“Difficult! The bloody man must be successful, Rawlins. Do you think he has the least idea how to use guns?”
“One way of finding out, sir. It does mean that the report to Horse Guards will show that you backed him with all the resources to hand, sir.”
“Well thought, Rawlins! If he makes a cock of it nonetheless, well, what more could I have done?”
“My thoughts exactly, sir. I shall tell Captain Arbuthnot to ready his guns for embarkation on Friday, sir.”
“I had forgotten they were Arbuthnot’s command… Yes, do so, Rawlins. If Searson loses his guns then he will at least get that tit off my hands!”
Captain Arbuthnot had played as partner to the general at whist a few nights before and had demonstrated a monumental incompetence as a card-player, such that the general had seen a number of potentially winning hands go to waste. The general was a keen player, enjoying the cards for their own sake, and had come away from the table wanting no more than to strangle Arbuthnot. Sending him to war under the command of a quite possibly hopeless brigadier seemed a very reasonable revenge.
“We sail to battle on Friday, Bacon!”
“Excellent, sir. I am very glad to hear that. Where, sir?”
Billy thought he might make a greater effort to sound overjoyed; then it seemed to him that Captain Higgins could offer martial fervour sufficient for them both.
“South, less than a full day’s sail, Sergeant Bacon; the island of St Etienne. We take ship on Friday morning and land at dawn following. Colonel Searson is made brigadier, and we have a battery of four-pound galloper guns to accompany us. Colonel Searson is to supersede the colonel of the Welshmen who have failed to take the island. Sergeant Muldoon is made Regimental Sergeant Major, I must tell you.”
That was very good news; it meant that there was a professional soldier in command of the day-to-day working of the battalion, and able to act as a buffer between the men and the less competent officers.
“I am glad to hear that, sir. What do we know of the state of things on the island?”
“Ah… very little, I think.”
“Are we to land across a beach, sir, or at quayside?”
Captain Higgins did not know, wondered why it made a difference.
“Across a beach, sir, we must take care to keep our powder dry, and the men come ashore in boatloads, often all mixed up. Landing in a harbour, however small, is much preferable for being able to step ashore loaded and in company order at least.”
“A battery of guns says it is more likely that we will use a harbour, I think.”
“So it does, sir. As well to be quite certain, sir.”
“I shall ask the Adjutant, Sergeant Bacon.”
“Very good, sir. Do we know how many ships and of what size, sir?”
Captain Higgins realised that to be important, after it had been pointed out to him. He would ask the question, preferably in front of others, so that he might be seen to be awake and alert. He trotted off to the Adjutant, made a play of seeking clarification of important points that had occurred to him, returned with the Brigadier’s commendation ringing in his ears.
“Three ships, Sergeant Bacon. One to carry A Company and the battery; the second to have the Brigadier and his small headquarters party and three companies. The third carries the remainder of the men. Powder and ball and rations to go with each company.”
That was sensible, Billy thought. If they lost a ship the others would still be able to carry on.
“Are there any mules available, sir?”
“None, Sergeant Bacon. They will hardly be needed; the island is no greater than Antigua.”
Captain Higgins would not be carrying a sixty pound pack; even the smallest island was too big for that in the tropical heat, especially if there was high ground towards the centre.
“What is the plan for the landing, sir?”
“Well… essentially to get ashore, Sergeant Bacon.”
Billy asked no further questions, contenting himself with wandering across to the quartermaster’s and begging an extra twenty rounds a man against future favours. The QM sergeant would be one of the last ashore and consequently very unlikely to pick up any loot that might be going; a promise of fair shares in anything the company picked up would be very welcome.
“Grindstone, Sergeant-Major?”
“Available tomorrow morning, Sergeant Bacon. A Company to have its use at eight o’clock precisely and to surrender it at nine.”
An hour would give time to put a sharp on every bayonet, and possibly to put an edge to some of the cane knives that seemed to have fallen into the company’s possession. The expeditions to the various plantations had been profitable in terms of the occasional useful tool that ended up in their hands and they were equipped with a few shovels that would make life easier out on campaign, as well as the cutlass-like sugar-cane cutters.
“Plan for embarkation, Sergeant-Major?”
“Guns first, as likely to take longest to shift. The battery has its own draught animals, I presume. Mules, I hope. You follow the guns and assist as necessary. I know nothing of the ships – they may be no more than little island schooners for all I know. Colonel Searson – the Brigadier, that is – wants you ashore first and is certain that there is a small harbour with a stone quay which will make disembarkation easier. He thinks – and he says he cannot discover more – that the Welsh managed to take the harbour when they first landed but were stopped a mile or so outside it. From what he had heard, there is high ground immediately inland, steepish sorts of hills, and the road taking a loop around the coast before following a valley up to the only other town. He thinks the Frogs have got the hillside and the Welsh can’t push through along the road.”
The two senior men marched towards the barrack rooms, out of the hearing of lesser mortals and ignoring Ensign Farthing who seemed to want something.
“What about going the other way, Clarence? Up the hillside and then across?”
“Might not be possible, Billy. Have a look just as soon as you get ashore. Your officer will certainly give the orders if you show him what to do. What does your little boy want?”
“His hand held, most likely. He ain’t a bad lad, but he’s still very young, Clarence. I’ll go across and see what’s the matter. At least he’s got sense enough not to interrupt when we’re talking – not like some of the young lords and masters!”
Billy marched quickly across to the ensign and saluted very precisely, offering every appearance of respect.
“Sergeant Bacon, do you know what we are to do when we land?”
“Unless we are given other orders, sir, I shall take the men into cover either in houses or in a warehouse, depending on what is there. Then I will send out scouts, sir. I presume Brigadier Searson will make contact with the Welsh regiment, so I shall not send men in their direction. I would wish to examine the nature of the hillsides, which I am told come very close to the harbour. If possible, I would much like to bring the company onto the flank of any action currently existing, sir. Captain Higgins will have his own orders, of course, sir.”
Billy very much hoped that Captain Higgins had no plan at all and had sent the ensign along to pick up suggestions for what he should do.
“Not seen Lieutenant Whitaker today, sir.”
“He is not very well, Sergeant Bacon. I am sure we shall see him tomorrow, certainly he will join us aboard ship on Friday.”
‘Drunk as a lord’, Billy thought, and gave the lieutenant no further consideration. He had been amazed that he had survived the typhoid, had thought his constitution must have been so weakened by his excesses that he must have succumbed. Perhaps the massive presence of alcohol had negated all that the typhoid could do to his body. He made his way to the company’s barracks room and called the roll, discovering who was fit and who was down with dysentery or any of the other lesser killing ailments of the Sugar Islands.
“If you’ve got a pox of any sort, then report sick. Do not board the sh
ip if you won’t be able to keep up on the march. We might not return to Antigua. Might be we’ll form a garrison or be sent on another expedition, but it’s better you live to end up in a Company of Detachments and given to another regiment than fall out in the bush on campaign with us. You fall out in a fight and the chances are you’ll get dead. So, don’t be a prat all of your life – just for once, do the sensible thing!”
Few of the men would want to claim sickness if it meant leaving their regiment, as Billy knew. His warning ensured that only the genuinely ill, those unable to keep up on a march, would report themselves to the surgeon. Nurturing the regimental spirit had not been easy in a new-formed battalion such as the Fencibles; there was no regimental history to create a feeling of pride. Billy had been forced to base all of his indoctrination on the concepts of ‘mates together’ and of being the pioneers, the men who would put the first honours on the Regimental Colours and would never be forgotten in the long years of service to come. He had succeeded to an extent, he knew. There had been reports – all unofficial – of brawls in the rum-shops between the Fencibles and the only regiment left on the island, all sparked by defence of the Fencibles’ name against slurs cast by the soldiers of a regiment with half a century behind it. If the men would scrap for the Regiment, they would probably fight for it on campaign.
The Company – and the Fencibles as a battalion – needed a clear-cut success in this first campaign. Defeat an enemy – any would do – and there would be a real achievement to their credit. Once they had won their first fight, they would expect to succeed in the next, and the belief in victory was as important a factor in success as any superiority in guns or men.
Billy gathered the Company for a last warning on the nature of the business in hand.
“The regiment there before us has made a balls of it. The French have got them stuck. Colonel Searson has been made brigadier and sent to win. That’s all he will take from you. Winning. You don’t win, then he ain’t going to be the next great general – and he won’t get made a ‘sir’, and his rich brother won’t get to be Lord Dogsbollocks or whatever. So, there ain’t no way back – it’s forward all the way! That said, don’t go killing yourselves being daft. There’ll be me or the Regimental Sergeant-Major out the front – keep up with us, and we both intend to live a few years yet!”
There were a few chuckles at that.
“Colonel Searson’s a straight bloke. You look after him, and he won’t forget who won the fight for him. Same with the Captain. Mr Higgins will look out for you. Keep an eye out for Mr Farthing – he’s no more than a boy, but he might make a man, provided he lives long enough.”
Most of their heads nodded – the boy showed willing and he had been brought up to have good manners, which they valued. An anonymous voice from the back spoke up.
“What about Piss’ead Whitaker, Sarge?”
Billy looked up at the ceiling, making it clear that he was voicing his own thoughts, not addressing them.
“That, my son, is what they call a very good question. What about him?”
There was a general snort of laughter and no more was said on that topic.
“Now then, about the ship. We shall be the only company on board, but there’s a battery of six four-pound guns going with us. I’ve never worked with galloper guns. Anybody seen ‘em?”
There was an immediate answer.
“Easy to throw ‘em about, Sarge. Six men can carry one, at a pinch. If they get stuck in mud or behind a boulder or in a rut, it’s easier to lift ‘em out than try to pull them with a rope.”
“That is worth knowing, Corporal Nankivell, and thank you for telling me. You all remember what the corporal said.”
Friday morning saw them boarding a coastal trader, almost a barge, broad in the beam, two-masted, a large pole-mast amidships and a smaller in the stern, square-sails set on booms that were hoisted up and down by the five-man crew.
“What do you call this thing, mister?” Billy asked the brown-skinned man who was master.
“She a yawl, soldier, so they tell me, excepting that some say she a ketch. I just reckon she an easy boat to sail what carry a good cargo. They guns got to go two and two and two, from bow to stern, up on deck. You men can sleep on the copra sacks down in the fore hold. The boys with the guns sleep down the after hold.”
“What about their little carts for the powder and cannonballs and stuff?”
The four-pounders did not have formal limbers like the larger field guns; consequently, they had no draught animals, either, mules being scarce in the Sugar Islands. The guns were moved exclusively by hand.
“Next to they gun. Wrap they tight in copra sacks, they stay dry. Maybe they want to keep they powder down the holds. Dry there. Can’t get copra wet.”
“What about sugar?”
“Don’t carry none of that. Small men’s copra, that all I trade, soldier.”
The process of loading went quickly, the island yawl having low bulwarks and with A Company as well as the gunners to heave the guns from quay to deck. Two hours and the men were released to make themselves comfortable below. The shouts of fear and outrage came almost instantly.
“Sarge, there’s bugs the size of me bloody fist down ‘ere!”
The master laughed and shrugged.
“Where you getting copra, you getting copra beetle. They don’t bite men. They don’t eat nothing but the coconut. Anyway, they keep the rats out. Get plenty copra beetle, don’t get no rats. I know which I like best!”
“What about the bloody cockroaches!”
“Yeah, you get they too, mister. They ain’t so fussy what they eat. Keep you ration wrapped up good.”
“Some of them got to be five bloody inches long!”
“Grow some strong bugs in these parts, mister!”
Billy was inclined to sympathise with his men; he had no love for bugs.
“Can the lads sleep on deck, captain?”
“Rain tonight, by the look of they cloud.”
“Sod it! They’ll have to stay below, can’t have them getting fevered for being soaking wet in the cold night.”
Captain Higgins appeared with the artillery captain at his side, observed with great satisfaction that embarkation was complete.
Billy saluted, all very formal in the presence of a strange officer.
“Beg to report, sir, all aboard ship and correct, sir. Only the one small cabin, sir.”
Three officers to A Company and another three with the battery; room in the cabin for two men to stretch out.
“My ensign can remain here tonight. A lieutenant with the battery, sir?”
The artillery captain, an older man, the artillery promoting by seniority and only slowly, agreed instantly; he had a young lieutenant who might well enjoy the experience – it might be an adventure for him.
“We shall sail with the brigadier – a very good chance of some comfortable cabins in his company; certainly a cook!”
Billy blessed the Good Lord – the sole officers the ensign, and an artilleryman who was still wet behind the ears; he wandered back to the stern to talk with the master.
“When we go in, straight up to the quay and tie on and get the men and guns ashore, whatever happens, right? If you’re in the way of the other ships, then pull away when we’re all off; up to you. Get my blokes ashore and I’ll make sure you’re looked after, one way or the other. If we lay our hands on anything, some of it will come your way, even if it’s only a few French muskets and powder and ball for them.”
It was very difficult for anyone other than a white plantation owner or merchant or shipowner to get hold of muskets in the Sugar Islands; they could fetch a high price put in the wrong hands.
“You get ashore, mister. But not if they a bloody great French cannon in the way. I ain't killing me for you. Except that, you get on shore quick.”
“Do me very well, sailor.”
They fought the cockroaches for their rations and managed to keep the bulk of their f
ood for themselves. There was a rum issue, quite generous in its amount, the quartermaster’s people being on the right side, and the men slept most of the night, waking up to Billy’s shout an hour offshore.
“Corporal O’Mara, take your platoon first, set up a block somewhere sensible, within easy shout. Corporal Gloag, your platoon to get a look about the place and find us somewhere to hold together and get an idea of any roads or tracks coming off the hills. Corporals Nankivell and Archer to help get the guns ashore and along the quay to cover the road coming in. Ensign Farthing has the command until Captain Higgins catches up with us.”
If the company could find a way up into the hills, then Captain Higgins might well be a day or two absent from his command, which would make life easier.
Dawn showed a tiny harbour with a stone quay just great enough to take two coastal traders the size of the yawl, or ketch, they were on. There was what could generously be called a town on the couple of furlongs of flat land below the low, brown hills of the interior. Billy guessed there might be as many as two hundred of single-storey three or four roomed huts and at most a dozen of larger dwellings that might fairly be described as houses. There were a few warehouses but no fort. An almost dry creek ran into the sea and had presumably created the harbour and hence the town in a poor part of the island. If there were plantations, then they must be over on the western side of the hills, where there was possibly a larger area of flat and watered land. The little he had been told of the island suggested that there was only the one harbour, with a road making its way along the coast and then over the lowest hills to the west.
There was no French presence in or immediately about the harbour; there was a naval-manned battery, two great twenty-four pound long guns in a temporary emplacement, capable of holding off any small ship, and the bay was too shallow to enable anything big to come inshore. The Union flag flew from a pole on a large warehouse, presumably taken over by the garrison.
Billy Bacon and the Soldier Slaves (Colonial Warrior Series, Book 1) Page 14
