“Good luck, Smart. To you and the 35th.”
“You too, Carr. If you ever wish to transfer into us, you can count on a good word from me.”
Carr grinned.
“Yes, perhaps. One is ever unaware of what our Lords and Masters have in mind for us, especially in a battalion of detachments. But, whatever, I wish you good fortune.”
Each turned and parted. Smart disappeared around a corner as Carr placed his shako on his head. It reached over his eyes, it was the wrong one. Too big. He re-entered the door and went quickly to the table to select his own, where he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Major Greelish, who viewed him with a look of both dislike and disapproval.
“Sir. It seems I’ve walked off with the wrong shako. I took this one. It’s much too big. I do hope that it isn’t yours? Sir?”
Greelish took the shako and quickly gave judgement.
“No, Carr. It isn’t.”
“Well. I’ll just put it back then, and take my own.”
Carr reached to the back and correctly found his own battered affair.
“Good night then, Sir. It has been a pleasant evening.”
There was no reply. If there was a stony look in his direction, he didn’t see it. He was off out the door, grinning from ear to ear.
oOo
The following day proved Kempt’s inside information to be correct. Transports began to arrive at the ancient mole, both sides, inside and out, and the army began to embark, battalion by battalion, with all their attendant paraphernalia following the men into the ships for the short journey to Messina. The ships were sailing in relays, there were not enough for the whole army but the whole operation was helped by a stiff South Westerly that gave a helpful beam wind for both journeys, laden out, empty for the return. The 5th Provisionals were to be the last and, as they shuffled down the hillside, the last in the queue, they were allowed to take their ease and watch developments. The sight of the whole army gradually distilling itself towards the small harbour carried it’s own message that they would be on that ground for the hours of daylight, at least.
Deakin, Davey, Pike, Miles, Stiles and Peters sat in their usual argumentative group. Ezekiel Saunders seemed to have also attached himself to their company. No one seemed to mind.
“Zeke, how come you b’ain’t a Grenadier?”
“Too intelligent!”
All laughed, save one. Their attention was on Joe Pike, displaying a wholly morose figure sat on the ground, head down, musket leant back over his right shoulder. Miles could not resist the need to comment.
“What be you so down in the dumps for? B’ain’t we goin’ back over to Sicily there? That, at least, be a better camp than what we’ve got to put up with ‘ere. More water for a start.”
Pike made no reply, but Deakin spoke up.
“Leave him be. Whatever ‘tis, it’s his dumps and he wants to be in ‘em. Can’t see as it’s doin’ you no harm.”
“Well, seems to me we got cause to be cheerful. Not sat there like a Vicar on a Sunday with no one come to Church. What ails thee, boy?”
Joe looked up. He did look miserable.
“We’re going back over and I’ve got nothing to take back for my Mary. I saw lots of good things on sale in the market place, but I’ve no money to buy anything.”
Peters guffawed,
“You b’ain’t alone in that Joe. Ain’t none of us got no coin, and we all knows that pay don’t come regular on campaign in the British Army.”
Unusually for him, Miles spoke in a more sympathetic tone.
“What did you see there, then? Was there anything special, like?”
“Well, there was the usual, I suppose, bracelets and scarves; stuff like that. I just don’t like taking back nothing, that’s all.”
His words hit home with them all. They all well understood affection for kith and kin and all knew that Joe was hurting. It was Miles who took charge.
“Right, Joe. We’ll go and see Mr Carr and see if he’ll let us off for an hour. He’s got a sweetheart, in fact they both have, him and Drake, so I’m hopin’ that our askin’ won’t fall on deaf ears. We’ll get somethin’ for your Mary. You can pay me back come payday.”
Deakin looked up.
“And how do you expect to pay?’
“There’s other things that acts as coin besides round bits of shiny metal with some bugger’s kisser stuck on it. I think I might have just such.”
“What?”
“Never you mind.”
“Well, if you do have the wherewithal, bring back a nice feminine piece for me. I’ll pay you back soon as.”
“What do you want a girly present for?”
“Never you mind.”
Miles and Pike left their knapsacks and muskets on the ground in the charge of their messmates and took themselves over to where their three Officers were standing, idling and chatting whilst watching other battalions file past. Miles spoke up, addressing all three.
“Sirs. Beggin’ your pardon, Sirs, but me and Pike was hopin’ to nip over to the market place and make a couple of purchases, Sirs. With your permission, Sirs. It’ll take about an hour.”
Drake and Rushby made no response, it was Carr’s decision.
“Where are your knapsacks and muskets?”
“Our messmates is takin’ care of them, Sir. They won’t go astray.”
“And the nature of your errand is what?”
“Joe Pike here, Sir. He has a sweetheart that he’s goin’ back to, and he don’t have nothin’ to take her back. And Corporal Deakin wants somethin’ similar, Sir, but he won’t explain why.”
Carr grinned.
“Well, Miles. I do recall making you a promise about plunder.”
“Yes Sir, that’s right, Sir. When we was up against the Madelline. Sir.”
Carr turned to Drake.
“Well, Lieutenant? They’re both in your Section. Any objection?”
“No, Sir. None. But no more than an hour, Miles. Clear?”
Miles and Pike hurried between the nearest two buildings and the shops and market immediately came into view.
“But Tom, what’ve you got to pay with? We’ve not been paid, none of us.”
“You remember that Frencher that John said he brought down? Well, you got his boots, but I got his buttons and buckle. And I d’reckon that they’m silver.”
He reached down into his right hand jacket pocket and his hand emerged with two bright buttons.
“A couple of these should do it. But what Jed’s got in mind, I can’t imagine. Anyway, what do you think? A couple of headscarves?”
Joe brightened up considerably, his even white teeth showing clear in his tanned face.
“Sounds just fine, Tom.”
They did a circuit of the town square and fingered the wares on several stalls, to be accosted by each stallowner, who wanted to show them everything that he had displayed. Eventually they settled on one particular stall with bright cotton headscarves, all of a fine weave, and a selection of jewelry. Joe selected two scarves and Miles threw a button onto the table. The stall keeper picked it up and examined it carefully. Then he drew a knife and applied it to the button hole emerging from the back. The soft metal marked easily. However, he shook his head. Miles responded by adding the second button, but then added a brooch and a set of earings to the two scarves. Again the stallholder shook his head. Miles, unsurprisingly, immediately took umbrage.
“Listen, you chisellin’ Eyetalian skinflint. We’ve just kicked the damn Frogs out for you. If ‘twern’t for us, you wouldn’t ‘ave no market! No bloody town, even!”
Of course, the stallholder understood not one word, but the tone was unmistakable. Miles took both buttons off the table, pocketed both, and made to walk off which produced a torrent of Italian from the stallholder accompanied by furious and animated beckoning with his hands to return to the stall. He took the large brooch off the pile and replaced it with a small one. Joe spoke up.
“T
hat brooch is none too impressive, Tom. It’s not much bigger than a button.”
Miles responded by withdrawing the buckle from his pocket and simply holding it up, at the same time maintaining an enquiring look on his face. The stallkeeper removed the small broach and replaced it with the large. Miles shook his head. The stallholder looked pained, then, the expression on his face told that he had had an idea. He went off sideways to the next stall, spoke to that stallowner and threw two coins on the table. He then returned with a large sausage and larger piece of cheese. These were added to the bargain. Miles looked carefully at the new additions. Both looked wholesome. He paused a second then threw the buckle onto the table. The stallholder grabbed it and held it shining up to the sun. Meanwhile, Pike quickly stuffed the scarves and jewelry into his haversack and Miles did the same with the food.
“Get gone, boy. Quick.”
They both hurried away, dodging through the crowd, but they did not get far enough before they heard the same stallholder bellowing at the top of his voice, a word that sounded like “Arrafony”.
“Tom, what’s up? What’s wrong with him.”
“Well boy, perhaps I weren’t wholly truthful about that buckle. The buttons is silver, true enough, but I got my worries that that buckle may just be plain pewter. We’d best hunt on away now.”
Rapid walking brought them back to their camp. There had been few developments, certainly none that applied to the 5th. Their messmates were on the same patch of ground. On the way back, Joe had chosen one of the scarves, plus the earings, leaving the second scarf, the brooch and the two items of food. Miles laid all four out before Jed Deakin.
“Which do ‘ee want?”
Deakin examined all four.
“What do I want with a piece of cheese? Nor a sausage?”
“I don’t bloody know! Thee’ce b’ain’t told I nothin’ about what thee wants anythin’ for. Make your choice an’ we’ll settle on a price for payday.”
Deakin took both the scarf and the brooch.
“Three and six.”
“Done. See you next payday.”
The sausage and cheese were then divided around the group and, with fresh army biscuits they made fine fare for them all. However, Deakin insisted on a portion for Toby Halfway. All looked at him, posing the silent question.
“And if he’s no more, then we’ll pass it onto Paddy’s family.”
Nods of agreement circulated the group.
oOo
The day was dying and the 5th Provisionals had at last reached the quayside. Three large transports could be seen just offshore, hove to in the rose tinted light that still shone clear from the Westering sun. They were waiting for three more of their build to clear the mole and set sail before they could re-set their canvas and edge in to embark their own final contingent. Colonel Lacey, with Majors O’Hare and Simmonds, paraded from one end of the battalion column to the other, ostensibly checking that all was well and properly stored, but in reality that excuse had long been exhausted, now it was just for something to do and to pass time chatting to their Officers. The dice, penny whistles and flutes had long been put away, and so now all just leaned and lounged on whatever wall they found themselves alongside. The Light Company, being last, were still in the town, confined to the sights in the main street, whist the Grenadiers, the first, were up onto the mole and had the view across The Straits, with the first lights winking in Messina, as the parting sun lengthened and deepened the shadows. Etna fumed and brooded away to the South West, sending a plume of smoke in their direction that dispersed on the good Southwesterly, but nevertheless leaving a smudge on the roseate sky.
O’Hare found time to idle in the company of Carravoy, who stood eating pomegranate seeds, teased out for him by his servant and arranged for him in a china bowl. Carravoy had returned to his old confident self and there was a hint of regret within him that he had exposed so much of himself to this Irish Officer. O’Hare was his usual cheerful self and remarked on the fine view and the red glow from Etna, but, receiving only monosyllabic answers, he moved on. He himself concluded that Captain Lord Carravoy was back to normal. He passed Captain Heaviside, inevitably reading his Bible, therefore beyond idle conversation. Once more, amongst several occasions on that day, he reached the supply wagons but this time saw Sedgwicke and Sergeant Pearson. He recognized Sedgwicke from the “figgy duff” incident and was pleased to return their salute and stop.
“Sedgwicke, isn’t it, and Sergeant Pearson.”
“Yes Sir”, in unison.
“I’ve not had the chance, not many idle moments have there been, but well done to you both for bringing up the ammunition during the battle just gone. Well done, well done to you both.”
“Thank you, Sir,” also in unison. O’Hare moved away.
Sedgwicke looked at Pearson. They had little in common, but they had learnt to work together and that, at least, had built a form of relationship, but it was Sedgwicke who was possessed of enough intelligence to think of something to say that could start any kind of conversation.
“Well, now we depart, Sergeant. One good thing, a great deal of stores have now been used up. Less work for us, I think.”
Pearson didn’t turn his head. He continued to gaze back over the low hills behind the town, now empty.
“They’ll find something for us, don’t you worry. And them Frenchers b’ain’t gone. This is just first off, there’s more to come, you mark my words.”
Sedgwicke held his peace and turned away. He saw no need for misery with embarkation now so near, away from danger and back to comfort.
O’Hare passed on, but the supply wagons were the end of the column, so he turned back to retrace his steps. In a short while he saw the three transports that were holding them up ease away from the quayside, their timbers now almost pink in the growing sunset. He passed each Company again.
“Not long now, boys, and you’re off terra firma, at least for a short while, then a bit of a rest, perhaps a bit of sport, or entertainment who knows?”
Nods and smiles came in return. Lacey was respected, but O’Hare was genuinely popular, the Officer who had stood with them throughout the battle and then led them forward at its close. From practice made perfect throughout the day the last three transports were warped in and the men filed aboard, maintaining single file as they entered the companionways that led to the lower decks where they would spend the short journey, following the lanterns down and through. Having found their place all sat, lounged, or slept despite the sounds of the sailors winching their supply wagons onto the waiting decks. Soon the deck beneath them took on life as they swung away seaward and the ship heeled to the quartering wind and lifted and dipped in the gentle swell. Some had the pleasure of the open deck, but this gave little to see. The night had won and the coast of Sicily was now but a dark shadow, with only the cluster of lights that marked Messina to show that there was, indeed, human life in front of their bows, either side of the lifting bowsprit that defined their direction. Messina was reached in the early hours of the morning and huge fire beacons burning within the harbour gave safe passage up to the quayside. In the dark, no buildings could be seen as familiar, but what was familiar was the reek, from both the quayside and the black water trapped beneath them. It seemed that what had greeted them weeks before was still rotting and had been joined by a ton or so of additional noisome substances.
Orders came to file off the ship and march straight up and out to the fields beyond, there to parade for a roll call and there spend the rest of the night. Each man, burdened with his kit, filed down the gangplank and followed the man in front off the quay and into the main street. Shapes that looked vaguely human lay bundled in the corners and spaces between the many crates and barrels as they proceeded up the gentle slope. The light of burning torches lit their way, but these were few and far between and mostly they could do little more than follow the man in front. Deakin, Stiles and Peters, members of Number Three Company were in the upper half of the na
rrow column. They entered the light of a burning torch where Deakin saw what he had been dreading. The Mulcahey family must have been waiting all day and now into the night and they now stood anxiously examining each face as it passed, Bridie with the four children, and Mary O’Keefe, Bridie’s sister. They saw him and ran forward.
“Jed, Jed. Where’s Pat? Is he behind you? Is he all right?”
Deakin couldn’t speak, he couldn’t find the words, but his silence told everything. Even in the poor light he could see Bridie’s face change and the grief do its work.
“He’s dead, Bridie, he went in the battle. I’m so sorry. We all are. We didn’t know he was gone. It must have been quick, that’s the best I can say.”
Bridie had collapsed against him and the children were leaning against her, crying with their own anxiety at their Mother’s distress. Deakin placed his arms around her and gave what comfort he could. Mary came and laid a hand on his upper arm.
“Jed, what of Joe? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine, Mary, just fine. He’ll be up shortly; he’s back there, with the Lights. You won’t have long to wait.”
Mary ran down to the next burning torch and stood anxiously, hands holding the grey pinafore up to her chin. Captain Heaviside came up alongside the last of his Company and immediately saw that one of his men had fallen out.
“Corporal. What’s this, what’s going on?”
Deakin released himself from the sorrowing figure of Bridie and stood to attention.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, but this is the family of Corporal Mulcahey. I’ve just told them, Sir, about Pat, Corporal Mulcahey that is. Permission to fall out, Sir?”
“Granted, but I expect you there at Roll Call.”
Deakin placed his hands on Bridie’s shoulders. Her forehead fell against his chest, her sobs somehow made more heartrending by the half-light.
“Come on now, Bridie. There’s no gain in standing here. Best to follow on up to the camp and get these children settled.”
Bridie stood upright and Deakin picked up the two smallest and started up the dark road, to follow the continuous double file of troops. It wasn’t long before they were caught up by the Light Company, with Mary alongside Joe, hugging his arm as though the safety of, not just herself, but the entire world depended on it. The others were closeby. Deakin spoke, naming no names, but it was clear who he was talking to.
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 48
