Bold and Blooded

by Andrew Wareham

  “What of the Yeomanry?”

  “They are under my command. Our first business will be to pacify them, I do not doubt. We must make ready over the next two weeks.”

  The Yeomanry had been raised from the small estates and larger farms of the most obscure parts of the county. Enquiry suggested that most of the young men who had volunteered were under the impression that they were to save England from the Scots but had little idea of who and what a Scot might be. They had been raised months before and had drilled in units of half a dozen or so in their home areas. Only very recently had they been brought together in Lincoln and introduced to their officers, the three of whom were equally amateur.

  “The word I have, Red Man, is that none of them, not a single one, has been to war. They have been armed and brought together and have happily shared their ignorance with each other and consider themselves to be a fearsome band of heroes. When they get here, they will no doubt patronise us as mere footmen, unfit to breathe the same air as them. Do keep your temper in their company, Red Man – they may well attempt to provoke you into the duello with them and you have no knowledge of the sword, would be an easy victim.”

  “Does not the man who is challenged have the choice of weapons, sir? So Lieutenant Badger said when talking about the duel – I can’t remember quite why but he is forever rambling on about the gentry and their ways of doing things.”

  Captain Holdby was thoughtful – it might be possible.

  “You could hold out for the pistol, I should imagine. We did not have duels in the Germanies, just the not infrequent brawl in or outside of the mess. Honour was not our deepest concern. Best to avoid the possibility of a formal meeting.”

  “What do you intend for the Yeomanry, Captain?”

  “Drill and long marches. Both will do them good, and I would expect their officers to hate both. If at all possible, I shall drive their officers out. It seems that they are no more than pampered schoolboys who have never been away from home. It should be possible to break some or all of them, send them back to mummy and replace them with the right sort of people.”

  “Have you men in mind, Captain?”

  “No. But I can discover old acquaintances who marched in the Germanies. It will be the case that many will have returned to England as the wars over there have died away. I shall send to men I know in London – they will pass the word. For the while, I shall order a pair of barracks rooms cleaned out for the troopers and stalls made ready in the stables – the officers can find their own grooms for them, the troopers will each look after his own mount.”

  “Two rooms?”

  “Better than one large if it comes to the need to disarm them, Red Man. They can use the armoury if they have carbines, which I do not expect. Their pistols stay with them. Our companies will remain under arms, week and week about, so that we can match their pistols if the need arises. As soon as they arrive you must be sure that you are carrying your side-arms at all times, Red Man. If at any time you lead your company out, then be very sure that you are ready for any eventuality.”

  “You expect them to attack us, sir?”

  “No, but it might seem a very clever idea to disband us and give our equipment into the hands of their own people.”

  Micah did not think he would accept that eventuality.

  “I shall have a word with Sergeant Patterson, Captain.”

  “The Yeomanry, Sergeant Patterson.”

  “Yes, sir. The wrong sort, sir. Need to keep an eye to them.”

  “Just so. I would hate to wake up one morning to stare into the barrel of a pistol while they took our weaponry away for their own use.”

  “Not the best of outcomes, sir. One section to remain under arms at all times – shall we say twelve hours at a go, sir, alternating days and nights?”

  “A wise suggestion, Sergeant. Put it in hand, if you please. Start the day before they are supposed to arrive, just in case. One man in each section to keep his match lit so that all can be ready within the minute.”

  The Yeomanry rode in on their day, in pairs as was proper, twenty-five couples with three officers to their front and a single man carrying a pennant on a pole. Major Holdby was unimpressed.

  “Their colours, Red Man. A golden lion couchant on a scarlet field – very regal!”

  Micah looked blank.

  “The lion is the symbol of England and of the king. Normally there are three lions if the forces are King’s Soldiers. These are a little less than professional, but most loyal. What do you think of their turn-out?”

  They were not the most impressive of troops, in Micah’s opinion.

  “All wear an iron breast and back and a helmet, but they are not of the same pattern - or age, I suspect. Each man has a long sword, again, not identical. All of them carry pistols, mostly long horse pistols, but a few have short barrels in their saddle holsters. Not all are flintlocks, Major – those eight men towards the middle, look, all with the same breast and backs, but with different pistols.”

  “Old wheellocks, dating back to the days of Queen Elizabeth. Taken down from the manor house wall and refurbished. Rather them than me, firing those old relics! A small section, all from the same place and equipped as well as their master could manage. What do you think to their horses, Red Man?”

  They inspected the animals as they walked past into the bailey.

  “I don’t know horses, sir, but some of those are heavy, are they not?”

  “Cart horses turned to the saddle. Most of them are not riding stock. They will walk all day, but the charge will be beyond them. They would be happier back in the traces, plodding along in front of a wagon. The officers are riding good, sound hunters; they will outpace the most of their troopers if they go into a fight.”

  The question arose in Micah’s mind of just what use the Yeomanry could be in war.

  “They are too slow to go out as scouts, sir. Too disparate to be used as you tell me dragoons are, to make a sudden charge, all of them as one. They have little use at all… Except, just perhaps, they are sent into town to put down a mob, to end a riot. They could do that. Their job is, in fact, to pacify the town, to send the people back to their houses, to keep them obedient.”

  “Just so, Red Man. What’s to be done?”

  “We need wagons and horses by the hundred if we are to take armies to war, you say, sir. A company of pikemen would be very useful to us. Recruit those who will and send away those who will not. We must most definitely get rid of the officers, having first established they will not march at our sides. Badger is reliable but we need more officers, sir. Have you word from London?”

  Captain Holdby shook his head.

  “I expect none. If there are men to hand, they will come rather than send letters first. I much hope to see some old acquaintances soon. If they come, all will be senior to you, Red Man. Will you accept a captain over your head in your company?”

  Micah had no difficulty with that – he was too much aware of all that he did not know about soldiering.

  “Willingly, sir. I can work my company in town and at drill, but I would wish to learn how to take them into battle before the day of the fight. A year or two of marching behind a hardened captain and I would be far happier, sir.”

  “Good man! You would learn from your mistakes, if you lived. Some of your men would die who need not. I would say six months, not a year or two. You learn quickly. Few would guess that you were no more than a yokel, a country hick, a year ago. You are a young soldier now, good at the job but with a lot to learn. The first thing you must discover is how to stay alive in the field – and that is best done at the heels of an experienced man. Let us meet these newcomers now. Do not succumb to anger, Red Man. They will likely be very foolish, so laugh quietly.”

  The fifty troopers formed up in two lines, reasonably tidily, and the officers rode to their front facing them.

  “Captain, lieutenant and cornet, Red Man. I had expected two troops, each under a lieutenant but they seem
to simply be a single squadron. Their choice. It will make little difference. The colour-bearer is also their trumpeter. Again, I have seen that before and it is ordinarily effective enough.”

  The Yeomanry dismounted and the officers looked for a welcoming party to tell them where to go. Major Holdby walked forward, Micah at his shoulder.

  “Now that they are here, Red Man, I become the major in command.”

  He introduced himself.

  “Holdby, Major, commanding the garrison in Stamford, to which you are attached.”

  “Oh! I thought I was senior captain.”

  “You may well be, sir. You are junior to me. Your name?”

  “Captain Stephen Bamford, Colonel Bamford’s Regiment of Yeomanry, at your service, sir. Lieutenant Wiggins and Cornet Formby.”

  The eldest son, they presumed, the father having the money to raise the troop, regiment, as he called it.

  “Lieutenant Slater of Colonel Knighton’s Regiment, gentlemen. Lieutenant Badger of the Lincolnshire Regiment is on duty with his part company. Stables are to be found to the rear of the castle, sufficient for all of your chargers. There are boxes for the officers’ mounts. I presume your grooms are walking your second horses behind you?”

  “They should be here within the hour, Major.”

  “Accompanying your wagons, I must imagine, Captain Bamford?”

  “Yes, sir. We have fodder for fourteen days. I will keep that in reserve, sir, and use the garrison’s supplies while we are here.”

  “You will not, sir. The garrison has no provender for horse. Nothing has been provided to us, neither rations nor fodder. We have been sent no money, either. I fear that your Colonel must supply all of your needs, sir.”

  Captain Bamford was upset, wondered what might have happened. Major Holdby was unable to enlighten him.

  “I informed Newark of the entire absence of hay, beans and oats four weeks ago, when I was first informed that you were posted here. I also stated that the supply of rations was adequate for the needs of the existing garrison and no more. I much regret that you must fend for yourself, Captain Bamford. You will of course pay at full price for any fodder or foodstuff you purchase locally.”

  “We do not have the cash to hand, sir.”

  Major Holdby shrugged – that was not his problem.

  “You are not very helpful, sir!”

  “I did all I could four weeks ago, Captain Bamford. The incompetence of others is not my concern.”

  Major Holdby was implying that the captain’s father was unable to organise his regiment. That could be taken as an insult. Captain Bamford considered that course for a moment, then he weighed-up the hard-bitten older man in front of him and chose discretion instead. There was something about Major Holdby that said he was more than capable of defending his honour; calling him out might be more than unwise, could be a terminal error.

  “What do you suggest, sir?”

  “Send a messenger back to your colonel informing him that you have supplies for fourteen days only and replenishment is not available in Stamford. Either you must march back to Lincoln on the twelfth day or he must despatch to your requirements before then.”

  “Yes, sir. There is a question of military necessities as well, sir.”

  “We are short of powder and have no carbines or pistols in the armoury. We have breast and backs suitable for pikemen and a proper number of pikes for a whole company. I see that some of your men are not equipped for the field of battle, carrying ancient dags rather than a proper dragoon pistol. You might wish to make them over, turn them into pikemen. They might be useful on foot.”

  “They are young gentlemen, Major Holdby. They must ride to war.”

  “Their choice, Captain. They may ride into battle, but the chances are high that they will be carried out, ill-equipped as they are.”

  Captain Bamford was not pleased with that rejoinder but could think of nothing to say. He dismissed his men to the stables.

  Twenty minutes and he was back, confronting Major Holdby in his office where he was quietly discussing plans for the next few days with Micah.

  “The stables, Major. There are no grooms or lads. My troopers will expect to curry their own horses but they are not about to muck-out the stables and fetch in water. They are the sons of gentlemen, sir!”

  Major Holdby raised a surprised eyebrow, achieved a sneer.

  “Your men are your concern, sir. If they need servants, let them pay for them. Hire them. There are idle youths in town who might be persuaded to take a wage. How they will get by in the field, I know not. It is normal for troopers to look to the needs of their own horses – all of those needs. The stables are your concern, not mine, sir!”

  “You must set your men to fatigues, Major. Mere foot soldiers can perform such tasks.”

  Micah looked up and shook his head.

  “My men are trained and useful soldiers, Captain Bamford. Many of them have been to war and are very willing to go again. They are not to be used as servants by idle gentlemen who cannot look after themselves.”

  “I shall inform Lincoln of your refusal to offer any assistance to my men, sir!”

  “Do so, Captain Bamford. You can send your complaint together with your demand for food and fodder.”

  Captain Bamford stamped off, returning to the stables to inform his young gentlemen of the new realities of their existence, no doubt. His wagons and grooms came in a while later, were sent round to the stables. Major Holdby grinned.

  “Ten minutes before he realises that his gentlemen must unload their own wagons?”

  Micah thought less than that.

  “I shall just go across to Sergeant Patterson, sir. A reminder that the command of the company is entirely separate from that of the Yeomanry. He is not to accept orders from officers who are not of his own regiment.”

  “He will not need telling, knowing him as I do. As well for you to be there to offer him your support – very quietly in the background.”

  Cornet Formby appeared in the barracks area soon after Micah, discovered the two companies at drill, matchlocks shouldered. He stamped across to Sergeant Patterson, seemingly the senior present.

  “You, Sergeant! I need a fatigue party. Immediately.”

  “I am sorry, sir. My orders come from my company commander, Lieutenant Slater. He is to be found in the company offices, sir.”

  “But I have just given you an order.”

  “Not a lawful order, sir. I may not obey orders from any officer other than those set lawfully over me, sir. If Major Holdby wishes the company to perform fatigues, he will inform Lieutenant Slater – as is the ordinary process in the Army, sir.”

  “You are a sergeant. I am an officer!”

  Sergeant Patterson kept an impassive face, looked the youth up and down, taking in the details of the fancy and expensive uniform he sported. There was starched white lace at cuffs and neck and braid on his shoulders; the cloth was best wool, thick and new and evenly dyed. He wore thigh boots with bright, shiny spurs. He carried a long sword, basket-handled with a deal of silver wire wrapped around; it was so long that he had to rest a hand on the hilt to keep it from trailing in the dust. He said nothing but could hear chuckling in the ranks on the drill square.

  “I am Lieutenant Slater’s sergeant, sir. I am to obey his command. His last command to me was to drill the company and Major Holdby’s men as well. More officers are due to arrive any day, I am told, sir. For the moment, we are short of experienced officers in the garrison. Please to take your request to Lieutenant Slater, sir.”

  “I shall report you as insubordinate and demand that your stripes are taken away!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sergeant Patterson turned away from the cornet, roared at the men on the square.

  “Silence in the ranks! The next man who laughs at the officer will stand in front of the Lieutenant!”

  Cornet Formby was able to work out that Sergeant Patterson had said nothing wrong. He had ordered his
men to show respect – that could not be a military crime. He had also offered him the grossest mockery. He flushed scarlet and fled, back to Captain Bamford to confess failure to him.

  The Yeomanry unloaded their own wagons and cleaned their own stables, bitterly resentful of such humiliation. Later they discovered that the cooks in the kitchens had neither rations nor orders to feed them; they made do with salt beef and biscuit, served out late in the evening after they had boiled up for themselves.

  The three officers changed into correct dress for dinner and jointly came in search of their meal.

  “This is the mess for Colonel Knighton’s officers, gentlemen. The Yeomanry have the chamber next door. Your cooks may share our facilities but must supply their own foodstuffs. Obviously, you will not have had the opportunity to establish yourselves and you are welcome as guests for tonight.”

  Major Holdby bowed them into the dining room with its lone table set with six places, each with a single knife, fork and spoon and a tankard to the side.

  “You have not met Lieutenant Badger, of the Lincoln Regiment, who is also posted here and has arranged to share our mess. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”

  Their servants poured beer into the tankards and then fetched plates of a thick split-pea soup, yellow and strong-smelling. Fresh bread was put on the table. It was coarse, peasant food, not unappetising but not what the gentlemen were used to. The soup bowls were removed and replaced by platters of pork chops and boiled cabbage and more bread – filling and well-enough cooked, but not what the officers of the Yeomanry had expected. There was nothing to follow.

  The three officers of foot made good meals, showed themselves pleased with their fare. The gentlemen were appalled.

  The servants refilled their tankards to faint sounds of protest.

  “Beer? Not even ale, Major?”

  “No, Captain Bamford. We are not a hard-drinking mess – the men do not approve of the abuse of alcohol.”