Close to the Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regimen Book 2)

by Martin McDowell

  He arose from the blanket.

  “You will see to the Reverend, will you not? That’s important to me.”

  Both women nodded, but it was Bridie who answered.

  “Don’t you give any kind of concern to that, now, Parson darlin’. He’ll get a share of the next lot we bakes up.”

  Seeing both women still nodding, Sedgwicke began to climb the ridge. The two women watched him go, but this time it was Nelly who spoke.

  “The Reverend’ll get his share, all right, but it’ll be Patrick as takes it to him. I don’t like the way he looks at the girls, especially Eirin, not since their fallin’ out, between him and her! What with his Missus up here and him alone in his nice tent, I’m not for takin’ any chances, so we’ll get Patrick to poke his breakfast inside and scoot on back.”

  In saying that, Nelly Nicholls was being somewhat unfair, but the conduct of the “Man of the Cloth” Prudoe had been whole unimpressive over the appalling hardships of the retreat and so anything that they could level against him, however faint, was worth saying, as they saw it. Bridie passed judgment.

  “Yes, but only after the rest are fed. That’ll do for him. Squint!”

  Meanwhile, Sedgwicke was using the church of Elvina, it’s bell tower just visible, as his aiming point. He remembered what the Provost had said and so concluded that Elvina was as good a place to start as any. Most Regiments now had a tent for their Commanding Officer with the Regimental Colours prominent outside, so he headed for one such, but soon turned aside to aim for another, for the first was guarded by soldiers in kilts and too often, so his experience now told him, they could only speak Highland Gaelic or English with such an accent as to render it unintelligible for him. The second camp was undoubtedly English, they were not wearing kilts, but their facings were not of the green he required, these were dark green; nevertheless he approached a Corporal, who was turned sideways to him and much taller.

  “Excuse me, Corporal.”

  The NCO turned, to make no reply, other than to study the unimpressive object before him, but he spat out his own question before Sedgwicke could say a word.

  “And what might you be?”

  Looking up, Sedgwicke could only give the most correct of answers.

  “Chaplain’s Assistant Sedgwicke. 105th Foot, Corporal.”

  The NCO took another good look.

  “Well, Chaplain’s Assistant, I notes that you ’as no weapon, nor kit, nor nuthin’. There’s goin’ to be a battle, hereabouts, soon, an’ you may be required to join in.”

  With Sedgwicke stood rigid before him, the NCO turned to a Chosen Man.

  “Fraser! Get this “soldier” what he needs to join a firin’ line. Full kit, box, bayonet, bundook and backpack. There’s plenty spare over by Four Company.”

  The alliteration and the way the words flowed from one to the other showed that the NCO had said this hundreds of times before. He continued to stand regarding Sedgwicke for some minutes, astonishment plain on his face, until Fraser returned, with all the necessary draped either over his arms or over his shoulders. The NCO now moved the affair on.

  “Right. Let’s turn this Chaplain’s Assistant into some kind of a soldier.”

  With great ceremony, the NCO took each item from Fraser and passed it to Sedgwicke who adorned himself with each, until he was passed the heavy musket.

  “Right. Here we go!”

  He took a step back.

  “Order arms!”

  Sedgwicke remembered enough of his training from almost a year ago to place the musket alongside his right leg, butt on the ground.

  “Shoulder arms!”

  Sedgwicke heaved the heavy “Brown Bess” up to slope against his left shoulder.

  “Present arms!”

  The musket was swung off and held directly out, the metal of the barrel pressed against Sedgwicke’s nose.”

  “Shoulder arms!”

  Sedgwicke returned the musket to his left shoulder. Partially satisfied, the NCO thought he should now allow Sedgwicke his say, it may possibly be important.

  “Now then, Chaplain’s Assistant. What exactly was you lookin’ for?”

  Sedgwicke was now more than a little angry at the events of the past five minutes and spoke directly up into the Corporal’s face.

  “I am looking for my Regiment, the One Hundred and Fifth. I was told that they are close to Elvina. I am trying to find them so that their followers can join them for one last time before the forthcoming battle.”

  He deliberately paused.

  “Corporal!”

  The poignancy and significance of Sedgwicke’s request was not lost on the NCO, but he did not show it.

  “Now just how am I supposed to know where some Regiment not my own may be?”

  Sedgwicke took a deep breath.

  “They have facings like my own. A bright green, at least as was. I’m hoping that you may have noticed such, either passing you by, or as you went around, about your own duties.”

  Again the pause.

  “Corporal.”

  Fraser had been listening and watching all the while.

  “Dan. What about that lot as came across here yesterday evenin’? All marchin’ like it was Sunday. B’ain’t they now in the same Brigade as us?”

  The NCO turned in his direction, but did not look at him.

  “Did they have bright green? Do you think they’re what this cove’s lookin’ for?”

  The NCO looked over at the sympathetic Fraser, who continued.

  “Well. Have we a better idea? They went down over the ridge aways. Beyond our Grenadiers.”

  Dan, now identified as such, nodded and returned to Sedgwicke, before pointing.

  “That way! That’s the best we can do, the best place to start.”

  Sedgwicke began to move off, but “Corporal Dan” was not finished.

  “As you were!”

  Sedgwicke halted and “Dan” studied him.

  “I wants to see you marchin’. Marchin’! Proper soldierlike!”

  He stepped back further.

  “Now!”

  A pause.

  “Attention!”

  Sedgwicke straightened up, musket still over his left shoulder and now feeling heavy.

  “By the left, forward march!”

  Sedgwicke set off, left foot first, right arm up to shoulder height and in this manner he progressed through the camp. Once through, he’d had enough, and anyway felt safely beyond the jurisdiction of Corporal Dan, so he brought the musket to the vertical, thrust his right arm through the sling and swung the heavy weapon around to his back. Once on the back slope of the ridge, he saw another tent and two cased Colours erect outside it. Progressing down, he saw what he wanted, emerald green facings, no longer bright, but green on all the uniforms around. Better than that, he saw a figure he knew well and went straight to him. The figure spoke first.

  “Hello Old Parson. See they’ve decked you out for proper soldiering; full and thorough.”

  Jed Deakin’s was the first friendly face he had seen so far on his journey.

  “So, what’s on? What’s your purpose?”

  Sedgwicke eased the straps of the heavy kit.

  “I’ve been sent up to find you, by Bridie and Nelly, so that they can come and join you, before the forthcoming battle.”

  He now looked alternately concerned and puzzled.

  “But now I’ve got to find my way back to them, from here!”

  Deakin laughed.

  “Well now, Old Parson, I’m sure we could manage that, now, between us, if we both goes about it together.”

  He turned Sedgwicke around and led him back the way he had come.

  Within 30 minutes, the followers were threading their way through the camp of the 105th, finding their men and sharing kisses and hugs, even between the pair Henry and Nelly. As usual the mess fires of Davey and Deakin were not far apart and so the women of both were sat close together, tending their fires and sending cooking aromas aroun
d the hunched figures that were far superior to anything that had wafted over them during the past week and more.

  The rest of the day was spent in peace and domesticity. Water was laboriously lugged up from a stream that ran down the back of the ridge into the river Monelos and the necessary errand gave cause to a continuous procession to and from the 105th’s camp. Men tried to clean themselves and their clothing, for they were filthy, as were their clothes and all knew the result of dirt entering a wound, either from foul skin or dirty clothes. Despite the cold, throughout the morning, the camp sported hundreds of naked men, whilst their family, if they were there, did their best to wash their clothes into some degree of hygiene. If not, they did it themselves and no one paid much attention to the immodesty, barrack life had inured all to such concerns. Bar one, this being Beatrice Prudoe, who felt the requirements of her position dictated her absence and so, having received water from Sedgwicke, confined herself to her tent and performed her own ablutions, both for herself and, with some reluctance, also for her husband.

  Mary was setting out to obtain water for herself, but Joe knew the weight of the task she was undertaking and sprang up to accompany her. He took both buckets and smiled.

  “Come on.”

  She smiled back, the happiness in her face at their being re-united plain and shining for all to see, but it was not there to be seen upon Joe. He spoke but once on their journey down to the river.

  “I’ll carry both buckets. Water’s heavy.”

  She talked, inconsequentially, but Joe merely looked blankly ahead, but on the way back, he again spoke but once.

  “Do you remember? This is how we first met, back on Sicily, I carried water for you, back down the hill.”

  She grinned, much encouraged, and threaded both her arms around one of his.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  She teased him.

  “And you couldn’t say a word, all the way down. Not even when we got back to our camp and Mother asked you to stay for supper!”

  He smiled and nodded, but spoke no more. Even when she washed his back and then his clothes, whilst he washed himself further, little was said, other than what was needed to finish the cleaning. Now, as clean as was possible on a cold Spanish hillside, Joe Pike rolled himself in his blanket and slept, this as good a way as any, he thought, to spend the time before the evening meal. He was not alone, for all expected to be sent up to a battle line, with the ending of the daylight. Mary sat and studied the prone figure, anxiety growing within her. As he stirred, muttering in his sleep, his plainly not being either deep or restful, she covered him with a horse blanket and then stood, to walk to where Bridie was sewing a hole in Jed Deakin’s greatcoat and Nelly was checking Henry’s tunic.

  “Bridie. It’s Joe, I’m worried.”

  Tears quickly filled her eyes and her voice trembled, as did her chin.

  “He’s so different, so down in the mouth. And so quiet! He can’t bring himself to say ten cheery words. He’s changed so much! I’m worried.”

  She sat beside them, wringing her hands together in her lap, to finally thump both back against her chest. Both women looked at her, but it was Nelly who spoke first.

  “Well, don’t forget now, he’s been through a lot, as have we all. And he never did say too much, not like that scut Tom Miles. Now, if ever there was, that’s one in a never endin’ argument!”

  There was no change in Mary and so Bridie took it up and tried a different approach, this time more serious, drawing on perhaps deeper thinking and her own experience.

  “Losing a child like that gets to different men in different ways. Joe loves you with all his heart and soul, that’s obvious, and all I can say is, that in some way, he blames himself for what happened. To you! I’d say he feels protective of you, like the good husband that he is and ‘tis a guilt that’s weighin’ heavy on him. Guilt that he wasn’t there, nor could stop it happenin’ in the first place.”

  She paused to look at Mary.

  “That’s the best way I can see it, and the best I can say.”

  Nelly had been listening.

  “Bridie’s right. ’Twas his child too. Not only could he not protect you, but not the bairn, neither. ‘Tis heavy on his mind.”

  Mary looked at both.

  “He might do something silly!”

  Nelly continued.

  “He might. I doubt not that he’s holdin’ a powerful hatred of them opposite.”

  Both women noted the alarm that came into Mary’s face, but it was Bridie who spoke next.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get Jed to have a word with John and Tom. He’ll tell them to keep an eye on him and not let him get too far into trouble, at least not too far as can be expected in a battle!”

  Mary immediately began to cry and Bridie ran to her younger sister.

  “There now, don’t fret yourself. John and Tom will take care of him. John’s as calm and sensible man as you’ll find on this Good God’s earth and the Devil himself takes care of Tom Miles! Stickin’ close with them two will see him out of it.”

  She put down the coat.

  “Now, I’m away to find Jed.”

  Within ten minutes, Jed Deakin was sat with Miles and Davey, with Saunders, Bailey and Byford in audience. Deakin looked squarely at Miles and Davey.

  “Joe Pike. What’s different? The women think he’s a bit mad!”

  Miles’ brows came together.

  “How’d you mean, different?”

  Deakin came straight back.

  “Sayin’! Doin’! What’s different?”

  Davey looked at Miles, then at Deakin.

  “He’s down, right enough, and can’t get off enough bullets at the Frogs. He’s both wound up and miserable. Both, is how I sees it. He can’t kill enough Frenchers, perhaps seein’ that as a way out. We saw it at El Burgo, the last time we closed with ’em, t’other day.”

  Deakin looked at Miles, who nodded agreement. He had heard all he needed.

  “Right. In the comin’ set to, I wants you both to keep an eye on ’im. A close eye. This ain’t worth takin' risks for. I don’t know what our Generals want, but I know what I wants and that’s for us all to see home again. Moore may want to deal out what they calls a ‘crushin’ defeat’ but that gets too many good lads killed. All’s needed is to knock ‘em back some, to give us time to get in the boats and bugger off. So!”

  He looked at both.

  “No risks! Follow orders, yes, but hold ’em off enough, just enough, so’s they pulls back an’ you stays alive; an’ so does Joe.”

  He paused and his look even intensified.

  “Joe gets home an’ so do you!”

  This time he looked directly at Davey.

  “Your Molly’s waitin’, an ’Tilly, an’ your own newborn son!”

  No more was said. The words of Jed Deakin carried as much weight as an Officer, probably more so, as his pronouncements were sourced from deep within the fund of knowledge and folklore which governed the lives of all from amongst such as Deakin, Davey and Miles. Deakin rose and walked off to sleep at the side of Bridie and her children. Miles and Davey nodded and exchanged knowing looks that shared their mutual concern, before claiming some sleep for themselves.

  The evening was closing and all the Officers of the 105th sat by their campfires, many looking at the far from empty stewpots and wondering if they could eat yet more. They were all now clean, for the same reasons as had motivated the men, but theirs had been achieved in a far more modest manner. A section of the river Monelos had been section off, banned to “other ranks” and hundreds of Officers from Moore’s army had stood knee deep in the icy water, sharing the soap that was now available and cleaning themselves of the two week retreat. Meanwhile, significantly upstream, their servants had scrubbed and beaten their clothes clean, both sets of uniforms, for each was equally foul. Now they wore one of them. Whilst both had dried before a blazing fire they themselves had sat wrapped in their greatcoats before gratefully dr
essing again in clothes, damp in some parts and fiercely hot in others but, above all, clean. Now they sat in the dying light of day, the flames from the campfire replacing the fading light of the sun, discussing the forthcoming battle. The conversation between the Officers of the 105th Light Company was not atypical, in their case begun by Drake.

  “I haven’t seen many cannon!”

  Shakeshaft halted his spoon during its journey from his bowl to his mouth.

  “Nor I.”

  Each looked at Carr, for both judgement and comfort, but they received neither when he spoke.

  “The ships have arrived and the guns are being loaded as we speak. I was talking to an Artillery Officer down at the river and what he said was, that we’ve no horses to pull the heaviest up here. There are nine up here, round and about, but that’s all.”

  That vital number was also being relayed to Carravoy at much the same time, by D’Villiers.

  “Nine! That’s not even two batteries! Did he not read any account of Vimeiro, where our guns shot them to pieces before they even came within range of us? And so our guns are now safe aboard the transports that arrived this afternoon. And he gave those priority!”

  D’Villiers remained quiet in the face of the outburst.

  “Does he want to save his guns, or to save his army? The guns, it would seem! An army with no guns gets beat, so his army ends up lost, but he’s saved his precious guns.”

  He rose and stalked off, leaving D’Villiers to poke the fire. However, the conversation was being progressed further around the fire of the Commanding Officers of the 105th. O’Hare making the next point.

  “I’m not keen on this ridge. The top is too shallow. Wellesley had the right of it, when he put us on that sharp ridge at Vimeiro. We held back behind it and came over at just the right moment. If Soult brings forward guns that we can’t answer and we’re out on the slope, well, I’ll say no more!”

  Lacey took another mouthful of his brandy. O’Hare was right, Wellesley had used faultless tactics at Vimeiro and the French had been practically annihilated, but he had some sympathy with Moore.