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

by Martin McDowell

  Deakin, Stiles and Peters, sat on a wall and played with the children, giving of their rations and showing them how the firelock on their muskets worked, making a fascinating spark. Stiles did more looking around than the others. He and Peters were friends of long standing.

  “B’ain’t no young girls around here.”

  “What’s that to an ugly bugger like you?”

  “Well, I’m just sayin’. I suppose they keeps ‘em locked up.”

  “Up in the hills more like, in some cave. Stashed ‘em up there as soon as they knew the Frenchers was comin’. Can’t say as I blame ‘em, if half of this lot is true.”

  The army finally passed through, and it did not go unnoticed that the wagons for the sick and wounded halted at the Church and the patients were taken in. Deakin went over to ask if he could visit but he was turned away. However, what did come next into the town was a cheering sight. Their Light Company, led by Captain Carr and Lieutenant Drake, at last had caught up, all weary and dusty and grateful for the place of rest. All made straight for the horse trough and soon the village pump was earning its place in the town’s list of expenditures. Miles, Pike and Davey came straight over to Deakin and the rest, removed their kit and prepared for a clean up themselves. Deakin was the first to speak.

  “How goes it, boys? Not too many a long mile? Did you find the French?”

  Miles replied.

  “More like the French found us, after our new Officer gave ‘em the wink with a whole campful of fires.”

  “Which Officer.”

  “Oh, some Major they landed us with. He took off when the French came on. We lost some men and picked up wounded. Lieutenant Rushby for one. Where’s Toby?”

  “Sick. Swamp fever, and he b’ain’t alone. They’m in yon Church. Lieutenant D’Villiers too. Anyhow, here’s your bottle. Nothin’ like a forced march to work up a thirst and put an edge on your appetite.”

  Miles forced down the cork and drank, before handing the bottle to Davey, who, with Pike, had collapsed in the shade of the wall. Miles, ever curious, looked around.

  “What’s happening over there? Some kind of village meeting?”

  “No. A trial. Seems the French have been a bit too handy with the rope and their muskets. Them’s fresh graves up there.”

  Miles looked, then turned back.

  “Ah, we saw some of that, the worst of that. Place called Catanzarro, an’ I never wants to see the like again. Bastard French cavalry, probably the ones we had to fight off. An’ this lot have been up to the same game. “'Tis some army we’n fightin’. They thinks no more of killin’ a civilian than they does of squashing a bed bug. I’ve got no time, no time at all.”

  At that moment the crowd at the Town Hall parted and the noise rose to a crescendo of taunts and abuse as the six were led out, all tethered as prisoners, a halter from the neck of one, back to the bound wrists of the one behind. The Commandante was last, followed by the three Trial Judges. The six were marched to the corner of the square that contained the execution wall, where they stood in abject misery, some sobbing. They knew what this corner meant. Soldiers of the 5th were much in evidence at the sides, keeping the townspeople away, so it was probably true that the taunts and jeers of the townspeople did not add substantially to their misery, but it added to the glee of the townspeople.

  Lacey looked along to Kempt and Cole, all stood on the steps of the Town Hall.

  “There should be a Priest, Sir.”

  Kempt looked black, but acquiesced.

  “There’s the church, see if he’s home. Send the interpreter.”

  Minutes passed before the interpreter returned.

  “He says he won’t do it, Sir. They killed of his flock. They are beyond Christ.”

  Kempt’s look turned even blacker.

  “What about your Chaplain? Lacey.”

  “We haven’t got one, Sir. We’re Provisional.”

  “Well, what, for the Love of God, can be done?”

  “We have a storeman who used to be a Parson, before he was defrocked, then sentenced to time in the army.”

  “Well, damn well get him, get some of your men for a firing squad, and let’s get this business done.”

  Lacey saluted and walked forward to his nearest Officer and told him to fetch Sedgwicke from the wagons. The Officer did as he was ordered and soon emerged with a dusty and bemused ex-Parson Sedgwicke, not at all looking the part, but he placed himself before Lacey and saluted.

  “Sir?”

  “Sedgwicke, isn’t it?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Right. Six French prisoners have been convicted of murder. They have killed some of these townspeople. They are going to be executed. We have no Priest because the local man has refused. I want you to make some kind of a show. Do you have a Bible?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Get it. This must be done quickly, for everyone’s sake.”

  “But Sir, they’re probably Catholics.”

  “I don’t care if they’re Mohammedans. We are a civilised army and we do this properly. If it needs to be in Latin, then that’s what I expect. Now get your Bible.”

  Sedgwicke did an immediate about turn, went off to his wagon and returned, lips still silently mumbling what he thought was the required phrase, finally to come to attention before Lacey,.

  “Right. Get yourself to the water pump there and wait.”

  Lacey walked on to find Heaviside, leaving Sedgwicke trailing in his wake, him bemused and becoming more than horrified with the growing thought of what he was about to be part of.

  “Jacob.”

  Heaviside was taken aback by the use of his Christian name.

  “We need a firing squad. Find some good steady men, but they must be volunteers. We can’t order a man to kill anyone in cold blood, that’s not who we are. It’ll be done as three, then three, so ideally we need nine men. Private Sedgwicke will do the absolution. He used to be a Parson; best we can do. Go now, see what can be managed.”

  Heaviside saluted and took himself first to the men of his own Company, starting with Deakin, Stiles, and Peters. As he approached, the men got to their feet.

  “Men. The six French have been found guilty of murdering a number of these people and they are going to be shot immediately. I need volunteers to form the firing party. Can I have some volunteers?”

  Deakin and his companions stood uncertain, but Miles had heard all.

  “I’ll volunteer, Sir, and all you have to do is go to the Light Company. We’ve just come back from a village where every living thing was shot and butchered; by French cavalry, we think, Sir. Day ‘fore yesterday it were, and it’s still strong to mind in us all. I’ll step up, Sir.”

  Miles looked at Pike and Davey.

  “What about you two?”

  Davey spoke first.

  “Not me, Tom. I’ll not volunteer for cold blooded shooting. Can’t bring myself.”

  Joe Pike looked down, then looked up, at Miles then Heaviside. He nodded his head.

  “Yes Sir. You can include me.”

  Heaviside said nothing, but then did as he was advised. The Light Company was a little way off and he went first to Carr and Drake, leaning against a shady wall, drinking water and eating biscuits.

  “Carr. Drake. Pleased to see your safe return.”

  Through full mouths both gave their thanks as Heaviside continued.

  “I’m asking your permission to call for volunteers from amongst your Company. We need a firing party to execute six Frenchmen who have been found guilty of murdering civilians from here. Miles and Pike have volunteered. They mentioned some unsavoury work that you witnessed a day or two back. Do I have your permission?”

  Carr gave the reply.

  “You have my permission, Captain Heaviside. We saw it too and, were I a ranker, I would volunteer. Ask away, they are over there. And if you want an Officer to conduct the thing, then look no further than me!”

  Drake looked disturbed at Carr’s blun
t eagerness to be involved in what most took to be a very unpleasant task, but he was more surprised at the response when Heaviside went and asked the men. Before he had finished speaking he had 22 men. He selected 16 to add to Miles and Pike and thanked all the men for making his task so easy. Uniquely, he did not finish with a Bible quote. Heaviside returned to Carr and Drake. Before he was close enough to speak, Drake straightened up. His heavy expression and tone made it clear that he wanted no part. He used a good excuse to take himself away.

  “I’m going to check on Rushby. They’ve taken him into that church.”

  Heaviside came up to Carr.

  “Captain Carr. If you would? Private Sedgwicke there, will act as a Priest.”

  Carr levered himself off the wall and went to his men.

  “Volunteers for the firing party, form up, two ranks. Ellis, Fearnley, to me.”

  The ranks were formed and Miles and Pike took their place within.

  “Ellis, Fearnley, take Sedgwicke with you and stand up the first three.”

  “What about blindfolds, Sir?”

  Carr spat back the reply with some force, surprising both Sergeants.

  “Take off their jackets and rip them apart. That’s how. These don’t deserve to die like soldiers!”

  Carr turned to the two ranks.

  “First nine, follow me. Load when you get there.”

  Carr heard the sounds that accompanied the selection of the first three, a choke and a wailing cry from one of the prisoners or perhaps two, loud cheers and cries of approval from the crowd. Carr arrived just as the three were positioned and their jackets removed, Ellis and Fearnley ripping out blue cloth as needed. Carr arranged his men and walked along the rank, giving each soldier his target. Meanwhile Sedgwicke passed along to each prisoner, offering his Bible to each face to be kissed before the blindfold came. To each he mumbled what he thought to be the correct Latin.

  “Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

  Each prisoner crossed himself at the end of the words, awkwardly, with bound hands. The crowd was silent. Sedgwicke took himself off and well to the side. Carr took his cue.

  “Make ready. Present.”

  Joe Pike leveled his musket at the opening of his target’s shirt, the centre of a chest now heaving with fear. The memory of Catanzarro came livid into his mind.

  “Fire.”

  The muskets erupted and the smoke and echo swirled around the square. The three had been blasted back against the wall, their blood both splattered and smeared down the plaster as the balls passed through them and their bodies slid down to slump at the base. The crowd remained eerily silent.

  “Order arms. Sling arms.”

  The squad swung their muskets behind them, the slings over their shoulders. Carr checked each prone and bloody figure. All were very dead.

  “Get these bodies over to the Church steps, away from this crowd. Sergeants, the next three.”

  He took himself to the remaining nine of the Light Company and brought them over, again allocating targets as the three condemned arrived, but this time, the three contained the Commandante and the abuse and gestures rose and continued with heavy vehemence. The two soldiers arrived and stood, but the Commandante slumped to his knees and even rolled over. Ellis and Fearnley hauled him up, but he collapsed again. Carr knew his French was poor, but his anger spilled over, sickened at this man who happily butchered others, but didn’t have it in him to stand and meet his fate with the same backbone as that of his own soldiers. He strode forward to stand above him.

  “Est ce que je dois attacher vous a’ une chaise?”

  There was no reply, nor change, he remained slumped forward, cheek against the dirt and sand.

  “Ellis. Get into this building and get a chair for this bastard. And a rope.”

  Ellis entered through the door and a minute passed, then two. The abuse of the Commandante continued unabated and increased, if anything, as Ellis appeared with a rickety chair and some rope. The sobs and cries grew louder as the prostrate Officer was hauled up again and lashed to the chair; throat to the back rail, hands and feet to the legs before and behind. Carr nodded to Sedgwicke, who looked green and pale, and then to Fearnley, who had used the time to prepare more blindfolds.

  Sedgwicke repeated his first performance. From the soldiers came the required response, the kiss of the Bible and the genuflection, but from the Commandante came nothing. Sedgwicke again hurried to the side as Fearnley tied the last blindfold.

  “Make ready. Present.”

  He made a pause, which was filled with a last anguished cry from the Commandante.

  “Fire.”

  Again the crash of the muskets echoed around the square and the result was the same on the two standing but with the seated Commandate the chair was blown over backwards and his head hit the wall, breaking his neck. A sound something like a groan came from within his body, to be terminated by a gout of blood that erupted from his mouth and nose.

  “Order arms. Sling arms,” but the order was lost in the cheering and shouting.

  Carr again made a check, then turned to the squad.

  “Get these bodies over with the other three.”

  Carr followed his men as they carried the shattered bodies across to the Church. He peeled away to go to Colonel Lacey.

  “Have you any further orders for me, Sir?”

  “No Carr. That was satisfactorily carried out. And welcome back. I understand that things got a little rough on your scouting mission for General Stuart.”

  “Yes, Sir. Rough is an understatement. On another subject, Sir, I don’t know if you recall the first conversation we had about what can happen in a rebellion. Well, I take that back, Sir, what I saw was worse, far worse. So, if there’s nothing further, Sir.”

  “No, Carr, nothing, but please ask Captain Heaviside to report to me again.”

  Carr went straight to Heaviside who immediately came to Lacey.

  “I want you to bury those men, Heaviside, but wait until dark, which won’t be too long. I want the graves hidden, you do whatever is necessary, you understand? I have too strong a suspicion that these townspeople will dig them back up and do something appalling. Do your best to hide the graves. I think that right.”

  Heaviside saluted and ordered his men to carry the bodies into a house on the square, where they were wrapped in sheets that were found inside They waited until the dead of night. Scouts were sent out to detect any locals that may be near and the bodies were carried out the back door. An abandoned stable was found and pickets set up to keep anyone away. The rank straw was cleared, then respread, as a ruse. The bodies were interred in a ploughed field behind and the surplus soil scattered. All returned through the deep darkness for a few hours sleep before the march out at dawn. But, come the day, as they took the road South to catch up with the rest of the army all six bodies were hanging from a tree, their clothes filthy from the attempted burial and their faces badly mutilated.

  oOo

  Chapter Eleven

  Scilla

  Those able to make comparisons would conclude that Scilla was misplaced, a bad throw by one of the higher Greek Gods, who, when engaged upon creating the world, aimed an earthly segment at the coast of Greece, but missed and hit the toe of Italy. In peaceful times Scilla would be regarded as favoured beyond fairness. It had an appearance more classically Aegean, visitors left with memories of the town being bathed always in clear yellow sunlight that reflected continuously from the gentle waves of the surrounding azure sea and holding to a history that some say went back to the Illiad, and even beyond that, to the realms of mythology. If so, then mythology had come again, only this time out of Pandora’s box; violence between nations, the protagonists being the new power of Republican France, and the old of Britain and her allies. Fate had decreed that this small jewel of a harbour town was to be a scene of violence and occupation that would stretch out for almost two years.

  The arrival
of the 5th Provisionals at Scilla found the place swamped in the business of siege, the object being the ancient and much adapted castle perched on a dramatic promontory that projected from the harbour out into the Straits of Messina. The battlements were topped by the tricolour of France, but such was the setting that only the red and white stood out from the background of the clean sky blue that was reflected off the Straits, a view further enhanced by the addition of the Lipari Islands rising just above the far horizon.

  Upon enquiry Lacey had been directed to the British camp the other side of the town and this required a march through streets devoid of civilian life. What life there was being provided solely by lines of British soldiers labouring with heavy materials through the narrow alleyways up to the vantage points that gave purchase to the siege against the castle; heavy timber and two handed baskets full of earth and sand. From the depths of the town the 5th began their climb and, with height, the panorama revealed itself, the drama and strength of the castle, derived from both its position and its structure, and the picturesque shape of the town, crouched behind its defender, and sending feelers out either side around the sheltered beaches.

  The siege had not yet started, there was no noise of gunfire and as they climbed, the men of the 5th turned from time to time to see what their newly gained height had revealed, but all that could be seen of the forthcoming siege was a battery revetment erected behind and above a row of houses, the steep slope allowing a sight of the castle walls, but the earthwork as yet contained no artillery. The other regiments, arriving earlier, had taken the immediate slopes for themselves and so the 5th were forced to climb higher than any other battalion, but, once reached, their view was perfect of the town, the harbour, the beaches, the sparkling sea and the castle. On their chosen ground the 5th settled in. The men had no tents, but in that sunshine, with that view, none felt the need. With the advent of the siege, orders were that the Light and Grenadier battalions were to be reformed and so those two Companies peeled off to where those of the same ilk were camped, but, as chance would have it, they remained near neighbours to their comrades of the 5th.