“You think I don’t know what happens, when a strap comes off yer pack!”
Ellis tugged it anyway.
Lacey and O’Hare were invited to dinner to meet Brigadier Cole and the other Senior Officers of the Brigade, and, as predicted, orders came for Carr and Carravoy to take their companies to a point different from the rest of the 5th for manoeuvres. Carravoy and D’Villiers found the move most conducive, for Brigadier Cole proved to be a tall aristocratic Officer, eminently the right sort, and the Grenadier Battalion was to be commanded by a Lieutenant Colonel Mallory, who turned out to be a friend of the Carravoy Family. Carr’s encounter, on the other hand, proved to be much more of a military examination that any form of social re-acquaintance. The Light Companies were paraded and Kempt walked slowly up the line to inspect. Carr found himself being stared at by eyes that could pierce fog.
“Name?”
“Captain Carr, Sir. 5th Provisionals.”
“Some of your men don’t have muskets. Something different instead. Explain.”
“They are Baker Rifles, Sir. They are accurate up to 200 yards, perhaps more. Our Colonel, Colonel Lacey, bought them for us at his own expense, Sir, with instructions that they be given to our best marksmen. The idea is that we pick off the enemy’s Officers and NCO’s first, Sir, and early. I have trained my men in just that drill. Sir.”
“So you think you can bring down their Officers at long range.”
“Yes, Sir. But more than think, I am confident that my men can.”
“Let’s see.”
Kempt ordered a dozen targets to be set up, the time for which gave Carr a chance to talk to Davey.
“That’s just under 200 and he’s going to be as much worried about the rate of fire as the accuracy. What do you think? Do the bullets need to be wrapped in leather?”
Davey considered.
“No, Sir. We’ll wrap the first, but not the rest. Under 200, I don’t think it’s needed, Sir, and those targets are man sized, they’re not bulls eyes. We just have to hit them.”
“Right. Pass the word along.”
A dozen men were selected, including Davey, and all came to their mark, ready loaded.
Kempt took charge. He had his watch at the ready.
“I want six rounds, at those targets. Make ready. Present. Fire.”
All twelve went off with the sharp bark peculiar to the Baker and all targets jerked with the impact. The reloading proceeded smoothly and all completed their six inside two minutes. Sixty-one hits were counted, out of the possible seventy-two. Kempt walked over to Carr.
“Return your men to their ranks.”
“Sir.”
The Lights and Grenadiers continued to train with their new battalions and, for a succession of days, all companies marched up into the hills and beyond. Each day saw a long sequence of exercises, marching, and musketry, until finally they could march back down to take their rest. All returned to camp soaked in perspiration and all felt the need to get clean, so that at the end of the day, the stream alongside the camp soon took on the appearance of an open air battalion bath house. This drove the women and anyone else in need, further from the camp, upstream, to obtain clean water. This included, in particular the Mulcahey family, they being high in number and all grown enough to be capable. Mary O’Keefe, Bridie Mulcahey’s youngest sister, was often despatched on the trek, high up the hill, with two buckets to fetch the necessary. It was day’s end and the evening meal needed preparation, this now being the main meal of the day, for they were on campaign, and Mary was labouring back with a full pail in each hand.
“Can I help you, Miss? I’m just going back down myself, and I can carry those if you wish.”
Mary set down the buckets and turned around to see a soldier that she had certainly noticed before, but had never come near. Joe Pike, wearing no tunic, just his shirt, had finished cleaning himself, and was just fitting his haversack around his shoulders as he left the stream in its little valley to come up to the path that ran back down to camp. Mary’s green eyes widened to their fullest extent and the sideways tilt of her head matched her coquettish smile, but all this was lost on Joe. He was waiting for an answer. It came.
“Why, yes, kind Sir. I’m sure I’ll be fully obliged for your help.”
Joe walked forward to the buckets, but Mary did not step back. Joe had to awkwardly reach around her and, as he straightened up, his eyes looked full into hers, and she didn’t look away. Confusion flooded his mind. He was looking at her for the first time, and he couldn’t look away either, not for a long count to five, at least. She broke the moment.
“The water. They’ll be needing it.”
“Yes, right. As you say.”
Off they went down the hill, part of the procession of cleaned up soldiers. Joe could not bring himself to look at her again, all the way back down, but she, on the other hand, was making a thorough appraisal of him. Tall, well muscled, good looks by any standard and carrying the heavy buckets as though they were empty. He was obviously kind, but equally obviously, painfully ill at ease, spending most of the journey studying the ground.
“My name’s Mary. Mary O’Keefe. I’m with Pat Mulcahey’s family. He’s a been made up to a Corporal. Do you know him?”
“Yes, sort of. He’s friends with some that I know. My name’s Joe. Joe Pike. I’m with the Lights. He must be in another Company. I’ve not seen him for some while now.”
“He’s in Number Three. Captain Heaviside.”
“Him I do know.”
In thus halting fashion the conversation continued until the Mulcahey encampment was reached and Joe set down the buckets. Bridie Mulcahey, Pat and the children were all around the fire. Mary made the introduction.
“This is Joe. Pike. He’s helped me with the water.”
Pat Mulcahey looked up.
“Joe, yes. The last time I saw you was in a Taunton pub. And some shenanigans.”
Joe smiled but said nothing. However, Bridie could see all the signs in her sister’s face as she stood regarding Joe, who was looking anywhere but at her. Bridie elbowed Pat in the ribs.
“Now sure, after a kindness such as that shouldn’t we be inviting young Joe here to sup with us tonight? Yes, is how I’m thinking”
Pat Mulcahey looked at his wife in confusion. Food was scarce enough without adding guests.
“Yes, that’s fine, if he brings over his ration, then sure, he’s welcome to eat with us. I’m thinkin’ that’s the right of it.”
His wife elbowed him again.
“Sure, isn’t it the old skinflint that y’are. Things aren’t that bad that a guest has to bring his own makings over to our fire to get fed.”
Joe at last spoke up.
“You’re all very kind.” At last he managed a glance at Mary. “I’d very much like to eat supper with you, and Mr Mulcahey is right. I will bring my ration and add it to yours. Pleased to. I think that in the Lights we get a bit extra.”
Bridie replied, after a black look at her husband, who was still rubbing his ribs.
“Well, that’s very kind of you. And you’re very welcome. If you fetch it now, I’ll add it to our pot.”
Joe nodded and managed a smile all round, but was again thrown by the knowing grins he received in return from the Mulcahey children. He beat a hasty retreat back to Miles and Davey, who were both preparing their rations prior to cooking.
“I’m eating with the Mulcahey’s this evening. They’ve invited me over. I need to take over my ration.”
Miles looked up frowning.
“And what brought this on?”
“I carried Mary O’Keefe’s water buckets back for her.”
Davey looked up.
“Oh yes, and what happened from that?”
“She’s got green eyes, dark hair, and soft brown skin.”
“Green eyes, dark hair, and soft brown skin! Well, that tells us all we need to know. Give him his portion, Tom, he’s lost to us.”
Joe emptied hi
s haversack of his washing items and held it open for the dried peas and potatoes. He opened his clasp knife and hacked off his portion of the salt pork and returned in thus ungainly posture to the family estate of the Mulcaheys. The ration was handed over and immediately added to the family pots. Joe remained standing, as awkward as a Parson at a pagan wedding, until Mary moved over where she was sitting, although there was already plenty of room, and patted the ground next to her.
“Sit down, Joe.”
Joe obeyed and soon became the object of gentle questioning that revealed his story up to his joining the Army. The food came and Joe found it most palatable. Mrs Mulcahey, well experienced with Army rations, had found some herbs to add to the flavour and a little flour gave each a dumpling on top of their portion. With the meal ended, Joe sat with Pat Mulcahey in the midst of the family, Pat contenting himself with his evening smoke, whilst the children chattered around him, and Joe and himself talked farming and carpentry. With the pots washed, Bridie pronounced that more water was needed, which confused Pat who could see that there was still plenty, and Joe and Mary took themselves back up to the stream in the last light of the day, the full orange sun now low on the horizon. After a while both returned, Joe with full buckets, Mary with a chain of small blue flowers circling around her hairline. Joe had remembered how he had made similar for his younger sister. All had then said good night, whilst Mary’s waving good-bye had set off giggling amongst the Mulcahey children, a sound soon silenced by Pat himself.
“Hush now, the lot of you, and keep your impish selves under those blankets.”
Joe returned to Miles and Davey, thoughts so far away he would have walked past their fire, had Davey not shouted to him.
“He’s returned, love’s lost dream. And how was the meal at the Mulcahey’s.”
“It was nice, very tasty, she put something extra in it, herbs I think, and we each had a dumpling.”
Tom Miles natural character immediately rose to the surface.
“So you’re sayin’ it were a lot better than you’d have got back here?”
John Davey sprung to Joe’s defence.
“Now, just how much of a surprise is it, that Bridie Mulcahey is a better cook than you?”
Tom Miles gave Davey a sideways scowl but said no more. Joe slumped down and stared at the fire.
“Green eyes, dark hair, and soft brown skin.”
Joe Davey looked sideways at him and grinned.
“That’s right, lad. Now you’d best turn in. You’ve another day in the hills tomorrow. Could be our last, I think.”
It was. The next day was the 23rd and orders came around that they were to embark at dawn of the 25th, sooner than all thought, so that day was their last day of exercise. Come the evening meal, Joe ate with his two messmates, but, with no surprise to them, the meal finished, he wandered over to the Mulcahey family and soon he and Mary could be seen together talking, sat a little way off from the family. The 24th was final inspection day and all gave their equipment a final check. As the whole battalion sat on the dry grass in the warm sunshine, Mary came over to help Joe make his check. Joe made the introductions and John Davey bid her welcome. Tom Miles said nothing and so Davey did the talking for him.
“This be Tom Miles.”
Miles looked up from biting through a button thread.
“He doesn’t say much, but generally what he does say is worth listening to, and the rest you takes no notice of. It’s not hard to tell the difference.”
Miles at last spoke.
“And is it my fault that you’ve caught me with a mouth full of cotton! I’m pleased to meet you, Mary. We were just making some tea, if you’d like some.”
With the last he gave a challenging nod in the direction of John Davey. Mary smiled and Tom returned his best rictus grin. Davey explained.
“Take that as a greeting. The best we’ve seen for many a long week.”
Mary grinned. “I’ll make the tea, if you like.”
All nodded and Mary began. When all had a mug of the good brew, she took up Joe’s tunic and checked the buttons. One did not gain approval and she set about a repair.
The afternoon saw assembly by companies and the two Sergeants of the Light Company made a pre-inspection before the Officers. Ellis thoroughly checked Miles’ musket and, although it was perfect right up to the new flint, Ellis gave Miles a black look the equal of the one he was receiving, and the animosity from Miles intensified when Ellis had the audacity to check the cleanliness of the touch hole in the priming pan. For an hour knapsacks and all else were pulled, tugged and tested, musket slings and shoe soles also not being allowed to escape. The Lights all passed inspection.
They were to march down through Milazzo an hour before daybreak on the next day and so that evening was spent with friends and family, and sweethearts, as in the case of Joe and Mary, for they could be seen in their usual place, just off from the Mulcaheys. Just as there had been a parting back in England, this now was the parting for the families that had been allowed to follow their menfolk. The soldier in each of the families Mulcaheys, the Hills and the Nicholls, sat long into the night, holding their wives and looking at their children. Reveille sounded whilst all was still dark, but not in any way chill, and the men filed out from their family areas to form up in their companies. In the poor light of the re-kindled campfires farewells were made, and in just such a yellow glow Joe and Mary stood facing each other holding hands, but saying nothing. When the last call for assembly was given, Mary placed her right hand on Joe’s chest.
“Come back safe.”
Joe smiled down at her, even through the dark, then he turned and ran to his company. A Corporal showed his displeasure.
“Where’ve you been, Pike?”
Tom Miles answered.
“Leave him be, Corporal. He had more of a good bye to say than most.”
Orders rang out and the battalion marched out onto the dusty road and entered Milazzo.
oOo
General Stuart himself was observing the embarkation. He sat his horse, accompanied by his Staff, just off the road where it entered the port. He saw the 5th approaching and studied their passing. Grudgingly, he had to say to himself that he liked what he saw. All in step, each man well turned out and with the bearing of one who is fit and capable. He followed the 5th into the town and approached Colonel Lacey.
“Lacey. It seems your men are up together. First impressions are good, but will they fight as well as they look?”
“I have no reason to think otherwise, Sir.”
Stuart nodded.
“I hope your confidence is justified. Now, Willoughby here has your embarkation orders. I’ll see you on the other side. Good luck, Lacey.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Willoughby handed over the orders and rode off.
The orders showed that they were using their old transports, which were waiting for them at the quayside, amongst many others. The Lights were to be in the Tansy, the Grenadiers in the Llewellyn, the remaining eight companies and their supplies in the Bidewell. The 5th assembled on the quayside. Carr, Drake and Rushby came up to Lacey and O’Hare. Carr spoke.
“Permission to take the Light Company off to our transport, Sir?”
Lacey made no direct reply, neither did O’Hare. Lacey merely offered his hand.
“Good luck, Carr.”
“Thank you. Sir.”
O’Hare made the same to all three, and perfect salutes were exchanged. Whilst the Lights marched on, Lacey led his men onto the familiar deck and took himself down to the equally familiar cabin, accompanied by Major O’Hare. There he found the Senior Officers of the Brigade assembled and all toasted the success of their forthcoming venture. All settled aboard their ships, but from there nothing happened. An unseasonal Gregale was blowing steady from the North East making any exit of the harbour very difficult. Aboard the Tansy, Kempt used the idle time to consult with his Officers, that being Captains and above. Carr found himself looking at
a large, hand drawn map spread on the cabin table.
“In case you haven’t met him, this is Major Greelish, my Senior Major.”
The Major stepped forward. His most striking feature was a large blond moustache, then one would note blond hair of the same shade, then the narrow pale blue eyes, but Greelish had the powerful frame of a cavalryman.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gentlemen.”
He shook hands with those nearest and nodded a greeting to those more distant. Kempt continued.
“This is the Bay of St Euphemia, on the Calabrian coast. We land here, at the Northern end, close to the village that names the bay. The landmark is a squat tower just off the beach. The advance party will be two companies of us Lights, a company of Grenadiers and the whole of the 78th, all under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Oswald. Carr, Moresby, I’ve volunteered your companies.”
Kempt looked steadily at both, enough to gain their clear understanding.
“Once there, intelligence says that Regnier is some way off, but the army will advance from our landing in column along the beach, our Battalion leading. That will give order of deployment, making the whole army ready for any battle, but minus the 20th. They have been despatched in small ships further down the coast to demonstrate at various points and distract the French. With a good wind Stuart hopes they will rejoin in time to take part in the likely engagement.”
Kempt leant further over the map, using it to illustrate his explanation.
“Now, this is our understanding of the ground beyond the bay. As you can see, inland looks like a wide saucer of lowland, perfect to allow us to position ourselves to the South, and then advance inland in formation. Carr, when we march along the beach, I want yours in the lead. When it comes to it, your company will form our right flank, where your Baker rifles may come in useful. That’s the best I can say until we know more about the enemy’s dispositions. Now, back to your men, and see they’re settled in.”
All day the ships sat at the quayside and inside the men cooked in the Sicilian heat. The transports were crowded to the maximum with stores and supplies, besides men, some also with horses and artillery. Sat in the enclosed harbour, the opening of ports and hatches did nothing and come the afternoon, men were going down with heatstroke. Stuart gave his orders. Come dawn they would get out to sea, whatever the circumstances. The devilish Gregale still held and so all were towed out, just far enough for sails to be set and the fleet to sail North of North-West, thus gaining enough sea room to tack and sail close hauled on their desired Easterly course. After two slow days, they were joined by a small fleet that had embarked at Faro and, escorted by HMS Apollo, HMS Endymion and the brave Ipheion, they held their course for the Bay of St Euphemia.
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 34
