Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.)

by Martin McDowell

Davey summoned Miles and Joe Pike and they followed what was an easy trail, but nevertheless he frequently checked the wind, to be ready to move downwind when the quarry was found. Over a slight rise and they saw it, a young buck, the breeches caught in its immature set of antlers. It frequently shook its head to rid itself of the annoying addition, but the clothing was stuck fast.

  “We move left, downwind.”

  His two companions followed, but the available cover only took them to within 250 yards of the deer, perhaps a little less. Davey loaded carefully, wrapping the ball in the piece of thin leather. Miles was puzzled.

  “That’s over 200 yards. You’re wasting your time. We’ve got to get closer.”

  “Can’t be done, Tom. Deer has good eyesight, besides a good sense of smell. Any movement or scent and they’ll be gone, and they’re quick.”

  He settled into the undergrowth, wriggled forward as much as he dared and set his sights for the distance. He then took careful aim and took a deep breath. Miles and Joe Pike looked from him to the deer. When Davey fired; what had been comedy, a set of breeches bobbing with the rhythm of the grazing head, quickly turned to pathos. The deer shook, staggered three paces on drunken legs and then collapsed. The rest of the herd took off at speed the instant on hearing the report. Miles looked at Davey, astonishment replacing his most common look of impatience.

  “Well, I’ll be. Well, I’ll be!”

  All three went down to recover the deer. The ball had entered just behind the left shoulder, but there was no exit wound. Miles was still amazed.

  “Took him clean. Clean as you like.”

  He took Davey’s weapon from him and hefted it in his hand.

  “Seems like this fancy bundook really is just as much as it’s cracked up to be.”

  Davey eviscerated the animal and Joe disengaged the breeches; the merest of examinations would have shown that they were of the finest. Joe and Miles carried the carcass back to camp and Davey carried the breeches. Once in camp, Davey saw D’Villiers and approached him.

  “Sir. We had some success, Sir.”

  Davey handed him his missing clothing.”

  “Any blood?”

  “No Sir. Your clothes were on his antlers, out of the way.”

  With no more words, D’Villiers walked away and threw the breeches at Simpson.

  “See that these are clean.”

  Miles stood, regarding the disappearing back, and spoke just louder than under his breath, just enough for his two messmates to hear.

  “Did you see that? No thank you, no well done, no bloody nothin’. If it hadn’t been for you and that Baker, John, he’d be goin’ bare arsed before we was done up here. Not even one bloody miserable coin!”

  He pointed to the deer carcass.

  “Best take that to the Officer’s cooks. But if they’n as generous as ‘ee, we won’t see no share of it.”

  oOo

  They broke camp and marched out, but they were at the summit of the range of hills and Lacey took full advantage of the gently rolling uplands to march and counter march, form line, form square, and form column. They attacked in line, with the Light Company out before as a skirmish line, they retreated in line with the Lights and Grenadiers forming a rearguard. They deployed from line to square, they attacked in column, deploying into a firing line just before the objective, all measured by the pitiless movement of the second hand of Lacey’s silver half-hunter. Thus the two middle days were occupied and, after each day, the men were as exhausted as their empty cartridge boxes, dragging themselves around their new camping ground, each time forming and pitching on ground that needed to be cleared and tamed before tents and billets could be formed. However, Miles was proved wrong. At the end of the second day, a Servant came to them in their billet and tipped a joint of venison into their cooking pot. Miles asked of the servant,

  “Who from?”

  “You particular who you gets extras from, or are you goin’ to quibble over the joint you got? Well, here’s the facts of it, it ain’t the best and it’s from Captain Carr. He says to tell you that you “improved the standing of the Light Company in the battalion”. His words.”

  They toasted Captain Carr with the evening’s rum ration.

  On the last day they were joined by General Perry and he assumed command from Colonel Lacey, but for the men there was no discernible change, formations came and went and volleys began according to the signal from the drummers. The men cared little about the source of orders, only to quickly obey to avoid the ire of Officers or Sergeants.

  The day wore on and the battalion was advancing in column, half distance between companies, along a shallow hogsback that carried a small wood, down over, off to their right front. Close to the wood, Perry ordered a two deep firing line facing the right, and Lacey, now merely an observer, was pleased with the speed with which it was formed. Suddenly from around the wood, came a Regiment of cavalry, lancers, in column, two squadrons wide and advancing at a fast canter, bright yellow guidons contrasting with their dark blue uniforms. Their objective was clear, the 5th Provisionals, and within a minute they would be at the foot of the slope, 300 yards before the 5th’s firing line. Lacey waited for a response from Perry, an order, but none came, instead he turned in his saddle and addressed Lacey.

  “A little surprise I’ve arranged for you Lacey. Those are enemy cavalry, so give your orders.”

  Lacey spurred his horse forward, but time had been lost. He reached the middle of the line and bellowed to the drummers.

  “Beat Form Square.”

  The drummers responded immediately, but their signal was competing with the pounding hooves and other sounds of 900 charging cavalry, not to mention the hypnotic effect of such a sight. However, the line began to break up as Officers recognised the new order. Three companies in the centre quickly condensed from a two to a four deep front line and the two outside companies at each end swung back to form one behind the other, achieving their four deep line at the sides. The front two ranks fixed bayonets and knelt. However, the remaining three companies had furthest to go. They had to retreat back and form the fourth side and by now the cavalry were up to the fronting companies and sweeping past the bayonets of the corners and sides of the square to turn and descend upon the confusion of the unformed fourth wall. The men were running to position, fixing bayonets as they ran, but they were too late. The heavy horses, spurred on by eager riders, crashed in where the back line should have joined at the corner. Men were pushed aside, knocked over and trampled, and then self-preservation took over; in the face of the hopeless cause many ran to the shelter of the ranks already formed.

  The cavalry reached what would have been the centre of the formed square, a trumpeter sounded and all came to a halt, some in, some out, of the square. Their Colonel emerged from the melee and approached Lacey; his good-natured smile conveying all that was needed to say about who lost and who won.

  “Good afternoon, Colonel. Jamieson of the Border Yeomanry. I’m afraid we’ve broken your square. Your colour,” looking around, “if you had one; would be ours.”

  He saluted General Perry.

  “General Perry, Sir. Permission to withdraw.”

  “Granted. Pass “well done” to your men.”

  From a scene of frantic activity, all was peace and stillness within the square, save restless horses shaking and nodding their heads. The cavalry, wearing pleasant, indulgent smiles, looked down on the infantry; the infantry stared back with implacable hatred as winded and injured men were attended to by the drummers. Conversation between the two, such as it was, was significantly less than amiable, mostly a variation of what Miles called out,

  “Don’t let yourself be found in town over the next few days, mate.”

  Carr, on the other hand, his Light Company in position close by, ambled up to the Captain of a Squadron, fondled the muzzle and forehead of his horse, and introduced himself.

  “Captain Henry Carr. Light Company. 5th Provisionals.”

  Th
e cavalryman replied.

  “Captain Jonathan Tavender. Border Yeomanry.”

  “Well done, smart work, you have your men in good order. However, I wonder how many of your men would have got round the back had we been allowed to open fire?”

  “Casualties from one volley? Less than 50. It wouldn’t have stopped us.”

  “At 50 yards, I doubt it. Be pleased it wasn’t put to the test.”

  Carr raised his voice so that as many as possible would hear.

  “The musketry of this battalion is the best I’ve seen. Provisionals or not.”

  Many in the ranks behind raised their muskets to accompany their shouts of agreement, but Tavender merely smiled and jerked his horse’s head away from Carr’s reach.

  “Let’s hope so, but the fact remains, we broke your square. If you don’t move smarter than that, musketry or no, you’ll be dead men.”

  With that he turned his horse and walked it back into the ranks of his men. Just to make the extra point of who held what ground, the Yeomanry formed up within the square, then rode out in immaculate order. Deakin watching events, turned to Halfway.

  “Didn’t you say French cavalry was the best there is?”

  “I did, but perhaps ours have learned a thing or two.”

  “All the same, Carr’s right. By the time they got round the back, there would’ve been a lot of empty saddles, and riders with no horse!”

  Lacey and Jamieson exchanged salutes, but no words, and Jamieson rode to the head of his men as they trotted off. Lacey was annoyed, he knew that precious seconds that had been unnecessarily lost, but it was clearly useless to complain. Perry turned to Lacey, clearly satisfied with events, something had been proven which seem to give him pleasure.

  “You failed the test, Lacey. Your men were too slow. Against French cuirassiers, you’d have been broken and slaughtered. They will have to improve; your square was taken before it could be formed. We’ll talk again before you embark. I bid you Good Day. Oh, by the way, D’Villier’s Father sends his best regards.”

  With that he and his Staff rode away, following the Yeomanry. Lacey turned to O’Hare, his voice and expression showed how deflated he was.

  “Form Fours, we’re marching home.”

  O’Hare allowed himself the chance to ride along the ranks before giving the orders, his voice matching his cheery expression.

  “Never mind, boys. It wasn’t your fault, late orders. You nearly got there.”

  Many shouted back, brandishing their muskets.

  “Never mind late orders, Major. We’d have turned round and blasted their smug faces right off their damned horses, to Kingdom bloody Come and all!”

  “Indeed you would, boys. Indeed you would, but we’re off back now. You’ve done well, as good as I’ve seen.”

  He reached the central drummers. “Beat Form Fours.”

  oOo

  It was full dark when the head of the column reached the barrack gate. Most expected the orders of “Halt” and “Dismiss”, but instead, as each company entered, a full parade was formed before the silent and still figure of Colonel Lacey. Tired and dirty as they all were, each could feel that something important was soon to be said and all waited with grounded arms, no talking, all waiting. The Light Company came in last and formed up, so that now all stood facing their Colonel, all colour banished in the gloom of the square, only the glint of the candle lanterns lighting on the badges and buttons to give eerie shape to the assembled ranks. However, none cared about what they could see, all were concerned about what that were soon to hear. The parade came to order, with Gibney bellowing “Order Arms.”

  “Men. I want you to know that your conduct and skill as soldiers over the past four days, has been as good as I’ve seen. Anywhere! I would have no hesitation in leading you against any enemy force, and be proud to do so. It was a pity that we couldn’t see off that Regiment of cavalry, but no harm done, and perhaps it makes the point; speed is everything. You must respond to your orders as though your life depends upon it, for indeed it does, and indeed it will. Our orders have come. We will be treated as a battalion in our own right. We are now the 5th Provisional Battalion, as good as any, which is as much a compliment to you as it is to me. We embark for overseas on 20th April, which means we leave here, ready to fight, on the 15th. I can’t say where, as yet I don’t know. All I can say is that it is overseas, and wherever it is, against whoever it is, I know that we will give a good account of ourselves. Major O’Hare, dismiss the parade.”

  The orders rang out, and the ranks dissolved. What had been silent anticipation now turned to a buzz of conversation as speculation ran from one soldier to another, but the noise on the square died away as they entered the doors that led to their barrack rooms. Sleightman, Sedgwicke and the other storemen had been stood waiting in the entrance arch, waiting but also listening. Sleightman turned to his men.

  “So, off abroad. Back to campaignin’, and not long. That’s goin’ to keep us busy, boys, campaignin’ll need twice what we’ve had to deal with here, but that’s not for now. Get the wagons in and get them unloaded. We need’s to be off this Parade Ground by first light, with all tucked away.”

  The wagons were drawn in through the gate, up to the stores entrance as the unloading began. From fussing and bustling about at the beginning, Sleightman soon disappeared, to where no one knew, it wasn’t to his private quarters. It was long into the night before the last supply wagon left empty through the arch and they could all take themselves off to their beds, only to be thrust awake by the Reveille that came, for them, far too soon. After breakfast, Sleightman was still no-where to seen, but the stores business moved on to meet the requirements of the day. In their absence much had arrived in their sacks, barrels and boxes, and all had to be opened, booked and stored. Sedgwicke found himself in charge of a large brown parcel. When it moved it made a wooden rattle, and the address was Sergeant Sleightmen, The Stores, Taunton Barracks. There was nothing unusual in that, everything had that address, but it was unusual in that it was just one item. Usually they dealt in dozens and scores, but this was one unique parcel.

  “Is Sergeant Sleightman back yet?” he enquired of a passing storeman, but the reply was in the negative. He looked again at the parcel. Should he leave it for Sleightman, or open it? He decided on the latter. He was a storeman, his job was to deal with what arrived. He opened the parcel and out came five barrel taps, brand new and made from soft pine, but very long. Sedgwicke had little experience of such mundane items but they did strike him as longer, much longer, than those he had seen before, hammered into barrels at village fairs and such. However, they were not common stores items; they had neither bin nor box in the stores and so Sedgwicke could not book them in. All he could do was place them outside of Sleightman’s office; not inside, for he kept it locked. This he did and returned to the other work that came crowding in. His head was bent over his Ledger when he heard Sleightman’s voice, yelling in a state of high agitation. He was coursing up and down the aisles of the store, waving the wrapping paper of the box of taps.

  “Who opened this? I wants to know, now. Who opened this?”

  Sedgwicke recognised the wrapping and instantly spoke up.

  “It was me. I opened it this morning, about two hours ago.”

  “I wants you in my Office, now!”

  Sedgwicke eased himself off his stool and followed Sleightman into his exclusive burrow and waited whilst Sleightman sat in the only chair. On his desk were the barrel taps.

  “Who said you could open these?” His grating voice and glaring bloodshot eyes told Sedgwicke that something serious was amiss with this, his Sergeant.

  “No one, Sergeant. I opened it, as I would any package, so that I could see what it was, find the docket and deal with it. It wasn’t a stores item and ……..”

  Sleightman exploded.

  “It damn well had my name on it, Sedgwicke. My name. You should have left it for me. Me!”

  Sedgwicke stopped
his explanation and fell silent. Both let the silence dwell, but it was Sleightman who finally broke it.

  “You never saw this, Percy. You got me? Never saw it. You breathe a word and it’ll go very hard on you, very hard. Have you got my meaning?”

  “I understand you perfectly, Sergeant, but after all, why should I want to start a conversation with anyone about a few barrel taps?”

  Sleightman’s face lightened.

  “No indeed, Percy. You has the right of it there. Why should you want to talk with anyone about barrel taps? Now, if you keeps it that way, I’ll forget, and you mark my words, so should you.”

  “Yes, Sergeant. It will be just as you say. I can promise.”

  “Good Percy. Man after my own heart, you is and will stay as such. Here’s my gesture of goodwill.”

  With that he fetched up another bottle of rum and pushed it in Sedgwicke’s direction.

  “That’s yours, and I wants that delivered. Same as before. Now, be off.”

  He had pushed across the desk another plain envelope. Sedgwicke took it and left the office. His route back to his desk took him past the rum barrels, all with a tap and their fronts slanting forward, the back slightly higher, each held that way by their individual cradles. He also passed a group of his fellow storemen, all deep in discussion, but there was only one topic. How many would accompany the Battalion on campaign? There would be a draw for them as individuals and in their draw, what were the odds of staying or going? Sedgwicke grew anxious, about everything.

  That night, in all the barrack rooms, that also was the sole topic of concern, but there was little conversation. Who went would be decided in the regulation manner and Sergeant Obediah Hill was organising proceedings.

  “You all knows how this goes. Any family as wants to go into the draw, get your name written on a piece of paper and ready; the bags’ll be around soon, but you also knows that no babes nor toddlers is able to come. All must be able bodied and able to pull their weight.”

  His eyes lighted on Pat Mulcahey.

  “Be your name goin’ in, Pat?”