“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. That’s a comfort.”
Heaviside nodded and resumed his reading, for the 254th time, a number which he would have known had he started a count decades back, of the Gospel according to St Luke. The bugle call came to reform. As they stepped back to the road, Deakin felt able to confide in Gibney.
“The sick and wounded is goin’ out from Scilla, Sar’ Major. That should include Halfway. The Captain says we should meet up on the other side. Let’s hope, eh?”
Gibney had no real friendships amongst the men, just some he spoke to more then others, but he remembered that it was Halfway that he had been locked on behind throughout their desperate firefight at Maida, and they had all drunk from Deakin’s canteen at the finish. That counted for something.
“Aye. Let’s ‘ope. Halfway’s a good lad that I wishes well unto. Aye, here’s hopin’ he’ll come through.”
The next day saw their arrival at Reggio, a wholly unspectacular place, just a fishing village with grandiose thoughts that it might be a port, on a coast that would have been thoroughly exposed were it not for the close proximity of Sicily, about eight miles across the Straits. As a port it had no natural assets, but an ancient mole jutted out, then curved back, as yet devoid of shipping other than small fishing craft. For the 5th Provisionals, the place reeked as bad as Messina, a memory their sense of smell quickly brought to mind, and all were grateful to march through and out into the fields above and beyond.
The army counted itself as on holiday. Out in the fields and hills their situation was almost the equal to that of Scilla, but without the tension of the ongoing siege. As the men made their billets and the Officers waited for their tents to go up, all was smiles and joviality. They had won and they had survived. It was not long before whistles and flutes could be heard around the camp and all added to the atmosphere of joy layered upon peace. Carr, Drake and Rushby sat on the folding chairs that had been the first items of their camp unpacked, waiting for some tea. Rushby was sketching, the wound in his right shoulder now offering no impairment. All were pleased to see an old friend approaching, Captain Matthew Smart of the 35th. His beaming smile matched that of all three.
“How now, you types? Taking your ease prior to the forthcoming short cruise? Nice spot you’ve found for yourselves.”
Carr turned in his seat.
“Morrison, another cup for Captain Smart.”
“Sorry, Sir, we’ve only three.”
“Then he can have mine, but make sure there’s enough brewed for four.”
He turned to regard Smart.
“So what brings you this way? From the fashionable heights of the 35th to the unsociable depths of the 5th Provisionals?”
“My errand is twofold. Firstly to ensure that you polysorts are not doing anything to disgrace yourselves, but secondly I come with an invitation. Colonel Kempt, or should I say Acting Brigadier Kempt, requests your presence at dinner. This evening. He feels the need to make some gesture of thanks to his Captains for our performance, and, well, it’s unfortunately unavoidable, but that does include you. Ex-detachments notwithstanding.”
Carr grinned, as did they all, at the dry humour.
“Where?”
“A large pink building in the square. You probably passed it. The residence of the owner of a local fishing fleet. A Signor Trezetto.
“When?”
“Seven-thirty for eight. How’s your uniform.”
“Feeling sorry for itself, but we’ll get it up to the mark, or at least Morrison will.”
The tea arrived, at least three cups of it, and all remained chatting amicably about all sorts, from where to find a good London cobbler to the surprisingly low performance of the French over the past campaign. The debate swung around poor leadership, or poor formations, to just plain poor troops. Eventually, Smart took his leave and left the three to their own company. Rushby was busy sketching and so Carr and Drake shared the conversation between themselves. Eventually Drake gave voice to his main worry.
“Major Greelish will be at the dinner tonight. You will watch your “P’s and Q’s”, Henry, won’t you. Don’t say anything controversial. Just the usual dinner talk, you know the thing. Horses and hunting are usually pretty safe.”
Carr made no reply, nor did his face convey any reassurance.
“Seriously, Henry. You’ve done yourself a lot of good. There’s not a Company in the whole damn army that’s made a better fist of things than ourselves, and that’s down to you. Take what you’ve gained and hold it. “Puncher Carr’s fading into the past. I’m still talking about Greelish. I know he was a clot, but from his point of view he had a job to do and he had his orders, too. I know we lost men, but it was Stuart himself who gave us the infernally chancey job in the first place. We’re back with the 5th and Greelish is no longer our battalion Officer. Come tomorrow we need have no more to do with him.”
Carr rolled his eyes over to Drake.
“You’re right, Nat. As with affairs such as this, you’re right, always right. I’ll do no muck raking, even if he does, although what he can have to complain about, I can’t imagine. Why should Greelish want to say anything derisive when we got him there, and got him back? I agree to all you’ve said.”
“That’s sense, Henry. Your record over the past month speaks for you by itself. Let that do the talking and be satisfied.”
Carr sprang to his feet, propelling himself out of his chair by the arms so violently that the structure squealed and creaked.
“Yes, yes, Nat. Yes. Absolutely yes. Now, my uniform and shako, and, and, oh my God, my boots. They haven’t been cleaned since Gibraltar. Morrison! Get my jacket up to parade ground standard. Throw out my boots and the blacking. To those I will give my own personal attention.”
The boots emerged, placed not thrown, with the blacking, rag, and brushes lodged carefully besides the pair. Carr started on one, but Drake began on the other.
oOo
Carr arrived on time, in fact five minutes early. He found the building more easily that he had anticipated. A servant opened the door and Carr immediately removed his shako. It had been the most difficult item to bring up to standard and it showed. Others had arrived before him and had placed theirs on the hall table. He made room for his at the back and continued through. Kempt was in the small reception room that led to the dining room and, as much as that flinty countenance could show pleasure, it was there up to the maximum as he extended his hand in greeting. Major Greelish stood at his right shoulder.
“Captain Carr! Glad you received the message and equally glad that you could come.”
Carr took Kempt’s hand, which was returned with a grip of appalling ferocity. Carr was immediately cheered up.
“Good evening, Sir. Yes, Captain Smart came and passed it on. Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been looking forward to it, it’s a pleasure to be here.”
Carr realized immediately that the last was an unnecessary flummery, as though it were he that was gracing the occasion, but Kempt showed no reaction; instead he turned to his right.
“You’re very welcome, Carr. Truly. Now, you remember Major Greelish?”
Carr’s hand came up halfway, but not that of Greelish. He merely nodded.
“Captain Carr.”
Carr let his hand drop, but his good mood was not shattered. What rose within him was insolence, not umbrage.
“Good evening, Major. Pleased to see you made it back, Sir. And your message was passed on in good time, I trust? And General Stuart felt well informed?”
Greelish’s face reddened, his white moustache standing out in even starker contrast, and his eyes narrowing, but he said nothing whilst furiously working his moustache with his upper lip. Carr remained standing, sporting a pleasant, open grin that, in this context, conveyed considerably less respect than that required; more like an exchange amongst equals. What arose inside him was the thought that the incompetence of this Officer merited no deference from himself, whatsoever.
> “Well, Sir. I’ll pass on in.”
Carr soon found Smart, stood by a table populated by several small glasses of aperitif.
“Matthew, you’ve found your spot I see. What’s this?”
“A local drink. They call it a vermouth. It’s very good. Try one. I’ve had two.”
“Two! Now, why am I not surprised?”
Carr took a glass and sampled the clear liquid.
“Mmm. You’re right. But one will do for me.”
“Well, campaign done and dusted. Back to clean beds, better food and shaving every day.”
“I hope you’re right, but I think not. The French are less than 100 miles to the North. Beaten but not defeated. I have a strong feeling that they’ll be back, at some time as yet undetermined. The question for you and I is, will we still be on this mainland or safely cocking a snook at them from across the water in Sicily?”
Before Smart could reply, an immaculate Orderly came into the room and announced with a ringing cut-glass voice that dinner was served. Carr and Smart entered the dining room and found it to be wholly in the Calabrian style, dark panelling reaching up to a high ceiling that was unpainted, but nevertheless ornate with intricate white plaster. What colour there was in the room was provided by dour portraits, that glowered threateningly through assassin eyes, down onto the newcomers. Complementary dark tapestries and curtains occupied any remaining spaces. However, the candlelight brought up the highlights of a glittering table, silver and crystal, with a silver centrepiece of a fishing vessel complete with crew heaving in a bulging net that seemed in great jeopardy from bursting.
There were no place cards and so Carr and Smart took their places alongside each other half way along the table. Smart was examining the cutlery and Carr was in his usual dinner daydream twirling the stem of a glass in his fingers. The Orderly re-entered the room.
“Gentlemen. Brigadier Kempt.”
All stood to pay their respects as their Commander entered, but not alone. As his Senior Major, Greelish attended his Brigadier, walking just behind his left shoulder. Kempt reached his place and took his seat, the signal for all to do the same. The courses arrived, the first two being fish accompanied by a cool white soave. The meat course was lamb, but some indulged in a vigorous discussion by floating the idea that it may be goat kid. Whatever, it was excellent meat accompanied by a light chianti. The excellent food and wine soon added to an atmosphere already merry and convivial from the thought, either at the back or at the front of everyone’s mind, that their fighting was done. Kempt, stern Commanding Officer that he may be, proved to be a most agreeable host, amusing and entertaining all with anecdotes from many campaigns that stretched across the world. The spaces were filled with talk of homeward journeys and fair winds and what could be taken back for the family as a gift, momento, or keepsake. There was much information exchanged of feminine items that could be purchased, at very reasonable prices, from the shops and markets close to where they now sat. Carr listened with deep interest, both for himself and to enable him to inform Drake.
Carr was enjoying himself immensely; he was of a lighter spirit. He made no analysis as to why, but deep within himself the gloom of the past year that could well up at any moment, was beginning to thin. Several Officers wanted to take a glass with him, wishing him good luck and better health. It was plain that he dwelt within their high regard, their raised glasses and good wishes showed that he had been well favoured within their now dissolved battalion, and the growing thought added to his new feeling that his fortunes were taking a better turn. There was much hilarity and jesting over the theatrical performance of his men that persuaded the French to surrender, there was even a rumour that Carr had advanced towards the walls of the town and gave a speech, in French, but addressed to his men, to stir up their spirits and ardour ready for the likely assault. Carr spoke up.
“That was no speech, that was a Punch and Judy Show.”
Gales of laughter came from all quarters of the table and noisy rapping on the table, with many managing a passable imitation of “that’s the way to do it”. However, there was one face that did not reflect the bonhomie that circulated around and up the table, that of Major Greelish. Carr did not notice, but Matthew Smart did.
“Our Greelish, there. Seems to be giving you the evil eye. Anything serious between you two?”
Carr didn’t look and decided not to care.
“If there is, I’m unaware and I don’t see why. We did that bit of scouting for him up to Catanzarro, after we left you in Maida. He did his job and I did mine. Where any ill feeling should arise from, I can’t say. Anyway, leave him to stew, in whatever juice he cares to make for himself. It’s in the past. Here, have some more of this pudding. It’s made from fruit and egg white, and sugar! It’s delicious.”
With that he spooned an extra helping into Smart’s bowl. Cheese and fruit finished the meal and, after the Loyal Toast, Kempt produced some port to go with the local nuts that now stood within arm’s reach of all there gathered. Greelish had said little throughout the meal and his temper had bridled at the attention that Carr was receiving. It had not gone unnoticed with Greelish that many regarded Carr as a “quality cut above” and this rankled, his own opinion of Carr was anything but. With the arrival of the port, talk could turn to “shop” and several Officers along the table were asking Kempt for his opinion on the future of Light Infantry within the British Army. His reply was frank and honest.
“I’d say this campaign has proved little, in a major way, that is. Our impact upon the battle was no more than that of good steady infantry, which applied everywhere in our army, as much as I’m aware. There wasn’t much, as I saw it, of our being called upon to act any differently from most other battalions.”
He paused and looked down the table.
“Except for Carr down there. Your Company had to carry out what could be described as Light Infantry tasks. Do you feel you advanced the Light Infantry cause, at all?”
Carr took a swallow of chianti. He had drunk no port. He remembered Gibraltar.
“Well, Sir. There were two extra things that my Company was called upon to do, that could be described as particular to Light Infantry. One was to hold that wood, but we didn’t. We got kicked out and needed Captain Smart here, with his 35th, to help us out. The other was after the battle, scouting forward after the French. That we did, and we got back. But I will say that the trouble that we found ourselves in, we got out of, because of our Light Infantry training. We carried out our drill and that saw us through.”
He took another drink. All were listening and some feeling was building up within Carr.
“Whether our Light Infantry example will spread further through the British Army, I can’t tell. But there’s one thing I’ll take issue with you over, Sir, if I may, in saying that the performance of our battalion was no more than that of any good steady infantry. We smashed those Voltigeurs in one minute with no more than two volleys and a bayonet charge. Not many battalions could have done that. So, perhaps we advanced the Light Infantry cause that way.”
Cheers and pounding of the table. One Captain, tipsier that the others rose to his feet and proposed a toast.
“Gentlemen. We’ve had no toasts yet. I propose one; to Kempt’s Lights and the memory of Maida.”
All repeated the toast, which gave rise to yet more cheers and pounding. As the noise faded away, Greelish leaned forward, his expression serious, even indulgent.
“So then, Captain Carr. If there is such a thing as a Light Infantry cause, if it is to be advanced, then we need success at Light Infantry work. In your opinion, what matters? What brings success?”
The serious tone and question had silenced the table, but Carr’s reply was instant.
“Speed. Do the right thing, do it well, but above all, whatever you do, do it quickly. The French understand the role of their Voltigeurs perfectly. ‘Rapid and intimidating’ are their watchwords and they are conquering Europe with it. Except,” and he r
aised his glass and grinned, “this part of Calabria.”
More pounding and cheering, and those that weren’t pounding raised their glass in response. Greelish waited for the noise to subside. His chance had arrived.
“Now, I’ve served alongside Captain Carr, and if he is to be emulated, then there is one trait that is of some concern. I have noticed that he lives in terror of cavalry. Does that apply to all Light Infantry, or just yourself? A permanent worry, ever uppermost in your thoughts. Yes, Captain, would you not agree?”
Kempt, not inexperienced with atmospheres at dinner parties, instantly sensed the change, as did most there. The word “terror” had been used. He didn’t like it and it was inappropriate. He decided that the evening was best ended there and then, but he had no loyalty to Greelish. He spoke before Carr could reply, speaking as Kempt, the Brigadier, not Kempt, the genial host.
“And I say that any Infantry Officer, Infantry mark you, who is way out unsupported in advance of his army, and if he is not worried about cavalry, then, well, he is a damn fool!”
Many around the table grinned and nodded, glad for their host’s intervention. Greelish reddened, but said no more. Kempt continued.
“Gentlemen. I consider it time that we returned to our Regiments. Tomorrow our transports arrive, and we embark. I wish to thank you on two counts, firstly for your attendance this evening, which has added to a most convivial occasion, and secondly for all of you carrying out your duties so well over the past few weeks. I wish you well for the future, and for your future careers.’
Thanks and similar good wishes were passed back down the table and all rose and left. Smart, understanding both the delicacy and the potential of the situation, ushered Carr up and out, through the reception room, still with some unclaimed aperitifs, to the table with their shakoes. They were amongst the first to reach it, and each claimed their headgear and set a course for the door. Outside, both shook hands.
Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.) Page 47