A Victorian Gent (The Making of a Man Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  "Out in those streets they are the same people they were before the clarion call to battle sounded, ma'am. Some bad, many good, the most of them very ordinary indeed. Just like us, in fact, Miss Elizabeth. The difference is that they are away from home, unknown, part of a great mass. In their hometowns they were always in the company of people who knew them; they could not stray. Here they can, and the evil will.”

  She shook her head and hoped he was wrong; she feared he might not be and gripped her little gun.

  “Is all well with our ventures?"

  "I believe so, Mr Burke, but every other businessman I speak to is planning to import guns or powder. The market will soon be saturated."

  He proudly outlined his plan to import opium and syringes.

  "Do you expect great quantities of such medical material to be needed, sir?"

  "Ten thousand dead says thirty thousand wounded, at least, ma'am. And I much doubt that casualties will be as low as that."

  "I do not wish to stay in this country, Mr Burke. It will stink of blood for the rest of my life!"

  He did not point out that she would need money to leave and live upon overseas; that or a husband. It was a pity, now he thought of it, that he had not changed his name on coming to the States - it would have been far the safer course. Bigamy was still a major felony, though no longer a hanging offence in England, and was unsafe for any man who came into the public eye. Of course, it was a different matter for a king, he recalled, but even royalty was respectable these days.

  Basically, he realised, if he was to return to England then he must be content to have but one wife at a time, and he could not, in the nature of things, get rid of his existing encumbrance. Divorce was effectively unavailable to the ordinary man, especially if there was a major influence, such as the Carterets, acting against him in the background, so he was legally married to the whore until death did them part...

  There was a thought...

  He dismissed that first wild notion; he was no murderer, despite all that had been done to him. In any case, he was in America and she was thousands of miles away in England... He would return to England, one day, and she was no more than a mad dog, an unrestrained animal; mad dogs were shot.

  No more of such wild fantasy! He must look to the present.

  The pair discussed business for a couple of hours then had a meal, respectably in public, before Dick made his farewells and sought out Blackjack.

  There was a set of carefully written out books, every dollar accounted for in painstaking honesty.

  "We have more than tripled our money, Dick, very near to four times over, in fact. The percussion caps are due into Halifax within the week, and then to break bulk in the warehouse and send them overland to New York in eight separate consignments to the new battalions forming there. Six weeks from now and we should see cash in the bank."

  "What then, Blackjack?"

  "I'm goin' to get out of Washington, Dick. This place stinks and I prefer fresh air! California for me, Dick. Find a stretch of land and buy some stock and settle down, well away from this madhouse. You want me to cut you in for half?"

  "Make it a quarter, Blackjack, for it will be many years before ever I see the West Coast. It's the other direction for me, Blackjack. I shall hightail back to England before too many years are past. The more I see of this war, the less I like it! Too many boys and too few grown men and not enough sense for me. I talk with my boys in the company every day, and they say they're goin' to win, come what may. Half of 'em die, that's just goin' to make the other half cross and even more set on fighting again. There's never been a war like this one's goin' to be for blood and bitterness, and the best place for a sensible man is anywhere else! I can't back out now, not without being called a deserter, but if the chance comes up, I will be takin' it."

  Blackjack reluctantly agreed that his country was about to tear itself apart, wondering whether he ought not to volunteer after all.

  "Keep out of it, man - you are no wild boy! I must go, Blackjack, there's a rather foolish young lieutenant who's overdue to have his luck changed, and we all goin' to be there to cheer him on!"

  "There's two hundred in gold belonging to you, Dick. Cash left over from the investment. Take it with you now?"

  Dick pocketed the coins - gold could always come in handy in time of war.

  The colonel had visited Washington frequently before the war, seeking contracts for his construction business and placing his money in the right hands. In the nature of things he had some knowledge of the houses of entertainment and relaxation and had been able to point his officers in the right direction.

  "Don't want these boys consorting with the lesser ladies of the town, Captain Burke, and coming home with who knows what disease about them. Could be as bad as West Point, you know - half the houses there are dangerous to the young officers; not that that stops them, of course! Do you go to this direction, Captain Burke."

  The colonel wrote down an address not half a mile from the White House, scribbled a brief note besides.

  "Don't take just anybody inside her door, Miss Clara! Got to be recommended by an old customer. Is the adjutant accompanying you, sir? If so, please not to tell him who gave you the lady's name!"

  Lieutenant Mayberry was in fact to be of their company; Dick assured his father that he would look after him.

  "Better the boy gets his chance before we fall into battle, Captain Burke. He may not have the opportunity afterwards."

  There was no answer to make to that - denial would be facile; agreement would hardly be generous.

  Miss Clara ran a well-appointed and large house, more than a dozen young ladies available to entertain the officers. Dick raised an eyebrow to the madam, led her to one side.

  "Two at least of the young gentlemen are, shall we say, new to this sort of activity, ma'am. Could I offer their fee in advance? They might not be too happy to do so themselves."

  He produced a pair of gold eagles, much above the going rate, he suspected, saw them disappear into some hidden pocket about the lady's person.

  "Which two?"

  He pointed them out and she nodded, went out of sight for a couple of minutes, came back smiling.

  "All arranged, Captain."

  He peered into the reception room, saw the two being led away, part reluctant, more excited.

  "They'll be well looked after, Captain - nothing to worry about there. Boys are goin' to war soon enough, they need to grow up a bit first, I reckon."

  "I agree, ma'am. Wholly. They might not have another chance."

  "You one of them Englishmen, Captain? You talks pretty, just like them boys from that Embassy of theirs. You want to get fixed up, too?"

  Dick grinned and suggested that it would be a pity to leave otherwise. She laughed and sent him off with a friendly and sufficiently accomplished young lady who was very pleased to take his money in the morning.

  Lieutenants Cutler and Mayberry had not emerged when the others left in search of breakfast.

  "They'll get they's money's worth, Captain Burke! I'll put them in a carriage back to camp later on, sir! I trust to see you again, sir?"

  He assured her that he would be pleased to return.

  Dick sat over his coffee and bacon and browns – he was hungry, he found.

  "Expensive, but worthwhile, I believe, gentlemen!"

  They all agreed that war was hell, but that some parts of it were less unpleasant than others.

  Lieutenants Cutler and Mayberry appeared in the mess at dinner, thoughtful seeming and with very little to say; the others very generously did not rib them.

  The colonel stood, half a grin on his face as he surveyed the relaxed state of his officers

  "Parade in the morning, gentlemen. Roll call and a list of the missing to the adjutant, if you please. Fatigue parties for firewood and to police the camp. Route marching to commence later in the week - fifteen miles at a time with full packs. At least an hour of drill every day - the simple, necessary rout
ines - column to line to column again; wheel right and left. No great need for anything more than that, but we can accept no less - they must be able to form up to march and to fight."

  It all sounded very simple, said across the table after dinner.

  The farm boys were used to walking slowly behind a plough or to hoeing rows of corn; they could drive a wagon all day, or sit in the seat of one of the new harvesters or hay-cutters. What they could not do was shoulder a sixty pound pack and then march for fifty minutes at three miles an hour, rest for ten minutes then take up their packs and do it again, and again, and again and then make one final effort to bring them back to camp before mid-afternoon. They fell off the pace and then they dropped out, heads down, chests heaving, exhausted, were picked up by the wagons tailing on behind, were brought back too tired to feel ashamed.

  Just over six hundred men set off from camp at eight o'clock; fewer than three hundred marched back in their ranks.

  The colonel called the officers to him that evening, then postponed the meeting till next morning after the senior doctor told him he had confined half of the lieutenants to their beds.

  "Blistered feet, mostly, sir. The younger men especially with their very smart, highly polished half-boots - they look very pretty but they're no damned good for walking in, sir!"

  "Thank you, Doctor Kramer. Have you advice on this matter of marching?"

  "Three or four miles each morning and afternoon for a week, sir. Then six miles of a morning and four in the afternoon for two weeks. Then a single march of ten miles each day for a month, sir. Then, sir, fifteen mile marches on flat land, three of them in a week. After that, sir, maybe a hill or two added in. Three months from now, with luck, almost all of the men will be able to do fifteen miles for three days in succession. Some will never be strong enough, of course. A few could do it already - your Captain Burke, sir, is very robust for a young man - was he a prize-fighter, perhaps? He has that sort of conditioning to his body."

  Mayberry said that he would enquire, but that Captain Burke was a very private sort of man.

  "Yes, he has the look of one who has been much injured. I would not wish to make him angry."

  The doctor's regimen was set out for the officers to follow, knowing that it would take three months to achieve success and that they had eighty days before the men's enlistments expired.

  "There just ain't time enough for all that must be done, Captain Burke! The boys got to able to march, but six hours a day of marching and resting leaves too little time for drill and nothing for rifle practice, and they need both of them as well. We need six months, at least, and we've got no more than eight weeks before the army must take the offensive."

  "We've got a hell of a lot of ministers hanging about, colonel, sir. Best you get them to praying!"

  The colonel was a conventional gentleman in his attitudes, could not approve of such levity towards the cloth, especially when it would be overheard and reported to the rest of the God-fearing battalion by his headquarters people.

  "Brigadier McDowell informs me that he expects to march in the second week of July, having first seen forces despatched towards the Shenandoah Valley to entertain the Confederate troops there and prevent them from entraining to the assistance of the corps facing Washington. He will send part of our army to the left, to the flank of the Southern forces; another, greater brigade will attack headfirst into the centre, while the third part of the army marches to the right with the intention of hooking behind the enemy and destroying him in detail. The enemy's reserves will, he trusts be fully committed before the killing blow is struck from the right."

  It sounded good - an intelligent, if somewhat complex, plan. It depended on the Union troops being able to march to a timetable, and there was as yet no certainty that they could march at all.

  "You see, Captain Burke, if the troops in the Shenandoah are unable to come to the aid of the main army then their defeat is unavoidable. The Confederates have some of their best troops and most able generals in the Valley, and only a single railroad to shift them on. While McDowell's plan is kept secret, and the troops are deployed as they should be, then success is certain."

  Regrettably, the Confederacy had a very able female spy ring in Washington and the Union had any number of generals and politicians who could not resist the opportunity to impress their bed-partners with tales of their own importance and inside knowledge. McDowell's plan was known in Richmond before all of his own colonels had been informed of their part in it.

  The battalion marched and struggled and sweated and slowly became more efficient, its numbers dropping noticeably as weaklings were disclosed and taken out of the line to work with the Commissary and the doctors and the kitchens. Five hundred men paraded with full packs and rifles at the end of June and marched fifteen miles in four hours and then dismissed to eat their meal and make ready for the next day's activity.

  "Too few, Captain Burke, but at least they will get to the field in time!"

  "I wish the same might be said of every other battalion, sir. I am told that fewer than half of the troops have even attempted a full day's march!"

  "God help us all, if that is the case, Captain Burke. I have been given our specific orders, sir. We shall form a prominent part of the leading element of the central brigade. As the Brigadier promised, we are to be his spearhead! We have no maps as yet, but we are to march due south and straight into the middle of the Rebels. Probably in the neighbourhood of Manassas, by the Bull Run Creek."

  The battalion struck camp on the eighteenth of July and marched easily to the south and east, close to the head of the army and swaggering, knowing themselves to have been chosen to lead the Union to its certain victory.

  They made marching camps twice then settled in for a day of rest before going to battle. Their wagons had kept up and the field kitchen dished out a pair of substantial meals before the quartermasters issued ammunition.

  "Double pouches, boys. One hundred and twenty rounds apiece, but you are to leave your packs with the rear party, so the weight will be no problem. March loaded in the morning. Put a good sharp on the bayonets tonight, boys - you going to prick a few Rebs who ain't runnin' fast enough by midday!"

  They cheered then, shouting for themselves and for the officers who were to lead them to victory. A minister arrived and held a service, preaching loudly and assuring them of victory and a welcome at Heaven's Gates for the very few who might be unfortunate; they cheered again. The bulk of the men sat around their fires that evening, singing and telling each other of the deeds they would do in the morning; a few wrote letters home, but most decided to delay until they could tell the tale of all they had done. A small number, mostly of the older men, the corporals and sergeants who had seen it all before, got hold of a bottle and sent themselves to safe sleep.

  The officers, as befitted their status, had a mess tent and sat there, equally sanguine but a little less noisy, mostly rigorously sober.

  Dick sat to one side, Walker and Navy Colt in front of him, using the better light in the mess tent to thoroughly clean each and then to load them with exact measures. Reloading in the field would be a hurried process, and often uncertain, but his first shots would have no misfires. The younger men watched him and slowly followed suit - if the Kid thought it necessary, then perhaps they should not argue.

  "Are you wearing both revolvers tomorrow, Captain?"

  "Carrying the Sharps as well, boys. If they run, well, that can knock a few more down. If they don't, it might keep them to a respectful distance while we're walking back."

  "Back? We ain't come here to retreat, Captain!"

  "It ain't my idea of a good way of doing things, either - but if the rest of the army decides to go home we goin' to be middling lonely all on our own!"

  "We shall raise the flag, Captain Burke. Stood under Old Glory and the faint hearted will rally and return to the cause. If the army wavers, we shall bolster them!"

  Dick confessed to his error - he had not allow
ed for the righteousness of their just and holy mission, he supposed. He still cleaned his Sharps.

  Book One: The Making

  of a Man Series

  Chapter Six

  Dawn light saw the camp struck and the men waiting in column of route, chewing on hardtack, or slices of bacon if they had stirred early enough to light a fire. A battalion stood in order to their left - they thought they were Maine boys, but no one, including Colonel Mayberry, knew for sure. There seemed to be almost no other blue soldiers in sight and those few apparently looking for dry firewood - possibly the bulk of their battalions were concealed over the crest of the slope behind them, very sensibly hidden from observation; Wellington had always disposed his men that way, or so the knowledgeable said.

  They waited for orders, but no dispatch rider came.

  They heard musketry from the left - presumably the diversionary attack - and stirred anxiously; waiting men rechecked their rifles, made sure for the tenth time that there was a percussion cap on the nipple.

  Colonel Mayberry had instructions to wait for orders from brigade before taking any action.

  Time passed and the noise from the left increased, and seemed to be shifting backwards as if the regiments there were suffering defeat. Mayberry sent a messenger running across to the Maine battalion, discovered that they had received no more orders than him but their colonel, appointed for his local political eminence and years as a respected teacher, would conform to his movements.

  Mayberry took a last look around, could see no galloper coming and decided he was on his own. They had come to the fair; perhaps it was time to dance.

  "Pass the word to cross the bridge and shift to the right, let the Maine boys come up beside us."

  It took nearly an hour to march the mile and cross the narrow, single-wagon bridge and form up in the meadow beyond the Bull Run creek. The waterway was just too deep and wide enough to make a difficult crossing; the creek was running fast from recent rain - few men would wish to risk fording it.