Red Man

by Andrew Wareham

  Micah cocked an ear, made a show of shaking his head at a particularly shrill false note.

  “Don’t want to recruit that one after the fight, Sergeant Fletcher.”

  “Not if he can’t do better nor that, sir. Much tempted to stuff his trumpet where he won’t be inclined to play it, sir.”

  There was a chuckle as the men agreed with his sentiment.

  “Take the drummers on, sir. They ain’t too bad.”

  “Reckons as ‘ow I could do better with that old horn, sir.”

  Micah turned to Trooper Wheelwright, a generally quiet, pious sort, little more than a boy.

  “Learned to play at chapel, Wheelwright?”

  “So I did, sir. Pastor taught I for liking to play, sir.”

  “Good! See if you can pick up those trumpets, if they don’t get ruined in the fight.”

  Wheelwright nodded, as did the men beside him, evidently friendly to the youngster.

  “They’re here, sir.”

  The cry went up all along the front of the battalion.

  The leading ranks of the King’s force appeared and halted and then slowly organised themselves from column of route to line. They formed up in a double row from riverbank to the edge of the scrubland, almost a furlong distant from the regiment.

  Micah counted twelve officers on horseback behind the ranks, four pairs and four spread singly as if there were eight companies and too few lieutenants for one apiece. A brightly uniformed colonel sat his horse at the front, accompanied by a pair of young men and the trumpeters and a trooper carrying a colour.

  The trumpeters played a fanfare followed by a call in rising and uncertain triplets – presumably a known signal.

  Daniel stirred forward, turned in his saddle and beckoned to Micah.

  “Parley, Red Man. Ride at my side.”

  They walked their horses slowly forward, stopped at about a hundred yards from their own men. The colonel came forward with his whole party.

  Daniel called his name when the two parties were about ten yards apart.

  “Major Carew of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, in the service of Parliament.”

  “Colonel Lightfoot, Devizes Regiment at His Majesty’s command. I order you to lay down your arms and eschew your treason, Carew. Should you not do so, then our righteous wrath shall fall upon you.”

  “There is no treason in bringing an ill-conditioned King to book, Lightfoot. There is, however, much to find outrageous in your conduct. Why do you lend your countenance to the dishonoured brat Holmes? I see him at your side, a week since he wrote his parole and was released from his captivity. I call on you to dismiss him from your service and return him to face a court of honour.”

  “That I cannot do, Carew. The treasonable are strangers to honour. However… I know nothing of a parole. Mr Holmes, are these words true?”

  Holmes looked about him, discovered every face to bear a scowl.

  “No pledge made to a traitor can be confining upon a true man, sir. A treasonable dog cannot offer or accept a meaningful parole.”

  Colonel Lightfoot’s face reddened in anger.

  “Give me your sword, Holmes!”

  “Do what?”

  “Surrender your sword this instant, boy! You are a forsworn rogue and bring shame upon all of us who march with you. Your sword, and your pistols, now! You are to hold yourself under arrest. Go to the rear, to the baggage waggons. You will be set before a court as soon as we have thrashed these villains.”

  Holmes stared about him, suddenly clapped his spurs to his horse’s flanks and hauled its head around. He galloped off, lashing the beast with his riding crop.

  Colonel Lightfoot watched Homes go, almost unbelieving. He turned back to Daniel.

  “I must offer my apology, Carew. I shall post his name as a deserter and place a reward on his head. He is yours to do as you will if you catch him. If we get to him first, then I assure you that he shall hang.”

  “Thank you, Lightfoot. I accept that you were unaware of his criminal nature. No blame accrues to you, sir. We outnumber you, Lightfoot, and we have a disciplined and experienced force. Lay down your arms and march off with honours of war, sir. Many of your men, and a few of mine, will die if we put them to the test of battle. We have destroyed your horse, for the loss of one man of ours. Send your men back to their homes, to their wives and children, sir, for they will do no good here.”

  Colonel Lightfoot shook his head.

  “We are in the right. God will strengthen our arms and bring His Majesty victory. My son leads my horse. Have you anything to say of him?”

  “He and five more came up against the Red Man, Colonel. The leading three died and the others laid down their arms, wisely. As you will see, Red Man carries a scratch to his shoulder.”

  Micah bowed in his saddle.

  “He was my only boy.”

  “He was outmatched, sir. So will all of your force be. I beg of thee to withdraw from this field, Colonel.”

  “Take your place, Carew, and make your peace with God. I can say no more.”

  Colonel Lightfoot stared at Micah, setting his face in his memory before turning away, his shoulders shaking.

  The two parties returned to their lines.

  “What did you see, Red Man?”

  “Six hundred men at most, sir. No more than two hundred shot and most of them with the old, lever matchlock with the serpentine that falls back towards the face of the firer. Of the pikes, the bulk are no more than twelve feet. The poles are mostly green timber, recently made, not all of the bark stripped, and possibly not especially strong. The irregulars, as you called them, are held back by almost another furlong and are bunched up in clumps rather than forming a line.”

  “Well spotted. We shall hold and let them advance until they plant their rests and ready their volley. Then we shall shoot first. I shall pass the word. Be ready to fall on their line as it breaks. Do not advance as far as the second body; give them the chance to observe the defeat of the leading men and consider whether they might be better off to march back home again.”

  Daniel passed the word to his captains, instructed them to wait his shout of command. He made particular mention of the need to hold the men together when they advanced. The first few orders he gave himself.

  “Musketmen, set your rests!”

  The shot companies behaved well, working to command and pushing the stakes with their ‘Y’ shaped tops a few inches into the thin topsoil and then letting their muskets drop to the horizontal, the unbalanced weight of their barrels taken from the men.

  “Level your pieces.”

  The shorter men found that command difficult as a general rule. Where the captains and lieutenants were awake to the problem, they had sawn a few inches off the rests so that the musket laid naturally parallel to the ground.

  “Make ready!”

  The company officers and sergeants took over, instructing the men to blow on their match and be ready to open the covers on the firing pans.

  They stood quietly in their triple rank and watched as Colonel Lightfoot brought his men forward, at the slow march and held together, obedient to his command. The Royalists stopped at twenty yards distant and the shot planted their rests while the pikes lowered their unwieldy weapons to the horizontal, ready to push forward.

  Daniel gave his shout, roaring as loud as he could.

  “First rank will fire!”

  One third of the muskets gave their throaty cough and a cloud of powder rose, shifting forward slowly on the light breeze. There was a rattling as the lead balls hit against the armour of the few possessing any and clattered against muskets and helmets.

  Daniel counted off twenty seconds, deliberately, muttering the time out loud and listening to the first yells and howls from the enemy line.

  “And nineteen; and twenty… Second rank… Fire! And one; and two…”

  The powder smoke thickened and eddied as the first return fire came across the narrow gap. A few men dropped. The bulk
continued their methodical reload, ramming home and filling the pans and blowing on their match and holding their pieces to the ready.

  “Third rank… Fire!”

  Captain Vokes on the far right of the line, able to see more because of the wind direction, shouted and waved.

  “Breaking, sir!”

  Daniel acknowledged and stood in his stirrups, pointing forward.

  “The regiment will advance!”

  The pikes pressed forward immediately, holding their formation, stepping out into the smoke. The shot retrieved their rests and waited for the third ranks to complete their reload before following.

  Micah raised his left arm and waved his troopers forward at a fast walk through the murk of the powder smoke. He came to the first bodies still in the gloom, perhaps a score of men down, most motionless, still in the first shock of being hit by the big, heavy, soft lead balls. There were more rests than bodies, some still upright in the ground. He spotted a good dozen of muskets discarded by running men. Some at least of the Royalists had broken.

  He kept to the walk, cautious – that some had run did not mean that all had lost their discipline. The air began to clear after fifty yards. He spotted Colonel Lightfoot’s bay stallion down to his front, his master thrown clear a yard or two distant. A second glance showed both to be dead. It was a pity – a fine horse, he had noticed earlier. The colonel had a shot wound in his chest, powder burns showing the discharge had been at close range, and his sword lay on the turf where it had dropped from his hand; it seemed likely he had tried to force his men to hold when first they had started to run.

  “Shot by his own people, Fletcher.”

  “Seen it before, sir. Not very clever, standing in front of men in a panic. Always has been a good way of getting dead in a hurry, sir. Best we hold here for a minute, sir. They’re all tangled up with the other lot just now.”

  Micah’s arm hurt and his head was aching. He could hardly make sense of what he could see to the front.

  “They’re fighting each other!”

  “Bloody daft, sir! Looks like the one set of officers has tried to make them stand again, has turned their own men on them to try to get them to obey. Don’t work, not when men are running. Wait a few hours until they’re calmed down, you can set them in their ranks again, if you can find them! While the first fright’s on them, nothing will make them think and act sensible. All they know is they got to run, and they’ll kill any man that tries to stop them.”

  Micah nodded, and regretted the act as his head hurt even more.

  “Leave them to it. Hold our men here, Fletcher. We’ll clean up in a few minutes.”

  “Best ye should get down from thy horse, sir. Before ye fall off!”

  Micah tried to protest, decided his sergeant was right.

  “All this for no more than a little cut, man!”

  “Ain’t so big, but it’s nigh on down to the bone, sir. Needs a bit of looking after.”

  Micah heard a shouting of orders, slowly saw that the remainder of the regiment had drawn up in line on either side of him, waiting for the confusion to the front to resolve itself. Daniel came to his side.

  “Ten minutes and they will have come to a conclusion, Red Man. I would expect them all to break up and run off home. I shall not pursue if they do. No sense to harrying the land and killing men whose sole crime is to have been forced into the enemy’s ranks. The second body may hold, though. In that case, it is either terms or another fight – the choice being theirs.”

  They waited, watched as an effective commander managed to tidy up the confusion.

  “He has given up the effort to bring them back to discipline, Red Man. They are running, mostly without their muskets, which will not concern them too greatly… Ah! Here they come. Four officers riding towards us, flag showing. We will wait for them to come up to us – we need not offer them any pretence of equality by meeting them halfway.”

  The four stopped a few yards distant.

  “Parley?”

  “Granted, sir. Come forward.”

  Three country gentlemen and one younger man, an obvious professional soldier.

  Daniel introduced himself, taking pains to be courteous.

  “I know Colonel Heering from some years back, gentlemen.”

  “The Colonel has offered his military experience to our cause, Major Carew.”

  “He has done as much for several different causes in the past, I know, sir. He is a very competent soldier. He must have told you that this is a lost field, gentlemen.”

  The three local men, all unknown to Daniel, grunted acceptance of his statement.

  “There is no need to see more men dead, gentlemen. Nor is there any requirement to shame any man present. You have come to the field of battle and have found yourself outmatched. The wise course is to send your people home, back to their families. I will be happy indeed to accept your word of honour that you will not fight more this year, gentlemen.”

  “What of the men, Major?”

  “Those who have pikes and muskets to leave them here on the field. Some few seem to be carrying the tools of their trade – woodsmen with their axes in particular. They should take them home again. I would require your pledge not to call them to arms again, gentlemen. No penalty to accrue to men who came to their masters’ command.”

  The country gentlemen, out of their depth, assented to what seemed to them to be generous terms.

  “What of me, Major Carew?”

  “You, Colonel Heering? I would suggest you find another employer, sir. There will be many in need of your skills this year. Best you should go to London. You have worked to General Skippon’s orders in the past; no doubt he can find a place for you again. Do be certain to collect your pay from these gentlemen before you go!”

  The mercenary laughed.

  “I am paid for victory, Major Carew. The understanding is that failure will leave these good folk short of the half-crowns needed to settle my account! I shall ride off to London, sir. No doubt we shall meet again. You have a well-disciplined regiment here, Major Carew. My current employers could learn much from you. What is my best route for London?”

  “South to Salisbury and then to Winchester will keep you in land held by Parliament all the way. Wiser than going north and picking up the road from Bristol.”

  Colonel Heering turned in his saddle and whistled to a pair of servants leading a packhorse. He bowed to the three gentlemen and quietly walked his horse off, seeking his next employer.

  “What a villain!”

  Daniel shook his head.

  “Just a soldier by trade, sir. I expect he gave you good service while he was with you.”

  “Are all mercenaries like that, Major Carew?”

  “He is more honest than most. Now, gentlemen, time to finish our business. Will you send your men off to their homes or do you wish to march them back to your manors? Have they been paid? Will they turn to brigandage if you dismiss them?”

  “It was the Devizes men who burned Upavon, Major. Ours are not that sort of gutter rat!”

  “Then send them home quickly, would be my advice, sir. Broken soldiers will commit every crime in my experience and you should send your men off to protect their homes and families. Move them off and then return to me to discuss your parole.”

  Micah was a little surprised that Daniel should treat the three so leniently.

  “I am not to remain hereabouts to hold their manors and keep them docile, Red Man. We march back to Salisbury today. We are too few to hold the Plain and will only meet more and more troops sent against us. Tidy this business and then away we go while we still can. The local squires will be far less likely to risk their necks again for the King and we have done what we came here for.”

  They marched in late morning, having buried their few losses and collected together all that was valuable on the field. By the time they camped Micah was in fever and unable to sit a horse.

  He travelled in a waggon next day and was barel
y conscious when they stopped at the big house at Odstock. He noticed the comfort of a mattress and a big bed before falling back into restless sleep.

  Two days later he woke and found himself uncomfortable but alert and being watched by a young female. He blinked and placed who she was.

  “Miss Carew?”

  “You are awake, Red Man! We had feared for you, sir. A high fever but now broken. Your arm is less reddened as well. It was too high for the surgeon to cut, sir. Otherwise you would have lost it, I doubt not. Do not move, sir. Your man is here to look to your needs. I much suspect you will be some weeks with us yet.”

  She left the room and he heard her call to Rootes that he was awake.

  Rachel, he remembered, the youngest of the girls. He had thought her to be of the King’s persuasion but she seemed friendly enough - presumably because he was wounded.

  Rootes came in, bearing a very welcome chamber pot.

  “Thought you was a goner, sir, the way that old fever mounted on you. Lucky, so you was, sir. Fell on your feet, sir. The Major said you was to stay until you was fit, sir. Then you goes to the Regiment again, if you know where it is. If not, off to London to General Skippon, sir. For now, just get well again. The lady will look after you, sir.”