Joe Pike thought he understood and took guard. He twisted his bat slightly as Carravoy approached. The ball was not quite straight and the angled bat drove it off through midwicket, off to his left. No fielder there, four runs. The next five balls went off at much the same angle, three to the right, two to the left. 12 runs; 242 for nine. Byford played the next over in his same untroubled fashion, garnering six runs. Joe was back on strike. The whole of the Light Company and the Grenadiers and the families of the same, and most of the crowd, lined the boundary. Carravoy spread his field wider, but still no one behind the batsman save the wicketkeeper. Pike hit the first ball sweetly, but a fielder just past Carravoy half stopped it. Byford shouted, “No”. No run, but the next ball was turned into a vicious drive, an unstoppable four through midwicket again. Two to draw, three to win. The next ball, got the two, a clean hit up to the boundary, but a fielder was waiting and they took two runs. Carravoy looked around at everyone looking at him. Another ball like the last would cost them the game, which seemed lost anyway, but there was nothing else for it but to play the game out. He placed the ball at the tips of his fingers and delivered it at Pike with all the spin he could impart. Joe watched the ball onto his bat and followed through, then he heard the shout from behind him. The spin had taken the ball to the edge of his bat, and Joe had played on. A bail was dislodged. It was a draw.
Byford looked at Carravoy and waited. He knew what should happen now, and it did. Carravoy came over and shook his hand.
“Well played.”
“And to you, Sir.”
He then walked down the pitch to do the same to Pike.
“Well batted, Pike. I though we were going under. You had a very good knock, but bad luck.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The Lights came onto the pitch to applaud their opponents as they and the two batsmen trooped off. Carr placed himself in Carravoy’s way.
“Good game, Carravoy. One of the best I can remember being in. It seems us Lights have some hidden talent. I had no idea. Well played to you and to your men.”
Carravoy managed a half smile. Being that close to defeat did not sit well, but the requirements of the occasion placed stronger demands upon him than his bad feeling; he knew the ettiquette. He offered his hand and Carr took it.
“Yes indeed, Carr. You nearly did for us. Well played also, to you, and to your men.
oOo
The progression of their days in Gibraltar were signalled by the changes that showed on the Ipheion. From only one mast, then came the crane hoy that lowered in the second, then the replacing of the top mast, the spars and the rigging. A restored Ipheion meant that their days in Gibraltar were over, and emotions were mixed. It meant a renewed acquaintance with life on board a cramped transport, but it also meant an end to the most intense three days of training that many had known. A fair proportion of the time had been drill on formations, and the battalion could form square in a time between 30 and 45 seconds, depending on their original formation, but twice that amount of time had been spent on the firing range. For hour after hour they practiced volley by ranks and half company volleys. When they marched away from the range it was as if they were marching through snow, such was the depth of empty cartridges, but Lacey was growing in confidence with his men. His half hunter regularly told him that, when required, all came reloaded to the “make ready” within 20 seconds, and the bullets were kicking up the sand at body height, even at 100 yards range. On the last day, with the last volley, both Lacey and O’Hare looked at each other and agreed wordlessly, needing only a half smile and a nod of the head. Their musketry was up to the mark.
Early the next day saw the families wending their way to the quayside and boarding the same barges that had disembarked them days before, only this time there was no carnival atmosphere as the barges inched their way out to the Tansy. Most sat on the deck or lined the sides, although from somewhere could be heard a cheery fiddle. The barges returned and took the stores along with the wounded from the fight with the Madelline who should recover in time for the forthcoming campaign. The battalion was to parade at 9 o’ clock and so prior to that, Carr, Drake and Rushby toured the barracks of their Light Company, checking the equipment on their men, and searching floors and shelves for missed items. The Lights were in good heart from their honourable draw when all expected a thrashing, and Joe had acquired a knickname; “Tailend”, although it didn’t last long; Joe was easier.
The battalion paraded for the last time on the Marine’s Parade Ground, in fours, Grenadiers and Light Company in the lead. With each man carrying full equipment they marched through the town to the quayside, this being at Staveley’s request and they soon saw why. He had paraded his Marines and Seamen along the High St and all gave three cheers as Lacey and O’Hare led their men through. Their victory over the Madelline was clearly still prominent in their memory and still worth any celebration. A flotilla of longboats quickly took them out to their transports, but this time there was no favourable offshore wind, the South Westerly that had pushed them in, still prevailed. The three vessels needed to be towed out to gain some sea room and pick up their faithful Ipheion, then they sailed close-hauled SSE to confuse the spyglasses over in Algeciras. Unlike their leaving of England, few lined the stern rail to watch The Rock sink into the mist of the horizon and so when they were clearly alone on a lonely blue sea, they hauled their wind and set a course East. It was the 1st June 1806. Summer was building in the Mediterranean and over the next two weeks all were grateful for the steady South Westerly that blew through the stifling cabins, 'tweendecks, and corridors of their laden carriers.
Dawn of 15th June saw the mountains of Sicily rise from its own heat haze, as had The Rock, and many lined the rail to examine their landfall and speculate if this was their final destination. With the wind still strong and Southerly, Fallway elected to sail along the South coast, which occupied all the next day, but there was no shortage of interest as smokey Etna dominated the far horizon and, for many, the sight of a volcano was as much a subject of fear and superstition as it was of curiosity. However, whichever emotion the volcano caused, grew, when as the day faded, they finally made their turn North into the Straits of Messina and the mountain provided an eerie red glow on the larboard side as they used their fair wind to push them North. Dawn of the 16th saw the Port of Messina and Fallway’s choice proved wise; with the wind still holding, the transports were able to ease right up to the quays and the battalion disembarked. Enquiries of the sailors enabled the identification of the town beyond the quay, but that did nothing to improve their opinion of the confused jumble of cargo, filthy carts of all sizes and decaying fishing tackle that cluttered up practically the whole of the quayside and plainly added to the stink of sewage and rotting garbage that invaded their nostrils as they assembled to disembark.
A mounted aide de camp, a Major, was waiting for them on the quayside with an escort, and so Lacey disembarked first, accompanied by O’Hare and other Staff. The Major approached Lacey as he came down the gangplank.
“Good morning, Sir. I am Major Willoughby. Welcome to Sicily. We saw your approach up the Straits. General Stuart’s Headquarters is up in the town, Sir, and I have a guide here,” indicating a soldier of the 78th Highlanders in full Regimental dress, “who will take your men to camp. It’s through the town and a little further. However, I am instructed to take yourself to the General as soon as possible, Sir.”
Lacey turned to O’Hare.
“I must attend the General. Take over and get the men to their camp and settled in. Give priority to unloading food off the Tansy. Requisition a wagon or something, if you have to.”
Lacey mounted a spare horse and followed Willoughby up into the town. The ride was short and Stuart’s Headquarters soon became apparent, not only from the sentries but also from the bustle of red coated soldiers going in and out. However, Lacey was given priority and ushered straight in to meet the General. He found himself saluting a youngish man of middle sta
ture with thinning blond hair. He looked up from a map of Calabria just across the Straits, as Lacey placed his orders on the desk and introduced himself.
“Lieutenant Colonel William Lacey, Sir. 5th Provisional Regiment.”
Stuart spent no time on pleasantries.
“Provisional! Before that, Detachments, I assume. I’ve already enough green troops as it is. I was told to expect another Battalion, commanded by you, yes, but Detachments! Are you up together, your internal structure, I mean? Are your orders carried out?”
Lacey drew himself up to his full height.
“Sir, I can confidently say that the 5th will carry out any orders that you decide to give us.”
“Hmmm. Big words, Lacey. I hope so. Now, I’m invading the mainland on the 30th. Landing here.”
He stabbed his finger onto the map, at a point where blue met green.
“As far as I know it’s Regnier over there with about 6,000 men. There’s another two, at least besieging Gaeta, North of Naples. I’ve got just over five, so I need you and your men in good order. Don’t get too comfortable in your camp tonight. Tomorrow you march to Milazzo, which will be your embarkation port. You’ll be staying there until we leave. Get your men there and await orders. Use the time well. One further thing. I’m taking your Lights and Grenadiers away. I’m creating a Light Battalion and a Grenadier Battalion. The Lights will be under Lieutenant Colonel Kempt, the Grenadiers under Brigadier Cole. I trust that both have Officers that know their business. However, you’ll still be with your Grenadiers, you and your Line Companies are also under Cole. Now, good day to you!”
Lacey made a salute to the top of Stuart’s head and left the room. He obtained directions from a Clerk as to the likely whereabouts of his men, mounted the horse he’d been given and took what he thought was the right road. He was soon re-assured; he could see the end of his column climbing a hill not too far ahead. Once on their camping ground, whilst the men did their best to create a satisfactory camp, Lacey made his Headquarters in a room borrowed in a nearby farm, then he sent out for all Officers, Captains and above. All arrived within five minutes.
“Tonight’s camp is temporary. Tomorrow we march for Milazzo, about 20 miles away, a day and a half’s march. That’s our embarkation port, for we are invading the mainland on the 30th. Today’s the 16th. O’Hare, I want you to ride ahead now and find us a campsite with enough room to keep the men busy and up to the mark. I expect to arrive around noon the day after tomorrow. For the rest of you, make no elaborate preparations today. We march at dawn after a night spent sleeping in our greatcoats. One further thing, something that disappoints me, but it’s orders.”
He turned to Captain Carr.
“Carr, your Lights are being removed from my command to become part of a Light Battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Kempt. Carravoy, same for your Grenadiers, but we will be in the same Brigade, both of us under Brigadier Cole. Both of you, expect to meet your respective Commanders very soon. That’s all, Gentlemen. Good afternoon.
Carr left the farmhouse immediately and sought out his Company. They were on the far edge of the camp and already settled in with fires going to brew tea. He called over Drake, Rushby, Ellis, and Fearnley.
“We’re crossing The Straits to invade the mainland, on the 30th June. But, and this I don’t like, we will be taken away from the 5th to become part of a Light Battalion and in a different Brigade. We won’t be under Lacey’s command, but we must make the best of it. The good part is that we will be operating as Light Infantry in a Light Infantry Battalion. Tomorrow we all march out of here to Milazzo, our embarkation port, which will take two days. I’d say we’ve got seven or eight days in camp before we embark and in those days I expect us to train under our new command, and I want all that we’ve learnt about being Light Infantry honed up to a state of perfection. I won’t have us looking incompetent alongside other Light Companies. Clear?”
“Sir.”
All spoke in unison. This was a different Carr, it was plainly noticeable, different especially to Drake and Rushby, and they were struck by it. No longer the languid, somnolent Carr. This was Captain Carr, Officer Commanding, giving his orders, clear and decisive. Things were different, as they were different about him. They were now on campaign, sooner or later to face the enemy.
“Good. Now go and tell the men.”
The march to Milazzo was hot and testing. Mile after mile of brown dust road, under a hot sun that climbed high in the sky, to beat down almost vertical. However, when a stop came, shade was found under the verdant olive trees that lined the road in an unbroken swathe of deep green, and many clear, if narrow, streams ran off the hills to their left to keep their canteens full. Nevertheless, the heat took its toll. Many veterans soon discarded their shakoes for white kerchiefs that were knotted, bandana fashion around their heads. This was widely copied and soon almost all the battalion showed as a long red column with grey legs, on a brown road, topped by a thick collection of white dots above red jackets. Deakin, as ever, marched with Halfway.
“You ever been this hot? Not me, least not since the West Indies.”
“Can’t recall. Not even during a fierce mid-summer. This is just about the most damn burnt up place I ever clapped eyes on. If it weren’t for these trees here, I’d say they’d had a grass fire through here just yesterday morning.”
Deakin grinned at his longstanding companion and uncorked his waterbottle, offering it first to his friend.
“So, we’m over the water, onto the mainland.”
Before taking a drink Halfway asked,
“Who told you where we’re goin’?”
“Found out from the Lights. They’ve been told everything.”
“Ah, invasion force. I don’t like it. They can catch you on the beach, with their guns and then cavalry. A beach is perfect for cavalry. It can be all over in ten minutes. I don’t like the sound of it.”
“Well, bain’t you cheerful this morning.”
Gibney was marching off to the side of their column. Deakin turned to him.
“How do you reckon to a sea landin’, Sar’ Major?”
“It depends. Depends on the state of the sea, what the beach is like, and if tha’ escort can get in close enough to cover thee with their guns. Get all three right, and thee’s got a good chance. I’d say it’s likely we can get all three, with the beaches in these parts and a sea that’s not wound up. But, I’ll tell thee one thing, I’d rather be goin’ ashore off some boat than have to go up into some damn breach, thee knows. Up over some town wall.”
“True, Sar’ Major. True. You’ll get no argument from me.”
They did not march into Milazzo, for them it remained in the distance a collection of bright orange roofs with a single church dome, backed by many tall masts. They met Major O’Hare and then, on his direction, marched off the road to a clear, gently sloping hillside and settled to making a good camp, as this was to be their home for some days. The baggage train was close up and soon tents and stores were scattered within their secured area. Lacey again called for his Senior Officers.
“We’ve got seven, perhaps eight days here. First we spend a day on checking equipment. I want the men to check everything they’ve got, every stitch and buckle, and we’ll inspect again before embarkation. Nothing is to give way once we are over there. I don’t want even a single button to come off, much less the sole of a shoe. All, and I mean all, Officers to inspect, don’t just leave it to your Sergeants. Then we keep the men busy for as long as we’ve got. I want them in the best of fettle, able to march and run, keep formation and change formation. Finally, I want each of you to come up with some situation that we may have to face, and a solution. If I agree then we’ll practice it. O’Hare, could you stay? The rest of you, dismiss.”
They all saluted and left, with the exception of Major O’Hare.
“Stuart suspects our internal cohesion. As we’re ex-detachments, it’s the right question. What do you think?”
“The men
respond to their orders from the drums and bugles well enough. As good as I’ve seen. What worries me is how soon do we know what’s happening, so that we can give the correct order. I would suggest that each Company have a Lieutenant or NCO who is to act as a runner back to us, to carry anything that the Captain thinks we should know. They stay with their Captain at all times. That’ll do no harm, perhaps even some good. Cohesion is all about us knowing what’s going on, then good orders, quickly obeyed. Also, we’ve got two good Junior Majors, Simmons and Maltby. They could be encouraged to give an order before getting it confirmed. That’s how I see it.”
Lacey nodded. He had always regarded O’Hare as a good Officer. Now he was sure of it.
“I agree. Can I leave that with you?”
“Yes Sir. I’ll see to it.”
Lacey looked at O’Hare.
“Between you and me, Padraigh, I don’t like losing our Lights and Grenadiers. I don’t know what he has in mind over there, but the Grenadiers are assault troops and the Lights are skirmishers. I can’t see where the need will come for a whole battalion of each. On top of that, Stuart’s concerned about internal cohesion, but he’s setting up two battalions where the Officers, as yet, don’t even know each other’s names! I don’t like it. Keep a special eye on Carr and Carravoy, will you. I want their companies right up to the mark, in all ways. They may be put to the test, and it could be severe.”
oOo
The battalion settled to a state as close to domestic bliss as could be contrived in the middle of a Sicilian hillside in late June. The camp followers soon created their family enclaves and the warm weather gave no problems with creating a few of the basic creature comforts. The day of “making and mending”, little of the former, much of the latter, passed with little more than some irritation from the old soldiers, Tom Miles in particular, when Ellis came to make a check on progress.
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 33
