes.

He woke early, cold and shivering. Outside the wind moaned across the roofs of the port and when Arthur made his way down to the quay it was clear that a gale was blowing directly up the channel. The weather remained foul for several more days and while the men sat aboard their ships, struggling to find their sea legs, Arthur spent his time walking and riding along the shores of the Solent, watching and waiting for the shift in the wind that would make it possible for the convoy to leave Southampton. In the evenings he returned to his room to read the books he had bought about the West Indies. He had also borrowed some French newspapers from the harbour master so that he might learn the latest news of the conflict in Europe. As he perused the articles he once again came across the name of Bonaparte. It seemed that France’s hero of Toulon had now added to his laurels by crushing a royalist uprising in Paris and had been promoted to full general. Arthur sighed wearily. It seemed that luck favoured some men far more than others. While this man Bonaparte seemed to have every good fortune strewn in his path, every possible obstacle was being placed between Arthur and any measure of success. Much as he abhorred the revolution in France and all that it stood for, he could not help feeling envious of Bonaparte’s situation. One day perhaps Arthur’s luck would change, and he would strive to match, and possibly outdo, the achievements of men such as General Bonaparte.

At last, in the middle of December, on a bitingly cold day, the wind veered round to the east and the captain of the frigate Hermione, charged with escorting the transports, sent word to Arthur that the convoy would set sail the next morning.

The wind howled across the surface of the sea, whipping foam off the crests of the waves. On the ships the rigging moaned and shrilled as the deck rolled one way and then the other beneath Arthur’s boots. Overhead thin strips of sail were stretched taut beneath the furled material hanging from the spars. Two small triangles of jib sails above the bowsprit helped to thrust the transport ship on as it followed the loose line of vessels ahead, steering south-west away from the coast of the Isle of Wight. Half a mile off the starboard bow the Hermionesurged forward, bursting through the waves in great showers of spray that were blown back over her foredeck.

Wild as the weather was on deck, Arthur was enjoying himself, wrapped up in a thick coat and covered with oilskins to protect him from the icy squalls that blew in every so often, almost blotting out the coast of England when they struck. The wild fury of nature filled him with a sense of awe, mingled with an all too human pride in man’s triumph over the elements as the ships ploughed defiantly through the waves towards the open sea. Ahead he could just make out the Needles: tall columns of white rock stretching out from the end of the Isle of Wight. The lead transport was sticking to Captain Shelby’s orders and, as Arthur watched, began to pass well clear of the rocks. As the last of the transports beat past the Needles he could hear the boom and roar of waves striking the columns even above the wind. Then they emerged from the partial shelter of the island and the ship was exposed to the full force of the wind. The deck canted over alarmingly and he clung to the side rail.

‘Colonel! Colonel Wesley!’

He turned and saw a figure making his way forward along the quarterdeck. A fluke of wind blew the rim of the newcomer’s oilskin hat flat against his forehead, and Arthur recognised Captain Hodges. Hodges was an experienced sailor and strode forward comfortably enough as the deck heaved and swooped beneath his boots. As he closed up on Arthur he cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, ‘I’d advise you to get below, sir!’

Arthur shook his head. ‘Not yet! I want a last look at England!’

Hodges stared back for a moment and then shrugged as he turned back towards the quarterdeck. ‘It’s your funeral, sir.’

In truth Arthur just wanted to delay returning to the narrow cabin that had been allocated to him close to the stern of the ship. The soldiers had been ordered to stay below and keep out of the way of the sailors, but the world below deck was a hellish chaos. There was no fixed point of reference for the eye relative to the motion of the ship and within minutes the wild motion had stricken scores of men with nausea and several were vomiting into the first slop bucket that came to hand. Their suffering was made worse by the stink wafting up from the ship’s bilges. Some of the men were too terrified to feel unwell and sat wedged in corners against the great compass timbers of the ship that groaned and creaked with the strain of battling the storm. Their lips moved in silent prayer, or curses, and the cumulative effect of it all drove Arthur up on deck where he had sought Hodges’ permission to stay there a while, out of the way of the crew.

But now it was growing dark, and already the lead ship was no longer visible, just the bright spark of the heavy lantern lashed halfway up the mizzen mast. As night closed in round the transport, Arthur finally picked his way back towards the gangway that led to the cabins, and with a final glance at the black mass of the sea surrounding the transport he ducked down and carefully descended the steep stairs into the narrow passage. His cabin was one of the more spacious, but even so it was not very much larger than the cot it held. Arthur stripped off his oilskins and cloak, placed them over his sea chest, and then called for one of the ship’s servants to bring him a drink. As he settled into his blankets to go to sleep his ears were filled with the protesting creaks of stressed timbers, the deep moan of the wind, and the thud-crash of the waves.

The morning brought fresh problems. The convoy had been scattered during the night, and when Arthur joined Hodges on the deck in the wan glow of the light filtering through the dark grey clouds rolling overhead he could see the pale streaks of the sails of only two ships on the surrounding sea.

‘Are any of the other transports in sight?’

‘Lookout reports two more, hull down to the south of us.’

‘What’s happened to the others?’

‘Could be many miles away by now. If they haven’t foundered.’

‘Deck there!’ a voice cried out, just audible above the wind. Arthur glanced up and saw a figure in the ratlines of the main-mast, clinging on as the mast inscribed crazy circles against the clouds. ‘The Hermione’s hoisted a signal.’

‘What does it say?’ Hodges bellowed back through a speaking trumpet.

There was a delay as the lookout raised a telescope and tried his best to fix it on the frigate. At length he lowered the glass and called down, ‘Make sail, course south-west, until further orders.’

‘South-west?’ Arthur frowned. ‘Why south-west?’

‘For safety.We head south and we might come up on Ushant. West and we might hit the Cornish coast.’

‘In all this sea?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Surely not. They are hundreds of miles apart.’

‘True,’ Captain Hodges admitted.‘But do you know where we are at this moment? Precisely where we are? Neither do I, and I won’t until I can shoot the sun. In this weather who knows how long that will be. So until then, we play safe and steer south-west.’

The following dawn revealed a storm-tossed horizon clear of any ships and Captain Hodges kept to the course he had been given. More days passed with grinding monotony as the transport sailed with the wind on her port quarter, rising up on each wave, then lurching and swooping into the trough as the wave passed on ahead. Rain squalls constantly swept over the ship and water found its way between decks so that soon nothing seemed dry and it was almost impossible to keep warm.

One morning, as Arthur emerged for his regular attempt at a walk up and down the quarterdeck, Captain Hodges came over to greet him with a brief knuckle to the brim of his hat.

‘Good day to you, Colonel.’

‘Any sign of the other ships?’

‘None, sir. Not for several days now.’

‘Any idea how far we’ve come?’

‘Difficult to say. We’re making six knots through the sea, but over the ground?’ He shrugged. ‘But if the wind stays steady, it’s fair for the West Indies and we’ll make good time.’

‘That’s something of a comfort.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Hodges nodded and turned back to keep an eye on his ship, then paused and glanced back at Arthur. ‘One other thing, sir.’

‘Oh?’

‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Christmas? Oh, Christ, of course it is.’Arthur laughed.‘Merry Christmas to you too, Captain!’

The next day the wind began to veer. Slowly, degree by degree, until it had shifted far enough to the west to force the captain to change course and he tacked for six hours at a time before going about and clawing back with the wind on the opposite bow, pointing as close to the wind as the ship would steer. And still the storm continued, day after day, week after week, until nearly seven weeks into the voyage the lookout called down to the deck.

‘Land ho!’

‘Where away?’ Hodges called back.

‘Two points off the starboard bow!’ The lookout thrust his arm out and the officers on the quarterdeck turned to scan the horizon in that direction. For a while they could see nothing; then the ship lifted on to the crest of a large ocean roller and there was the coast, a thin dark strip with flashes of white cliffs.

‘What land’s that?’ Arthur squinted. Hodges was quiet for a moment, bracing his legs as he trained his glass on the distant coast before the ship slumped down into a trough and he snapped the telescope shut. He laughed bitterly.

‘It’s the Needles.’

‘The Needles?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Impossible! How can it be? We’ve been at sea for nearly two months.’

‘It’s this bloody storm. We’ve made no headway against it. Now it’s blown us back to England.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What can I do? We’ve consumed two months’ provisions, the rigging has been strained to breaking point and two of my sails have been torn to pieces in the wind. We’re heading back to port.’

The next morning the transport eased its way up Southampton Sound on reduced sail. Hodges joined Arthur at the rail and pointed to a cluster of ships moored in the sound. ‘Recognise them? That’s the rest of the convoy.Wonder how long they’ve been here?’

As soon as the transport had taken on the mooring line and reefed in all the sails Arthur went ashore in one of the ship’s boats. Stepping on to dry land was a strange experience after seven wild weeks at sea. The very cobbles beneath his boots seemed to cant and tilt as wildly as the deck of the ship and Arthur frowned angrily as his sea legs took him clumsily down the quay to the harbour master’s headquarters. The current office-holder was Rear Admiral Porter, a relic of a bygone age in his powdered wig. As Arthur was ushered into his office Porter eased himself stiffly up from his chair and pumped Arthur’s hand.

‘Good to see you again, Colonel. Just beginning to wonder if your ship had foundered. Rest of the convoy’s been in port for the best part of a month.’

‘A month?’ Arthur shook his head. While Hodges and his crew had been battling the elements to win every scrap of distance they could to the west, the other crews had been sitting snug in the sound.

‘Ah!’ Porter raised a hand. ‘While I think of it, you have new orders. Arrived from London last week. Over there on the table. Go and get them, man, and I’ll order you a drink. What’s your poison, Wesley?’

‘Tea, please, sir. A nice hot pot of tea.’

Porter chuckled. ‘I’ll see to it.’

As the old sailor bustled to the door to order the refreshment, Arthur crossed to the table indicated and ran his eyes over the correspondence resting there. He saw his name almost at once and picked up a slender package and broke the seals. Removing the outer waxed covering, he unfolded the letter and began to read a tersely written missive from a staff officer at Horseguards. As of the start of the year Lieutenant Colonel Wesley had been promoted to full colonel. He was further requested and required to make preparations for a fresh voyage. As soon as the convoy’s supplies were replenished it was to set sail and make best time to Fort William in Calcutta.

‘Calcutta!’ Arthur could not believe his eyes. India?

‘What did you say, Colonel?’ Porter headed back towards him cupping a hand to his ear.

‘Calcutta,’ Arthur repeated. ‘The War Office is sending the 33rd to India.’

‘India?’ Porter mused. ‘You’re in luck, Colonel. Many’s the man who has made his fortune in India. Now, it seems, your turn has come.’

Chapter 15

Napoleon

Italy, April 1796

‘I don’t think they’re going to be happy about the situation,’ Major Junot muttered as they watched the three division commanders of the Army of Italy dismount outside the merchant’s house that had been commandeered for Napoleon’s headquarters in Nice. Like many of the fine houses that Napoleon had seen in Northern Italy, it was filled with ancient sculptures and the finest paintings of the Renaissance.

Napoleon smiled at his recently promoted aide. ‘No one is asking them to be happy. Just to obey orders.’

Their gaze followed the three commanders as they strode across the courtyard towards the entrance to the house. It was not difficult to work out who was who. Napoleon had read through the records of each man on the journey from Paris. The smallest in stature was Masséna, who was described as a brave soldier and a good tactician. He was also a flagrant womaniser and there were frequent comments about his larcenous approach to any private property that took his fancy whilst on campaign. General Augereau at thirty-eight was the same age as Masséna, but tall, well built and a gifted fencer. The representative of the Committee of Public Safety who had compiled the report had obviously been a sensitive soul since he drew attention to Augereau’s penchant for constantly swearing. He too was not above the occasional spree of looting, but the representative had concluded, grudgingly, that the general was very brave and was loved by the men he led.The third general was Serurier. He had served in the army for over thirty years. He was tall and lean with a humourless countenance. He was strict with his men, and they served him well enough, but Serurier had yet to prove himself as a commander.

Napoleon could understand Junot’s concern. Each of the divisional commanders would have been hoping to become the new commander of the Army of Italy. Instead the post had gone to a man eleven years junior to the youngest of them. Moreover, Napoleon had never commanded any force larger than the artillery train which he had used to bombard the defences of Toulon two and a half years earlier. They were bound to regard him as a political appointment.The puppet of Paul Barras and the other Directors at the head of the government in Paris. Well let them think that, Napoleon mused.The more wrong-headed they were the easier they would be to impress once the campaign began and he won his first victories against the Austrians and their rag-tag allies in the Italian peninsula.

He turned away from the window and took his seat at the head of the long table in the merchant’s finely decorated dining room. The members of his personal staff, Junot, Berthier, Murat and Marmont, were seated either side of him as they waited for the three generals to be admitted to the first meeting of the army’s senior officers.

The double doors at the end of the room were opened by a pair of corporals and Napoleon and his staff rose graciously as the divisional commanders entered the room in their fine dress coats, laced with gold braid. They handed their hats and swordbelts to the corporals and took their places at the table. Napoleon made the introductions before resuming his seat to begin the briefing.

‘Well then, gentlemen, Paris has asked us to drive the Austrians from Italy.At the same time we are to make allies of any Italian kingdom that we can, and overawe or crush the rest. All in a day’s work for the soldiers of France, I think you’ll agree.’

The officers chuckled easily enough at the remark and Napoleon continued.‘However, I have to say that the task will not be quite so easy given the current condition of the Army of Italy. I was told in Paris that there were forty-two thousand men in the army. What I discover when I get here is that there are no more than thirty thousand, and most of them are hungry and poorly equipped and haven’t been paid for months. In one unit I passed through yesterday the men were wearing goatskins for coats and many of them did not even have boots. The army’s artillery train consists of twenty light mountain guns and a handful of transport mules.That’s not going to frighten any enemy. Small wonder that the morale of the officers and men is as low as it is.’

General Augereau laced his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, you can’t believe everything you hear in Paris, it would seem. Perhaps you should return there and tell them the truth, sir.’

‘There is no time for that, General.We must act now.We shall have to work hard to get the Army of Italy ready for the coming campaign.We need reinforcements, we need supplies and equipment, and above all we need to raise morale. And for that we need victories. So I have decided to open our campaign against the Austrians by the middle of April.’

‘But that’s just over two weeks away!’ Serurier protested. ‘That’s impossible.You said it yourself, sir. The army’s in no condition to fight. The best we can hope for is to defend our positions, and marshal resources for a campaign later this year, or early next year.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘You’re thinking like an Austrian, General Serurier. It is true that the Army of Italy is not ready to fight in a conventional manner, so we must wage war in an unconventional way. Since the army has no supply train, we will do without. Our men will have to live off the land. That means we can outmarch the enemy. The Austrian armies march like snails, hauling vast supply columns with them. They stop to establish depots and then move on again.They make us a present of the initiative, Serurier. It is true that they outnumber us, but by virtue of our greater mobility we will be able to mass superior forces against their weak points and beat them every time. A few such victories and our men will be as lions, ready to leap on their prey. I tell you, gentlemen, by the end of this year the Austrians will be in full retreat, and every man in this room will be regarded as a hero in Paris.’

He paused to let the impact of his words sink in, then turned to Junot. ‘Major, the map if you please.’

Junot unrolled a large map across the table and weighted the corners down. The staff officers and the generals leaned forward to examine the features of northern Italy while Napoleon picked up a cane and stood at the head of the table.

‘In brief, the plan is for the army to march down the coast as far as Savona, then cut inland to threaten the Austrian supply lines.True to form, the Austrians will fall back to the north-east. We’ll hold them there while a strong force turns on the Piedmontese forces. Without their Austrian friends they will crumble very quickly.Then we take Lombardy and Milan before turning our attention back to the Austrians. My final aim for this campaign season is to take the fortress at Mantua. So there it is, gentlemen. Any questions?’

Serurier shook his head. ‘You ask too much of the men, sir.’

Napoleon looked at him shrewdly. ‘Or is it that I am asking too much of my generals?’

Serurier’s eyes widened angrily and he thumped his hand down on the table. ‘You insult me, sir! Let me remind you I was a soldier long before you were born, and these other generals were fighting the enemies of France while you were still a schoolboy.What makes you think you have the right to question my judgement?’

Napoleon glanced at all three of his divisional commanders. ‘It’s simple, gentlemen. I obey the Directory . . . and you obey me. The Directory has told us to take the war to the Austrians and that is precisely what we shall do. If you wish to protest, Serurier, then you must resign your command and take the matter up in Paris. Is that clear?’

Serurier glared at him for a moment, before nodding mutely.

‘Very well then,’ Napoleon continued in a warmer tone. ‘Then let’s discuss the details. And tomorrow, Serurier, I will inspect one of your brigades.’

It was a dull morning, and a faint drizzle speckled the hats and uniforms of the men assembled on the field a short distance outside Oneille. At first it was difficult to believe that these men belonged to an army. Only a handful of them still had their complete kit; the rest were missing backpacks, gaiters, and boots, and some even lacked muskets and bayonets. Several were coughing badly and the majority were thin and gaunt for lack of food.

‘Hardly the stuff of victories,’ Junot said quietly as they approached. Napoleon had temporarily dismissed the senior officers of the brigade and a sergeant major called the soldiers to attention as the commander of the army and his aide marched towards them. The men did their best to straighten their backs and thrust their chests out, but it was as miserable a display of drill as Napoleon had ever seen and for the first time he felt a stab of fear that the command of the Army of Italy was going to be the death of his ambitions. He shook off the doubt as he approached the front rank. He walked slowly past the first dozen soldiers and then stopped in front of an older man, who still had his full kit, albeit worn out.

‘Name?’

‘Private Dunais, General,’ the man replied, with a pronounced accent that Napoleon picked up at once. He smiled.

‘You are a Gascon, then. Good. I need men with the fighting spirit of Gascony. How long have you served in the army?’

‘Four years in this army, General, then twelve years in the Russian army, and before that eight years in the Bourbon army.’

‘I see.What kind of trouble were you in, Dunais? To make you quit France for Russia?’

‘I didn’t like my officers, sir. All breeding and no brains.’

‘And you thought it would be better in the Russian army?’

‘I hoped it would be. I was wrong, General.’

‘And what of the French army today, Dunais? How does it compare with the old Bourbon army? Be honest with me – your officers are not here.’

For the first time Dunais looked him in the eyes. ‘Not well, sir. The lads are keen enough to fight, and would make good enough soldiers . . .’

‘But?’

‘They’ve been given a raw deal by those bastards in the government. And they’ve been cheated by the army contractors. Worst of all, there’s some of the officers who treat us as bad as the contractors, or owe their rank to political friends and know nothing about soldiering, sir.’ Dunais realised he might have said too much, and suddenly clamped his mouth shut and stared straight ahead once more.

‘Private Dunais, your comments are noted, and I give you my word that your grievances will be addressed as soon as possible.’ Napoleon raised his voice so that more men could hear him. ‘If France wants us to fight, then France is going to make sure that her soldiers get the best of what’s available. It’s the very least that her soldiers deserve. Major Junot, make a note of this man’s complaints.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Napoleon continued down the line, stopping every so often to question one of the men and find out where he had come from, and what his grievances were. Once the inspection was over he climbed into a light supply wagon that had been brought forward to act as a podium. He waited until there was almost total silence and stillness in the ranks, and then began to address them.

‘Soldiers! You are hungry and short of equipment. Your government owes you everything but can afford to give you nothing.The patience and courage which you have shown so far has been admirable – but it has not brought you any glory. Not one shred of glory. That is about to change. I will lead you into the most fertile lands in Europe. There are rich provinces with fine towns and cities in Italy, all of which will be yours for the taking. There you will find honour, glory and riches.’ Napoleon paused to draw breath and then thrust his arm out and pointed at them. ‘Soldiers of the Army of Italy! With all this before you, will you be lacking in courage or endurance?’

‘No!’ a voice cried out. ‘We will fight!’

‘Fight!’ another shouted. ‘Fight for General Bonaparte!’

Others picked up the mood and soon they were all chanting his name. Napoleon indulged them for a moment and then turned to Junot and smiled. ‘Now we have an army!’

The date set for the opening of the campaign was 15 April and in the days leading up to the start of the offensive Napoleon and his staff worked every possible hour to remedy the army’s problems. Local banks were forced to make loans to the army so that the men could be paid and supplies purchased. The complaints of the soldiers were investigated and corrupt and incompetent officers were relieved of their commands or sent far to the rear on garrison duty, or even dismissed from the service. The supply contractors were threatened with the loss of their army business if the men were not properly fed. Napoleon visited as many of the units as he could in the early days of April to make rousing speeches to the men, and he set up an army newspaper to provide news from home as well as morale-boosting accounts of the progress of the war with Austria. At the end of every day he sat down and wrote a letter to Josephine, telling her of his exhausting duties, and of the deep love and fiery passion for her that made every day of separation a torture. He asked her, with increasing frustration, to write and let him know when she would come and join him.