Campfires were coaxed back into life. They cast an eerie light on the faces of the men as they packed up the last of their equipment, so that they resembled nothing so much as fairy-tale creatures summoned from the bowels of the earth.
‘Leave your haversacks behind.’ Jack gave the first of the day’s orders. He spoke quietly, moving through the men as they prepared to assemble.
‘Why do we have to do that now, sir?’ An Irish voice asked the question. It was too dark for Jack to identify who it was.
‘You don’t want to carry them into battle.’
‘And have someone pinch our stuff?’
‘They’ll be here when you get back.’
‘When we get back, he says. Well, that’s reassuring now, isn’t it, fellas? I just hope that we gets to come back and find some damn maggot has pinched our stuff.’
‘Be quiet, O’Dowd.’ Jack finally recognised the voice. He had no time for the Irishman’s mithering that morning. He had enough on his mind.
The night spent with Rose had complicated things. He had been alone for so long that he was not sure he could remember how to think of another. And he would go into battle hoping to see her again.
He felt anger then. He had not asked for his. He had no need for anyone in his life, the years spent alone the preparation he had needed to become the soldier he had always longed to be. Now he wanted to see her again, and that made him weak. It made him afraid. He finally had a future. The fear of losing it was more than he could bear.
‘Get your bloody kit together and form up,’ he growled at O’Dowd, who was busy ramming the last of his equipment into his haversack. The man was not alone. Half the company was fumbling in the darkness. Malloy had emptied the contents of his haversack onto the ground in front of him and was now searching frantically through the mess.
‘I can’t find my fecking cap pouch,’ he muttered.
‘For God’s sake.’ Jack crouched down. It was nearly impossible to see. He ran his hand around until it closed on the familiar shape. ‘Here.’ He thrust it into Malloy’s chest. ‘Now get your shit together.’
He rose to his feet. The company was struggling to be ready. The men were tired, their fears denying them sleep before the early reveille. Now the darkness was hampering their efforts to gather their equipment. It was an inauspicious start to the day.
‘Jack, is that you?’
‘Of course it’s bloody me.’ Jack recognised Robert’s silhouette easily enough. ‘Are you ready?’
The young lieutenant nodded.
Jack stepped closer and looked him up and down. ‘You don’t think you need your sword today then?’
‘What’s that?’ Robert’s right hand reached across his body, his fingers feeling for a blade that wasn’t there. ‘Confound it.’ There was no need to say anything else, and he turned on his heel and stomped off to find the missing weapon.
Jack shook his head in exasperation. Officers were supposed to set an example. He reached down and patted the hilt of his own sword, just to make sure.
‘Come on! Get yourselves together. This is the damn army, not a bloody Sunday school outing.’ He strode back into the confusion. He would get the company ready even if he had to dress and arm each man himself.
‘I wonder if this is what happens when you fight on the Sabbath,’ mused Robert. He was standing with Jack near one of the last campfires left burning. In the distance, the first fingers of light were spreading across the horizon. Dawn was not far off and it would arrive to find the men of the 1st Boston formed up and ready to march.
‘Don’t be a fool.’ The time spent getting the men ready had done little to improve Jack’s temper. The hours that had followed had only added to his black mood, the men forced to stand idle whilst they waited for orders to move.
‘It does not seem a wise decision to me, that’s all.’ Robert would not let the matter drop. ‘We’re both Christian armies. We should respect the Lord’s day.’
‘Sunday, Monday, Friday, Christ, what does it matter what day of the sodding week it is?’ Jack ground his teeth in frustration. He needed a cup of tea badly.
‘I’m just pointing out that this is the worst day to have to fight a battle.’
‘Well, don’t,’ Jack snapped. His attention was diverted by the appearance of mounted men trotting along the road near where the troops were formed into a column. He moved towards them quickly, hoping they brought orders that would see the men of the 1st Boston finally get moving.
The riders arrived in a jangle of bridles and tack. Jack recognised one of them easily enough.
‘Is that you, Lark?’ Scanlon shortened his reins as Jack approached his stirrup.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Jack peered up at the colonel. He looked much more impressive on horseback than he did on foot. ‘Have you got orders for us?’
Scanlon shook his head. ‘We’re waiting for the First Division to clear from our front. The bloody fools are taking an age. Only when they are clear can we march.’ He ran his gaze over the company then glanced back at Jack. ‘Look after my boys, Jack. It’s going to be a hard day ahead.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Good fellow.’ Scanlon had no time for more. The other officers were kicking their mounts into motion. ‘Good luck, boys! Teach those goddam sechers a lesson,’ he called before spurring his own horse forward.
The men watched him go in silence. Their colonel’s words were a reminder of why they had been roused long before dawn.
The waiting was over.
The day they had all been anticipating had arrived.
It had been getting steadily brighter for over an hour, the blackness of night turning to the pale greys and inky blues of early morning, before the order finally came to march.
The men could just about make out each other’s faces in the pale light as they began to head west, following a cart track through a large expanse of dense wood. It was slow going, the column coming to a halt every few hundred yards. The air was damp, and it was muggy under the trees. It was not yet dawn, but already the men were sweating. Yet the sudorific air did little to dent their spirits. With the dark hours of fear left behind them, they marched along briskly, singing and laughing as they went. The high spirits and songs carried them over the first ten miles, their eagerness for the fight allowing them to deal with the continued delays with good humour.
Jack neither sang nor laughed. He did not stop the men from A Company participating, yet he could not find it in himself to join them. Instead he marched in silence, his foul temper only increasing as he was forced to listen to the men’s jocularity.
He marched as a redcoat marched; his world reduced to the dusty track passing beneath his boots. He forced all thoughts from his mind. He did not think of Rose, or of Elizabeth. He did not think of the man he was there to protect or the man whose letters had started him on the journey that had led to this place so many thousands of miles from home. He thought of one thing and one thing alone.
He thought of battle.
His thoughts were interrupted as the air shook with the concussion of a massive blast. The ground vibrated underneath the boots of the marching infantry, who flinched as the explosion seared through the superheated air.
‘What the hell was that?’ Robert had left his station and had been ambling along with Jack in contented silence. Now he turned a pale face towards his fellow lieutenant.
‘A cannon, and a bloody big one at that.’ Jack was still wrestling with his black humour. The men had stopped singing as they ground out the miles, something that had improved his temper a little. But he was still in no mood to assuage his companion’s fears.
‘There’s a thirty-pounder in Tyler’s division. Must be that, I guess.’
‘You’re an officer. You don’t guess, you know.’ Jack delivered the sharp rebuke. �
��If it’s that big, then I’ll bet you a thousand bloody dollars that it was a waste of bloody effort dragging the bloody thing all the way up here.’
‘Do you have a thousand dollars, Jack?’
‘Maybe I do. And I’d bet every single one of them on that bloody cannon doing as much bloody damage to the Confederate army as a sparrow’s fart.’
Robert started to laugh, but he stopped quickly enough as he caught a glimpse of the expression on Jack’s face.
The troops emerged from the woods and into the bright sunlight of early morning. After so long in the shade of the trees, the glare left the men blinking. To their front, the ground sloped gently down towards a river. Open fields stretched in all directions, the greenery broken up in places by clumps of woodland and a scattering of houses surrounded by split-rail fences.
The men followed the same cart track they had marched along all morning. There was a ford ahead, and the ground before it was covered with other Union troops, some resting, others forming up ready to march on.
Jack could hear a gentle rumble, like distant thunder. It came in fits and spurts, the sound building to a crescendo then dying away for a few moments’ silence before slowly building back up again.
‘Cannon fire?’ Robert raised an eyebrow in Jack’s direction.
‘What else could it be?’ Jack could not help the waspish reply. There was nothing urgent in the sound of the distant cannon. It was not the roar of a massed bombardment, the kind that would leave the very earth shaking for miles around. Instead it sounded half-hearted, lazy even, as if the gunners were going through the motions rather than pouring on the fire in desperate haste.
‘Is Tyler attacking, then?’ Robert risked a second question. ‘I confess I cannot tell.’
‘If he is, then he’s not exactly going for it.’ Jack paused and cocked an ear. Much of the cannon fire had died away, so that he could hear the retort of individual guns firing. ‘After yesterday, you’d think the man would be attacking hell for leather. Now it sounds to me like he is sitting on his backside.’
‘Maybe the general told him to hold back after yesterday.’
‘Or maybe getting his arse handed to him on a platter taught him a bloody lesson.’
Robert shook his head at Jack’s peppery judgement. ‘Will this mood of yours last all day? I’m not sure I have the stomach to face both the enemy and you.’ He paused and looked at Jack warily. ‘I thought you would be happier today after your visitor last night.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jack snapped at the lure.
‘I just thought Rose would’ve left you in a better humour.’ Robert could not help teasing his fellow lieutenant.
‘Were you spying on us?’
‘Of course not.’ Robert was genuinely affronted by the suggestion. He snorted. ‘I saw her leave you late last night.’
‘What’s that if it’s not bloody spying, then?’
‘It was by happenchance. Nothing more.’ Robert smiled. ‘She’s a pretty young lady.’
‘You don’t disapprove?’
‘No, why should I?’
‘Your bloody father and your bloody sister do. They warned me off her.’
‘I see their words had a lasting effect.’ Robert laughed away Jack’s angry reply.
‘I’m not one for doing what I’m told.’ Jack could not maintain the anger. Robert was beaming like the cat that had got the cream. It was infectious.
‘I think we’ve all learned that about you by now. If my father and sister haven’t, well, more fool them.’ Robert reached out and patted Jack’s arm. ‘I’m pleased for you, I really am. Rose is a fine girl. I know half the male servants tried it on with her. And I know that none of them got anything but a slap for their trouble.’
Jack could not help grinning at Robert’s choice of words. ‘She’s different.’
‘She is different, and she’s damn pretty if you ignore those marks on her face. Did she tell you how she came by them?’
‘She was whipped.’
‘I thought as much. I cannot imagine what their lives are like. The slaves, I mean.’
‘Well, aren’t we fighting so they can all be free?’ Jack felt his ill temper shift. He had Robert to thank for it.
‘I suppose we are.’ Robert looked pleased at the thought. ‘Perhaps this does mean something after all.’
‘So you’re finally working out why you’re here. It’s about bloody time.’
Robert chuckled at the remark. But it lacked conviction. ‘It’s not as easy for me as it is for you.’ His voice became more serious.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You’re here for money. I imagine that makes your choices easier.’ He tipped his head back and looked around at the sky. ‘I’m not really sure why I’m here.’
Jack opened his mouth to deny Robert’s words, but the younger man was lost in his own thoughts, so he held his tongue. There was a hard truth in what Robert had said. Jack wasn’t fighting for some lofty ideal, for some notion of setting the enslaved free. He was there simply to get paid. The fact scratched at his conscience. He had hesitated to promise Kearney that his son could be kept safe in the tempest of battle. Yet now he made the vow to himself. He would protect Robert, no matter what it took. It would give meaning to his being there. He reached out and clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder, and they walked on together as the column wound its way down the sloping ground.
The track they followed improved in quality. It led towards a small church surrounded by a grove of trees. A few locals were out, dressed in their Sunday clothes, as they prepared for that morning’s church service. The column came to a halt a few hundred yards from the church. An officer from brigade headquarters directed the troops off the road, then spoke quickly to Captain Rowell.
‘Ten minutes’ rest!’ Rowell relayed the order he had been given.
The men did not need to be told twice. They fell out quickly, most making a dash for a dirty-looking pool. The water was brackish at best, but in the heat, no man would complain. With their canteens filled, they slumped to the ground in the shade of some trees near the church. They were hot, tired, their legs ached and they were already near exhausted. And the day had hardly begun.
‘On your feet!’ Rowell stirred his men. ‘Fall in.’
Jack had been sitting with his back against a tree, eyes closed, savouring a moment’s peace. It was cool in the shade. Reluctantly he stood, dusting himself down before bending to pick up his sword and revolver, which he had left on the ground. As he did so, he heard more cannon fire. This time it was no distant rumble. It came from much closer by and was much more intense.
‘On your feet.’ He echoed Rowell’s order. The men obeyed slowly, but they were disinclined to leave the shade of the trees. He buckled on his weapons as he walked. ‘Look lively now,’ he urged them. ‘Form up.’
He walked through the men to the head of the column. Thus far he had avoided conversation with Rowell. But the noise of the cannons meant that he could no longer do so. He was an officer and he would be helping to lead the company into battle. He could not do so if he refused to speak to its commander.
‘Sir.’ He nodded in greeting as he came to stand in front of Rowell.
‘Lieutenant.’ Rowell’s own greeting was clipped.
‘Do we know what is ahead?’
‘The Rhode Island regiments are in the van. They must have run into the enemy.’
‘Should the enemy be here?’ Jack asked. ‘I thought we were marching around their flank.’
‘They must’ve seen us and redeployed. We kicked up a fair bit of dust.’
Jack heard the uncertainty in Rowell’s voice, but the answer made sense. It would be nearly impossible to hide the movement of thirteen thousand men. If the enemy had seen them, they would now be frantically rede
ploying to counter the threat. It was time for the Union troops to press on and hit them before the flank was secured.
‘Take your place, Lieutenant. Now is not the moment for idle chatter.’ Rowell dismissed Jack with icy disdain.
Jack turned and looked at the troops. They were assembling into column with little enough fuss. There was time for him to say what he had to say. He looked back at Rowell, holding his gaze steadily and speaking quietly so that even the nearest men could not overhear them. ‘We need to put what has happened behind us, for today at least. The men need us; it’s our duty to work together and give them the leadership they deserve.’
‘Do not tell me my duty, Lieutenant,’ Rowell hissed. ‘I fully intend to lead the men this day and I don’t need your goddam help. Stay in your station and listen for my orders. Do your job and I shall do mine.’
He stepped away, leaving Jack standing alone. There would be no pact, no ceasefire between the two men. Jack would go into battle knowing that his own company commander hated his guts.
The men marched towards the sounds of battle. They had been on their feet for more than six hours. They were tired and footsore, and they advanced in nervous silence.
Major Bridges led them forward with his aide, Lieutenant Norris, at his side. Both were mounted on sorrel mares, the only officers in the regiment on horseback. The other officers would fight on foot alongside their men.
The sounds of rifle and cannon fire intensified as they splashed through the ford near the church. Not one man doubted that the day’s marching was coming to an end.
‘Mary mother of God, would you look at those poor bastards,’ O’Dowd called out as a haphazard group of figures stumbled up the track towards them. Every one of them was wounded. A couple limped, their trousers soaked in blood. The rest staggered along, their uniforms ripped open or their torsos smothered in gore. One marched behind a mask of blood.
‘Good luck, boys.’ A man stumbling along by himself called out to A Company as they marched past the battered, bleeding men. ‘You whip them sechers good now.’
The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6 Page 32
