Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.)

by Martin McDowell

  “Parson, oh yes, I’ve heard. Educated man; who came in with that bunch of “hard bargains” a while back; but, no offence, hard bargains I mean, that’s past. I don’t mean nuthin’ by it. That don’t mean nuthin’ no more. We’m all just soldiers. Am I right?”

  Sedgwicke was pleased at this generous appraisal. Despite his drunken fog, he maintained a polite dialogue.

  “May I know your name?"

  “Quartermaster Sergeant Harold Sleightman. At your service.”

  Something lurched into Sedgwicke’s sodden mind that did something to clear it. The stores; a storeman, those anonymous people that came and went, always in the background, but it was Sleightman who moved the conversation on.

  “An educated man, and, I take it, you like a drink. Quite right, partial to one myself from time to time. An educated man,” he repeated,” Read, write and cipher, can you?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.”

  “Then I’m thinkin’ that us two meetin’ here, like this, is pure providence. Pure providence. How are you findin’ life as a company ranker? What’s your company number?

  “Three.”

  “Ah, Holy Joe Heavside, and that piece of wet rag, D’Villiers. So, how’re you finding it?”

  Sedgwicke didn’t reply instantly, but turned to look at Sleightman. Even in the poor light, Sedgwicke could see that Sleightman was regarding him with a most ingratiating look, eyes wide above an oily smile, both of which showed that he expected an answer deeply negative.

  “It’s foul, appalling, like being in Hell.”

  Sleightman laughed and drew deep from the bottle, before handing it to Sedgwicke.

  “And didn’t I find it just the same! Drill, cleaning, gunpowder down yer gob, snotty Officers, and a stinkin’, noisy, lice ridden barrack room the only place you’ve got to rest up in. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, an educated man as you are, I think you’d make a storeman. I needs storemen. In fact, I’ve been told I ‘as to get storemen. How would you like to be added to my list? And I see you likes a drink. You could be just the kind of storeman recruit that I needs. What do you say?”

  “I say yes. What kind of fool would say anything else?"

  “That is just the right sentiment that I was hoping for. Percival Sedgwicke, you say? Well, Percy, I think we should finish this bottle, then get ourselves back. You can trust me to know the way.”

  Many others had already begun finding their way, the Town Hall clock had struck half eleven and the barrack road was now feeling a steady stream of soldiery returning in the opposite direction to that of a few hours before. Many were wholly the worse for their feats of drinking in the nearby inns and were making progress only because they were supported either side by comrades, their feet incongruously moving out of step and at half the rate of their overworked “brothers of the bar”.

  Lieutenant Royston D’Villiers was in a black mood. The foundation of his ire was the underlying memory from the battalion exercise, all too vivid, of humiliation, both in front of fellow Officers and worst of all, in front of the men. This mood was deepened by a headache that yet remained from the previous evening and deepened yet further at having to be Officer of the Guard whilst the common rankers returned from what had obviously been a very merry evening of drinking, wenching, yarning, and fighting. The atmosphere was maintained almost universally as those first back had themselves signed in and then took themselves off to their barrack rooms, still in good cheer and high spirits, unlike D’Villiers.

  Sergeant Obediah Hill, the family man, the ex-Norfolk, the NCO of vast experience, was the Sergeant of the Guard and knew exactly what the pitfalls and dangers of this situation were. An Officer that few of the men had any time for and them, many of them, worse for drink. It was a powder keg of potential for charges of insubordination and a series of floggings. As the first of the men came back, he did his best to reduce the risk.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Sir, I can take care of this. I’ll deal with the men, Sir, see them through the gate and on their way. No real need for you to get involved. Sir. Just remain in the arch, and that’ll serve, Sir, as you being here and present as the Officer of the Guard.”

  “What are you suggesting, Sergeant? That I should remain out of the way, in the shadows, unseen?’

  “Well, if I can speak truly, Sir, the lads have been drinking and some don’t recognise when an Officer is near.”

  He realised almost instantly that he had used the wrong word.

  “Recognise, Sergeant? Recognise? They’ll recognise this coat I wear whether they be drunk or dying. I’ll truck no disrespect of my rank at any time, whatever.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir. I meant no disrespect, it’s just that, well, that way we won’t get any avoidable trouble, Sir. We can just get the men through and off, and then off ourselves, Sir, when our relief arrives. No harm done.”

  D’Villiers pent up anger exploded on hearing a counter argument from a plain NCO.

  “Damn you, Sergeant. I’ll take no argument from you! Any more and it’ll cost you your stripes. D’ye hear me?”

  The last was delivered so loud, that it echoed around the arch. Hill sprang to attention; it was the only response he could give.

  “Yes Sir. Very good, Sir.”

  D’Villiers was now awash with released anger. Hill didn’t need to see his face, even if he could in the poor light, for D’Villiers projecting jaw and clenched fists at the end of arms bent in front of him told him that his cause was lost, but D’Villiers, even through his anger, knew he had to think of some way to demonstrate his will. Two soldiers arriving with unbuttoned jackets gave him his answer. Inspection! Before any soldier was re-admitted into the barracks he had to be presentable enough to be called one; all would be properly dressed; all must pass inspection, by him.

  “Get those two against the wall, Sergeant, and get their uniform up to the mark. They left here in proper state, they’ll come back in proper state.”

  “Yes Sir. Right lads, against the wall, and get your jackets properly buttoned.”

  The two looked bleary and confused, but drink did not have so great a hold on them that they failed to obey. They took themselves to the wall of the arch, buttoned all buttons and stood to attention before D’Villiers.

  “Dismiss.”

  The two turned to continue their journey.

  “Halt.”

  The two halted, the first first, the last last, so that the two collided.

  “Don’t you know to salute an Officer?

  Both spoke on unison.

  “Yes Sir. Sorry Sir,” then they saluted. D’Villiers repeated,

  “Dismiss.”

  They executed an instinctive right turn and went to the Sergeant Clerk to be signed in. D’Villiers turned to Hill.

  “All men to come before me for my inspection upon entering the gate, Sergeant. See to it.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Hill was both in despair and in a quandary. He knew what this would mean. An Officer in plain sight with men returning drunk from leave was bad enough, his inspecting them could only lead to one outcome; men ending up on a charge. Also, hundreds returning and only entering after inspection would cause long delays when what was needed was to get the men quickly in and off to their rooms. He sent out his Corporal and four men as an advanced guard to warn the men and get them in some sort of shape before approaching the gate. For over 15 minutes it worked, but the late arrivals were the most worse for drink and the inevitable happened. One very tipsy soldier buttoned up his jacket using the wrong buttonholes. D’Villiers at last had someone on whom he could further vent his anger.

  “You, soldier, are a damn disgrace. A disgrace, do you understand? Get your jacket buttoned up and correct.”

  The soldier, confused and unknowing about his buttoning error, replied, or rather the alcohol did for him.

  “I don’t see why I’m a disgrace. Don’t know what you’re talking about. I thinks I’m
just fine.”

  Not for the first time that night D’Villiers erupted.

  “Sergeant, take this man’s name. He’s on a charge; insulting an Officer.”

  Hill, as he was bid, wrote down the name. Before midnight the name was not alone, eight more were added for various levels of insubordination; despite Hill adding himself to the warning party and applying a pre-inspection as best he could. The Sergeant Clerk wrote out the charges there and then and D’Villiers signed them, then he took himself away, whilst the Sergeant Clerk took himself in the opposite direction, to place the written charges on Lacey’s desk, ready for the morning.

  oOo

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  “Damn me, but you lie.”

  “Careful, Carravoy, those are strong words. The answer is six, two injured and being cared for somewhere, two arrested by the Town Constables and in their cells, and two unaccounted for. So, strictly, the answer is two. I believe, therefore, that the claret is on you.”

  Carravoy stood silent, more amazed than annoyed; he was genuinely surprised. He had been told, certainly by the more elderly and superior Officers of his acquaintance, that the men would desert given the merest opportunity, yet here was an almost complete rebuttal. Over half the men had gone out, yet only two remained at large. His expression changed to one of resignation. He had lost the bet

  “Very well, Carr. You win. To where shall I send your winnings?”

  “Oh, to the Mess. I donate it to the Mess. Drake will do the same. I’d send some to the men, if I could, it was they after all that won the bet, but I’ll hold that back for some other time, some other way.”

  At that moment the Sergeant Clerk emerged, Carr and Carravoy both being stood outside the Colonel’s Office.

  “Excuse me, Sirs, but does either of you know of the whereabouts of Lieutenant D’Villiers? The Colonel wishes to see him.”

  “He billets in the same Inn as myself and Lieutenant Drake. Not an hour ago, he was sat in the breakfast room, off duty. If you send a runner to the Nag’s Head, you should find him, either on his way here, or still there.”

  “Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  Carr nodded in his direction, then turned to Carravoy. Carr’s tone was coldly professional, with neither warmth nor concern.

  “I hear there was a lot of bother with the men coming back in last night. D’Villiers was Officer of the Guard. If you see him before the Old Man does, my advice is for him to get his story clear and straight.”

  He then left, out onto the Parade Ground, leaving Carravoy alone in the hallway of the Colonel’s Offices. He knew that Carr was right and therefore he lingered, hoping that D’Villiers would arrive soon, but his own duties as Officer of the Day called him away. D’Villiers duly appeared and presented himself to the Sergeant Clerk.

  “I have been made aware that the Colonel wishes to see me.”

  “Yes Sir. I will tell him that you are here.”

  The Sergeant Clerk rose and noted that D’Villiers’ uniform was not all it should be, done in a rush, and experience told him that a proper uniform would be to his advantage over the next few minutes. The collar, at least, was poorly adjusted. The Sergeant Clerk put his hand to his own perfect collar and cleared his throat, hoping that D’Villiers would somehow take the hint and put things right, but D’Villiers drew his brows together in puzzlement and the hint was lost. At that moment, through the open door, he heard the words, delivered hard, as though carved on steel,

  “Send him in.”

  The Clerk Sergeant went to the open door and remained by it as D’Villiers entered, as though holding it open, whilst in actuality he was waiting to close it, tight and shut. This done he returned to his desk. The silence of his own office was soon torn apart as the tirade began and grew in volume, clear and plain, even through the solid oak door. Even through the dense, dark wood some words came plain and prominent.

  “Common sense”, “Sergeant Hill”, “experience”, “causing trouble”, “ridiculous”, “bad feeling”, “showing yourself a fool”, “unnecessary inspection”, “none needed”, “idiotic”, “absurd”, “no flogging” and it went on, several phrases being repeated for effect. Eventually D’Villiers emerged, shaken and agitated, but lividly angry. He had held his tongue, but, now out of Lacey’s presence, he was almost beside himself. He went looking for Carravoy and had no trouble finding him, he being stood outside, overseeing events on the Parade Ground.

  “He’s failed to back me. A night in cells is all he’s given them. Says he’s got to back me up for the sake of appearance, but he didn’t even want to do that, and he’ll order no flogging. Damn the man, insubordination and disrespect of an Officer is what it was, plain as you like. A night in cells! I expect he’ll take along their supper himself, and tuck them in. Damn him, Charles, damn him. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m getting in touch with my people and asking them to purchase me another Commission, somewhere, anywhere. The Commissariat, I don’t care. I’ll not spend another day under his command longer than I have to. I’m buying myself out.

  oOo

  General Reynier was very proud of his horse, a pure bred Andalusian, 16 hands high, spirited, strong, and obedient. So taken was he with his mount that he had felt no qualms at spending almost 400 francs on the finest saddle, reins, and head harness that he could find. Now, himself and his horse, were atop a hill overlooking the Great Road from Rome, South to Naples, a road that was now filled with 30,000 French veterans. On the orders of Napoleon, this Army, part of the Armies of the French Republic that had just crushed the Austrians at Ulm during the last month of 1805, were ordered to see that Napoleon’s writ was run throughout the whole length of Italy, which included Naples and Sicily. General Massena was given the task and Reynier sat watching the army’s advance as part of Massena’s Staff.

  January was indeed proving to be a fine month for Jean Louis Reynier; benign Italian weather and here before him, the splendid French invasion force and within himself every hope of an independent command. The future held the chance for him to prove himself further in the eyes of Napoleon, against the British and Russian forces in Naples. They were there to shore up the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and surely, now, its King, Ferdinand of Naples, and both enemy forces were anxious at the news that such a French force was marching South, descending on them with their full attention.

  oOo

  Chapter Six

  Orders, large and small

  The year was marching on, January gone, advancing through February and looking on to March, but as yet the bleak stretches of moor beyond the barracks remained as sombre within their Winter guise as ever. Spring lay far away and unwoken, and so cheerless days progressed on in various shades of grey. For the 5th Detachments life reflected the same cold progression of identical days that rose and set across the giant Somerset sky; drill, marching, and firing range, or marching, firing range, then drill, or some other mixture. All were learning to respond to the different rhythms of the drummers or the different notes and cadence of the bugle calls, that conveyed across the battalion the orders for the required formation. Only their Colonel remained grateful for the extra days that they were being granted before orders came for deployment to a conflict as yet unknown. His battalion could perform to a standard that met the requirements in the Drill Book, but the big question hung over their readiness for a set piece battle. Only practice and rehearsal could chip away at that doubt and so he maintained the pressure. Days were spent on the moors doing what he was least satisfied with, always watchful, always with a critical eye.

  Almost as the year began Lacey had called Carr into his office for a brief conversation that did not even justify Carr taking a seat. Lacey handed him two books, both military manuals, these being; “Regulations of the Rifle Corps” and “The Exercise Book of the Rifle Service”. Carr’s orders were simple, read the manuals and train his Light Company in what was recommended. Also, to discover who were the best marksmen. It may come to s
omething, it may not.

  Understanding the first order, but mystified by the second, Carr was marching his Company, 90 strong, out for yet further training in the basic principles as recommended in the manuals Lacey had given him. He had ridden out the previous day and discovered a small wood, stood alone atop a low hill, perfect to practice advancing in open order and clearing a wood of any enemy. Light Infantry, as recommended, needed to operate in groups of three, and for this he had taken the advice of Ethan Ellis, the Sergeant he trusted most. Ellis was young for a Sergeant, but tough and wiry, this reflected in the hard look in his eyes, and supported again by the fixed set of his mouth. He rarely smiled, nor showed any humour, but it was undeniable that what he was ordered to do, he carried out and the men obeyed him instantly.

  Their march brought them around a bend in the lane that revealed the wood, but also the farm that held ownership of its surrounding fields. The buildings did not speak of any level of opulence, but they were well built and functional, a solid farm for solid people. Carr sent Drake to see if he could find the farmer; it seemed the right thing, to ask if they could exercise on his land, rather than just march on and march up. Drake returned bringing the farmer with him. Drake introduced Edwin Farriner and Carr introduced himself.

  “Good morning, Mr Farriner. My name is Henry Carr, and I was hoping that we might use your field and wood there, to practice our manoeuvres. I do hope that’s possible. I don’t anticipate any damage.”

  “You can use that wood there as much as you like, Sir. I can’t get none of my people to go in there, nor even near. “’T’ave been like that since time beyond memory, so I’ve been told. People say ‘tis haunted. Bad spirits. No one goes in there and if any stock is lost in there, ‘tis I that’s got to go in and fetch ‘em out. That’s why I don’t let stock graze this field, so you carry on. There’s nothin’ planted, so use all as you see fit.”

  Drake turned away to grin at the description, but with this he saw the expressions of the men; that being those who had overheard what was said and many of these wore a look of deep concern. Nevertheless, this he ignored as he heard Carr’s reply.