“Good. Ensigns fit to become lieutenants?”
“Three, sir, all able to purchase.”
“Excellent, let it be so. Leaves one vacancy – I can lend you an officer, a newly made ensign from one of the other battalions, or have you a man, a sergeant, who could rise?”
Howton nodded to Septimus to speak.
“Sergeant Mockford, sir, has worked with me since first I joined and I know him well. Father is a merchant in a small way, the boy ran away from a life as a younger son in the counting-house. He could become a gentleman, sir, and I believe, though I have never spoken of it, that he would be very glad to.”
“Good – make it so. I will write his commission in my own hand – did not I see his name in your reports, the man who took over your company when you fell and hunted down every last Frog responsible? A good man, that, knows his loyalty! Look after him, gentlemen, while you are out here; back in England he can become a quartermaster, the normal thing.”
Both men knew that they were being told to watch over Mockford in the mess, to prevent inevitable sneers at the ranker escalating into a challenge, into bloodshed.
“Certainly, sir, but he is a very able man, sir, and knows his way about.”
“Good – a glass, I think, Major Howton, Major Pearce, in celebration of your successes.”
The New Foresters stayed in Jamaica for another year, sweating out another virulent wet season and its fevers, Septimus falling ill twice, his body weakened by his wound, healing a much slowed process in the Tropics. Early in the second year, hurricane season over, they finally boarded a transport on Home posting, only a few over three hundred men climbing the gangplank of the single ship necessary.
# # #
Here’s a short excerpt from the start of Book Two, Raging Rajahs. After quelling riots in England, Septimus accepts a ‘punishment’ posting to India where he battles with the fearsome Maratha warriors who are intent on holding on to their power.
Raging Rajahs
“Home Establishment, so they tell us, and it's bloody Ireland again!”
The outrage echoed around the Mess as the transport put into Kingstown, intercepted off Bristol before they could make port and sent to put down the Paddies, again. It was the April of 1798, and the Irish were up – what the details were, the grievances specific to this occasion, they had not been told, it sufficed that there was rebellion against the Crown, a particularly heinous treason because the country was at war. The Irish must be expected to be in collusion with the French – ‘England’s enemy is Ireland’s friend’, the old saying ran – and they must be pacified before they could be made into a French colony with ports in an ideal position to strangle England’s sea-borne trade.
The much-depleted battalion marched to camp at the Curragh and brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Howton set Septimus in command while he fled post-haste to Christchurch to demand every man even part-trained to flesh out the ranks. Septimus, shivering in the cold of spring, put a light training routine in place, tried to make the half battalion more fit for European campaigning. He sent his normal monthly letter to Brother George, told him of the change of destination, regretted that he would not be home for a few months longer. George’s return, pleased to hear of Septimus’ return to a more healthy land, hinted at a marriage in the wind, to a ‘Lady of Birth and Distinction, not unknown to my Martial Brother’. She would not bring a dowry, it seemed, but offered ‘a Place in Society’.
Septimus scratched his head – who did he know, a Lady? The name of the Honourable Lucasta Everholt crept into his mind and he began to grin, mentally wished his brother good fortune.
The New Foresters remained in their barracks, garrison troops, when the redcoats marched out. They were too much diminished to stand in line and it was accepted that they needed to make their numbers back up and then train their men, but they were still given the sentry beats and night patrols of a battalion on guard duty.
Detailed reports came back to them of the bloody, confused skirmishes and marches that led to the definitive battle at Vinegar Hill, and of the slaughter of the raw enthusiasts who made up the Irish ranks, young men who thought that belief in their cause could make up for inadequate weapons and ignorance of musketry and drill. Less was said of the harrying of the Catholics that followed, of the parade of hanging noose and flogging triangle and pitch caps that broke the spirit of the peasantry for a full generation, of the trail of brutality and rape across the whole countryside, but enough for all to know what was happening. Septimus was not interested – if the Irish insisted on being ignorant and treacherous Papists, and got their arses well kicked for their pains, it was none of his business.
By August the New Foresters were back in depot at Christchurch, the two battalions temporarily united.
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Kindle links to the whole series:
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http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man
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http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man-UK
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Kindle links to the whole series:
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http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series
UK only:
http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series-UK
Cannibal Country Trilogy
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Universal Kindle Link
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Universal Kindle Link: http://getbook.at/Victorian
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The Soldier Brat (Man of Conflict Series, Book 1) Page 23
