The procession did not take long. The officer did not bother to look at the men in the grey canvas fatigues and he did not even so much as glance in the direction of the new recruits half hidden behind the rearmost rank.
When the inspection was complete, the four sergeants formed a single line in front of the officer. To a word of command that Jack did not hear, they stiffened to attention and saluted. Then, as one, they turned away and began shouting at the men who had been standing in silence, the hushed, reverential quiet shattered in an instant. On cue, the bugle started to call, its loud, brazen notes cutting through the sudden commotion as the men fell out.
Jack looked at Corporal Taylor, expecting the small body of new recruits to be ordered to do the same, but the corporal stayed where he was, forced rigidly to attention. Jack traced Taylor’s line of sight and saw the finely dressed officer bearing down on the recruits, the looming presence of Sergeant Slater at his shoulder.
Jack studied the officer carefully. His uniform might have been immaculately tailored, but it did nothing to disguise the boyish face underneath the tall black shako. The officer was attempting to grow a pair of mutton-chop whiskers, but the growth was patchy at best, the flesh of his cheeks playing peek-a-boo through the thin covering of hair. Jack kept his own face clean-shaven, eschewing the fashion for all manner of facial hair. His mother had said that it made him more handsome, and judging by the officer’s attempt, she had been right to recommend it.
Yet the officer carried himself with an air of confidence that Jack had only seen once before. Then it had been in the calm, easy demeanour of a young toff called Edmund Ponsonby, a boy from the privileged upper class whom Jack would have called a friend despite the vast difference in their upbringing. Both displayed the same easy confidence, the sureness that could only be secured by an ample supply of both money and influence.
Jack judged the officer to be close to his own age, yet the gulf between them was like a gaping chasm. He understood then that Charlie had been correct, that becoming an officer was denied him forever due to the low station into which he had been born, no matter how good a soldier he might prove himself to be. Ability counted for nothing. Money was the only qualification needed to achieve a commission; the one thing that Jack could never hope to acquire.
‘Good morning, men. Welcome.’ The officer spoke in the languid drawl of a man doing what was expected, his greeting delivered without enthusiasm or warmth, his face already betraying his boredom. ‘My name is Lieutenant de Lancy and you now serve in my company. You are new men, new to our ways, and it is likely that you will find life here rather different to the one you have led before. It is natural for you to be worried. Yet it will not take you long to adjust. Listen to your instructors and do as they say. For only then will you become soldiers worthy of serving in our regiment.’
De Lancy paused and glanced over his shoulder at Sergeant Slater. Slater’s face was impassive, but he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jack’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the interplay between the two. De Lancy was an officer; he surely outranked the mere sergeant. Yet he had still looked to Slater for approval, for permission to carry on.
‘You will soon be wearing red,’ de Lancy managed to force a trace of vigour into his delivery, ‘the same red that men of our regiment wore when they defeated Boney at Waterloo. The same red they wore at Salamanca and Talavera and the very same red they wore at Quebec. Now it is your turn. It is up to you to live up to the standards set by your forebears, the men who won the victories of which we are all so rightly proud. Men like you may come and go, but the regiment lives on. You must play your part in our history, for the regiment shall endure when you are so much dust.’
De Lancy appeared not to care that his recruits paled at the mention of their deaths, no matter how glorious they might prove to be. He turned and lifted a white-gloved hand to point in the direction of a lawned area on the far side of the parade ground. The grass was pristine and a spiked chain held up by white painted posts enclosed the small square of greenery. At its centre was a flagpole on which flew the Queen’s Colour, a large Union flag with the regiment’s crest picked out in gold thread at its centre.
‘Our colours bear the names of the battles we have fought, our honours paid for with the courage and the blood of your forebears. It is up to you to make sure you do not let that memory down. The regiment is all. It is bigger than all of us and we should only ask ourselves what we can do to embellish its name, what we can do to honour the memory of those who have gone before.’
De Lancy paused and offered his anxious audience a thin-lipped smile. ‘Your training begins this day. Only when you are ready will you march to join the rest of the regiment and take your place in our ranks. I wish you good luck, and may God bless you all.’
Jack had to choke down the snort that had risen in his throat as he listened to the pompous delivery, but de Lancy seemed well pleased with his speech and he turned to nod with some authority towards Sergeant Slater.
‘Carry on, Sergeant. They are all yours now.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Slater snapped to attention and saluted. He remained in the pose as de Lancy wandered off, every sinew in his impressive frame stretched tight. His eyes never left the thirteen recruits standing motionless in front of him.
At last he broke the salute. His eyes roved over the men watching him with fear in their guts. The officer might have spoken of the honour of the regiment and their duty to it, but only one man held their fate in his hands. Not one of the new recruits had any doubt who was truly in charge.
Chapter 4
Jack tried not to gawp. He had never seen so much stuff. Long shelves stretched away in every direction, every inch of the room lined with equipment stacked up from floor to ceiling. He took another pace forward, waiting dutifully for his turn, a quiver of excitement trembling deep in his belly. The smell of camphor and boot blackening had stirred an unconscious desire to own something other than the clothes on his back.
‘Next!’
Jack stepped forward quickly, his heart racing. He stood at the blanket-covered counter and looked into the heavily bearded face of one of the fattest men he had ever seen.
‘Name?’
‘Lark.’
The quartermaster sergeant grunted in reply. He leant heavily on the counter but his face was still flushed with effort. He pulled a blank form in front of him and scratched Jack’s name on to the line near the top.
‘Sign here.’ The demand was curt, the form pushed forward with minimal effort.
‘What’s this?’ Jack peered at the tight writing on the page.
‘You are signing for your necessities. This is the army, old son. You don’t get to take a shit without the right bloody chit.’
Jack reached out and scrawled on the form quickly. ‘Will I be getting my red coat?’
The quartermaster sergeant ignored the foolish question and took the form back without enthusiasm, then tossed it on to a pile at the far end of the counter. He never moved his weight from his arm the whole time. ‘See the corporal over there. Next!’
Jack moved down the counter. He saw another recruit staggering away, his arms full of clothes and equipment. The idea that he could soon be the owner of a similar stack seemed impossible.
‘Stop lollygagging and cop hold of this.’ A young corporal came to stand opposite Jack. He handed over a set of folded grey fatigues, the same ones Jack had seen other men wearing on the parade ground.
Jack held out his arms and let the corporal dump the clothes on to them. The corporal worked fast. A pair of boots followed another set of fatigues, after which came a shako minus its brass regimental plate.
‘When do I get my red coat?’ Jack felt the weight start to build but it did nothing to dampen his eagerness. He already carried more clothes than he had ever owned, and the corporal had not finished.
‘Hark at you!’ The corporal chuckled at Jack’s enthusiasm as he dumped down a pair of leather cross belts. ‘You h
ave to earn that, chum. When the time is right, you’ll be back here to collect it.’
‘How long will that be?’
‘Soon enough. Right, that’s your lot for today. Now walk your chalk.’
Jack turned away, keen to get back to the barracks. He stopped in his tracks as he heard raised voices at the other end of the counter.
‘This cannot be correct.’ Charlie Evans was standing in front of the quartermaster sergeant, his arms folded across his chest.
‘Just sign the form and shut your muzzle, old son. They don’t pay me to listen to your mewling.’ The rotund sergeant clearly did not care for the new recruit’s expression.
‘This form says that I am paying for my own equipment. That cannot be right.’ Charlie scowled back at the sergeant. He lifted a finger and pointed to the page in front of him.
‘That’s the way of it. You ain’t getting all this shiny new gear for free.’
‘That is not fair. We should have been told.’ Charlie’s face was reddening. ‘We were tricked.’
‘Ain’t my fault you’re a damned fool. Now sign the form and move along.’ The quartermaster sergeant levered himself painfully upright, groaning with the effort.
‘What’s the problem?’ Corporal Taylor pushed his way through the queue of waiting recruits. ‘Are you causing trouble, Evans?’
‘I have just been informed that the rest of the bounty I am owed is being used to pay for my equipment. I am merely pointing out that we were not informed of this when we agreed to attest. It is not fair.’
‘Fair!’ Taylor brayed a short laugh as he spat the word. ‘This is the army, Evans. I don’t recall anyone ever saying it was fucking fair. Now sign the damn form and move along.’
‘In all consciousness I cannot do so, Corporal. It is iniquitous.’
Taylor glowered. ‘Sign the form or I’ll take you outside and explain it to you a different way. One where you are likely to lose your fucking teeth!’ The corporal’s voice rose so that he was shouting into Evans’s face.
Charlie stood and stared at his corporal. Jack watched the exchange, wondering at his friend’s sanity. For a moment he thought Charlie would continue the argument, but with a visible shudder he shut his mouth and turned to sign the form.
‘Glad you saw sense, old son. That’s the way of it and there ain’t no point kicking up a shine. You’re a soldier now. Best you learn to do as you’re told.’ The quartermaster sergeant eased back into his more usual position with a sigh of relief. ‘Now move along. You never know, you might be one of the lucky ones. Some of the stuff we give you might even fit.’
Jack waited for Charlie outside the quartermaster’s stores. His arms were aching from carrying his own allocation of kit, but he was too pleased with his haul to mind.
‘You bloody fool. Why did you make a fuss like that?’ He accosted his friend the moment Charlie staggered out of the door.
‘How could I not?’ If Charlie was pleased to see Jack waiting for him, it did not show on his scowling face. ‘Those blackguards are fleecing us. Did you even read the form?’
‘No.’ Jack matched Charlie’s scowl with one of his own.
‘Then you did not notice the fact that the bounty they promised us does not even cover the whole cost of equipping us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We are in debt, Jack, to the tune of twelve shillings and sixpence, to be exact. It will be deducted from our pay until it is paid off.’
‘Bugger me, really?’ Jack remembered Tate’s promise that he would earn one shilling and one penny a day. At the time it had seemed too good to be true. Now it appeared that was exactly what it was.
‘You know that they dock us for our food?’ Charlie was walking quickly now so that Jack had to trot to keep up.
‘No.’ Tate had not mentioned that either. He was beginning to wonder what else the recruiting sergeant had omitted to tell him.
‘Four and a half pence a day. If that breakfast is anything to go by, we are being robbed blind.’
Jack failed to share his friend’s bitterness. He’d had nothing when he had joined the army. Worrying about when he would get paid just did not figure in his thoughts. He had food, clothes and a place to sleep. That alone was an improvement on the life he had faced on the streets.
‘It ain’t so bad.’ He tried to jolly Charlie along. ‘You heard those other boys this morning.’ He remembered the sounds that had followed reveille. ‘Laughing away they were. We’ve just got to get used to all this.’
‘I don’t plan to. I am going to leave.’
‘You can’t!’ Jack’s reaction was instinctive.
‘I damn well can. I am my own master.’ Charlie’s chin dropped and he half turned his face so that it was hidden from Jack. ‘I want to go home.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Don’t be daft. It’ll get better.’ He thought of the sergeants and their fabulous red coats. He wanted one. The army offered him a way out of the gutter and he was determined to take it. He might never be an officer like de Lancy, but he was still certain he could rise far. The prospect inflamed a part of him he had never known existed. His ambition had been well and truly sparked.
‘For you, perhaps, but I have something out there.’ Charlie stopped and looked at Jack. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was leaving behind. I want to go home. I cannot do this.’
Jack found it hard to meet his friend’s gaze, uncomfortable in the face of such emotion. ‘Is it that girl?’
Charlie bit his lip and nodded.
‘But she turned you down. She doesn’t want you.’ Jack scowled. He did not understand.
‘I can change her mind.’ Charlie spoke with passion, his voice trembling. ‘I can convince her. I was foolish, running off as I did, I see that now. I did not persevere. I ran away when I should have stayed and worked harder to make myself worthy of her.’
‘Isn’t this exactly that? Imagine her face when she sees you in a red coat. When you return as a smart soldier.’
Charlie offered a bitter laugh. ‘Elizabeth won’t want a redcoat. No one does.’
Jack was shaking his head. He might have been forced to take the Queen’s shilling, but he was certain it would be the making of him. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘And you’re a damned fool. She wants more than to be the wife of a soldier. She deserves more than that. I can give it to her, but only if I can get out of here.’
‘You can’t leave.’ Jack wanted to puncture such certainty. He didn’t take kindly to being called a fool. ‘They won’t let you. You took the shilling. There is nothing you can do about it now.’
‘They cannot stop me leaving. They will let me go or I will do what I must do. I cannot stay.’
‘Now who is being a damned fool? If you run, they’ll flog you, stretch your neck, or send you to bloody Botany Bay. If you run, they won’t stop until they catch you.’
‘They won’t catch me.’ Charlie offered a grim smile.
‘It ain’t worth it.’ Jack tried one last time. ‘You’ll get over her.’ He sighed. He thought of Mary, the whore who had plied her trade in his mother’s gin palace. She was the one thing he missed about his former life. Not that he had ever had his way with her; she wouldn’t let him. But he had been besotted with her for as long as he could remember. He nurtured the notion of returning to the gin palace in the full finery of a soldier. He savoured the image, picturing the look on his mother’s face when he returned, the expression in Mary’s eyes as she saw the man he had become.
‘Oh, but it is worth it.’ Charlie smiled at Jack’s lack of understanding. ‘I would risk everything to be back with her again.’
‘Then it is you who is being the fool.’ Jack spoke harshly. He saw another recruit come bustling out of the quartermaster’s stores. It would not be long before Corporal Taylor spotted their conversation, and he did not fancy receiving a bollocking.
‘Perhaps. But I shall leave all the same. I have to.’
‘You don’
t stand a chance.’
‘Oh, but I do.’ Charlie turned and started to walk away. ‘Because you are going to help me.’
Jack dressed quickly. The buttons on the canvas fatigues were stiff but he still felt a rush of pride as he fastened them. The black shako he had placed on his head might be missing the brass plate that displayed the regiment’s number, but for the first time he felt like a soldier.
‘Quick now, you dozy bastards.’ Corporal Taylor waited for them at the door. ‘Get a bloody move on.’ He marched into the room, scowling, as his charges put on the only uniform they would be allowed to wear for the first part of their training.
‘When do we get the badge for our hat, Corporal?’ Jack risked the question as Taylor turned smartly at the end of the room, near where he and Charlie slept.
Taylor stared at him, his face creased into the familiar scowl. ‘It is a shako, you bleeding idiot, not a bloody hat.’ He shook his head at the young man’s foolishness. ‘You have to earn your plate, boy. Until you do, you are a crap hat and nothing more, something that I suggest you remember before asking any more damn-fool questions. Now then, lads, bundle up those stinking rags you were wearing and dump them in that there basket by the door. It is an offence for a soldier to own civilian clothes. If I catch any of you keeping them, I shall flog you myself.’
‘That’s not fair.’
Jack winced as Charlie protested. He was beginning to wonder at his choice of friend.
‘Shut your damn mouth, Evans.’ Taylor turned on Charlie, his anger quick. He grabbed Evans’s small bundle of clothes and started to walk away.
‘How dare you! Those are my own things. I purchased them.’
Jack saw the look on Charlie’s face. He would need the civilian clothes if he did try to make an escape. His plans were going to the devil before his eyes.
‘Like I give a shit.’ Taylor turned and tossed the bundle of clothes to another recruit. ‘Dump this crap in the basket.’
Jack Lark: Recruit (A Jack Lark Short Story) Page 4
