Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  They found as well that many of their officers were inexperienced, newly promoted, forced early into the rank because casualties in the Officers Mess had been so high.

  There were cripples of the campaign to be seen in every town, begging, working where they could, committing such minor crimes as they were capable of to fill their bellies.

  In exchange the government found that they had gained an extra hundred shiploads a year of sugar and rum and a thousand or two tons of cottons and coffee and fruits and mahoganies, and an additional population of slaves who were a rankling, festering sore on the conscience of civilised men, who, surprisingly, included many of the Tories in the government.

  When it was possible, regiments rotated between foreign and Home postings, but in time of war, the rules could not always be followed, and Ireland counted as a Home station in any case.

  The news, when it came, was of the best – the Hampshires were off to India for seven years and the New Foresters were to take their vacated barracks in Winchester. It was generally agreed that this posting in their home county was to be seen as a reward for their good service in the Sugar Islands – few regiments had counted two successes in their campaigns there in recent years.

  The marriage was set in hand immediately, arrangements made at the cathedral where Mrs Osborne’s cousin John was vicar-choral and could lay a claim as family. The decorators were called into Pearce House and a buggy was purchased for the new mistress while Septimus was measured for a dress uniform apt to his seniority.

  Septimus sat long with George and his bride, being inducted into the mysteries of keeping household.

  “Cook at forty pounds, butler at fifty – you will need a butler because of your position, Septimus, you will have to entertain frequently and a mere manservant will not do. Two upper maids at twenty and a parlour maid at eighteen and a skivvy at twelve, to complete the indoors staff. Gardener will receive thirty and his boy thirteen, while Cooper will be at whatever you set. Two hundred and three pounds and Cooper, in wages, paid quarterly, and their boxes at Christmas besides. Their food and clothes will cost another one hundred, or thereabouts, depending on what the Home Farm produces in the way of wheat and potatoes and greens and mutton and pork.”

  “So, George, four hundreds a year for staff – more than I had realised!”

  “Aye, and there’s your own household expenses yet! Foodstuffs and purchases, Lucasta, my dear?”

  “Three hundreds, husband.”

  “Another hundred to run your stable, your two chargers and the mule and the pony for the buggy and Mrs Pearce’s riding horse.”

  “Eight hundred!”

  “The income of your land, brother, will suffice for it. Now, pin-money and dresses for your wife – not for me to discuss!”

  “But, if I may be so bold, sir?” Lucasta archly interposed, “two hundreds and sight of the bills, sir. She is a sensible girl, your Marianne and will need little guidance.”

  “Thank you, sister,” Septimus smiled at Lucasta, wondering slightly at the pout on her lips, the minor dissatisfaction she displayed. ‘Brother George ain’t that old, surely to God,’ he thought.

  Septimus added his own expenses, amounting to his salary and a couple of hundred a year to the Mess and the cost of uniforms and perhaps another fifty on oddments. Barely half of his income was accounted for as yet; children, school fees, a governess, would eat into the rest in time, but he need never be other than well-off, unless he chose to buy a bigger house and set up as a gentleman with racehorses and such nonsense. Emboldened by his calculations he set off to the jewellers to buy a bride gift.

  Mr Abrams remembered Septimus, had done business with his brother since, recognised in him a customer to be cultivated over the years.

  “Miss Osborne, of Spring Vale – I saw her at her birthday this year, Major Pearce – a young lady with blue eyes and black hair – I have a piece that I think will do her very well, sir. You will remember that Ceylon fell to our forces at the end of the year ’95, sir – it is a source of sapphires and, particularly, rubies of the finest water. I have a necklace and earrings of medium size stones of very good quality, set in a reddish Indian gold that is not always to English tastes, and rubies are less popular than diamonds. Let me show it you, sir.”

  The necklace was not, as Abrams said, in the conventional English style, but it was a handsome piece and would not in any way be regarded as lacking taste. Septimus closed at twelve hundred pounds – one could be extravagant occasionally, he consoled himself, imagining his young bride clad in these stones; then he imagined her clad in nothing but the stones, began to count the days to the wedding.

  The County was on display – the Osbornes could call cousin with half of the landed gentry of Hampshire and were on close terms with almost all the rest. All of the magistrates and Members for the County and the bulk of the great and the good stood and sang and simpered mightily as the bishop in person conducted the service and another merchant family was adopted into the governing classes. The Pearces, brought to the doorway of gentility by the bescandalled Honourable Lucasta were now thrust into the hallway by the respectable Osbornes, to the approbation of almost all; a few of the highest sticklers deplored the merchant classes stepping out of their place, but even they could be courteous to a soldier, in wartime and fear of invasion. The scarlet of the army, blazing on the groom’s side, was countered by the black and white of the massed squirearchy on the bride’s, the two forces of stability shoulder to shoulder, as was only right, they felt.

  Septimus gave his wife her bride-gift at the wedding breakfast, to great admiration from the ladies present. Marianne was amazed, had expected and would have welcomed, a pair of pearl drops; her mother clasped the stones to her ears and neck, admiring their quality and more than a little envious of her daughter – she had no jewellery to match them.

  They honeymooned in a cousin’s shooting box near Andover, conveniently close to hand. All went as it should, Marianne rapidly falling into tune with the demands, and pleasures, of conjugality and Septimus deciding there was much to be said for the married state. He wondered that he had not tried it before, in fact.

  Returning to life in Winchester and Septimus attempted to settle into the barracks’ existence on Home posting. It was very tedious and was not helped by his frequent battles with the colonel. The leather stock particularly became an issue between them, one that almost reached court-martial proportions.

  The stock was made of stiff leather and laced tightly round the neck, forcing the soldier’s chin up to at least horizontal. It was uncomfortable and sweaty in summer and often produced sores where it rubbed against the bone. Importantly, from Septimus’ point of view, the stock was the enemy of good musketry practice; the private soldier could not drop his chin down onto the butt of his musket and could not therefore hold the piece firmly into its correct place.

  Septimus informed his companies that the stock would not be worn in working uniform; Colonel Walters demanded to know why the men were permitted to be seen in so disgusting a condition of undress. Major Howton tried to act as referee in the inevitable clash that followed.

  “Soldiers exist to fight, sir, and one trusts to win. The Redcoat, sir, uses the musket in battle, and more efficiently than any other army known to us! To continue to be the best in battle, sir, we must practice, unceasingly. Unlike, for example, the Prussians and the French, we do not put our faith in the wild charge with the bayonet, but rather in controlled and within reason accurate volley fire. Our soldiers must be able to fire their muskets by order and in the direction their sergeants point to. In order to attain that, they must be able to hold their firelocks to the shoulder and then sight along them; the stock, sir, renders it impossible for the soldier to point his musket. Therefore the stock must not be worn when indulging in musketry, sir. Additionally, the stock is responsible for the loss of a number of men to the sick quarters, creating as it does blains which suppurate and rot in the flesh. The stock, Colonel Walte
rs, has never been worn by the New Foresters other than on formal parade.”

  “The stock is an essential part of the uniform, Major Pearce. It is laid down by Horse Guards! Additionally, a well-polished stock is very smart and forces the men to maintain a correct posture!”

  “It is musketry that wins battles, sir, not posture!”

  “A soldier’s life is not all about battles, Major Pearce. A correct appearance is of the utmost importance, so as to impress the ill-conditioned.”

  “I have yet to discover that the stock will impress a Frenchman, sir!”

  Howton intervened before either man could lose his temper.

  “It would perhaps, gentlemen, be reasonable that the stock should be worn at drill, as a practice for the weekly parade.”

  Septimus grunted, indicated that he was prepared to accept the compromise – the men could survive an hour a day of the hated, constricting torture device.

  “I am giving deep consideration to increasing the number of parades, gentlemen. Once a week is hardly adequate, when all is said and done. What if we ever have to provide a formal guard, if, for example, we are called to duty at Windsor? We will hardly be practiced enough for such an honour.”

  “Then we must be thankful that we can expect it never to eventuate, sir. The Guards can play the role of stuffed dummies for the amusement of Royalty – it is, after all, their main function in the Army.”

  Walters was outraged; to stand before one’s sovereign was the ultimate honour any soldier could aspire to.

  “Winning a battle is the only honour that has meaning to a real soldier, sir. The pretty boys are welcome to strut in Hyde Park; we have a more significant concept of duty, sir!”

  In his previous battalion Walters had been commended for his parade turn-out by no less a personage than the Duke of York, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army; it was, and remained, the proudest moment of his whole career. He was wounded, personally hurt, by this wanton denigration of all he knew to be right and proper.

  “As there seems to be slight prospect of battle in the immediate future, sir, perhaps we should be content to excel in lesser circumstance!”

  “We must always be ready, sir. The French could land a force at Southampton or Poole or Weymouth at any time. We cannot expect them to be over-awed by our parading in front of them!”

  Walters was increasingly irate, waiting to hear the dreaded words, ‘had you ever smelt powder, sir, then…’

  “I think we have achieved all that is possible today, Major Pearce. Your companies are to wear their stocks on the drill square, sir!”

  Septimus stiffened to attention and then left the office, back rigid, his whole attitude offering condescension to the little man behind his desk.

  “I ask of you, Major Howton, is it too much to expect loyalty of a major?”

  “I had not observed any taint of disloyalty in Major Pearce, sir. I have stood beside him since he was an ensign and watched admiringly as he won his promotions and have never seen him to be other than a man who would happily hazard his life to defend his sovereign lord, the King!”

  “I was not implying that sort of disloyalty, Major Howton. I merely suggest that I would expect a field officer to give unqualified support to his colonel.”

  “In the Mess and in any other public place I have no doubt that you will receive exactly that, sir. In the privacy of your office, sir, it is the duty of the loyal subordinate to indicate when he considers you to be taken by error.”

  “Thank you, Major Howton. It is clear where your loyalties lie!”

  Before three months had passed it was also clear to the whole battalion that the two majors spoke to the colonel on parade or when dining-in; otherwise they avoided each other. Inevitably the junior officers took sides and the Mess split into the colonel’s faction and a larger group that saw itself simply as soldiers.

  The colonel attempted to further the careers of the ensigns of his group and found himself blocked by silent but solid opposition from the soldiers; those ensigns who were encouraged by the colonel to purchase at an early stage found themselves frozen out of the Mess. Any young man would, in the nature of things, display imperfections; his seniors could and normally would assist him to improve, to grow as an officer, but they could instead treat every possible failure as a disciplinary matter. Those ensigns favoured by the colonel were rapidly driven out of the battalion, forced to transfer to more congenial homes by an unending regime of guard duty and less formal punishments. It was galling to be refused alcohol in the Mess and to be forbidden to walk out of the gates during daylight hours – it was to treat them as children in the sight of the men, and the laughter of the private soldiers was always distantly in their ears.

  The problems in the New Foresters came quickly to the ears of the General Officer Commanding; he was soon told that ‘the new colonel was spoiling a good battalion’, and he could not afford that. Colonel Walters was called to London where his excuses were given short shrift.

  “There is unrest in some of the Shires, Colonel Walters. Rick-burning is not uncommon and there have even been attempts to create Trades Unions among the labourers! The Militia is hard-pressed to restore peace. On top of that, and rapidly becoming more important, there have been instances of machine-breaking in the North Country, coupled with the occasional bread riot. I need not remind you of the events that led to the French Revolution, I believe! I may be called upon to send men to Lancashire, to the cotton spinners, any day now. I had pencilled in the New Foresters as one of the best disciplined and most reliable regiments in the whole of the Home Establishment, but I am now informed that their Mess is split, riven asunder, by the unwelcome and ill-advised changes made by their new commanding officer!”

  Walters protested that he had only endeavoured to create a properly disciplined atmosphere; his aim had been to tackle perceived slackness.

  “The problem, sir, is that a number of officers were unwisely promoted far beyond their merits due to a meretricious success or two on the field of battle in the Sugar Islands! An hour of cheaply earned glory permitted to take precedence over long and worthy service, sir! As a result I have been betrayed by those who should have been my most reliable supporters! It is no exaggeration to say that I have been stabbed in the back!”

  “It is no exaggeration to say that your battalion had a fighting record second to none in the past few years, due wholly to the efforts of those particular officers. The battalion is yours, sir, and I cannot remove you save by a general court martial which you have not, as yet, earned. If I observe any further deterioration in your regiment, sir, then I shall recommend that it and you shall be posted to the forts on the African coast. Being in time of war I can assure you that a request made then to go to half-pay would be interpreted as an act of disloyalty to the Crown and probably attributable to cowardice!”

  The implication that he should sell his colonel’s commission with immediate effect was unmistakable and very unwelcome.

  “Was perhaps one half of the battalion, the left five companies, to be posted to duty in the North Country, sir, for six months or so, then perhaps it would be possible to rebuild the battalion in its previous image. There is still a need to recruit, sir, and those remaining in barracks could enter a training regime agreed with the senior officers.”

  The compromise was acceptable – it would have been a gross humiliation of Walters to have forced him to go cap in hand to his majors, begging their forgiveness. The general gave his approval, knowing that Walters was regarded by Horse Guards as a man of some wealth and small breeding – harmless but possessing no great fund of influence and certainly without friends among the political or aristocratic elite. He could arrange no pressure upon the general.

  “You will be ordered to send five companies to Manchester, Colonel Walters. Next week, you may expect official notification. You will march them at their proper fifteen miles a day and will be given three weeks to complete the evolution, more than sufficient time, sir. They w
ill be posted to assist the civil power and will be commanded by one of your majors, yourself to remain in Winchester. I shall expect to hear only that which is good about you, sir. Good day to you!”

  It was a set-down for Colonel Walters, one that did his ambitions no good at all. He must make a comeback, could do so only by begging Major Howton to guide his hand, in effect to write his orders for him. Major Pearce would most definitely be sent to the horrible North.

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Two

  Septimus sat on his recently purchased charger, reins looped negligently, the picture of ease, as was demanded of a field officer; the horse had been well trained and behaved perfectly, made him seem much more at home in the saddle than was natural. He nodded to the sergeant-major and led his companies off the parade ground, through the gates and out onto the road north, keeping his eyes sternly to the front; he did not need to watch his men, he knew they would be in their proper place.

  The first mile, through the town and out onto the road towards Micheldever was taken at fast march pace, firelocks shouldered, shakoes squared, all buttons fastened, the sergeants calling the cadence. The New Foresters were on display, and there was always a chance that a few of the local boys would be sufficiently impressed to talk to a recruiting sergeant – a pair of them were following on behind with their parties for the first three miles.

  Septimus reined in at the side of the road and watched the five companies pass; satisfied with all he saw he signalled to his senior sergeant to ease the pace.

  “Allow them to trail muskets if they prefer, Sergeant Hardy. Stocks off at the first break. Smoking will be permitted. Remind the men that we have a long march ahead of us and I will demand smartness passing through every town. I will also have discipline in their quarters.”