Women of Courage

by Tim Vicary

  “I’m for a Protestant King,” she said, and smiled at her father, ignoring the jealous, bitter disapproval on Tom’s stern handsome face.

  19

  THERE WERE no orders for the army to move next day, and Adam was determined to use part of the time to ensure that Ann went home, or at the very least, did not follow the army out of Taunton. But in the morning he could do nothing, for it was spent in continued practice drill in the army camp outside the town.

  The Colyton men had now cut down the basic musket drill to two minutes between each volley, at which Sergeant Evans seemed almost pleased, though he would not admit it; and they watched with tolerant scorn the fumbling efforts of the newly-formed regiment of Taunton men, Colonel Bassett’s Blues, who took a good ninety seconds longer. Even when they did fire, most of the Taunton men’s shots skimmed the bark and leaves off saplings in the hedge two or three feet above the haycock targets.

  “Reckon they be trying to knock the old blackbirds out of their nests,” chuckled William Clegg good-humouredly.

  “They’ll learn, in time,” answered Adam. “We were as bad as that a week ago.”

  “So long as they listen to their sergeant, instead of falling asleep on the job,” snapped the sharp, sing-song voice of their beloved tormentor. Sergeant Evans looked pointedly at Adam and winked at the others. The sergeant had a long memory, and Adam had not yet been allowed to forget that first day when he had been too tired and deafened by the endless noise to know when to stop. But although the Welshman was stern he was not vindictive, and as the Colyton men saw how they had improved, they were coming to trust his judgement as much as they feared his tongue.

  “What’s this? Are you musket men taking your ease again?” broke in Roger Satchell, striding over from where he had been exercising the pikemen. He glanced at the haycocks and laughed. “I see you even bring your sheets to work!” For that morning Sergeant Evans had somehow procured two bedsheets from some unsuspecting housewife, and had strung them up on a line just above and behind the haycock targets, so that they could easily see if bullets had missed and gone too high.

  “I did have hopes of taking them back as good as they came,” the sergeant replied. “But we’ve still got a few hayseeds here who think we’re out to shoot pigeons!”

  “Not too many though.” Roger Satchell looked approvingly at the twenty-odd holes produced by a dozen volleys. “I think if you’d tried that a week ago, the poor housewife would have had nothing left but rags. But we need to learn to work together. Sergeant, fall your men in over there, if you please!”

  For the rest of the morning they practised the complex drill of manouvering with the pikemen, forming squares and lines and columns, each designed to enable the infantrymen to use their two main weapons to the maximum advantage to protect each other, destroy the enemy on foot and remain impregnable to their horse.

  So far on the march they had had little time for this sort of drill, for most of their time had been spent in learning to handle either musket or pike satisfactorily, without thinking about how they could use them to help their neighbours. But they all remembered the near-disaster at Bridport, when musketeers had jostled pikemen against the wall, and they had all nearly been run down by their own panic-stricken horse: and the sergeant and Roger Satchell could remind them of several times on their fumbling triumph on the way to Taunton, when they would have been dangerously open to attack, had they been faced by an enemy more determined than the terrified, conscience-stricken militia.

  So they saw the point of the exercises easily enough, and worked hard and willingly until the sun stood high overhead, and the sweat was pouring off even the sergeant’s face. (“Though I reckon his throat ought to sweat most,” muttered William Clegg. “For that’s where all his work’s done!”)

  In the afternoon Colonel Wade’s Red Regiment was itself strengthened by recruits, a company of musketeers from Taunton, and some pikemen, mostly armed with scythe-blades mounted on poles. Roger Satchell and Sergeant Evans were assigned to help train them, alongside their own officers, to bring them as quickly as possible up to the standard of the rest of the regiment, so the others found themselves free to rest or go into town if they chose.

  Adam had spent half the night wondering what he should do about Ann. He was at once worried by her presence with the army, and deeply grateful for it. Grateful, because in the last two days she had helped him to forget his own fears and see the adventurous, triumphant, confident side of everything; worried, because soon they would go into battle, and he did not want his daughter to see her father hurt or frightened. He did not want any of his family to see that.

  He had also seen her with Tom in the last few days, far more than he had done before. Always, before, he had seen them as children in his own or Tom’s parents’ house, and the respect Tom had shown him had been natural and obvious. Now, perhaps because they were betrothed, perhaps because Tom stood with his father-in-law in the ranks and shielded him with his great pike, the respect seemed to have gone. In the evenings, around the camp fires, Adam had found that Tom stood near Ann, walked with her, as though he owned her; and he, her father, could not get near. It did not seem right that a father should be jealous of the husband he had urged his daughter to accept; but Adam did not like it, and he fancied, from looks he had seen on her face, that Ann did not always like it either; especially when Tom boasted, as he had taken to doing, about what he had done to the militia at Bridport, or would do to them in the future.

  For all these reasons Adam had decided that it was his duty to send Ann home, whatever her or Tom’s reasons for her staying. He had thought long last night about how he should do it, and smiled to himself a little at the answer. There were times when a man’s strength could become his weakness. He put on a suitably stern face as he approached his prospective son-in-law.

  “Tom, I am afraid I have bad news for you. I have been wrestling with my conscience most earnestly in the night, and I am convinced it is wrong for Ann to be here.”

  “‘Tis no proper place for a woman, I sees that.” Tom’s voice was slow, troubled. He had liked having Ann with them the last few days; it had given him great confidence, to know that she could see him marching proudly with the other pikemen - always the tallest and strongest of the foot-soldiers - and that she was there in the evening to listen admiringly to his stories of the fighting. He felt she admired him here more than she had done at home; and he had seen more than a few men cast envying glances his way as they walked through the town last night. But now he felt guilty and resentful, afraid that her father had noticed some of this. If only they had been married, before the revolution had begun!

  “‘Tis not a proper place for a woman at all, Tom,” Adam went on. “Only the armies of the ungodly are followed by women, and the Lord is not like to look kindly on our cause if we do ape their ways.”

  “She does no harm, though. I heard Surgeon Nicolas say how she were a great help to him with those two as were wounded yesterday.” A sullen, resentful look, like that of a scolded boy, passed across the big young man’s face.

  “Such sights are not fit for her to see. War is man’s work, you know that.” Adam sighed, and put his hand on the boy’s broad shoulder. “I know it is hard for you. ‘Tis only natural for her to admire you when you do your duty to the Lord, and for a lusty young lad like you to want to be with his sweetheart as much as he can, but ... “

  “Oh no, Mr Carter, ‘tis not that.” Tom hesitated, almost blushing, but Adam let him stammmer on. “That which you’re speaking of now, ‘tis only vanity, and ... and the lusts of the flesh. ‘Tis not for that I seem glad that Ann’s here, ‘tis only ...”

  “‘Twould be natural if you did, Tom, I know that.” Adam’s voice expressed understanding, but he did not want Tom to think of his daughter like that, at all.

  “No ... no, Mr Carter, ‘tis not that, truly. ‘Tis just that it seems safer just now for her to be with us, than to be travelling cross-country with the militia a
bout. And there’s even been militia in Colyton, she says.”

  “That’s my worry, too, Tom. The thought of a young woman wandering alone in the countryside at this time is something that no father - or husband - would want. But I cannot safeguard her while we’re on the march either, if she’s to ride behind in that old cart with the surgeon. You know, Tom, not every man in this army is as pure a follower of the Lord as you. ‘Tis a sin, boy, a sin for her to be here. And as her father, I hold myself responsible ... “

  “But where else can she be?” Again Tom wished that he and Ann were married, that more of the power of decision were his. Beside Adam Carter now, he felt little more than a clumsy, overgrown boy.

  “Well now, ‘tis that I’ve been cudgelling my brains to find out. And since she cannot go home and she cannot go with us, it seems best that she stay in Taunton when we leave. Though not with old mother Trumble, if it can be helped.” The house where Ann and surgeon Nicolas were lodging, and caring for the few wounded men that they had so far had to deal with, made Adam’s stomach heave with disgust. It was small and dirty and smelly, with scraps of old food and insects in every corner. “But there’s a better place, if they’ll have her. Roger Satchell told me of it, and gave me a letter to take. The Ladies’ Academy.”

  “Where’s that to, then?”

  “Here, in Taunton. Roger sent his daughter there, he says. ‘Tis a school for girls of the gentry, and good Protestants, too - supporters of the cause. If she could stay there she’d be all right. Safe, out of harm’s way. And it may be they could find some way of getting her home later.”

  For a moment Tom said nothing, but Adam, watching him carefully, saw the eyes look away from his own and the shoulders sag, and he knew he had won. However much Tom might like to keep Ann with him, following the army, he was ashamed to admit it. His only motives could be lust and vainglory, not the prudence and loving care a young man owed his betrothed wife. As the force of his arguments sank in, Adam saw Tom’s swagger fade, and a more familiar heavy, round-shouldered clumsiness return.

  “Will you go there now, Mr Carter?”

  “Yes. But I need you to come with me, to tell Ann. You know what the maid’s like - she has her own reasons for doing things sometimes, which is why I love her. But if you’re to be her husband, she’s got to learn to obey you sometime.”

  “I suppose she has.” Tom sighed awkwardly, knowing himself outwitted. True, he was stronger than Ann, and would have the right - in fact the duty - to beat her when they were married, should she show signs of straying from the straight and narrow path; yet in truth he had known her too long not to be afraid of her quick mind and tongue, and was not sure he would win such an argument with her, if she opposed him. A terrible mute anger swelled in him as he strode into the town beside the slight, upright figure of his future father-in-law.

  The town was as busy as it had been yesterday, but most of the people in the streets were from outside, like themselves, and it took them some time to find someone who could direct them to the Ladies’ Academy. When they reached it, they had to knock several times, before the door was timidly opened by a young girl of twelve or fourteen, wearing a bright yellow and red summery dress that looked as though it was only worn for special occasions.

  “Good afternoon, miss. Could we see Miss Blake, please? I have a letter for her from Captain Satchell.” Adam smiled, the girl’s snub, freckled nose reminding him of his daughter Rachel.

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Come in. Could you wait here? She’s rather busy at the moment. I’ll see if I can find her.”

  She showed them into the courtyard, and hurried away. It was like stepping out of the street into a garden. The busy noise and clatter was gone, to be replaced by the birdlike laughter and voices of the little girls who fluttered everywhere like butterflies in their bright summer dresses. A group of younger girls stared at them and giggled, and Tom and Adam took off their hats awkwardly, Tom looking more than ever big and clumsy and out of place. But clearly something far more exciting than their arrival was going on, for after a moment the girls hurried away through another door.

  “They look pretty rich maids, these,” muttered Tom nervously. “‘Twill be a bit awkward for Ann, won’t it?”

  “Don’t worry. Roger Satchell sent his daughter here. And they’re only little; perhaps Ann can teach them something.” Adam, too, felt slightly abashed by the obvious gentility of the place. But it seemed wholesome enough; a haven of cleanliness and quiet, after the mud and sweat and noise of life outside.

  “Now, sirs, what can I do for you? You bring a letter from Master Satchell, I hear?”

  “Yes - Captain Satchell, ma’am.” Adam turned to face the woman who had suddenly appeared from behind them. She was a tall woman of about forty, with a plain, stark, slightly withered face. The nose was too big and the mouth too thin for beauty, and the eyes were too cold, as though they knew that love and admiration were not for them; yet it was a striking face, proud and commanding like a man’s, used to being obeyed. The woman wore a plain blue dress and starched white apron, and in her right hand she carried a sword.

  “He ... he gave me this letter for you, ma’am. ‘Tis about my daughter.” Adam forgot what he had to say as he gaped stupidly at the sword. The blade was razor-sharp, oiled and gleaming, with an elaborate basket hilt. It was no plaything. Her hand held it firmly and easily, as though she knew its balance well.

  “So. You wish your daughter to stay here, Master Carter.” The cold eyes examined Adam’s dusty, crumpled clothes and short greying hair with disapproval.

  “If it be at all possible, ma’am. You see, she has served the Duke by bringing horses for the cavalry, and now there’s no way for her to get home. But the army’s no place for a girl.”

  “I see.” The eyes examined the musket slung over his shoulder, calmly and carefully, so that Adam felt she saw how new it was, and also the scorchmarks where he had not yet cleaned the pan properly after this morning’s firing. Then she turned to Tom. “And who is this fine young fellow? Do you come to protect Master Carter against our fearful regiment of women?”

  There was a sudden giggle amongst some of the younger watching girls, quickly smothered by a glance from the girl in the yellow dress. Adam saw that Tom was blushing, while a thin, quizzical smile played around the lips of the school mistress.

  “No, ma’am. I’m ... I’m betrothed to marry Miss Carter, see, so I ... I’m to be her husband.”

  “Indeed. That does normally follow, yes. Your name?”

  “Thomas Goodchild, ma’am.”

  “And so, Master Goodchild, you feel that your army is a danger to women, do you?”

  “Why no, ma’am! Of course not!” Tom blushed deeper, acutely conscious of the interested gaze of the schoolmistress playing with her swordhilt. Why had Ann’s father got him into such an absurd situation? But he had to go through with it now. “‘Tis just that ... that she would be better off with you, like.”

  There was another smothered giggle, this time from the older girls, and the thin smile spread to Miss Blake’s eyes in triumph.

  “Indeed. That may well be true. So, Master Carter, where is your daughter, Master Goodchild’s wife to be?”

  “She’s in town with surgeon Nicolas Thompson, ma’am. We came here first to see you.”

  “I see. Well, if she is a true follower of the Lord as you say she is, she is most welcome. But now you must excuse me. We are to wait upon your leader, our new King.”

  She turned away before Adam could show his surprise, and with another younger, rather mousy schoolmistress, began assembling the children. After a brief hesitation, Adam and Tom turned to go. But as they reached the door, Miss Blake’s ringing voice followed them.

  “Leave the door open, Master Goodchild, if you will. We follow you directly.”

  And so they came out into the hurly-burly of the street, followed by a truly extraordinary procession. First came Miss Blake, her sword still in her right hand, and a small, i
ntricately bound Bible in the other; and after her, two by two, came about twenty girls, each in their best and richest summer dresses, followed anxiously by the second schoolmistress at the end of the line. The smallest girls - some only six or seven years old, came at the front, and the eldest - young women of fifteen or sixteen - at the rear. Each girl, large and small, carried a little silken banner above her head, embroidered with letters and slogans in support of the Protestant cause.

  When they were all out in the street, Miss Blake formed them up carefully into two lines, a stern, anxious look on her proud face, and inspected her charges under the astonished eyes of the soldiers and others jostling past. Then she marched to the head of the line.

  “Miss Musgrave, have you locked the door? Good. Right, girls, let us hear you sing as we march!” And they marched away towards the centre of the town, singing the 23rd psalm.

  “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ...”

  They threaded their way through files of marching soldiers, tethered horses, and slow-moving carts, out of the town towards the camp.

  “The woman’s proper mazed!” said Tom, astonishment succeeding the smart of his embarrassment during the interview.

  “She is too.” Adam shook his head in wonder as he watched the procession, trying to imagine his own wilful daughter as part of it. “But she may keep Ann on the path of righteousness, at least,” he added hopefully, half under his breath. “Come on, lad, let’s go and find her.”

  They had hardly gone a few yards towards Ann’s lodgings before they met her and surgeon Thompson hurrying the other way. Ann’s apron was stained with old blood, as rusty brown as the hair that was straggling loose from her cap, but her eyes were alight with excitement.