06 A Soldier’s Farewell (Man of Conflict #6)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Oh!”

  Septimus chose to ask no more about the young gentleman; unless he was much mistaken, he certainly had heard the name before… Monique Lyautey! He remembered her from his early days in the Sugar Islands, a young lady who had become his not very willing mistress, for lack of alternative in a sacked town. She had left for New York, eventually, posing as a widow of the war.

  “The young man must serve as our guide, Mr Potter. When will he be available to me?”

  “I can bring him to one of the towns on the frontier within a fortnight, Sir Septimus.”

  “Excellent, sir. I shall identify a force to be led to the destruction of these vile brutes. I must offer you my thanks, Mr Potter – I have wished to do something about these raiders for some months now.”

  “Mr Kidlington – we are to march along the frontier and, I hope, to destroy one at least of the bands of brigands there. The Intelligencers tell me they have information – the true word – on one location and believe we may then discover more. I much hope so, naturally. We will require mounted men as well as foot. Which of your Yeomanry would you recommend to dip their fingers into the water of battle?”

  “First and Fourth Troops, sir. Some two hundred men in total, well-officered, in my opinion, sir. McDowell of the Fourth sold out about five years ago after a scandal in the 8th Light Dragoons, as they were then. He migrated to Nova Scotia where he is a substantial landowner and naturally volunteered to the Yeomanry. He is a very capable commander of men, I believe, and I would give him both Troops.”

  “Your decision. Mobilise them, if you would be so good, and set them on the march around the Bay of Fundy. Inform them it is an exercise, but be very sure that they are fully equipped and ready.”

  Kidlington asked if he might accompany them.

  “I could use you here. Join them perhaps at the frontier. Can McDowell be trusted out of sight?”

  “Wholly, sir, as long as your wife – or any other man’s – is not within his sight. Show that man a skirt and he must go off in hot pursuit, I am afraid.”

  “His colonel’s wife, I presume, led to him selling out.”

  “Good God, no, sir! The Major-General’s, no less!”

  “An ambitious fellow! If he is as adventuresome in battle then he will be a very fine chap!”

  Kidlington was amused, but also slightly shocked – he regarded himself as within reason an amorous soul, but there were certain things one did not do.

  “Lieutenants Curry and Westmacott are to call the Fencibles to arms. I shall try to arrange shipping across Fundy for them. I want no fewer than eight companies with us. Ensign Longhurst will call the 69th to the rendezvous. Mr Rowlands will accompany me as my doggie. I must speak to General Haigh about artillery. If I am successful in laying my hands on a battery or two of guns, then Ensign Martinsyde will escort them.”

  Kidlington stood and moved to the door, stopped suddenly, turning around, face showing puzzlement.

  “Sir… That is far too great a force for a band of eighty brigands… What comes after?”

  “After, Mr Kidlington? Am I to have a crystal ball to guess the future? It may well be the case that we might find ourselves on the frontier and with nothing to do – and idle soldiers soon make mischief, they must be given occupation, you know.”

  Kidlington laughed, all now clear.

  “I shall instruct the quartermasters to bring along rations for a month, sir.”

  “Quite right too! It is always as well to be prepared for any eventuality.”

  “So, General, I think it wiser to carry a gun or two with me – it is not impossible that the brigands will have set up an abatis, or even a strong palisade which will require a few rounds of artillery fire.”

  “Do I detect a touch of special pleading, Sir Septimus?”

  “Good Lord, no, sir! Far be it from me to have an ulterior motive.”

  “So I thought. Under no circumstances are you to venture west or south – or north for that matter – of that part of Massachusetts known as Maine. Best in fact that you should not – yet – cross the Penobscot River. Should you find yourself in Maine – in hot pursuit, that is – then you may accept pledges of loyalty from merchants, ship-owners and mariners and permit them to trade freely with any part of His Majesty’s domains. You may actively encourage them to carry lumber or firewood or provisions to those parts of New England that are suffering dearth as result of this war. Washington may not care for the well-being of the people, but I believe we are more civilised in such matters.”

  “Yes, indeed, sir. Guns, sir?”

  “We have six of four-pounder galloper guns to march with the Yeomanry, and a battery of old six-pounders sent out to us as not wanted by His Lordship in Spain. There is an ancient howitzer as well, if you want it.”

  “I saw one in use not too long ago, sir. Well-laid, a howitzer is a very handy little beast. I would wish to bring it along, sir.”

  “Very good. If you break the borders, send word and there will be a maritime expedition to secure the coast. Such naval and regular forces as there are will, fairly naturally, be found in the harbours. Pacify the interior. Liberate the people from the tyranny of President and Congress, Sir Septimus – and when this damned war comes to an early end, as I much trust it may, then we shall have a rather large bargaining card in our hands.”

  Septimus nodded gravely; he had suspected such to be the case. This was an unwanted war, made against a nation who should naturally be allied to Britain and even if preferring to be neutral, as was their right, should not be an enemy. The problem was that they fought hard, could not be kept at a distance, treated with disdain.

  “As much a political invasion as a military, sir – I shall indulge myself in this new field of endeavour.”

  “Do that, Sir Septimus. The experience may serve you in good stead.”

  That was an interesting comment, Septimus thought. He wondered what it might signify for his future. Why might he be wanted to have knowledge and experience in a more political field?

  Not to worry, take one thing at a time. He had the opportunity to take the field, to show his own nose out in front, to reinforce his reputation as a fighting soldier, provided he could discover someone to give him a fight, that was.

  He spent the next week in furious activity, sixteen hours a day on the move, appearing in every barracks and camp and demanding to know why things were not happening faster. It seemed very likely to him that everything was moving almost as quickly as was humanly possible, but that was no reason not to shout and demand better, more and quicker. There was an enemy and the Army was not actively engaged in killing him – that state of affairs must be brought to an end.

  Man of Conflict Series

  Book Six

  Chapter Two

  They marched and, rather to Septimus’ surprise, came together at the appointed place at the correct time, and then crossed into American territory. It was something of an anti-climax; the American side looked identical to the British – there was forest and hills and an absence of people, but rather a lot of flowing water. The hillsides were full of streams and the tracks normally passed straight through them, conveniently for men on horseback, but damp for infantry and damnably awkward for guns.

  They learnt quickly to walk the streambeds and heave large rocks out of the way before the gun carriages hit them and stopped dead in the water. A pair of ropes added and the six-pounders were heaved across while the smaller galloper guns were simply carried. The use of a little imagination went a long way, Septimus discovered, far further than the Army manual would take them. He realised within a day that he could travel faster in the company of Militia and Fencibles, who were used to thinking for themselves, than he would have with a column made up solely of regulars.

  The 69th were placed at the point of the column on the first day; thereafter they followed behind, taking advantage of the sense of the local men.

  The young Mr Lyautey joined them on that second morning, wal
king his horse along a track from the coast to the south. Mr Potter greeted him and introduced him to Septimus. He was a large young gentleman, of above average height and sturdily built, fair in complexion rather than swarthily French. Septimus thought the young gentleman was in many ways similar in appearance to himself at that age. He was relieved that Cooper was not with him, to observe and very markedly, not to comment.

  “I am glad to meet you, Mr Lyautey. Are we many miles distant from the partisan band, sir?”

  “No, Colonel. I make it about four hours at walking pace, though I suppose a bit slower for your artillery. If we set off now, we would be there in late afternoon.”

  “Difficult to set up an attack and complete the business before dark, Mr Lyautey, and we do not want them slipping away unseen. Best is if we halt for the night at a proper distance and aim to get into them soon after first light. Is there a made trail we can follow or must we go slowly through the woods?”

  “There is a trail, sir. They have stolen a number of animals from various farms and taken them down to the markets at the coast, and that has beaten a path, one that naturally follows the easiest ground.”

  That would make life simpler, Septimus thought.

  “Can you take me close enough to get a look at them tonight?”

  The young man could; it would be safe, he believed, as a cartload of stores had come into camp that day. There would be rum and gin, he said, enough for them all to sleep soundly. They were not in the habit of putting out sentries at their base camp, knowing that there was no enemy within two days of them.

  “Mr Longhurst, you will accompany me. We will take a dozen of Yeomanry as well. Never wise to travel new country unaccompanied.”

  The track was lightly rutted, showing evidence of occasional wheeled traffic and slightly more common horses. It wound very slowly uphill, a shallow grade through the thick pine forest, visibility never more than sixty to eighty yards, from one bend to the next.

  “Not unlike parts of Spain, Mr Lyautey, wild country. Are there bears and wolves?”

  “Both, sir, but mostly keeping well clear of people, especially in summer. In the winter, when food is scarce, then they may come in close in the hope of picking up cattle or hogs or sheep, but I would not expect to see them now.”

  That seemed very logical.

  “Thin soil. Very little gain to clearing the trees and setting out fields, I would think.”

  “None, sir. This is not farming land. It is not even particularly good for timbering – these are not the best of trees. They are not straight in the trunk.”

  “What of furs, can trappers make a living?”

  “Not hereabouts, sir. This is simply poor land.”

  Septimus shrugged, and wondered just why Banastre Tarleton had been so interested in his ‘Colony of New Ireland’. Perhaps he was a man of more ideas than sense.

  They travelled the better part of eight miles, walking the horses, before coming to the edge of a slightly wider, more open river valley.

  “No name to this stream that I know, sir. Dismount here, leave a pair of horse holders, I would say, sir, hidden back in the trees.”

  Lyautey led them another two furlongs along the edge of the woodland, keeping into cover, then pointed to a collection of shacks and tents on the riverbank.

  “That is the village, sir, and the camp of the villains extends out from it. It is in fact almost part of the village now. There are few of the original settlers left, I think. Those who had families left very quickly, when they could see just how dangerous it had become for the womenfolk.”

  “Wise. What do you know of those who remain?”

  “They make a living selling to them, or buying bits and pieces of loot. They are not true settlers.”

  “Right! We need have no concern for their well-being. Does the camp extend across the river?”

  “No, sir. All on this bank. The river is not wide, but it is fast and has a rocky bottom. It is not easily crossed.”

  Septimus took pencil and paper, quickly sketched the village and located cover for the foot within a hundred yards of the shacks.

  “Right, Mr Longhurst. Have you got the site in your memory?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good. You will guide the 69th; two companies strong to the south, forming a stop on the riverbank itself at a sensible location; then you will place single companies along the treeline, in good cover. Remember that these people are armed with rifles – which means what?”

  Longhurst knew the answer, having read the books.

  “They can fire aimed shots at two hundred yards, sir – far outside of musket range. But the reload is slow. I must imagine, sir, that you intend to open fire with the guns, then send the Yeomanry to charge. The 69th will then tidy up the runners.”

  “Good theory, but no. Use the guns, by all means, but hold the Yeomanry for pursuit. The Fencibles will march and commence volley fire, starting from where we are standing. The bandits should break, falling back to the south and exposing themselves to the 69th. Why do it that way?”

  Ensign Longhurst thought for a few seconds.

  “Casualties, sir! We should take far fewer. Not a battle, as such, more of a mopping up affair.”

  “Well seen. I want to lose as few men as possible. These are not soldiers, have no claim on our honour. They are scum to be butchered out of ambush.”

  Ensign Longhurst took note of Septimus’ words, knowing that he was a master of war and was highly unlikely ever to be wrong.

  “Prisoners, sir?”

  “Pass the word that surrender will be accepted when made clearly and unmistakably.”

  That, Longhurst thought, was carefully expressed; he wondered just what it meant, concluded that prisoners were not high on the list of desired outcomes for the day.

  They marched to a temporary camp, less than two miles distant from the village. Septimus ordered no fires.

  Ensign Longhurst sought out Major Holden of the 69th.

  “Beg pardon, sir, but I have orders from the Brigadier. For the morning, sir.”

  Major Holden signified that he was all ears, wanted nothing more than to be the recipient of the Brigadier’s wisdom. Longhurst had been aware that Major Holden had not approved of being placed at the rear of the marching column, considered it to have been an insult.

  “The Brigadier wishes you to take up a more distant position, sir, where you can react to the needs of the action. He must keep the Fencibles and Militia and Yeomanry under his eye, sir.”

  Major Holden approved, immediately understood why he had been placed at the rear of the column; the reliable troops had been needed in a position to control the Militia.

  “The track, sir, debouches from the forest into a river valley, down to the right, the south, sir. The Brigadier intends to hold his artillery at that point, sir, about two furlongs, perhaps a little less from the camp. You are to take the 69th through the forest edge to a point south of the camp where you can block the retreat, sir. Two companies to form the block. The rest to remain in positions of your choice along the forest edge. Sir Septimus will open fire with the guns and then will march the foot forward, holding the Yeomanry against need, hopefully to get in among the fugitives when you have left them with nowhere to go. They are brigands, sir, outlaws, and the concern is to leave none at liberty, using all measures necessary to take up every one of them.”

  “There was some mention of a village, was there not?”

  “Yes, sir. We are now informed that the peaceable folk have all left, sir. There remain only what could be called sutlers, sir. There is no crossing along the river, sir, or not to the south. There must be to the north, I would imagine, where the river rises in the hills.”

  “Very clear! Thank you, Mr Longhurst. Is there a verbal?”

  “Only that surrender is to be taken from those who have made their intention patently clear, sir. The intention is to wipe this nest of brigands out, sir. You are expected to use your discretion, sir �
�� Sir Septimus knowing that the regulars do not need their hands held. It is highly likely that any prisoner taken would face criminal trial for murder and rape, sir.”

  “And thus, face the noose. Thank you. Assure Sir Septimus that we shall carry out his intentions.”

  “Sir Septimus mentioned to me that many of the villains will be carrying rifles rather than muskets, sir.”

  “That is a point to remember. We shall march early, I presume?”

  “Sir Septimus wishes to attack as soon after dawn as possible, sir. He is informed that a wagon load of supplies – primarily gin and rum – arrived today. He does not expect the camp to be alert tomorrow morning.”

  Major Holden laughed, said that he much suspected that the Brigadier was a very wise man and he could rely on the 69th.

  Septimus supervised the placing of the guns himself, and set two companies of Fencibles around them with strict orders to protect the artillerymen.

  “They must be able to concentrate on serving their guns, Captain Mackay. Your function is most important.”

  The Fencible captain was fat and fifty, had struggled to make the pace through the forest but had refused to straggle. He was bright red in the face, in Septimus’ opinion looked no more than five minutes away from a heart attack, but he was stalwart in his mind.

  “We shall perform our task, Sir Septimus. You may rely on us.”

  “I do, sir. The task is yours because I know that I may trust you wholly.”

  Septimus knew little of the man, but he did not seem to be one who would let him down.

  “Lieutenant Curry, are your people ready? Lieutenant Westmacott?”

  His aides assured him that their Fencible companies were placed in a double line as ordered, and the battalion of Militia which had volunteered to stray from its home ground was placed centrally to their rear to fill any gaps that arose.

  “Excellent. Captain Jones! Are you ready, sir?”