Red Man

by Andrew Wareham

  Chapter Eleven

  “There is a local magnate, sir, one Sir John Swaythling, who would greatly benefit from having his neck stretched, by the sound of things. He is rich, a great landowner, a cousin of the Earls of Southampton and a loud supporter of the King and has called for his tenants to muster at the end of this month. He lives just four miles distant in the village of Durley and would make a useful first example to the local holders.”

  “Excellent, Captain Slater. Tomorrow morning?”

  “I would do so, sir. Might I suggest that we inform the officers at the breakfast table?”

  “Giving them no chance to shout their mouths off in the evening?”

  “Some might talk carelessly in beer – for there are some few who drink incautiously, I know. I suspect there may be others who cannot approve of offering discipline to the aristocracy.”

  “That implies…”

  “It does, sir. I have heard nothing direct but have a feeling that there are those who want to stand against the King while being unwilling actually to fight him. They had rather remonstrate in arms than actually shed blood. Certainly, there are those who believe that it will still be possible to find a middle ground, who hope that the King will offer his forgiveness of all rebels together with a promise to listen to the wishes of Parliament.”

  “And they would consider that sufficient? That the King should listen to Parliament?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Then they will hear what I have to say at breakfast!”

  Micah sought out Sergeants Fletcher and Driver before he sought his bed. He gave them brief but precise instructions.

  The officers were called to eat their breakfast at the Bugle, were supplied with a thick porridge with milk and small beer followed by toasted bread with butter and a wedge of cheese; a solid start to an active morning.

  Major Carew stood before them, in full breast-and-back and boots, ready to ride out.

  “Eat up, gentlemen. We have a busy day ahead of us. We are to march within the hour, out to remonstrate with the first of the local malignants. The man Swaythling must learn that Parliament has the rule of this land of ours and shall be obeyed. Those who stand against Parliament are traitors and must expect to face justice. The supporters of the foolish man of blood, Charles Stuart, are enemies of the people of England and are to be treated as all such should be. In the old Norman-French language of the law, they are in jeopardy of ‘cors et avoir’ – of body and all they possess. It is my intent that we shall march to Swaythling’s house at Durley and there bring him before our justice, sentencing him as befits his crimes and responding to any refusal of obedience in condign fashion. Captain Slater will lead with his horse. I shall follow directly commanding his company and mine. You will march behind me in order of seniority. The camp will be held by the sick and the lame. I expect all officers to accompany their men, irrespective of their state of health.”

  Captain Dunton stood and begged permission to be heard.

  “Sir John Swaythling is a most important man in this part of Hampshire, sir. He must be respected as the lord of the manor and the magistrate for these several parishes. As such, I do not doubt that we should request him by letter to make his allegiance clear and give him time to dispose of his responsibilities. To march on him is to risk disorder in the land. We must not allow our squabble with the King to uproot all that is good in this country of England. I cannot consent to this march you propose.”

  Major Carew stood forward, cold-faced and stern.

  “I am your senior officer, Captain Dunton. I do not ask you to consent, I order your obedience. A refusal to accept my orders is mutiny, sir, and will face immediate action.”

  Captain Dunton shook his head.

  “Your order is morally obnoxious, Major Carew. I refuse it.”

  “Red Man!”

  Micah strode across to the window, opened the casement.

  “Sergeant Fletcher! Sergeant Driver! Carry out your orders.”

  The outer door was flung open and a squad of musketeers marched in, the leading twelve with matchlocks cradled ready in their arms and match lit. As the officers turned towards the door Micah drew a pair of pistols from his bandoleer.

  Major Carew shouted his order.

  “Arrest Captain Dunton.”

  Three men armed with their short swords only stepped towards Dunton and grabbed his arms, tying his hands behind his back and then bundling him out of the door.

  Lieutenant Maidstone jumped to his feet.

  “You cannot do that!”

  “Sergeant Fletcher!”

  Micah’s voice came loud from behind him. As Maidstone turned and saw the pistols three more men took him and trussed his hands and pushed him out.

  There was a momentary silence and then Major Carew rapped on the table in front of him with the handle of a knife. He spoke quietly.

  “Does any other man wish to refuse my command?”

  Lieutenant Abney looked up.

  “I am loyal, Major.”

  There was a mutter of agreement around the room.

  “Good. Take Mr Dunton’s company, Captain Abney. Form a double rank of officers in the square, gentlemen. Facing towards the watermill.”

  Two minutes and they had obeyed.

  They watched in silence as Captain Dunton and Lieutenant Maidstone were manhandled across to the redbrick wall fifty yards away and stood blindfolded. A squad of musketeers lined up to their front. Micah strode across to stand beside them.

  Major Crew addressed the officers.

  “The penalty for mutiny is death, gentlemen. Summary execution is allowable in the field. Captain Slater, carry on.”

  “Blow on your matches… Set your pieces… Point your pieces… Fire!”

  Eight muskets coughed, four and four. The two officers fell, neither dead, both gushing blood. Micah walked across with his pair of pistols and set one to Dunton’s head and pulled the trigger. He did the same for Maidstone seconds later.

  He turned to the assembled officers, spoke loudly.

  “So perish all traitors.”

  He marched back to the squad, his boots bloody and leaving footprints behind him.

  “Sergeant Driver, dispose of the bodies. Sergeant Fletcher, carry on.”

  Micah turned to Major Carew and saluted.

  “Justice has been done on the mutineers, sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain Slater.”

  Major Carew turned to the double rank of officers.

  “We march in thirty minutes. Bring your companies to the square in march order. Dismiss.”

  The officers walked silently towards the field where the companies were camped.

  Rootes and Daniel’s groom brought their horses to them and the pair mounted and sat their horses, quietly waiting.

  “Well, Red Man?”

  “It might be interesting, sir. Perhaps one half of the officers are related by blood or marriage to Captain Dunton and to Colonel Jevons. There are three possibilities – they will have taken their horses and ridden off; they will bring their companies in arms against us; they will march obedient to our command. I do not know which chance is most likely.”

  “Nor me. One chance in three says that we are next to stand at that wall. I always was a gambling man – there is much to be said for wagering with your life, Red Man. When you win, the joy is unbounded.”

  “And when you lose, you will not have long to regret the fact!”

  They laughed, perhaps more than the joke deserved.

  “Here they come… Jack Capel has your company and mine in good order. Will you make him captain in your place, sir?”

  “I think I must, Red Man, after today. Abney has Dunton’s company and is marching them well together… Nine companies including the horse, but not all with their three officers mounted before them. Wait, now, five mounted men bringing up the rear, what do they have in mind?”

  Three captains and two lieutenants in a tight group, suddenly splitting up
and joining their companies.

  “Debating and finally deciding to follow the call of duty, sir?”

  “Perhaps, Red Man. More like, they are making a point, showing loyalty to the regiment that just outweighs their loyalty to kin. Not offering a threat as such, for that would force me to act, but quietly telling me that I must not push them too far. Though how much farther I can push them than shooting their kinsmen, I know not!”

  Micah rode to the head of his horsemen and walked them out of the village, leading the regiment onto the Winchester road. Eglinton came to his side.

  “Mr Halleck is not best pleased at the death of his cousins Maidstone and Dunton, sir. It might be well to keep a close eye to him when we are on the field of battle.”

  Halleck remained with the company of foot, was their senior lieutenant.

  “You think that a pistol ball might fly astray and accidentally hit into my back, Eglinton?”

  “It is not impossible, sir.”

  “Little I can do about that possibility. I cannot send him away and must not set a watch on him. He is my officer and I must offer him trust and hope he will come to accept the need to create a discipline among the officers. I do not see the adjutant, Captain Prothero? He should be riding with Major Carew.”

  “He took horse when we did, sir. Perhaps he has ridden off, unseen in the mass of men readying themselves to march. Easy to slide away behind the big barn and then into the stand of oaks behind the village.”

  “Or he might have been caught short and had to visit the jakes and be on his way to join us now. Drop back to Major Carew and mention his absence, Eglinton.”

  “He is off at the mill, Captain. Major Carew sent him to discuss the purchase of a waggonload of flour, to be paid in gold coin rather than a bill to be sent to Parliament. The Major says it will come to us at better quality and lower price for being paid for direct. The coin taken from the Peveril house will be put to good use for the Regiment. There is a chance of purchasing beef cattle as well, to be herded behind us in our baggage train.”

  “Important to feed the men, Eglinton – and, I must confess, I had not given it a thought.”

  “Major Carew says as well, sir, that we are to stretch out, the horse that is, and examine the road to the Swaythling house.”

  Micah called the troop to pick up its pace and took them along through the open countryside towards the village of Durley. The Hamble River, smaller now, no more than a brook, paralleled the road at about a mile distant, visible as a low, wooded valley. The fields were mostly down to barley and wheat except for a quarter or so of the land which was laid fallow and being grazed, mostly by beef cattle. He spotted herds of milkers close to the two small hamlets on the way, thought it likely they were in the way of producing cheese to go down to the big town of Southampton or to the fleet at Portsmouth.

  “Rich country, Eglinton. No rye or oats. Even the poor will eat white bread rather than black.”

  “Few acres in the way of peas and beans either, sir. See more of those in Kent, I think. No sheep down on this heavy clay soil. Not so much by way of apple trees as we have at home, sir.”

  Like most of the officers, Eglinton came from a small estate where the squire was his own farmer. The Land was familiar to him.

  “Patches of timber ahead of us, sir. Winter fuel, mostly, for the farmers by the looks of the trees – a deal of ash trees, sir.”

  “Smouch as well, Eglinton.”

  “Never have liked that, sir. A harsh and bitter brew, though my old grandmother, who is learned in the herbs, says that it is a fine and healthy drink, especially for the womenfolk, sir.”

  Neither man wished to pursue that topic – medicine was a matter for the females exclusively.

  The countryside was quiet, there was no alarm raised. They saw men working at hedging and ditching and a few hoeing in the occasional turnip field. There were women working the gardens as well. Had there been a fear of war, all would have been locked away behind closed doors.

  They came to a crossroads with finger posts pointing to Bishop’s Waltham and Southampton off to right and left of the Winchester road.

  “A mile to the right, so the landlord said. The road drops down into the little valley and then when it rises the big house is off a quarter of a mile or so on the left. We shall hold here in the cover of the copse, so as not to raise the alarm before the footmen arrive.”

  They dismounted and glanced around them.

  “Worked woodland, sir. Clumps of hazels for nuts and bean sticks. A goodly amount of ash. Apple trees and a line of pears as well. Cherries along the edge, which is good furniture timber as well as the fruit. Quince and medlars down in the more sheltered part, and two big white peach trees, which are uncommon except in the older orchards, or so I am told. Rich man’s land, sir!”

  “Then we must treat it with care, Eglinton. Warn the men they are not to slash down the orchards for their campfires.”

  “I shall, sir. The town boys of the Trained Bands will not know the difference, must have it explained to them. Londoners who do not know one tree from another!”

  Micah agreed – he had been surprised repeatedly by the inability of the men to perform the simplest tasks about the camp without explanation. The townies from the Big Smoke lived a sheltered existence, a long way from the Land and its ways.

  “No fires for the moment, Eglinton. We do not need to announce our presence.”

  They waited less than an hour before the eight companies marched up and sat down for their ten minutes of rest. Micah led Major Carew through the orchard to the edge where he could see across the shallow vale to the big house on its hillside.

  “A gravelled driveway leads in from the road, Red Man. It does not continue on past the house, except as a cart track, which makes things easier for us. There is a farm track to our left, do you see? If you take your horsemen down that way and form an arc behind the house, to the west and north, I shall bring the foot to the front, from the east here. If Swaythling has any sense, he will see the better part of a thousand men and know that he must walk small for the while.”

  “If he has no sense, then it will be to swarm him under, sir?”

  “Exactly.”

  Micah turned to his squadron.

  “Check your pistols. Be sure there is priming powder in the pans.”

  Bouncing on horseback, the fine powder could easily sift out of the pans, leaving too little to fire the main charge.

  “Ease your swords.”

  Most riders put a strap across the hilt of their sword so that it might not work loose while riding.

  “Helmets and breast-and-back.”

  The men hauled on the leather straps and pulled their breastplates tight – less comfortable but more effective against a sword stroke.

  “In column of twos, walk march!”

  They shifted slowly out from the trees and across to the track leading down to the house. There was a small wooden bridge crossing the brook, strong enough for a farm cart.

  “No more than four at a time on the bridge.”

  The shouted order and the drumming of hooves attracted attention. Doors opened and slammed shut in the house and there was yelling from the barns and stable to the rear. Micah waved his arm and pointed the troopers to their positions. He estimated he was ten minutes ahead of the footmen and needed to draw attention away from them to give them time to deploy.

  “Mr Eglinton, take your twenty and examine the barns and stables.”

  Eglinton waved an acknowledgement and moved slowly round to the far side. As he left a gap between the two parties half a dozen horsemen burst out and took off down the cart track west at a stretched gallop.

  “Hold here, Mr Eglinton! My men, follow me.”

  Micah slapped the reins on his horse’s neck and tapped him with his heels, taking care not to dig his spurs in. He took the horse up to a canter, dropping back from the running six. Corporal Perkins came up beside him.

  “They’m getting a
way, sir!”

  “Not for long! They can’t manage too many minutes at that pace. Keep them in sight and we can pick them up, the weakest horses first, one by one, probably without a fight.”

  The track was potholed, rain-rutted, dangerous going for a running horse. Almost as they spoke, they saw one of the fleeing mounts peck and stumble and then draw up, hopelessly lame. The other five drew rein and surrounded the one while its rider, an older man, clumsily dismounted.

  Micah looked over his shoulder, waved to his men to fan out into a line which he brought to surround the six at a distance of thirty or so yards. He reined in then walked his horse a few steps closer.

  “I am Captain Slater of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, acting under the command of Sergeant Major General Skippon. I am tasked to bring this county to peace under the lawful rule of Parliament and to take the pledge of those who will abide by the law and to arrest those who display themselves as malignant. Declare yourselves.”

  The old man drew himself up, stood proud.

  “I am Sir John Swaythling, knight bachelor, of this county of Southamptonshire. I am faithful to my King. These others are my two sons and three young men of the county.”

  “You have the choice, John Swaythling, of pledging yourself to keep the peace or of being placed under arrest for trial before Parliament. While you do not offer to fight, your life and property are safe from me. I would add that you may be fined or exiled for your defiance of Parliament’s lawful rule but that your life will be not be threatened, nor will your family suffer other than financially. Come, sir! Our armies have taken this county and will not likely be driven out. You will be wiser to remain and protect your tenants and kin in this time of turmoil. Parliament does not demand that you forswear your loyalty – you are begged merely to stand aside from the conflict, to send neither men nor money to war, upon your honour.”

  “You ask me to be a traitor. I will die before I betray my King!”

  The five young men, all still mounted, shouted their defiance and Swaythling produced a long pistol from the holster on his saddle and pointed it, waveringly, at Micah.