Crimea

by Malcolm Archibald

  'You may know that poor Colonel Murphy was sent home with consumption and has had to send in his papers.'

  'I had heard that sir. He retired knowing that his regiment had gained some respect at Inkerman.' Despite his lingering resentment that Murphy had sent him away from the 113th, Jack had no real ill-will toward the man. 'He will find comfort in that.'

  'He was a good soldier with a difficult task,' Maxwell said. 'I am to take over command of the 113th now.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack was not sure what Murphy would have thought of a spy taking command of his beloved regiment. I'll keep that thought to myself. 'Congratulations sir: it will be an honour to serve with you.'

  'Oh, quite,' Maxwell murmured. He shook his head slowly. 'You will also have heard that since Inkerman, General Raglan has made it quite clear that we must dig in for a long siege. We do not have the numbers for an assault, even though the Russians are dispirited; they have met us in the field on three occasions, and we have bested them each time.'

  'I had heard we are here for some time, sir.'

  'And what are your thoughts on the subject, Windrush?'

  Jack shrugged. 'I don't have any, sir. I would have wished we had assaulted Sebastopol back in September after the Alma, but we did not, and that is that. If we have to stand a winter siege, then a winter siege it is.'

  Maxwell struggled to reach the brandy bottle until the servant came to his help.

  Jack glanced at the servant. 'There is that other matter, sir.'

  Maxwell understood. 'This man is Smith, Windrush. You may speak freely in front of him.'

  'Yes, sir. There is the American fellow.'

  'John Anderson,' Maxwell closed his eyes at the bite of brandy. 'As far as I know, he is still within Sebastopol. After the recent defeats of the Russian army, I cannot see the United States backing them in this war. They may give clandestine help, but they will not be invading Canada or floating a thousand privateers to harass our shipping.'

  'That is good to hear, sir.'

  'Indeed. The sacrifice of the 118th was not in vain.' Maxwell sipped at the brandy. 'Three factors turned that battle. General Pennefather, the bravery of the British soldier and our stand.' He gave a small grin. 'Major Snodgrass is quite the hero: a lion of what we can call society here.'

  About to mention Charlotte Riley's part, Jack kept quiet. It won't help anybody to bring that episode into the open.

  'Will you be remaining within the regiment then, Windrush?'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack said. He had nowhere else to go, and with Maxwell as the colonel, he would hopefully see more of Helen.

  Maxwell gave a small smile. 'You do not intend to resign your commission then, Lieutenant?'

  'No, Sir.' Jack shook his head. 'Why should I?'

  'Many officers are doing just that, Windrush. They are opting for the comfort of London rather than the hardships of a Crimean winter.'

  Jack did not admit that he could not afford to make such a move. If he left the army his grudged allowance from his step-mother would cease, and with no other source of income, he could not exist.

  'You may also have heard that Captain Haverdale has resigned his commission?' Maxwell's eyes were intense as his gaze fixed on Jack.

  'I am surprised to hear that sir. I considered Captain Haverdale to be a dedicated and efficient officer.'

  'He is all of that, and I would wish an equally dedicated and efficient officer to take his place.' Maxwell's gaze did not falter.

  'Yes, sir.' Well, that is obvious.

  'Haverdale is selling his captaincy for a fraction of the going rate,' Maxwell said. 'Are you aware of the price of a captaincy, Lieutenant?'

  'Yes, sir.' In common with most officers in Queen Victoria's Army, Jack kept an eye on the current prices for buying promotion. 'A captaincy costs around £2000.'

  'Then you may be surprised that Haverdale is selling his for £900.'

  'I am sir.' Jack forced a smile. 'That is only about £150 more than the price for a lieutenant's commission.'

  'Are you also aware that for a lieutenant to take the step up, he only has to pay the difference between the price of his rank and that of a captaincy?'

  'I was sir, but I don't have the readies…' it was an admission Jack did not like to make.

  'Find the money, Windrush. That's an order. I need good men in my regiment. I expect to find you a captain before the end of the week.' Maxwell leaned back. 'And now to other matters. I am arranging a more cheerful meeting in Balaklava, and I would like you to attend in your new rank of Captain.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Jack said. 'I would be delighted.' He wondered if Helen would be there.

  'Good man,' Maxwell said. 'It will be quite a family affair you see. It is my daughter Helen's twenty-first birthday party, and I am inviting as many of my officers as can be spared from regimental duties.' He smiled at Jack over the rim of his brandy glass. 'My Helen is quite taken with you, Windrush.'

  'That is good to hear, sir.' Jack tried to hide his delight at the prospect of meeting Helen again.

  'I intend to send them both to England as soon after the party as possible,' Maxwell said quietly. 'I don't wish them to endure the rigours of a Crimean winter and it is time that Helen saw home.'

  Jack started. 'Yes, sir.' He could think of nothing else to say.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in Edinburgh, the sternly-romantic capital of Scotland, I grew up with a father and other male relatives imbued with the military, a Jacobite grandmother who collected books and ran her own business and a grandfather from the legend-crammed island of Arran. With such varied geographical and emotional influences, it was natural that I should write.

  Edinburgh's Old Town is crammed with stories and legends, ghosts and murders. I spent a great deal of my childhood walking the dark streets and exploring the hidden closes and wynds. In Arran I wandered the shrouded hills where druids, heroes, smugglers and the spirits of ancient warriors abound, mixed with great herds of deer and the rising call of eagles through the mist.

  Work followed with many jobs that took me to an intimate knowledge of the Border hill farms to Edinburgh's financial sector and other occupations that are best forgotten. In between I met my wife. Engaged within five weeks we married the following year and that was the best decision of my life, bar none.

  At 40 the University of Dundee took me under their friendly wing for four of the best years I have ever experienced. I emerged with a degree in history, and I wrote. Always I wrote.

  Malcolm Archibald

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