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

by Andrew Wareham

  Atkins watched the young man ride out of camp and commented idly to Peter that he showed a passing resemblance to the master. Peter laughed, said that he might almost be mistaken for his son. They said no more, and kept quiet in the presence of young Alfred, who had yet to reach the years of discretion and might open his mouth carelessly.

  It was to take two weeks of slow and carefully disciplined marching to reach the sea.

  In the meantime, Captain Kidlington had ridden in, one saddle empty, to report a very successful hour at the second camp.

  “Just one man who managed to draw pistols, sir. They had camped in a dry valley, less than a hundred feet wide and a short distance away from a creek where they watered their horses. The place was well set up, had been their winter camp, I must imagine; steep sides, twenty feet high and crowned by thick forest and no way out to the rear, just the face of a bluff. The track in turned in a double bend around rocky outcrops, sir. The effect was that the camp was wholly protected from strong winds and blizzards and needed no more than a pair of sentries to be secure against anything less than a siege. But, they had no lookouts posted – they saw no need for such, I presume.”

  Septimus nodded, commented that carelessness made the strongest position vulnerable.

  “I dismounted the Yeomanry, sir, set them into the rocks at the entrance with their carbines. They need more practice with their firelocks, sir. They were very slow, and not used to volley fire. However, they managed to form two lines and fire odd and even and keep reasonably together. We fired six rounds, sir – in three minutes!”

  Septimus shook his head, blamed himself – he had not enforced firing drills.

  “It was sufficient, sir. There were thirty men present, not the score we had been told of, but the great bulk of them were down in their tents and shacks, and some of them caught light, cook fires knocked over, I suspect. A few tried to run and were picked off climbing the steep valley sides. Just two ran forward shooting. Both carried bandoleers of pistols, six or more, and one of them managed a hit on a trooper. A head shot, sir. Our only casualty.”

  “We took up pistols and rifles and powder and ball, sir, and a small stock of foodstuffs, all of which I have left with the Quartermaster, sir. They had thirty-six horses, which we have brought along.”

  “They will be bought in as prize, Captain Kidlington. The troopers will split the better part of four hundred pounds between them. It won’t be a great deal, but they will welcome even a few shillings, I doubt not. What of prisoners?”

  “None would surrender, sir. They fought to the very end.”

  Septimus accepted Captain Kidlington’s word – he was a gentleman, after all.

  They marched next morning, seeing no more action of any sort.

  On reaching the coast, they were ordered to make camp outside the small town of Castine and told to wait and behave themselves until orders came.

  A month later and the Yeomanry and Fencibles and Militia were sent home, with many thanks and pay in their pockets. Most of the men decided they had done well from their military adventuring; farming made them a living, and was more comfortable, but the Army had paid them in cash, which was very rare stuff at home. They were put aboard ship and taken away, probably the only people to have been made happy by the war.

  The 69th remained to form a garrison and Septimus left them and returned to Halifax, to discover that he had also done very well in the opinion of the General and of the civilian authorities.

  “Destroyed as nasty a group of villains as have ever preyed upon the people here, Sir Septimus. Thanks from our folk, and, very discreetly, from the town councils and such in the district of Maine. Add to that, we now have a large area of land taken from the States – and eventually to be given back again, of course – that looks very impressive on a map. It has been noted that you have made a habit of leading from the front, Sir Septimus – I am told there is nothing new in that!”

  Septimus made the normal mild noises of demurral – he had done nothing that any other soldier would not.

  “Be that as it may, Sir Septimus, the reports have gone back to Horse Guards. You will not have heard, I must imagine, that the war is finally over. Bonaparte has abdicated and is sat on the Island of Elba, there to vegetate in isolation, one trusts. The Duke won a final victory at Toulouse and all is now done. Some battalions have been sent across the Atlantic to join the main army, but we have become a backwater – we have done our work. You have a choice, Sir Septimus. You might join the army to the south, where they would probably be able to cobble together some sort of command for you, most likely no more than a garrison, I suspect. Or, you may return immediately to England and to half-pay. I believe that you may well find yourself taken into some sort of employment at an early day, Sir Septimus, judging by the odd comments that have come my way. We have taken many a French colony, Sir Septimus, and not all will be returned to their previous masters, so there are places as Governor available. Add to that, there will be posts of various sorts in England and Ireland for men with a record of loyalty, though the details of those, I do not know.”

  It seemed to Septimus that Major-General Haigh thought he would be much better advised to return to England. He was inclined to agree. The ending of the war in America would leave him unemployed and in like case to half a dozen other brigadiers and regimental lieutenant-colonels of greater seniority than him, and with stronger claims to the few jobs left. Better to be at Horse Guards in advance of the flood of men wanting, often needing, positions. He expressed that point to the General, begged his permission to return to England as early as was possible.

  “I can release you with effect from the first of the month, Sir Septimus. You could well find yourself aboard ship on that day. I shall have a word with the ship owners and shall see what may be arranged. There will be a convoy due to leave then or thereabouts, and we should try to put you on it.”

  That left just two weeks to make his arrangements, and for Marianne to pack up the household.

  “I shall need to provide for my military family, sir. The boys particularly are due for a change in their circumstances.”

  That, he was told, could be done; they would discuss the matter during the coming few days.

  “I can see you as brevet major in one of the battalions of foot here, Captain Kidlington, remaining here until the end of the war, which cannot be long delayed now. There is nothing in the cavalry here in the north, but I think there could be vacancies in the main army further down the coast.”

  The army to the south would do Kidlington very well, he thought. With the war ended in France, he needed the experience of campaigning in the States. He was despatched by General Haigh inside a day, on a convenient frigate heading to join the main fleet. He was assured that there were vacancies as a major for him to step into.

  General Haigh was able to find captaincies for the two lieutenants, made without purchase in good battalions; sickness always reduced the numbers on campaign. There remained only the ensigns, always more difficult to place for having such slight experience.

  “Major Holden of the 69th will take one of your boys as a lieutenant, Sir Septimus, as a mark of respect.”

  “Martinsyde, I believe, sir. He will fit very well in that particular Mess, being born into the aristocracy.”

  “So be it. What of your other boys? I don’t know either.”

  “Longhurst has a father who is worth a mint and is turning himself into a gentleman – he will have a title to his name before too long. The boy has a very nice little private income and will be able to hold his end up. Rowlands is poorer – a fifty pounds a year man – and is cousin to my lady.”

  “Longhurst to my staff, Sir Septimus, as a lieutenant. I shall look after him. He will return in the Year Twenty or thereabouts as a major.”

  It seemed good to Septimus, all lieutenants and two of the boys would see themselves promoted and in the way of making a career; he would have kept his promises. Young Rowlands was a different
matter – he was a relative and must be kept closer. If Septimus received another command, then he would be accommodated; if not, then he must go to the Hampshires.

  All was well at home, Marianne happy to order the household packed and to supervise the servants who actually did the work.

  “A fine town, in its way, husband, but the all-pervading smell of dried fish can be disconcerting after a while. As well, the company is somewhat less than wholly genteel – I have nothing to say about merchants who wish to rise in the world – in all honesty, how could I? But merchants who are happily content to remain in the gutter that gave them birth are, perhaps, a different matter. It is not unfair to say that vulgarity rules in many of the houses of the more important people of the town. It is not unsurprising that merchants should be interested in money, but it is not desirable that money should be their sole topic of after-dinner conversation!”

  Septimus shook his head, deploring such poor behaviour and hiding his smile. One of his treasured memories was of a local merchant spotting the rubies at Marianne’s throat and breast and first admiring them and then making an offer to buy, at a price he would warrant to be ‘more than you might expect to get in London Town’. Fine stones, he had said they were, and, turning to Septimus, had asked just how much they had set him back, saying that he could add ten per centum on top, cash in hand.

  “I seem to remember that good rubies are hard to discover in the stores of Nova Scotia, ma’am.”

  “Exactly, sir! I think my cheeks must have been as red as the stones!”

  “Yet all done with the kindest of intent, wishing to make his wife a present on her birthday!”

  “Even so, sir!”

  “As you say, Marianne. Even so! We do not wish the children to grow up in such an atmosphere, though they seem to thrive here.”

  The four and Rachel, the ward, were growing strong and bright, happier than they might have been in the confines of London, as an example.

  “What comes next, husband?”

  “I do not know, have no way of discovering at this distance. It is always possible that I may face half-pay for many years, and a kind letter of thanks for my services. It is not impossible that I may find myself choosing between offices, the government generosity itself. Somewhere in between the two extremes, I suspect, for there are many other soldiers who deserve well of our masters – though few, perhaps, who have attracted such attention outside of the Army. The little adventure in Spain, of which I have never spoken in any public place, means that the Prince Regent must think well of me, if ever he thinks of me at all, which is doubtful!”

  “You need not seek employment, I believe, Septimus. We are not exactly poor.”

  “We are numbered amongst the well-off, my dear. From all sources, our income cannot be less than eight thousand now. More, I suspect, for Brother George tells me in his latest letter that the firm has become very big and that he has, for some reason, bought into coal mines and a cotton mill, ‘to spread the field of his endeavours’. This apparently means that if there is a bad harvest then nonetheless the firm of Pearce will profit because it is unlikely that coal will be affected. I must confess, I have not the least idea what he is talking about!”

  Marianne did not know either, but, she believed, as a woman, she had no need to know about such things, though she was bringing Sarah up to read the newssheets and inform herself about the wider world. Miss Lonsdale, the governess, also was taking pains to teach her of literature and history, so that she might be less ignorant than most young misses.

  “We have a ship, Marianne. The convoy is to sail in three days, I am afraid, and we have cabins on the largest of the traders. Can we be ready to board in that time?”

  Marianne raised a slightly supercilious eyebrow.

  “We could board in two hours from this minute, should the need arise, Sir Septimus. Atkins and Alfred will see to your wardrobe. Peter has completed the clearance of the stables. My personal effects are in their trunks, apart from clothes for the daily round. The children have made all of their decisions, have set aside all they no longer require and have overseen the packing of the clothing and books and toys they wish to take; we shall go to the orphanage tomorrow and give away all that they do not want. It will do them good to know of poor children and discover that they can make them happier with just a little of personal sacrifice. They will see me put across a sum of money saved from the household expenses, and will remember that they must never forget the unfortunate. It will be more important for Sarah to give away the dolls she has outgrown – not that she ever had any great love for them – than to donate money, I think.”

  Septimus had no previous intention of making a charitable gesture, thought now that he should do so. He would discover an institution that gave aid to victims of the war, he thought, and drop ten guineas there.

  A farewell dinner at which very polite things were said, and they boarded ship, saying farewell to Halifax, and to its dried fish.

  Man of Conflict Series

  Book Six

  Chapter Three

  The convoy reached Bristol in four weeks, a brisk westerly wind making the ships pitch and roll but ensuring they never travelled less than one hundred miles in a day and often twenty or thirty more, fine sailing for merchantmen with their small crews.

  Their vessel was the largest in the convoy, with a range of cabins in the after parts and the natural choice of the richer passengers, almost all of whom were of the commercial sort. The merchants had mostly made Septimus’ acquaintance during their months in Halifax, were pleased to have his company on their voyage. There were comments on the capture of a privateer on his outward voyage, the tale told and exaggerated, as was only proper, and much approval of the return of New Ireland to the fold.

  “What next for you, Sir Septimus?”

  Conversation over the dinner table was far freer aboard ship, could often become quite personal. There was no restraint in questioning a fellow-passenger.

  “I do not know, Mr Barclay. One of the disadvantages of the military life is that orders almost always come as a surprise. One cannot plan ahead, for not knowing what tomorrow may bring. I can say that I shall not go to India – once has been sufficient. But, for all I know, I could be put on the next ship back to America – or I could be told to go home on half-pay and wait until I am needed elsewhere. I shall, in the absence of orders waiting at quayside, hire post-chaises and return to Hampshire. My house in Winchester has been leased until the Christmas quarter, but the place in the country near Micheldever remains mine and will be waiting the return of mistress and master, and of the children. A few days to settle and then I shall proceed to London and show my face at Horse Guards and ask what they want of me.”

  Mr Barclay said that it would not be his choice, he was master of his own fate, he believed. He did then say that it would not do for soldiers to decide where they were to be posted and whose orders they were to accept.

  “Are you to show yourself to the Prince Regent at a levee, Sir Septimus, while you are in London?”

  None of the merchants could expect that honour, and were suitably awed that Septimus had already more than once greeted Royalty.

  “If I am bidden to do so, then be sure that I shall obey, sir. But I am not one of those regularly to be discovered in Town. I shall certainly drop into Whites and discover if any of my military acquaintance are to be found in London, but I shall return to rural Hampshire as soon as I may. I am not one for Town life.”

  They approved, to a man. London was the home of High Society, of vice and degradation, of gambling and horse-racing – it was not the place for the respectable to be found, and they valued respectability above any other virtue. A successful merchant lived a sober, hard-working existence – he had no time for sloth and sport.

  “What does the future hold, Sir Septimus, the long, long war over?”

  “Peace, sir. Something I have never known. I hope to dwell in a country where the soldier is no longer a necessity
. I have done very well from the Army, and have, I believe, offered honest service, but it is time to, what is the expression, ‘turn my sword into a ploughshare’?”

  “Well said, sir.”

  Septimus agreed that it was a well-turned sentence, but he wondered just how true it might be; he was very nearly forty years of age, and that was old, he felt, to rebuild his life anew.

  Ahmednagar Lodge was unchanged – the housekeeper had kept the barest bones of a staff on but had received instructions just the previous week from Brother George to ready the house for the master; she had hired a full suite of servants and all was aired, fresh and ready for the family to walk in. The Post Office packets carried mail across the Atlantic in thirty days and it had been possible to send the message to Winchester that Sir Septimus was homeward bound.

  “Much to be said for money, is there not, my lady?”

  Marianne agreed – to step out of the post-chaise and be told that dinner would be served in an hour, and to have to do nothing herself to make it happen, was true luxury.

  “When do you go to London, husband?”

  “I can remain here two days, but will be expected thereafter. General Haigh will have sent his despatches, probably on the senior naval escort, which was to return to Chatham. They will reach Horse Guards tomorrow, and will be read within the day. I must not delay more than the time necessary to establish my family in my own house. I must be on the road the day after tomorrow. We should visit your parents tomorrow, and call on George as well, and then I must place myself at the disposal of my masters.”

  The Osbornes were delighted to greet them, made much of the grandchildren and how they had grown in their absence.

  “A peculiar thing, Septimus. I received a letter two days since from a Colonel Sir George Osborne, who declared himself a distant cousin, somewhat removed, who had discovered our existence through, in effect, your offices. He is Colonel of the 69th, it seems, the patron or proprietor of the regiment, and evidently a man of some wealth and standing. Searching through the old Family Bible, I find we share great-grandfathers – distant indeed. He has an estate in Lincolnshire, I discover, and some influence in the county and in London; he has a son who is a Member of Parliament. He was making the contact for being obliged to you for a good turn done to his regiment, he said. He invited me to his house of a morning if ever I should be in Town.”